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Dean honestly had the shittiest luck. He must have done something to deserve it, pissed off some pagan god somewhere, or really aggravated a witch, and he just wanted to know what it was he had done so he could try to make amends for it. First it was the news about his suppressants, which he was still freaking the fuck out about, and now, halfway across the street to Hal’s Diner he spotted Sam right there at a booth in the front fucking window. He was in the middle of the street so he couldn’t stop, and he was pretty sure Sam had already seen him so he couldn’t turn around and go back either. The only thing Dean had going for him at the moment was his sunglasses, which made it impossible for Sam to know if he’d been spotted or not.
Dean tried to get a handle on his emotions so that Sam wouldn’t immediately be able to scent how upset he was, but this morning had just been too much. Between the hangover and the note and the pharmacy, he was too stressed, and he’d be surprised if he could make it two steps inside the door before bursting into tears. Goddamn hormones! He hated them. He knew that’s what the problem was. He’d been slowly coming to realize that this was exactly the way he’d felt for a couple of days before he presented. Irritated, emotional, irrational, and helpless to do anything about it. He wanted to behave like a reasonable adult. He knew he wasn’t behaving like a reasonable adult. But he was incapable of behaving like a reasonable adult. It was like he was in the passenger seat of a car his omega was driving, shouting, “You’re going too fast for the turn up ahead!” but unable to grab the wheel. He couldn’t go into the diner now, and he couldn’t not go into the diner, so he did the only thing any self-respecting omega would do: he stalled for time.
He really was quite proud of how quickly he made the decision, but Dean had always been a quick decision-maker, even when under stress or emotionally overloaded. The decisions weren’t always good ones, but he was definitely someone you could count on to take action in a clinch. So, right before he got to the diner, knowing he was in full view of Sam, he stopped, patted his pockets, and made the universal, “Crap, I forgot something” hand gesture, complete with an exasperated sigh. Then he turned around, went back across the street, and walked down to where he’d had to park Baby about half a block away. It wasn’t going to buy him a lot of time, because if he didn’t come back it would be obvious it was all an act, and while he shouldn’t care what Sam thought of him he did, and the idea of running away and letting Sam have Hal’s Diner like some kind of trophy was just too much. The right to eat breakfast at Hal’s was a battle he intended to win.
Fortunately, the walk to the car provided him the time he needed to really clamp down on his feelings and their ability to broadcast his mood to the whole diner, and even more fortunately he remembered his cell phone was still in the glove box, so now he had a prop to help sell his little performance. He crossed the street from where he was, figuring it would look more believable that he hadn’t seen Sam if he came up along the sidewalk by the diner instead of going all the way back up to the pharmacy to cross like he was purposely trying to be in full view. That way he could be “casually” checking his phone as he approached, and it would give even more of the appearance that he hadn’t seen Sam and couldn’t have cared less if he did.
Jesus, when did he turn into such an omega?
Whatever shaman, deity, or wizard he’d pissed off must have approved of his little act. As he opened the door to step into Hal’s the opening trumpets of The Ring of Fire blared over the diner’s sound system. It was literally a perfect entrance, like someone saw him coming and queued it up to start the second he entered. Take that, ABBA. The universe had just given him a new theme song, and he couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on his face as he glanced around to decide whether he wanted to sit in the window booths (nooooo), the tables dotting the main area (eh), or the lunch counter (we have a winner). He didn’t fight the swagger in his step as he walked up to the counter to put in an order, knowing that half the patrons had noticed him and appreciated the whole effect. He didn’t even glance in Sam’s direction. Sam Campbell didn’t exist in a world where Johnny Cash announced Dean’s presence in the room. If only he were wearing his cowboy boots this moment would have been complete. He really needed to bring those on more hunts, so he’d been prepared in case something as awesome as this happened again.
It turned his whole morning right around, at least for the two and a half minutes the song was playing. A young waitress chewing on a wad of Juicy Fruit (at least that’s what it smelled like) placed a glass of water, menu, and a cup of coffee in front of him without even asking, then wandered away looking bored. His head still ached dully, but his stomach really was feeling better and he flipped open the menu to figure out what he wanted for breakfast. He supposed at this point it was probably closer to brunch, which wasn’t good. He needed to eat and get on the road headed back to Sioux Falls ASAP.
That was when his phone rang. The phone he specifically went to the car for and made a big show of checking right as he had walked past the front window just in case Sam was watching, and he’d forgotten to turn the volume down so it was loud and obnoxious. He’d have to answer it, even if he didn’t want to talk to anyone and just felt like enjoying the afterglow of that fabulous entrance. He really didn’t want to answer it when he saw the name on the screen.
Dad
Gripping the coffee cup to try to elicit some kind of support from the caffeine through osmosis, he flipped the phone open, hit the green button to accept the call, and held it to his ear.
“Hey Dad,” he said lowly, trying not to disturb the people around him.
“Dean!” At least John sounded stone-cold sober. “Where are you? Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”
Stone-cold sober and pissed.
“I was on a hunt,” Dean replied, trying to stay calm against his father’s alpha voice. “Kind of hard to answer a text in the middle of a nest.”
“I know you were on a hunt, I meant where are you, right now, so I can come and haul your ass back home!”
“Dad, I haven’t had a ‘back home’ since I was four and a half. You plannin’ to ground me, too? Take away my Lincoln logs?”
“I’m not too crazy about this new tone of yours. That Campbell’s influence?”
“What?”
“You heard me, Dean. He put all kinds of fairy tale ideas in your head about teamin’ up with him, makin’ you disrespect me like this?”
“First, I can think for myself. Second, how do you even know about me working with Sam?”
“I have an alert set up in the FDH. Any time your name pops up I hear about it.”
“You’re cyberstalking me?!”
“You’ve been dodging me for a year Dean. I had to do something. Someone’s gotta try to get you to accept reality before you get yourself killed! I’m on my way to Laramie right now, so wherever you are you stay put. That’s an order!”
“Dad, I’m gonna hang up the phone and you’re not gonna call me again until you’ve pulled your head outta your ass.”
“Dammit, Dean! Vampires are nothing to screw around with! You’re lucky Campbell didn’t use you as bait!”
“How do you know he didn’t?”
“Did he?”
The fury in John’s voice was absurd. After Dean presented, John’s go-to move had been to use him as bait whenever the job required it. The hypocrisy was sickening, and Dean didn’t feel well enough to play nice.
“No, he didn’t. Just because that’s all you ever saw me as don’t mean that’s how other hunters work. You’d know that if you hadn’t pissed off everyone in the Midwest.”
“That’s a pretty smart mouth, Dean.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Dean, I swear to god, you hang up this phone I’ll take the Impala back the minute I find you.”
“You can’t. She’s not yours. She’s mine an’ Adam’s.”
“You think I care whose car the DMV says she is?”
“You’ll care when the cops arrest you for grand theft auto.”
“Are you threatening me?!”
“I’m promising you.”
“Dean…”
“Bye Dad.”
“DEAN!”
He clicked the phone shut and tossed it onto the counter, digging his hands into his hair. If he had any self-respect he’d ditch the phone and get a new number so John couldn’t contact him. Adam would back that play. But then what would happen if Dad really needed him for something? What if he ditched the phone and his dad ended up getting killed? Dean was pretty sure he was one of maybe three people who would even work with John. He couldn’t just cut him off. Except now he knew John was using the FDH to track him and it was only a matter of time before his dad caught up with him. How the hell was he supposed to keep hunting knowing John was on his tail?
His phone was already ringing again and he was poised to answer it and tell his father clearly and concisely to fuck the hell off, but the screen flashed a different name.
Benny
Right. He’d promised to call when the hunt was over. Benny didn’t really know Sam and as a result, didn’t trust his skill set. The diners sitting near him were going to think he was a jerk for constantly being on his phone.
“Hey man,” he said as soon as he’d picked it up. “Sorry I didn’t call, long night.”
“How’d it go? You sprouting any extra rows of teeth or in need of a blood transfusion?”
“Nah, it was a cakewalk. Just too much celebrating afterward.”
“Uh-huh. Campbell behave like a gentleman?”
Dean winced. He was glad Benny was all the way in Indiana. It was easier to pull off lying to him over the phone.
“Yeah, everything was fine. Gotta get on the road soon to head back home though.”
“Okay. Send me a text when you get there so I know you ain’t been sold into the sex trade.”
Dean chuckled and felt warmth spreading across his chest. He wasn’t sure what he did to get a friend like Benny, but he would forever be glad he’d done it.
“Deal. Later Benny.”
“Be good, Dean.”
He hung up and let out a sigh. He suddenly felt really tired and just wanted to be back in his crappy little apartment over the bar in Sioux Falls. It wasn’t much, but it was all his, and he didn’t have to control what anyone was able to scent about him. It was exhausting being unmated sometimes - like he was a walking aphrodisiac. For the first time in days, he didn’t even care about the stupid suppressants. He just wanted to be in his own home where everything smelled safe and warm.
“What’s the matter hon? Lover’s quarrel?”
Dean looked up into the face of the middle-aged waitress standing ready to take his order. She had a kind, motherly aura about her, her long red hair falling in waves around a pretty face with gentle blue eyes. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. His eyes flicked down to her name tag quickly (Dolores) before he looked back up and blinked.
“What?” he asked. “No, that was my dad and then just a friend…”
“Not the phone calls, sweetie,” she said, smiling at him. He debated pointing out she had lipstick on her teeth. He wasn’t sure of the protocol when it came to things like that and didn’t know if she’d appreciate it or be embarrassed. It didn’t really matter though, because she just kept right on talking and he wasn’t going to interrupt her. “You and your young man.”
“My what?”
“Your mate.” She gave him a knowing wink. “He’s been over there sulking for the last twenty minutes. Came in here lookin’ like something the cat drug in. Took him ten minutes just to figure out the menu. Right now he’s tryin’ real hard not to look over here.” She glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the window booths. “He ain’t succeedin’ too well though. Trouble in paradise already?”
Dean realized instantly why she looked familiar. They’d talked to her about buying a place in the area. Back when they were posing as a couple. So obviously she thought that he and Sam were mated. He could feel his face heating up and took a long, deliberate sip of his coffee. It would be easy enough to correct her, but he really didn’t have the energy for it.
“That’s one way to put it,” he said. “Can I...uh...can I get some scrambled eggs with a side of oatmeal, plain wheat toast, and some cranberry juice?”
“Sure thing.” She scribbled down his order and then leaned down confidentially. “Whatever he did, don’t keep him in the doghouse too long. Poor boy’s a mess.”
Dean pushed a little smile onto his face and took another sip of his coffee as Dolores went off to put his order in. He was curious just how bad Sam’s hangover had to be if she’d misinterpreted it as him being heartbroken or something of the sort, but he wasn’t about to look. Whatever agony he was in right now he had coming. He’s the one who brought the tequila.
Still, his omega was dying to know what the alpha was going through, despite what curiosity had done to the cat. He couldn’t scent anything from Sam’s direction - the guy had gotten much better at not letting every little emotion mix in with the leather and gunpowder. It was maddening. One tiny whiff of whether he was genuinely miserable, completely irritated, or royally pissed off would have been enough to settle him, but there was nothing. He checked his phone, trying to see if any part of it could be used as a mirror to take a peek at Sam across the diner, but it was useless, and even if it hadn’t been the angle would have been wrong. He played with his sunglasses on the counter, trying to slide them over to get a look, but the problem with the angle was still the same. There was nothing he could do to assess the situation with Sam without flat out turning around and looking. Well, maybe he could run to the bathroom and check on the way back, but that would be too obvious, and what if Sam left while he was in there? Or what if Sam followed him in and wanted to talk? Or yell at him? Or not yell at him? And why did the thought of any of those options bother him so much? Why did the only palatable outcome for him and Sam being in the same diner involve kissing and fondling and tongues down throats and lots and lots of nakedness? It made for a particularly uncomfortable wait for his hangover cure-all breakfast, adding another layer onto all of the emotions he was already suppressing. If this was what sex with an alpha did to him, he had obviously made the right decision to swear it off.
After an eternity of listening to Willie Nelson crooning about how the object of his affection was always on his mind, Tammy Wynette standing by her man, and Marty Robbins detailing his death in the West Texas town of El Paso, Dolores returned with Dean’s breakfast just as an alpha in a three-piece polyester suit straight out of the 1970s took up the chair next to him. The guy reeked of hair tonic and horse manure, and Dean couldn’t determine if that was his scent or things actually on his person. He tried to ignore the odor as best he could as he tucked into his eggs, but it really was quite strong. He noticed the guy noticing him peripherally, but pretended he didn’t, wanting to just get through his breakfast as quickly as possible without incident, particularly now that he knew that John knew where he was and was on his way to Laramie. But there was that pesky problem of him having pissed off some powerful entity, and after a few moments, he felt a hand on his right thigh.
“Well,” the guy drawled, extra-long and drawn out. Dean could feel himself being ogled. Clearly, he should just not try to eat out in public anymore. “Hello there beautiful. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
Dean swallowed the eggs and took a sip of cranberry juice, his jaw muscles flexing.
“That’s cuz I ain’t from around here,” he said flatly. “You’re gonna want to remove that hand.”
“Ooo, feisty!” He could hear the guy’s greasy smile in his voice and closed his eyes, reminding himself that he needed his fork for his breakfast and couldn’t just drive it into the alpha’s throat. “Listen, sugar, I know it’s early in our relationship, but whattaya say about you an’ me headin’ back to my place?” He gave Dean’s leg a squeeze and started running his hand slowly up towards the omega’s crotch. “Cuz I gotta tell ya - if you were mine I’d keep you all happy and knotted up at home...”
The snap of the alpha’s thumb as Dean wrenched it back and out of its socket was immediately drowned out by the man’s scream. In one fluid movement, Dean used the dislocated thumb to twist his arm up behind his back with his right hand and then pinned the guy’s head to the counter with his own forearm across his neck, hearing the guy’s shoulder pop out of its joint as well. He used his left hand to grab his fork and stab it into the counter by the alpha’s face. The entire diner fell into silence as Dean leaned over him, fangs out, and pressed down on his neck to reduce him to a whimpering puddle of tears.
“Now, I know you understand English, cuz that’s the language you were using for your pervy pick-up lines, so I gotta assume that you’re just really stupid and I have to speak slower,” he hissed. “The next time an omega tells you to remove your hand, remove your fucking hand.”
“Dean…”
He hadn’t even scented Sam approaching, he was so pissed off and just done with this shit, but suddenly Sam was all he could smell - calm and soothing and gentle. He felt Sam’s hands on both of his shoulders, tenderly trying to pull him away from the blubbering man he still held pinned to the counter. There was nothing demanding about the way Sam tugged on him. It was somehow reassuring, letting Dean know that he wasn’t alone. His omega wanted to just turn into Sam’s chest, scent his neck, and hide, but the angrier part of him that was Dean Motherfucking Winchester refused to do something so weak and needy.
“This knothead needs to learn some manners, Sam,” he growled, tightening his grip on the alpha’s thumb, eliciting a yelp from the man.
Quite to his surprise, Sam moved around to his side and snaked an arm around his waist, pulling Dean insistently and protectively to him. Even more surprising was that Dean went willingly. If Sam had tried this at the Roadhouse, Dean would have hauled off and decked him. Now, however, he felt a wave of relief at being pressed up against Sam, like he was owned or something.
No, not owned. Claimed. He’d always hated that word, but how it felt was so different from what he’d imagined that his grip on the douchebag’s thumb automatically began to relax.
Undoubtedly for the benefit of the people in the room who had met them as a couple, Sam murmured, “Not now, baby,” right into his ear.
Not now, baby. Dean had heard Sam say that before. But when? Last night? No, it hadn’t been last night. Sam had said a lot of things last night, but that wasn’t one of them, he was sure of it. The not now, baby memory was vaguer and harder to grasp even than the events of last night’s alcohol-fueled copulating and brought with it the strong odor of chlorine. The Holiday Inn had a pool, but despite Dean suggesting they go for a swim two nights in a row, Sam had been staunchly against it, so it must be from some other time the two of them were together. What other time had they been together near a pool?
Adam’s graduation party. Dean didn’t really remember a lot of it, because he’d polished off two bottles of scotch (well, probably more like one and a half, Adam had said he opened a second bottle but not how much he drank), but he did kind of remember sharing a chaise lounge with Sam at one point, so he was probably remembering that. It was all hazy, though. Why would Sam have called him “baby”? That was a particularly intimate pet name one didn’t just go around giving ex-friends from grade school that one never spoke with again. And if it was from the party, why was it filling Dean with such abject terror, distress, and dread? Had Sam done something to Dean there? No, as big of a jerk as Sam could be, he was not the sort of guy to take advantage. Yeah, there had been last night, but drunk as he was, Dean had known what he was doing and had repeatedly consented. Besides, if Sam had done something to him, Adam would never have stayed friends with him, and Adam would have told Dean. So why did Dean suddenly want to be sick all over the floor of Hal’s Diner?
It took a minute for Dean to realize that Sam now had him cradled against his chest, and was caressing his face and saying things like, “Dean” and “Look at me,” and “What’s wrong” and “Dean!” They were on the floor and hair tonic and manure had escaped the diner. Well, obviously they were on the floor since his knees had buckled, which he was starting to dimly recall as he feebly grabbed onto Sam’s shirt. He seemed to be hyperventilating, but he couldn’t really tell, because it kept going dark at the edges of his vision like his mind was trying to shut down or something before anything more of the recollection of the party had a chance to solidify for him. It was all very confusing.
Sam was either a really, really good actor or he was genuinely worried about what was happening because all Dean could smell was Sam’s fear. The scent helped to ground him and give him something to hold onto to pull himself out of whatever this was. He turned his face to Sam’s neck and just breathed for a moment, which steadied him somewhat and caused Sam to tighten his grip.
“Is he okay?” Dolores was asking, and Dean realized for the first time that they’d drawn quite the crowd of concerned diners. “I can call an ambulance…”
“No,” Sam said quickly at the spike of distress in Dean’s scent. “He’ll be fine he just...that happens a lot. People taking liberties. He can handle it but it stresses him.”
“Oh, I know how that is,” Dolores replied. Dean was beginning to feel like he could breathe normally again. “Ray’s one of our regulars. If I had a nickel for every time he swatted my ass I’d be a rich woman. Get him on over to your booth and I’ll bring his breakfast.”
“Thanks, Dolores,” Sam said.
Dean felt Sam pulling him to his feet. This was familiar, too, and reinforced the “something very bad has happened” feeling. Dean couldn’t take it. He was going to lose the three bites of scrambled eggs he’d eaten and bolted for the bathroom. He barely made it into one of the stalls before he was on his knees, heaving into the bowl. Apparently, today was just for puking whenever a bathroom was nearby. He really regretted that he hadn’t died in the hotel room this morning.
The bathroom door clicked quietly behind him and he heard footsteps approaching the stall as his stomach settled a little. At least he hadn’t had enough to eat yet for this to be a prolonged vomiting session. He was already trying not to think about the fact that he was kneeling on the floor of a public restroom with his face in a public toilet. He gave himself another minute just to be sure his stomach was done, then sat back on his heels and flushed.
Wordlessly, Sam got his hands under Dean’s arms and helped him to his feet, then over to the sink where he could wash his hands, rinse his mouth, and splash some water on his face. His knees threatened to buckle again, but Sam was quick to grab him and hold Dean tightly to his chest. He didn’t even care that he was openly clinging to Sam now, or that his whole body had started trembling. He went along easily as Sam led him out of the bathroom and over to the booth by the window, and didn’t object when Sam got him down on the bench seat and then slid in beside him, making himself a barrier between Dean and everyone else in the diner. Dean turned into Sam’s side and breathed in his scent again, while one of Sam’s hands swept up and down his back and the other smoothed through his hair.
“You okay?” Sam asked softly when Dean’s breathing had returned somewhat to normal. Sam still smelled of fear and worry and something else that Dean couldn’t place. Dolores had already brought over his breakfast, phone, and sunglasses. “What happened?”
“I dunno.” Dean wanted to pull away from Sam but couldn’t. His omega still needed desperately to feel protected and safe. It was humiliating. “Something...a memory...I dunno. I couldn’t place it.”
“A memory?”
“You an’ me. At a pool, or something. It didn’t make sense.” Dean felt Sam go rigid, and his scent became anxious. It was easy to pull back then. “What?”
“The two of us at a pool?” Sam looked very pale. He knew what Dean was talking about. Dean didn’t know why that scared him, but it did. “What did you remember?”
“Ah, so this is what you ditched me for, Sam.”
Dean jolted into the corner of the booth and smacked against the window as the young, pretty blonde with cold blue-grey eyes slid into the bench seat across from them. She wore a dark printed t-shirt, black leather jacket, and irritated expression. The smell of rotten eggs and raw meat filled the booth. Dean’s dislike of her was immediate.
Sam’s scent changed from concerned to nervous, and he put a good foot of distance between him and Dean.
“Ruby! Hey. I told you I’d hook up with you later.”
This was Ruby? How could Sam stand to work with someone who smelled so disgusting? Maybe she didn’t smell disgusting to him, though. He had no idea what alphas smelled like to each other.
“Yeah,” she sneered. “I can see you were in a real hurry to debrief me. I take it this is Dean?”
“Yeah...uh...yes.” Sam was seriously flustered, and not like he’d been when Dean asked if dinner last night was a date. That had been cute. Nothing about this situation was cute. “Dean, this is Ruby, my associate. Ruby, this is Dean.”
“Charmed,” she said, snagging a piece of bacon from Sam’s plate without even asking. “You find anything interesting in the vamp nest or…”
“No,” Sam interjected. Dean got the distinct impression she was asking about something specific and Sam didn’t want him to know what it was. “It was just a routine hunt.”
Ruby slid her gaze to Dean and pinned him to the seat with a glare.
“I’ll bet.”
“Look, we were kind of in the middle of something Ruby…”
A sneer curled her lips and her eyes stayed on Dean.
“I’ll bet.”
“Could you just...give us a minute please?”
“Sure.” She swung around to look at Sam and stole another piece of bacon. “Though I never pegged you for a minute-man, Sam. Let’s get Dean’s opinion on that.”
Ah. So Sam was fucking her. Or wanted to fuck her. Or she wanted to fuck him. Maybe. Probably. Dean didn’t know. He was such a moron for caring.
“Ruby…”
“It’s okay,” Dean said, his voice returning to him at long last. He grabbed his phone and his sunglasses and pushed against Sam to be let out. “It’s okay, you guys can talk, I gotta get going anyway.”
“You didn’t eat your breakfast,” Sam objected, though he was allowing Dean to get past him.
“I’m not really hungry,” Dean told him, digging into his wallet for the coupons Sam had left him this morning. God, he needed to get out of here before the overwhelming sadness constricting his chest burst out into his scent. “I’ll grab something on the way home.”
“You don’t have to pay, Dean,” Sam said. “I got it.”
“No, it’s fine.” Dean clenched his jaw, pulling out a twenty-dollar coupon. “I came into some money this morning. Got paid for something I’m really good at.” If he’d been looking at Sam he would have seen the hurt flash across his face, but Dean was too busy jamming his sunglasses back on. “Later Sam.”
“Dean, wait…”
But Dean was already halfway out the door, the opening strains of I Fall to Pieces echoing through Hal’s behind him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walked doggedly down the street to cross to the Impala, half-listening for Sam’s footsteps behind him. He didn’t know why he was listening, or why it was so disappointing when he didn’t hear anything, but he managed to hold it together until he got into the safety of his Baby. He didn’t even know why he was so upset, it wasn’t as if Sam meant anything to him, or that last night had been anything other than a release after a hunt gone particularly well, but he still had to sit there with the engine idling for what felt like a very long time, his arms crossed over the steering wheel and his forehead resting on them as he just straight-up sobbed.
It was like the morning after Adam’s party, which he did remember, and hadn’t thought about in a long time because it really hurt just too damn much to think about. Maybe he’d go to Bobby’s again like he’d done after that awful day in Shreveport when he’d practically thrown himself at Sam and been completely rebuffed. Hopefully, he wouldn’t spend another week a bawling, inconsolable mess, because he had stuff to do, and that had seriously scared Bobby last time. He really should focus on getting into a clinic and picking up his suppressants, but at this point what could a couple more days of skipping them do? He thought of calling Adam and asking if he could come for a visit, but Adam would want to know why and Dean obviously could not tell him what had happened with Sam. Adam hated the thought of alphas anywhere near Dean. He might be really upset right now, but it wouldn’t be fair to ruin their friendship when Dean had been the one to instigate things last night.
When he finally felt himself reasonably under control he threw the Impala into gear and headed out of town. Sam and Ruby were still sitting in the front window of Hal’s, and if he spotted Sam getting to his feet while he drove past - well, he didn’t care. If anything, the last twelve hours had proven the Benny was literally the only good, trustworthy alpha on the planet, and it was a lesson Dean didn’t intend to forget again. |
The disinherited prince of Patchland sat in the half-light and the cold. He held a thick blanket over his shoulders. It was difficult to cover himself completely with it, but he always tried. The alternative was feeling the cold, indifferent concrete of the floor or the icy, barren walls. Having adjusted the blanket often, Fluff supposed he ought to be an expert at curling up in it, but it always took too long to adjust the blanket and fall asleep. Sometimes, he wondered if the sorcerer replaced the blanket ever so often with an identical one of a different size. He only dismissed the idea because he couldn’t believe Yin-Yarn could do anything so subtle.
The shadows shifted, darting like flames from the nightlight, the room’s only source of light. Fluff jumped and climbed to his feet. Slowly, the shadows rose before—with a sudden burst of starry sparks—abruptly sinking. A man emerged. He was tall with a cruel, sharp angled face. His skin was bleached white, and if his skin were peeled away, Fluff was certain the sorcerer’s bones would be the same color. Inky, black glasses settled on his pointed nose. When he stepped forward, the shadows scampered at his feet, drifting around his dark dress pants. All this should’ve resulted in the creature looking monstrous, but—somehow—he was utterly, sublimely beautiful. Like some night-god brought to Dreamland.
Fluff’s breath caught as Dreamland’s most infamous wizard strode closer. The wizard grinned, revealing unusually sharp eye teeth. Nightmare could tear a man’s throat out with those teeth; of that, Fluff had no doubt. “Hello, little princeling,” he said. His voice was soft and darkly melodious, seductive even.
Nova, preserve him.
It took Fluff a few seconds to realize Nightmare was carrying someone. Fluff’s first horrified thought was that Nightmare Nocturne had abducted someone’s child. Fluff’s second thought was that said child—well, really, a man—was quite pretty. Fluff assumed the man was of Halcandran heritage, based upon his skin color and soft-featured face. His hair was a stunning shade of blue, clearly the product of much patience and upkeep. The wizard strode closer and carefully laid down the boy on Fluff’s abandoned blanket. “You aren’t going to say something?” Nightmare queried.
Fluff steeled himself. He tilted his head defiantly and rolled back his shoulders. The wizard seemed to notice, for he moved closer, using his significant height as an unspoken threat. Fluff raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?” Fluff asked, forcing every ounce of regal composure he could into the question.
“I brought you a gift, little princeling. Don’t you like him?”
The Dreamlanders’ fondness for Halcandrans was well-known even in Patchland. After the destruction of Halcandra by Landia, the Halcandran race had nearly become extinct. They’d fled to Dreamland and found acceptance and compassion during King Bikaia’s reign, but once he died, Dreamland’s honor had, too. Instead, Halcandrans had become the favorite exotic playthings of the aristocracy. Time had made the situation worse. While the old Dreamlandic families were slowly losing their magic and power, the magic in Halcandran blood had never lost its resilience. It continued as powerful as ever.
Fluff bristled at the insinuation that he was anything like that. Like the same aristocracy that’d taken everything from his family and his people. The same aristocracy that made his people kneel before Queen Alera, who’d stolen their realm with sorcery. “I don’t need a gift. Thank you,” Fluff said, his anger overriding his fear. “I have everything under control.”
“Really?” the wizard sneered. “It appears to me that you’re locked in a half-finished bathroom.”
“I don’t need an accessory.”
“Oh, I do hope you call him an accessory to his face,” Nightmare said. “He doesn’t listen when I tell him that it’s completely disgraceful to be selling himself out a third-tier nobleman.”
“You abducted a nobleman’s servant?”
Nightmare pinched the bridge of his nose. “My son,” he said, gesturing. “Yin-Yarn is holding his Lord hostage.”
Oh. Dedede! That must be the lord that Nightmare meant. But why would the child of Nightmare Nocturne be a servant of all things? Why did the child of Nightmare Nocturne look so…normal? Fluff fixed his brown eyes on the wizard; the prince’s stomach churned as the shadows, themselves, twisted beneath Nightmare’s feet.
Then again, if Fluff was the child of Nightmare Nocturne, he might want to be as far away from him as possible. And if there was one thing the declining, aristocratic families of old hated, it was Nightmare Nocturne, with his success, magic, and common blood.
The wizard snapped his fingers, conjuring a violin and bow from the shadows around him. “For him,” the wizard explained. “Make certain he knows that.”
“A violin? How would a violin help in this situation? What is he going to do with it?”
The wizard laughed. “Play it, of course. Good luck, little princeling.”
Meta Knight woke slowly. The ground was hard and cold beneath him. His back and neck ached. He rolled onto his side and froze. Tentatively, he reached over his shoulder, confirming what he already felt. “Galaxia?”
Stay calm. Worry about me later.
She wasn’t there. Where was she? Meta Knight narrowed his eyes, trying to piece together how he’d found himself in a cramped room with a concrete floor and bare walls. The wizard and I are talking, Galaxia said. I’d like to be at your side, but that isn’t possible right now. But don’t be afraid. You can do this, Meta Knight.
The wizard. Of course, Father had done this. A throat cleared.
Meta Knight turned around. Fluff, the fallen prince of Patchland, sat imperiously across the room. His chin was tilted up, his shoulders rolled back, and his smile was careful. However, any regal effect was ruined by the fact that Fluff was sitting on a toilet and awkwardly balancing a violin across his knees. Still, the prince might be a potential ally, and a little flattery never hurt when dealing with royals—disenfranchised or no. Meta Knight knelt and bowed his head. “Your Royal Highness,” he said.
“I know who I am, Nocturne.”
How arrogant. “It’s de Brillante Armadura, actually. Or Meta Knight, if you prefer.”
“Please, sit. Or stand. Whichever you prefer,” Fluff said, “Meta Knight.”
Meta Knight sat, although the floor was hard and cold. Fluff’s brow was furrowed, his famously large eyebrows drawn together over his autumn-brown eyes. “Lord Dedede is under Yin-Yarn’s control,” Fluff said. “Rescuing him won’t be simple. He’s more likely to attack you, especially since you’ve arrived so ill-equipped.”
The prince offered the violin and its bow. “A violin?” Meta Knight asked.
It was his father’s violin. Meta Knight took it carefully, almost reverently. “Yes, you’re supposed to play it,” Fluff said. “Obviously. Your father’s words—not mine. Your father is terrifying, by the way.”
“I know. Play it, though? What good will that do?”
Fluff sighed. “I thought you’d know. Mr. Nocturne assured me that you were more than a status symbol.”
“This is absurd. I’m not playing his little game, while Dedede is being controlled by an evil sorcerer,” Meta Knight said, pulling his cell phone from his front pocket. “I’m calling the proper authorities.”
“You had a phone this whole time?” Fluff groaned. “I could’ve done that! I knew I should’ve searched you.”
“Thank you for respecting my personal space,” Meta Knight replied, shifting the violin to rest on his shoulder and dialing the number with his free hand.
He put it on speaker. Hopefully, hearing the voice of Patchland’s disinherited prince would spur some action. “A.M.B.E.R. headquarters emergency line. What is your emergency?”
“I’m being held captive by a sorcerer named Yin-Yarn,” Fluff said, before Meta Knight could answer. “I am Fluff, Crown Prince of Patchland, son to the late King Woole and Queen Skein.”
At least Fluff sounded appropriately like a snotty royal. “Do you have a location?” the operator asked.
“No, I’m locked in a bathroom,” Fluff said. “Presumably his house.”
Meta Knight scrolled through his apps and flipped on GPS. “According to GPS, we’re at 2478 Miracle Matter Boulevard.”
Why would someone name a street after an incarnation of Dark Matter? Odd. “And who are you?” the operator asked.
“Meta Knight,” he paused. The more high profile people involved, the greater chance that A.M.B.E.R. would take them seriously. “Meta Knight Nocturne.”
The operator made a sort of hissing sound. “Right. We’ll send a group to your location. Stay on the line—”
“No, sorry. I’m calling Sectonia,” Meta Knight replied, ending the call.
“What are you doing?” Fluff asked.
“Like I said, I’m calling Sectonia. A.M.B.E.R. has been phenomenally unhelpful lately, but they have our address. They’ll send help. Now I’m calling back-up. Sectonia and I made a bargain, and I expect her to come through,” Meta Knight said.
The phone rang once. “Hello?” Taranza replied.
“That isn’t her,” Fluff said.
“It’s the Crown Prince Taranza of Floralia,” Meta Knight said.
“Oh. Hello, Meta Knight!” Taranza chirped, sounding as if Meta Knight's call had made his entire day.
“Your Royal Highness, I need to speak to Sec—Princess Sectonia,” Meta Knight said.
“Nia’s in a cabinet meeting. Maybe I can help?”
Nia? “Maybe. Fluff of Patchland and I are trapped in the bathroom of a sorcerer named Yin-Yarn, who is controlling Dedede and wants to use him to kill our art professor.”
There was a long pause. “Don’t do anything foolish,” Taranza finally said. “Did you already call A.M.B.E.R.?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll fetch Sectonia, and we can coordinate with them. Just keep your head down. Don’t engage unless you have to. If this sorcerer’s powers are anything like mine, they’ll likely work on you, too. It’s unfortunate that he’s controlling Dedede, but I can only imagine the sort of things he’d do with Galaxia and your dimensional powers.”
“Yin-Yarn’s powers don’t work on me, though,” Fluff said. “They never have.”
“It’d still be wise for you not to engage him either,” Taranza replied.
Footsteps thudded down the hall. “That might be a problem,” Meta Knight said.
“You’re the child of Nightmare Nocturne,” Fluff said. “You have powers, right?”
“Meta Knight, run. Don’t fight him! I know you want to,” Taranza said, “But it’s a bad idea.”
“All right,” Meta Knight said. “I must go.”
Meta Knight ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. He carefully laid the violin on the ground and stood. “Here. Grab my hand,” he said.
Fluff laced his fingers with Meta Knight’s. “What’re you—”
Meta Knight closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The air rippled before him, and—Fluff swore and dropped Meta Knight’s hand. “What—how did you do that?”
Meta Knight opened his eyes and glanced around the new room. The kitchen. “Dimensional powers. Do you know the way out?”
“I guess it’s across the living—”
“Stop!”
Meta Knight’s heart ached. He knew that voice. He wanted to hear it; he didn’t want to hear it. Fluff edged closer to Meta Knight. “Don’t be reckless,” the prince said.
Dedede, wielding his hammer, stepped closer. His gaze was vacant and his movements heavy and detached, like he wasn’t fully conscious of making them. “But if we leave, Yin-Yarn might realize we know something. He might flee,” Meta Knight said. “Dedede, it’s me. You know me. You trust me. Please, you don’t need to do this.”
“That won’t work,” Fluff said. “Do you think I didn’t try that with my father?”
“Go, then,” Meta Knight said. “Get help.”
Dedede swung. Meta Knight darted back, tripping over Fluff. The prince scrambled away. “Meta Knight, don’t!” he shouted.
Meta Knight darted around the opposite side of the counter and further away from Fluff. Once the prince realized Meta Knight wasn’t leaving, he’d do the practical thing and flee. Dedede followed Meta Knight, who called his dimensional powers to him. He teleported around the counter, opposite Dedede. Fluff fled.
Good. Meta Knight hadn’t wanted the prince to be hurt. He’d flee and be safe. Meta Knight would do his best to evade the sorcerer and free Dedede, and hopefully, A.M.B.E.R. or Sectonia would arrive in time to aid him. “Come on, Dedede. You’re not going to let some evil sorcerer tell you what to do, are you?” Meta Knight asked.
Dedede ran around the counter, and Meta Knight climbed onto it, sliding around the other side. As long as he could keep out of range of Dedede’s hammer, he’d be fine.
Crack!
Meta Knight jumped. Fluff was at his side, and Dedede’s neck was bleeding. The prince cracked his whip threateningly against the floor. “Don’t do that!” Meta Knight snapped. “You could’ve put out his eye!”
“I know how not to blind someone!” Fluff retorted. “You—”
Dedede lunged forward. Fluff moved in time, but Meta Knight didn’t. Deep, painful throbbing jolted through his chest, followed by a painful fall to the floor. Meta Knight’s head snapped back and struck the tile. He lost his breath for a moment. That was really going to hurt in the morning. Meta Knight blinked back stars in his eyes and pulled at his dimensional powers. He managed to disappear before Dedede could slam his hammer into his ribs again.
He just needed a few seconds to recover. Was that scream his or Fluff’s? Meta Knight stumbled half to his feet when Dedede stepped around the counter. “Dedede, it’s me,” Meta Knight said, gasping for breath. “Th—that hurt. Ow.”
Meta Knight fleetingly imagined Dedede kicking him in the face or cracking his skull with his hammer. Meta Knight wasn’t in a good position to take a fighting stance either. It wouldn’t have done any good anyway. Fire shot through his chest. “I…I’m sorry,” Meta Knight said.
“Meta Knight!” Fluff shouted.
“Meta Knight?” a shrill voice cackled.
Dedede stopped, making way for a very tall man. Meta Knight gawked, in a mess of bewilderment and pain. The man looked to be in his forties, had an enormous mustache, and too-large violet eyes. He would've looked like an average man, with a couple striking features, and utterly unnoticeable were it not for one blaring thing: he seemed to share Professor Drawcia's admiration of obnoxiously large hats. His was green and pointed, with a wide brim, and Meta Knight suspected even Professor Drawcia would agree that the hat was too much. It probably made it very difficult to ride in a car and clashed horribly with the man's bright red and yellow sweater, which looked about two sizes too big.
“Stay back, Yin-Yarn! You fiend!” Fluff snapped.
The prince wedged himself between Meta Knight and Dedede, who gazed at Yin-Yarn with a frighteningly devoted look. “No, no, no,” Yin-Yarn said. “Meta Knight? That’s your name? Oh, that’s great! Say, princeling, have you ever met a knight?”
“What,” Meta Knight deadpanned.
“Oh, the brave knight in shining armor comes charging in to save his lord!” Yin-Yarn exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “How knightly of you!”
“Stop it. Here’s my ultimatum,” Fluff said. “Release his liege, and we’ll let you go. You can be halfway to Floralia before A.M.B.E.R. finds out. I don’t care about or need you. I just want proof of what you did to my father.”
“You’re just jealous because I’m so punny,” Yin-Yarn retorted, “And no, I don’t think so, Fluff. Because now that the child of Nightmare Nocturne is here, I think I want him. I mean, I don’t know what I’d do with him, but I’m sure I’d think of something.”
“My father would kill you,” Meta Knight said.
His chest was burning. Meta Knight thought of how lovely and warm Galaxia’s healing magic was. But—if they could keep Yin-Yarn talking, they wouldn’t have to fight. It’d give Sectonia time to arrive.
“I’m willing to take the chance,” Yin-Yarn replied. “Go ahead, Dedede!”
The sorcerer spun around, walking leisurely away. “I’m going after him,” Fluff said.
Fluff was clear, and Dedede was edging too close. Meta Knight called the wind to him, and it obeyed. The kitchen window shattered, flinging glass in. Sharp pain sliced through the side of Meta Knight’s face and neck, dulled by warm, stinging blood. He teleported away, behind Dedede.
Dedede spun around, one hand raised to a particularly bad cut on his shoulder. Meta Knight’s vision blurred. He darted back, trying to put as much distance as possible between them. Dedede lunged forward, and Meta Knight yelped. He moved, but his back struck a wall. Oh, that hurt. Why did it hurt so much? Why was he so unsteady? They were too close for Dedede to use his hammer. He dropped it and instead seized Meta Knight’s throat, the same way Father sometimes did. Galaxia wasn’t there, and Dedede was so much stronger than Meta Knight.
Think, think, think.
He summoned his dimensional powers and teleported away. Meta Knight gasped for breath from the exertion of it. He hadn’t moved far enough, but by the time he realized it, Dedede was there. Meta Knight felt the sharp, searing pain through his forehead before he realized he’d hit the counter. His eyes watered, and he stumbled around, nearly falling onto the floor.
Loud, chirpy music sliced through the air. Dedede froze, confusion flickering over his vacant gaze. “Um…sorry?” Meta Knight said, awkwardly going for his phone.
Why was Dedede letting him? Meta Knight ran past him, taking advantage of whatever had caused the hesitation. It faded quickly. Soon, he heard Dedede behind him. Nothing to do but run. Meta Knight would lose any physical altercation. But Nova’s grace, running hurt, and his vision blurred. He was probably about to vomit on Yin-Yarn’s carpet.
Meta Knight blindly ran in a room, slammed the door behind him, and locked it. A bedroom. Dedede’s hammer smashed against the door. Who knew how long it would hold? Gasping for breath, Meta Knight stumbled backwards and collapsed onto the soft, downy bed. His phone rang persistently. “Yeah?” Meta Knight asked. That didn’t sound like his voice.
“Meta Knight, we’re on our way,” Sectonia said.
“Great.”
Laying down was a bad idea. Meta Knight bit back a whimper and sat upright. “You’re injured?” Sectonia asked. “How badly?”
She must’ve heard. She said something else, but it was lost in Dedede’s efforts to beat down the door. “Is there a way to break Yin-Yarn’s control on Dedede?” Meta Knight asked.
“Music,” Sectonia said, “But—”
Your phone went off, Galaxia said.
“The violin!” Meta Knight exclaimed.
“Violin?” Sectonia inquired.
“Father left me with a violin,” Meta Knight said. “I—”
“Nightmare Nocturne sent you to rescue Dedede with a violin, and he didn’t even tell you how to use it?”
Meta Knight winced. His head hurt, and Sectonia’s indignant shouting made it worse. He needed to play it off like it was fine. Like he was fine. “I was unconscious.”
“Why were you unconscious?”
“Father,” Meta Knight replied.
Father.
Father was going to be so disappointed in him. Ice seemed to settle in Meta Knight’s veins, at odds with the heat and pain in Meta Knight’s head. He put his hand to the back of his head, thinking there must be blood. There wasn’t any.
Father was going to murder him if Dedede didn’t do it. Or worse, he’d lock him away somewhere. It’d be just like when Meta Knight was a child, young and defiant. It’d be just like that—their constant fights resulting in broken furniture, the punishments, the staff that always looked the other way while they cleaned blood and shattered glass off the floor. But there wouldn’t be any running away. Nightmare would be careful this time.
But Nightmare was right, wasn’t he? Meta Knight was too weak and naïve to be on his own. It was going to get him killed someday. He was foolish for thinking he could have friends and live normally and play happy and domestic with Dedede. Father was right.
“Meta Knight?” Sectonia’s voice was too loud.
“But the violin is in the bathroom. Or basement. I can’t make it there.”
Sectonia proceeded to make a lengthy, undignified assertion about Nightmare Nocturne’s parentage, immortal soul, and something he ought to do with a sheep. Meta Knight would’ve probably been impressed if he hadn’t felt like his skull had been cracked in.
Wait. Was it cracked? He didn’t know.
“One moment,” Sectonia said, sounding a little flustered.
There was muffled talking. Meta Knight focused on a large, glass orb across the room. It was purple and blue and speckled with white stars. Yin-Yarn was an artist, wasn’t he? It was probably something impressive. Dear Nova, he just wanted his vision to stop blurring and his head to stop hurting.
The door cracked. Meta Knight slowly stood, his ribs and head protesting. Galaxia fluttered with worry in the back of his mind.
“Meta Knight?”
“Mm?”
“Meta Knight, listen. Yin-Yarn has a piano in his parlor. If you can play something familiar to Dedede, it should free him from Yin-Yarn's control. His parlor is,” Sectonia paused, “On the ground floor. Opposite the kitchen.”
“Is there a bedroom between those?”
Sectonia repeated the question. “Yes. Leave and go right.”
Leave. The door wasn’t going to hold much longer. This would require magic, and magic took energy. And if I can’t leave? He almost asked.
He dropped his phone. It would take too much energy to pick it up. Deep breaths. You can do this, Galaxia murmured.
If she’d been near, he could’ve called on her power to help him. Father was right. Meta Knight had grown weak. He shouldn’t have neglected his powers. Then, he’d be better at it. He wouldn’t have to worry about messing it up. His vision blurred again.
Just through the wall. Just a little way across the floor. He could manage that. The air rippled around him like a warning. He’d used too much energy already, but he had to do it. He had to save Dedede. He had to make sure Dedede didn’t kill him.
Meta Knight nearly lost his balance. He breathed raggedly, but he’d managed to teleport behind Dedede, who whirled around. Meta Knight stumbled into the room behind him. Sectonia had been right; there was a piano. Meta Knight half-fell into it. He must’ve taken too long. Dedede was already there and storming towards him. If this didn’t work, Meta Knight was finished. He shouldn’t have let Dedede get that hit to his chest in. If his ribs weren’t entirely broken, they had to be fractured. The only consolation was that his ribs hadn’t broken and hit anything vital; he’d have already died if that was the case.
And his head. He felt like his skull was cracked. It was too hot and dizzy, and so hard to—
Focus, Meta Knight, Galaxia said.
Right. Music. Of all things, Dedede’s favorite piece was a winter hymnal. Meta Knight played it once or twice a year around the Winter Solstice and usually on the violin. He hadn’t touched a piano in over a year, but…hesitantly, he played a few notes. He’d skipped a few, butchering the lovely melody, but Dedede still stopped.
Meta Knight had his attention. That was good. Maybe another piece? Cautiously, Meta Knight sat on the piano bench and began a duet. Surely, Dedede would remember that one. They played it together for Delilah every time they visited her estate on the Floralian border, and it was the first song Meta Knight and Dedede had ever played together. If any song was going to reach Dedede, surely, it would be that one.
The room lost focus for a few seconds. Deep breaths. If he panicked, it’d increase his heart rate, and that would only make things worse. If he passed out, it was all over. “Do you want to join me?” Meta Knight asked. “It’s a duet. I can’t play it by myself.”
Meta Knight turned around to see where Dedede was, jumping when he found his lord right behind him. Was his hammer still with him? Yes. Curses. Meta Knight had hoped he’d drop it.
Meta Knight took a deep breath and resumed playing. This might take a while, but at least, Dedede wasn’t attacking him. Hopefully, Fluff was doing well against Yin-Yarn. Assuming he’d gone after the sorcerer and not left. Fluff seemed too noble to simply abandon anyone, though. No, Meta Knight had no doubt the prince was still in the house somewhere—hiding or fighting. He’d be fine. Sectonia was on her way, surely.
Meta Knight!
He snapped his head back, unsure when he’d bent forward. Only Galaxia’s warning kept him from smashing his forehead into the piano keys. Keep playing? Stop? Dedede’s hand brushed against Meta Knight’s. A flurry of notes filled the air.
It was a struggle to play his part, and hesitantly and tiredly, Meta Knight leaned his cheek against Dedede’s bicep. It took too much effort to keep his head up.
“Meta Knight.”
Why couldn’t the room stop spinning? “Hmm?”
It took several seconds for Meta Knight to realize the significance of his name being called.
“I hurt you,” Dedede said. “Oh, Meta Knight!”
Hurt him? This went a little beyond merely hurting him. “I’m fine,” Meta Knight said. “I promise.”
“No! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Dedede frantically wadded up his shirt and pressed it against Meta Knight’s forehead. Meta Knight nearly fell off the bench from the force of the gesture, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much. A welcome numbness had settled over him, and it seemed as if his injured ribs and head belonged to someone else, some other Meta Knight. “Oh, no! You’re bleeding! Meta, Meta…I—I did a number on you.”
Meta Knight choked on the laughter burning from his throat. “Yeah, you did, but it’s fine. You didn’t mean to.”
Dedede stared incomprehensibly at him. “Can you walk?”
Of course, he could. Meta Knight stumbled around the bench. Dedede’s hands fluttered awkwardly in the air, like he meant to catch him. Why was he so concerned? Everything was fine. Meta Knight was just a little sick and hot, but he’d be fine.
He left the room, Dedede following close behind. “Meta, I think you oughta sit down for a bit.”
A high-pitched shout split the air, and Meta Knight reacted reflexively. Yin-Yarn dashed around the corner, and Meta Knight, half by chance, punched him hard in the jaw. The sorcerer collapsed in an inelegant heap. Huh.
Fluff coiled his whip up in his hand as he approached the sorcerer. “Well, then. Thank you, Meta Knight. I had it under control, but—”
Meta Knight’s knees buckled. Both Dedede and Fluff scrambled to grab him. “I’m fine,” Meta Knight insisted. “I told you to run.”
“What?” Fluff asked.
“Yeah, he ain’t been making much sense,” Dedede said.
The front door burst open. Fluff readied his whip and stepped around Yin-Yarn, ready to defend them from any threat. Princess Sectonia paused and slowly lowered her rapiers. She was flanked by Taranza and Knight Commander Garlude of the Queen’s Guard. Everyone was out today, weren’t they? Who was going to appear next? Professor Drawcia? The witch peered inside, and Meta Knight burst into a fit of undignified, helpless laughter.
It was dark and warm. Meta Knight’s fingers grasped stiff, white sheets. Dazed, he lifted his head slightly and swallowed back the nausea tangled in his throat. He couldn't decide if he was hurting or merely uncomfortable. A hospital bed? Yes.
How had he gotten there? Meta Knight was getting really tired of passing out and waking up in different places. This made—what? The second time in just a few hours? Something flickered in his peripheral, and Meta Knight groggily turned his head towards it. The Nightmare Wizard sat primly by the bed. He wore a long coat over his clothes; the lining was spackled with silver stars. Meta Knight fixated on it.
“Meta Knight?”
Meta Knight furrowed his brow. “I don’t remember…coming here.”
“It’s probably the concussion combined with the medication and the exertion,” Nightmare said. “They want you to stay overnight for observation. And you can't perform any magic for two weeks. You'll be on medication for a while, too.”
Meta Knight cautiously sat upright, sending heat and pain jolting through his chest. It hurt to breathe. “F-father.”
The wizard flicked his wrist, conjuring Galaxia from midair. He held her by the sheath. “I assume you want her back? I’ve no further use for her, and she might aid the healing process. I imagine you’re in a great deal of pain.”
Guilt jolted through Meta Knight. He’d forgotten Nightmare had her. “Please.”
Meta Knight expected Nightmare to throw the sword at him, but instead, the wizard drifted closer and set Galaxia carefully on the bed. Meta Knight resisted the urge to grab her and hug her against his chest and to let her fire sink into his bones. Galaxia’s warmth was always so comforting. “I…is Dedede…” Meta Knight trailed off.
Nightmare nodded. Meta Knight followed the gesture and found Dedede, clearly asleep, slumped over in a chair. There were visible bandages over Dedede’s neck and a large cut across his forehead. “I wanted some time alone with you,” Nightmare said.
“You aren’t hurting him, are you?” Meta Knight asked. “Father—”
“No. I just cast a sleeping spell. I’ll allow Dedede to choose the form of his dream—if he dreams at all.”
How uncharacteristically generous.
“Fluff is well, too. I believe Duchess Delilah is hosting him in her palatial apartments. I do hope she’s not considering him as a viable marriage prospect. Can you imagine being so desperate?”
Meta Knight wondered how Fluff, who believed the Dreamlandic queen had stolen Patchland through trickery, felt about staying under her roof and in the apartments of one of the Queen's distant cousins. “I’m sure she’s just being kind,” Meta Knight said. “Not everyone acts only for their own gain; you know.”
“That’s because there are so many fools in the world, my pet.”
“But to clarify, they’re all fine?” Meta Knight asked. “This isn’t some sort of trick?”
“No trick.”
Meta Knight smiled. “They’re both safe, then. They aren’t hurt or dead or…we—no, you did it?” Meta Knight furrowed his brow. “I don’t…remember anything. Yin-Yarn is arrested, though?”
“Memory loss of events before and after a concussion occurs are within the range of normal. You’ve already exhibited some sensitivity to light as well as headaches. You did lose consciousness for a little while, which isn’t good. However, it’s unclear whether that was the concussion or exhaustion. Confusion, of course, as expected. Your personality seems very much intact,” Nightmare added with a laugh.
Since when was his father an expert on head injuries? “But Dedede,” Meta Knight insisted, while carefully surveying Dedede’s injuries. “And Fluff. They’re fine? You promise.”
The wizard gently traced his knuckles across Meta Knight’s jaw. “Hush, now. Don’t worry about them. They’re fine.”
Safe! They were really safe, and when Meta Knight returned to the apartment, life could resume as normal—petty, half-facetious arguments, late night cramming sessions, Dedede filling every space of the apartment with his energy and joyfulness. Meta Knight laughed, flinching when the movement jolted pain along his chest. Breathing was hard. Laughing was murder. “I…I did that. He’s fine. And I…I don’t remember that.”
“What can you recall?”
Meta Knight sighed and thought for several minutes, trying to retrace his steps. “The cabernet sauvignon was really good,” he said after a moment. “And…I remember our bargain. Don’t worry; I’ll still come through.”
The wizard dimmed the lights and removed his glasses, folding them in his lap. Nightmare’s irises were silvery-white and glowed even in the dull light. “We’ll worry about it in a few weeks. You aren’t any good to me like this.”
Nightmare was likely finished with the pleasantries, and Meta Knight was too tired and hurt to fight. With a resigned sigh, he sank back into the pillows. “I assume you’re here to criticize me for getting hurt.”
“On the contrary, I’m here to see how you’re doing. I see that he beat up your lovely face, too,” Nightmare said, tapping Meta Knight’s cheek.
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“I know, but it still hurts, doesn’t it?” Nightmare asked, stroking Meta Knight’s hair.
Meta Knight winced. That was close to where he’d hit his head, and Nightmare’s touch hurt. “Father, please, stop.”
Nightmare let his hand drop back into his lap. “Poor boy. I wonder if I was, perhaps, too hasty in sending you after Dedede. Maybe the princess is right. I’d assumed A.M.B.E.R. wouldn’t help in fighting one of their own, and I was wrong. I’m very sorry, child.”
Nightmare had never apologized for anything before. How strange. “We’re both safe,” Meta Knight said. “That’s what matters.”
Nightmare smiled mischievously. “I’m told,” he said, “That after freeing Dedede, you rendered Yin-Yarn unconscious by punching him in the face. Who knew you had such a good right hook?”
For a moment, it was quiet. Meta Knight tried shifting his weight to see if he could find a position that didn’t hurt so badly. It seemed to be futile. He gave up and settled for feeling nauseous and sore.
“Maybe you need something stronger for the pain,” Nightmare said. “I can—”
“You sound concerned.”
“Of course, I’m concerned, you insolent brat!”
Nightmare stood abruptly, and Meta Knight watched, wide-eyed. Surely, the wizard wouldn’t hurt him. Not while he was already so injured. Still, Meta Knight’s hand brushed against Galaxia’s hilt. The wizard caught Meta Knight’s wrist and forced his hand back. Galaxia defiantly came to Meta Knight anyway. His fingers curled around her grip, even though the angle was wrong. Nightmare’s nails dug in more harshly, and Meta Knight fleetingly wondered if his father intended to draw blood. “There’s no need for that,” Nightmare said. “Do you think I intend to hurt you?”
Yes. Yes, that was exactly what Meta Knight thought. “No,” he lied, letting Galaxia fall freely back into the sheets.
Meta Knight didn’t want Nightmare to hurt him. Even knowing they were in a hospital full of other people did little to inspire Meta Knight’s confidence. “I suppose a bit of flippancy can be forgiven, considering the circumstances,” the wizard replied, loosening his grip and rubbing his thumb over the area where his nails had been seconds before.
Nightmare never forgave anything, though. Meta Knight flushed with embarrassment. He had been rude, and he felt uncomfortably like a child that’d talked his way out of a well-deserved punishment. There was a guilty stirring of relief, too. In his current condition, the last thing Meta Knight wanted was one of his father’s punishments.
“But of course, I’m concerned. I’ve never seen you in a hospital bed before,” Nightmare said. “A few bruises and cuts…those you can handle. But this. Fractured ribs, a concussion…if Dedede had actually broken your ribs, they might’ve punctured a lung, and then, you’d have died. Because of me.”
Meta Knight furrowed his brow, unsure how to respond. This softer side of Father was strange. Nightmare gently stroked the delicate underside of Meta Knight’s wrist. “Do you remember when you were a child and I used to craft dreams for you?” Nightmare asked, his smile fond. “You used to fear monsters and shadows, and I always left the hallway light on for you. Even when you were fast asleep. You were an odd child; you know. I never quite puzzled out why a child born of darkness would also be afraid of it.”
“You made such beautiful dreams,” Meta Knight said. “I used to wish I could make them.”
“I’ll admit that I was a little surprised you couldn’t. I’d assumed that dimensional powers were purely theoretical until you were born. I’d expected a dream-weaver, and instead, my dear toddler kept crawling into different dimensions.” Nightmare chuckled. “I had to travel into your dreams to bring you back.”
“Did I really?”
“You did, and I thought that’d be the end of it. But then, there were tornadoes. I took you for dinner at President Haltmann’s one time, thinking you could play with Susanna, and you summoned one. Broke all his best china.”
“You used to take me places with you?” Meta Knight asked.
Nightmare frowned. “Well…yes, when you were young. Of course, I did. Children need socialization to help them successfully assimilate into society.”
“Why did you stop?”
“You got older.”
“And you stopped loving me?”
The wizard sighed. “Is that what you think? Child, I never stopped loving you. I just…I made mistakes. I suppose that I liked the thought of coming home to you. That was always so nice. I’d work for a few months and come home, and you were always happy to see me. I was your whole world, and I liked that. In hindsight, that was unforgivably selfish of me.”
Father admitting to being selfish? Meta Knight averted his gaze.
“I’ll leave you with a nice dream,” Nightmare said.
As if to prove his point, the wizard smiled and conjured dream magic around his fingertips. His power sparkled like diamonds in the air, and when Nightmare—gently, teasingly—tapped Meta Knight’s nose, he felt suddenly pleasantly and wonderfully tired. “Rest easy,” Nightmare murmured. “I promise I’ll do better, child.”
Meta Knight’s eyelids fluttered. Why was Nightmare being so nice and sentimental? Was he—had he really been—worried? Meta Knight felt something vague and warm stir inside him. Maybe hope or happiness. That—well—Father cared. Maybe Father could change. Maybe this would change everything between them. Maybe this was the beginning of something new and lovely because—maybe—deep down Meta Knight’s father actually did care about him and was just a little lost on how to show it.
Dedede watched the young king, Bikaia, step into the Fountain of Dreams. Something about the king’s face was like Kirby’s, but Dedede couldn’t fathom why. He’d seen images of King Bikaia, and aside from the trademark blue eyes and blond hair belong to most Dreamlanders, there was little in common between the two. Bikaia’s face was always portrayed as being angular and sharp with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. In contrast, Kirby’s face was soft and gentle.
The waters of the Fountain of Dreams were as pure and sparkling as ever, but the air felt slick and suffocating. Like oil. “This is why we’re all having nightmares,” the young king said. “What could cause such a thing?”
“Perhaps, the same wizard who imprisoned me,” Nova said.
Silence settled between them. The goddess could sense him watching her. So young and concerned. Bikaia’s compassion was boundless. Even though she’d been captured. Even though she’d given that monster what he wanted. Even though she’d granted the wish that had taken his beloved mentor from him. Even though she’d made so many mistakes, Bikaia still loved her.
“Is it within your powers to purify the waters if I wish it?” Bikaia asked.
If her powers hadn’t been shattered in granting the dark wizard’s wish to imprison Sir Galacta Knight, they would’ve been. Easily. But Nova wasn’t at her full power, and she knew she never would be again. Dedede wasn’t certain how he knew that, but his heart felt it to be true. He also knew that the noble, fallen goddess only had one wish left in her, and that final wish given to Bikaia would kill her.
And when Dedede woke, still half-caught in his dream, he glimpsed Meta Knight, sleeping soundly. Anxiety strangled Dedede, threatening to burst force in a scream. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. Groggily, Dedede stood and stepped quietly to Meta Knight’s bed. He watched the gentle rise and fall of Meta Knight’s chest and the way Galaxia, resting at his side, appeared to shine in the darkness. Poor Meta Knight was hurt so badly. "I'm so sorry," Dedede whispered.
It'd be nice to talk to Meta Knight. Somehow, Dedede couldn't be sure that Meta Knight would be fine until he woke and spoke. It was completely absurd. Meta Knight wasn't at death's door. He just had a concussion. Dedede sniffed and fought back tears. He could practically hear Meta Knight's scolding that tears are a sign of weakness. It was the same scolding that always accompanied Meta Knight's wide, alarmed eyes. The poor man had never done well with tears. Meta Knight knew that it was wrong to beat someone for crying, but he didn't know what to do instead. No one had ever shown him.
It isn't your fault.
For a brief instant, Dedede thought his friend had awakened, but that voice wasn't entirely Meta Knight's. There was something softer and silkier about it. "I know, but I still hurt him, Galaxia," Dedede whispered. "What if I'd killed him?"
It doesn't matter. He's alive, and you're alive. If it bothers you so much, you can spend the next three to four weeks carrying him bridal-style through your apartment and buying him lots of chocolate.
Dedede stifled his laughter and smiled in spite of himself. "I love him," he said. "More than I've ever loved anyone."
I know.
The air shimmered. Galaxia appeared as a tall, imposing young woman. Her hair was sleek and long like Meta Knight’s. It hung over her shoulders like a cloak of night. Her skin was likewise dark, broken by a starry cloud of ivory freckles over her nose and cheeks. Galaxia’s flowing gold dress rippled about her, as if blown by an unfeelable wind. Her eyes were like synthetic rubies, too bright and too pure to be real. Perhaps, talking will help you. You needn't worry. Meta Knight won't wake.
"Did Nightmare do that? I think he did that to me. Gave me a weird dream, too."
What did you dream of?
“The Fountain of Dreams,” Dedede replied quietly.
Ah, yes, Galaxia said. The place where Dark Mind's ended. Bikaia and Nova combined their power to rend the fiend in half and sealed part of the monster’s soul away in another dimension.
“Yeah, but why am I dreaming ‘bout that? This is all Nightmare’s fault, ain’t it? I knew he was in here,” Dedede scoffed.
Galaxia tilted her head. Her eyes gazed dreamily at something Dedede either couldn’t see or couldn’t comprehend. Yes, I do wonder, she murmured.
And although their conversation didn't end there, that was all she would say about Dedede's dream. |
more like HUNKules: MOM AND DAD ARE ASLEEP TIME TO GET DR UNK hugh lowercase: there's a bar like off the boardwalk on the side street things more like HUNKules: wait really hugh lowercase: I mean yeah laf: I'm for it I brought sequined clothing little lion: okay who the fuck even wears sequined clothing anymore laf: you don't attract the attention of an entire room without sequined clothing alex little lion: I can if I'm making out with said person in sequined clothing laf: well in that case johnn: well okay I am Not For It bc we are going to the beach again tomorrow and the sun will murder me johnn: so I'll be the designated driver laf: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS more like HUNKules: LETS GO! LETS GO! LETS GO! --- little lion: I DONT HAVE CLOTHES FOR THIS laf: yeS YOU DO laf: UNDERNEATH YOUR SHORTS little lion: I DIDNT PACK THESE laf: I COME PREPARED ALEX little lion: THERE ARE ALSO OTHER THINGS IN HERE THAT I DID NOT PACK laf: those are for other things little lion: we are currently in a house with three people we are not dating little lion: where would find the time and place laf: you Never Know johnn: do you think you're being discreet?? bc everyone knows what you're talking about laf: oh I'm not trying to be discreet johnn: okay well alex looks like he's two seconds away from exploding johnn: but that also could be from the fact that I'm watching him get changed and crying bc he's gorgeous and I love him laf: we have such an odd relationship johnn: okay yes true but when alex is standing in front of you after he gets changed and lets you put your hands in his shirt while you make out w/ him it's not important laf: tRUE TRUE laf: AND ANYWAY LETS OGOOGOGOGOOG --- johnn: captain's log: we have been here for two hours, everyone is drunk and I am afraid johnn: a guy who is very obviously also a designated driver is talking to me and I hate him johnn: jesus fucking christ he's voting for trump dear LORD help me --- johnn: captain's log: alex is trying to seduce me, unaware that what he is talking to is in fact not me, but an inflatable palm tree that he is calling by my name johnn: captain's log: alex slung his arm around Palm Tree Me, fell on it, and popped it. he's now crying bc he thinks he killed my somehow?? johnn: he's now saying things that break my fucking heart I gotta go save him --- johnn: alex is sitting on the counter of this really fucking fancy bar bathroom while I put hello kitty band aids on his skinned elbow, kiss him on the forehead, and tell him that I love him johnn: he doesn't believe that I'm alive right now he thinks he's imagining me bc he's drunk --- johnn: HAPPY UPDATE: alex believes I'm alive and is leaving the bathroom now johnn: I love him so much nobody ever speak to me again --- johnn: CAPTAINS LOG: NOT SURE IF THEY KNOW HOW MUCH THEYRE KILLIN ME RN BUT LIKE johnn: ALEX AND LAFAYETTE ARE DANCING ON THE BAR johnn: this literally looks exactly like it did that one time johnn: my heart hurts a lot johnn: they're beautiful --- johnn: question: is it possible to feel lightheaded bc of how much you love people?? if so then I'm feelin it really a lot --- johnn: IM WHEEZING johnn: I UNDERSTAND THAT NONE OF YOU ARE READING THESE BUT YOU WILL WHEN YOU GET IT TOGETHER johnn: HUGH JUST WALKED UP TO ME, PUT HIS ARM AROUND ME, SAID "don't tell mom and dad", AND THEN DID A SHOT johnn: THEN HE WALKED TO THE BAR AND STARTED WATCHING LAF AND ALEX I HATE THIS --- johnn: okay so like,,,,,,hugh is lookin at alex like he has Ideas and honestly I'm kind of curious and intrigued johnn: those might be synonymous idk johnn: hercules is lookin at the both of them like he loves them more than anything else in the world and honestly I feel him johnn: tbh I feel him in more ways than one ;^))))) johnn: that wasn't relevant I hate --- johnn: alex fell off of the bar and onto hercules and now they're cuddling on the floor and nobody is trying to move them johnn: THE TRUMP GUY JUST CAME UP TO ME AGAIN SO I FUCKING RAN johnn: RUNNIN FROM THE LAW BALL O U T --- johnn: a girl is currently flirting with alex and he's trying to reject her but he's doing it in a weird mixture of english, spanish, and french and he's so drunk and this girl is confused johnn: he just said five different words for goodbye in two languages and neither of them were english I --- johnn: fuck okay this needs to be on record no matter how much nobody wants it to be johnn: alex got really !!! bc this girl can't understand him johnn: laf was standing on his left side just watchin it happen johnn: hugh was standing on his right johnn: alex, to explain his trilingual point, grabbed someone and kissed them johnn: he grabbed the person on his right johnn: we're gonna have to have a discussion about this aren't we --- johnn: my dear alex, 1/3 of the loves of my life, my sun, is crying again bc he accidentally kissed hugh and saying more things that are breaking my heart and he thinks we're gonna break up with him but he's wrong bc I love him and I would never johnn: okay we're leaving before something else happens --- johnn: lafayette has pinned hercules to the care and they are .002 seconds away from fucking and hugh is trying to get in the car but he can't bc they're doing tHIS johnn: alex is sitting in the passenger seat crying fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck --- johnn: everyone is in bed!! I'm such a good drunk person advisor kind of not really!! --- little lion: IM SO SORRY OH MY GOD IT WAS AN ACCIDENT I PROMISE little lion: I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH V A LOT AND I WOULD NEVER HURT YOU LIKE THAT ON PURPOSE PLZ DONT HATE ME BUT I UNDERSTAND IF YOU DO laf: alex little lion: OH MY GOD IDK HOW TO APOLOGIZE W/O BEING LIKE !!!!!! little lion: IM SO SORRY THAT I HURT YOU AND BETRAYED YOUR TRUST AND I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND IF YOU WANT TO BREAK UP W/ ME IM SO SORRY laf: IM NOT MAD little lion: what more like HUNKules: we're not mad johnn: I was there,,,,and like,,,,,yknow,,,,,,,,morally conscious,,,,,and you looked fucking brOKEN at the fact that you kissed someone who wasn't us little lion: I WAS IM SO SORRY laf: WE'RE NOT MAD WE KNOW YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO KISS HUGH little lion: IM SORYRYRYYR more like HUNKules: WE'RE NOT MAD AT YOU BABE PLEASE little lion: I LOVE YOU GUYS SM IM SO SORRY I DIDNT MEAN TO --- hugh lowercase: OKAY IT'S LIKE ELEVEN O'CLOCK I ASSUME YOU'RE ALL AWAKE hugh lowercase: IM SO SORRY I CROSSED SUCH A HUGE LINE IM SORRY more like HUNKules: where are you hugh lowercase: I'm at the beach w/ mom and dad bc I thought you'd need like,,,,the space,,,,, more like HUNKules: okay why are you in our individual chat hugh lowercase: bc I feel like I'm gonna get yelled a by john and laf more like HUNKules: they're,,,,,,not in a state to speak rn hugh lowercase: what more like HUNKules: just gotta find the rhythm hugh lowercase: jesus fuCking christ more like HUNKules: more like me fucking everyone else hugh lowercase: death is coming and I'm throwing it a welcome party |
"There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after." ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
"Please listen to reason, Bilbo!"
There were too many hobbits in his sitting room. As if they meant to overwhelm him by their sheer numbers to force his hand in this…this…debacle. But he was a gentle-hobbit, and though a bachelor knew how to treat his guests. Each invader had a seat to take weight off their feet, each had been served tea with the option of cream and sugar. He served each one, tightlipped but ever the gracious host.
If he had been less of a Baggins, he would have dragged each and every single one of them out of home by the hairs on their feet.
"Your name was chosen by the king's advisor himself! We had no hand in his decision!"
Bilbo stood facing the fireplace, watching the flames dance and crackle in the hearth. He took no tea himself, his hands, usually clasped behind him were instead across his chest, fists clenched in agitation. He could not face the hobbits behind him. If he turned he would surely hurl abusive language not fit of a hobbit of his stature and age.
"Since when," Bilbo managed after a tense breath, "do hobbits fall under the rule of the dwarves?"
There was the sound of a fist slamming into his table. Tea cups rattled, and Bilbo clenched his jaw.
"Confound it, Bilbo Baggins! The whole of our Watch would stand no chance if pitted against a dwarven army!"
Bilbo whirled around, turning to glare at the hobbit seated right behind him, flanked at all sides by his officers and the mayor of Hobbiton, who stood to the corner wringing his hands. Bilbo spared his mayor little thought, keeping his eyes on Isengrim Took III, current Thain of the Shire. Isengrim III hadn't been Thain long, yet seemed to put on airs as if he ruled the Shire and its inhabitants as if he were a king from the lands of man.
He was a relative of his mother's, but he could equal to the Sackville-Bagginses with how much Bilbo detested him at the moment.
"Do you have any clue what you ask of me?" Bilbo asked him heatedly. "I have neither choice, nor am allowed to voice my protest. I cannot even confront this…this dwarf who you seem ready to roll over and hand over my life away to him!"
The Thain shook his head, fist still clenched on the wooden table. "This isn't an easy decision, Bilbo. No matter how it seems."
"I don't see you lining up your kin to spare me," Bilbo bit back.
This made the Thain surge up, and though he was a very round hobbit, his stance was strong and his height towered over Bilbo. But Bilbo was a Baggins, and this was his home, and he would not be cowed.
"It was your name he chose!" Isengrim bellowed, shoving an enraged finger into Bilbo's chest. "Let me tell you there was little hesitation once the dwarf had read through all the prospects. He did not request for more names, he did not ask for further details, or to even have audience with anyone else. 'This one. Bilbo Baggins. He will suite my lord,' he said. What would you have me do?"
Bilbo knocked the offending hand away, and shouted, "You should never have acquiesced to this arrangement in the first place!" He felt himself begin to shake with emotion, and pulled back with gasp. "I refuse. I won't do it."
"Please Bilbo," begged the mayor from his corner. "Listen to reason!"
"There is no 'reason' to speak of! You are asking, nay, demanding that I leave my home and be escorted by some dwarf emissary to…to be…" at this Bilbo sputtered, "married to some dwarf king ruling his gloomy mountain! This is utter madness, and I will have no part of it! I'm a Baggins of Bag End; this is my home and this is where I intend to stay!"
"You are also a Took," rumbled Isengrim, glowering down at him. "You carry the bloodline of both aristocracy and leadership, and with that come a heavy responsibility."
Now it was Bilbo's finger that pointed at the Thain's wide nose. "If you fancy the idea, you marry and leave me to my affairs."
"Bilbo," once again the mayor spoke, his voice trembling. "The Blue Mountains are to our west, the Misty Mountains to the east. I was there when the dwarf pointed out at how…" the hobbit gulped loudly, and wiped at sweat beading at his brow "…how the Shire was located between the two dwarf kingdoms. Oh, Bilbo if you could only have heard the way he spoke of it!"
Something hideous twisted in Bilbo's gut, as if he had eaten rancid fish that had been burned to mask its foul taste. "I don't understand," he said, frowning at the silent occupants that cluttered his sitting room.
The Thain spoke, "It was a threat. How do you believe the Shire would fare in a two front war with the dwarves, Bilbo Baggins? How many days before the Shirriffs of the Watch last before being butchered and farthings from Buckland to Westmarch overrun?"
Bilbo looked up at him, horrified at his words. "They wouldn't," he said. "They have no reason to…" he stopped at the grave looks aimed at him.
These were not the average hobbits of the Shire. They were the mayors and clan heads from each town; all who would have been called for and present for such a meeting between the Thain and an advisor to a dwarf king. Each hobbit believed that there was a threat, and each one stood in united agreement to the demands that were being leveled at Bilbo.
There would be no allies to take up his cause, to argue for his rights. Even his own mayor of Hobbiton stood sweating and quivering as he begged Bilbo to agree.
Something in either his stance or expression must have changed, for the Thain took a deep breath and placed one thick hand on his shoulder, warm and firm.
"What would you have me do, Bilbo Baggins?" he asked again, gently.
"There has always been a Baggins at Bag End," whispered Bilbo, and he could not mask his growing despair.
"You aren't the only Baggins in the Shire."
The dwarf king's advisor did not have the stature of a warrior, but his eyes were old and cunning, and his flowery words filled with sneaky manipulations and hidden agendas. Every single strand of hair on his head and the thick beard that trailed in two tails down his chest were the starkest of white, however his movements were strong and he did not dodder with decreased mental capacity.
He was a king's chosen for a reason.
Standing behind him was a towering mohawked monstrosity of a dwarf warrior. Practically the height of a human male, with the thick musculature expected of his race and the scars and tattoos of a season warrior, this dwarf was of little words and plenty glower and grunts. He did not speak unless to say something in their harsh language to the advisor, and despite how not a single hobbit present was ever armed, the warrior always had a large ax out and ready.
He was the king's advisor's guard for a reason.
Thain Isengrim Took III took a sip of warmed mead, studying the dwarf who sat across from him reading over the contract with a seeing glass perched over one eye.
"He did not consent to this," the Thain said, placing his mug down and fingering the handle. "We had to practically hold him down and force his hand to sign the contract."
"Hm. Shame." The white whiskered dwarf did not look up from his reading.
Had he been a braver hobbit, Isengrim would have thrown the mead into the dwarf's face.
Had he been a stronger hobbit, Isengrim would never have allowed this.
Instead, he swallowed the angry bile that threatened to choke him, trying again to find some hint of pity. "He is quite distressed, as you can imagine. Like most other hobbits he has never left the Shire. Not only that, but he comes from a respectable family and is not used to such…heavy handed affairs."
"He is related to you." Again, the dwarf's eyes did not leave the contract.
The hobbit managed not to flinch when he replied, "His mother was the Old Took's granddaughter. My niece."
The dwarf turned the page, one thick finger brushing against the newly dried signature. "I had heard she was a bit odd for you folk. Went traveling with wizards and such. Spirited, wasn't she?"
Isengrim did not want to even think of what Belladonna would think of him. "Bilbo is quite spirited at the moment," he tried, hoping to place doubt in the dwarf's labyrinth of a mind and stall these unpleasant proceedings. "He just might try to flee during your journey. What use would your king have in such a disobedient spouse?"
Now the old dwarf removed his glass and turned his gaze to the hobbit Thain. He smiled, sweetly condescending. "My lord will find whatever use he wishes with Bilbo Baggins. I have made no mistake in my choice." He leaned back and lifted the contract; his guard stepped forward and took it with care. "Have no fear, once settled your kin will have little to complain about. Though the halls of our mountains are deep, there is plenty wealth and comfort."
"The Shire is his home."
"No, Thain Isengrim son of Gerontius." The dwarf stood from his seat and said to his towering guard, "Make sure all the supplies are ready, Dwalin. We leave at dawn."
The large dwarf warrior walked out without a word, leaving the two alone.
"This is his home," he tried one more time. It was the least he could do for his niece's only child.
Balin son of Fundin shook his wizened head, only now his eyes showed the faintest hint of pity. "His home is the Kingdom of Erebor, where my lord Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror awaits him. Make sure our Bilbo Baggins does not pack too heavily, for the road will be a long one to journey." |
After the scene you caused, you decided to hide out in the bathroom until the Last Drop closed and Claggor insisted on keeping you company and cleaning the glass up. There was a part of you that regretted what you did, that wanted to apologize to that poor man for taking your rage out on him but another part, the quiet dark part of you, felt justified in what you did. That felt that he deserved it for implying that Powder didn’t deserve expensive, beautiful things. That part of you whispered that he should have known not to question the orders of someone stronger than him. The guilt from that thought curled in your stomach and made you feel nauseous. ‘Sett would be proud,’ you thought bitterly.
“Mind if I cut in?” You blinked and were surprised to see Vander standing in the doorway. Smiling tiredly, you shrugged.
“Not exactly going to be throwing around orders in your bar. Again.” He chuckled quietly and held his hand out to you, gently pulling you to your feet. “... I’m sorry for causing a scene, Vander.” You looked down when he placed a gentle hand on top of your head, sniffling quietly when he didn’t respond to your apology.
“You head on home, Claggor. I’ve got the Little Miss here.” Claggor looked nervously between you two, so you gave him a weak smile and nodded. He held his arms out and you threw yourself at him, hugging him tightly.
"Ekko is waiting at our house. So... stay with us tonight? Everyone's gonna wait up for you." Your smile turned more genuine and you rubbed your cheek happily against his.
"Thank you so much, Big Man. Tell everyone they can go to sleep though! I'll be home soon." He gave you an incredulous look and you snorted, covering your mouth to muffle your giggles.
"If you think anyone is going to sleep without seeing your face, you're on drugs. And not the cool kind that Sevika smokes that make her really chill. It's whatever the hell Deckard is hopped up on that makes him stupid enough to hit on you in front of Vi." A loud unexpected laugh burst from you and you could hear Vander snort loudly behind you. Letting Claggor go, you shot him a grateful smile.
"Alright, alright! Tell everyone I'm okay at least?" He nodded to both of you and left, nodding to Vander on his way out. Your smile faded slowly and you avoided Vander's gaze as shame welled up in you at his continued silence. Biting your lip to avoid spewing more useless apologies, you rubbed your arm nervously. You harmed one of his customers, caused some property damage, and had overall been a complete bitch and now you were conflicted on if you even felt bad about it. You knew he was about to chew you out and you knew you deserved it for what you'd done but it didn't stop you from dreading it. You flinched when Vander suddenly moved but looked up confused when he only held his elbow out. Hesitantly putting your hand on his elbow, he gently placed his hand over yours and walked you out of the now empty, dark bar.
Walking down the rowdy streets of the Undercity, neon lights glinting off of sweaty bodies as the music surrounding the area pulsated through your bones, you felt yourself relaxing. He wasn't reprimanding you, wasn't demanding you pay for the damages, or apologize to his customer. And to be fair, you knew he was a good man and that if he did any of that, he wouldn’t be cruel about it but anxiety was a hell of a monster.
"Thank you." You blinked startled eyes up at him and he gave you a small smile. "I heard about what happened at the arcade. How you took charge of and de-escalated a potentially bad situation. I'm proud of you, kiddo and I think you should be too. I'm sure ol' Cookie would love to hear about how you pulled it off with only a few days to do it. You're definitely like how she was back in her prime." You blushed but chuckled, shyly fiddling with your fingers that were still locked around his elbow.
“She’s due for a visit soon, I’ll make sure to tell her then.” He nodded, his smile slowly fading away as his grip on your hand tightened.
“I’m also sorry.” You shook your head vehemently but he cut you off before you could respond. “I am. I know you care for us. Know that you’d protect this family with everything you have. But that shouldn’t be your job, kiddo, it should be the adults. It should’ve been mine.”
“I’ll be eighteen in like, three months.” You muttered quietly and Vander laughed quietly.
“You will be. And you are extremely mature for your age, more so than Fissure kids usually are. But regardless, I'm sorry. For not being there to protect you and for not handing it fast enough. When Babette and I heard that you were heading to a hearing all alone..." He closed his eyes with a pained grimace and you leaned your head against his arm. "I went Topside to try and be there for you after it was over but, I was told that no one was allowed in the Hearing Hall after it had started. If I had been there then maybe-"
"No!" You glared fiercely up at him and he blinked in shock at you. "Vander, I believe in you, I know if given time you would've handled it! I only made that plan in case they found them before you did and, unfortunately, they did. Even if you had waited for me outside the Hearing Hall, it wouldn't have mattered. I...!" You bit your lip and looked ahead of you, steeling your mind against the anger that rushed through you again. "I never made it out before... before what happened." Your shoulders slumped and you clenched tighter to his arm. "I would do anything to protect our family, Vander, and I know you would too. Please, don't apologize for not being there. Especially when you tried your best to be." You both stood outside the door of the house, listening to the sounds of your family existing and taking comfort in it. Giving a soft pat to your hand, he nodded towards the door.
"Before we go in and get mauled by animals," You giggled and nudged him playfully, covering your mouth when he sent you a wink. "If you want to talk about whatever happened Topside, my door is always open for you." You shook your head slightly, smile taking on a bitter edge.
"I appreciate it but I'm good for right now. I did talk about it with Claggor though, so there's no need to worry that I'm holding it in," He gave you a concerned look at your tired shrug but nodded. "I wasn't y'know..." You waved vaguely towards your lower body. "So, I hope that lays some of your fears to rest." You were pleased to see some of the tension drain from his body and stood on your tiptoes, pointing at your cheek and doing an over the top pout. He chuckled and leaned down, rubbing his cheek against yours and smiling at your giggles from the tickling of his beard. "I'll be okay."
"I know, kiddo." With that, he escorted you up the stairs and threw open the door dramatically. "Guess who I've got?" He belly laughed as he was shoved to the side and you were dragged away from him by his 'animals'. "Really feeling the love here. No, truly, you're welcome for escorting the Princess safely back to her kingdom." He smiled fondly when he was ignored and left you all to your reunion.
--
"Birdie!"
"Nana, you're ba-"
"Sweet Janna, Doc, why'd you-"
"Guys!" You laughed loudly as Ekko, Powder, and Mylo rushed you, all of them grabbing you in some way. Ekko and Powder firmly wrapped around your legs and Mylo holding you in a tight hug. You saw Claggor out of the corner of your eye, standing close by your shoulder, and Vi collapsed into a chair, her whole body going lax with relief. "Guys, I'm okay! Breathe and don't all talk at once!" Mylo laughed and let go, pulling Ekko and Powder up and dodging their swinging fists.
"We were worried, Doc! Nightfall isn't exactly an exact time and we barely get sunlight down here, to begin with!" His playful grin softened and he gently punched your shoulder. "Glad you're home safe. Wanna tell us how the hearing went?" You blinked in confusion and looked up at Claggor, who shook his head.
"When it got real late, Mylo took Powder and Ekko back home. Only me and Vi were in the bar when you came back and I don't think you saw us because of the crowd." 'And the rage,' went unsaid but was heard loud and clear.
"Ah. Well, let's all go lay down and I'll be glad to tell you what happened." You couldn't help but notice the sleepy look on their faces and knew that they would either fall asleep during the story or right after. You saw their faces scrunch up in protest and mentally giggled. Stretching your arms above your head and giving a big, fake, yawn you rubbed your eyes tiredly. "I'm kinda exhausted after today, so maybe we can cuddle while I talk?" They both immediately agreed, Ekko grabbing your arm while Powder tried to throw herself around your waist. When you tipped off balance Claggor caught you, just as he had done a million times before but you froze up. Your back was pressed firmly to his chest and though you felt his hands on your arms, you felt small, thick fingers trail up your sides.
...like the pretty bird you are-
You wrenched yourself from his hold, immediately whirling around and staring up at his apologetic face with wide, panicked eyes. You could hear Powder giggling and instinctively lifted her onto your hip. Pursing your lips, you abruptly turned away, grabbed Ekko's hand, and started walking them both to the bedroom, Mylo following behind asking just as many questions. Stopping in the hallway, you forcibly relaxed your face and turned to Vi with a small smile, internally wincing at her narrowed eyes.
"You coming, Vi? I know you heard some at the bar but there's more I didn't mention." You bit your lip at her continued silence and sighed in relief when she finally looked away from you.
"I'll hear it later, Princess. Me and Claggor are gonna head out for a bit, now that I know you're safe." You couldn't help the panic that flared up in your chest at the thought of Vi asking Claggor what happened and knew Vi had picked up on it when you saw her grit her teeth. She abruptly stood and waved Claggor over, refusing to make eye contact with you again. "Let's go." Your heart slowly sank as you watched them leave the house but you let yourself be dragged away to tell a heavily edited recounting of the Hearing.
--
Claggor walked silently next to Vi, glancing nervously at her tense form every few minutes. He was confused about where they were going but felt it was best to just follow silently. They walked for quite a while and just as he was contemplating saying something, she stopped in front of a shop with a Closed sign and a gate covering the entrance. Claggor opened his mouth to ask what they were doing here but just as he was about to, Vi hopped up and quickly pulled herself onto the roof of the building causing Claggor to scramble to follow her. She hopped across the roof, tapping her foot against random tiles until one shifted and she dropped straight down. Claggor peaked over the edge and heard Vi shuffling around in the dimly lit shop, his anxiety steadily increasing the longer she was down there.
“Vi, please tell me what the hell is going on!” He whisper-shouted as he peaked further in.
“Quit hanging up there, Clags, you look like a criminal.” He heard her mutter and he sputtered in disbelief.
“ Vi, what the fuc-!”
“¡Querida! You’re late, I almost left. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting, I know Vander raised you better.” Claggor’s mouth dropped as a small old woman smacked Vi upside the head with a towel, before pointing a demanding finger up at Claggor himself. “And you! Come down here, you look like a criminal.” Vi snickered as Claggor shamefully climbed down and flipped her off when the older woman’s back was turned. “Don’t be rude in my shop, young man!” Claggor quickly put his finger down and glared spitefully at Vi’s unrepentant face.
“Sorry about being late, Mrs. Fuentes, Princess just got back. I can pay extra for keeping them warm?” Mrs. Fuentes waved her hands flippantly and grabbed a box from the oven.
“Nonsense, Violet! I heard about what happened. Is it true she got the Enforcers out the Lanes?” At Vi’s solemn nod, Mrs. Fuentes pursed her lips in worry and shook her head. “¿Qué le costó?” Vi’s shoulders slumped as she ran her fingers through her hair and shrugged.
“I don’t know ma’am. I don’t want to ask in case it was a lot but I wanted to make her feel good. Which is why I asked for the services of the best baker in all of Runeterra: Madame Fuentes!” She gestured dramatically towards her and gave a regal bow. “I have Cogs if you have Conchas!” The woman laughed and smacked Vi playfully on the shoulder.
“You’re a flirt, just like your Dad! Keep your Cogs, it’s the least I could do! Young man!” Claggor snapped to attention and turned wide eyes towards her. “Introduce yourself and hold this!” He frantically grabbed the basket that was thrown in his hand and stood up straight when she turned a gimlet gaze upon him.
“C-Claggor, ma’am! Thanks for having us so late..?" He was completely lost and Vi was an asshole because instead of throwing him a bone, she kept smirking at him. He glared at her but didn't dare do anything in case he was caught again. He cleared his face when Mrs. Fuentes looked at him again and sighed in relief when she grinned playfully at him.
"You both stay here and play nice while I get my bags." At the simultaneous 'yes ma'am', she shuffled her way to the back of the store and Claggor turned to Vi with a dumbfounded look on his face.
"Vi, what is all this?" She leaned against the corner and crossed her arms and it was as if a heavy weight had been dropped on her.
"Earlier, after we told Vander what went down, I came here to get Princess something for when she came back. I thought she'd be tired and the least I could do was have her favorite dessert as a 'thanks for saving our asses' kinda gift. But when she showed up..." Claggor grimaced and Vi nodded tiredly. "Yeah. Pissed doesn’t even describe what she was, I mean what she did to that guy? I've never seen her that brutal, not even back when we were fighting each other damn near every day as kids!" Claggor felt sympathy at the deeply worried look on Vi's face. They had all been worried for you, despite your reassurance that you'd be fine. Though Ekko and Powder probably didn't remember, the last time there were that many Enforcers in the Lanes was when the riots had started. Word had quickly spread that you were seen being escorted out of the Lanes by an Enforcer and that many of the Enforcers had left soon after you. When Vander came back empty-handed with no news whatsoever about what was happening to you, other than you were still in the hearing, unrest quickly spread throughout the Lanes. Not only had Enforcers done a good bit of property damage but many people, children included, had been brutalized in some way. The man they had seen thrown through the window had just been the tip of the iceberg.
The longer you were away, the more agitated people became and even Zeri made a brief appearance all the way from her district of Zaun. You were a beloved member of the Lanes, not only as the legacy to the best healers Zaun had ever had but through your heartfelt generosity and kindness. And the Enforcers had taken you.
Claggor knew that word would spread of the intense amount of rage you displayed when you were returned and speculations would start as to what made the usually soft-spoken Vastayan act so out of character. And he doubted you would share which would cause even more rumors to spread.
He wasn't looking forward to the next couple of weeks.
"Did she talk to you?" Claggor snapped out of his musings at Vi’s question and he looked away instantly, unable to meet her gaze. "I don't want you to tell me what she said. Just.. she talked to you, right? She's not being stubborn and holding it all in?" Claggor sighed in relief that he wasn't being pressured to betray your trust and nodded.
"Yeah, we talked." Tension drained from her body and she slumped forward with a relieved sigh.
"Okay, good. Welp, I got her some of her favorite treats, from one of her favorite bakers and I'm just gonna spoil her 'til she passes out." Claggor snickered and Vi shot him an over the top wink and wiggled her eyebrows.
"Bet you'd like her as a treat til she passes out." He snorted at the lewd gesture Vi made with her fingers before cackling when she was nailed in the forehead with a sandal by a returning Mrs. Fuentes.
"Fuc- freak!" She quickly corrected when said sandal was waved threateningly in her face. Rubbing her red forehead, she whined loudly. "Mrs. Fuentes, that hurt!"
"Teach you to be so vulgar in my shop." She grumbled and Claggor quietly snickered behind his hand and put an innocent smile on his face when she whirled around to look at him with suspicious eyes.
"Sorry, ma'am. I'll leave all my teenage hormones at the front door." Vi teased as she grabbed the basket out of Claggor's hands. "Did you fill this whole basket with Conchas? Princess is gonna be eating nothing but these for days if you did, her impulse control for sweets sucks."
"Of course not! That basket has dinner, hot chocolate, a blanket, and a little gift for her." Plopping the box from earlier on top of the basket, she grinned at Vi's shocked face. "These are the Conchas."
"Mrs. Fuentes, I really should pay you for this, I promise I brought the Cogs-" She reared her head back away from the finger that was suddenly pointed in her face.
"Don't back sass me, Violet! You will enjoy the food I slaved over a hot stove making and spoil that lovely young lady of yours rotten or I'll-"
"Alright, alright! No more arguing, you're the boss." Mrs. Fuentes huffed and smoothed down her apron, hiding her small smile at Vi's giggles.
"Hmph! I am indeed 'the boss' now shoo! And you, young man!" Claggor couldn't do anything but chuckle in amusement when she gently placed her bags in his arms. He could see why you liked her so much, she was a firecracker. "You'll be walking me home! I'm quite old you see and require a nice young lad to keep me company." As Claggor nodded with a quiet 'yes ma'am', Vi fake gasped and put a hand over her heart as if offended.
"Old! Why, Mrs. Fuentes, you're not a day over forty." Claggor was astonished when the older woman flushed and playfully smacked Vi again, causing her to laugh.
"¡Un coqueteo! Begone, you silver-tongued beast!" She gave Mrs. Fuentes a firm side-hug and fist-bumped Claggor.
"You're worth more than your weight in Hexes. Thanks for this!"
--
You sat in between a sleeping Powder and Ekko, running your fingers through their hair and taking comfort in their presence. As you expected, they both passed out halfway through the story and Mylo drifted off soon after. And then you were alone with your thoughts.
Would Claggor tell Vi about what happened? You wouldn't be mad if he did, he would be doing it out of concern even if it made you uncomfortable. You knew she would be mad, to put it lightly, and while you adored her and loved that she would be angry on your behalf, you didn't have the energy to calm her down. Not to mention, you would have to say something to explain what had happened at the Last Drop or people would make their own assumptions that would get wilder and wilder until people would be getting angry at their own imagination. Groaning quietly in irritation, you carefully slid out of bed, freezing when you felt a small hand clutch onto your skirt. When you looked down and saw Powder's tiny fist, you opened your mouth to apologize but snapped it shut when you saw she was still sleeping. You cooed fondly at her, leaning down to press a quick kiss on her forehead.
"I love you, my Bluebird." You whispered lovingly, rubbing your fingertips over her soft cheek.
"Love you, Birdie..." Your heart softened at her muttered words and you dropped one more kiss on her forehead before untangling her fingers from your skirt and moving quietly away from the bed. Turning around, you jumped at seeing Mylo awake before he frantically made the shushing motion. Reaching behind him, he dropped a velvet bag in your hands before waving you away, rolling back over in a clear dismissal despite the quiet, nervous whistling you could hear. You couldn't help giggling at his shy attitude, quickly standing on the edge of the bed to kiss the back of his head and whistle back. He waved you off and you dropped down before he could hit you, grabbing some clothes out of Vi’s drawer and making your way to the shower, speeding through it so as not to take up all the hot water. Drying your hair off, you happened to catch sight of your body and couldn't help stopping and staring.
There were no marks. No bruising. You knew there wouldn't be because you weren't touched, not really. You ran your hand along your sides, expecting to feel an ache somewhere to explain the touch you felt earlier but no, nothing. Besides your piercings and a few scars from Sett, you didn't have anything on your body at all.
And yet...
You're quite soft-
You blinked at the slight pain in your hand and realized that you had slapped your hand on the counter. You covered your face and whimpered quietly. 'What is wrong with me...' Pushing your hair off your face, you glared heatedly at your discarded clothes on the floor. Throwing on Vi's shirt, you snatched the clothes off the floor and ran back to the living room. Frantically lighting the fireplace, you let out a short scream of frustration as you violently threw your clothes into the fireplace. Watching the clothes slowly burn up, you panted harshly, feeling a little better at seeing them slowly curl up and turn to ash but not nearly as good as you wanted to. Grabbing your hair tightly in your hands, you closed your eyes, not hearing the whimper you let out. ‘Why won’t it stop? ’
"We thinning out our closets? Cause I definitely have a pair of pants that I should've trashed years ago." You stiffened but didn't turn around, wrapping your arms around yourself in a pathetic attempt to provide comfort. You didn't want her to ask questions, not like this, not when you were already on edge. You wanted to be calm and in control, be able to present the facts without blowing it out of proportion because you were fine , nothing had even happened. 'I'm fine,' you thought desperately. 'I'll be fine, everything is-'
"You hungry?" You blinked and looked up to see Vi standing beside you with a small, adoring smile and a basket in her hand. Her smile never wavered as you stared at her in silent amazement, unable to fully comprehend what was happening. You began to relax when you realized she wasn't going to ask you anything about what happened today. Smiling timidly, you finally dropped your arms and nodded. Her grin brightened and she pressed a quick kiss on your cheek, rubbing her nose against yours when you smiled wider. "Good! I'll shower real quick and we can eat. I got you a surprise."
--
"Ooooh, my Goddess!" You moaned happily, taking a huge bite of food and bouncing excitedly from your spot next to Vi. She snorted and held your legs in place that were thrown across her lap, stopping your flailing legs from possibly kneeing her in the stomach. "Oh, I haven't had Mrs. Fuentes tamales in forever ! When did you get these?"
"Picked 'em up after I left." She said, smiling softly at your animated movement. "I didn't actually plan for the tamales. She insisted I take ‘em, and the blanket, so I could ‘spoil my lovely young lady.'" You giggled happily when she placed a loud, smacking kiss on your cheek. "So, a picnic by the fireplace with delicious food and your favorite dessert. Which!" She stated firmly when you saw your ears standing straight up and your eyes widened in joy. "You get after you eat." You pouted and looked at her with wide pleading eyes, scrunching your nose when she flicked you in the head with a deadpan stare. "Don't pout you brat."
"Brute." You muttered and shoved more food in your mouth when she snorted, pout leaving at the taste of the warm delicious food. Looking up at Vi through your lashes, you couldn't help smiling at the crumbs on her face and the look of delight as she shoved an entire tamale in her mouth and groaned. Waiting until she finished chewing, you whispered her name and pressed your lips softly against hers when she looked at you. She immediately cupped your face, deepening the kiss for a moment and pulling away when she felt your smile.
"What are you grinning at, Sugar?" She whispered, giving you another quick kiss. You pressed your forehead against hers and closed your eyes, taking in her comforting scent.
"Thank you for doing this." She rubbed her thumbs across your cheeks at your shaky voice and kissed your forehead.
"Of course, Princess. I knew you would be tired when you got back and set up this surprise for you." You tensed and could feel yourself trying to pull away but she grabbed your wrist with a shake of her head. "I'm not gonna make you talk about it and I didn't ask Claggor about whatever happened. I promise I planned this after you left this morning." You didn't relax but you stopped trying to pull away after seeing the sincere look in her eyes. "I just want to help you feel better. That's it." You felt your lip tremble and quickly laid your head on her shoulder and started eating again to avoid saying anything, finally relaxing when she simply went back to eating as well.
You would be fine. You were fine. You didn't understand what was happening. You didn't feel disgusted with yourself, shameful, or even guilty for what happened. You had spoken to Dolls before about the emotions they felt as they were recovering from assault and you didn't feel any of that, so why? Why were you reacting this way, why could you feel him? Your thoughts kept spiraling faster and faster until you blurted out, "He made me sit on his lap!"
Vi froze next to you and you swore you could feel the temperature drop. Her hand on your knee was shaking and you prepared yourself for her yelling and her outrage but she remained quiet. You heard her take a deep breath and tensed in anticipation but she merely slowly exhaled and wrapped her hand around one of yours.
"Do you want to talk about it?" You were so stunned by her soft voice that it took you a moment to register what she said. You glanced up at her but quickly looked down before you could read the look in her eyes and hesitantly nodded.
"One of the Councilors accused me of being a sex worker during the hearing. Don't get me wrong, I'm probably going to work in the Brothel when I turn eighteen or nineteen but the way she said it, as if it was something dirty or that it made me lesser, both pissed me off and hurt something inside me. I know it's not like this in all the districts of Zaun but almost everyone in the Lanes respects Babette and the Dolls. I almost forgot that there are assholes out there who look down on us." You relaxed further when she didn't interrupt and simply rubbed her thumb comfortingly over the back of your hand. "I think he got the idea then because I don't think he could come up with the idea to proposition me on his own, especially considering what I know about him." Sighing, you cuddled closer when she wrapped her arm around your shoulders.
"His input turned the trial in my favor and I knew he would want something just not what. He asked for alone time with me and Councilor Shoola was going to say no but I agreed. I could tell from the look in his beady, little eyes that if I didn't spare him some time, he was going to make life difficult for me and I didn't want to deal with the repercussions of challenging a Councilor. He..." You could feel the rage and disgust building in your chest and knew you were squeezing Vi's hand too tight but she didn't let go and you couldn't. "He asked if I was a sex worker and I told him no and that as I said at the hearing, I'm seventeen, I can't work. Then he asked if I was going to since I lived at the Brothel and I knew Vi, I knew where he was going with this so I lied my ass off. I told him yes but that I was promised to a Noxian General for my first and you should've seen how pale his face got." You chuckled bitterly and she pressed a hard kiss to the side of your head.
"He said, 'I understand but I believe I deserve something for coming to your rescue.' As if I even asked for his fucking help!" You stood abruptly, pacing back and forth and trying to keep your voice low and Vi stood up but didn't try to reach for you thankfully. "'Just perch on my lap, like the pretty bird you are and I'll do the rest.'" You abruptly stopped, digging your nails into your palms to try and center yourself and cool your anger. You jumped slightly when you felt Vi interlace your fingers and you glanced down, wondering why her bandages were staining red. 'Oh. I punctured my hands.' Your eyes began to burn as Vi lifted your bleeding hands and placed soft kisses on them, still remaining silent. "He had me sit in his lap while he touched himself. I think he was hoping he'd be able to 'accidentally' brush up against me but I'm flexible and he was fat so no chance of that. He kept saying how soft my skin is and how pretty I am. Honestly, none of the shit that came out of his tiny dick even touched me. And I'm pissed, I deserve to be pissed, so I don't understand why I freaked out when Claggor was pressed against my back, or why I keep hearing the shit he said to me! It's stupid! I'm being stupid-"
"Stop. Right fucking now." Your mouth snapped shut at her snarl and you looked at the ground in irritation. You gasped when she grabbed your chin and forced your head up, making you stare into her hard, determined eyes. "Don't talk about my girlfriend like that. My Princess is one of the smartest, most hardworking people I have ever met. In a matter of hours, she came up with a plan to cover the asses of her cocky friends and it worked . She's sweet, beautiful, a fucking badass and I am so ridiculously in love with her. And some privileged fuck taking advantage of her could never make her stupid and I would kill anyone who even implied it!" Her harsh pants and the crackling of the fire filled the silent room. She looked down into your shocked eyes and flinched, grabbing her bangs and groaning. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get mad, this isn't about how I feel-" She stopped speaking when you gently cupped her cheek and let out a shaky breath. You felt some of the panic and anger bleed out of you and rested your forehead against hers.
"I love you too, Dragon. Thank you for letting me talk. And for knowing when to shut me up." She sighed and reached to put her hands on your waist before stopping and dropping them back by her sides.
"Is there any way I can help?" Your immediate thought was 'I don't need help!' but you pressed your lips together to keep from shouting it. Shouting wasn't going to make you feel better and admitting that you wanted to be comforted wasn't going to kill you. Instead of responding, you grabbed the basket off the floor, put it on the end table, and turned to Vi who was staring at you patiently.
"Sit on the couch?" Her brows furrowed for a moment before realization hit and she grinned.
"'Course, Sugar. And I can do you one better." Throwing off her tank top, she plopped onto the couch making grabbing motions towards you and you couldn't help giggling at her.
"One: Why do you always take up as much space as possible when you sit anywhere? If I didn't know better, I'd say you had a dick. Two: I cannot believe you actually have a bra on right now, Goddess be praised." She snorted at your sarcastic tone and shrugged, laying her arms on the back of the couch. "And three: in a shocking turn of events, I don't have a bra. Yours don't fit and, in case you didn’t notice, I'm wearing all your stuff."
"One: Let me take up space. I could have a dick on, you don't know what I'm hiding in these pants. Two: Shut your damn mouth." You covered your mouth to muffle your giggles. "And three: It's very hard to miss you making my normal shorts, booty shorts because your ass is bigger than mine. Just cover your tits up with the shirt? Not like anyone else is awake considering it's about two in the morning." You pursed your lips as if you were considering it and she grabbed your hand, placing several soft kisses on your knuckles. "You don't have to if you don't want to. Figured skin on skin contact would make you feel safer, so it wouldn't be as easy for you to fall back into a flashback. S'why I kept these on." She flexed her free hand to show off her arm wraps. "Same scenario, completely different feeling." You forgot sometimes how emotionally intelligent Vi was because she so often solved her problems by punching her way through them. You knew she was smart as hell and her street smarts were unparalleled but she often reserved this side of her for her loved ones. 'Oh.' A wave of warmth hit you so hard, you felt lightheaded. 'I'm one of her loved ones. She loves me. She's in love with me.' You bit your lip to try and hide the bright smile threatening to spread over your face but from the soft, adoring smile on hers, you were sure you failed.
Turning around abruptly you plopped on her lap, hooked your legs around the outside of hers, and quickly took off your shirt, ignoring the warmth in your face as you covered yourself up. "If our family sees my boobs, I'm blaming you! And you're lucky I'm flexible, any other girl would be dying right now."
"Oh yeah, it's why I'm dating you. You being able to twist up like a pretzel is one of my favorite things about you. Besides your personality of course." You flipped her off over your shoulder and took a deep breath. 'Just lay back.' You clenched your hands into Vi's sweats but couldn't force yourself to relax. 'Just lay back . This is Vi! You know her, you trust her!' But you couldn't. You didn't want to have your time with her ruined by that despicable man and you felt like you had already vented enough. You could feel your skin crawling and mentally sneered at your weakness. 'Why can't I do this?!'
"Hey." You startled when you felt Vi's hand slide into yours, her rough fingertips and coarse bandages knocking you back into reality. "There's no shame in calling it." And Goddess, she sounded so comforting and understanding and before you could think on it further, you threw yourself back into her, vaguely hearing her grunt of pain. She didn't say anything, just rubbed your arm with her other hand, and you started to slowly relax. Leaning your head back on her shoulder, you closed your eyes and steadily unclenched your fist.
Perch on my lap like-
You grit your teeth but before you could shoot up, Vi pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.
"Love having you on my lap like this Princess, you're so gorgeous." You felt your whole face heat up and you were knocked out of your panic.
"Vi!" You hissed and leaned your head back to glare at her unrepentant grin. "You're a menace. "
"Got you back here with me, so I'm not apologizing." You snorted when she laid another soft kiss on your ear and she giggled when it flicked away from the gentle affection.
"You wouldn't have anyway." She hummed but didn't respond, instead, she ran her free hand along your side, placing intermittent kisses on your shoulders.
Vi was right about the different feelings. Hoskel's hand had been small and sweaty enough that you could feel the dampness through your top. The bandages felt rough against your soft skin and her hands were bigger, easily covering where you kept feeling his handprint. You tried to relax again and almost succeeded when-
So soft-
You snarled viciously, claws extending instinctively and you paled when you heard Vi hiss in pain. You'd forgotten one of your hands was gripping onto her pants and had accidentally scratched her up. As you started healing it, you turned to apologize when Vi wrenched your head to the side and bit down on your neck hard .
Slamming your hand over your mouth to muffle the high-pitched whine, you felt Vi's grip tighten almost painfully on your side, holding you in place against her chest. Carefully removing her teeth from your shoulder, she placed gentle kisses and small licks on top of the quickly darkening bite mark.
"You mark me, I mark you back." You shuddered at the roughness of her voice, whimpering quietly when she went back to gently rubbing your side. "Great thing about your pretty, soft, skin is that you bruise easily. Everyone who looks at you for the next few weeks is gonna know I'm the only one allowed to mark you like this." You slumped against her chest, the bite throbbing pleasantly and your head once again clear. She kissed the side of your head and reached over to the basket, dropping it into your lap and smiling at your blink of confusion. You shrugged and opened it, immediately biting your lip to hold in the squeal of excitement. You turned your head and placed several kisses on Vi's bright red cheek, to her complete delight. "Enjoy, Sugar."
While you chatted and ate together, Vi's hand never stopped rubbing your side. Every time she would feel you tense or hear you start growling, she would compliment you, placing either gentle kisses or harsh bites depending on how deep you went into the flashback. As the night went on, you heard his voice less and the ache in your body prevented you from feeling his touch on your side. You felt like you were in a haze, feeling full, warm, safe, and loved.
Blinking sleepily, you felt Vi pick you up off the couch and wondered when she had put your shirt back on. You decided it didn't matter and nuzzled your face into her shoulder, dozing off again. When you came to again, you were laying on a bed and whined quietly when you saw Vi walking away. She shushed you and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
"Shhh, it's okay Sugar. I'm gonna put the food up and then I'll be back. Go back to sleep." You tiredly thought that if anyone ate your leftovers, you would box them and when Vi giggled you realized you said it out loud. "I know, Princess. I'm putting it up, go back to sleep."
“M’not sleepy.” You muttered but when you blinked, Vi was already back and climbing onto the top bunk with you. She chuckled at you immediately reaching for her to pull her in for cuddles and pressed a kiss to your forehead. She muttered something you didn’t hear as you had already drifted to sleep.
--
You felt a hand shaking you and grunted, snuggling deeper into the warm body next to yours. The hand kept shaking you however and you cracked an eye open, only to be greeted by two very cute, very awake , young brats. You closed your eyes again and gently pushed one of their faces away, Powder’s giggles giving away whose face it was.
“Birdie, Vi! Vander already left and we’re hungry. Can you make us breakfast, please?”
“Nana, get uupppp! You’ve slept long enough! Let her go, Vi!” Ekko groaned, half kneeled over Vi, who grunted and elbowed him off her side. Wrapping her arm tighter around your waist, she buried her face in your hair.
“Your brats are up and want food.” She muttered in annoyance, ignoring the loud protests at the word ‘brat’ and you snorted.
“After the sun rises, they’re your brats.” Vi paused and propped herself up on her arm, narrowing her eyes at you.
“Didn’t that character die in that movie?” You huffed and buried your face in her pillow, secretly smiling at Powder pushing her way in between you and Vi and cuddling into you.
“So will you if you don’t get up and make them breakfast.” She loudly groaned but sat up and stretched, grunting in irritation when Ekko climbed over her to lay on your other side.
“This is unfair and you know it.” You rolled your eyes and pulled her down for a kiss, ignoring the childish exclamations of disgust. You giggled when Ekko pushed Vi’s face away from yours and stuck his tongue out her murderous glare. “You little-!”
“Violet.” Ekko grinned smugly at your stern tone and Vi glared at him before smirking and smacking him in the face with a pillow, dropping down from the top bunk immediately after. “Nana! She hit me!”
“Don’t antagonize a dragon, if you don’t want to get burned.”
--
Powder and Ekko climbed right back into bed with you after eating, the lucky brats, so Vi threw on a cropped hoodie, and sweatpants and headed to the arcade. She turned on the boxing machine, doing quick stretches before starting up.
She needed this. Needed to work out her anger as quickly as possible so she wouldn't put the next person who pissed her off in the hospital. Ducking around the increasingly faster punches, she tried to empty her mind, tried to somehow cool her festering anger but it only continued to grow.
Last night had been hard, in more ways than one. Waiting for you to come back, seeing you lose your shit on that random guy, the panic on your face when Claggor had caught you.
The shakiness of your voice as you explained what happened.
“It's stupid! I'm being stupid-!”
She growled and delivered a particularly hard punch, heart beating faster her rage shot up at remembering your self-deprecating tone.
She knew the moment she saw you walk into the bar that she was going to have to keep her temper in check. She told herself that whatever happened, she couldn't make it about her by raging when you needed to vent. She was even a little relieved when you spoke to Claggor first because it gave her time to calm herself down.
Then you panicked when Claggor had done something he had done a million times before. She had grit her teeth but she had to leave right then because she could feel the fire building in her chest. 'This isn't about me.' She replayed in her mind over and over. 'I can't make this about me, not when she's hurting in some way.'
Then she walked in and saw you burning your clothes and your short scream of pain and anger nearly made her come unglued. She almost turned around to give herself more time because she couldn't do this , couldn't watch you hurt, and not want to find whoever did it and burn them alive . But then you grabbed your hair and whimpered. And she choked down every bit of anger that clogged her throat to try to make it better. It was worth it when you smiled at her. When she got to see you light up from something as simple as warm food.
And then you blurted out what happened.
She swore her blood had turned to ice in her veins. She had to lock her whole body to keep from screaming. She could feel you trembling in her arms, could feel your nervousness growing the longer she stayed silent but she had needed a moment. 'This isn't. About. Me.' And you had looked so relieved when she hadn't lost her shit like she so desperately wanted to that she knew she made the right choice.
It didn't get any easier, as the night went on. You being unable to lean back against her only further fed her anger. She felt like the dragon you had always lovingly called her because she wanted nothing more than to rip, tear and burn everyone in Piltover until she found the one who had done this and beat the life out of him.
She felt a stinging sensation on her leg as she began to build up a sweat and remembered that she had broken your concentration before you could finish healing it. She wanted a reminder of what happened when she failed, when she made reckless decisions. Like Vander said, people would get hurt. Her loved ones would get hurt. Just like you had gotten hurt.
“I think he was hoping to 'accidentally' brush up against me.”
With a scream of rage, she slammed her fist into the machine and felt it tremble from the force of her punch. Her harsh pants filled the silent room and she clenched her eyes shut, trying to quiet the violent thoughts circling her mind that were urging her to go Topside and hurt as many assholes as possible so she could get brought before the Council and murder the man who thought he had the right to touch you.
"You're pretty amazing, you know that?" She glanced over at Mylo who was leaning up against the edge of the ring and plastered a smile on her face. Glancing up at the scoreboard, she saw she had once again broken her previous top score.
"Oh, yeah, didn't think I could beat the last-"
"Not the game, though that's pretty badass too." She blinked in confusion at his face turning slightly guilty. "I heard some of what happened last night." She felt her heart stop but quickly gave him a fierce, icy glare.
"If you even think of bringing anything you heard up to Nari-"
"I'm not that much of an insensitive asshole, Vi." He rubbed the back of his neck and she winced at his hurt look. "Kinda sucks that you think I am."
"No, Mylo, shit." She groaned and walked over to him, leaning against the rope next to him. "I don't think that, I'm worked up and angry and I took it out on you. I'm sorry man, that was a bitch move I just pulled." He was quiet for a moment before nudging her with his shoulder and shooting her a small smile when she looked up.
"Thanks. And I get it, I'm mad too and I didn't even hear all of what you talked about. I could tell how pissed you were but I never heard it in your voice, and you made sure to always have your face calm by the time she looked at you. Well, until she called herself stupid. I felt kinda bad when I realized I was intruding on a personal moment but it was too quiet for me to escape. Luckily, you made a lot of noise when you took your shirt off." Vi snorted and covered her mouth, choking back a laugh at Mylo's exasperated face. "Listen, I only came out to get water to begin with and I had to get faced with your unfair back muscles. Once I realized Doc was going to take her shirt off too, I booked it, consequences be damned." She grinned at him and stuck her tongue out at his scowling face.
"I would've had to kill you, I'm sure you understand."
"Oh, I know, I would've just offed myself before I let you get a hold of me." Vi rolled her eyes and Mylo let his exasperated face melt away and grinned. "When I said you were amazing though, I meant keeping your temper. I'm not sure I could've done it in your place. You've grown." She sighed and laid her head against his, rubbing her cheek against his when he grabbed her hand.
"We all have. You have to, living down here." He nodded and they fell silent, taking comfort in each other's presence and Vi was relieved that Mylo had come out to talk to her. It was nice hearing that despite how obvious she thought it was, she had managed to hide her anger last night.
"So... did you guys screw on the couch cause people sit there and that's rude as hell." Vi giggled and shoved Mylo, making him cackle.
"No, asshat, we didn't have sex on the couch. I make a lot of jokes but we only had our first time the night of that fancy ball. And I've been in the doghouse since." Vi rolled her eyes at Mylo's loud wheezing laughter and shoved him again, making him fall over, not that it stopped his laughter. "Dick."
"Dammnnn. Been a while since you've been in trouble, huh?" Vi slumped over the ring rope and dramatically sighed.
"It's been a week since we've made out, I'm going to lose my mind."
"Poor deprived you."
--
You cuddled with Powder and Ekko until they decided they couldn't lay around anymore and forced you up with them. No matter how much you begged, bargained, and pleaded, they insisted you had to get up right that second and play with them. They dragged you all the way to the Brothel to change and when you tried to go back to bed, they forcibly changed your clothes and you finally gave up on sleeping in today. Grabbing your rifle, you groaned as they grabbed your hands and dragged you to the arcade.
"Nana's being lazy, what did you do Vi!" Vi and Mylo paused their friendly spar at Ekko's loud complaint and they both laughed at his offended face.
"I just fed her Conchas and hot chocolate, what do you... mean." Vi's jaw slowly dropped when you walked in, stretching tiredly and rubbing your sleepy eyes.
"And in a shocking turn of events, our esteemed Leader's brain has left the building!" Claggor announced sarcastically, before turning and smiling at you. "You look good today, Doc!" Haughtily flipping your ponytail, you strutted over to Claggor and nudged him as you began setting up your rifle.
"I look good every day. PowPow and Firelight picked out my clothes today though because apparently, wanting to sleep in is a crime and, when I refused to get up, they forcibly dressed me." Loading the rifle with the neon pellets, you snapped it closed. "What are you guys up to?" Mylo glanced at the still stunned Vi and sighed, throwing off his boxing gloves.
"I was sparring with Vi but I see that's over now."
"I just got here a few minutes before you. I had a date today." You looked at Claggor excitedly and began pelting him with questions as you helped Powder and Ekko set up the shooting range. You both got quickly absorbed in the conversation and took no notice of the still stunned Vi. Mylo snapped his fingers in front of her face and snickered when she turned bright red. She turned away from you and Claggor, uselessly covering her warm face.
"Ohmyfuckwhatarethose?!" Mylo blinked and stared blankly for a second as he tried to make sense of her whispered, panicked, words. His eyes lit up with realization and amusement once he did.
"I think they're compression socks? Didn't know they could go that high up though." Mylo cackled when Vi pulled her hoodie over her head and let out a muffled scream. When you looked up in confusion, he waved you away and you shrugged and looked back to Claggor.
"I'm glad you had fun, Big Man! It's been a while since you and Claire went on a date and you planned such a cute one for your Anniversary! I'm sure she looked super cute, as always." He blushed at your teasing tone and rubbed the back of his neck shyly.
"You're embarrassing me, Doc!"
"Try having her as a sister," Ekko grumbled and whined when you pinched his cheek and pulled. "Nana!"
"See if I let you help me with my hair again if I'm so embarrassing!" You ignored Ekko's loud backpedaling and leaned against Claggor's side. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and you hummed happily, content to listen to the sounds of Ekko and Powder competing in the shooting range.
"Why are you wearing compression socks anyway?" You yawned and stretched, slumping back against the counter.
"Babette told me before we left that Sett's here so, I'll be meeting with him today. And I already know he's gonna beat my ass, so." You pulled your knee to your chest and lifted it straight up. "Compression socks to help with the inevitable leg pain. Lee Sin apparently sent me some stuff too, despite him swearing to never teach me again." Glancing over at Vi, Claggor smirked at her dazed look and shook his head.
"Tell him I said, hi. And good luck with your training. I only saw him that one time he came and got you from the Last Drop but he's built like a brick wall." You groaned and dropped your leg, stomping your foot with a pout.
"Fucker hits like one too. Why do you think I got so good at healing broken bones?" He snorted and you sent him a pained, wide-eyed look.
"Practice makes perfect?"
"Fuck that and fuck him." He laughed at your irritated mutter and clapped your shoulder in sympathy. "It's okay though because I'm bringing Vi with me in a few days and she's going to be a shiny new distraction." You giggled at Vi's dazed, red face and waved your index finger in a beckoning gesture, not at all surprised when she tripped to get over to you. As soon as she reached you, she grabbed your waist and rubbed her hands along your sides, dropping a quick kiss on your cheek to Ekko's disgust and Powder's delight. For a moment, a phantom feeling tried to overtake you but the coarseness of her bandages stopped the flashback before it could begin. Leaning up, you felt your heart swell with adoration for her and how wonderful she had been last night. You gave her a chaste kiss, moving away before she could deepen it, and laughed at her scowl. "Do you want to hang out with me a few days from now? I'm going to be doing something strenuous and I would love some company." Claggor's eyes widened in disbelief at your sly phrasing and choked back a laugh at Vi's eager agreement. 'Oh, this poor unfortunate soul.'
--
Casually leaning against the edge of the ring, you smiled sweetly when Vi’s face slammed into the ring floor and was suddenly in front of yours. “Hey, baby. How you doing?”
“Fuck him and fuck you.” She groaned, pushing herself to her knees and flipping you off when you giggled at her. “Why aren’t you up here? He’s your teacher!” You hummed thoughtfully for a moment as if contemplating it before shrugging.
“I just don’t feel like it. Besides, he’s having fun playing with you. Aren’t you Sett?” Vi yelped when she was grabbed by the back of her hoodie and lifted in the air like a misbehaving kitten. You giggled at Sett’s wild cackle and sighed playfully, taking off your boots and climbing into the ring. “I think you wore her out, Sett. She’s gonna be useless to me later!” He patted your back hard enough to make you stumble had you not been used to it and braced yourself.
“Shouldn’t have been so lazy, Pup!” He dropped Vi and laughed at her pained moan when she hit the ring. “You done watching, my favorite little sadist?” Cracking your neck, you did one last stretch and nodded.
“Yeah, yeah, I know you’re chomping at the bits to play with your favorite chew toy,” Vi grumbled and rolled out of the ring, sticking her tongue at you when you blew her a kiss. Looking back to Sett, you relaxed your body and nodded, quickly dodging when he charged you immediately.
“Heard you got into some trouble, Pup.” You grunted as you blocked his uppercut when your calf, huffing in annoyance at his teasing smile.
“Word travels real fuckin’ fast don’t it?” You grimaced when he grabbed your leg but flung yourself back onto your shoulders, rearing your free leg back to slam into his arm and vaulting yourself off the floor when he let go of your leg to block the kick. “There was a situation. I handled it.”
“And the pissant at that bar?” You winced and he landed a solid jab in your side, causing you to skip back to catch your breath and heal yourself.
“I thought we were done fracturing my bones.” You muttered accusingly and shaking out the sharp pain and rushing back in.
“I thought you were done letting me fracture them. The bar?” You tsked as you dodged around his increasingly harder hits, sweat dripping down your face.
“I was frustrated and he was easy, what do you want me to say?” He laughed at your growl and slammed you to the ground, his grin turning feral at your loud curse. You quickly brought your legs up to wrap around his arm and twist, tumbling backward when he released you with a chuckle. “I definitely cracked something in there.”
“Gotta be ready to fight opponents who don’t give a fuck about being broken up, Pup.” You wheezed when he buried the arm you just cracked directly into your gut, body slumping for a moment as you gasped for air before you grit your teeth and shoved his arm down, pushing yourself into a handstand and flipping over his shoulder. “How about the truth? You’re not like me yet, you don’t find joy in that shit like I do.” He smirked at your muttered ‘yet?’ and suddenly he was bearing down on you, not giving you time to do much but block, dodge, and heal. Your frustration grew steadily at his never-changing smirk and you could feel your teeth sharpening.
“You want the truth? Fine!” You dropped to the ground and slid between his legs, doing a back handspring to slam your feet into his back, twisting when he tried to grab your ankle to slam your foot into his wrist, and bouncing back to your feet. “I don’t know how I feel! I’m angry and I wish I had killed that fucker Hoskel when I had the chance! The entire situation made me feel weak because I had no choice! And I’m sick of not having a choice!” You slammed your fist into his gut, not surprised when he barely grunted and grabbed your arm twisting it behind your back. Without pausing, you dislocated your shoulder and swung your leg behind you, catching him in the chin and then twisting around, popping your arm back into place and healing it instantly.
“And then after being forced to watch him touch his pathetic excuse of a dick, he gave me a coat .” You laughed bitterly, blocking a punch with your forearm, healing the break instantly before shoving his arm to the side and trying to uppercut him, unsurprised when he caught your fist and threw you. Twisting mid-air, you landed on your feet and rushed him again. “And of course, I can’t throw the shit away immediately because then he’d get offended. And to be honest, it’s a nice fucking coat. So, I decided to give it to Powder because she would look adorable in it and what happens?” You took the punch to the jaw, ignoring your bleeding mouth to lock his arm in place and slam your knee into it, and finally breaking it. You spit the blood out of your mouth as he cackled and flung you away from him, rolling away just as punched the ground where your head just was and sweeping your legs around you to force him to back up before flipping up again.
"I beat up this random man! And yeah, his question was offensive and unnecessary but I feel awful now because while a big part of me feels like shit but there's a smaller part that's like ‘he should've kept his mouth shut,' and I know that I got that shit from you! So now, I'm pissed at you! Which sucks because you're not only a dick who doesn't care but it's not like I can beat you up to feel better!" You ducked under a kick and grit your teeth in pain when his other leg slammed into your side, throwing you into the ring rope and knocking the wind out of you.
You blew a loose strand of hair out of your face as his laughter roared through the ring and pushed yourself back to your feet. “You’re an asshole, Sett!”
“And you love me, Pup!” You yelped as he yanked you back and body-slammed you into the ground, grabbing you by your ankle when you refused to get up. Wrapping your free leg around his arm, you pulled yourself up and sat perched on his arm, rolling your eyes at his amused chuckle.
“And now, I have about two weeks of emotions that are slamming around in my head and wrapping around each other to the point that I can’t tell what I’m feeling anymore. It’s easier to focus on one emotion at a time than to sort through them all. I...” You sighed and leaned your crossed arms on top of his head. “A lot happened in two weeks. Good and bad. I’m happy... that my first time was with someone I love. Happy that I got to perform in such a big event and my family got to see it. Overjoyed that my family has spent these last few days doing their best to take care of me.” You closed your eyes, took a small breath, and wondered if the reason you found Vi’s subtle metallic scent so comforting is that it made you think of Sett.
“I’m still scared. From seeing the explosion. Still angry about it happening. Pissed I got felt up during a basic search, furious that a Councilor insinuated that I was a sex worker and said it like it was a bad thing, and fucking enraged that I got assaulted by a fucker like Hoskel. I’m sad that I worried everyone. That the only way to make it all better is to work through it all. But, training with you these last few days have helped a lot with processing and emptying my head, so thank you." Sett gently placed you down and you quickly healed his arm, looking shocked when he placed a soft hand on your shoulder.
"Do you want me to kill him? This Hoskel guy." He said to you in a low tone, his face serious for the first time in what felt like years. You stared at him in shock and he cupped your cheek with his large, scarred hand. "I know people, Pup. I'm building an Underground Empire in Ionia, I'm sure you know this by now, and I have people stationed around the Pits at all times. I also left a few people here to look out for you." You felt your eyes burning and closed them, nuzzling into the hand still holding your cheek. "I protect what's mine. And if you want, I'll make the man who hurt you suffer. Just say the word, Pup." 'That shouldn't have made me feel as warm as it did.' You thought with a smile. 'Sett is such a shit influence.'
"No, but thank you for offering. I’ll handle him one day." You whispered back and threw your arms around him for a quick hug, laughing at his shocked face. "You'd be a terrible Father but make a fantastic Uncle!" You chirped in a louder voice, smiling when you heard Vi's loud laughter in the background. You squealed in delight when he put you in a headlock and pretended to struggle.
"I'd make a great Father!"
"For vicious monsters maybe!"
"Considering you're a vicious little monster, I say I'd done a good job as a step-father at least." You squawked in indignation and looked over at a cackling Vi.
"Vi! Tell him I'm not a vicious monster!" She climbed back into the ring with a snicker and looked up at Sett with trembling lips and a bright look of amusement in her eyes.
"If you don't have anything nice to say..." You narrowed your eyes at her teasing tone and huffed, sticking your nose in the air. "Awe, don't be like that Sugar! No one else knows you're a vicious monster. They all just think you have Scary Dog Privilege." She flexed playfully and you bit back a smile.
"Speaking of Scary Dog." Sett patted Vi on the head and she stumbled at his heavy hand on her head. "You versus Pup, then you both can head home. There's a gift for you two next to the water." He smirked and and you glared suspiciously at the mischievous look in his eyes. "Tomorrow is our last day, Pup, so I'll see you bright and early. Have fun~!" You rolled your eyes at his suspicious nature but waved goodbye, stretching and letting out a groan of relief.
"We don't have to if you don't want to, especially since he ditched us." You said, already walking towards the edge of the ring in preparation to leave.
"I do. Unless you're afraid to lose?" You froze, head slowly turning towards Vi and taking in her fierce, competitive smirk. You slowly grinned and sauntered over to her, internally preening at her eyes trailing over you, until you stood toe-to-toe.
"Is that a challenge?" Her smirk grew more vicious at your purred words and she leaned towards you.
"I couldn't hear most of what you said up there but I caught something about still being a little mad about the explosion. I suggest we work that aggression out, right here and now. Winner gets one request from the loser. Deal?" Instead of answering, you took a few steps backwards and relaxed your body again, eyes bright with excitement as you slid one foot behind you and leaned back with a sultry smile on your lips. Vi shivered in excitement and tightened her hand wraps. "I love it when you look like you can beat my ass."
--
Back when you were young, fights between Vi were quick and brutal. You were both trying to do as much damage as possible before you could be separated and, depending on how mad you were, you were trying to knock the other out or worse. The number of bruises, broken bones, and gashes you gave each other would have made a gang member whistle in appreciation.
You stopped fighting with your fist but you never stopped sparring. Fighting against someone your own size was a nice change of pace for you and Vi enjoyed a fight where losing didn't have terrible consequences. It became a fun way to keep your skills up and practice each other's fighting styles. Not to mention, a great way to flirt.
You traded teasing blows at first, mostly dodging around each other and setting the pace. One of you would get impatient and the speed would pick up, each of you hitting with a lot more purpose until you were both in full swing and trying to take the other down. You both had fought each other so much that it had become almost like a dance. The fun came in trying to find new ways to take the other down while still following the simple rules you laid out for yourselves.
You knew that you couldn't let Vi grapple you. No matter how much you trained or how much strength you gained, Vi would always undeniably have more upper body strength than you. If she grappled you unless you were willing to risk breaking her arms, it was game over and she had you pinned.
Vi knew that she had to keep you as close range as possible. If she let you get too far, you would make it near impossible for her to get close again without taking substantial damage. Close range, it was harder for you to do your more devastating kicks and you were at a disadvantage.
As always, the fight dragged on as you both tried to get the upper hand. Vi forced you back close every time you tried to get distance and you blocked every attempt of her getting her arms around you. And you could admit that any anger you felt at her for the explosion vanished the moment you slammed your heel into her back and she bounced off the ring. Unfortunately, the fight hadn't ended there and she returned the favor by grabbing your wrist and throwing you over her shoulder later. Your blood pumped faster the longer the fight went on and at this point, you weren't sure if you wanted to continue to fight her or makeout with her.
Probably both.
Definitely both.
You became too distracted by your thoughts and blinked in shock when your wrist was caught. Heat flared in your stomach at the victorious smirk on Vi's face and she winked before tugging you off balance, spinning you around to lock both your arms behind your back and slamming you face first into the ground. With her knee firmly in your back, she leaned over and nipped the edge of your twitching ear.
"I win, Sugar." You bit your lip and sighed, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at Vi's heated gaze. Rolling on to your back when she freed you, you leaned up and bit her bottom lip, pulling lightly and smirking at her darkening eyes.
"And what do you want, Shortcake? " Slamming her lips into yours, she whined as you grabbed a handful of her hair and deepened the kiss. Grabbing onto your hips, she wrenched herself away from your lips, eyes flickering from your swollen lips to your lidded eyes. Sliding her hand up your stomach, she grinned.
"You."
--
"Nightingale~!" Your brain slowly came back online at the loud knocking on your door and you hummed tiredly, nuzzling your face deeper into your pillow. You felt yourself drifting off again when the knocking started back up, louder than last time. "Baby Naaarriiiii!" You felt an arm tighten around your waist and a low growl rumbling throughout the chest pressed against your side. When the knocking somehow got even louder you blinked your heavy eyes and huffed irritatedly.
"Miguel, what the fuck do you want at-" You glanced at the clock and your irritation grew. "Nine in the fucking morning!" You grit your teeth at his ecstatic giggles but relaxed slightly when you felt a soft kiss being pressed into your shoulder. You sighed and turned your head to press your lips against Vi's sleep warm cheek.
"Ignore him, he's being an ass." She rasped, and you clicked your tongue in irritation before laying back down. Before you could even close your eyes-
"Naaa-rrriiIIIII!"
"Fucking, WHAT ?" You flung yourself out of bed, ignoring Vi's irritated snarl, and threw on an oversized shirt. Violently throwing the door open, you glared savagely up at Miguel's smarmy face. "I'm sore, I'm tired and I'm fucking over your shit , what do you-!"
"Hiya, Fireworks!" You blinked at the head of neon green hair peeking out from behind a smug Miguel's back.
"... Zeri? Did you send a cylinder because I didn't get anything."
"I'm sure you didn't get much of anything yesterday except- shit! " he twitched violently and hissed, jumping away from Zeri's shining finger and she blew playfully at the thread of electricity circling it.
"Thanks for letting me in, I can take it from here Migs!" Zeri giggled, shooing a grumbling Miguel away from the door. She winked at you and leaned against the doorway, playfully looking you up and down. "So... can I come in or do I get to ravish you in the hallway?" You chuckled and held up a finger, leaning back in the room to glance at your still dozing girlfriend.
"Vi, Zeri is here. You care if she comes in now or you wanna get dressed?"
"I put on pants and a bra, I refuse to put on a fucking shirt." She grumbled in annoyance. "Not like it matters, Zeri gets so much ass, my tits would probably just fade into the memory of the many pairs she's seen."
"I resent that! I never forget a nice pair of boobs!" You shook your head fondly and opened the door wider, closing it behind her when she came in. She let out a slow, impressed whistle at the state of your room and you rolled your eyes and hip bumped her over to a free chair. Grabbing a clean pair of clothes, you gently flicked Vi's ear and pressed a kiss to her cheek when she turned to glare at you.
"Get Zeri some water while I get dressed? Please?" She groaned in frustration and threw herself out of bed dramatically, slamming the door on her way out of her room to you and Zeri's amusement.
"Ray of sunshine, isn't she?" You snorted at Zeri's teasing question and quickly changed in the bathroom.
"She's usually pretty good by this time but we both trained with Sett yesterday, so sore doesn't begin to describe how we feel." Zeri nodded in understanding and then smirked when you came out of the bathroom with your face cleaned and looking mostly presentable.
"Sett and then some 'cooldown stretches' will do that to you." You flipped her off as you tidied up the mess and she giggled and smacked your thigh as you walked by her, tilting her head at the sting in her hand. "Nice."
"Zeri, it's too early for your shit," Vi grumbled as she came back into the room and slammed the cup of water next to her, looking like she wanted to dive back into bed but instead taking the clothes from you and taking over the cleaning. You smiled and pressed another kiss to her cheek before sitting on your vanity and turning to Zeri.
"So, what's going on? You don't usually come out to the Lanes without sending a cylinder." Her face turned serious and she sat up, propping her arm on the back of the chair.
"I'm sure they told you that I popped in the day that you left with the Enforcers?" At your nod, she continued. "Heard some kinda serious shit that day but ignored it cause tensions were high. People say shit they don't mean. Went back home, you sent the cylinder that you were fine, I put it in the back of my head. So, imagine my surprise when whispers about a civil war possibly brewing in the Lanes hit my district of Zaun." You sucked in a shocked breath, immediately sitting up straight and turning wide, troubled eyes toward Zeri.
"Who the hell is trying to usurp Vander?" You wondered, biting your thumb in worry. Zeri shrugged and shot you an apologetic look.
"Sorry, Sparkles, you know the rumor mill is ass, especially with the gossipy of bitches in Zaun. Shit gets passed around so many times that any info I hear about the Lanes has probably been translated into five different languages, hit several beer bottles, and dragged through someone's asscheeks so who knows what the original info was. But a rumor like that? Gotta have some damn truth to it. Might just be a big-mouthed person who has a bone to pick but I thought shit like that needs to be said in person. Plus, I'll never turn down a chance to see those cute hands of yours wrapped around a rifle."
"You're gonna have my non-cute hands wrapped around your neck." Vi snapped, placing a hot cup of tea in your hands and snapping her teeth at Zeri's flirtatious wink.
"Kinky~. I love a two-for-one special. Nothing beats a great deal." You smiled fondly at their bantering and fell quietly into your thoughts as you sipped on your tea.
Zeri was right that information was unreliable the further it was found from the source but someone being unhappy enough that word had spread to her district was alarming all on its own.
Who was unhappy and why? Was it the Enforcers and all the damage they caused when they were looking for Vi and the gang? Was it you solving the issue? Hell, was it Vander's passive approach to the Enforcers terror all these years? You could definitely see that pissing some people off because it pissed you off sometimes and you weren't even a native Zaunite. You sighed and closed your eyes, leaning back against the mirror as you felt stress building behind your eyes.
You didn't have the energy for this.
"This isn't your problem to solve, Princess, it's Vander's." You blinked and looked over, surprised to see Vi's serious eyes locked on yours.
"I didn't say-"
"You're spiraling." She cut in and rubbed your knee soothingly. "You can tell Vander and then wash your hands of it. We'll support him if some shit comes up but he can handle himself. You don't have to try to solve every problem that comes your way." You opened your mouth to defend yourself but closed it when you realized she had a point. Sighing, you took another sip of tea and nodded your head.
"I'll ask around the Brothel." You pressed a quick kiss to Vi's lips before she could protest. "I'll ask around, tell Vander and then let it go. He's your father and I do care for him, it's the least I could do." She sighed and leaned her hip against the vanity.
"You're gonna do what you want anyway." She rolled her neck and winced slightly, making you turn her around and run your hands along her shoulders and neck, massaging and healing them. You snickered when you caught sight of Zeri's grinning face.
"So... your neck hurts, Violet? Gotta be careful with thighs as powerful as Spark-!" Vi clenched her teeth and shot up, grabbing Zeri by her jacket and dragging her half out of her chair to Zeri's immense amusement.
"Do you wanna go!" Vi snarled, causing Zeri to giggle and flutter her eyelashes.
"To bed? With you? Any time~." You sighed as they started up again and hummed happily at the immediate relief the hot tea gave to your sore throat. Your eyes flickered over to the deep claw marks etched into your headboard.
Ahn! Don't stop, don't stop! Please, so close, I'm so close Puppy, please!
You beg so pretty, Princess...
The sore throat was worth it. |
Emma's jaw dropped when Regina opened the front door, "Sorry, I must have the wrong house," she stammered before turning around.
"Miss Swan," Regina said, a hint of fake annoyance in her voice.
"Regina? Oh my god," Emma cupped Regina's cheeks and cocked her head sideways. "Are you in there? Did someone body-snatch you?"
Regina rolled her eyes, "You're being ridiculous."
"No, seriously! Last time I saw Regina she was wearing a black skirt, she looked all formal and shit. But you, you don't look like you've been stuck in an office all day at all. You're wearing pants," She turned Regina around, "I might actually prefer those to the skirts though, it's really, really.. nice," Emma grinned. "And your hair! I mean," she ran her hands through Regina's hair, "what's this? Your hair looks like you've just had wild sex." Emma gasped as if she'd just witnessed the biggest scandal of the century, "did you just have sex?"
"Not yet, but give it time," Regina smirked when she saw Emma blush. That shut you up real fast, Miss Swan.
"Yep, okay, it's you and not some body-snatcher. Hi," Emma said, looking everywhere but at Regina, "I like your glasses."
"Thank you Miss Swan, come on in." She directed Emma towards the kitchen, "Do you want some wine?"
"I can't, I drove over here, I have a strict no drinking and driving policy."
"I wasn't exactly planning on sending you home tonight, Miss Swan."
Shut the front door. What the flying fuck?
"The guest room is all yours."
Oh. Yeah. Of course. Stupid Emma. You're being stupid.
"I thought you said you'd only let me stay long enough to watch a movie if I was good and now you're telling me I won't be leaving. That's mighty presumptuous of you, Regina."
"We're you planning on being bad?"
No. Yes. I don't know. What constitutes being bad?
"I've not decided yet," Emma chuckled.
"If you are, I'll call you a cab," Regina said as she handed Emma a glass of wine. "What do you do for a living, Miss Swan?"
"You are like the queen of topic changers."
"Now you're being the one whose evasive."
"I'm an illustrator. It's mostly freelance work though, have you heard of Gabriel Moreno? He's this amazing illustrator, he does hand-drawn line work and digital coloring. He's amazing with details. Definitely someone that inspires my work, but I'm nowhere near his level."
"I have to admit, that is not at all what I was expecting. You'll have to show me some of your work sometime," Regina cracked a smile.
"Yeah, I will. I'm actually doing a project for a children's book at the moment. It's challenging, but I like a good challenge." Emma frowned, "Wait, what
were
you expecting?"
"I thought for sure you'd be a professional pizza flipper."
"Who the fuck flips a pizza? That defeats the whole purpose of a pizza!"
"That's definitely one strike against you, dear." Emma just looked puzzled. "You swore. That's not good behavior."
"I can't help it, it's embroidered into my brain, part of who I am."
"Excuse my language, Miss Swan, but that's utter bullshit."
Emma gasped, "Why is it okay for you to swear?"
Regina smirked, "I said excuse me first."
Emma laughed. "I don't think that's how it works, but whatever rocks your boat."
"I could recondition you."
"You could do what now?"
"Reconditioning, dear. It's when you replace something bad, restore it to it's original state."
"Ha, how were you planning on doing that?"
Regina walked over to Emma and stood behind her, her front pressed into Emma's back. She smiled when she felt Emma stiffen. "Well, for instance," she let Emma's ponytail slide through her fingers, "every time you say
fuck
I could do this.." She twirled the ponytail around her hand before yanking it, effectively putting Emma's head against Regina's chest, still holding her hair into a tight grip.
Emma moaned. A god-honest what-can-you-do-about-it guttural moan. Goddammit
motherfucker.
Regina chuckled and brought her mouth close to Emma's ear and huskily whispered, "Then again, that may not be the proper way to recondition you, it seems to have quite the opposite effect."
You do not hear me complain though.
"Perhaps I should buy a squirt gun, soak you every time you say words like fuck."
Regina's emphasis on the word 'fuck' was the hottest thing Emma had ever heard come from those luscious lips.
Wait, what? She's doing this on purpose. Who the hell calls a water-gun a squirt gun? She wouldn't be opposed to some soaking though, especially while f.. Stop it. Just. Stop.
"Or you could just not do that," Emma mumbled.
"I'm not sure I want to let go of you," Regina's voice was almost inaudible.
"How are you gonna make me dinner if you're holding me in a deadlock grip?"
Regina immediately released her grip on Emma's hair, not wanting to make the blond uncomfortable. She hesitantly placed a hand on Emma's waist, "turn around."
Emma wasn't sure if it was a request or a demand but obliged all the same. Regina's fingers wrapped themselves around her elbow pushing them softly forward, placing Emma's hand on her waist. Chestnut eyes stared straight into her soul and Emma wondered if the loud thunder she heard was Regina's heartbeat or her own. Her thighs clenched uncontrollably when Regina pulled her closer, chest to chest, "Regina, please.." Emma pleaded.
"I want to." Regina said, momentarily shutting her eyes. And by the gods did she mean it. She wanted to ravish Emma. Explore her mouth with her tongue. Drown in those hazel eyes. She couldn't help but notice the way Emma's chest heaved, so incredible eager. "You're not ready, Emma." She groaned when fingernails dug into her waist.
"You don't get to decide that," Emma bit back angrily.
"I should check on dinner."
"Stay. You promised me. You promised you wouldn't run. Stay."
Regina's heart ached when she saw Emma's eyes gloss over. "I'm not running Emma. I'm right here, but until you truly believe that .. I can't."
"Goddammit Regina," tears streamed down Emma's face, her body trembling all over. A fist slammed on Regina's shoulder, "I need you. You promised."
Regina pulled Emma into a tight hug while the girl sobbed. She cooed her softly, "I'm right here, Emma. I'm not going anywhere. I want to. Please believe me. I'm not saying you're not ready because I don't want you. But you still think I'm going to run. I don't know how to make you believe that I won't. Tell me what I have to do to make you trust in that."
"Kiss me," Emma said, "kiss me and I'll believe you."
"I can't make you believe with a kiss Emma. I need you to believe it with your heart."
"Why do you flirt with me if you don't want me?"
"Oh sweetheart. You couldn't be further from the truth. I very much do want you. You're not the only one that's scared. I've never felt this way about anyone before.
You
make me feel things Emma. When you're not near me I miss you. At night when I wake up, I look for you."
Emma clang to her tightly, "I'm so mad at you right now."
"I know. Tell you what, why don't you go curl op on the couch for a bit, sleep if you want. I'll finish dinner. We can talk afterwards."
Emma didn't say a word as she untangled herself from Regina. She didn't dare look her in the eyes and with a shaky breath made her way to the living room.
Good job Regina. That went well.
Regina sighed before turning her attention to dinner. A roller-coaster ride it was indeed and her heart went out to the woman when she heard Emma softly cry.
Sleep Emma. I won't leave you. I promise you, I'm right here.
Regina had let Emma sleep for about an hour before she had woken her up. Emma had been quiet during dinner, avoiding Regina's eyes at all cost. Regina had wanted nothing more but to take Emma's embarrassment away, to tell her it was okay, but she found herself at a loss for word. It was evident that Emma was hurt by what had happened and that had never been Regina's intention. And now they had been sitting on the couch for the past thirty minutes, both completely lost in thought. It was Emma who spoke first.
"I feel like a sugar-addicted kid in a candy store who's been told he can't have any," she grumbled.
Regina couldn't help but chuckle at that. She glanced over at Emma, "Are you still mad at me?"
"I don't know, I guess not. Part of me is relieved that you seem to want the same thing as me and part of me is furious that you refuse to give it to me." She looked at Regina and softly added, "Because I really want it.. It shouldn't be this big of a deal you know? It's not how these things are suppose to play out."
"How are they suppose to play out?" Regina asked.
"I don't know, you meet someone, make out a little, live happily ever after. The usual stuff."
"Life is hardly a fairytale, Miss Swan," Regina mused.
"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear."
Regina inhaled sharply, "I don't want you to resent me for looking out for you."
"I don't resent you. I'm frustrated. I don't know how to fix whatever it is that I'm not showing you."
Emma sighed. It was weird talking so openly to Regina about their feelings. She desperately wanted to show Regina that she knew she'd be there, but didn't have the faintest clue how to go about it. But she also didn't want it to be this complicated.
Regina reached out a hand and played with Emma's hair, letting soft curls slide through her fingers, "Do you think I'm wrong when I say you're not ready?"
"I don't know. I want to say yes. I'm an adult, I can make my own decisions, but I also know you have my best interest at heart, so you can't be all that wrong. You don't make it any easier though with all the flirting and touches."
Regina's hand stilled in Emma's hair before she pulled it back completely. "I'm sorry," she said, guilt evident in her tone.
"I didn't say I wanted you to stop," Emma said before reaching over and taking Regina's hand and dropping it on her head. "I'm just saying it makes it more difficult, but it feels really good, so you can do that all evening, as punishment," Emma smirked.
Regina smiled, "It's not much of a punishment dear, I enjoy it thoroughly."
Well. Let me fix that for you.
"Close your eyes."
"Are we going to play another game?"
"Nope. I'm gonna give you a proper punishment," Emma said, a newfound determination and confidence seeped through her voice. "Now close your eyes."
Regina took a deep breath before closing her eyes and mumbled, "If you're gonna dump water on my head I will make you pay."
Emma laughed as she got up from the couch, "When I'm done with you, you're gonna wish I dumped water on your head."
"I trust you," Regina said and Emma wasn't sure if it was a reassurance meant for Regina or an encouragement to herself.
"Good, that's really good. Don't move, I'll be right back, keep your eyes closed."
"Miss Swan, I'm allergic to water. In ninth grade we went to a swim paradise - well it wasn't much more than a swimming pool at the time - and by the time we left my body had a rash all over and I itched for days."
Emma snorted, "That's a real nice story Regina, you're getting better at bullshitting your way through! Relax though, I didn't leave to grab water, I'm not as evil as you."
"Wait, you're back already?" Regina asked.
Emma was amused by Regina's look of confusion, "Maybe I never left, you'll never know."
She had planned to go to the kitchen, but when she noticed a scarf draped over one of the chairs she decided to grab that instead. She hesitated when she stood in front of Regina, unsure how to proceed, it was all nice and well telling Regina she was going to punish her but she hadn't thought that statement through.
Right.
Tease her back.
She straddled Regina and both women blushed immediately.
"You better keep those eyes shut, but I'll help you with that, because I am such a thoughtful person," Emma said cheekily as she wrapped the scarf around Regina's head. "Right, how many fingers am I holding up?" She gave Regina the finger and chuckled softly at the silliness of it all.
"I have no idea, I can't see a damn thing," Regina grumbled.
Emma snorted, "Language, Regina!"
Now what? This was such a good plan, Emma. You are so creative. Regina would have driven you insane by now. Honestly, put some effort into it."
"You don't know what to do next, do you?" Regina laughed.
"Shut up. Just out of curiosity, if you were me right now, what would you do?"
Really? Good plan, Emma. Good plan.
"If I tell you, how will you know if it's truly what I would do to you or if I'd just be saying it because I want you to do it to me?" Regina mused.
Goddammit.
She slapped Regina on the shoulder, "You're impossible. Now be quiet, let me think."
Regina chuckled as she put her hands behind her head.
Now. What would Regina do? Just focus. Stop thinking about the fact that her thighs are directly beneath yours and that she smells heavenly.
Emma's eyes wandered over Regina's face. She looked completely relaxed and a little smug, her lips curled up slightly.
God those jaws. What I wouldn't do to kiss along them
. Her eyes followed the line of her jaw to her neck. She tried to ignore the fact that she was becoming more aroused with the minute and the thought of what she wanted to do to Regina.
I mean. Look at those collarbones.
"Would you like a week to think about it?" Regina grinned.
Emma didn't respond, instead she reached out with a finger and traced along Regina's collarbone, soliciting a hiss from the older woman.
Interesting!
Her finger slowly traveled down lower as she tugged on the fabric of Regina's shirt. "My, Regina, what a nice rack you have there," Emma said in a mock voice.
Really, really nice.
"All the better to smother you with, my dear," Regina replied huskily.
"Oh my god Regina! Is that the porn version of Little Red Riding Hood?" Emma snickered.
Regina laughed, "If it's not, it definitely should be."
"So Regina, tell me. Are you ticklish?"
Ticklish? That's the best you've got?
"No."
"Are you just saying that?" Emma squinted her eyes, before realizing Regina wouldn't be able to see that.
"No, it's true. Kathryn and I were really drunk once and she started to tickle me for whatever reason and it did nothing, so naturally I tickled her back and she peed her pants."
"That's gross, how am I ever suppose to look her in the eye again without that visual?"
"No idea, Miss Swan. So, when does the punishment start? I mean, if you straddling me was the punishment part I feel obliged to tell you it has quite the opposite effect."
Ha. A way in. Success!
She leaned forward, trying with all her might not to focus on the fact that her breasts were now in direct contact with Regina's and that she wanted nothing more but to grope them. "What effect does it have on you Regina?" She whispered in Regina's ear.
Dear heart, please stop pounding so loudly in my chest, I'd like to hear Regina's response. Thanks!
Emma squirmed when she saw Regina lick her lips, "Well, the usual really. Elevated heartbeat, difficulty breathing steadily, dry mouth, a throb between my legs and an insane desire to put my hands on your waist and pull you that much closer," Regina said with a calm voice, as if she was reciting today's grocery list.
Emma's chest was heaving, "Fuck," was all she muttered, "Do it."
"Do what exactly, Miss Swan?"
"Everything," Emma breathed heavily.
Regina chuckled, "How is it that I'm the one that is blindfolded and you're the one that's squirming?"
"Because you're an evil weapon of mass seduction."
Regina reached forward with one hand and pushed Emma's hair out of the way, her lips softly brushing against Emma's ear and with a silvery voice whispered, "Not quite, dear. You see, if I was evil, I'd take off this blindfold and put it on your head instead. I'd put my hands on the small of your back and press my thumbs softly into your waist before sliding that t-shirt of yours upwards and I'd drag my fingernails up, softly scratching, unless you'd like it harder. You know, the kind of fingernails digging that leaves angry red welts, those are quite delicious too."
"Then what?" Emma asked with a raspy voice, desperately trying to ignore the throbbing between her legs, her eyes firmly shut.
"Hm," Regina mused, "then I'd pick you up, with your legs wrapped around my waist and then we would probably fall over because I'm not all that strong, but for the sake of fantasy, let's say I'm
incredible
strong."
Emma chuckled.
"I'd carry you up the stairs, into my bedroom and I would lay you down on my incredible comfortable bed. Your hair would be all over the pillow and you'd look incredible sexy and eager. I'd hover over you before straddling you and tell you how badly I want you and how wet you make me. I wouldn't kiss you yet, but I'd kiss your neck, leaving thousands of soft kisses-"
Emma moaned and clenched her thighs.
Regina chuckled, "leaving thousands of soft kisses until you'd moan just like that. Then I'd put my mouth on yours and it wouldn't be a gentle kiss. My tongue would demand access into your mouth and it would find yours for the briefest moment, and then I'd suck your lower lip into my mouth, perhaps even bite it softly. I'd take your hands and place them over your head and I would tell you that I was going to make you feel so incredible good. My hands would trail down your arms and I would chuckle because you would squirm and ache for more. Perhaps I would indulge you, by kissing your collarbones or leaving wet trails with my tongue. I'd tell you to arch your back so I could unclasp your bra. Maybe I would take off your t-shirt and your bra, or maybe I would leave them on and just pull it down slightly revealing exactly what's hidden beneath them."
Emma was trembling, her breathing shallow, "More."
"I would roll your nipples between my fingers, before covering them with my mouth and flick them with my tongue. Then I'd probably decide that I really would appreciate to see all of you and take of your shirt and bra anyway. Perhaps I'd kiss you again, more slowly this time, passionately, just my lips nipping at yours. Tell me Miss Swan, are you wet?"
"Yes," Emma whimpered.
"Touch yourself."
"W-what?"
"It's not a request, Emma," Regina said coyly before moving her hands down to Emma's pants, unbuttoning and unzipping it. She reached her left hand up to Emma's right hand, trailing down from her shoulder until she found it, and brought it to her mouth, placing a soft kiss on her fingertips before placing it at the hem of Emma's pants, slipping it inside and removed her own hand. "Touch yourself, slowly and gentle."
When Emma's fingers dipped into her wetness her breath hitched in her throat.
"Breathe, Emma. Breathe. Slow circles." She placed one hand at the back of Emma's head, pulling her head close to her until her lips made contact with Emma's ear again. "Now, where were we?"
"Kissing," Emma's voice was all rasp.
"That's right. I'd kiss you until your lips hurt. Then I'd tell you to turn over before straddling you again. I'd trail my nails down your back, kissing each scratch that would appear, until you'd beg for more. Perhaps I would indulge you, but I think I'd tease you some more by kissing your waist, the small of your back before making my way to your neck again. My lips would nip at your earlobe, perhaps my tongue would slip inside the shell, not everyone likes that. Tell me, Emma, what do you want?"
"More," was all Emma managed to say, her fingers covered with wetness, softly circling her clit.
"I suppose I'd tell you to roll over again then. Kiss my way down your stomach, all the way down to the hem of your pants. I'd unbutton them and take them off. I don't think I could stand being away from you too long though. Perhaps I'd place a chaste kiss
right there
before kissing my way back up. I do love to tease. I'd lay down next to you, half on top of you and take that scarf off your head, I wouldn't be able to stand not looking into those gorgeous eyes for what would come next."
"I-I am not t-taking yours off," Emma panted.
"I never expected you to dear. A little faster now."
Regina immensely enjoyed feeling Emma tremble against her. "I would kiss you again, until you'd feel like you were gonna pass out from lack of oxygen. Then my fingers would trail down and before they'd slip down into your wet folds, I'd tell you to look at me."
"Regina, please," Emma pleaded.
"I'd dip a finger into your wet folds and I'd moan because you would feel so good. Faster now, Emma. I would tease your clit, for a moment, before I'd apply more pressure. Perhaps I'd slip a finger or two inside of you, if you'd ask me, and use my thumb instead, but either way I would tell you how beautiful you are."
"I'm gon-" Emma started to say before Regina cut her off.
"You are beautiful Emma. You're the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on and I want to do all those things to you, and I promise you I will do all those things to you. But what I really want right now, is for you to feel good. Come for me, Emma. I am right here and I am not going anywhere," Regina said.
Emma's orgasm was a silent but oh so intense one as she stopped breathing, Regina suppressed a moan herself, not wanting to sound like a total perv. She removed the scarf from her head, her eyes still closed as she wrapped Emma in a tight hug, letting her ride out the waves of her orgasm, "Breathe, Emma."
And Emma did, as she removed her hand from her pants and wrapped her arms around Regina's neck. She softly and almost inaudible whispered, "You are amazing."
Regina smiled and placed a kiss on Emma's shoulder, "As are you, my love, as are you."
|
Catching signals that sound in the dark, we will take off our clothes, and they'll be placing fingers through the notches in your spine.
--
Hannibal, as if he had some internal clock ticking and whirring inside him, calmly closed the leather case of his tablet and placed it on the side-table between them. He stood and walked across the room towards the kitchen.
Will’s eyes followed him. His steps, though still genteel and postured, had become more relaxed since they’d moved in together. He now frequently walked with a slow casualness, often even shuffling his socked feet in the mornings as he made coffee.
“Can you bring me a glass of water while you’re up?”
Hannibal stopped for a moment, poised like a dog who has heard some far off noise, before he continued on, making no other sign he’d heard the request.
Will’s question was more an experiment than anything. They’d hardly spoken at all since the fall, through patching each other’s wounds, tying off stitches, changing bandages, helping bathe and wash hair and put on socks and any number of other things that suddenly become difficult after traumatic injury. What had there been to say? After years and years of eating at the core of each other, what do you do when you suddenly survive all that?
Apparently, you sit silently across from each other at the breakfast table, mussed hair at all angles, dipping toast into your runny eggs, making no effort to pretend the world is the same. You go on walks around your property, together and alone, out of breath from the rolling hill on the east side, pinesap-sticky from the trees on the west. You live on top of each other, sharing beds, chairs, plates, forks, soap, undershirts, newspapers, towels, trading them back and forth with an unrehearsed ease that doesn’t feel like sharing at all.
You never talk about it.
And so it becomes the rug under your feet, and you walk on it all day long, and it just stays there, warm.
Hannibal came back in the room, sweater smelling faintly of the leeks he’d been sauteeing for potato soup. He moved a cork coaster to the side of the table nearest Will, then placed the glass of water on the coaster. A bead of condensation rolled down and into the cork, and Hannibal sat again, opening his tablet to start reading where he’d left off.
WIll didn’t touch the water. Neither of them acknowledged it at all.
--
A few days later, Will woke to find Hannibal still in bed, sleeping soundly to his left. Will had discovered that Hannibal was not at all averse to sleeping in; most days, however, he chose to wake before Will, doing his washing up, starting breakfast, and generally puttering around in the bronze light before dawn.
Will hadn’t known what to expect from this kind of domesticity, had certainly never intended it or planned for it in his mind. After Hannibal had dragged them both onto shore, and they lay coughing up water, they’d looked at each other, just for a moment, both sucking in air in great heaving bouts. In that second of eye contact, it was obvious that there was no alternative but this, to go on in each other’s company. They were back at zero, both knowing that the other’s death would just as surely mean their own. Companionship was a necessity, to be present in the same house, room, bed. Almost never out of sight.
Companionship with Hannibal Lecter had never been a serious practical goal for Will - even when he’d considered running away with him the first time, he’d never thought out what their days would be like, how they’d exist together. Now that it was real, and that Will had the added knowledge of Hannibal’s love, he felt like they were pussyfooting around exactly what they were doing.
His thoughts about Hannibal had never before been sexual in nature, though now when he saw Hannibal looking at him across the dinner table after hours and days of silence, he noticed how his eyes traced the curve of his lip; when they crossed paths in the bathroom in the evening, he heard how Hannibal’s breath caught, just minutely, at Will’s scent; in bed at night, where they never touched, but soaked in warmth as though the other was a fire in winter, Will felt Hannibal’s minute shifts, hands squeezing into fists with the need to hold close.
Will turned to his side, head propped up on his hand, and studied the other man. His face, so often haunted and gaunt during the day, was soft and untroubled. There was an innocence to him like this, and Will could see another life, without the murder and horror and betrayal, where Hannibal could have been different: kinder, gentler. The smile lines by his eyes were smoothed in sleep, but Will could imagine them deep and bent in laughter, his whole face lit up in joy. He’d never seen that on Hannibal before, never seen any genuine release of emotion that didn’t end with blood, and he suddenly wanted it. He wanted so badly for that person to be real, to bring back those parts of Hannibal that must exist somewhere inside.
He reached out through the invisible barrier between their sides of the bed to brush a lock of silver hair off of Hannibal’s forehead, and felt the other man shift a little before breathing deeply again, still asleep.
Will took his hand back, rolling over gently so as not to wake Hannibal as he got out of bed. He went into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, smelling Hannibal on the towel as he wiped his face dry, just as he smelled Hannibal everywhere in this house, in every room and surface and pore.
Clean and dry, he put a robe on over his pajama pants and padded downstairs to the kitchen.
Breakfast, like most meals, was usually Hannibal’s domain, but Will liked to do his share on occasion as well. Hannibal sleeping in gave him the chance to have the quiet kitchen to himself and to think. He understood why Hannibal enjoyed working in here so much - there was a meditation to cracking eggs, whisking them, sauteeing butter. It was rote, an activity that occupied the body and allowed the mind to wander.
As he boiled water for coffee, put bacon in a pan to fry, and gathered the ingredients for pancakes, he thought on this, on how often Hannibal spent time in here, alone, focused on some task or another. It was certainly not necessary for Hannibal to cure their own ham, or dry their own herbs, or spend hours kneading yeast dough and allowing it to rise. All these things could be easily acquired at the local grocery – perhaps not to Hannibal’s standards, but with much less effort on a man who was currently recovering from a major abdominal wound.
It seemed to Will that Hannibal was making blind stabs at purpose in this new life, one that up until now had been occupied only by healing and breathing. Now that their skin was once again whole, red scars fading to pink, their days were beginning to bleed into each other; short winter evenings stretching out into longer and longer sunsets as spring came, and still no answers for what they were doing here.
Will measured flour into his mix of buttermilk and eggs, then whisked the bowl, adding a few handfuls of blueberries and chopped pecans as the lumps settled. The bacon was sizzling by now, and Will set out another pan next to it, dropping in a pat of butter to melt. He poured the first pancake and watched for the bubbles to rise around the edge, then flipped it to brown on the other side.
He thought again about the water glass from earlier in the week. He didn’t really know why he’d pushed Hannibal in that moment. Part of it was just a need to break the haze of silence, but there was a little more there too. A bigger part just wanted to see what Hannibal would do. They freely offered themselves to each other, mutually helping out around the house as partners do, but they never explicitly asked each other for things. Will saw a small glint of something in Hannibal’s silent obedience, and it made him curious for more.
He kept on pouring, waiting, watching, again and again until he had a small stack of pancakes. He wondered about what would happen today when Hannibal came downstairs. Normally, when Hannibal rose early and did the cooking, Will would come down and find a cup of black coffee waiting for him at his spot on the table, and he would drink it while he pretended to read the paper and watched Hannibal work. If Hannibal noticed his gaze, he never showed it. It was as though they were separated by glass, each aware of the other, but unable to break through.
WIll never asked for these small favors, but he also never turned them down when they appeared in Hannibal’s hand. Will thought about Hannibal, about how much he wanted to share and how much he held back for Will’s sake. The intimacies he denied himself, cracking through in moments like that, in warm black coffee and sleep-mussed hair.
He was just getting to the last of the batter when he heard the sound of bare feet coming down the steps. Hannibal walked in, wearing only his blue striped pajama bottoms, hair loose over his forehead and eyes still dense with sleep.
Clothing was no longer much of a barrier for them; in all the ways they’d seen and known each other, and in all the physical healing they’d done over the last weeks, it seemed like such a small thing, to know the other’s body by sight, their maps of scars and freckles and dips. While Hannibal was no stranger to Will’s body, having dressed and stitched and bathed him numerous times before, Will found himself getting to know Hannibal’s - the birthmark on the left side of his ribcage, the soft part of his belly under the navel, the odd way his pinky toe curled; the kinds of very human things one could never imagine or invent about another person unless they knew them in this way. He saw now, out of the corner of his eye, the grey in Hannibal’s chest hair, the slight slouch in his morning steps.
“Would you pour us coffee?” Will gave Hannibal a small glance.
Hannibal looked back at him, making curious eye contact for just a moment, before going over to the cabinet and pulling down two white mugs. Out of the corner of his eye, Will watched him depress the French press, fill each mug, and add a sugar cube to his own, leaving Will’s black, the way he liked it.
“I’d like cream in mine.”
Another short look between them, inscrutable, but Hannibal moved over to the refrigerator, bare feet making soft padding sounds on the tile floor, and came back to the counter with the cream, pouring until the surface of the coffee was tan and clouded.
“That’s enough. Thank you.”
Hannibal nodded and returned the cream to its spot in the refrigerator door. He then walked over to the mugs and brought them to the kitchen table, placing them in their usual spots and sitting to watch Will finish cooking.
“The bacon needs plating.”
No eye contact, but he was up again in a second, coming over to the counter next to Will to pull the bacon out of the pan with tongs and put it on the plate Will had left out. Will felt the warmth from his unclothed skin. He thought about how he might pass his hand around to rest it on the small of Hannibal’s back. He thought about how Hannibal might react. He kept his hands to himself and focused on the pancakes.
Hannibal poured the rendered fat into the mason jar under the sink to be used later, and then gathered two more plates from the cabinet.
“I didn’t ask you to set the table yet.”
As close as they were, Will felt rather than saw Hannibal’s small flinch, rippling just through his flank. Hannibal stopped, head tilted, a furrow just forming between his eyes. “Shall I put them back?”
“No, leave them where they are. Go drink your coffee.”
Hannibal did, sitting at the table and watching Will intently now, the warm mug pressed just under his nose.
Will finished flipping the last pancake and walked over to the table with the pancakes and bacon in hand. He returned to the counter to retrieve the plates Hannibal had left there on his request, and also gathered forks.
Will sat down and plated the food, an equal amount for each of them, then stopped short.
“I forgot the butter and syrup.”
Hannibal gave him a look that seemed to ask what, exactly, he planned on doing about that. It was the same look Hannibal had given him over and over again during the years they’d been close. The same look Hannibal had given him over Randall Tier’s body on his dining table in Baltimore. Will had the brief thought that maybe he’d tested this new, taut string between them a little too much already for one day, and then brushed it aside.
“They’re in the fridge, would you get them?”
“I know where they are,” Hannibal said as he stood, his tone flat, though not aggressive. Just, blank.
Hannibal brought the butter dish and syrup bottle over, placing them on the table between himself and Will. He drummed his fingers against the tabletop, just once. He looked down, avoiding Will’s eyes.
“Thank you. Eat your breakfast.”
“Am I to ask whether I may use the butter that you’ve had me retrieve?”
“What do you think?” Will asked, and he really did want to know. Where did Hannibal imagine this going? Where did Hannibal want for this to go? Did Hannibal really even care where this went, as long as Will was in charge?
“I think I’d like to know how you intend for me to proceed.” Hannibal was looking at him again with that expression, calculating, but not defiant. Brain ticking away without any definite direction. Just curious. “I think you’d like that too.”
“Hmm. Butter your pancakes, Hannibal. They’re going cold.”
“Very well.” He did, and then he ate through them hungrily and methodically. Hannibal sustained an obvious delight in Will making an effort for him, cooking for him, though Will knew he would never admit this out loud. The pink flush to his cheeks said enough.
They finished their breakfast in silence, and when their plates were empty, Hannibal looked at him, drumming his fingers on the table once more, silently wondering how Will would have him continue.
“You go on, I’ll clean up.”
Hannibal nodded once at that, acknowledging the end of their small game, and left to shower and get dressed for the day. Will gathered the dishes into the sink and began to scrub them. He had a lot to think about. |
On that fateful day one month prior as soon as Wen Ning and Young Master Wei returned to the Burial Mounds, Wen Qing knew that it was time. One look at her brother’s arm that was coated from his fingertips to his elbow in the dried blood of another had her reviewing the plans she had made with Lan Wangji.
Wei Wuxian had been too distracted and full of worry to notice her slip to the edges of the forest and release the signal that Hanguang Jun had given her when they had met in Yiling. It shot into the clouds as quickly as it had been released, making it’s way to Gusu as Wen Qing ran back through the trees to where her brother and Wei Wuxian were still waiting.
Wei Wuxian was pacing around the cave, mumbling to himself. He was planning, planning what to do next and Wen Qing knew she did not have much time. Thankfully, due to his distracted state, Wei Wuxian failed to notice her grab and hide the vial from the back of her workstation in her robes. She grabbed a scrap of paper that also sat there, the same scraps she had used to write to Lan Wangji and frantically made a note of something. The vial of black liquid sloshed against the sides of its container as she moved around and she tried not to panic. She couldn’t risk losing a drop. It had taken weeks to prepare and multiple failed attempts, all for the small chance that one day it may be needed. Today.
All the planning, the hiding, the hard work back then had reached it’s climax. It had become a reality before her eyes. She had just simply been thinking of what she could do to repay Wei Wuxian for saving their lives, giving them a second chance.
The basics of the situation, in her mind, were this: Even if she and her people could not survive, Wei Wuxian had to.
As he lived amongst them in Burial Mounds, they were all aware how much he had sacrificed, the easier life in a powerful cultivation sect he had abandoned to rescue the Wens. The majority had been strangers to him that night, yet he treated them the same he would a biological family member. He had made the decision to give up a large portion of his life, and comfort, for the Wens. Wen Qing knew that this also meant that any future decisions and hardships he would face would come as a result of that fateful choice. She had told Lan Wangji as such when he agreed to meet her in Yiling.
“It is a waste for Wei Wuxian to die with us. He saved us and I do not wish for another tragedy to us to become his death sentence,” Wen Qing told Lan Wangji as she nursed a cup of hot tea between her hands. “Harm to us should not cause harm to Wei Wuxian any longer. This is the least we can do to repay him.”
After Lan Wangji’s unexpected visit to the Burial Mounds she had begun to suspect that the friendship between the two men had been closer than she had anticipated. Everyone knew Hanguang Jun as not only a man of high moral standing, but one who kept his distance. In fact, she had heard stories of other cultivators fearing him for his icy personality alone. She, too, held pre-conceived notions about what kind of man the Second Twin Jade of Lan must be, but those quickly became muddled when she saw A-Yuan running towards Granny, arms full of toys he had received as gifts. She was as shocked as anyone to find out that these gifts were from Lan Wangji, a man Wen Yuan had only met that same day.
Wen Qing described their living situation in depth as they nursed drinks. From the day she had found Wei Wuxian as she wandered the streets, to the man Wei Wuxian was when he was trying to build all these people a home from nothing.
After Second Young Master Lan had let slip the small fact that had been wishing to bring Wei Wuxian back to Gusu with little success into their conversation it did not take long to formulate a plan.
Wei Wuxian had risked it all to help them once, there was no guarantee that he would live through it again. If such a situation was to occur, Wen Qing was to release a signal to alert Lan Wangji to let him know that it was time. To give him time to arrive to Yiling, as well as bring Wei Wuxian back to Gusu without him waking and causing more problems, she would require a concoction that would not only keep him unconscious for a long period of time but to suppress any spiritual ability, Lan Wangji had said.
At that time, Lan Wangji remained unaware of the condition of Wei Wuxian’s missing golden core, so she did not correct him by letting it be known that that would hardly be necessary. Lan Wangji feared that spending a long period of time unconscious may harm his body more now that he was practicing demonic cultivation. Therefore, every part of Wei Wuxian was to be kept dormant during that time minus his vital organs, to ensure he could not lose control of his body and that nothing, in turn, took control of him.
The missing puzzle piece, Wen Qing thought, was how to not only keep Wei Wuxian in the Cloud Recesses but ensure he remained undetected. Lan Wangji had mused silently for several minutes. There were various types of wards in existence, and that he knew well. Many were in place at the Cloud Recesses, but he had never encountered wards set up for the sake of one specific person.
They could set up wards that only Lan Wangji could leave and enter, but he had never tried such a thing and Wen Qing mentioned that perhaps they may be vulnerable to those from the Lan bloodline. After all, they all shared similar energy. They could not risk Lan Xichen or, worst of all, Lan Qiren, discovering Wei Wuxian’s whereabouts.
They were not planning keep him there forever, but Lan Wangji insisted it be left to him with how to handle keeping Wei Wuxian safe after that. He said Wen Qing had done enough worrying for the other and that this was not something that they were sure was even going to happen or be necessary. It was just a time buying measure for a hypothetical worst-case scenario. Without knowing if, or why, such a plan was needed, no plans could be made beyond that.
As they were about to leave the tavern, Lan Wangji suddenly enquired about A-Yuan. What would happen to A-Yuan in this plan?
Wen Qing spluttered, she had not thought of that, not allowing herself to. “He’s a Wen, most likely he will meet the same fate as the rest of us.”
Lan Wangji counteracted, “He is a child. Does he know of Wen Ruohan?”
Wen Qing shook her head, “I imagine he doesn’t, no. But… In such a scenario, I don’t see how any Wen’s can survive that. We were already sentenced to death once; we will be unable to survive in peace if something happens again.” She was careful to speak silently and avoid looking at anyone around. If others knew a Wen cultivator sat amongst them at that moment… She kept her voice low.
“Forgive me,” said Lan Wangji, “If it is possible, there may be a way we can… use… A-Yuan and save them both.”
Wen Qing’s ears peaked. Hanguang Jun’s reputation was true indeed, he was always on the side of justice. He had only met Wen Yuan once, yet during a discussion on how to pull off one of the riskiest rescue-attempts the cultivation world would ever know, he insisted on saving an innocent toddler, too. She knew that Wei Wuxian would have said the same. It finally clicked how the two young men had formed such a bond despite being polar opposites.
She took a deep breath, “Second Young Master Lan. I feel now that I can trust you with not only the life of Wei Wuxian but, now I know you will endeavour to save A-Yuan it’s my duty to share some information with you about Young Master Wei. It may affect the potion we choose, and the wards you set up.”
A solemn nod. “Please, speak.”
“I read somewhere… You may not know this, but…” she fumbled nervously, she had never discussed such things with such a high-ranking cultivator before.“I have spent a long time researching golden cores, particularly on the removal and transfer of one’s golden core. During my time researching, I discovered that certain talismans and wards can be manipulated to only affect those without a golden core as an extra layer of protection as well as the original function of the wards. These were originally used to protect properties from low-level spirits entering if a cultivator was away, but these have fallen out of regular use now that clans have grown… However, I believe that, perhaps, if you could use a simple password protected ward to keep only you from entering it would work alongside the Coreless Wards. In other words, you could make it so that people without golden cores cannot enter nor leave… So, even if Wei Wuxian discovered your method for entering and leaving, escaping will be impossible as long as the wards remained in place.”
Lan Wangji stared blankly, “I don’t understand.”
Wen Qing scanned her surroundings once again. Customers were few and far between at this early hour, but she had to ensure no one would hear her as she recounted the events of Wei Wuxian’s golden core removal.
It was a few days later when the letter from Gusu arrived. The paper was plain, completely unremarkable in appearance and impossible to trace back to its sender. Wei Wuxian and the others were tending to small garden area they were still trying to grow and did not notice that Wen Qing hid the papers in her robes to read once she was alone. Inside were two small scrolls detailing ingredients and brewing instructions for the concoction she would prepare. The first mixture was designed to sedate, the second to repress one’s abilities. The following day, Wen Qing spent hours studying the papers, deciding the best way to brew it, failing a few times before finally combining them in the best way she thought would be possible to avoid major side effects. Of course, she didn’t know what the effects would be – no one did. She would not have chance to check if it would even work, and how long it would keep the patient asleep. The original recipe, the one to sedate, was designed to keep the patient unconscious for no more than three days. She increased this dosage several times to ensure it would be strong enough. There was no guarantee it would all enter Wei Wuxian’s system, after all, and accidents happen. She needed to make sure it was strong enough that the spiritual suppressant could also work alongside it. Never in her life had medicine been this difficult – or dangerous.
On the day of Jin Zixuan’s death Wen Qing made sure to note on the bottom of the letter she had scribbled that she was unsure how long its effects would last. Lan Wangji should know that although she had done her best, there was no guarantee it would work well, if at all. They didn’t count on it working too well.
The potion clawing its way through Wei Wuxian’s system, Wen Qing watched his face writhe in discomfort, his veins turning dark as it made its way through his bloodstream, until he visibly went limp moments later and returned to his normal colours. She sighed in relief and took his wrist to check he was still breathing, that his heartbeat was stable and waited a short while to ensure that he did not vomit it up and render the concoction useless. Once she was satisfied with the condition of her patient and the night sky outside the sky covered the landscape with a blue-ish black haze, she placed her hastily written letter beneath Wei Wuxian’s arm, the edge poking out where Lan Wangji would discover it later. He would find her explanations of Wei Wuxian’s induced coma as well as a response to his request regarding A-Yuan.
A few hours after they arrived at the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji, despite his exhaustion, was determined to set up the wards. His body shook as the last dregs of spiritual energy flowed outwards. Their long journey had taken its toll. Safely transporting others was difficult when it must be done undetectably, and one person was comatose. Finally arriving in the late evening, he forced his body to hold it together whilst he finished constructing the wards. The bottom of his usually spotless white robes were splattered brown from carrying a dead weight Wei Wuxian through a mud-covered Burial Grounds, they had dragged along the floor and his hair sloppily fell out of it’s usually pristine hold. He didn’t know if it was because of Wei Wuxian’s condition but he had felt much heavier than before, which had only drained Lan Wangji of energy much faster. He ungracefully, and involuntarily, passed out on the floor once the wards were complete.
A few days later Lan Wangji was surprised to find that Wei Wuxian still slept. In fact, he hadn’t moved an inch since the first day. If not for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, Lan Wangji may have assumed he was dead. He had wiped down Wei Wuxian’s face, arms, any part of exposed skin without being too improper to ensure the man wouldn’t feel uncomfortable and unclean as his body recovered before returning to teach the disciples and attend to other matters. He tried not to worry. Every two hours or so he would return to check on the sleeping man, but nothing changed.
A week later and Lan Wangji started to worry. He scanned the letter Wen Qing had written several times for confirmation that this was normal, but it did nothing to take the edge off his anxiety. Still, he sat beside the sleeping man and played the guqin, playing healing notes over and over, hoping it would speed his awakening.
Two weeks later and, still, nothing had changed.
Wei Wuxian now wore white GusuLan robes instead of his signature black. Lan Wangji had pondered for a day or two whether it be improper to bathe the sleeping man, but, being as rational as possible, he had not wished for Wei Wuxian to contract any illness from uncleanliness – especially with his body in it’s suppressed state. So, he had bathed the unconscious man, as quickly and carefully as possible.
He had not looked at anything that he could be considered to cross any boundaries. Wei Wuxian was unconscious, after all. Well, he had tried not to look… but by the time it was over his face was burning hot and he required a cold shower of his own just to cool down.
Shameless, he told himself as if that would change anything.
A week later and Lan Wangji jolted awoke from his position on the uncomfortable floor. He had decided against hiding Wei Wuxian in the Jingshi, even with the wards up it was too high-risk. People would notice something was unusual. He instead opted for the empty rooms a small walk away from his own. It was a modest bedroom and small room for bathing – the room could not fit a tub inside like the other grander buildings, so it was kept separately which, unfortunately, made it a cold space as it lacked a heating system. The living space itself was comfortable enough, despite the cold bathing quarters. Fortunately, this building was rarely, if ever, used. It had originally been used for travelling cultivators if the guest wings of the Cloud Recesses were full, but it had been years since that was the case.
Since Wei Wuxian’s body still refused to wake, Lan Wangji had taken to sleeping by the other’s side just in case something unexpected happened. It was purely out of safety reasons – and, the only thing worse for Lan Wangji and the Lan sect than Wei Wuxian being discovered in the Cloud Recesses was a dead Wei Wuxian being discovered deep inside their compound.
What had awoken Lan Wangji was a groaning and pained sound, almost like an animal being gutted. It sounded as though prey from a night hunt was deadly wounded and crying out for mercy. It was impossible, though. No animal in the nearby vicinity made such a noise, he would know having lived here for all these years.
He shot up, nevertheless, to peer out of the window. As he suspected, there was nothing to be seen. He must have dreamt it. The morning air surrounded the outside trees in a white mist, the sky slowly brightening and pouring gentle light onto Lan Wangji who stood and watched. He still wore his inner robes from slumber and his hair hung loose. The light also reached the body of Wei Wuxian and illuminated the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.
He frowned.
Sweat?!
Lan Wangji lunged forwards, a hand cupping Wei Wuxian’s chin as he examined the other’s features in the dim light. It was true. Wei Wuxian’s face was flushed although it did not move, sweat pooling by his temples. Again came the groan from earlier, but this time Lan Wangji could see it had originated the other’s lips.
Finally, one month later, the potion was wearing off.
“Wei Ying,” he whispered, still not letting go of the other one’s face. “Wei Ying… Are you awake?”
There was no answer, and Wei Wuxian did not make another sound, nor did he stir. Lan Wangji placed a hand on the other’s forehead despite the sweat that soaked it. A mild fever.
Despite the cultivator’s untamed appearance, he dashed out of the room, soon returning with a thin blanket to replace the thicker one that had covered Wei Wuxian. He waited for the other’s temperature to fall slightly before he decided it may be best to prepare some food. The kitchen workers would not dare to stop Hanguang Jun from taking a meal wherever he wanted. He had been doing so the past few weeks to eat in the private quarters whilst watching over Wei Wuxian and always returned the dishes neatly stacked not too long later. His brother and uncle believed him to be studying and encouraged him to carry on, as long as he taught the disciples well. Times were strange and they had bigger issues — such as the Yiling Patriarch and his whereabouts. On days he was exhausted from training disciples, playing the guqin for Wei Wuxian as well as carrying out Wen Qing’s final request, those in the kitchen would see him return for extra food not too long later. He left some money on the side for their troubles, and their secrecy. Lan Wangji’s attempts to keep to the rules of his sect were long since hopeless.
On the day of Wei Wuxian’s awakening he had hastily brought food back into the living quarters and placed it close to the bed all before realising he was hardly dressed. He had pulled on his outer robes, but he remained dishevelled, and his skin felt rather unclean of it’s own after he had broken a sweat running across the Cloud Recesses. He glanced to check that Wei Wuxian did not stir before he went to bathe in the room next door.
Lan Wangji was a man of conviction. He did not show fear or weakness. He, for the most part, knew what needed to be done and what was right. But, thinking of an unknown drug in Wei Wuxian’s system finally wearing off, he could not help but worry about any side effects. One month spent unconscious was most certainly side-effect enough... He hoped Wei Wuxian would wake soon, that he would feel healthy and give Lan Wangji time to explain what had happened. Wei Wuxian would be angry at first, but he could not hate Lan Wangji for saving his life, right? He had told him so many times that he wished to bring him to Gusu and well, this wasn’t the first time he had done something out of impulse towards the other man. He scrubbed his skin harder as he thought back to what he did during the Night Hunt at Phoenix Mountain and how it had been a moment where he had lost control.
When he emerged from bathing, he was shocked to see that Wei Wuxian stood before him. Only, he was unlike Wei Wuxian at all. The usually talkative cultivator fixated on the ground beneath his feet and did not say a word even when Lan Wangji stood directly in front of him. “Wei Ying,” he said, for the third time that day without an answer.
Only then did Wei Wuxian suddenly started to tilt to one side. Lan Wangji grabbed his forearms, steadying him so that he did not fall. When Wei Wuxian finally seemed to register who it was in front of him, Lan Wangji’s grip tightened ever so slightly. Wei Wuxian’s pupils were blown out and his eyes unfocused. He looked as he had seen many gentlemen do so in various taverns over the years as they succumbed to liquor.
However, Wei Wuxian’s forehead was still covered in a veil of sweat, “Lan Zhan, w-what are you doing here?” Wei Wuxian frowned in discomfort as if he were wounded.
“You’re awake,” he replied, taking note of how unsteady the man was on his feet. He looked to be in agony, and he must have lacked the energy to heal fast enough. “Eat,” he commanded, deciding that once Wei Wuxian inevitably passed out again it should be safe enough to transfer some spiritual energy.
"Wei—"
“I said no! I don't have time for this. You threw yourself down, so I am not apologising for your injury! I’m leaving!” Wei Wuxian’s screams rattled through the room.
Lan Wangji gripped his own upper arm. He could barely feel the pain, he was too focused on the man in front of him. If he touched the door – no, he didn’t want to think about it. He needed to explain what had happened first. Lan Wangji had never been one for words, and he never expected that he would be in this situation and the only one who could explain it. He had burnt the initial letters and plans with Wen Qing soon after receiving them to dispose of any evidence, the only one he still had was the final one which made no sense to anyone but them.
He looked at Wei Wuxian. It was time to come clean, he couldn’t put him in danger.
Where should he start?
When he first visited the Burial Mounds?
When he met Wen Qing?
Or what he discovered on that day he rescued him? How he had cleaned the caked blood from Wei Wuxian’s head, monitored his breathing and pulse for days on end before attacking a tree deep in the forest with Bichen because it felt like it had all been for nothing. He had tried his hardest, Wen Qing and the others were relying on him alone, but Wei Wuxian did not wake, he did not move, he did not show any signs that he could hear Lan Wangji. He had destroyed three trees until their shrubs were nothing but shavings as he couldn’t help but think that maybe, perhaps, he had paralysed Wei Wuxian permanently, all because he thought he could help. Could he not help anyone he cared about? His mother, Wei Wuxian, A-Yuan, too?
He forced the thoughts down and down until they dared not come back up. Years of training under his uncle and years of knowledge of how to suppress his emotions until nothing shows were all he could cling onto as those thoughts rattled around his brain. He looked at the man who he had been waiting for, worrying over for weeks on end and did not let those thoughts show through.
“One month has passed.” |
Sure, maybe he talked too much, but you really couldn’t blame him. Izuku quickly learned throughout his lifetime was that the best way for someone to notice him was for him to be the biggest nuisance there was; as seen with Kacchan. His next target had been placed on Aizawa, whether the man liked it or not.
Aizawa did not like it. There was a reason that the pro had chosen the life of an underground hero, he just simply didn’t like the spotlight or attention of the daylight hero. This child knew too much about him than he would have liked, and was rambling on and on about him. It got to the point where Aizawa began to actually somewhat believe that this kid had been stalking him for 2 years. Truly a child worthy of the title of ‘problem child’.
“Kid. Please.” He groaned, filling his mug with the love of his life; pure espresso. Much to his surprise and satisfaction, the boy did stop talking. He felt a little pang of guilt as the kid had seemed super excited, but he hadn’t had nearly enough caffeine to truly worry about it. The short walk back to his classroom had been a little uncomfortable though with the silence, especially since the boy’s footsteps were creepily mute.
Aizawa sighed, sitting on top of his podium, staring at the kid who just stood in front of him, not speaking a word. “Well? Explain.” He raised an eyebrow before adding on. “Just sit at one of the desks, you’re creeping me out.”
Izuku let relief wash over him as the man released his imaginary grin of his silence. Sure, he had definitely accepted and somewhat embraced the fact that he was good at bothering others, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to make Aizawa’s life more difficult than he had already been making it.
“You can try to erase my quirk, Eraserhead-sensei. It won’t work.” He prefaced, ignoring the glare that the teacher gave him at the substitution of his hero name. “I guess I’ll give you the whole story. It might take awhile.” He gave an almost sad sounding chuckle, which if that shot a bit of concern towards Aizawa, the man didn’t show it.
“I was born quirkless; sucks, I know. I experience how much it sucks first hand. My best friend turned on me along with the rest of my school. I was bullied relentlessly, and was blamed for everything by my teachers. It sucked.”
He took a deep breath before continuing. He didn’t like remembering what happened before; he died to get away from it. But he supposed that Aizawa deserved to know, so he began to explain more.
“My father didn’t like me the day he found out about my quirklessness. Hisashi took it out on my mother, but he didn’t pay attention to me at first. I just watched- I didn’t ever do anything as he hurt Mama.”
Izuku didn’t seem to notice that he had slipped into a more child-like state. He was too busy focusing on the wave of guilt that washed over his emotions, the guilt that he had tried so hard to ignore. He supposed that perhaps it never actually went away.
“I know, I should’ve done more. I could’ve called the police or something but I didn’t. Although, I’m not sure anyone would’ve believed a stupid quirkless kid like me.” He had trailed off, which he quickly realized. He was showing too much emotion, his mask was slipping. That was not ideal. “A-Anyway, on my 10th birthday, my mother hanged herself in her bedroom. I went looking for her since she would usually give me a few small gifts, and well, I found her.” A sad smile formed on his face, trying to force the pained look in his one emerald eye to go away. “Hisashi needed a new punching bag and obviously I was the next best thing. I put up with his beatings and the burns and broken bones from my classmates for awhile, until I stumbled across Al- a hero that I really looked up to on the school rooftop.” He hesitated a bit, blood splattering the desk as he shook his head. “He- He told me that I couldn’t become a hero without a quirk, and well- I guess that was it for me.”
He finally looked up, his emerald eye meeting Aizawa’s own exhausted red ones. He chuckled bitterly at the man’s bewildered look, although it seemed like he was waiting for him to continue. “I killed myself, Eraser.”
Aizawa didn’t really care what expression may have been building up on his face as he listened in horror at Izuku’s explanation. He knew to an extent about the bullying that comes with being quirkless or having a ‘weak’ quirk, he had experienced it first hand, but this kid had gone through so much more. He almost wanted to give this kid a hug, but at the same time, he didn’t want to get blood on his costume before class, and he didn’t know if the kid actually wanted one. He wasn’t known for his ability to give out affection, and din’t want to push something on the ghost if he wasn’t ready.
“I-” He cut himself off, not really knowing what to say. He took a moment to collect his thoughts and glanced at the time, quickly standing up to fetch a towel. “I believe you, kid.” He didn’t know what else to say, he wasn’t the most comforting person despite being a teacher. That was definitely not his specialty. He didn’t miss the hopeful glimmer that appeared in the kid’s green eye though, which sparked something in him. Maybe it was his fatherly instincts finally showing themselves. Or not, he didn’t want kids.
“Alright problem child, class is about to start. If you could please make yourself invisible again, that would be great. I don’t want to clean up more blood.” The pro paused, taking a big swig from his coffee mug, before setting it back down. “Also, since you’re here, you might as well go make yourself useful and get me more coffee.”
Aizawa would be lying if he said the happy child-like expression that formed on the boy’s face didn’t bring his mood up a little bit, but he would also be lying if he said that he didn’t have a massive headache from the whole exchange.
He supposed that he would have to talk to Nedzu about this later. He didn’t sign up for this, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try to help this kid figure himself out. Perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad. That thought was quickly swept away with a groan as the kid handed him a nice cup of nauseatingly sweet coffee.
“Where did I go wrong…” He grumbled under his breath, watching as his remaining students pilled in. He couldn’t wait for this day to be over. |
Your heart pumps and you feel alive again. A light smile plays around your lips. Nothing can hurt you now. They are all ghosts, and all that matters is the beating of your heart, and the pull of his.
You know what you have to do. You have to go back. The sooner you go, the sooner you can fix this. You know now that what Loki was feeling was guilt, when he asked you to hurt him, to punish him. You know it, because you feel the same way now.
You also know that Loki deserves redemption. No truly bad man would feel guilt for his actions. He wanted to fix what he had done, and you want to help him with that. You won't excuse his actions, but you feel that you and he can start fresh. You feel hopeful.
"You're smiling," Rika says. "What're you thinking about?"
"The meeting," you answer immediately. "I think if we all work together, we can truly bring down Loki."
Rika and Lee exchange a triumphant look, but you pretend you didn't see and skip ahead of them, as if you truly were eager to reach The Wooden Fork. Maybe it's just the sun on your skin, but you feel like you could take on the world right now.
Mat is in a more subdued mood, as usual, but he has a determined look on his face as if he's imagining finally gutting Loki.
You laugh to yourself. If only they knew there would be no need for violence. You'll talk to Loki, and Loki can talk to the resistance, and everyone can express their concerns peacefully.
"Have you decided if you'll take the leadership role?" Mat asks, coming up beside you. "If you won't, I would take it."
"That's great!" you enthuse. "I don't feel like much of a leader anyway. You can take it."
You skip forward again, stopping at the side of the path to pick up a daisy. You twirl it in your hand and smile, reminded of Loki once again. Maybe you should bring it to him.
"You look like a village maid with a crush," Lee jokes, laughing at you.
You turn around and walk backwards to face them. "Maybe I do." You wink and turn back around.
"Uh... what?" Lee sounds a bit flustered.
"She's just joking," Rika clarifies. "Don't worry, Lee, the bad woman won't threaten your purity."
You hear the scuffing of feet and then laughter, and assume Lee gave Rika a little shove.
Finally, you spot the first few houses and fall back to let Lee take the lead. You stuff the daisy into your pocket and put on a more serious expression. Now you do feel a bit of nervousness. Would those people even be willing to compromise with Loki?
Would Loki be willing to compromise with them? Diplomacy is a delicate thing.
You stay behind your friends when you enter the tavern, ducking your head low and keeping your gaze averted from any of the customers.
Lee walks up to the bartender, the same one as before, but before he can open his mouth, the man gives him an annoyed look and points to the cellar door.
"Just go in. Nobody cares. I'm sick of all these secret codes I have to remember, when royal guards haven't been seen here in centuries."
Lee looks a bit stunned, but then he nods and gestures for you and the others to follow. You descend the cellar steps and are immediately met with cheers. There are a lot more people here than two days ago. Maybe double the amount, making the room rather crammed.
"I'm so glad you all came!" The Grandma exclaims, weaving between tables and people to reach you. "You are all so brave for trying what you did! The very first people to actually take action! We're all so incredibly grateful to you for giving us courage and hope."
She takes each your friends' hands and shakes them, as well as yours. A lot of the people present are smiling and nodding in agreement. You see Rika and Mat look around in astonishment.
"Thank you," Mat says. "We were brought together by our sense of justice, and when Loki seized the throne, we knew we needed to take action." He steps forward, and you know he's already slipped into the role of the leader. "We did not wish to sit around and wait until our realm was brought to ruin, before we did something about it. In the time he has been king, Loki has erected a gigantic statue of himself, held parties and plays almost weekly, and altered every law and norm set up by King Odin. He is wasting funds for his own amusement and needs to be stopped."
You cringe a little and everyone claps and calls out words of agreement. This is going to be a lot more difficult than you hoped for.
"But-" you say, before Mat can continue. Some people look at you, others didn't seem to have heard. You step forward as well. "But Loki has also done good things!" you call out a little louder.
Mat gives you a look of disbelief. Everyone's attention turns to you.
"We cannot condemn him simply for his vanity! I've seen him help people! There was this family-"
Rika yanks on your arm and drags you back to the staircase. "What are you doing?" she hisses.
"I just... I want the whole truth to be presented," you defend yourself.
"He made you his sex slave!" she whispers angrily. "Are you going to present that, too?"
That makes you shut up. Mat glances at you over his shoulder before continuing his speech.
"In addition to all that, he is also cruel and merciless toward his subjects," he says with emphasis. "Every minor slight against him is cruelly punished! But after we sent our assassin, he's been recruiting new guards! He's afraid of us!"
More people cheer. You grit your teeth. Of course he's scared. You almost killed him multiple times!
"We should try diplomacy!" You yell, trying to get back into the room while Rika holds you back. "We could try talking to hi-mph!"
Rika clasps her hand over your mouth. Everyone stares at you in confusion, while Mat looks angry.
"Diplomacy is very wise," The Grandma says placatingly. "But how would we receive an audience with him without putting targets on our backs?"
You tear yourself from Rika's grip. "I could help with that! He knows me! He trusts me!"
There's a shocked murmur in the crowd.
"Ehm, she- She's still sick," Rika fumbles, grabbing your arm again and dragging you back.
"Stop being an idealist and face the facts," Mat snaps at you. "Love and politics don't go together."
Lee looks uncertainly between the three of you.
You stare in shock at all those people. Maybe they don't want to talk to him. Maybe they just want to be angry. Maybe nothing you say can convince them. Maybe you were just like them before actually meeting Loki. Maybe you need to get Loki to talk to them, instead of the other way around.
"You're right," you say in surrender. "He is unpredictable. Maybe my idea wasn't so good, after all."
"It's alright," The Grandma says with a friendly smile. "We welcome all ideas. Though, usually, with a little less yelling."
"Sorry," you mumble and hang your head. You feel embarrassed, and go over to the corner, where you sit down on the floor. Lee comes over and sits down next to you. There is a moment longer of awkward silence, before Mat continues his rousing speech.
"Hey," Lee says softly so only you can hear him. "You alright? You still have feelings for him, don't you?"
You look up at him. "It's complicated. I just... I feel like he deserves a chance to defend himself before we do anything rash."
Lee nods. "I understand that, but diplomacy is very difficult when one person is king and the other merely a subject."
"I guess," you mumble.
"And he did seize the throne unjustly, through trickery and possibly murder. That alone is a crime," he adds. "Even if he isn't all bad, he should still be held accountable."
"Yeah…" You have to admit he has a point. That still doesn't deter you from your plans tonight.
You wait in defeated silence until the stupid meeting is over. Stupid Mat and his stupid plans and the stupid resistance wanting to fight rather than talk. On your way home, you kick at rocks instead of prancing around picking flowers.
Rika tries to talk to you, but you go to sulk in your room. You also start deciding how exactly you will do this tonight. You really don't have a plan beyond waiting for everyone to fall asleep and literally walking to the palace. Sadly, no matter how much thinking you do, you can't find an alternative. You kind of want to avoid stealing a horse.
You spend the rest of the day chatting with your friends and pretending everything is normal. You would feel bad, but this is about something greater than you all. Love, and politics.
Come nightfall, you put on the very same green dress and shoes you had on when you left him. Then you stuff the rest of your clothes under your blanket in case someone goes to check on you in the middle of the night. You've waited a couple hours, and now you take the cape and wrap it around you, holding the dagger in your hand. Carefully, you open the door into the main store, checking for any sign of activity.
"Is anyone awake?" you whisper, just loud enough that only those awake would hear you. When there is no answer, you tiptoe across the store toward the door. When you pass by Rika, you pause, looking at her sleeping face.
Your heart clenches painfully. She looks so at peace, and what you're about to do is betrayal. Still, you know you have to do this. If everything goes right, you'll be back the next day.
You exit the store and step into the chilly night air. It's colder than you expected, and you regret wearing the dress, but it's too late now. You wrap the cape tighter around yourself and start walking.
You don't know exactly where you're going, but the golden towers of the palace are jutting up in the distance, glittering in the moonlight, so you know the general direction. You walk at a brisk pace, knowing it will take you hours to get there.
It's kind of scary alone in the city at night. If anyone wanted to kill you, you'd only have a dagger to defend yourself with. ...Well, that might be enough. You walk faster, your feet carrying you over cobblestone. To distract yourself from being scared, you plan out what you're going to say to him.
Hey, Loki, I know I betrayed you and ran away, but here I am! Take me back!
You scoff at yourself. That just won't do. You'll have to be very delicate. State your peaceful intentions, your willingness to fix your mistakes. Maybe grovel a little. Or maybe avoid just that?
It takes about an hour before you've come up with the right words. By that time, clouds have covered the moons, and it gets harder to see. It also gets significantly colder, and ten minutes later, it starts to rain. Just your luck.
You walk even faster, holding the cape over your head. Summer really is over. The rain is icy cold, but thankfully not too heavy. Still, after another half hour, you're chilled to the bone and about ready to give up. You wonder how your friends are faring, considering the leaky roof. Maybe they woke up and already know you're gone. You can't go back.
You hurry onward. The closer you get to the palace, the more guards you encounter, which you have to carefully avoid. They would, no doubt, ask questions you are unwilling to answer.
You are physically exhausted by the time you see the palace gates. Your gait has slowed significantly, and you're pretty much out of breath.
Slowly, you lumber toward the two men guarding the gate.
"Halt!" One of them calls out immediately. "State your business!"
"I... Here to see the king," you wheeze, finally coming to a standstill and allowing yourself to catch your breath.
"Do you have documents of identification?" The man questions. "The gates are closed for common folk at this hour."
"I... He knows me," you pant. "I'm his lover. He would want to see me."
"Anyone can say that," the guard sneers. "If you have no documents, leave. The king is asleep. Come back in the morning."
"Wait, I-" You slide the cape off your shoulders and hold it and the dagger out to him. "These are his. I'm that... I'm the assassin, the one who ran away."
That gets a reaction. The guard reaches for a torch that was mounted to the pillar next to him and holds it up to see you properly. The flame has trouble staying up in the rain and wind, but apparently the little amount of light is enough.
The guard takes the cape and dagger from you, tosses the torch aside, and grabs your arm.
"Open the gate!" he yells to someone unseen, and another guard comes up to it from the inside, unlocking it and making it swing open.
Your guard shoves you forward, pushing you inside.
"Bring her to the king at once," he tells the other guard, shoving the cape and dagger into his arms. "She is the assassin. She brought back his belongings."
The other guard fumbles with the things and then takes your other arm, giving the first guard a nod, who lets you go.
You are now dragged along by the second guard, while the first one returns to his station. He beings you inside, and finally you are out of the rain. It isn't much warmer inside, but it is definitely dryer and brighter, which is an improvement.
"Stand still while I check you for weapons," the guard says, releasing your arm and tucking the cape and dagger under his to get his hands free.
You obediently hold out your arms and let him pat you down, which makes you a little uncomfortable, considering he even checks your cleavage for a hidden dagger—not that you've never tucked a knife there before.
When he's finally done, he grabs your arm again and drags you further into the palace. You expect him to bring you to Loki's bedroom, but it turns the king is not, in fact, asleep, because you end up in front of the door to his study.
Your heart pounds louder in your chest when the guard knocks. You're only seconds away from seeing him again.
"Enter," you hear Loki's voice through the door.
The guard opens it and pulls you inside, bowing. "Your pet has returned, sir."
Loki's eyes are wide, and he jumps up from his chair. The guard notices you're still standing and pushes down on your shoulder so you are forced to kneel.
You sit on the carpet, staring up at Loki. There's a fire crackling in the fireplace, and it feels so nice and warm.
"Have you searched her for weapons?" the king asks, turning toward the guard as if you were not there.
"She had none, sir—besides your dagger, which she brought with her," he reports, holding out Loki's belongings.
Loki takes the soggy piece of cloth and his knife, tossing the former onto his desk.
"Leave us," he instructs. "Wait outside for further orders."
"Yes, sir." The guard bows again, fist over his heart, and takes his leave.
As soon as he is gone, you jump up from the floor. "Loki, I-"
Loki turns to you, knife still in hand, and you falter.
"Hush, now," he says, stepping toward you. "I'm so glad you returned. Now I don't have to go to any trouble before I can kill you, you treacherous bitch."
You are too shocked to move. You just stand there, wide eyed, and follow the arc of his dagger as he swings it at you. |
I went to another wedding! Sally and Gary! I think it is a fairly non-exclusive contract, and they will still be enjoying others. Sarah was there - she has her own company, now. Sally told me that it was Sarah who told them what was obvious to everyone else about their relationship. (Well done, Sarah, again.) And I learned that Sally Rand was just her stage name, from one of the famous burlesque artistes of the last century. She was married in her real name, which is Helen, but everybody calls her Sally.
So began another period in our lives. Most weekends we swapped as before, which was actually husband swapping, since the wives stayed in their own homes. It is a truth universally acknowledged that the marital bedroom actually belongs to the wife.
It was a surprise when the other three turned up with test certificates. (And boy, guess who got a telling off, later.) Betty said they would trust me because if he was OK, then I must be. So I said that cock in mouth was OK but for me only when I agreed, and I wouldn't swallow. In addition, I felt that cunnilingus was such an intimate way of connection, more so than actually fucking. So I did not want it, and I would prefer my husband either not to do it or at least for no-one to tell me. (I got my wish in that no-one told me at least.) And I got a test.
However, I also said that although the others could enjoy their bottoms, mine was strictly exit only, thank you.
On that topic, I was persuaded to put a finger up where Betty had, so that he could decide whether to let her go further. A reasonable site exploration, he said. For health and safety, I sent him to the bathroom with orders to use his own finger and only come back when the coast was clear for me.
I put on a glove and lube, entered in cautiously, and began to move. Almost immediately he asked me for a handjob at the same time, and I realised I should have used the other hand. Anyway, another glove and I obliged, with impressive results. I wasn't thrilled with the experience, but it was OK and he enjoyed it, so I guessed I might be doing that in future.
Yes, I tried my own bottom in private, but didn't get any feelings I would welcome. I don't have a prostate, of course.
When Alec put it to me (literally) I decided that I did not want a vibrator or any other technology from him, just the man. It would be a sort of distraction from what I really want from him, which is purely body and body contact: foreplay and fucking, in other words. My use is private and I would prefer it to be the same with the others. I expect my husband and Betty use toys, but I am not interested in being told. I am quite happy if he is happy.
It was the third occasion, and Alec said that with the holiday couple they had done it in the same time in the same room. I realised that although I had been on display many times, I had never seen my husband with another woman (or for that matter, any couple having sex.) So I agreed.
So there we were, all four naked for the first time, and the women taking copious mental notes. They were a handsome couple. Not ridiculously beautiful, but nice looking in an ordinary way. Betty did not have the special looks that Sally had, but was a healthy young woman, so actually beautiful, in fact perfect, in that way. I tried to avoid mirrors.
At Betty's suggestion, she and I bent over opposite sides of the bed, so that we could see our own husbands as they fucked from behind. I watched him looking pleased as he held her hips and tried to impress me with his thrusts. I smiled with love as he made that screwed-up red face and twitched and groaned slightly as he came, which didn't take long. Alec followed soon after, but to tell the truth I had not been paying much attention to him as I was observing Betty (and she was observing me.) I was encouraged to see her breasts moving like mad pendulums just as mine do and felt a feeling of sisterhood. Neither of us came, but both were clearly satisfied.
For the next time, she got us to lie on our backs, holding hands, and then Alec and Betty mounted us both. That was good. I paid more attention to Alec, but also enjoyed watching Betty bounce up and down on my hubby's cock, moving around in ways that gave her pleasure. He used his spare hand on her breasts, while Alec did not ignore mine. And everybody came. Then off to our separate beds for the night and a really good screwing before breakfast.
Next time we took it in turns to be exhibits and voyeurs. First I watched my husband fucking Betty, and then Alex fucked me. Later on I started off with Alec, and then I could watch my husband and Betty again.
Then someone suggested two cocks in a row. Betty enjoyed my husband (with a condom) then immediately Alec without, so I was able to see her getting the full benefit, and watch a good load drip out of her afterwards. Which I liked, and so did my husband for sure. I then put on the same show for her, which she said she liked, and Alec did too. Betty said it was a first for her, and a good one. So it happened again quite often.
Maybe I am limited, but I did not want two men at the same time, or two women with one man, so that never happened to my knowledge.
We also did some hand-jobs, sometimes one after the other, but usually at the same time. It was entirely clear that this was a race, the women trying to be first and the men trying to be last. I would say honours were even.
At one point, Betty spoke to me privately and asked would I mind if my husband did her up the ass, as she really liked it and my husband wanted to try it. I was touched that they asked my permission. After all, she was proposing that he would get an experience that he would not get from me, which he might like. Anyway, of course I agreed, but I did not want to see it or hear details from either of them. But I do put a finger up my husband's bottom sometimes, though not often. She is probably doing me a favour by offering her other hole, since I don't feel obliged to offer the same service.
So that is where we are now. Alec and Betty are lovely as neighbours and we do lots with them outside the bedroom. If we had not taken up this arrangement, we would still be very glad to have them next door.
We have an active married sex life during the week and something different with someone else fairly often, usually the weekend. (We adjust for periods.) Alec continues to respect my limits. I am sure Betty is getting fucked up the ass and licked out by the love of my life, but I look at it like dining out instead of home cooking. The main thing I have always stressed (and I think the others agree) is that we only swap knowingly. If there are no secret meetings, there is no cheating in our marriage.
|
I was sent out by my civil engineering company to a site visit on the outskirts of the city. It was nice to have a local project for a change. It was just beginning and all the contractors were getting together to review project documents. Believe me, getting things right at this stage is really important. The different companies need to know what is going on and have good relations.
As we were being introduced Kevin said "Hi! Nice to see you again."
The thing is, the last time I saw him he had just screwed my wife. Twice. With me watching. And she really enjoyed it. I had arranged for three men to please her, ensuring that they would all be living and working far away. However, he was a last-minute substitute visiting from abroad. Then he got a contract in this country and ended up on this project near to my home.
"Oh, you know each other," said the site agent. "That's helpful."
"Oh yes," said Kevin. "I was on a team which supplied site services for another contract which he managed. Mainly drilling and pumping. He was an excellent manager, and the client was very satisfied. Isn't that right?"
"Oh, yes," I said, forcing the biggest smile I could (though it was witty, I had to admit). "Very satisfied."
The site manager looked pleased. "Well that's a good recommendation for both of you. I am sure you'll have the same success here."
My real problem with Kevin is that he is such a nice man. He is pleasant, helpful and good at his job. We have a lot of things in common because of our work in civil engineering. How could we not be friends? A complication is that he is black and we are a white couple. Now understand me, we genuinely don't have anything against other races nor any difficulty with other black people. But if we were stand-offish with him, it might look that way.
As a husband, I had agreed for my wife to have this experience of three men one after another, and she found it really satisfying, but we had no intention of making it regular. (OK, it was actually my idea and we did it three times. Kevin turned up at the third, which we had definitely decided would be the last.)
Was it wrong for me to be concerned that something might develop between him and my wife? By the way, he is younger than me, quite good looking and has a bigger cock. And he made her come with it.
How could we shun him in the supermarket, or excuse ourselves from normal social events? And suppose he told other people what my wife had done?
So it was "Hi, Kevin," and "Great to be working with you."
"Remember me to your wife," he said.
"Sure."
To be completely fair, after that he never made even the slightest hint or innuendo, and was completely professional that day and in the weeks that followed. I am afraid I made excuses to avoid being with him in more social situations, but joined him for drinks with others. Some of the men boasted about their sexual exploits, but Kevin remained discreet, though I did learn that he had had been publicly dumped by a girl he hoped to marry. Probably the bad luck I had heard about before our first meeting.
But there was a problem with the site. I explained to the site agent that we would have to drill some boreholes and pump out some ground water in order to secure some of the foundations. "Sounds like a job for Kevin's crew," said the site agent. "Get me a budget and timeline." What could I say?
Fortunately Kevin did know something about drilling and pumping, and engaged subcontractors who did a great job. While we were working on it, together we developed some ideas for similar work which would improve other areas and got approval. A problem turned into an overall saving of time and money on the budget, and the client was indeed well pleased.
The client arranged a dinner for the people involved in our two companies and invited them to bring partners. So I had to tell my wife. That Kevin was nearby. And it would not look right if we didn't go to dinner.
"We have to be friends," she said firmly. "Anyway, suppose he brings someone to the dinner? Then you wouldn't need to worry." That's true, I thought.
And at the dinner, Kevin was accompanied by a rather good-looking woman in her thirties, whom he introduced as Sarah. So it was a good evening. Kevin asked to dance with my wife, and we could hardly refuse, so I danced with Sarah which was really rather pleasant. Lucky Kevin, I thought, and lucky Sarah.
On the way home, my wife said "I had a little chat with Sarah in the ladies. She's not his girlfriend."
"You know when I asked what she did, and she said her job was boring? We got it wrong. That is what she does. She's a civil engineer who helped you with that groundwater problem, though she is a friend of Kevin."
"Oh God!" I said. "Of course she is. It is just that I only saw her a few times in hard hat, hi-vis jacket, overalls and boots. Seeing her here in that dress, I didn't make the connection, but they assumed I had, which is why he only said her name to you. I feel such a fool."
"I couldn't disagree with that. Anyway," she continued. "I said he's rather attractive, and she said 'Yes for a man.' But she had some gay friends who would love to turn him."
"Oh," I said. "So Kevin's not spoken for. Pity. How was he to dance with?"
"Lovely," she said with relish. "I hope you enjoyed Sarah too, not knowing her preferences." I didn't answer, but I certainly had.
That night we were both quiet, and did not make love. But during the night I heard the buzz of the vibrator.
A few days later, she said to me "I haven't told you what Kevin said to me during the dance, but don't worry, it's not bad. Still I think you should get him to give you the full story."
Work was frantic and it was not till well after hours that I was able to get a quiet room with Kevin.
"She's told you what I said?" he asked.
"No, she's told me nothing, but should get the full story from you."
"OK. Look, it's obvious you are keeping me away from her, and I know why, but I might not be the guy you think. It's true, I have had a few girls in the contracting business, but I am not a stud for hire, and not a marriage breaker. I was a bit bruised after my breakup with Mary, which is why I accepted when Tom asked me, but I wasn't actually sure I would go through with it."
"Anyway, I was really serious with Mary, but it turns out she was having affairs with at least two other men. She made a public scene in front of friends and co-workers, including Tom, shouting that I had been unfaithful and she was leaving me. It was staged, but of course no-one thinks that. I promise you that is the truth."
"Well, Sarah was there, and she could tell what was happening, and she really helped me. She has been a great friend. It is really relaxing that we know there is no sexual side to our relationship, and she's a good engineer as well. She probably would have stopped me joining Tom and Harry if she had known. Tom's a Casanova and Harry is young and foolish, I was just vulnerable."
"Anyway, your wife just amazed me. I was expecting something sleazy, not this nice couple, and the way she took charge would have impressed anyone in the contracting business. Site rules, health and safety, just like starting a project." I hadn't thought of that, but it was true!
"Frankly, she was also a great fuck, and it was gorgeous how she came. As it was all consensual, I don't regret the experience, but I would particularly not want to hurt either of you. I promise I have not told anyone."
He paused.
"So?" I enquired.
"So, I would be glad to fuck her again if you asked me, but I would never ask you, and wouldn't on any account go behind your back. If it had not happened and you asked me now, I would not do it for the first time. But having done it already, then there's no moral reason not to. I know you said it was the last time, but I sort of thought that you got a lot out of it as well, and she might just decide she wanted something more occasionally." I understood what he meant by 'something more'.
"It's up to you, and I won't say anything out of order if we meet socially. But if I do find another lady, then I will not be available."
I was fairly stunned. "You told her all that when you danced?"
"Of course not. I told her that I was no danger to your marriage, but I would like to talk to you to clear the air."
That night, I passed on the whole story, and added "So he's willing if you did want it. But Tom and Harry won't be back till Christmas, and there's no-one else I trust, so I guess it's out of the question anyway."
"Let's not talk about it now," she said.
At bedtime I was remembering their two bodies, black and white, and that big dong going into her, and got quite turned on. We made love, and she responded with passion. And in the night, I heard the buzz of the vibrator again. When she came back to bed, I climbed into her again and made more love, or perhaps lust. She was not as tight as she was before, after that big dildo.
At breakfast she said "If we really wanted, it could always be just two cocks. If we ever really wanted." I didn't say anything, but we both knew.
So on a Saturday, Kevin came round for a late lunch to give us the evening free. She was in a smart dress and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips in welcome, then served the food. We had a very nice time, and she really got on well with him. After allowing time for small-talk and digestion, she said "OK, boys. Time to do your job," and we went to the bedroom. It was obvious that I should go first. Kevin went to the spare bedroom and told us to call him when we were ready.
We kissed and cuddled for a while, but she was already excited in anticipation, as was I. We had made love the previous day, so I that I would not come too soon, so I experienced the joy of her orgasm just before I began my happy unloading. We held each other, then she called to Kevin, as I left the bed.
Kevin came in with a condom on and nearly fully erect and asked her if she would like me to stay or go. I hadn't thought about that. Perhaps they could be more free if alone. She obviously hadn't either, but said I should stay as it was supposed to be for me as much as for her.
I had put a good load of sperm in her, and she was practised with her dildo, so it was not difficult for him to enter. But you could still see the pleasure she got from that cock filling her up. "Oh yes," she sighed, and I was so happy. Not so slowly this time he built up the pace as I admired them both. I think she felt more free without Tom and Harry there, and wrapped her legs around him. Likewise, they varied position more, and she turned to kneel while he screwed her from behind. She grasped the headboard as her boobs bounced delightfully, and I admired their rocking bodies. They were two good-looking people, doing sex very well, I thought, as she started gasping and shaking with a splendid orgasm. He pulled out and they went to the missionary position for the final round.
She held out her hand, so I went and held it, then kissed her and moved away so that she could luxuriate in the simple pleasure of a fuck with a big cock.
She did not come again, though she was near, before he was pulsing again and again. She held onto him until he got soft. As he plopped out, I saw the big bag of sperm on the end of his condom.
"Lovely," she said, and kissed us both.
We then had tea and sat and chatted about various things as if nothing had happened. She insisted that there was no hurry, and she would rather wait than have a half-hearted attempt. It must have been at least an hour before Kevin said "I think we can continue."
"Let's see," she said, and went and held his dangling dong. She did not wank it, but just caressed it a little as it rose and rose. She said it was so nice to feel it filling up. It was a funny situation, we three so casually accepting the process, and being so relaxed about it.
We went up to the bedroom, and Kevin waved me towards the bed, but I said no, not this time, although I was already partly erect again. I was actually looking forward to erotic feeling of seeing them while aroused but not desperate.
And it was lovely. He lay on his back and she climbed on top, moving herself up and down while he appreciated her breasts. In this way, she brought herself to another climax, and I loved her so much as I saw her enjoying it. Again the contrast of their black and white bodies was so good. Then she lay on her front while he thrust in from behind. After a few minutes, she slipped a hand under herself and was soon in the throes of another orgasm. He pulled out and she rolled over, to allow him in from on top. He took the opportunity to kiss her breasts. Then he pumped and pumped while she writhed and moaned, and said "Fill me up with that big cock! Fill me up, fill me up!"
He soon obliged, and she pulled him into her as he spasmed, then held him when he stopped, and kissed him gently several times. "Thank you," she said. I was watching with a rock hard erection, but strangely felt no jealousy. I was just glad that the person I loved most in the whole world could be pleasured by this nice man. And although I was so very stiff, it somehow did not seem right for me to use it now.
They separated and looked expectantly at me. "Not now," I said. "I'm happy as I am, if it's OK with you darling." She nodded and said "Yes, very OK." I think I did the right thing.
After freshening up, we had dinner and drinks, and I did the washing up, while they talked about whatever they wanted without me.
We watched some TV till after 10 then made ready for bed, lady first. "I'll leave you two, then," said Kevin and started to go to the spare bedroom. "No, no," she said. "Please stay." So he did.
This was slightly different from when there was a crowd, but after sharing so much with them, I somehow didn't feel embarrassed. We kissed and cuddled and I sucked her nipples, and fingered her a little, while Kevin sat in an armchair, half erect and a friendly smile on his face. Then it was my turn. She was a little more open than usual, but less than I expected, so it felt as good as always.
I decided simple and straightforward was the thing to do, so got between her legs and fucked her. I didn't make love. Yes, it was done with love, but I now understood that sometimes she appreciated just being FUCKED!
I lasted for quite a while, but did not make her come before I shot my eager spunk into her. I think she was nearly ready, but that was actually just perfect for her. Kevin was standing ready in both senses. Immediately after coming, I pulled out, and he slid into the spermy place.
"Ooooh!" she said with satisfaction and in less than a minute was grabbing the sheets and groaning with another climax. Kevin continued on for what must have been twenty minutes, and at one point I think she was having a continuous orgasm or perhaps a series of small ones. It was amazing and beautiful to see a woman given up to pleasure in this way.
He was a fit man but sweating by the end, and they were both tired when he finished. Tired but happy, of course. They lay side by side and I came over and kissed her. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said, first looking at me and then at Kevin.
I went to clean up, while they recovered. Kevin used the bathroom and went to the other bedroom and we said goodnight.
When she had washed she came to bed and I said "Darling..."
"Let's not talk now," she interrupted. "Good night, my love." We kissed and she was soon asleep, as was I.
I woke about 4 a.m. with the bed empty beside me and regular thumping coming from the other bedroom. Somehow I felt pleased, both at what was happening, and that I had been aware of it. I didn't need to see anything, it was just good to know she was getting what she wanted.
We all had a late breakfast, and did not mention anything about the previous day and night. We sort of pottered about, not doing or saying anything consequential until late morning when Kevin said he had better be going. I said "I know you did it again last night, and it's fine by me. In fact, if you two think you could manage one more, just go and do it. I don't think I can."
They looked at each other, waiting for the other to speak.
"I wouldn't mind, if you think you are up to it," said that fantastic woman.
"I guess so," said that remarkable man. So upstairs they went, while I stayed in the living room. It might be better for her if I wasn't watching, and it was just so satisfying to know that she was getting what she wanted, fucking, fucking, fucking and more fucking.
I was just running through the day in my thoughts when he came down. I don't know how long because I had been immersed in reliving the whole scene.
"I want to tell you," he said. "I really like your wife, and I think she is an amazing woman in so many ways. I also think she is lucky to have you as a husband, and again, I promise I would never go behind your back or do anything to harm either of you. It has been an incredible experience. I expect that is the end of it and I hope we can be good friends."
I said "I know she likes you too, but does not love you. In fact, we love each other more. I did not really expect how it has turned out, but I don't think we could have got a nicer person to do it. I don't know if she will ever want anything like this again, so I'll see you at work on Monday."
We shook hands, then hugged in the manly way.
I went upstairs and joined her in bed, then a thought struck me. "When you two were together without me, did he use a condom?"
"Yes," she said a bit angrily, "you can count them in the bin there." So that spoiled the mood.
After a day or two we found we could talk about the experience, with our different impressions. It was truly fascinating to hear the woman's point of view, and the things I had not realised. Needless to say, these discussions made me hard, and we had sex at least twice a day for a while. (Was it making love, or fucking? Let's just say sex.)
"So would you ever want Kevin to fuck you again?" (I was careful to use the word 'fuck'.)
She thought for a long time, and said in a small voice, "yes."
|
Well, here I am again. I told you before how my darling husband brought three men to have sex with me, and it all worked out rather well. Then I had my first black man, Kevin, and my husband enjoyed a burlesque artist, Sally, and we had several very sexy years. Then things moved on and it was just us again. We were very happy to have had the experience and settled down, not expecting anything else to happen.
Just to update. We went to Harry's wedding and met his pretty bride and their baby daughter, that being the way it often is. It was really heartfelt as I told him sincerely "I am really happy for you Harry, and she is a lovely and lucky girl." Kevin visited a couple of times with his wife, and eventually two little boys. We never said anything - we didn't need to. We didn't do anything. His wife said she was always glad to meet the man who was obviously Kevin's best friend.
I haven't heard from Dick, which is no great loss, and we get a card from Tom at Christmas. He always chooses one showing the Three Kings and the Stable.
Sally is still doing the circuit, and we manage to see her shows sometimes. I am still envious of her figure.
After the project, and another successful one, my husband got promoted and moved to another office. Our next door neighbours proved to be a charming black couple, about 15 years younger than us. I will call them Alec and Betty. They had the same slightly unusual surname as Kevin, and I mentioned that we knew someone of that name. "Oh, he's my cousin," said Alec. "Small world."
That night, my husband said to me "Are you thinking what I am thinking?"
"No," I said. "But I know what you are. Just try not to make it too obvious with them."
That night we made love passionately. And at 4 a.m. I used the black dildo, which I had not done for quite a while.
At breakfast I said. "OK, you can think what you like, but nothing is going to happen. We are past that, and I am sure they would be horrified even to contemplate it. They are a normal couple, as we are now." He had to agree. But I think we both liked to imagine something, just a little bit.
A couple of weeks later I was chatting with Betty (who really was as nice as my first impression) and she said "Alec got an email from Kevin. I gather your husband's a civil engineer too, and they worked together. He sends his regards and said something about a project with a lot of drilling and pumping that led to a longer contract. He also thought you might like to know that his eldest boy has started school."
"That's lovely," I answered. "I think that must have been the project where they met. They saved the company a lot of money, and both did well out of it."
Months went by, and we did the usual neighbourly things, and they invited us to join them at a restaurant. There was an orchestra and a small dance floor, so they persuaded us to join them. We danced with our partners, and it seemed appropriate for the men to ask the other wife. It was all very proper.
That night, he asked me "How much did you fancy Alec, then?"
"Not as much as you fancy, Betty," I said, a bit sharply, but not unkindly. "Which is not as much as you fancy Alec with me. In your dreams, buster!"
"That seems a very good idea," he answered. We laughed and made love.
I was in their kitchen one day talking with Betty over a glass of wine. The technical term is gossiping. Mainly about the stupid things our husbands had said and done, and the faults of men in general.
And she said "Have you ever been with a black man?" smiling and making that shoulder hunch and grin that some girls do to show they are being naughty.
"I refuse to answer on grounds that it might incriminate me!" I (or possibly the wine) replied. "And there is no-one for me but my husband now." I managed to add quickly. "We are very happily married."
"Of course," she said smiling radiantly. "I've been with a couple of white men, but Alec is the love of my life. I think it's common for women to want to try it at least once. But when you find true love you go with whatever man it is."
On another day, Alec remarked to us "Kevin said you were a very adventurous couple."
"Can't think what you mean," I said. "Dull as ditchwater, us." Alarm bells rang in my head as blood flowed in my lower parts.
"Well, I don't know," said my husband. "I've travelled abroad a few times for the company, and we sometimes go together, usually to places off the tourist trail where construction is taking place. She's always been great about roughing it."
"Of course," said Alec. "That's what he meant. I know he thinks a lot of you both."
Eventually it happened.
After more wine in the kitchen, Betty enquired "Do you like my husband?"
"Yes, a really nice man."
"He likes you too, you know. A lot. And I know your husband fancies me. He sometimes shows it." And she gave a small laugh.
"We both think you're a great couple, and we're glad you are neighbours," I said rather primly.
"Well," she said. "If you ever wanted to take it further, it might be possible. We've done it before."
I put on my best 'totally shocked' face and said "I think I should go now."
Back home, we discussed it. Was she really suggesting? Or was I just leaping to conclusions? Perhaps I hadn't heard quite right. Or was my own history affecting an innocent remark?
Alec came round, his face rather worried.
"I've come round to say Betty's really sorry if she's caused offence. She's crying now. I think we misjudged the situation. But you're the best neighbours we've ever had, and we hope we can still be friends. If you don't want to talk to us, OK. But if you can put it aside, we would really like to be just friendly neighbours."
Then my hero took charge, in his direct engineer's way.
"Were you or were you not suggesting wife-swapping?" he said with a stern face.
"Look," said Alec, looking a bit desperate and confused. "We're not really swingers, but today people tend to be a bit more relaxed about marriage." I frowned. "I mean," he went on hurriedly. "Not to be serious about marriage, of course. But with safe sex, there isn't any harm if the husband and wife both know and agree. Kevin knows this about us, and I really thought he was making a hint when he said you were adventurous. I can't say how sorry we are, and do apologise."
"Were you or were you not suggesting wife-swapping?"
"Well, sort of. I mean yes, but only in a friendly way. Oh, I'm sorry, this is getting worse." And he turned to leave.
"We'll think about it," said the engineer. "But maybe." And he showed him out.
We went and sat on the sofa. "That was a turn-up for the books," he remarked.
"Well." I said. "It's a good offer. It wasn't fair how I had all the extra. You deserve another woman, and I bet you do fancy her. I suppose I could put up with him."
So another couple were in our life. There were some hesitant discussions as they explained that they had been on holiday and met another couple who persuaded them after drinking. They had rather liked the experience, and had then come across some people in the home area and for several months the partners had occasional sex with them. They had always been careful and had never had a sexual disease. We said the same.
"You may not believe this," said Alec, "but it really strengthened our marriage. Being with another woman occasionally is exciting, but I know Betty is the one I want, and we make love even more."
Betty agreed. "Yes, same for me. You learn to appreciate the difference between making love and, if I can use the word, fucking."
"Oh," I said.
So on Saturday it happened. We made dinner and chatted like any two sets of neighbours. While the men did the washing up, the women got on with site rules and health and safety. Condoms obviously. Neither of us were into rough sex or slapping, or bondage, but both liked oral on each other. We thought perhaps not oral this time, so would tell our men. And no toys. "..for now," she said.
"Alec likes a finger up his butt, and so do I," said Betty. "That's not something we do," I answered, "so I'll tell Alec. Thanks." We both agreed that our men would probably manage it 3 times before a late breakfast.
We decided that Alec and I would spend the night in our bed, while the others were next door.
I kissed my husband before Betty took him away and said "Have a nice time, and be good."
He smiled and said "I will. Oh, and you too."
We went to the bedroom and did not undress, but kissed and caressed for a while, which was a bit like a first date, so nice. I showed him the bathroom and a flannel and towel which he could use. He had brought his own toothbrush. We did a striptease for each other. Not really, we just undressed, watching each other with interest. He had a nice body and a nice erect penis, a bit smaller than my husband's I judged, but nice all the same, at a high angle. I cleaned my teeth and lower parts (again). He had a quick shower (and I hope cleaned his teeth).
He had lost some of his erection, but it came back soon enough as we explored each other's bodies. It was nice to feel one that was unfamiliar again, and the way he felt me was also different and enjoyable. I held his cock while he fondled my breasts and we kissed deeply, which was again exciting as a first date. He started stroking my pussy, and I was going to say "No, not this time," when he slipped a finger between my lips and it felt so good that I let him finger me to orgasm, still standing up.
I lay down, and he quickly put on a condom, and gently entered me. And he was good. Not the stretching I had with Dick and Kevin, but a nice cock, used well. He had less in technique compared with Tom, and a bit less in youthful vigour than Harry. You could argue that it was a good balance or the best of both worlds. So I came, and he came, and it felt really good. His body was, to be honest, better than my husband's, and it was nice to feel his movements and to run my hands over him. Obviously it was not long, but I would call it entirely successful.
We lay joined together and he said "Thank you. That was wonderful."
"Me too," I said and kissed him. Yes, a resounding success.
So we chatted and learned more about each other. He told me about the two couples with whom they had previously swapped, but I didn't even hint at my own activities. And we stroked and kissed each other in a friendly way, but mainly relaxed together. It reminded me of nights with Kevin. Except, I realised, that we were alone in the house. Not only was there no-one else in the room, there was no-one in the next room. So I was not keeping my promise only to have sex when my husband was around. Was I being slightly unfaithful? Considering that he was enjoying Betty, I decided we were all square.
Alec suggested we should shower together, which I had not thought of, and had never done with Kevin. In fact, it was a long time since I shared a shower at all, I thought, and the idea appealed, so I put on my shower cap. We only have a standard cubicle, so it was very tight, but not bad. We were both pretty clean to start with, but still used a lot of water and soap. I was concerned as he moved down between my buttocks, but he didn't put a finger wrong. Again it was nice to feel that young body, and I marvelled that he would do this with a woman so much older. I didn't remind him of the fact.
We dried off and I put some cream on my face, but no makeup. (He would have to put up with that.) I was going to use body lotion, but he offered to do it for me. Which was also pleasant, but I had to stop him using the whole bottle.
Again we kissed and caressed, and he was going to try to make me come with his hand, but I stopped him fingering, saying "No, I just want you."
So we had a long slow fuck. Somehow I communicated that he should keep it simple, as I wanted to prolong it for both. We changed position a couple of time, giving different sensations from the front and the back, and giving our hands different opportunities. And he came and I was well satisfied.
We cleaned up and went to bed, where we kissed a bit, cuddled rather more, and slept.
About 5 o'clock I was woken up by someone saying "Are you awake?" When I had unfuddled and worked out who, where and why, I visited the bathroom, and then we had what I can best describe as a good screwing. A bit of foreplay and then the dear man trying as hard as possible to please me. He now had the endurance, and coupled with his technique I had an orgasm and nearly another one. Phew!
It didn't take long to get back to sleep, and it only seemed moments before the alarm went at 7.30. Just barely enough time for me to manage shower, hair and feminine essentials before getting the place ready for breakfast for four at 9. At 8 o'clock, I texted Betty as agreed to say that I was awake and OK. She responded a few minutes later to say that the project was on schedule.
So we had breakfast and everyone agreed that they had had a lovely time, but we did not mention specifics in case of embarrassment. Despite the fact that the two women would be gathering the necessary information and sharing it.
Alec and Betty went home and we sat down holding hands. He was first to ask.
"Well how was it with your black man?" I was a bit taken aback. I realised that I had never for one moment thought that way. He was just a person who was joining with me in pleasure. OK, he had dark skin, but I had been only really concerned with how he felt, inside and out. (Especially inside me.) I think men are more easily aroused visually than women.
"Great," I said. "A resounding success!" Which seemed to please him. And how was your black woman?"
He was so eager to tell me. His first sight of a naked black woman in the flesh, and his first time to fuck one. She was, apparently, gorgeous, and he performed very well (of course) three times.
"Well," I said, "I am truly glad you have had such a good time." (Which was actually true.) "And with someone younger and prettier."
"Oh no," he lied. "Er, she's pretty in a different way!"
I had to give him marks for quick thinking, so gave him a kiss. "If you say so."
But there was something else. If he had been wagging his tail and barking it couldn't have been more obvious. "She stuck a finger in my ass!" he said proudly. (I felt he wanted me to pat him and say "Well done! Who's a good boy, then?")
"Oh," I said carefully. "Was it nice?"
"Well..." he said, "it was sort of unusual and interesting," in a tone of voice which meant 'yes'. I must have a word with her, I thought, (probably frowning). "Could we try it some time?" he added.
"Well that's one site rule broken. How about oral-genital contact?" He hesitated, which suggested yes. "Did she suck your cock?"
"Only a bit," he said sheepishly. "She didn't suck me off. We were both too keen to get fucking."
I believed him, so I asked "And did you do anything like that to her pussy?" He said no, and I believed him for the same reason.
"Look," I said. "Condoms are there to stop the spread of disease, as well as contraception. She is in no danger, because I know where you've been, but I don't totally trust them, so please don't do that." He's actually quite good at it, so I know he will want to show her in future.
|
The flowers bloom.
At the height of summer their scent is at its sweetest, with petals burning a brilliant yellow to entice in the foolhardy. The smell alone is not enough, for with their beauty comes the allure of plucking the delicate petals, to touch their velvet upon unworked fingertips. But Stede Bonnet cannot. Not when the air carries the sharp intonation of familiar voices, not when he knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s found.
At all of eleven years old, Stede feels a familiar pressure settle upon his chest as he sits amidst the summer bloom. Their words have shaken some of his more frequent habits and their stones have torn through others. But it won’t change his desire for soft and beautiful things. Not when he sits in the unrelenting Barbadian sun, watching flowers that he longs to touch, to pick, to press between the pages of a book.
Even if he did manage to bury himself amidst the deepest shrubbery on the school grounds, his schoolmates would still have their hands clutching at his coat by the day's end. Stede would still find broken petals stomped into the dirt, or torn pages decorating the surface of the lake. Though what his schoolmates enforce upon him always pales in comparison to his father’s lessons. He has to be grateful for the small mercies.
“Baby Bonnet! We know you’re here.”
Each word from Nigel Badminton’s mouth coils around Stede’s lungs and constricts them. The pressure itself is as familiar as breathing, though there is a new thrum beneath it as he sits surrounded by beautiful things, a spark that is nourished every time Stede commits his long summer evenings to the adventures awaiting within his books. It’s been so long since he’s offered his schoolmates the satisfaction of running, but today there is a tear in him, he thinks, a part of him desperate to be somewhere else. The idea courses through him and pushes back at the pressure he’s become too familiar with- the fear, the shame, the humiliation.
So, before his eleven-year-old mind can dwell on the consequences, Stede runs.
Their laughter catches up to him before anything else.
He knows how he looks- gangly and inelegant as his feet hit the ground in uneven strides. He knows there are only a few precious seconds before they’ll be upon him. And he knows how much worse it’ll be now that he’s shown resistance. But the rush he gets from his feet pounding upon the grass, carrying him away from them, is a lifeline to cling to.
It’s within those euphoric moments that he spots a pair of dark eyes watching his flight.
They’re almost enough to stop Stede in his tracks entirely.
At first he thinks they might belong to a teacher, for they hold a weariness and wisdom that is certainly lacking in Stede’s peers, but that is quickly dismissed when the eyes widen at his approach. For Stede continues running towards where they watch him- a derelict section of the school wall, brickwork crumbling from the vines that burrow deep within the cracks. The area is cast into shadow by the curling branches of a great tree, brushing the ground with its lowermost leaves. It doesn’t matter that Stede can barely determine the figure of this stranger, nor that witnesses have never stopped his tormentors before. His running acquires a purpose.
It is a vain hope to think that he will be saved from Badminton, but something about the shadowed figure seems to recognize Stede’s predicament, snapping to attention the closer he gets. Suddenly there is a hand beckoning Stede, and beneath those eyes there is a face- a boy, only a year or so older. He looks nothing like the schoolmates at Stede’s back- he has understanding in his gaze- and that alone fills Stede with more hope than he’s experienced in a long time.
Absentmindedly, Stede thinks he’s never run so fast.
“Up, quick,” the boy speaks as Stede arrives beneath the sweeping branches, offering a knee and cupped palms.
Stede hesitates, still thrumming with energy, but whatever option this boy is offering is unintelligible. The boy doesn’t look like he means any harm, but then again, no one simply offers kindness to Stede Bonnet. One look at Stede tells strangers exactly what they need to know.
A weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy.
“Over the wall,” the boy hisses and Stede blinks. “I’m trying to give you a leg up.”
He’s knocked from his panic by familiar laughter, tightening its grip on him. The next thing Stede knows, he has one foot planted firmly in the open hands of the stranger, while the other desperately seeks purchase on the wall. His hands scramble to find the gnarled vines and gain some leverage, but they only come away grazed and scratched. For a moment all hope seems lost, Stede knows he isn’t the kind for adventurous escapes, but that hadn’t damped the allure. He’s just about ready to sink back down and accept defeat when a jolt from the boy holding his foot sends him surging upwards, causing his belly to hit the crest of the low wall and wedge him atop it. It’s certainly not a victorious pose, but he’s made it to the top all the same.
His descent to the other side isn’t any more graceful. Stede manages to wiggle from his perch and swing his legs around, clambering to right himself atop the wall. His body is less than cooperative. It’s with a sharp yelp that he falls into an ungainly heap at the foot of the wall- filthy and sore but with a barrier between himself and Nigel Badminton. Stede wants to laugh, wants to jeer at his victory, the momentous occasion of having narrowly escaped the jaws of a great beast. Yet he can still hear them close by.
There are hands pulling him to his feet now and Stede instinctively flinches, ready for the rough handling that inevitably accompanies such gestures. When nothing comes, he opens his eyes to see the boy watching him closely- his seasoned sidekick, who Stede hadn’t even noticed climbing the wall.
“You alright?” The boy asks, his thin fingers falling from Stede’s shoulder to encircle his wrist, body taut and ready to run at a moment’s notice. He looks like an adventurer- able to scale walls, crawl through caverns, sail the seas. He looks like the type of person Stede has always wanted to be.
Stede grins.
“You’re a coward, baby Bonnet!” Nigel calls from the other side of the wall, so close- too close.
And then he’s being yanked away. He feels it in his shoulder before his feet can struggle to keep up with the movement, the boy’s hold on his wrist unfaltering as he leads Stede away from the school. There’s laughter bubbling up through the fear in Stede’s chest now- his bullies aren’t following, he’s going to go a day without shaking beneath Nigel Badminton’s merciless gaze, he’s away from them and he’s going on an adventure. He may even gain a new friend out of this, a sidekick who knows how to climb walls and hide in the shadows, who may even know where there is treasure.
Out here the foliage is far denser than within the walls, wild shrubs and branches litter the ground under the cover of a sprawling canopy. It’s hard enough for Stede to maintain pace with the boy dragging him along, and it’s not long before his foot catches on a stray root to send him hurtling down face-first. Stede feels the flush burning up his cheeks, awaiting the laughter he’s become so accustomed to as he tries to pick himself up.
Again, the stranger surprises him.
He kneels before Stede, brows drawn in concern, dark eyes simply watching him. All at once the rush that has been coursing through Stede stills, and he can only sit dumbfounded. For all that Stede has been taught etiquette and politeness, he finds himself unsure how to respond to such sincere kindness, gaping like a fish out of water.
“Where are we going?” Stede blurts out as the boy’s concern begins to shift towards confusion- desperate to hold his attention.
“Oh,” the stranger offers a small smile. “There’s a place near here we can hide until they’re gone, alright?”
Stede nods vigorously. “Yes, I think so?”
They get to their feet, Stede taking a moment to dust himself down while the strange boy gazes ahead. The forest all looks the same to Stede, but this boy traverses it like he knows exactly where he’s going, even with the school’s wall out of sight. Maybe he can follow tracks of broken sticks, or maybe he has signs guiding his way that only he can recognize? Does he live out here? Beyond the reach of school bullies and demanding adults? Whatever he does, it’s far more exciting than the piles of classwork awaiting Stede.
“What’s your name?” Stede asks with a smile, remembering his manners. “I’m Stede, Stede Bonnet. My father owns an estate nearby.”
He holds out a hand like he’s seen his father do many times, but the boy’s eyes flicker to it suspiciously. Not for the first time in his presence, Stede feels unsure how to proceed, as if he’s fumbled far worse than simply tripping over a root. He waits, watching the wary lines shape the stranger’s face, his own smile faltering under the scrutiny. For a reason that Stede cannot understand, he feels the profound need to apologize, to take back his introduction and continue as strangers. To not let the boy realize who Stede is, what Stede is.
A weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy.
“Ed,” the boy finally speaks, tentatively reaching forward and taking Stede’s outstretched hand.
Their handshake is gentler than Stede had expected, though uncertainty still drips from his every movement.
“Edward,” Stede tries. “My father knows a man called Edward. He sells us crates of produce.”
The boy- Ed- nods slowly. “There’s a lot of Edward’s.”
A second passes, then another. Ed nods once more and then turns to continue guiding them.
“Oh, I need to say thank you!” Stede exclaims as he jumps to catch up. “For helping me to get away from Badminton. You’re very strong, and he’s very rude.”
“I know,” Ed shrugs. “You’re welcome.”
Stede stumbles trying to maneuver himself around Ed. “You don’t go to school here. I’ve never seen you here before.”
“I know,” Ed repeats, and Stede begins to get frustrated.
“Then why were you there?”
Ed keeps his gaze fixed ahead, mouth pinched in a sharp line and shoulders squared with determination. Stede has gone wrong again.
“I was just looking,” Ed’s words are as heavy as his footfalls now. “Exploring.”
“Oh! You explore? Like an adventurer?” Stede lights up, and some of the weight falls from Ed’s frame. “I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure! But I’ve never had anyone to go with. Maybe I can come with you, now that we’re friends?”
“We’re friends?” Ed echoes.
“Well, you helped me. And I can help you!” Stede attests. “Just like friends.”
“You think I need help?” Ed seems to be affronted again, and Stede’s heart sinks. This is more difficult than he’d expected it to be.
“With your adventures!”
“Oh.”
“I read a lot about adventures. I know what all the heroes do. And the villains. Maybe we can even be villains sometimes.”
Whatever resolve had stiffened Ed’s posture is completely gone by now, replaced by a slight smile playing upon his lips. “What kind of villains?”
“Highwaymen? Bandits? Pirates are my favorite. We can sail the seas, go somewhere far away from all the parents and teachers and Badminton’s, duel anyone who gets in our way,” Stede speaks breathlessly, the image forming so clearly in his mind.
“I don’t know much about boats,” Ed offers softly. “But I live by the docks. I could learn.”
“Yes! It’ll be so much fun! I’ll learn how to sword fight,” Stede brandishes a branch from the ground, holding it up towards Ed like the greatest of broadswords. “Avast ye!”
Ed laughs at him- actually laughs at his joke, and oh, Stede has a real friend now- before setting off in a sprint. Stede doesn’t let go of the stick as he rushes to keep up, almost falling several times more due to the drag of the branch along the uneven ground. It doesn’t matter. He’s away from Badminton, he’s in uncharted territory, chasing after his new friend who knows how to be an adventurer.
And the whole way, as winded as he gets from the extended chase, Stede can’t stop smiling. His face hurts from it.
Ed eventually brings them to a wooden shack half-hidden beneath overgrown foliage, a toppled tree trunk sunken into the rotting roof, and vines spilling from broken windows. There is a buzz to the air here, and it isn’t just that of the numerous insects. Stede is so sure that they’re the only people to come here, to make use of this hideout, despite the fact he knows next to nothing of his new friend. It looks exactly how Stede would imagine an ancient refuge for the hardiest of adventurers to plan out their intricate quests. His smile only widens.
“Do you live here?” Stede asks without thinking, and Ed scoffs.
“I told you where I live. This is…” Ed shrugs. “... where I explore from?”
“Your hideout!”
“Yeah,” Ed lets out another soft laugh, one that seems older than he is. “I’ve never brought anyone here before.”
“Really?” Stede finds it hard to fathom that someone as cool as Ed doesn’t have a whole host of people waiting for him. “Why not?”
“I don’t know, it’s quiet? And the boys from your school…”
Ed trails off, clearly not intending to finish the thought, but Stede is hot on his heels.
“If you don’t go to our school, what school do you go to?”
The veil once again falls before Ed’s eyes- another misstep. Even when shown nothing but kindness, Stede still manages to get everything wrong. He hates how Ed hunches into it, the skittish twitch at the corner of his lips, how he looks everywhere but towards Stede. It’s only then that Stede takes a real look at him.
Beyond his dark eyes, there is a weight and care to how Ed carries himself. He moves with a particular grace, like that of a deer, knowing it is an item of prey and must take all the precautions it can to avoid the jaws of a predator. Ed’s clothes are in sharp contrast to his. Both the shirt and the trousers he wears are a muted brown, coarse fabrics stained and patched many times over- not something easily discarded when ruined. Upon closer inspection, they are riddled with small holes and tears. His shoes seem to bear the worst of it, soles worn down to almost nothing, too small for his feet. In fact, all of his clothes seem to be fitted for a younger version of the Ed standing before him.
It’s something he should have noticed much earlier. The revelation strikes Stede harder than it should, enough so that he almost misses the words softly muttered under Ed’s breath.
“... I don’t.”
Stede falters, unsure how to respond. It shouldn’t matter to him, it doesn’t matter to him, and Ed’s discomfort makes much more sense now. But Ed spoke the truth like a confession, and Stede recognizes the shame in his words. He’s never had a friend before. He doesn’t know what to do.
“So… you can spend all day exploring?” Stede tries and it works, earning him the smallest of smiles.
“Nah, I have to help out at the docks a lot. Sometimes I can make a few coins,” there is a point of pride in how he speaks of earning money, and it provokes a note of envy in Stede- he knows he is to inherit his father’s wealth, but there is so much more freedom in having a choice.
“Whoa…”
“Not as cool as this place,” Ed nods towards the door. “Want to go in?”
“Yes!”
_____
Ed’s hideout is perhaps less appealing inside than Stede had imagined. For a start, it smells damp, and it holds the stifling humidity rather uncomfortably. Whatever furniture had originally sat inside has been removed, with the exception of a rotting table that Stede wouldn’t trust to hold a single book. It’s old, it’s dilapidated, it’s dark, and it’s exciting. Never has Stede found a place where he truly feels safe, not when his father stalks every corner of their estate, nor when the Badminton twins know every nook and cranny of their school grounds. No one besides Ed comes here- that much is evident- and Ed is his friend.
Stede spends the next few hours capitalizing on that fact.
He unleashes a barrage of questions upon his new friend, trying to steer clear of any topics that bring the veil down before Ed’s eyes. Ed is happy to discuss his exploration of the woods and how he had found this shack- believed to be an old property belonging to the school- or his work down at the docks. Speaking of his family is to be avoided. As is anything to do with his education. Whenever Stede runs out of sensible questions like what adults would ask each other, he resorts to whatever he can think of at the time. Some of them make Ed laugh, but it isn’t a cruel laugh like what he’s used to, they simply seem to catch the other boy off guard.
(After Stede enthuses that blue is his favorite color, Ed supposes it may be his too).
The day begins to wind down, and Stede knows that school will be over, that there will be someone out there looking for him. They won’t really care that he’s missing, of course, it’s only important because he’s the heir to his father’s wealth. It may be all that he’s good for, but he feels as if there is a new life within him while he sits with Ed in the darkening shack, desperately trying to make the other boy laugh. It’s the same rush he gets from immersing himself in adventure stories but ten times over, for now there is someone willing to share in his joy.
And Ed does laugh, pushing away every anxiety Stede has about being late home, though the other boy doesn’t ask much of him. Stede doesn’t particularly care to bore Ed with the details of his own life, only sharing summaries of his favorite stories.
“I could bring my books here! We could share them!” Stede exclaims, sitting cross-legged beside the shack’s main window.
Ed is further back, lounging on the ground that has been padded out with great leaves, obscured by the growing shadows. “You want to come back?”
“Yes! We could make a bookshelf! And it’s quiet here, I wouldn’t get distracted.”
“... I don’t come here a lot.”
“Well, maybe I could come here on an afternoon, and if you’ve got time away from the docks, you could come and join me! And we could read together! I have some very good books, I think you’ll like them.”
“Yeah,” Ed tilts his head, considering Stede, and Stede is once again struck by the maturity in his dark eyes. “I’ll try.”
“I need to be able to find my way back first, though.”
“We didn’t go very far.”
“Well… I don’t know where we are.”
Ed sits up with a smile. “Okay. I’ll put some marks on the trees, or something. They’ll go from the wall to the shack. You can follow them.”
Stede’s eyes light up at the prospect. “That’s so clever! Like what a real explorer would do…”
“You don’t know the way here, so you don’t know the way back, then?”
“I don’t,” Stede concurs, but the way the conversation is heading begins to settle heavily in his chest.
“I can walk you back to your school,” Ed stands and Stede’s heart sinks. “We should be home before it gets dark.”
“Okay,” Stede murmurs.
He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to wake from a world where he has a real friend, a world where that friend is Ed, an explorer, an adventurer, and the most exciting person that Stede has ever met. It all feels so surreal and safe, a life unconstrained by the rigid relationships maintained in high-class society. He wants to stay here until he’s grown up, locked away in this shack with Ed, foraging for food in the wilds, exploring the forest, and telling each other stories until the sun sets. If anything, meeting Ed has only spurred on his desire for adventure- the pages from his books brought into stark reality with this bright and agile boy. It feels thrilling, it feels colorful, it feels real.
And as Ed leaves him at that wall- the gateway back into the muted world he comes from- Stede wraps him in the tightest hug he can manage. Ed huffs in surprise at the gesture but it doesn’t deter Stede from trying to convey how grateful he is by squeezing the older boy’s taller, lanky frame. After that, struggling to climb back over the wall seems simple, really, and he stops at the top to wave one last goodbye to his new friend. As much as he doesn’t want to go back, there is a small comfort in knowing that they’ll have this again.
To Stede’s eleven-year-old mind, they’ll have this again and again and again, until they’re old and gray.
_____
It happens to be some time before Stede gains another opportunity to visit Ed.
His absence from school has left him with sanctions, particularly concerning his time allowed on the school grounds. It’s all he can think of as he sits inside and watches his schoolmates traverse the lush gardens, how unfair it is that they can do that while Ed waits for him just beyond the walls. And Ed. There’s constantly a current of panic thrumming through him, questioning Ed’s patience, how long he’ll be willing to wait for Stede before he abandons him altogether. What if he believes that Stede doesn’t want to go back? What if he doesn’t want to be Stede’s friend anymore? What if he’s finally realized what Stede truly is?
A weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy.
It makes it that much more nerve-wracking when Stede finds himself on the grounds after school a couple of weeks later, staring up at the wall with no Ed to help him over it. Before climbing, he decides to pick some of those beautiful yellow flowers, partially for his own benefit, and partially to chase out some of the damp smell that permeates their hideout. Yet that decision hinders his progress, and it takes Stede a good fifteen minutes to finally haul himself over the wall. He ends up filthy once again, and his wardens had been disgusted when he returned to his chambers before, covered in all the dirt of the forest. But that’s part of exploration, Stede supposes, and he finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he should.
The fear begins to give way to excitement when he first spots a small cross carved into a nearby tree where one hadn’t been before, then another, just beyond it- in the direction they had sprinted on that day where Stede had finally felt alive. He walks fast, careful not to trip on the roots this time, hoping beyond hope that Ed is already inside, waiting for him.
Stede has never been a very lucky child.
Ed isn’t there when he arrives, to his dismay, but there is evidence that he’s been back. That he’s been expecting Stede.
A makeshift bookshelf has been erected against the driest of the shack’s walls, shoddily slotted together with loose pieces of wood. The wood in question seems to be broken branches or the felled trunks of young trees, collected naturally from the surrounding forest. Even with the crude material, the resourcefulness of its creator is blatantly obvious. The bookshelf is small, likely only able to hold a dozen or so books, but the sight of it causes Stede’s heart to soar.
Ed built this. Ed built this for him. He’s been waiting. They really are friends.
It’s with renewed vigor that Stede begins slotting his collected flowers into the crevices around the shack, filling the damp and broken wood with beauty, color, and soft things. It takes him longer than he’d care to admit to decorate the single room, but he enjoys how the vibrant yellow petals light up Ed’s once dark and foreboding hideout. It begins to look more like the safe haven it feels.
After the impromptu redecoration has been completed, Stede saves the final flower and takes it with him to his previous seat by the window. For as much as he misses Ed, there is a small comfort in stroking his fingertips over the delicate petals, breathing in the sweet aroma, and knowing that Ed will come back. The bookshelf proves that he’d listened to Stede, that he’d wanted to keep him around.
So Stede sits. And waits.
______
Ed doesn’t come.
Stede waits and waits. And when the shadows grow long, he bites his lip to hold back the tears.
Ed isn’t there the next day. Or the day after that.
Stede begins to worry. It gnaws at him more and more, beginning to replace the heavy feeling behind his ribs that had once been occupied by his father and his school bullies. It’s there, but it’s different. He still attends the hideout every day after school, and his teachers stop asking after him. As long as he returns, that’s all that matters.
Stede brings books to pass the time and starts to leave them on the bookshelf in the hope that Ed will take one, to show that he has come back, even if Stede hasn’t seen him. He begins every day leafing through them, hoping to find a dogeared page that he hadn’t placed himself- to no avail.
And then, roughly two weeks after Stede had begun his daily visits to their hideout, he finds a sign. As soon as he opens the door, his eyes are immediately drawn to a cluster of small blue flowers that sit in the crevice just above Stede’s seat. While Stede had continued bringing flowers to brighten up the shack in Ed’s absence, he knows that he hadn’t brought these. These are new.
Blue.
Ed hasn’t forgotten about him.
Excitement courses through him, and Stede feels like he’s on fire. That tension in his chest immediately starts lifting at the sight, and he feels like he can breathe deeply once again. While not the most beautiful or fragrant flowers, they’re a reminder, and a promise to return. Stede takes them and traces the petals with the very tip of his finger, imagining the best way to press these flowers, to keep them forever.
He also wants to leave something to thank Ed, now that he knows he is returning.
With his school equipment still at hand, Stede is quick to tear out a page and write a careful note to thank Ed for the flowers, to let him know that Stede has been attending their hideout and when he can find him there. They are the desperate scribbles of an eleven-year-old, almost begging for his best friend to come back. He goes on for longer than he intends, offering the books he’s left at the hideout should Ed desire to take them, and wishing him well with his work at the docks. When he’s gone on for too long, Stede carefully signs off the letter and leaves it upon the rotting table- while hardly ceremonious, but it’s the place where Ed won’t be able to miss it.
After all that, still restless with the shared knowledge of their inevitable meeting, Stede just about manages to settle back into his seat to read. It’s not easy to focus on the words before him when new plans for his adventurers with Ed rattle through his mind, and when he does eventually manage to comprehend the text, the characters in the adventure shift to take on the forms of two very familiar boys.
______
It’s another day where Stede sits in his familiar spot, engrossed in a book, when the rustling of footfalls through the bracken causes his heart to skip a beat. He knows that Ed has been back since the flowers, as the note he’d left had promptly disappeared, but Stede still hasn’t seen him. While less worried about the status of his friendship with Ed, it doesn’t dull the strength in which Stede misses his best friend. That is, until the door to the hideout is opening, and Stede’s breath has departed his lungs entirely.
“Ed!”
Before the other boy can even reply, Stede is throwing his arms around his friend, just to make sure he’s really there. Ed is as stiff in the hug as he was the first time around, but after a few moments he seems to relax into Stede’s grip, offering a loose palm between Stede’s shoulders as reciprocation.
“Hey.”
“I missed you!” Stede's declaration is muffled into his shoulder.
Ed looks slightly different than he had all those weeks ago- more tired, with bags under his dark eyes and fatigue dragging at his slim frame. His black hair sticks to his neck due to a layer of sweat that is beyond the norm for this level of humidity, and he wears a more frayed version of the same outfit. For all that Ed had told Stede of his work at the docks, Stede always imagined it to be a liberating experience. The state of Ed now, though, seems to suggest otherwise.
“Are you okay, Ed?”
Ed nods.
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t come sooner. My family…” He trails off, and Stede knows not to ask.
“Did you get my letter? Did you read any of the books? The bookshelf is amazing! Thank you for making it. Well, I assume you made it…”
“I got the letter,” Ed drops his gaze, and Stede instantly misses his attention. “I haven’t read any of the books, nah. There’s a bit of a problem…”
“Oh?” Stede perks up, ready to formulate any battle plan to protect his best friend.
“... I can’t read,” Ed mutters, sheepish and ashamed, and oh, he doesn’t go to school- Stede should have realized that sooner. He finds it hard to comprehend a life where the escape offered by books is simply not an option.
“That’s okay,” Stede puts on his most welcoming smile, one that usually has people looking down on him in disgust. “I can read them to you!”
Now it’s Ed who falters, for Stede doesn’t miss the way the older boy’s breath escapes him.
“You’d do that?”
“Yes,” Stede frowns, unsure why Ed is so taken aback. “We’re friends.”
His eyes flicker between Stede’s face and the floor nervously, and Ed swallows hard before he speaks again.
“I think I’d like that.”
“Which one do you want?” Stede springs over to the bookshelf, Ed close at his heels. “I don’t have many here yet. But I can always bring more!”
“Do you have any about the sea?”
“Yes!” Stede neglects to mention that those are his favorites, how he thrives off of imaging the sway of a ship beneath his feet, or a sea breeze through his hair. “How about pirates? Like we talked about before?”
“Yeah, sounds perfect.”
“Great!”
Stede plucks the book from where it sits, giddy with the joy of sharing this story. Other boys around him had never put much stock in books, they preferred to spend their days squabbling over the rules of whatever sport they played. Plenty of his stories had been lost to their vicious hands before Stede had even been able to reach the conclusion, so he’d simply had to create it in his mind. There are a few books though that are too precious to risk their wrath- adventures that he guards with every fiber of his being. He’s going to read one of those to Ed now, and he’s never wanted anyone to like anything more.
“You should get comfy,” Stede warns. “It’s quite a long one.”
“Alright.”
Ed slumps down in the exact same place he’d been the last time they were here together, his whole body falling lax as soon as it reaches the ground. Like this, the strain that had once been so evident on the other boy seems to lessen, as if the weight upon him is sloughing off. Stede catches himself staring when Ed nods for him to continue, caught trying to memorize what it's like to actually have Ed in the room with him after weeks of simply imagining it. The air seems to buzz with his presence.
“Thank you for the flowers,” Stede remembers. “I’d been trying to make it look nicer.”
“I noticed.”
Ed’s gaze falls away again, and Stede feels something heavy in the pit of his stomach. This isn’t the same as him prodding at Ed’s education, it feels too similar to the discomfort of his father when he catches Stede picking flowers, or talking to the horses, or secreting himself away to read. Ed hasn’t judged him for who he is yet, but something in this moment feels dangerously close, and Stede seizes up.
A weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy.
“They… they make it smell better,” Stede speaks with unsteady words. “And they’re bright. The color is nice.”
Without noting a change in Ed’s demeanor, Stede tries again.
“They’re soft too,” he murmurs. “Have you tried touching the petals? They feel nice. Like velvet.”
There’s a hesitant glance offered to him, and even without a response, Stede knows that Ed is different. He’d been the one to procure the blue flowers to begin with, even if it does bring him shame. The same blue flowers that now lay pressed between the pages of Stede’s favorite book, tucked away in his bedroom. Ed understands Stede, better than anyone in his life has, but that’s no point of pride for him.
“No,” Ed’s apprehension is slowly turning to curiosity though, and his dark eyes linger on Stede longer and longer with each glance. “I haven’t.”
Gently, as if approaching a cornered cat, Stede brings over one of his freshly plucked flowers- the yellow ones, gathered today- and offers it to Ed. The older boy takes it tentatively, as if expecting it to burn him. When nothing of the sort happens, he raises his other hand and runs the very tip of his index finger along the sprawling petal. Instantly Ed’s features soften, and Stede’s heart jolts in recognition. He’s seen women doting upon brilliant blooms plenty of times, but never has another boy shared in Stede’s love of anything floral. Especially the calm that washes over Stede when simply feeling the smooth curve of the petal, yet from the way Ed’s expression folds, it is the same for him.
“You can keep it,” Stede concludes, unable to tear his eyes from the delicate way in which Ed handles the flower- remarkably different from how his schoolmates are so quick to tear them apart. “Something to hold while I read.”
Ed doesn’t look at him again as he settles down to begin the book, but it doesn’t knock the understanding that Stede feels between them. He’d been so nervous to see Ed again, yet the wait has been more than worth it for this, for the kinship that feels even stronger than it had before.
“I’m going to try and do the voices,” Stede proclaims. “So let’s start.”
_____
The voices, it turns out, are very popular with Ed. Stede is unsure as to whether they’re actually good or not, but whenever he tests a new one, it’s either met with a wide smile or uproarious laughter. He decides he doesn’t need to know- Ed’s reactions are good enough on their own. In fact, Ed is very responsive to Stede’s storytelling, often through huffs and hums as the story meanders through epic action sequences and great adventures. They make good progress that day, though ultimately the light begins to fail, despite the ache in Stede’s chest wishing it wouldn’t.
It takes another few days to finish the book. Ed is there more often now, not every day, but his absences are never as prolonged as the first. As soon as they finish, the two boys find themselves beyond the walls of the hideout, recreating their favorite scenes. All traces of Ed’s poverty seem to fall away when he’s effortlessly leaping upon trees, a fallen branch brandished as an intricate rapier. So clearly in Stede’s mind can he see them as the characters from his stories- Ed draped in an elaborate sweeping coat befitting of his stature, an impressive tricorn atop his head. He plays the villainous pirate captain to Stede’s cunning hero, and though he’s far more agile and effective in their ‘fights’, he lets Stede win every time. Stede’s father would be disgusted seeing them play fight at their ages, but somehow, when he’s with Ed, his father is the furthest thing from Stede’s mind. He has never been happier- Stede had always longed for someone to recreate such adventures with as a child. The thrill of finding Ed never quite dies away. It never stops feeling surreal.
The cycle continues through the summer.
There are days when they lounge within the shack while Stede reads to Ed. On other days they spar in the forest, or climb trees and ramble on about nothing in particular. The latter requires a lot of assistance from Ed, though he never seems to mind Stede’s ineptitude at the more demanding physical feats. And he never shames him for it. Stede might not be who his father wants him to be, but with Ed, everything feels alright.
_____
The months wind on.
Stede’s twelfth birthday comes and goes, and Ed brings him beautiful shells gathered by sailors at the docks. They’re iridescent in the sunlight, a maelstrom of patterns and colors that Stede has never seen before, and some are wonderfully smooth beneath his fingertips. He’s utterly enthralled by them. They join the flowers in decorating the hideout, the place that now feels like home.
When the weather turns, they spend their days inside, reading. Stede begins to subtly change parts of the text, molding the heroes to mirror them. If Ed ever notices, he doesn’t mention it.
There are weeks when Ed doesn’t make an appearance at all. He always comes back from long absences looking worn down and rugged, but he never speaks of why that is. Stede had always assumed it was simply from working at the busy docks, but as the two of them grow older, and the spark in Ed’s dark eyes dulls, he begins to suspect otherwise.
_____
Stede is fourteen when a monstrous storm traps them inside.
Ed is notably different now from when they’d met- he’s taller, his voice is deeper, his shoulders broader. The changes have already begun to panic Stede, for they are growing up, and he fears that Ed will no longer want to spend their days together. Not when he notices how childish Stede is- reading fictional stories in a hideout in the forest. They still spar with branches on occasion, though the activity has somewhat dropped off with their age. More often than not they simply talk.
Yet, Ed has shown no signs that he wishes to change anything. His face still lights up whenever he sees Stede, the same way it had on his very first visit. He still listens intently to every word from Stede’s mouth, humming along with each crescendo of their stories. During those days when Ed’s body sags with exhaustion, he often falls to sleep while Stede reads. Stede doesn’t mind. He simply allows Ed to relax, keeping watch over his best friend as he gets the rest he so sorely requires.
While sleeping in the shack has always been less than ideal, they’d never been forced to do so. Not until the storm.
“I don’t think we can make it back, mate,” a fifteen-year-old Ed grimaces, trying to reinstate one of the ruined sheets over the broken windows.
“I agree with you,” Stede says just as an errant burst of wind shakes the building to its foundations. “Safer in here than out there.”
The ceiling is leaking in the torrential downpour. Streams of water cascade from the numerous holes within the old wood and form small muddy pools on the floor. The incessant pounding of the rain makes it hard to think, and that’s without the gusts of wind that leave them fearing for the longevity of their building. On top of it all, Stede looks woefully bedraggled, fine clothes sodden and golden curls drooping over his forehead.
“You don’t think it’s going to collapse, though?” Stede winces at the creaking wood.
“Nah, I reckon it’s older than two of us combined,” Ed shrugs, giving up on the sheet. “However I don’t think we can stay dry. How about the table?”
“The table?” Stede almost shrieks. He still doesn’t trust it.
“We could sit under it. It’ll protect us from the dripping, at least.”
“It’s not very big… and it could still collapse!”
“We can sit together, there’s room,” Ed says as he’s already stooping to crawl underneath it.
Stede sighs. “If you’re sure, hang on.”
He doesn't join Ed immediately, instead opting to scoop up whatever books currently sit on the makeshift shelf. Ed only huffs fondly as Stede brings his prized collection down into the only dry area of the shack, taking up even more of the limited space.
“They’ll get destroyed if I leave them out in this,” Stede defends himself, and Ed rolls his eyes.
“You were the one complaining about the lack of space, mate.”
Stede sets about arranging the books beside him, absentmindedly considering how nice it is to be so close to Ed. There’s usually some distance between them, allowing Ed to sprawl out in that comfortable way he’s so accustomed to, but that distance has seemed to grow in recent months. Now, however, the forced proximity has left them pressed side-by-side, the warm line of Ed’s thigh contacting the length of Stede’s, and his wider shoulders unwillingly invading Stede’s space. This close, Stede can smell the ocean on Ed.
Ed’s mannerisms have always been similar to those of the other schoolboys. He’s never been averse to touch, though it’s often offered as a grasped shoulder or a hearty pat on the back. Never have Stede’s hugs been enthusiastically reciprocated, but Stede hasn’t worried for it. Stede knows how men interact, he knows how hard he struggles to conform, he knows that with Ed he doesn’t have to. He intends for it to stay that way, at least until Ed begins to show any sign that Stede’s way of expressing his friendship is unwarranted. Until now.
It’s hardly significant, but Stede slowly becomes aware of the tension coiling Ed’s muscles, the stiffness in his posture. And then all at once he can’t stop noticing it. It’s evident in the way that Ed holds his arm in on himself, or in how he angles his shoulder, or the rigid line of his thigh. He’s never usually like this around Stede. The realization that he’s making Ed uncomfortable rushes in suddenly, as if the table has collapsed above them and their safe space is flooded. Instantly, Stede is trying to shuffle to give Ed as much room as possible, accidentally toppling his book pile in the process.
“Oh no,” Stede cries as several books land in a shallow puddle. “Oh no.”
He scrambles forwards to pick them up before the water can soak through the pages, hastily gathering the tomes in his arms. In reality, he can’t fit them all in, and when too many are in his grasp, they begin to spill over. The sight of his beloved books soaking in the fresh rainwater should leave him fretting, but Stede can barely register their condition through his mind collapsing in on itself. He’s never allowed himself to consider losing Ed before, but the thought of Ed coming to see him in the same way that everyone else does lights a devastating match in his heart. A flame that threatens to burn his whole body down. Stede barely notices his trembling fingers as he works, chest suddenly tight and breathing erratic.
It’s stupid. He’s stupid. Ed is getting older. Their childhood comforts aren’t going to remain. Ed is going to be a man soon, he shouldn’t be sitting with Stede under a table. He shouldn’t be comfortable so close to Stede, he can’t let Stede corrupt him, leave him soft, weak-hearted, lily-livered...
“-ede… Stede, stop.”
Ed’s hand is on his arm, gentle and comforting.
“Here, I can hold some,” Ed carefully prises a book from his arms, then another. “It’s alright, Stede.”
Stede closes his eyes and holds on to the rhythmic lull of Ed’s assurances. Whatever discomfort had been within Ed is gone now, for the soft tones with which he speaks are so undeniably Ed. Stede loves this side of him. The gentle boy that opens up in Stede’s presence, that flourishes the more time they spend together, an Ed that no longer needs to hold back. Stede is so desperate to know what he’s holding back from. He sees it the most when Ed returns to him after long absences, worn thin and fraying at the edges. More than anything he wants to know what sharp edges to avoid, what he can do to maintain Ed’s happiness, and most of all how he can keep Ed here- with him. Every display of discomfort from the older boy feels like a wave crashing upon Stede’s already sinking ship.
But he’s not sinking. Ed is here, murmuring kind words to him as he protects Stede’s favorite possessions. Anchoring him through the storm.
“Thank you,” Stede pulls himself back against the wall when he feels his composure solidifying. He holds the remaining books close to his chest and brings up his knees, making sure to maintain some distance between the two of them. At least so they’re not touching. He doesn’t want to repeat that again.
Ed is watching him now with those grievously observant eyes. He also shifts to bring up his knees, though Ed’s long arms wrap around them, and atop his arms he gently rests his head. It always feels as if Ed knows Stede better than Stede knows himself, and Stede once again falls breathless under his gaze. Though this time, it’s different. Expectant. As if he’s going to come out with an earth-shattering truth about Stede that he’d never even considered. Especially with the intensity of Ed’s gaze so apparent now. Somehow, it leaves Stede feeling both light-headed and afraid.
"You’re worried,” Ed observes.
Innocent enough. But Stede still doesn’t feel like he’s rounded the corner. There’s another blow imminent.
“... about the future, I guess?” Stede stammers, the final words coming out as a squeak.
Ed falls silent again. His dark eyes watch. Stede can feel the careful bindings of his books crumbling beneath the pressure of his knuckles, his nails biting crescents into their meticulously crafted covers. The weight of Ed’s gaze is suffocating.
“I got a job, they’re going to pay me properly, down at the dock’s warehouses. Starting next week.”
Ah. There it is.
There are tears prickling Stede’s eyes in moments, his breaths eking their way out of his aching chest.
No. Ed’s leaving.
He has a real job- adult work. He’s growing up. He can’t be soft any longer, he has to be a man. He’s always been better at that than Stede. Soon Ed will be falling in love, and marrying his wife, and there will be children, and Stede will be inheriting his father’s wealth, and he’ll be married with a heavy heart, and Ed will have neither the time nor desire to be with Stede. Stede will go back to suffocating in the company of the upper class, only now with an acute ache, knowing what he has to miss. And he’ll never see Ed again. That scares him more than anything else.
“Stede,” Ed’s fingertips are so gentle upon his elbow, asking him to meet those dark eyes again. Stede is unsure if he’s able.
“Stede,” Ed pleads, shuffling closer so they are pressed side-to-side once again. “I’m not leaving. I’m going no- fucking- where, Stede. This time next week, I’ll be here, right fucking here as usual. And the week after that, and the week after that.”
Ed’s begun to curse more often. Stede presumes he’s picked it up from the sailors at the docks. It doesn’t always sound natural on him, but it’s endlessly endearing how hard he tries. Stede can already feel his body involuntarily falling boneless into Ed’s side.
“Do you promise?” He knows he sounds like a child, how silly it is to ask this of Ed, but Stede needs to hear it again, like a binding contract.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ed promises. “There’s no one in this world like you, Stede fucking Bonnet."
Ed’s smile is both proud and fond, and Stede can’t help but find himself mirroring it. It does little to quell the fear clawing its way up inside of him, nor the pounding of his heart, but it’s a solemn promise. One that Stede knows he can trust.
“I’ll come back too,” Stede speaks barely above a whisper- his own promise. “When I finish school. I’ll have to work with my father but-” Ed leans into him more at that. “- I’ll still come back.”
“You’ll have to see him even more?”
“Yes. I think-” Stede swallows down the panic bubbling up inside. “He’ll have to show me what to do and pass down his work to me. I have to be responsible for all his wealth. I have to become him.”
Ed hums. “You won’t. And that’s a good thing. I know you won’t. But fuck. You really can’t get away from him.”
“No, I suppose I can’t.
Silence settles between them again. It’s a contemplative quiet, interrupted by the unrelenting downpour. Only now the rain has faded to an almost unnoticeable din, for Ed’s every movement is thunderous. Stede marshals all of his attention to focus upon the absentminded way in which Ed’s fingertips lightly stroke over the fabric of Stede’s sleeve, drawing loose circles upon his wrist. It feels so quietly intimate.
“I took the job to get away from my father,” Ed confesses into the space between them. He’s never spoken of his father before. “He lost his job. He’s been home more often, he’s been drunk more often. I didn’t want to disrupt… everything here, but…”
Stede has never heard Ed's voice so unsteady, so hesitant with his words. This close, he can feel how Ed’s breath hitches with each sentence, how he struggles against each confession. Stede slowly moves a hand to hold Ed’s knee, and for the first time since he’s started speaking, Ed meets his eyes.
“... I need to support my mother. She deserves more. It’s why, when I’m not here, sometimes… fuck…”
“You’re a good person, Ed,” Stede says without thinking, finding the words filled with the utmost sincerity. He’s never been so sure of anything.
“Shit, I don’t know… Stede…”
Ed lets his head fall against the wall, biting back tears. Stede only thrums with pride. Ed is a good person. And he’s showing Stede the thorns that have been tearing away at him for all these years. They reveal the strength he’s had to carry himself with at home, the importance of the work he’s managed to scrounge through the years, and the release he’s felt when allowed to be a child with Stede. Whatever discomfort had been between them earlier is faded to nothing, Stede’s ship bearing through the storm and coming to a safe harbor. Ed may have been through a different ordeal, but they both find themselves in the warm, shallow seas now, safely anchored.
Stede squeezes his knee.
“I know you’ll take good care of your mother.”
“At least I can get work away from my father. You’re stuck with yours.”
“I have an escape,” Stede tries to sound stronger than he feels. “As long as you keep your promise.”
“Yeah,” Ed offers him a strained smile. “Yeah.”
“And if you need any help-”
“Nah,” he’s quick to interject. “We’ll get by. We always do. Don’t worry about us.”
Stede sees the deflection for what it is. “Alright.”
The storm continues howling outside. The walls creak. The wood at their back shudders. The damp is beginning to seep into Stede’s fine trousers. But Ed is warm and comfortable beside him- the most open he’s ever been- and Stede thinks that their friendship is unbreakable.
“Do you think we can get some sleep here?” Stede poses the question.
Ed shrugs lightly, and Stede’s entire torso moves from it. “We might have to.”
“I don’t think there’s enough space to… lie down… or is there…?” Stede leans forward to try and judge the area, but Ed only chuckles.
“I’m comfy like this. Maybe you could read?”
“I can’t see, it’s too dark. And it’s too wet for candles. Maybe I could try and-”
“Make a story up then.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“I can’t just make up a story on the spot!”
“Hm, I don’t know mate, I think you could.”
“I’ve never done it before.”
“You could at least try?”
There’s still a wetness to Ed’s eyes as they fall back into their usual speech patterns, but the overwhelming sorrow has been replaced by a fond smile.
“Okay, okay. I’ll try. Give me a minute to think of something. But don’t blame me if it’s bad. If it’s bad, it’s your fault,” Stede falls back against Ed, who wiggles slightly to get comfy.
“Promise I won’t.”
Stede decides to draw inspiration from their surroundings. He spends his time stalling any actual plot by offering far too flowery descriptions of a stormy night, affecting his voice to convey a haunting atmosphere. Yet, before he’s even done setting up the ship, Ed’s head is falling to rest upon his shoulder. At first, Stede is offended that he’s putting in so much effort only for Ed to instantly fall asleep, but a quick glance assures him that it’s not the case. For Ed is still awake, eyes focused on a distant point, listening.
It’s enough for Stede to trip over his words. At the start of the night, he’d been left to believe that Ed was uncomfortable with their closeness- an intimacy more befitting of two overly trusting children than two growing men. Now they sit closer than ever, both physically and in the spirit of knowing each other, having given voice to their greatest fears. If Ed notices Stede’s hesitation, he doesn’t mention it.
“Now, the first mate, you see, he’s been at sea for a long time,” Stede attempts to regain control of his story, borrowing heavily from the books they’ve read together. “He knows that they shouldn’t be this far out. Because when there are storms, that’s when the beast arises.”
“It’s too late for him though,” Stede can feel himself getting into the tale, escalating with each completed idea. “Because he sees dark shapes swirling beneath the boat, and he knows they’re done for. And then all of a sudden-”
Stede raises an arm- the one that Ed isn’t resting upon- to loosely coil it, resembling a tentacle. Ed watches from his perch.
“Whoosh! Eight giant tentacles emerge from the sea! They’ve woken the Kraken, and no one survives the beast of the depths.”
Stede goes on to describe in great detail the sundering of the ship beneath the Kraken's legendary wrath- sailors falling overboard, the hull flooding, the unsuspecting victims collected by great tentacles and sucked into a terrifying, gaping maw. He doesn’t need the words on a page right now, even if they could tell the story more elegantly than he does, he finds immense enjoyment in the natural flow of it all. Eventually the attack ceases, leaving one lone survivor cast out on driftwood from the broken hull- the young cabin boy.
Yet the boy never manages to make it home. Halfway through his story, Stede notices that Ed’s breathing is deeper and his body lies boneless where it slumps against him. A cursory glance confirms his suspicions- Ed’s eyes are closed, and this time, he really is asleep.
Stede should close his eyes too, he should let himself drift off while he’s relaxed and warm in Ed's presence. Somewhere in the back of his mind though, he can hear his father repeating that mantra that dogs Stede’s every decision, and for once, he doesn’t care. He is weak-hearted, but it leaves him feeling loved, and so, so happy. He doesn’t want his father’s life, he doesn’t want everything promised to him, everything he’s been told he’s so lucky- so unworthy- to receive. He wants adventures upon the ocean, he wants to collect beautiful flowers and even more beautiful shells, he wants to speak fiction into the world until his voice is hoarse. He wants Ed by his side for all of it, to see that proud spark in his eyes as he watches Stede defy his father’s expectations again and again and again.
It’s not an impossible dream. One day, he will have his father’s wealth and power. One day he will be able to bring it to fruition. If only they can bide their time until then- he can help Ed’s mother, he can buy a ship, they can sail the seas together, finding adventure in the unexplored coves of the world.
Until then, he still has this to hang onto. So he sits, even as the allure of sleep tugs at his eyelids, and watches Ed. He memorizes the rhythm of his breathing, the scent of the ocean in his dark hair, the feel of it against his face. There’s the way his eyelashes splay out across his cheeks, the strong line of his jaw that only strengthens by the day, the slight part to his lips- completely relaxed in sleep. And as he watches, Stede tries to carve out a piece of his mind to dedicate to this memory. A memory to conjure whenever his father’s words break through. Something to tide him over until they escape together.
Though as much as Stede struggles to stay awake, the inevitable darkness eventually takes hold.
______
Even with his new job, Ed still comes to visit. Such visits are fewer and further between, and as the year drags on, it becomes apparent to Stede that he’s not gaining the distance from his father that he so sorely needs. His eyes become sunken, his hands become scarred and calloused, and he’s thinner than he was before- wristbones prominent beneath torn sleeves. Stede worries for him immensely, barely acknowledging his schoolmates' jeers, as Ed’s situation seems so much more dire.
On one of Ed’s worst days, Stede divulges his plan to utilize his wealth. He goes on and on about how they’re going to run away to the sea together and the adventures they’ll have there. He tries so hard to express to Ed how much he’s thought about this, how he has it all planned out, but Ed’s eyes never light up the way Stede wants them to. He only lets out a dry, disbelieving chuckle, and Stede’s heart sinks.
Ed’s at an all-time low. Stede won’t let his reaction dissuade him.
He begins to bring his plans into reality. At fifteen years old, Stede Bonnet spends his evenings at his desk, drawing out plans for a ship by candlelight. He makes sure to include everything they both need- a luxurious captain’s quarters, a library that can hold a hundred times the number of books that their makeshift shelf can, a grand armory where they can spar and learn to use real weapons. The dream becomes so much more vivid. He can almost feel the sway of the deck beneath his feet, or hear the booming cannons, or smell the gunpowder in the air.
He takes his favorite design to show Ed.
Except Ed is already at their hideout when he arrives with intricate sketches in hand.
His presence in the middle of the day is not unheard of, though it certainly is unusual. No, it’s Ed’s state that panics Stede more than anything else. The other boy is in none of his regular spots, hidden enough that Stede doesn’t spot him upon entry. When he does though, it’s enough to set off immediate alarm bells. For Ed is tucked away beneath the lone table with his knees coiled tightly against his chest, arms around them in a white-knuckled grip. The figure he casts is not that of a sixteen-year-old boy, instead he appears so small and child-like, shrunken in terror.
Terror might not be right, but Stede doesn’t know a better way to describe it. It’s nothing he’s ever seen on Ed. The thing that strikes him the most is the look in Ed’s eyes. They’re wide and bloodshot, like that of an animal struggling against his father’s hands, moments before the knife plunges in. It’s obvious that Ed hasn’t slept, and Stede wonders in passing how long he’s been here, paralyzed in fear in the only safe place he knows.
Stede’s heart sinks further as he approaches his best friend, for now he can see that Ed is shaking slightly, and not even Stede’s presence will draw his attention. Whatever has happened is serious, in a way it’s never been before. Even at his lowest, Ed had always been able to summon the energy to smile at Stede. Now he can’t even look at him.
“Ed?” Stede calls softly. “Ed, it’s alright, it’s just me.”
Nothing changes. Ed’s attention remains fixed on a distant point, a point that is unreachable to Stede.
So Stede lowers himself to his hands and knees and joins Ed under the table. He first sets the sketches to his side, taking a moment to compose himself. He must remain strong for Ed. Ed needs him in the same way that Stede has needed Ed for all these years. But when it comes to it, he doesn’t know what to say.
“Ed? Can you hear me? Did something happen?”
No response. He doesn’t even blink.
“Ed? Are you hurt?”
When his words fall upon deaf ears once again, Stede knows he must take action. He raises his hands slowly, trying to telegraph his movements before he makes them. Ed is like a cornered animal, wide eyes unable to distinguish friend from foe, so deeply entrenched in his distress that he can’t fathom his surroundings. That is, until Stede’s hands tentatively find his.
It instantly tears Ed from his malaise, sending him jolting backwards and out of Stede’s reach. Ed shows no indication of pain as his body slams against the wall, for that unknowable veil over his eyes has been overridden by a genuine terror. And this time, he’s looking directly at Stede.
It’s enough to bring Stede to tears- the distraught way in which Ed watches him, how he curls his whole body away from Stede while folding his arms against his chest. Stede has felt despised many times in his life, but it’s never hurt like this. More than anything he’s confused. Has he done something wrong? Will Ed be able to forgive him? Is this the end? Instinctively he’s reaching for Ed again despite his better judgment, desperate to reconcile, to let Ed know that he means no harm.
It doesn’t go any better a second time.
Ed actually scrambles away from him, cornering himself as he presses the entirety of his body into the hardwood of the table leg. He seems to be murmuring a steady stream of ‘no’s’ between heaving breaths, drawing in each one as if he’s drowning. Stede doesn’t want the distance. He wants nothing more than to comfort Ed, to encompass him within his arms and hold this side of his friend at bay. But all he can do is sit and watch as Ed winds himself down on panicked dissuasions, a bloody grip on his own shirt.
“Ed, Ed, look,” Stede chokes out through the lump in his throat, finding the sketches behind him and bringing them up. As he speaks, the veil begins to slip from Ed’s eyes- seeking Stede- swimming in too many unknowable emotions to truly discern. Stede seizes the shift in Ed’s demeanor as it arises. He reaches forwards again, hands clumsy and fingers thick as he struggles to thrust the creased paper into Ed’s grip. Ed doesn’t retract from the contact this time, nor does he hold onto the offering. He simply sits, watching.
It’s progress. Stede takes the chance and curls his hands around Ed’s trembling fingers, desperate to steady them. His grip is too tight- he knows it’s probably hurting Ed- but he’s so scared that Ed will pull away again. He’s not willing to let go of this just yet. So he holds the paper in Ed’s hands for him, to ensure that Ed acknowledges it, desperate to remind him of their dream and where they’ll end up eventually, regardless of how bad things are now. Their plans can act as a reprise from the suffocating thoughts, just as they have done for Stede a hundred times over.
“Look Ed. Ed, I planned our ship.”
Ed doesn’t look. His hands continue to shake. His eyes stay trained on Stede, though there is something else in them now, a look that teeters on an invisible precipice. They only wait moments in that heavy silence before he takes the plunge. His whole body follows. Stede misses the exact second that he crumbles, for the shift is so sudden. In no time at all, Ed’s face is contorting with a merciless sorrow, and it’s not long before the first sob tears through him. It’s not an elegant way of crying, it’s ugly and revealing, the kind that Stede only allows himself in the dead of night with no one to see. Soft, pained cries punctuate each of Ed’s breaths, the sounds burrowing deeper into Stede’s heart with every utterance.
He can’t just sit and watch. Stede shuffles forwards to wrap an arm around Ed’s back, sitting them shoulder to shoulder without losing his vice grip on Ed’s hands. Ed seems so bare before him as his body heaves, broken into pieces. A ruin of his best friend.
The contact causes Ed to shift again, though this time he falls in the opposite direction. Stede feels a small surge of victory as Ed curls in towards him, burying his face in the crook of Stede’s neck. His tears still come, warm and wet on Stede’s skin, but he can’t find it in himself to feel discomfort over such a thing, not when Ed is hurting so much. One of Ed’s hands manages to slip free of Stede’s now single-handed grasp, coming instead to wind his fingers in the soft linen of Stede’s crisp shirt. His grip is tight and just as desperate as Stede’s, clinging to his friend as if he’s driftwood amidst a storm. As if Stede is the only thing preventing the waves from claiming him.
“Look, it’s…” Stede falters, swallowing back his own tears. He forges on. “...It’s got everything we need in it. An armory to store all the cool swords you’re going to collect. It has a figurehead, but I thought you’d like to design that with me? And there’s a kitchen, we can order all the cake we’d like. The captain’s chambers are so big, we can both fit in there. We won’t even need to be apart to sleep anymore! It has a library, we’ll have so many new books, maybe I can even teach you to read, if you’d like?”
Ed only sobs harder, holding to Stede so tightly he doesn’t know if he’d be able to get away even if he tried. His quiet cries are turning hoarse as they continue, and the rise and fall of his back is pronounced beneath Stede’s hand.
“You still want to come, right? With me?” Stede attempts to sound hopeful, but his voice breaks somewhere along the way.
It’s enough to elicit a reaction, for Ed tilts his head to look up at him, eyes red and face streaked with tears. He can’t respond immediately, but he seems to be trying, fighting his lungs for enough control to form words. Stede’s not quite sure why he does it, only that he knows it to be right for the situation, as soon he’s raising a hand to delicately cup Ed’s jaw. It’s that kind of overwhelming intimacy he’d been able to capture a year or so ago, in the midst of a great storm. Since then, Stede has tried to recreate that atmosphere where they were closer than they’ve ever been, but despite his best efforts, they’d only ever been able to skirt around it. It feels like they’re cast adrift in that storm again today, despite the warm sun at their backs.
Stede’s thumb traces short, rhythmic patterns along the line of Ed’s clenched jaw, trying to ease out some of the tension that’s left him so locked up. Ed’s lip trembles as he watches Stede, though his breathing is slowing now, and the sobs no longer wrench themselves from his indisposed body.
Ed draws in a breath.
“I’m not a good person, Stede.”
“No. You are. Ed, you are,” Stede doesn’t need to think, for the words come as naturally as breathing, all of his conviction behind the assurances. That might be what sets Ed off again. “Hey, listen, I know you Ed. Whatever they’ve said, or whatever they’ve done, they don’t know you like I do. And I know that you’re a good person.”
Ed breaks away, still sat against the warm pillar of Stede’s arm, but no longer does his face lay cradled in Stede’s palm, no longer do his eyes seek Stede’s.
“You shouldn’t touch…” Ed chokes out through building sobs. “Stede, I… My father…. I k…”
“It’s okay,” Stede reassures him, not entirely sure he wants to hear Ed’s confession. The devastation in his voice is too much, it speaks of something truly dire. “It’s alright.”
Stede wants them to remain children. He wants them to spend their summers lounging beneath the sun's rays side-by-side. He wants them to spend their winters engrossed in stories, with only Ed’s soft gasps interrupting the flow. He wants them both trapped in a world where neither can do any wrong. Where they’re the heroes, and the villains are easily defined. Where Ed forever remains the boy who rescued him from the torments of his life.
So instead of encouraging him to speak the truth he is so violently struggling against, Stede pulls Ed into him, and Ed falls.
It’s so much easier to let Ed tuck his head into the crook of Stede’s neck and cry himself hoarse. It’s so effortless to wrap his arms around the older boy and hold him through the crashing waves. It’s so cowardly to avoid confronting the beast that has settled between them. But Stede has always been a coward.
A weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy.
They spend hours like that, wound in each other, Ed clinging to Stede as a lifeline. When Ed can cry no more, he still doesn’t let go. Occasionally, Stede tries to break the silence, to recapture the essence of their casual conversations, but Ed never responds. Even as the darkness seeps into their space and Stede’s eyelids begin to grow heavy, he cannot let go, not when Ed lays against him, broken and exhausted. Night has truly fallen when sleep finally slips its vicious hooks in.
Somewhere by their knees, Stede’s sketches of the life he envisioned lay abandoned.
When he wakes, he is alone.
_____
Stede returns shortly after. He isn’t sure what to expect, though it comes as no surprise to find an empty shack with no evidence of the previous day’s devastation. Ever since Stede had woken to the very same sight, there has been a hollowness in his chest, gradually expanding to fill the space behind his ribs. Where there had once been an unfathomable torrent of emotion, there lies only numbness, a sense of wrong that Stede knows he’s responsible for. That void seems to push at everything else, putting pressure on his lungs and strain on his heart. He could have helped Ed. But he didn’t. He preferred the safety of what they had.
Even before it rears its ugly head, Stede knows that something irreparable has broken.
He can’t concentrate on the pages of his books, nor the distractions of his dream that had been so vivid only yesterday. Even the singing of the birds is infuriating. Stede feels nauseous, as if the only thing within him is black bile, a sickness his blind idealism inflicts upon others. A sickness that was bound to drive Ed away eventually.
It’s why a polite knock sounding against the door shakes him to his core. No one else has ever been here before. Which can only mean one thing. And he never knocks.
It is Ed. He stands there, unable to meet Stede’s gaze, shifting his weight between his feet whilst wringing his hands before him.
Oh, this is it. The end.
“Hey, Stede.”
“Hi.”
“I wanted to let you know that I, uh, I signed onto a merchant vessel. I sail tomorrow, to Boston, I think.”
Suddenly Stede can’t breathe. It’s as if the ground is crumbling beneath him, ready to drag him back down to the depths he’d been drowning in before he’d first seen Ed by the school wall. Perhaps that black bile inside of Stede is overflowing, for Ed looks at him with an apathy he’s never once displayed. Stede wants to claw it all away, to yell that the sea was their dream, that Ed isn’t supposed to live it all alone, he isn't supposed to find someone new to replace him with. But he knows deep down that he’s never had the option to choose Ed. His future has been laid out before him since he was born. And Ed was never a part of that.
Besides, now Ed can see the horror of Stede Bonnet that’s always been masked by soft, beautiful things.
“No. You can’t go,” Stede fumbles for Ed’s wrist, desperate to pull him back inside their safe place, just like Ed had done when they’d first met. “We were supposed to sail together.”
“It was never going to happen. We’re both from different worlds,” Ed looks away, effortlessly slipping his wrist from Stede’s grasp, and that final brush of their fingers sends something through Stede that he’s never been able to put a name to before. Now it seems too late to try. “I’m sorry, Stede. But, fuck, this is what’s right. We’re too different, I shouldn’t be around you anymore, you shouldn’t be around me anymore.”
“What about your mother?” Stede rushes, feeling like he’s moments away from falling to his knees. “You can’t leave her.”
That strikes a chord. Ed swallows hard as he takes a step away from Stede.
“My mother is why I have to go. My father… I…” He’s shaking with the effort, and what Stede had interpreted as apathy before now reveals itself- a way for Ed to steel himself against this, a way to add some distance to their final goodbye.
“You don’t have to go,” Stede pleads, reaching for Ed again, but the other boy deftly avoids it.
“Fuck, Stede, I’m sorry. But you can have a nice life. Keep reading, do the voices for your kids, when you have them. That life just isn’t for me- I need to be at sea.”
Stede should say that he doesn’t want children, he doesn’t want to live locked away in an estate for the rest of his life, he doesn’t even necessarily want the ocean. He just wants Ed. But when it comes to Ed, Stede wants, and wants, and wants.
Stede never gets to choose.
“Take care, Stede,” Ed takes another step back, just to ensure that Stede can’t reach him in one desperate lunge, that he can’t hold onto him and force them to drown together. “I hope, uh, I hope you find some happiness in it all.”
And just like that he’s walking away. He looks back over his shoulder once after leaving. Stede knows what he sees- for his weak knees have left him slumped against the doorframe and his tears flow freely. They only come harder when Ed vanishes beyond his sight, and it all feels so final. How Ed is taking Stede’s expression with him, his wishes, his freedom. They’d always had to grow up, and there is no place in that life for Stede’s blind optimism. It doesn’t make it sting any less. It doesn’t let Stede pick himself up until long after night has fallen.
_____
There is so much more grief than Stede had expected.
It’s as if there is a clot behind his sternum, trapping every other emotion in an unreachable place, only allowing grief to touch his heart. It festers within him, heavy and unyielding, refusing to ease its severity as days turn to weeks. Until it’s not only Stede’s mental state that suffers. His school work is poorer by the day, though luckily he has little time left before he is to return to his father’s estate. Forever. The thought is not so daunting as it once was. There’s no longer a reason to hope for that life of adventure, not when it’s been so violently dashed against the rocks.
School finishes. Stede begins to take on duties that require him to smile and nod at the British elite, many of them viewing his island life as a mere curiosity. He prepares to deal with great sums of wealth. He has elegant outfits tailored for him. He dances to exquisite music and tastes obscene food. It does nothing to soothe the acute ache he still feels, nor how he imagines showing each and everything beautiful thing to Ed. In fact, his thoughts drift to Ed far too often.
He wonders how Ed fares at sea, what he’s doing, the extent to which the other sailors love him. And it’s all so easy to picture. He’s always been made for the sea, lean and skilled, agile in that effortless way that leaves Stede so entranced with his movement. Stede takes breakfast in the morning and imagines Ed doing the same on the deck of a ship, dark eyes staring out into the great blue as the wind ruffles his hair. He sits at his father’s desk with ledgers before him and pictures Ed swinging from the ropes of a ship just as he had the branches of the trees. On an evening, Stede takes dinner in quiet contempt with his father. And as the silence stretches on, he can see the laughter in Ed’s eyes as he bathes in the warm glow of a lantern below deck, taking dinner with all the sailors who are just like him.
But the grief does eventually start to dull. Weeks turn to months. Months turn to years. It leaves its mark on him, ugly scar tissue where nothing seems able to take root. Instead, Stede feels like he’s numbly shuffling through life. The people in his company still don’t like him, for he remains too soft for them, but he’s tolerated now, now that he conforms to their expectations.
The most alive Stede feels are the days when he takes their carriage to the docks. The scent of the ocean still belongs to Ed in his mind, and he cherishes it as a sacred memory. It’s not only the briny smell and the bustle of the docks that invigorates him. There is hope here, amidst the tall masts of merchant vessels and the rotting wood of well-trodden piers. Hope that he doesn’t have to live his life without seeing Ed again, for there are hundreds of men his age carrying crates to vessels, or jesting with their friends on street corners, or spilling out of taverns with alcohol on their breath. It’s hard not to imagine the life Ed had growing up here, the different world he’d spoken of.
So Stede spends every visit searching the crowds for a pair of dark eyes unlike any other. Beneath the peak of every tricorne, without fail, he’s met with disappointment. It doesn’t smother the tiniest inkling of hope that remains within him though, for Ed will have to come back one day. Stede doesn’t even know what ship he’d set out on, but his parents must still be here- his mother who he cares for so dearly. He doesn’t even know if Ed would acknowledge him even if he did see him, and that thought scares Stede the most, for he casts quite the conspicuous profile in his bright colors and fine fabrics. Ed’s moved on with his life now, he gets to live that life of adventure out on the ocean. And for once, the thought of adventure isn’t quite so exciting, imagining the reality of Ed’s ship set upon by pirates or a terrible storm. The idea of anything but fortune visiting Ed is absurd, yet Stede can’t pretend it doesn’t strike fear into his heart every time the thoughts arise. The reality that Ed may never return from the sea.
_____
One day Stede’s father tells him he is to be married. The idea of marrying for love is long dead in his heart, and Stede’s unsure if he’d ever recognize such a thing to begin with, for nothing within him has ever felt as monumental as what Ed invoked. Nothing has ever shattered him like Ed’s departure. His father assures him of Mary’s value, both materially and as a wife. And for such a significant moment in Stede’s life, he finds himself caring very little at all. Expecting anything else would be in line with the foolish dreams of a younger Stede.
Yet, only a week from the date he is set to marry Mary, Stede finds himself spending all of his free hours at the docks, desperately searching for those eyes one last time. A final chance to put to rest the remains of his childlike optimism so that he may surrender himself completely to his family. Only this time, in the crimson hues of the falling sun, he finds what he’s looking for.
Ed is tying ropes alongside one of the smaller ships in the harbor, elegant hands as effortless in work as they had been in play. He’s a man now, with stubble upon his strong jaw and luscious black hair tied back past his shoulders. Ed has filled out his frame in their years apart, though he’s still tall and lean, muscles defined beneath his finer clothes. There’s a serenity to his distant gaze that gives way to a rise and fall within Stede’s heart, for Ed seems so calm as he stands alone on the pier, unaware of Stede’s presence. He’s beautiful in a way that no material thing will ever be.
Stede’s breathless where he stands, unsure if he’s managed to conjure some desperate mirage of the man that he’s wished to see for so long. But no, that’s unmistakably Ed, alive and well and at peace. It’s the look in his eyes that causes Stede to hesitate, for he remembers how Ed had cried that afternoon in their hideout, how Stede is wound in all of his worst trauma. They may have found themselves in their twenties, but such feelings are not easily forgotten. Stede knows that all too well. Yet, this may be his only chance to reconcile, to offer peace to that restless part of him that has longed for Ed all these years. Next week Stede will be a married man.
He sets off striding down the pier.
Stede’s heart thuds in his ears as he takes the torturously long walk, ignorant to the frowns of the other sailors as he passes. They may take notice, but it’s much later than he expects when Ed finally turns to him, and by then Stede’s legs are only carrying him on muscle memory alone. Ed’s eyes widen, and Stede waits for it- the panic, the pain, the surprise. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Ed’s expression softens immeasurably. With upturned brows and a disbelieving smile, the ropes slip between Ed’s fingers. Stede doesn’t notice that though, lost amidst the fondness in his eyes, now more than half-convinced he’s not actually conscious.
“Stede,” Ed is taking a step towards him, then another, and Stede wants him to keep coming, to undo all the pain of each step away he’d taken that day.
“Hi, Ed,” Stede can already feel the strain in his cheeks from his smile.
“Fuck, Stede Bonnet, in the flesh,” oh, cursing sounds much more natural on Ed now that he really is a sailor. “What’re you doing here?”
“Business. I, ah, I conduct business here for my father, sometimes. All trade on the island goes past this point, and all that, y’know,” Stede fumbles, heat rushing to his face.
“Do you often do business this late, mate?” Ed arcs a brow at him, and all at once the camaraderie between them is flooding back. Stede can’t quite believe it.
“Not always. Sometimes I wait around. I quite like it here.”
“Oh, you like it here?”
“Yes, there may be some less than sanitary practices, and not everyone is quite so polite as you, but… There’s a certain ‘rugged charm’ to it all, I suppose?”
Ed chuckles. “Man, you have a romantic way of putting it.”
“I’ll have you know that I see little trouble here. I don’t usually bring much on my person- I’m not a complete idiot. On some days it’s almost as if I blend in.”
Ed casts a disbelieving eye over the brilliant teal fabric that Stede sports today, though somewhere along the way the joke is lost, and now he’s really looking at Stede, taking him all in.
“You look good,” Ed manages, a sudden shift to his demeanor.
“Ah, well, thank you,” Stede really blushes this time. “So, uh, so do you. It suits you, the sailor look. The long hair too. You appear quite the adventurous type.”
“Mm, you might be a bit disappointed if I tell you about it,” Ed hums. “It’s pretty boring actually, loads of nothing, unloading crates in one harbor and picking up some new ones to take to the next. I’ll let you know if we’re set on by pirates though, sometimes I almost want it to happen, break the monotony.”
“Maybe you should consider a change in careers?”
“Hah. Maybe I should.”
It feels like he’s twelve again, standing across from Ed as they simply smile at each other. Ed’s company remains entirely undemanding and the conversation flows as easily as it once had. But Ed isn’t a child anymore. And Stede can’t tear his eyes away.
“So, I take it you’ve finished with your ‘business’ for the day?” Ed stands with his hip cocked, a confidence that he had lacked all those years ago.
“Yes,” Stede takes a deep breath. “Yes, do you want to do something?”
“Fancy a drink?”
“Of course! Do you have somewhere in mind? I can’t say that I’m well versed in the establishments of this town-”
Ed laughs at him again, a joyous sound. “Might not be up to your taste, mate. But it does have that ‘rugged charm’ you’re so interested in.”
“It’ll be fun!” Stede’s voice breaks at the end. A betrayal from his own body. “Which way-”
Ed’s hand encloses his wrist before Stede can finish, and Stede feels a thrill shoot through him- something that hasn’t happened in years. All of his nerve endings seem concentrated upon the gentle hold that Ed has upon his skin- the same way that Ed had held him when they had raced towards their hideout for the very first time. Ed can probably feel the thudding of Stede’s heart from where his fingertips rest upon Stede’s pulse point, though for Stede, there is no shame in that. They walk almost shoulder to shoulder as Ed guides him, inconspicuously close amongst the crowds of sailors, hiding the hold that Ed has upon him. It doesn’t make it any less exhilarating.
The two of them come to a halt outside of a busy tavern, loud music and drunken singing escaping through the open door. The sun hasn’t even set yet.
Stede’s apprehension must show on his face, for Ed squeezes his wrist and offers him a teasing smile.
“I thought you always wanted to be a sailor?”
“I did,” Stede glances at Ed, hoping he notices the past tense.
“Then have a taste of that! Drink some piss poor ale, get fucking wasted on rum. It always leads to the best nights,” Ed laughs, though it comes to a halt when he notices Stede isn’t responding in kind. He lowers his voice and leans in closer. “And if that’s not what you want, then I picked this place because it’ll have some more privacy. Their tables are a bit more secluded. Usually they’re for shady deals and shit, but we can catch up there and no one will be any wiser to the fancy man in their establishment.”
Stede offers him a tentative smile. That thoughtful boy is still in there, amidst this newfound bravado.
“Thank you, Ed.”
“No problem, mate,” he drops his wrist and instead claps Stede’s shoulder. “Stay close and hold onto your pockets though.”
The interior of the establishment isn’t any nicer than the exterior. It’s grimy and dimly lit, with the throng of its customers heaped around the bar, and it’s so loud that Stede can barely hear himself think. The floor sticks to his shoes with each step, and the scent of alcohol is overbearing to the point of nausea. But Ed’s here- that’s what he’s to focus on. If he holds onto his pockets a little tighter, no one notices.
Even Ed weaves through the crowd of sailors with his head down, apparently seeking to avoid notice, and it strikes Stede once again that this is his hometown. There are probably many people here who would recognize him. Perhaps even Ed’s father, for Stede recalls a younger Ed claiming that the man had fallen into his cups to handle the loss of his job. He wonders if his parents are prospering from Ed’s earnings at sea, for that had been his reason for departure, hadn’t it? It’s difficult to remember what Ed had claimed that day he left, for the collapse his declaration had resulted in had left Stede preoccupied.
Eventually Ed brings them to a booth tucked into a corner, with only a thin walkway exposing them to the ruckus of the tavern, and a stained wall their only view. They shuffle across the torn fabric covering of the bench, and Stede’s overactive mind has to put in extra effort not to consider the extent of these stains, for Ed had spoken of such booths being used for shady dealings. Ed is only there for seconds, allowing Stede to settle before disappearing again to buy them drinks. It’s difficult to remain calm without him. There are unsavory sounds coming from the next booth if Stede listens, so he busies himself humming a favorite tune to pass the time.
It works, and before he knows it, Ed’s back with two ales at hand. He slots himself closer to Stede than he needs to be and takes a long drink, exposing the long line of his throat. Stede swallows.
“You were right about this place having a certain, ruggedness to it.”
Ed sets his drink down and smiles. “We can go somewhere else if you’re uncomfortable?”
“No, no, the privacy is nice. Though I believe our neighbors aren’t quite the private sorts…”
“Mm, no privacy on ships,” Ed quirks a brow at him. “I’ve heard a lot worse. Trust me.”
“Ah, well, that, uh, sounds less than appealing,” Stede stammers.
“It’s not so bad,” Ed shrugs, leaning his shoulder against the back of the booth so his body is turned towards Stede. “You get used to it, mate. Though I’m sure you’d find your way to get some private quarters. Can’t imagine you below decks.”
“You’ve tried?” Stede asks hopefully.
Ed’s resulting smile is soft, private. “Yeah. If it’s any consolation, I think you’d look great in the captain’s quarters. Not sure if you’d be able to stay on your feet in a storm though.”
Stede catches the small sigh that leaves his lips a moment too late. Part of him hates that he’s here with Ed again, and that they’re older, but they can still only talk about their childhood dreams- dreams that Ed is living alone. Another part of him aches with the knowledge that Ed still thinks of him. That he still thinks of those dreams and imagines Stede by his side, just as Stede has done ever since Ed boarded that ship for the first time.
“What about you, then?” Ed takes Stede’s untouched ale without asking. “How is aristocracy treating you?”
“As expected,” Stede sighs. “I’m to be married next week.”
“You’re- you what?” Ed falters, drink halting halfway to his mouth, expression falling slack with surprise. Stede doesn’t understand why he feels so guilty.
“Her name is Mary.”
“Mary…” Ed blinks, adjusting himself before smiling once again. This one doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “She nice? Fun? Pretty?”
Something in Stede wants to laugh at that, though he’s never given much consideration to his future wife’s appearance before. He may have a penchant for beautiful things, but somewhere he knows that she won’t be enough.
“She has acreage.”
“Shit,” Ed grimaces. “It’s like that.”
Stede shrugs. “She may be nice, I suppose. I haven’t met her yet.”
“I hope she is,” there is a new softness to Ed’s tone now. “You don’t deserve otherwise.”
“I pity her, in a way. She probably doesn’t want to marry me as much as I don’t want to marry her. At least I’m not moving somewhere strange,” Stede wrings his hands together. “What about you? Have you met a woman yet?”
Ed lets out a dry laugh at that, drawing back somewhat. “Nah. Don’t think I will.”
“Why not?” Stede tries to ignore how his insides tie into knots.
“Don’t think I can tie myself down somewhere. I just need to be fuckin’ moving, you know? I’m not cut out to be someone’s dad.”
“Well, you could always fall in love… You don’t know.”
Ed stills at that. He pauses for a moment, watching Stede with something unreadable in his eyes and Stede shifts from the weight of his gaze. He feels as if he’s being judged for saying something stupid again, but Ed had never laughed at the concept of love before, not when Stede read endless stories to him through their youth. And he has the opportunity to choose who he marries, unlike Stede. Stede’s never had a choice.
Only peasants marry for love.
“I don’t think I’ll marry,” Ed simply states, falling back into his cups, and leaving it at that.
Their conversations continue, falling into natural lapses where Stede can’t bring himself to speak again so soon, instead opting to take as much time as possible drinking in the sight of Ed. The alcohol loosens Ed up even further and he relaxes, but Stede can’t change how he sits- ramrod straight against the seats, turned towards Ed. He’s barely touched his ale, for he doesn’t want this memory clouded at all. Even with the fervor of impassioned conversation from the outside, within this booth everything feels so quiet, kept between the two of them. It doesn’t help how openly Ed watches him, with a fondness in those impossibly dark eyes that sends chills down Stede’s spine. It’s both the same and entirely different from how Ed had looked at him before- there had always been something unreadable in his gaze, but now it feels heavier, more poignant. Right now it feels dangerous.
“Have you ever fired the cannons?” Stede asks and Ed chuckles, loose limbed in his seat.
“No, I already told you we haven’t seen any pirates.”
“I would have thought you’d have training runs and such. Drills for if you were to be set upon.”
“I know a load of guys who’ve been ‘raided’ by pirates before. It doesn’t sound half as fun as your stories. Most of the time, they just surrender and get their shit taken. Then they get paid fuck all. Mental, if you ask me, they still did the fucking work. And no swashbuckling involved.”
“That’s disappointing.”
Ed hums. “Well, at least I’ve got some experience under my belt in case it does come to crossing swords.”
He relaxes more into his seat, sinking down and widening his stance. Stede feels Ed’s knee come to rest against his, warm and heavy, and he sucks in a breath behind his teeth. Like this, Ed almost seems to glow in the dim light, soft and open, seemingly happy with where life has led him. Through the night his hair has loosened from where it had once been tied back, and stray strands frame his face in a way that makes him appear gentler, delicate. Stede’s overcome with a longing to reach up and cup his jaw like he had done on that dreadful afternoon years ago, though this is for his own comfort, not Ed’s. He aches to know what Ed’s stubble feels like beneath his fingertips.
The look in Ed’s eyes feels even more dangerous now. His hand slowly comes to rest on the silken fabric covering Stede’s knee.
“Stede, I was-”
“Edward-”
“Ah, I’m-”
“No, go ahead-”
“Nah, I can-”
“- I insist.”
They pause and share a sheepish smile. Ed sits up a little before he speaks again, and Stede is certain he’s going to be sore in the morning from keeping his back so straight.
“Alright. So, I sail again tomorrow. Have to be out in the morning, but it’s been so good to see you Stede, and I’ve sort of, missed you? So, if you’re not indisposed for the rest of the night, I was wondering if-”
“Teach?”
Stede’s heart- which had been on the verge of overworking itself into an early grave- lurches at the unknown voice suddenly so close. Instantly the intimacy is broken.
“Teach? What’re you doing all the way back here? Who’s your… friend?”
The sailor stood before them is of an age with Ed, though he looks to Stede with a very familiar sneer curling his lip. He’s wearing a similar garb to Ed, with a looseness to his limbs that seems to suggest he’s been indulging in drink, even if the scent on his breath doesn’t immediately give the game away. Stede wants to tell him to piss off, to urge Ed to finish the thought, but this man knows Ed- the first person Stede’s ever met who has their own perception of the man that Stede had once known so well. So he allows Ed to take the lead.
Ed, on the other hand, seems a different man. Upon their intrusion he’d shifted, and Stede had become instantly aware of the loss of contact from his knee. But that isn’t all. There’s panic swimming in Ed’s eyes as they flicker between Stede and this intruder- offering an alternate perspective on the serene man that has been beside Stede since they’d reunited.
“Hey, John. Didn’t know you were in here. Just catching up with someone,” Ed’s voice is different now too, gruffer, closed off. “John, this is… Stede. Stede, my shipmate, John.”
Stede reaches out and shakes his hand, though he doesn’t miss the suspicious way in which John’s eyes size him up.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Nah, ‘course not,” Ed shuffles towards the edge of the bench, and Stede feels as if he’s lost. “The others here?”
“Yeah, we’re all by the bar. You coming to join us?” John is hopeful- he smiles when he looks at Ed, and Stede burns with a fury he’s never felt before. It had all been going so perfectly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Ed stands and John slings an arm around him, hanging loosely on his waist. Stede sees red. “You’ll join us too, right Stede?”
“I wouldn’t mind him buying,” John laughs before Stede can answer, and it takes all of Stede’s willpower to maintain his composure.
“No, thank you, Ed. It’s been lovely seeing you again, but I’m afraid I have to get home,” Stede stands and tugs on his jacket, straightening it out to appear as polished and presentable as possible.
Everything about him suddenly feels inadequate. Of course Ed has made new friends, Stede had been aware of that likelihood ever since they parted. But seeing evidence of it in front of him- how this other man is so casual with Ed, the fondness there, the way he invokes such a sudden shift in Ed- makes Stede sick to his stomach. This isn’t his Ed, this is a man who belongs somewhere amidst the throngs of sailors crowded around the bar. This Ed wants to drink and laugh and surround himself in the company of men not unlike the ones who had torn Stede down at school. This Ed won’t lounge against Stede as he reads stories into the evening, or bring back beautiful blossoms because he found them pretty. He misses the Ed of minutes ago. He misses the Ed of his childhood.
Ed frowns, pulling away from John’s grasp. Stede doesn’t fail to notice how John tries to hold on, but Ed has always been slippery.
“Come on, mate,” Ed lowers his voice, and Stede can see his Ed in there again, if only briefly. “Who knows when I’ll be back? You can’t just leave now…”
“I ought to leave. This isn’t my crowd, Edward.”
Ed lowers his voice to a whisper, out of earshot of John. “Stede, they know I’m here now. They’re my fuckin’ shipmates… I can’t just ignore them. That’s not how it works.”
“You said it yourself, we’re from different worlds,” Stede recalls the parting message that still hounds his nightmares. He places a gentle hand upon Ed’s elbow- the most he thinks he can get away with.
“How do I find you, next time I’m here?”
“I suppose you could ask for instructions to the Bonnet estate, but I doubt my father would approve your entry.”
“So?”
“So, I keep an eye out for your ship. There’s a chance that fate will smile upon us once again.”
“Stede…” Ed looks torn, and Stede understands the pressure put upon him, the need to conform. But there isn’t a way for the two of them to fit together. It weighs heavily on Stede’s heart, however, he thinks he understands now. He understands why Ed left in the first place. He understands why Ed can’t simply shake off his peers. He understands it all.
“Take care, Ed.”
Stede offers him one final smile before brushing past, making for the tavern’s exit with swift determination to his stride. He forgets to clutch his pockets on the way out, but it hardly matters now, for he finds himself far too wrapped up in his head. All the hope that he had managed to cling to through the long years is now slipping through his fingers like fine sand, and that loss hurts far more than a few coins. It doesn’t help that his initial reconciliation with Ed had been so easy, nourishing the hope within him and fostering its growth. Yet reality has always had a way of finding Stede with its cruelest methods.
He sucks in a deep breath when he’s finally out amidst the fresh sea air- appreciating the scent of brine for a very different reason. The darkness brings an entirely different atmosphere to the harbor, for the warmth and energy of the day are completely drained, leaving a menacing shell of landmarks that had once been so familiar. Or perhaps his associations have simply changed. The warmth isn’t there when he thinks of Ed, either.
He isn’t alone. Footsteps sound behind him, and Stede wants to scream, to break something with his soft, unworked hands, to unravel completely. He hasn’t been able to let go for all these years, but fate’s giving him his chance now. If only the night hadn’t been going so well. If only he had first seen Ed with his shipmates. If only John hadn’t looked at Ed like that, held him like that.
“Stede, are you sure?” Ed takes a step toward him, but he never makes contact. The way he hovers tells Stede that he’s well aware of John standing at the tavern’s entrance- watching them.
“I hope you’ll still be happy with them, Edward. I really do. But they’re not like me. I can’t stand around and drink with them, take the brunt of their jokes and their disdain. And you can’t come with me. So, I think this is a far easier farewell than whatever we had back then,” Stede sighs softly.
There’s tension written in every line of Ed’s face, his eyes drowning in indecision, and for a moment Stede truly thinks that he’s going to say ‘fuck it’. That he’ll take Stede’s wrist and lead him back to their old hideout. But he only lets out a long breath.
“Alright, yeah, you’re right. You’re always the smart one,” Ed smiles sadly.
“I’m sorry, Ed. I did miss you, a lot.”
Ed nods. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay, so…”
“Farewell?” Stede offers out a hand, feeling pathetic, inadequate, at performing such an inane gesture for this occasion, but he’s well aware that John is still watching them. “Stay safe out there.”
“You too, mate,” Ed clasps his hand firmly and with both hands, holding it as if it’s something precious. For a long moment, Stede thinks that Ed is going to forgo John’s gaze and launch himself at Stede anyways, wrap him in the tight hug that Stede has always wished to have reciprocated. But it doesn’t come. “Congratulations on the wedding. I hope it goes well, and I hope your family brings you happiness.”
“You never know, we may always cross paths again,” Stede says, and even as he’s trying to let go, he means it.
“You never know,” Ed echoes. He’s still holding on.
“Alright,” Stede removes his hands from Ed’s grip. It feels like part of him is falling away. “Enjoy your night.”
Ed should be the one moving to leave- to turn back to his friend and reenter the tavern. But he doesn’t move a muscle. He leaves it all to Stede. And part of Stede hates him for it. He doesn’t even say goodbye.
Unlike before, Stede can’t find it in himself to look back over his shoulder. If he has to watch Ed walk back to John, something in him might snap. If Ed’s still stood watching him, he might never be able to leave. Stede picks up his pace, walking as fast as his legs can carry him without seeming panicked. This is the right thing to do, as much as it hurts. To provide some closure on everything that he had once loved so fiercely. He’s a week away from becoming a family man.
If he sobs into his handkerchief on the carriage ride home, it’s no one's business but his own.
_____
Stede marries Mary the following week. He takes her clammy hand in his atop the drab cliffside and recites his vows. The most notable part of their wedding is the lighthouse, standing stark and white amongst the muted coastline. Stede wonders how many times Ed has sailed past this lighthouse, staying as far away as possible from its warning light. If he’s to be a lighthouse for his wife, then perhaps it is for the better that Ed steers clear of him too. Safer, definitely.
The same day, he lays eyes on his future grave for the first time. Plain and unremarkable, just as his life is expected to be, bearing only a name and a date. Mary’s is identical beside it. For the distant couple to be laid to rest together. Something sinks within Stede as he stands before his headstone- the marker under which his body will one day lie. It is the only part of his future he can picture. It is all that lies before him, really. The sight of it is when that wretched seed within him finally takes root, afflicting his heart with a numbness that he intends to carry with him through life.
Strangers shake Stede’s hand to congratulate him. His family offer tight-lipped smiles and tell him that they’re proud. Mary smiles through her misery. Stede wishes he were drinking in a ghastly tavern, surrounded by repugnant sailors.
_____
Married life. There isn’t much for Stede to comment on. He carries out his daily duties at the estate. He dines in unbearable silence with Mary. He reads. They retreat to bed together. And if he keeps it his deepest secret that on some nights, when he lays in bed unable to sleep, he stares at his wife’s dark hair spilling out across the pillow and imagines it to be the dark hair of another, then no one need know. Not when the mere utterance of the man’s name is enough to coax Stede from his hollowed existence.
_____
When Stede first holds Alma Bonnet in his arms, it’s as if he wakes for the first time in years. The frozen part of his heart begins to thaw, a gentle drip that only builds by the day. She’s so small and vulnerable swaddled in soft fabrics, and Stede considers her to be the most precious thing that he’s ever held. He hadn’t expected such a feeling, that there would be room left within his heart after he’d said his farewells to Ed, but there is. And a spark of that life he’d once had running through the forests as a child is flickering back, an impossible thread for Stede to hold on to.
Mary too, who lays there exhausted but with a heartening smile upon her lips, stirs feelings other than guilt in Stede for the first time. He’s never cared for her as much, and Stede finds himself overwhelmingly proud. Perhaps they won’t be the atrocious parents that he’d dreaded becoming. Perhaps it is possible to find happiness in the life they’ve been dealt. Perhaps today is a new leaf for them all, with Alma to unite them, to bring them joy. And for the first time since he’d laid eyes on Ed at the docks, Stede feels hopeful.
_____
Ed had once told Stede to read to his children the same way that he’d read to him, including his bizarre character voices. The request had played in his head many times over the years, struggling to imagine shifting such a distinct and personal memory to others he did not yet know. It becomes easier after Alma is born. And then after Louis too- the joyous occasion that is.
(And Stede is so happy to have a son. His ailing father can rest assured that his legacy is secured, and no longer must he spend uncomfortable nights with his wife.)
His children adore the voices. They gasp with glee at the stories he tells them, burst out in unbridled laughter when required, and sit tight with tension at suspenseful moments. What had once belonged entirely to his relationship with Ed is something different now, not overriding it but instead bringing him joy again where once he had thought that to be impossible. Their favorite stories are the ones about pirates, of course, and Stede is certain that his enthusiasm for those particular tales may be influencing their decision.
So Stede creates outfits for them from the forgotten clothes left in the back of their dressers. He styles them to be seafarers and buys them toy swords shipped from the mainland. He recites tales spoken in hushed whispers among the nobility at social gatherings, or more openly in the streets at busy ports. First the well-trodden tales of Henry Avery and his successful exploits, then the lost treasure of Captain Kidd, before moving on to the dread pirate still on everyone’s lips- Blackbeard. His children love those stories the most, asking Stede to play the part of Blackbeard as they race around the house crossing swords with him. Often he thinks of how it had been, dueling with Ed, as he lets his children skewer him once again. Ed had always let him win too. He makes sure to put on a performance, anyways.
Even the theatre of it all makes him long for the sea once again, stirring memories that had been suppressed for years. For the children have shown him that he can be happy, and Stede had quite forgotten how addicting such a feeling is. He begins to feel that desire for a life at sea creeping back into his heart, the one he had planned meticulously when he was to escape with Ed at his side. The ports they were to visit, the cargo they were to carry, the ship they were to sail. But now he begins to imagine his family beside him instead, his children clambering upon the rails to watch the waves roll by, dueling with him on deck, exploring those hidden coves he had planned to explore with Ed so many years ago.
It begins to feel like change isn’t such a bad thing at all.
_____
The newfound joy his children bring him doesn’t erase the troubles. In fact, having those bright moments in his day only serves to heighten the despair he feels as he fails to traverse the lives of the upper class. His peers still mock him behind their careful words. Mary may care for their children immensely, but without their presence, Stede can still feel the disdain she aims directly at him. Stede’s father still visits sometimes. He still looks at Stede the exact same way as he always has. He doesn’t let Stede forget.
A weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy.
Part of Stede misses the numbness that had guided him through life before the birth of his children. It had been easier to accept his faults, back then. Now he has children that depend on his status, a wife to be ashamed of him when he inevitably fails. His incompetence isn’t confined to reflecting only upon himself anymore, and whenever he stops to stare at a beautiful thing, they suffer from it too. There is no way to be both the Stede Bonnet he wishes to be, and the father figure that his family deserves. So he picks the side where the ones that depend on him lay, even if it pains him more with each passing day.
_____
One night he is woken by Louis sobbing at his bedside, babbling on about the scary pirates in his dreams. When Mary has managed to settle him back down in his own bed, they argue. While they are used to stifling silences, they’ve never argued quite like this before- an impassioned anger spilling forth from Mary that only arises when she’s required to protect her children. There is nothing she cares for more.
Stede eventually relents. No more pirate stories, no more pirate games.
She tries to keep some distance between Stede and the children from then on. They don’t seem to mind, spoilt with new toys and new tutors. And Stede feels that void beginning to grow again, his family slipping through his fingers just like his friend had all those years ago.
He begins to cry on a night. He only lets the tears flow when he’s so sure that Mary is fast asleep beside him, desperate to muffle any sounds with the soft give of his pillow. It’s that black bile inside him again, slowly filling with the passage of time until it’s overflowing from his inadequate body and ruining everything he loves. The only way to avoid it is to escape, to leave Stede behind, to lock him behind doors so it can spread no more. But that isn’t an option for his family, not when they’re bound to his wealth by society's demands.
Stede thinks of tall ships again.
He’s visited the docks many times since his last meeting with Ed. Often he still finds himself watching the faces of the sailors- more of a habit than anything else- though none of them strike him as familiar. He never sees Ed’s ship docked in the years he spends walking the piers. Sometimes he still thinks of the other man and wonders what he’s doing- if he’s found that love he seemed so sure would evade him. Stede hopes he has. He knows there’s no one more worthy of love in the world than Edward.
It’s only all these years later that Stede allows himself to miss Ed. He misses conversations that flow so simply, he misses touch that exists simply to touch another person, he misses knowing someone completely and being known in return. He misses being cared for despite everything that he is.
While he has never truly been able to separate his longing for the sea from his longing for Ed, Stede is well aware of how the pull strengthens its hold on him. How he longs to go to sea now, regardless of whether he will find Ed there or not. He longs to seek that happiness that so often eludes him. One single year of that happiness would surpass an entire lifetime of this suffocating despair. It becomes clearer as the days go on and he’s met with more cold stares at the dining table. It’s so hard to just survive when he had once known what it felt like to live.
Mary paints him a lighthouse. Stede stares at the fragmented sea. He commissions a ship.
_____
He leaves in the middle of the night with only a letter declaring his intentions.
He still loves his children wholeheartedly, but his presence has only ever been a curse upon their lives. Even when he had thought he was bringing them joy, he managed to cause pain. It still breaks his heart to walk away from their bedroom door with the knowledge those are the only memories they’ll ever carry of him.
And then Stede is stood on the deck of a ship- his ship, the Revenge- with his feet unsteady beneath him, stomach churning with the sway, and a sea breeze that threatens his carefully styled hair. He stands alone, his model ship in one hand and a bag of his most prized possessions in the other, including a worn and tattered book from his childhood with blue flowers pressed between the pages. He knows he should be ecstatic. This is everything he’d planned since he was a boy. The life he’d dreamed of was coming to fruition before his eyes. Yet all he can feel is guilt.
He misses Ed. He wants him here beside him. Ed would tell him what to do- what ropes they need securing, what orders to call as a captain, how to hold himself as the waves crash upon the hull. He can hear the words in Ed’s calming tone, a fond mockery: ‘don’t just stand there, mate, give them an order! Assert yourself, do your Captain voice!’ But he’s alone now, with no family and no Edward. Only his prospective happiness- the promise of a life of fulfillment rather than pain.
Stede retreats to his chambers and decidedly doesn’t cry.
_____
Pirating is going well. His crew are skilled folk, if somewhat unenthusiastic when it comes to his ideas. He has begun to find some happiness, or rather, some freedom in sailing the seas. They’re not even far from Barbados, but they’ve already taken their first prize- a promising sign of things to come. They are to be Stede’s new family.
Only then there is mutiny brewing. Only then Nigel Badminton’s warm body lies lifeless at his feet. Only then there is a stabbing pain puncturing his gut on the deck of a Spanish warship.
His crew are saying their spiteful farewells, and somewhere in the back of Stede’s mind, he knows he’s failed his third family. The guilt lingers. But soon it will be gone.
Chaos erupts around him as he hangs from the neck, but he can’t focus on it through the agony. Instead, he sees only the cold gazes of his wife and children through his feverish haze. He sees Ed leaving him sobbing in their hideout. The laughter of his children as he chases them through the house with their toy swords brandished. Sparring with Ed on a beautiful summer’s day. Louis drawing him his own pirate flag. Ed holding his knee in that tavern, a profound question just out of reach. Holding Alma for the first time. Spotting dark eyes beneath the sweeping branches of a tree.
It’s not the worst way to go, Stede considers, as he finds himself laid out with air once again flooding into his lungs. The pain is still acute. His life is still spilling out onto the deck.
The last thing he sees before he slips into that welcoming darkness is a pair of familiar eyes watching him from above.
Stede smiles. |
Weiss turned around wordlessly, bracing herself against the wall of the shower. Ruby grabbed Weiss’s hips and pulled them, so Weiss was sticking her ass out, and then Ruby grinded her dick against Weiss’s wet folds from behind. Weiss sucked her teeth and curled her toes in pleasure, her hands turning to fists. She didn’t drop her head just yet, but then Ruby pulled away, and Weiss made a pitiful whine at the loss.
“You’re not wet enough. Hold still, I’ll eat you out so you will be,” Ruby growled into Weiss’s ear before dropping down.
Weiss moaned a little when she felt Ruby’s fingers on her, manipulating her body so that Ruby had better access. Parting Weiss’s legs wider and pushing her ass out. Finally, Weiss felt a tentative tongue licking at her slit, and Weiss moaned a little louder. Ruby gathered the wetness on her tongue before moving to Weiss’s clit and closing her lips around it. Weiss’s voice went up by an octave at least, and pleasure exploded behind her eyes. Ruby licked and sucked, and Weiss’s voice only got louder. Before Weiss could reach her peak however, Ruby stopped and withdrew. Weiss made an indecent move and tried to chase Ruby’s face, and Weiss didn’t have the mind to care. Ruby restrained Weiss’s hips however and stood up to mold her body against Weiss’s from behind. Weiss sang her pleasure as she felt Ruby’s hard dick between her thighs, and her previous chase of a high was forgotten.
“Now, you’re ready,” Ruby whispered in Weiss’s ear, and gently guided herself in after a beat.
Weiss groaned a little at the only slight discomfort, being out of heat made this much harder to do. Ruby was generous and kind though, as Weiss has come to appreciate, and waited a few beats for the discomfort to wear off. Eventually, Ruby gently pulled and then pushed back, and Weiss felt the tug of pleasure instead. Ruby pushed her hand against Weiss’s lower back to get her to lower her upper back and press her butt out, and Weiss complied almost automatically whilst desperately holding onto the shower wall. Ruby growled in approval, then leaned over Weiss to kiss and bite gently against the junction between her neck and shoulder. Weiss wasn’t holding back her voice before, but that is even more true now. Weiss was straight-up open-mouthed moaning, and she did not care. Ruby, for her part, was gritting her teeth in effort. She was pleased to hear Weiss’s sounds however, and rewarded Weiss with by renewing her mating bite. That caused Weiss to go into orgasm, the pain and pleasure melding together. Ruby pushed her knot inside, hearing the increased octave and feeling the fluttering from Weiss. All that was heard from the two was panting from there, as both of them tried to catch their breath. There was a sudden knock on the door. Both Ruby and Weiss looked up in equal panic.
“Yo, me and Blake just got back. Could you two get the fuck out of there?! Also, you are not subtle! Get a separate room or something,” Yang’s voice rang into the bathroom.
Ruby and Weiss were equally red in the face as they separated, turning off the water and getting dressed. They were both too embarrassed to look each other in the eye. They even stood at the bathroom door for an awkward moment, neither wanting to open it. Ruby eventually took a bite and opened it.
The door revealed Yang and Blake sitting together on the bed, clearly having been cuddling, but they separated slightly to look more platonic as the door opened. Weiss had a feeling Ruby would have said something, but she couldn’t look at her sister in the face. Weiss wordlessly sat on her bed, and she guessed Ruby decided to be bold because she followed Weiss to her bed and sat beside her and leaned against Weiss. Weiss gave her a look, but Ruby ignored it and continued to lean into her.
“So, uh, Ruby, we should talk about some… developments. First off, I don’t want to listen to you two fuck. I just don’t. On the flip side, you won’t hear us,” Yang started, clearly trying to outline boundaries.
“Who said anything about us, Yang?!” Blake said haughtily and gave Yang a whack.
“Nothing, I’m just messing around. But not really. Anyways, Secondly, Blake’s heat is coming around soon, so we’ll be in the bunker. So you definitely won’t hear us,” Yang continued.
“Yang. I regret all my choices that have led me to this point. You did not have to tell them that,” Blake looked so defeated, putting her head in her hands with a red face.
“We would have to tell them at some point,” Yang shrugged, but to her credit she was doing her best to be gentle as she put her hand on Blake’s shoulder gingerly.
“Fine…” Blake sighed, but she didn’t reappear from her hands.
“Uh, congrats?” Ruby said awkwardly but smiling all the same.
“You too, Ruby, you too,” Yang giggled. There was a bit of awkward silence, before Weiss broke it with a question.
“So, when do you guys go into the bunker then?”
Yang looked to Blake. Blake looked up and back at Yang, nodding.
“We’ll go in tonight. We wanted to let you guys know before we did,” Yang said, looking back at Weiss.
“Alright,” Weiss said, and the silence returned.
“Who’s up for a movie?” Yang said after some time, standing up and stretching.
“I suppose that’s a good idea,” Blake nodded.
“A very good idea! Let’s watch something with action!” Ruby jumped up excitedly.
Weiss smiled, nodding her head. Perhaps her biological family wasn’t great, but she could adopt a new family. Despite it having been maybe a week, she felt more at home with these three than she ever had at the Schnee mansion.
They ended up watching a superhero movie, which was Ruby’s pick of course. Weiss didn’t particularly pay attention but did enough in case Ruby started to ask her about it. She wanted to entertain Ruby if need be. About halfway through, Blake fell asleep, and Yang picked her up to take Blake to the bunker with her, and Ruby paused the movie to awkwardly hug Yang a brief goodbye for now. When the bunker door shut, Ruby sat down and sighed, resuming the movie. Weiss eventually fell asleep herself, unable to stay awake despite it being not quite late afternoon.
When she woke up again, it must have been midnight or so. She was in her bed, and she could feel Ruby beside her. She smiled in the dark. She sat up gently and rubbed her eyes. She looked at the bedside clock to see it was indeed only a little past midnight, before looking down to look at the sleeping Ruby. She was peaceful and beautiful in sleep. She had clearly changed into her PJ’s, which were simple enough. A tank top and PJ bottoms, but they gave her a look of cuteness that warmed Weiss’s frigid heart. Weiss gave a soft kiss to her forehead. Unfortunately, though this caused Ruby to stir, opening her eyes and sitting up with Weiss.
“You’re so pretty in the moonlight,” Ruby said gently, kissing Weiss’s shoulder.
“And you look beautiful in your sleep, dolt,” Weiss chuckled, the compliment feeling so unnatural coming from her mouth that she had to add the ‘dolt’ to the end.
“Awww, did you have to call me a dolt?” Ruby teased, with no bite or malice behind her words.
“You will always be a dolt to me. My lovely dolt,” Weiss kissed Ruby gently, which Ruby returned.
“D’awwww. You’re too cute, Snow Pea,” Ruby was still clearly sleepy, rubbing her head gently into Weiss’s shoulder as she tried to pull her back down to be prone with Ruby.
Weiss thought about the turn of events from the past week. She went from being so far in the shadow of doubt from her years of being a Schnee, to utterly free from that mindset. And she couldn't be happier. It was all because Ruby crashed into her life. It made her wonder why Ruby chose her at all.
“Why did you choose me, again?” Weiss asked in earnest, letting herself fall to the pillows with Ruby.
“At first it was because you were so cute. I hadn’t met someone with a look like yours. Then it was because you seemed so hostile, so different in mindset. Opposites attract? I don’t know, it intrigued me. Now it’s because I know you to be so warm underneath that frigid layer. You are sweet, you just don’t show it often. And call me possessive, but I like that you are only really sweet to me,” Ruby explained in a series of fascinating interlacing events.
“That’s captivating,” Weiss smiled lightly, feeling small tears in the edges of her eyes.
“What about you? Why did you choose me?” Ruby asked, and the sleepiness seemed to be fading for her as she propped herself up.
“You showed me happiness, simply put. All I’ve known was cold reality, but you are so carefree in attitude, and you showed me that it’s okay to have such an attitude. And if you’re around, I don’t feel so suffocated under the weight of expectations drilled into me by my father,” Weiss said, the words tumbling out of her mouth perfectly on the first try somehow.
“You know, other people could have done that for you too…” Ruby said, doubt seeping into her voice.
“No, they couldn’t have. You remember Cardin. Most people were and are the same around me. My status twists people’s mindset around me. You threw that in the garbage where it belonged. And you are you. I like you for the way you are, infectiously and unrelentingly optimistic, always seeing the beauty in something abhorrent. Like me,” Weiss squashed Ruby’s doubts, putting honest admiration in her voice.
“Like I said, you are only sweet to me, and I love that…” Ruby nuzzled into Weiss, clearly Weiss’s brief speech helped Ruby a lot.
“And you are a dolt. Did you really think I would give my sweet side to just anyone?” Weiss said, chuckling.
“You’re right. Of course, you’re right,” Ruby chuckled with Weiss, sleepiness returning.
“We should go back to sleep. We’ll be returning to class tomorrow, and hopefully, we’ll be able to catch up on everything,” Weiss said, turning to wrap her body comfortably into Ruby’s.
“Yeah. That’ll suck,” Ruby groaned.
“Indeed. But more sleep will help…” Weiss surmised, and she quickly drifted in her comfy position.
***
Weiss turned off the alarm as it went off, and Ruby was wriggling around in annoyance. Weiss looked propped herself to look down Ruby, who, now that the alarm was off, was trying to go back to sleep. Weiss chuckled and gently shook her, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
“Get up sleepy head, we got class!”
“Ugh. Fine,” Ruby rolled over, letting go of Weiss.
They both got ready in mutual pleasant silence, and when they were done, they went down to the cafeteria, minus of course their two other roommates. Weiss could tell Ruby felt a little off without Yang around and did her best to be reassuring with little smiles and touches. They sat down with their new friends from yesterday.
Ruby and Weiss sat down across from each other, Juane next to Ruby, Pyrrha by Weiss, and then Ren and Nora with Nora by Juane. The group wasn’t as talkative it seems without Yang to direct the conversation so much, though Nora certainly did try to make up for that. But too many of the people within the group were the quiet type it seemed. Then Weiss watched something unexpected.
Juane and Ruby seemed to really enjoy talking to each other, and as Weiss watched, the other omega and the alpha talked about various topics from their mutual fascination with a particular video game to… well really just that. Juane was really enthusiastic and kept touching Ruby’s arm. And as they continued talking, an unfamiliar feeling invaded Weiss’s mind. Intense disliking to Juane, and the need to separate them. Weiss scowled deeply at Juane, and Ruby didn’t seem to notice any of this. Weiss felt some anger there, but someone else did notice.
“Well, Juane, I think now would be a good time to go get some extra pancakes for Nora, right? Since Nora will eat two people’s worth of pancakes,” Pyrrha smiled, squeezing Weiss’s arm before standing up to drag Juane away, who followed like a dog after a second of confusion.
“Ruby, you should really pay more attention to those around you…” Ren said cryptically, continuing to eat cereal without missing a beat.
Nora just looked at Ren confusedly, and Ruby looked just as confused before her eyes connected with Weiss’s. Then it seemed to dawn on her, as she made a little ‘oh’ face. Weiss got up, excusing herself quietly before speed-walking to the bathroom. Ruby followed her, trying to catch up and talk to Weiss, but Weiss was having none of it as she walked into the bathroom and shut herself in a stall.
“Weiss, what’s wrong?” Ruby pleaded desperately from the other side.
“It’s fine, I’m fine. Go back to sit with our friends, I’ll be back in a bit,” Weiss didn’t want to deal with this wave of emotion right now.
“Snow Pea, please. Juane and I were just talking. He didn’t mean anything by it,” Ruby tried again, and her tone made Weiss feel bad. Weiss didn’t like all these emotions. She wasn’t used to it.
“I’m okay. Please, Ruby. I’m not used to being an omega just yet, I think,” Weiss tried to explain, though she knew that was only maybe half the problem.
“Okay. I’ll check on you again in a bit, if you really want to be alone…” Ruby said, hesitantly stepping back out.
Weiss stood in the stall, taking deep breaths, trying to compose herself. Put on the mask, and be the frigid bitch everyone knows you as, she chastised herself. But that would be going back to her old ways. No, she’s above that now. Just relax. ‘Be who you want to be,’ Weiss thought to herself.
She stepped back out of the stall, washing her hands because it’s still a bathroom and the walls and whatnot aren’t the most sanitary, and walked out back to the table. She noticed the group had rearranged themselves, with her seat by Ruby now and Pyrrha was across from Ruby now. She received a sympathetic smile from Pyrrha, and Weiss nodded to her in thanks before taking her seat by Ruby. Ruby squeezed her hand under the table.
“You okay, Weiss? You seemed a little upset when you left the table…” Nora asked, ever so oblivious.
“I’m alright Nora, thank you for the concern,” Weiss responded, trying not to sound cold and giving a small smile. Nora didn’t seem put-off, and continued talking with Ren, more like at him, as she was before.
“You want to talk more later?” Ruby whispered to her, squeezing her thigh.
“Sure,” Weiss smiled, and promptly nuzzled herself against Ruby instinctively. Nobody said anything, but Weiss could feel a little bit of apprehension at Weiss’s actions. It was a little suffocating, but luckily now it was class-time.
Class that day was fine. Weiss managed to gather all the materials needed to make up necessary work and helped Ruby with finding her materials. Ruby gave Weiss odd looks throughout the day, but otherwise, she didn’t mention anything off to Weiss. Weiss was a little concerned by that, but she figured the little episode earlier was just worrying Ruby. Eventually, they made it back to their dorm. Weiss sat at the desk doing her make-up work while Ruby did the same on Weiss’s bed. Ruby cleared her throat before speaking to get Weiss’s attention, though Weiss didn’t actually indicate she was listening before Ruby started talking.
“Weiss, did you mean to scent mark me earlier?” Ruby asked, a little trepidation in her voice.
“I did?” Weiss asked, now listening intently and turning to Ruby in concern and confusion. Guess the odd looks were more than just the episode.
“Yeah. In front of everyone,” Ruby giggled a little.
“What’s funny?” Weiss asked, a little peeved at the giggling.
“Were you really that jealous of Juane?” Ruby asked, putting her work aside.
“I… acted purely on instinct. I apologize,” Weiss said, remembering now how she nuzzled Ruby so directly.
“Don’t,” Ruby said, sliding close to Weiss so that her mouth was near Weiss’s ear, “I thought it was kind of hot.”
Weiss shivered. Ruby thought her claiming Ruby like that in front of Juane was hot, of all things. Weiss didn’t quite see the appeal, but Ruby’s voice in her ear still caused the shivers for her. What caused more shivers was when Ruby pushed Weiss’s work aside and promptly pulled Weiss to sit on the desk.
“Maybe I should show you why you don’t have to be jealous, hmm?” Ruby whispered further, though giggles were breaking her facade.
“Oh really? Cause you are laughing too much for this to be anywhere near sexy,” Weiss chuckled at Ruby, who then broke into a fit of giggles.
“Shush! I’m trying, Weiss, but it was funny too!” Ruby complained.
Now Weiss was laughing, looking back to find the humor in the whole thing. Ruby watched, entranced by Weiss as she let out her rare laughter. Ruby broke Weiss’s laughter with a searing kiss, finding herself finding Weiss cuter by the minute. Weiss stopped laughing altogether, submitting to the kiss.
“Break time?” Weiss whispered, a little gleam in her eyes.
“Break time,” Ruby confirmed.
|
"Isabela ! Luisa !"
"Dolores ! Camilo ! Antonio !"
Julieta and Pepa were yelling their children's names through the woods.
Alma sighted. The kids had been missing for a day now, Isabela had been gone for 4 days. She suspected she was hiding with the Haddocks, but they did not allow her on their house, they should remember who she is.
Alma was very disappointed in them. They were supposed to be out there, restoring the family name and helping the community. Yet here they all are. Searching for them.
They better expect to be punished with extra work to make up for all of this mess.
But....Alma suspected someone else was to blame for all of this.
Someone that she should have dealt with a long time ago.
Isabela could not believe what she had seen.
Luisa....Luisa had lost her leg ! Her entire right leg was gone !
"We tried to carry her as fast as we could....but she is just so heavy."
"She is lucky she just lost the leg, if you can call that lucky." Mira mumbled.
"AAAAAAH !" Luisa screamed, as Dolores and Camilo tried to calm her and patch her up.
"Calm down Luisa, we got you, we got you."
"MY LEG....MY LEG ! WITHOUT IT, I CAN'T DO MY TASK, ABUELA IS GONNA BANISH ME !"
Isabela could not help but feel rage at that. Luisa must be in incredible pain, yet all she can think of is of Abuela.
But she is right, without that leg, Luisa can't do what she did, and that is something Abuela won't react good at all.
Her heart went for her sister, it really did.
"Hmmm." Toothless mumbled. "If we keep her here, the blood will atract other dragons."
Toothless then walked towards Luisa.
"Hold her still."
"So what, so you can eat her, so you can.." Camilo yelled.
"CAMILO !" Dolores scolded.
"Eating humans....yuck." Pouncer gagged. "What are we, Deathgrippers ?"
"I don't want to eat her, but we do need to seal the wound, unless you want dragons that will eat her here."
"Yeah well."
"Camilo, shut it !"
"But they..."
"Saved us, despite the clear threat. You just didnt see it because you were knocked out."
Pouncer and Ruffrunner just held her still while Toothless slight used his fire to seal the wound.
"AAAAAAH !" Luisa screamed in pain.
But soon enough, it worked. The blood stopped.
For now...
"Ruffrunner, go find your mother, and tell her what happened, tell her that the river is not to be used at the moment."
"Yes Dad." The youngest son took off to find his mom.
"Oh great...Mom." Mirabel whispered.
"What is it with her ?"
"Let's just say...she is gonna be less inclined to help you like Dad is."
"Dart, Pouncer, carry the others and follow me." He said, grabbing Luisa.
"Why did you send Ruff and not me.."
"Because son, I know Mira wants to stay, so Dart will as well. And between you and your brother, he is the most likely to get the message to Luna without causing...more trouble."
"Heh, finally, it bites you on the ass." Dart giggled.
"I hate you." Pouncer mumbled.
Dart carried Miracle, Isabela, and Antonio, while Pouncer carried Dolores and the pest (Camilo but he refuses to name it any other way) Toothless managed to carry Luisa on his own, as he is a lot stronger than his sons.
"Why..." Isabela mumbled.
"Why what ?" Mirabel asked.
"Why is....your father, helping her, he had no reason to..."
"That's Dad for you. He helps others, not because he had anything to gain from, its just him." She said with the same admiration she holds for her father all the time.
"It's just.....they are dragons, but they..."
"You still don't get it don't you ? They are dragons, but they aren't beasts. Just because they aren't human that doesn't mean they have that."
Isabela stayed quiet for a while.
"I....I am glad they found you. That they gave you the love you deserve."
"Thanks..."
Isabela sighted, feeling jealous for a bit.
"I heard Luisa was complaining about Alma, even before her pain."
"It's not surprising. Abuela will have a heart attack when she sees that, and not only because of the lost leg."
"I am sure the villagers will just adore her that way, you are the amazing Madrigals."
"No...not anymore."
"Huh ?"
"Since the attacks, there have been no more amazing Madrigals. We've been blamed for the attacks, because it always happened on specific dates, most namely the one you....you know."
"But that doesn't make sense, why would they..."
"Because that house left magical impulses on those days."
Isabela yelped when the Alpha of the dragons adressed them.
"You know that Dad ?"
"Your Mother and I both felt them. That house has magic surrounding it, but some times it let out a pulse that would be felt by more experienced dragons. I had to confirm this with Cloudjumper after you told me, and he confirmed it."
"Then why would the north attack ?"
"Because my child....humans are not born with magic, that is not the law of nature, and that might cause anger and the attacks. I can assure you dragons on the south would have joined had I made it clear what would happen if they did."
"Humans are not meant to have magic....Mom says that all the time." Mira said slowly.
"And they aren't, the consequences of it....have been immense. Magic is power, and when unnatural power reaches towards one of us, it will go in our heads sooner or later."
"I don't understand."
"Let me put it this way. Bewilderbeats are massive dragons, but they can't fly, that's not on their nature. But what if one of them suddenly gained that ability, it would use it for its favor, to get advantage over the other males. That would create chaos. Some would not understand that, and extremists like the Whispering Deaths or the Deathgrippers, would stop it."
"I understand now...but you said that you and Mom saw that first hand."
"Uhum. A man, a hunter, by the named of Drago Bloodvist. He had magic, he could control Bewilderbeasts. and used it to bring destruction or nearby towns. It got out of hand when his assistant turned on him and tried to get him captured. I believe his name was.....Pedro Madrigal."
Isabela held her breath at that. Abuelo Pedro had been what....
"When Mr. Madrigal escaped, Drago had his men touch his village and killed the man, it was about the time my friend Stoick went out to fight Drago, and he asked me for help."
"Then...what happened."
"I killed Drago, but came in too late....Stoick was gone. The Bewilderbeast under Drago's control was freed, and he left to the ocean to live in peace. The only thing I don't know is what happened to what gave Drago his powers."
"And what was it..."
"Hum....I can't remember well but I heard the magic was trapped in a candle. It might be a lie though. Anyway, Drago left a bad image for humans with magic, and the North, which was hit harder, is why they are attacking probably.
Mirabel gave Isabela a concerned look. The revelation must be hard.
And it was, Isabela was always told Abuelo Pedro was a just and fair man...but to know he work for a mad man. And that the magic they have came from that.
Did those dragons know that, did they feel that, and attacked because they were afraid ?
"Isa...." Antonio asked quietly, having heard everything. "Are....are we bad ?"
Isabela had no answers at the moment, she just hugged him tightly.
They landed in top of a grassy mountain.
"So...what do we do now ?" Pouncer asked. "We let them go back to the village ?"
"I doubt she will be able to walk without a leg." Dart said.
"Delivering straight back home would be dangerous, and your mother will already have a stress attack when she hears all of this." Toothless groaned. "What do we do...."
"Eh Dad....there is someone on the woods." Dart pointed with her tail.
The woods continued to move, making the three dragons be on alert, when...
"OH THANK GOD I FOUND YOU !" Hiccup yelled.
"Señor Hiccup !" The Madrigals yelled.
"I was about to returning to our camp when the land slide happened I a lost you all. Are you all ok."
"Not exacly..." Dolores said. "Luisa is very bad."
"Wha.....no." Hiccup said when he saw the injury.
He rushed to the 19 year old. Dart and Pouncer were nervous, but Toothless signaled them to calm down, there is something familiar about this boy....
Hiccup grabbed what he could from his pack, and patched the leg correctly.
"Don't worry Luisa. I will build you a new leg. It will be just like mine." Hiccup showed her his protetic.
Luisa nodded, still in incredible pain.
"So." He turned to Isabela. "You found her."
"Yeah....I did."
"Wow....a Night Fury and two Night Lights." Hiccup said amazed.
His eyes went to Toothless though.
"Wait....you seem familiar..........wait a second....Toothless ?"
"Dad ?!" Dart, Pouncer, and Mirabel called, suprised.
"Those eyes.....what is your last name boy ?"
"Haddock...."
"Is....is you're father Stoick ?"
"Yes...its you, my father's friend !"
Hiccup extended his hand....and Toothless could not help but put his snout on it.
"Oh great." Pouncer said. "Dad has gone soft, right Dart..."
He turned to find Dart playing with Antonio. "Eh...like father like daughter ?"
Pouncer went to lie down, but then he noticed something.
"Hey, where is Mira ?"
"Isabela ?" Dolores called.
But neither were on sight.
Bruno held himself tight on a branch.
He managed to escape the river, but barely. Now he needs to find his sobrinos, and save them from the future.
He had too...he owned them that. |
A long, cold nail dragged along your face, delicately wiping away a stray tear. You whimpered at the touch, wanting to move into it, but were unable to with the number of restraints that were holding you back. Dio chuckled, testing the straps on the collar, moving down your arms and doing the same. You were folded over a table in front of him, arms behind your back in a series of leather restraints and your ass in the air. He was holding the leash in his hand, curling it around his finger casually.
“Do you enjoy this, kitten?” He purred. A warm feeling spread across your face. A part of you felt so vulnerable with everything exposed to him, unable to use your arms to cover yourself. It was so demeaning. But, the other part loved it. You loved the power he had over you, the control or lack thereof on your part.
God, you felt so small compared to him. You could barely see the smile on his face, he was so tall compared to you. Again, he ran a claw down your cheek, humming out a laugh. You whined as the vibrator taped to your clit was turned back on, overstimulating your already abused nerves. Your eyes rolled back into your head, body shaking. God, you wanted to cum so bad.
Dio noticed your desperation, chuckling darkly as he stroked a hand through your hair. Your face burned hot with embarrassment as he stared down at you with cruel eyes.
“Answer me.” He demanded, tugging on the leash.
“Mmm, y-yes,” you whimpered. A grin spread across his face, showing his sharp fangs. The vibrator was turned up again.
“Yes, what?” He asked, expecting you to say his proper title. You couldn’t say anything with the intense feeling between your legs. The leash was pulled on again, harder this time, forcing your head up.
“P-pleasssee ~uhn.” You stuttered, moaning wantonly.
“Please what?” He growled, claws raking your scalp a little too hard. You could barely string together a coherent sentence, much to his delight. “Use your words, pet.”
“P-p-pleaassse let m-me c-cuuummmmmm.” You fell limp onto the table, overcome with pleasure as you barreled into your hardest orgasm, squirting a mess onto the floor. The feeling was prolonged due to the vibrator, making your mind go blank. You drooled onto the table, twitching as the pleasure turned into pain.
Dio’s eyes narrowed as his grin faded into a scowl.
“Pathetic,” he seethed, pulling on your hair, forcing you to look up at him once again. You were a mess, just a mess. Normally he would have been pleased with your state, but tonight was a little different. Tonight, he had given you explicit orders to not cum until he let you and you had failed. A part of him knew you would. He would just have to train you to follow orders more.
“Pathetic,” he spat once again. He made his way to your behind, raking his claws down your back hard enough to leave marks. “Can’t even lift your head up without my help.” He leaned over top of you, whispering in your ear while pulling on the collar, lightly choking you. “Whore.”
You were barely conscious enough to moan as his cock lined itself up with your entrance, slipping against your slick folds. The added sensation along with the still on vibrator had your head spinning. Your eyes grew wide, quickly coming out of your stupor as he slammed himself inside you. Almost his full length was inside, stretching your neglected pussy to its limits.
“Is this what you wanted?” Dio growled, punctuating his words with harsh thrusts. His large hands wrapped around your neck, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. The tip of his cock hit the deepest part of you, making you cry out in pain as his hips jerked forward. “You wanted to cum on your Lord’s cock? You wanted to be split open by me?”
“Ah-ah-ah~ yesss,” you whined out. Tears stung the corners of your eyes while his thrusts got more and more rough. A particularly hard one had you seeing stars. His member was buried deep inside you, pushing against your walls.
“No! You have one more chance to address me properly or I will toss you to my subordinates. You don’t want them, do you?” The last question was sickeningly soft. He brushed a finger down your cheek gently, making you shiver.
“N-no, my Lord.” He chuckled darkly.
“That’s it, good. Now.” He pulled out, turning the vibrator off at the same time, making you feel so empty. “Let’s try again, shall we?”
A long finger was rubbed against your sopping entrance, carefully pulling the vibrator off of your abused clit. You jolted at the sensation, already overstimulated to the point of pain. You could feel the grin on his face as he shushed you, gently massaging your aching cunt. Then, two digits pressed forward, slipping easily into you now. They curled into your G-spot, making you keen and cry.
All the while, Dio grinned wildly, drinking in your begging. Once again, it took you a while to get to where he wanted you. He felt so good, you were close again, writhing under his ministrations. That was when he pulled out, letting you relax for a minute while he pets your hair, purring his dirty praises into your ear.
“Such a pretty little whore. So shy and yet you can barely contain yourself. You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you? You would love to be left here in your juices, wouldn’t you?” He growled, swiping a finger up your slick folds and bringing it to your lips. “Go on. Taste yourself. Taste how sweet you are for me.”
You opened your mouth willingly, unable to fight the need to obey him. Your tongue swirled around his fingertip before wrapping your lips around them. The taste wasn’t unpleasant, but it was more the act that turned you on than anything else. Once his fingers were clean, he lined himself up with you again.
“Are you ready to be a good girl, pet?” Dio teased your clit with the tip of his cock, setting your nerves on fire again.
“Yes, my Lord!” You practically screamed. He laughed sadistically.
SMACK!
You cried as his hand was brought down on your ass. Hard. A whimper passed over your lips before he did it again. There were already two solid handprints on your cheek when he leaned into the crook of your neck, sliding a hand up your sides to your breast where he pinched your nipple between his nails.
“Don’t. Cum.” He whispered. Then, he left, taping the vibrator to your clit once more and tying down the leash so you couldn’t escape. You called out after him, begging for him to come back, to no avail. He would come back, eventually, but only when you learned your lesson. He had more important things to do than train a whore. |
"Oi Tommy! Get your ass up and come check this out-"
Groaning softly as he's abruptly roused from his slumber, Tommy covers his eyes with one of his arms and rolls onto his side with a small grumpy huff; curling himself up deeper under his blankets.
"Mmh- Go 'waaaay..- tired.."
Right as he finally starts to doze off again, he's violently woken by someone ripping the blankets off of him.
"C'mon mate- Minx is making a new bomb recipe- we're gonna test them by throwing them overboard-!"
Grumbling curses under his breath the tired blond rolls over to face the culprit, blinking slowly and squinting as his eyes slowly focus.
Vesper chuckles at his ruffled appearance and folds the blanket before setting it on the foot of the bed. Holding their hand out they give him a small sheepish smile.
Glancing at the offered hand Tommy huffs and smiles back, chuckling in amusement while taking their hand and pulling himself up out of bed. Standing tall he stretches, sighing happily as some of his bones pop. Scratching the back of his neck he gestures towards the door with a cheeky smirk.
"After you..-"
Smiling brightly at him Vesper turns and walks ahead of him out the door, rambling about anything that comes to mind as they lead him out of the medbay to Minx's lab. Before they can open the door a loud boom sounds from the room and smoke starts to flow into the hall from under the door. Exchanging startled and worried looks with each other they both kick the door down and cough as more smoke billows out. As the smoke slowly dissipates they find Minx standing near a table, soot covering the entire front of her body. She coughs and a small black cloud puffs out of her mouth. Reaching up to remove her goggles she turns to the two figures standing in her door, chuckling shakily while giving them a sheepish grin.
"H..Heh..Too much gunpowder..-"
As Vesper walks over to fuss and check her over, a nearby window is opened and a young man with curly black and dark blue hair, red eyes, and a small set of fangs peeking out from his mouth pokes his head into the room.
"Oi, everything alright in here?"
Minx sighs and tilts sideways so the new person can see her soot covered face, giving him a grin.
"All good Sylvain, sorry for the worry- mixed too much again. Tell the Cap I'm sorry yeah?"
The man nods and chuckles at the cat hybrids predicament before closing the window and climbing back up to the main deck of the ship. Tommy points to the window and raises an eyebrow, giving Minx a confused look. Noticing the look on his face she smirks while absentmindedly dodging Vesper's poking and prodding.
"Sylvains a cave spider hybrid mate, don't worry 'bout it." Turning to Vesper she playfully swats at him, ignoring his squawk of protest. "Alright, quite it ya Fock- Cmon. Help me grab these crates, I managed to finish some before focking up the second mix."
Chuckling at the duo's antics Tommy walks over and gently picks up one of the crates, making sure not to jostle it too much. Trekking together the group makes their way up to the main deck of the ship, greeting other members of the crew as they set up the crates. As the crew gathers around them like kids around a candy bowl, Captain Redthorn makes his way through the crowd and pats Tommy's shoulder to catch his attention, nodding towards the Captain's quarters on the other side of the ship with a small smile as he puffs on his carved Diamond Willow tobacco pipe.
"Come with me for a moment lad. I need ta speak with ya."
Tensing slightly the now cautious blond nods and follows his new boss. Looking around curiously as he steps through the door he silently notes the mahogany desk covered in maps and papers near an ornate window, several special shelves with cross straps that hold items in place, and some lamps hanging from the rafters lighting up the room. Standing awkwardly in front of the desk with his arms at his sides Tommy watches Redthorn closely, tensing a little as the Captain moves to the other side of the desk. Sitting down in a chair the man looks up at Tommy, taking his pipe out of his mouth while gesturing to an extra chair with his free hand.
"Relax kid. Sit down, grab a drink. I just want to see how you're doing and hopefully answer some questions ye may have. There are no battles to be had here."
Debating silently for a moment Tommy stares at Redthorn, slowly sitting down after a moment as he decides to give the Captain some trust.
Tapping the ash out of his pipe into a bin next to his desk, Redthorn gives Tommy a reassuring smile. Sitting back once he's done he props his feet on his desk and raises an eyebrow to signify a silent question.
Tommy doesn't relax despite the Captain's efforts and fiddles with the hem of the tunic he'd changed into while in the medbay. He had woken in the middle of the night and immediately been hounded by Drista to wash off as best as possible to avoid grime getting into his wounds.
Glancing around a little the ex- L'Manburg soldier keeps his guard up yet still relaxes his shoulders a to show a sign of trust to the redhead sitting a few feet from him.
"..Now that I'm evidently a member of your crew, what am I supposed to do? I don't know a damn thing about running ships-"
Laughing softly and accidentally interrupting the cautious blond seated in front of him the Captain relaxes in his chair, smiling brightly in clear enjoyment of Tommy's snarky language.
"Well, that's the fun part, isn't it lad? You can do anything you want! Anything you want to learn, we'll teach you. And if none of us know what you need, we'll find someone who does. It's as simple as that." Moving his feet back onto the floor, Redthorn stands up and holds his hand out, his face gentle with conviction and understanding. "We're family now, boy. And family cares for their own."
Staring up at this..
clearly
insane man Tommy hesitates, his thoughts running a mile a minute. Standing up he tries desperately to understand. How could a man he barely knows, let alone the rest of his supposed crew, take him in so readily? Declare him
family,
just like that.
Glancing down at Redthorn's calloused hand, then glancing back up to his face, Tommy lifts his hand as if preparing to accept the offer waiting in front of him. His eyes not only clouded with fear and doubt, but also hidden sparks of curiosity and
hope
, his response is blunt; A silent promise of future pain if the man in front of him breaks his trust.
"....If I take your hand, there's no going back...Is there.."
The only answer he receives is a small smile and a pair of startling green eyes staring into his own cloudy blue, a silent exchange without words telling him all he needs to know.
With that, Tommy's expression turns to one of grim determination; Creativity and mischief once lost now making his eyes shine with obvious excitement. All doubts are temporarily shoved away as he takes the Captain's hand into a firm handshake.
Maybe someday, he could go back.
But he most definitely would never be the same.
Ruining the moment of seriousness Redthorn walks around his desk to stand next to Tommy and claps his hand on the teen's shoulder with a mischievous grin.
"Alright- enough of that emotional shite now, how bout we go blow some shite up aye-?"
Stumbling a little from the unexpected strength of Redthorn grabbing his shoulder, Tommy chuckles and gives the Captain a cheeky smirk.
"Oh
hell yes-
"
With a deep belly laugh Redthorn leads them both out, his arm casually thrown over Tommy's shoulder's as they start to chat about random small things in order to learn about each other. Once outside they make it over to the gathered crew and join the merry making. Finally reaching the front of the crowd where the crates still sit the cheery redhead grabs a bomb. Turning to the rest of the crew he holds up the bomb, an excited and slightly crazed grin lighting up his face.
"C'mon then you crazy bastards! Let's give the world hell-!"
The crew cheers and surges forward, Redthorn and Minx carefully passing a bomb to each member while Vesper and Tommy watch and laugh at the excitement of the others. Eventually stepping over to the side of the ship Redthorn gently pushes Tommy forward while handing him the last bomb, giving him an encouraging smile when the blond gives him a startled look.
"Go on lad, First shot goes to you."
With cheers of encouragement boosting his confidence, Tommy breathes shakily from nerves before lighting the wick on the bomb with some Flint & steel, quickly tossing it overboard as far from the ship as he can. There's a tense moment of silence as everyone waits for the boom. Tommy turns around to face Redthorn with a sheepish grin and is about to ask for a new one only to jump and yelp in surprise as a muffled boom pushes a large wave up above the water's surface, high above the ship. Staring in shock he laughs and cheers with the rest of the crew, stopping a moment to pout and curse as Redthorn ruffles his hair.
Stepping away so the others can toss their bombs, Tommy stands next to Redthorn and Vesper, watching the excited crew with a soft smile.
It was about damn time for him to find a family.
|
I’m overdressed
, Jaskier thought as the soles of his boots slipped on the gravel of the parking lot. What was he even doing at a soccer field at the crack of dawn, surrounded by people in sweatshirts and ball caps and sneakers.
Perhaps the Burberry trench coat was a bit much.
In his defense, Jaskier had never met the daughter of someone he was dating before. He had spent a ridiculous amount of time agonizing over what one wore to such an occasion. Getting the invite had been a surprise in the first place. The text was there sitting on his phone when he woke up after a late night playing a gig at a bar two hours away.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a smile started forming as soon as he saw Geralt’s name. He thought he read it wrong at first. ‘
You should come to Ciri’s soccer game this weekend.’
Jaskier started at it for a while, put his phone down, got coffee, let Arty out of her mews, stared at his phone some more, and tried not to overthink it which he failed at miserably. He wished he could call someone, but he didn’t have any friends besides his bird, as sad as it was to admit, and she didn’t always give the best advice.
In the end, Jaskier called the only person he could think of.
“Yeah?”
“Lambert, hi. It’s Jaskier.”
There was a pause, the consideration almost palpable. “You break something else?”
“No,” he fiddled with his ring, the signet that had been his grandfather’s, and took a deep breath, then blurted, “Geralt wants me to meet Ciri.”
Lambert’s laughter rang in his ear so loudly he had to pull his phone away. He could hear Lambert talking to someone else. “Yo, E. You doing anything Saturday?” Jaskier couldn’t hear the other person’s reply, but Lambert chuckled and said, “We have to go to the cub’s soccer game.”
The other person must have moved closer because Jaskier heard him ask, “Why the hell would I get up at the ass crack of dawn to stand out in a field if I don’t have to?”
Lambert came back with, “Geralt’s got himself a
friend
.”
The emphasis on the word made his meaning clear, and the man Jaskier assumed was Eskel drawled, “No shit? It’s about time.”
Jaskier was tempted to hang up, but his curiosity got the better of him, especially after his conversation with Lambert when he came to fix the sink. Jaskier had tried to be casual, sandwiching his probing between innocuous things like “Do you need anything to drink?” and “How bad is the damage to the sink?”
Lambert hadn’t been fooled. The large man sat back on his haunches and looked up at Jaskier, wiping his hands off in a towel before scratching at his beard, scarred brow cocked. “How exactly do you know Geralt, anyway? He didn’t say when I asked him.”
Jaskier wasn’t normally one to get embarrassed about, well, anything, but he looked away because that was certainly telling, wasn’t it? Geralt hadn’t told his friend about Jaskier when asked point blank. Maybe Geralt hadn’t told him he liked men? Yen and Triss seemed to know, but then again Geralt had been married to one of them for years.
“Geralt’s a close mouthed asshole at the best of times, though,” Lambert added, his shrug apparent in his tone and Jaskier felt a spark of… something. He was loath to label it hope.
Lambert wasn’t looking at him anymore, standing to put away his tools. Jaskier took a deep breath, not sure what he was going to say, until the words, “How often does Geralt date?” came out of his mouth.
Lambert’s bark of laughter was startling in the small space. “Never, since Yen. Too worried about his kid, I guess. Plus, he wouldn’t know how to do casual if it bit him on the ass.” He turned to lean back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “Known him since high school and as soon as he saw that girl,” he whistled, “boy was gone. Didn’t even look at anyone else once they became a thing.”
“Oh.”
“Our buddy Eskel and I tried to take him out a few times after his divorce, get him laid, but I don’t even think he remembers how to talk to other people anymore when it’s not about flowers or Ciri,” he chuckled.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jaskier quipped, not quite able to meet the other man’s eyes.
“Oh, ho, so it’s like that, is it? Didn’t think the man had it in him.” Lambert sighed, sobering “Look, it’s not my business, okay? Geralt’s a big boy, he can do what he wants. But you seem like an okay guy, so just, be careful. Let down easy.”
“Let him—I’m sorry, what?”
“Geralt doesn’t do casual. He might think he can, but he gets attached pretty damn quick. I don’t want to see him get hurt. Man’s had enough of that in his life.” Lambert pushed off from the counter, and headed for the door. “Trap under the sink rusted through. It’s an easy fix. Got a pvc one I can replace it with in my truck. I’ll go grab it.”
“Wait.” Lambert looked at Jaskier over his shoulder. “What if I want Geralt to be not casual?”
The other man smiled. “Well, that’s something different. He’s also stubborn as a mule. Gimme a sec, and we can talk while I work.”
Lambert gave him some advice which basically boiled down to “Show him you’re okay with his kid and having her in your life.” Jaskier hadn’t been sure if it would work, he was happy that it had, don’t get him wrong, but now that the moment of actually meeting her was here, he might be on the edge of panic.
What business did he have being in a kid’s life? He was hardly step-parent material. His childhood had been crap; what the hell did he know? And here he was, reaching out to the only person he could think of, and Lambert was
not being helpful
.
“Excuse me,” he said louder than he intended, but it got the other men to shut up long enough for him to say, “I haven’t even said I’d go yet.”
“Why the fuck not?” Lambert asked, sounding offended, and Jaskier had to laugh. Turns out Lambert was a good listener when he wasn’t being an ass and now, here Jaskier was, boot heels sinking into the grass, trying to spot a familiar head of white hair.
He ended up seeing Ciri first: tall and willowy, white blond hair braided down her back, big smile like her dad, and cunning eyes like her mother. She saw him too, scanning him from head to toe before elbowing Geralt in the ribs to get his attention. Geralt grunted, and turned to give his daughter a look, freezing when he caught sight of Jaskier.
Ciri smirked, and gave her dad a shove. Yen glanced over when Geralt stumbled. Jaskier got a chin lift from Yen, and a wave from Triss before the pair went back to their conversation with Ciri. Yen wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
Geralt met him halfway and Jaskier, like the gay disaster that he was, said, “You look good.” Geralt hummed softly, lips tilting up on one side. Jaskier shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. “I think I went a bit overboard.”
Jaskier lifted his eyes from the spot on the grass he had been studying intently when Geralt pulled one of his hands free, fingers wrapping around his own. “You look fine.”
He smiled because Geralt was holding his hand
in public
. Closing the scant distance between them had the two men pressed together from chest to thigh. “Really? How fine do I look?”
“Jaskier,” Geralt said with what he was almost positive was fondness.
“Fine, I won’t fish for compliments.” More seriously, he asked, “Why did you want me to come here?”
Geralt wouldn’t quite meet his eyes for a half a second. “Ciri wanted to meet you.”
“She knows about me?” Which of course she did. The teenager had pushed her dad in Jaskier’s direction after all, but what had Geralt told her?
“Hmm. I mentioned you the day your sink broke. She’s been hounding me with questions ever since. She’s even been asking Yen about you,” he added, sounding like the world’s most beleaguered father, and Jaskier laughed, wrapping his arm around Geralt’s waist and slipping his free hand into his back pocket.
“I like you, Geralt.” It could blow up in his face, but the man was introducing him to his daughter. That suggested a level of feeling.
“I like you, too, Jaskier.”
His smile was so wide now his cheeks hurt. He opened his mouth to say something he’d probably regret later like “I love you” because it was too soon, but a sharp whistle came from their right followed by a shouted, “Just kiss him already.”
Geralt groaned, glaring at his friends. When had Lambert and Eskel (he assumed) even shown up? Lambert was wearing a shiteater’s grin, while Eskel was standing with his arms crossed and a smirk plastered on his face.
“It’s not too late,” Geralt said and Jaskier frowned. “You’ll have to deal with all of them. Are you sure—”
“Geralt? Shut up.”
A chorus of shouts and applause when up and Jaskier kissed Geralt. Tackling this bunch was a small price to pay for finding something so rare.
“I want to keep the original moulding.”
“I know.”
“And the floor. I like the floors.”
“I
know
, Jaskier. You’ve told me twelve times.” Eskel glowered, and Jaskier was unimpressed as always. He knew the truth—the big, scarred man was a giant teddy bear.
“I’m just making sure. I love this house.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to your house,” Eskel promised with such solemnity that Jaskier knew he meant it.
“Fine, fine. I’m going to make coffee or something.”
“Good idea.” Eskel was already back to looking at the plans he had drawn up for the extension to Jaskier’s house, spread out across a makeshift table in the backyard so he went back inside. It had been six months since he and Geralt had officially started dating and some people might think it was a little fast, but Geralt was moving in—he spent most of his time at Jaskier’s place anyway—but that meant they needed a bedroom for Ciri. The spare bedroom was Jaskier’s studio and one bathroom between him and a teenager was not a life he wanted to think about. Adding more space had been the only option, and Eskel had offered his services (which Jaskier accepted after looking up his online reviews—had he mentioned he loved his house?).
Nothing had even started yet, but he already felt like he was in construction hell. He sighed, and braced his hands on the kitchen counter.
It would all be worth it
, he thought, gazing out the window, smiling when he felt familiar arms wrap around his waist.
Geralt presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Eskel here already?”
“Mm.” He lifted his chin to give Geralt more access.
“You okay?”
“Who me? Fantastic, especially if you keep doing that.”
“Jaskier.”
“I mean it,” he insisted, turning so he could face Geralt. “I want you here. I want you all here, even your demon cat.”
“Roach isn’t a demon. She’s just grumpy.”
“I would be, too, with a name like that!” he yelled when Geralt poked him in the side, and nipped Geralt’s lower lip in retaliation, which turned, as things normally did with them, into a make out session. He pulled back to press their foreheads together. “I never thought I’d have a family again.”
“If you can put up with mine, you’re welcome to them.” He swatted at Geralt, but it wasn’t serious, and the other man smiled. “I’m going to go talk to Eskel.”
He watched Geralt and Eskel talk out the kitchen window while he made coffee, humming the tune to a new song he’d thought up. The one he planned to sing when he proposed to Geralt.
Who would have thought that getting dumped would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.
*
“When are you gonna do it?” Eskel didn’t bother looking up from plans for the house, kept making marks with the pencil in his hand.
Geralt braced a hip against one of the saw horses topped in wood planks. “Do what?”
Eskel looked at him from the corner of his eye then slowly set his pencil down and straightened. “You’ve never been able to bullshit me before. Don’t start now.”
Geralt gave him a shove, setting Eskel laughing. Geralt sighed. “When the house is done. So you’d better get moving.”
“Like I’d stand in the way of true love,” Eskel proclaimed with mock gravity. “And getting to be your best man twice? I’m not passing that up.”
“Who said I’m asking you?”
“Who else would you ask? Lambert?”
“No, Yenn,” he shot back.
“Oh, ouch,” Eskel laughed. “You have a ring, right? Jaskier seems like a ring type of guy.”
Geralt scowled, offended. “Of course, I do.”
“Good to know you’re not a complete idiot.” Eskel went back to the plans, dismissing Geralt. “Go make out with that future husband of yours.”
“Fuck off,” Geralt said, even as he headed for the porch steps. Jaskier saw him and gave a little wave of his fingers. The man was beautiful. Jaskier walking into his flower shop was the best thing that happened to him next to Ciri being born.
If his luck held out—he’d also be his husband one day soon.
|
Voldemort was too busy taking over Wizarding Britain to go after Harry on the other side of the world, if he was even aware that Harry was elsewhere or even alive. So far as Harry was concerned, this was a good thing. Barely anyone could touch Harry now, which was why he'd put all that work in, but Voldemort was probably an exception. There were any number of adults who should be dealing with him. Harry had a lot to learn and he fully intended to live long enough to learn it.
The news from Chiloé was only that Dumbledore had been hunting a Dominican family who had settled in Wizarding Chile, and had fled back to the Dominican Republic to escape him. Which meant they should probably be somewhere else, just in case.
They just didn't speak English any more, not even at home. Harry learned a lot from translating his N.E.W.T.s textbooks so they could be thrown away, and from his E.D.B.A. textbooks. He learned more from watching Sirio getting into fights and rough company when he needed to work off his ready temper on strangers who would never report a thing.
Magic wanted to protect Harry, and Harry - Emilio - wanted to protect Sirio, and Sirio never told when an invible presence gave dark wizards a good drubbing long enough to haul Sirio away, laughing.
The five of them, witch, wizards, werewolf and owl settled in a nice street in Santiago, moving up in the world. The Black fortune was gone - they owned only what they earned.
No more dubious jobs.
Actual work was fascinating to Sirio, who had always been very, very bright, and who sat his E.D.B.A.s to prove he could, earning them all over again. Marcos did the same, and came out of his exams beaming in the frosted air.
Maria had finished school long ago, and was a real person, but even she was brushing up on her learning, and teaching Harry when he wasn't at school. Harry was going to be a good student. He had a lot of magic, but it didn't stand up to adults who really cared about him and wanted him to succeed. Disappointment could crush him more than any muggle car.
Santiago held the nice big library that Harry needed, and better bookshops, and easy access to other capitals, with their bookshops, through respectable travel companies. He would pause at the inviting shadows of narrow streets with hags and werewolves, and then he would not go in.
Harry Potter was dead. Well, actually, he was wanted internationally, for crimes in Britain, but as a massively scarred green-eyed cripple on the run somewhere in Wizarding Britain, not as a tall, straight-limbed brown-eyed Latino wizard.
He was thriving at magic. Potions an absolute cakewalk after learning under Snape. It did help, a lot, that he had an extra eighteen months. That the will to thrive, to succeed, burned in him. That he was surrounded by adults who wanted him to be good.
Of course, there was a war going on too, with his friends mixed up in it. He was strong enough now that he should probably do something.
December the fifteenth was when they all held onto an orange crate that was an international port-key to a hidden enclave in Seville, pungent with oranges trampled into the cobbles of a street no wider than the span of Mortimer's arms.
The travel was new and very whirly and spinny with a hook to the guts that didn't hurt but didn't feel good at all, and it went on for far too long. Harry was very sick, and Sirius laughed so much he was nearly sick too. Being held upside down didn't stop the laughter at all.
The next journey was a simple hop by apparition. Paris was full of the best cakes Harry had ever tasted, and a theatre of wonders. No one was following them around.
Hogsmeade was across a wild sea that was indifferent to human death but giving it a good try anyway. No one saw them take newspapers. No one saw Harry sneaking into Hogwarts to look around. No one saw them in Godric's hollow. No one saw him visit the rubble where the Ossary had once been.
Nowhere, anywhere, was there any trace of any of Harry's friends. All were wanted and At Large, or missing entirely, and if Harry couldn't track them down, that was probably a good thing. What he'd noticed was that all his old teachers seemed to be just fine, and Hogwarts didn't seem any more horrible now than it had when he was a first year.
No one saw people arrive in the Black family home. Harry took a grave offence to a nasty curse that was clinging to the front hall, looking for Snape. He could empathise, but there was a place for such things. He sent it hunting the caster, to hit him threefold.
The house was abandoned. Kreacher was still there, not muttering about blood-traitors or his Mistress. Harry made Sirius be nice to Kreacher - he liked house-elves and wanted lots of food. Sirius was going to be kind to and love his servant as Harry loved Mortimer.
"All right," Sirius said, turning from sulk to grin in an instant.
"Ask him what he wants," Harry said, an order, to see what Sirius do.
"What do you want?" Sirius asked. "Tell me," he added at the glare. "Stupid elf. Well, he is."
The result of his words was surprising. Kreacher had secrets to tell, oh yes, but not to traitor son...
Harry wasn't a traitor son and he was curious, so they played along. There was, apparently, a locket that Kreacher was supposed to destroy, and that thieves and traitors had stolen before he could. Sirius literally ordered him to forget all about it, and Kreacher was suddenly a lot brighter.
They went back to clearing out the house, which had been robbed of everything of value, making it easier to strip back to plaster and floorboards. Muggle cash was easy to get and so was food; they could live very well in London.
Magical London was an absolute dump. Boarded windows and wanted posters, good for a giggle at first, but depressing after a while. The cold got into their bones. They collected all their cash and headed out, taking Kreacher with them, which made life all sorts of easier. Harry was not leaving a perfectly good evil house-elf locked up in an empty box.
Galleons to Olivos, Olivos to Osos. Santiago was their home, now as wealthy wizards with lots of cash. Harry was Emilio Farero Gomez, and they'd been on a respectable journey abroad. They paid taxes, they had a vault, they had qualifications and good jobs.
They had an evil house-elf at large in their respectable home. Maria screamed at Kreacher, who glared at her, while Emilio giggled, then introduced them to each other.
Once she'd managed to stare Kreacher down, Maria was all for having help around the house. Kreacher was all for living with a strong-minded witch with firm standards. He could be actually pleasant, which Sirius hadn't known was possible.
Kreacher could pop back to their home in London, just like that, they found out when Sirio wanted an old pair of mirrors and Kreacher suddenly had them and was offering them up.
"Good elf," Sirio said.
"Kreacher lives to serve," Kreacher said unctuously. It was a dig, and they all knew it.
"I can free you, you know," Sirio said, eyes narrowed.
"Kreacher can be polishing the mirrors, Master," Kreacher offered, suddenly very helpful and eager to please.
Sirius considered several ideas, glancing at Emilio. "Can you get newspapers? From London?"
"Kreacher can."
"But you didn't mention it, did you?"
Kreacher sniggered, and Sirio sighed, giving in. "Kreacher, be a good elf and fetch us a Daily Prophet every day."
They got the idea that Voldemort controlled the Ministry, without having needed to give them all that much of a push by the looks of it. He had absolutely won, while Dumbledore was running around trying to capture Harry, and Britain was no longer any place they would ever recognise or want to live in. Their home was here.
Harry couldn't even join his friends without ending up under Dumbledore's thumb. They were safer if he left them alone. Death omens galore, no matter which Seer he went to.
So, Harry left Britain to its own devices, worked hard and took his N.E.W.T.s at long last. Well, E.D.B.As.
And then Maria left, to go and marry a nice respectable wizard who wasn't wearing good manners like a snake wore its skin, there only for the duration of a war abroad in a country she'd never seen and that sounded like a wet, cold dump anyway.
Sirio read stories of the war, frustrated at being able to do nothing about it without bringing about his own doom. Emilio could soothe Padfoot and there wasn't a person there who they could trust to have their back. If they could track down the Bones family, so could Voldemort and they'd be dead. Emilio wasn't going to hope.
Sirio put poison-arrow frogs in Emilio's bed, and lived with the consequences, and it was cheering, and so was gluing a dark wizard to a wall, one who had been stupid enough to say the British had the right idea where they could hear it. They left him naked and upside down, a diakon radish somewhere unmentionable, only the green leaves showing. The effect was quite jaunty.
Kreacher was always up for small menaces abroad and Emilio didn't ask. He was out exploring with Marcos, or working hard, being very ordinary and not a Dark Lord or Chosen One at all. Certainly not Dumbledore's 'secret weapon'. |
Merlin
Above the Departed Lands, they flew.
Great swathes of clouds passed below them, white as Aithusa’s scales. The dragon was happy to be amongst them; she thrummed with contentment, even with the knowledge of what was to come. With one hand on her spine to steady himself, Merlin used the other to rub the back of her neck absentmindedly, and breathed in the crisp air that surrounded him. He tried to think not of what lay ahead, but rather the luck that had brought him to where he was. How many people had walked the earth, and never touched the sky- had never even known that there was such a possibility?
“Um, Merlin?” A young timid voice was carried to him by the wind. “Sir?”
That young woman had been timid from the moment she and Merlin had been acquainted. She rarely went more than a few sentences without calling him ‘sir,’ despite numerous reminders of the lack of necessity. Lyniah was a Nemethian, and a Nemethian mage at that. In the planning for the invasion of Eldrin, the architecture was deemed unsuitable for land invasion only; the town had a wide wall, and several high towers spaced between. From there, archers could kill up to hundreds of men before the gates could ever be breached.
The debate had then, of course, turned to Aithusa. Much to Arthur’s surprise, Merlin had agreed fairly easily to the suggestion of her involvement. Much as he loathed to involve the otherwise peaceful giant in violence, Merlin could not send hundreds of their men to an avoidable death in good conscience. He would not order her, though; he would ask her to come with him. The Nemethians scarcely cared for the distinguishing factor, but to Merlin it made all the difference.
The Nemethians, as was typical, were still unhappy with the decision to involve the dragon despite it being at their own suggestion. ‘The dragon’ was dangerous, a creature of violence and unpredictability. The only reasonable course of action to assure the utmost safety of the creature’s involvement was to send an inexperienced, untrained mage to ride the dragon with Merlin, so that she may watch out for any troubling behavior which she’d have little power to stop.
And so it was, with his eyes rolling nearly to the back of his head, that Merlin had met Lyniah. They’d had time to go on only one flight with Aithusa before the journey into the Departed Lands had begun. When he’d helped her up onto the dragon that first time, she’d been white-faced, tight-lipped, and silent; she was the same throughout the entirety of their short, low-lying flight. When they landed, he’d turned to ask her what she’d thought, and found her vomiting profusely in the nearby bushes.
With a shudder, Lyniah had returned to stand before him sheepishly. “Is that… is that as bad as it gets?” she’d gasped.
“That’s bad as it gets,” Merlin had said, and then grinned, clapping her on the shoulder. “For today!”
“Yes, Lyniah?” Merlin sighed presently, failing to keep the impatience from his voice. From the way she tiptoed around Aithusa, he suspected Lyniah’s role in babysitting them hadn’t been completely voluntary. Still, he couldn’t help but be annoyed at her presence. He was still trying to make up for lost time with Aithusa- and sad as it was, he’d been hoping the ride to Eldrin would give him the chance to do that.
Lyniah, however, seemed much more concerned with the destination than the journey. “Are we near Eldrin yet, sir?” Her voice squeaked on the last word as Aithusa crested higher.
“Not even close,” Merlin replied cheerfully. “Eldrin is leagues away- our armies won’t reach it for two hours yet.”
“Then- then shouldn’t we get closer to the town? Be ready? What are we doing here?”
“Enjoying the view!” Merlin paused at the lack of response, frowning. Lyniah didn’t speak often, but he knew she could- she’d done it several times before. “Are you not enjoying the view, Lyniah?”
There was a shameful silence before she spoke. “I can’t, sir. I haven’t opened my eyes yet.”
Merlin turned where he sat to confirm that absurd admission. Indeed, the young woman still had her eyes squeezed tightly shut. The elongated reins they had given her- to give her a sense of security rather than provide any actual control over Aithusa- were gripped tightly in her hands.
Merlin bit his lip, feeling a twinge of sympathy. “It’s worth it, Lyn,” he said gently. “Pretend you’re on the ocean!”
Lyn let out a flustered gasp as Aithusa descended to avoid a crop of clouds. “I’ve never even seen the ocean!” she called above the wind.
“Right then. Pretend you’re on something like the ocean!”
That was enough to elicit a laugh from Lyniah, and in a moment of blissful forgetfulness, she opened her eyes. They widened immediately, first darting towards Merlin with a look of betrayal, and then slowly turning to the side, towards the earth below.
Great rolling fields. Mountains, curled around villages, as if they’d been created only to provide protection to the people below. Rivers made gentle by the distance, sparkling in the sunlight.
“Oh!” Lyniah gasped. “Oh. It’s…”
“Enough to leave you speechless?” Merlin guessed.
Lyniah nodded wordlessly. She did not take her eyes off what lay beneath them.
Merlin turned back ahead with a smile, content to leave her to her wonder for the time being. “It is beautiful, isn’t it, Aithusa?” he murmured, and received a rumble of agreement from her.
The few flights he’d taken since reuniting with his dragon were nothing compared to this one. He had never gone this high before, especially not when Ava and Anselm had been with him. The need for secrecy provided a unique opportunity: the ability to see from a bird’s view the land that had been his prison, and Lea’s home. Each small speck that signaled the place of a village could be where she once lived.
Or maybe her home had suffered the same fate as Oren’s- complete, or near complete annihilation. There one day, and gone the next. The story Oren had told them had twisted Merlin’s stomach, and increased his suspicions that something terrible had happened to Lea before she’d come to the mines.
But that was not for him to know. Her story would join that of Oren’s family- cut short, with one half unknown.
He took a deep breath, and pulled himself closer to Aithusa, using her to ground himself as they flew. He tried to seek comfort in thoughts of a future not yet closed off to him- how he could take his children up this high one day, all three of them. They’d been kept in those caves deep in the earth for so long; they deserved time in the sky.
On and on they flew, past the rivers and streams and mountains, until Merlin began to spot the landmarks Arthur had indicated on a map to him- a cluster of five mountains, one in the center higher than the rest. Slowly, he began the descent, nudging Aithusa lower.
Apparently, he hadn’t been doing so slowly enough, for when he turned around, Lyniah was as green as the fields below. “Doing alright?” Merlin called, though he knew it to be a question already answered.
“Nuh-ugh.”
Anticipating such a response, Merlin dug into his pockets, pulling out a satchel. “Catch!” he called.
Lyniah looked up just in time to be smacked in the face by the proffered satchel; it bounced off, tumbling down to the earth. She looked after it mournfully, then snapped her head back up, blanching. “What was that for?”
“Ribleaf. Helps with nausea.” Merlin gave her what he hoped was a comforting smile. “But- I’m sure you’ll be fine! Just don’t let go.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lyniah murmured, shuddering in the wind. The joy and wonder she’d felt before had disappeared with their descent.
They remained just high enough that someone from the ground may think the strange shape in the air was a figment of their imagination. Aithusa’s white color also helped, but to be safe, Merlin began to mutter a shimmer spell under his breath. He shifted to the edge and glanced down, greeted by the sight of a faint distortion following the air beneath his dragon. He would not be able to hold the spell for long, lest he drain his energy before the battle- nor would he have to.
Lying in wait in the rolling fields below was their coalition of three armies- silver and blue, gold and red, and a smattering of brown. For just a second, Merlin released his hold on the spell, long enough to send his vision forth so that he could see a banner depicting the Nemethian sigil raised in acknowledgement. They would begin their march.
For the first time since they’d begun to fly, nervousness gripped Merlin. It was not his own life he feared for drastically- he was in his own element, a dragonlord atop a dragon. But the thousands of people below had only thin armor to protect their flesh and bone.
His friends were down there. Arthur, Leon, and Percival- the last of whom had insisted on coming despite still being weakened from captivity. This fight would not be like those of their early days; there would be no tree for Merlin to hide behind, no way for him to keep an eye on his friends at all times. They would be left to the mercy of fate- and Merlin had a more complicated relationship with fate by the day.
Stifling a shudder of fear, Merlin turned his focus towards that which he did have some control over- a gentle giant flying towards war, and the fretful girl clinging to her back behind him.
“Lyniah,” he called as four towers appeared in the distance. “Are you ready?”
“Nope!” she called back without hesitation.
Merlin laughed. “Me neither! We make a good team!”
Though it had been a long time since he’d approached a battle, the old rhythm of emotions settled into Merlin’s bones like his last battle had been just the day before. Anxiety mixed with a giddy, weightless feeling- then, as the enemy came more into view, a sharpened focus, his eyes taking in as many details as possible.
Without even trying, his magic reached forward as they flew closer. Hundreds of footsteps- hundreds, less than ours - in the highest of towers on the eastern end. In turn, Merlin honed in on each of the other towers, and found the cacophony of sounds lesser. In the last that he focused on, he heard the sound of plates being cleared away. The men had just finished their midday meal, the remnants of laughter filled the air.
Not important, Merlin told himself, snapping his focus away from that area. He couldn’t dwell on that bit of everyday life for too long.
“I’m going to drop the shimmer, and then we’re going to descend.” Merlin spoke slowly, bracing himself for what was to come.
“I’m with you, sir.”
Merlin smiled to himself, and reflected that perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing to not be alone in this. As if sensing his thoughts, Aithusa huffed beneath him, reminding him that he most certainly would not have been alone.
“Didn’t mean anything by it,” Merlin murmured. “Ready, girl?”
In answer, Aithusa spread her wings wider.
“Onraes.”
Like an arrow just released from its bowstring, they raced downwards, past the clouds and towards the highest of the towers. Within mere seconds, Merlin did not have to extend his hearing- the cries of shock and fear were heard easily enough. A few brave archers raced to the parapets, aiming for the oncoming assault. There was not a chance in hell any arrows of theirs would pierce Aithusa’s scales, but for the sake of himself and the mortal girl behind him, Merlin raised a shielding spell. A sphere of translucent blue wrapped itself around Aithusa, and even in the few seconds they had before impact with the tower, Merlin couldn’t help but admire it- the simple beauty of magic. He wished he did not have to bring it here.
No more time for sentimental thoughts- the tower was within reach. Without needing to be told, Aithusa slowed down just slightly, reducing the speed of her descent enough to thrust her hind legs forward. From the windows of the towers, a young man watched her claws coming ever closer. It would be the last thing he saw.
We have to do this. As they ripped through the tower, the world bursting into sound around them, Merlin tried to close his heart to it. They made us do this.
Maybe if he told himself that enough times, he’d start to believe it.
They came through on the other side, into the endless dust spiraling down, and soared upward again. They had a brief respite from the confusing devastation they left behind, but not for long. When they’d reached the clouds again, Merlin ordered Aithusa to repeat the violent affair on the second tower- and she did, without question.
“Enemies from the West!” he heard one man cry as they ascended again. Looking down, Merlin saw their three armies begin to approach, from the side which the two towers had once protected.
His distraction cost him focus- without realizing it, the shield spell near Aithusa’s tail had faltered. He realized such when he heard Lyniah shout from behind, “Scylden !” A spattering of angry arrows hit her wall.
“Thanks,” Merlin called, grinning sheepishly at his mistake.
“Don’t mention it,” Lyn said. She stood easily on the back of Aithusa then, reins held in only one hand. When she glanced down, the frown of concentration on her face deepened. “Merlin- we’ve got trouble below.”
Merlin followed her line of sight, and cursed under his breath. Eldrin was not only protected by archers, but mages, too- ten of whom were lining up before their approaching enemies. Though they stood still, the earth changed before them- lines carved deeply and shining with unnatural light.
Earth raining from the sky. It was how a haunted Ava had described the attack on Camelot to Merlin. That same spell- of making craters in the earth, and then casting them forward- was in the midst of being performed in front of them.
In an instant, his lapse of sympathy was wiped away. Fury took its place.
“Aithusa,” Merlin said, anger burrowing deeper into his heart. “Forbaernan.”
His fury became her own; Aithusa let out a cry, and launched forward. Several of the mages broke off from their posts, the earth they had begun to carve out crashing back to its rightful home. Those who didn’t sway were met with fire.
Merlin turned his face away from the flames, and the cries grew distant. How quickly his heart was able to turn on itself, a coin flipped to the other side.
Two more towers to go. The occupants of the fortress had caught on to Aithusa’s pattern of attack; those who weren’t archers were spilling out of the towers en masse. It was enough for a moment’s hesitation on Merlin’s part, to spare the few who had stayed behind. But he was under orders, just as the men they fought were; for now, he would follow his own.
The third tower came down, crumbling on itself as its last two brethren had. Aithusa returned to the sky immediately after, taking them away from the distant cries of pain and fear. Even with the knowledge that they’d have to soon return, Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.
On the ground below, the main doors of the fortress had been forced open with a battering ram. Knights and mages of their three armies poured in, while others stayed behind, bringing ladders to the parapets to combat the Departed Lands archers who’d managed to escape the towers in time. In just minutes, the terrain of the battle had changed from distant strikes to hand on hand combat, aggressor upon aggressor. With the closeness of it all, there would be little more to help with from above.
“One more tower, Lyniah!” Merlin called, to comfort her as much as himself.
He expected to hear at least a groan in response, carried on the wind. There came nothing to his ears. Merlin risked a glance over his shoulder, and was greeted with the complete absence of the young woman. The reins swung forlornly at Aithusa’s sides.
“Lyniah?” he called out again in alarm. Had she fallen, and not been heard, her cry mixing in with all around her?
Frantically, he scanned the parapets of the fortress they’d just left. With the destruction left by the third tower’s fall, few people remained, having fled to the forefront of the battle at the fortress’ gates. And so it was with relative ease that he spotted a woman, dressed in the blue and silver robes of her people, racing across the rubble of the parapets leading to the fourth tower. The object of her concern: a man, dangling from the edge, a traitorous ladder lying far, far beneath him.
And racing towards Lyniah and the man, from the only tower that remained- a group of very fast, very angry Departed Lands people.
“Gods damn -”
Merlin put his frustration aside; now was the time to act, lest he lose hope of saving them entirely. He ordered Aithusa down, standing to race towards her tail end. He didn’t have to tell her precisely where to go; she knew, just as the sun knew when to set. When the parapets were close enough that he could leap without breaking a leg, Merlin departed from her back, slipping down her leg and slowing his fall just enough with a whispered spell.
He landed right where he intended to- between Lyniah, and the racing men. They had slowed their pursuit, dumbfounded and terrified by the dragon that had seemed to be heading straight for them. As Aithusa ascended once more, their focus turned on the man she had brought to them.
There were twenty of them, hooked swords in their hands, the rage of battle in their eyes. Merlin had faced far worse odds- the Battle of Camlann came to mind. But then he had been above, and all the destruction below. Being this close to the men he sought to harm felt much more personal.
Coming out of their stupor, they raised their swords and shields, and charged forward. Merlin raised his hand, and turned his face to the side, closing his eyes. “Blasphene,” he murmured, softly enough that the men did not know of the spell he spoke until it hit them- squarely, in the chest.
He did not open his eyes, but he knew of what must have transpired from the sounds he heard. Cries, some traveling backwards, others down; metal clanging to the stone below. A whimper.
Merlin turned away from it all, as he’d done many times before. He told himself that this what he had to do, to survive- to return home. To protect those he cared about.
All these things which he told himself were true. None of them washed away the guilt.
He turned his attention to the only two people left on the parapets around him- Lyniah, and the man she’d pulled up from almost certain death. Merlin ran towards them, slowing down as he grew more certain that they were alright. Lyniah was sat against the wall, panting from fading fear. As for the man she’d saved, he was lying on the ground, but his eyes were open and he was seemingly unharmed. Merlin recognized the shock in his face- that of a man who’d perhaps for the first time been faced with the undeniable truth of his own mortality.
Merlin cast about his gaze, looking for another tragedy to prevent, and another to cause. He was met with the sounds and sights of a dying battle. The last fight in the defenders of the stronghold had gone out; those who still struggled were being quickly reined in. And in the distance, he thought he saw Arthur, making his way through the settling battlefield.
Aithusa, Merlin knew, was in the clouds somewhere above, ready to be called back to earth should he need her. He’d let her fly a little longer. She deserved her moment of freedom.
He sighed, and leaned against the side of the parapet wall opposite Lyniah, sliding down it into a sitting position. The man- one of the new Departed Lands fighters, Merlin could now see- was sitting next to her, but was still shaking and silent, knees drawn to his chest.
Lyniah stared at Merlin. Her lips moved.
“What?” Merlin hadn’t realized it, but there was a ringing in his ears- from the sound that had exploded around him, or the racing of blood in his head, he could not tell.
“The fourth tower,” she repeated, just barely loud enough for him to hear. “It still stands.”
Merlin looked to the tower to confirm it. Among its fallen brethren, it still stood, but looked oddly smaller up close. “So it does,” Merlin murmured.
“Do you think… do you think they’ll be mad at us? For not…” Lyniah trailed off, exhaustion cutting her words.
“Maybe,” Merlin said. “Doesn’t matter, though. We’ll be just fine.”
“Fine, fine,” repeated the man in a whisper. His shaking had grown worse.
Lyniah looked to the knight, and rested a hesitant hand on his shoulder. She smiled when he caught her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “Just fine.”
*****
“We estimate only a hundred of our men lost, all forces combined.”
As the last of the dust of the battle settled, the three of them had made their way to the main square of the fortress, the rescued Departed Lands fighter huddled between them. A medic had examined them, diagnosing the man with mere battle shock before moving on to those with greater illnesses.
There, Arthur had soon found them, having clearly been searching for them. Merlin’s relief at finding his friend in one piece was short-lived as his gaze settled on what lay behind the king: a long line of carried bodies, swiftly being prepared for burial just outside the fortress.
“Only a hundred,” Merlin repeated softly. What felt like a moment ago, he’d been sitting atop Aithusa, high above the world. He sat then on a forgotten crate, pushed to one wall of the fortress by a man who must have been in haste amidst the daily errands of his life.
“I know what it sounds like,” Arthur said, the constant furrow in his brow there again. “But it’s a win, Merlin.”
“There will be more, Arthur.” And from his voice, it was clear he wasn’t talking about victories.
Arthur took in a deep breath, and Merlin braced himself for some misguided speech to bolster his faith. It was what a younger Arthur would have done.
But the man who stood before Merlin was a little wiser, and much more tired. “I know,” Arthur sighed, hanging his head. And to Merlin’s surprise, the king made his way to sit beside him, looking even more tired as he did so. There would be much to do in the aftermath of the battle- all sorts of directions and orders to give that Merlin only had a dim memory of hearing about as a servant. It spoke of Arthur’s priorities just then, that he chose instead to sit beside his friend.
A week ago, the two of them had at last come to an agreement to face the Departed Lands people head on. It had been a triumphant moment.
The story takes all the glory. That was something Hunith used to say- a word of warning to her young, impressionable son: that the tales told to children were wiped clean of complexity, leaving only the fundamentals of victory over evil to be discussed.
But evil was a much more nuanced thing than Merlin had once thought. He used to see it only in the eyes of those who stood against him. Now, he saw little bits of it everywhere, irrevocably intertwined with all the things he cherished.
A hundred men lost- their men. No one had bothered to count the casualties of the other side. Merlin did not know if they would even buried; he did not ask, for he did not want to know.
Thean’s friends amongst the invaders may have lost their fathers that day, and did not know it yet. There had been women amongst the mages, too. They’d likely made orphans of a few children.
Perhaps Arthur sensed that Merlin’s ruminations were becoming too dark, just then, as he turned where he sat to face his friend. “Merlin. What you did earlier-”
“LYNIAH!”
Merlin, the king, and the woman in question collectively jumped, their nerves still frayed from battle. A man decked in silver plates and Nemethian blue strode forward, helmet tucked under his arm.
Lyniah stood up suddenly and ran forward, curtsying hastily. “Sir Enthus!” she said, and Merlin felt a burst of pride when her voice didn’t shake.
Sir Enthus took a deep breath, and looked ready to launch into a tirade before his eyes landed on Merlin and Arthur.
“King Arthur,” he murmured, bowing.
“Sir Enthus.”
“And Merlin.” The knight did not repeat the same gesture.
“Enthus,” Merlin said succinctly. He had not forgotten the man who had so wholeheartedly supported Thean’s journey to the invaded Camelot.
The knight’s chest heaved with anger. With one finger, he pointed to Lyniah and Merlin in turn. “You two,” he seethed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“How much time you got?” The words were out before Merlin could think about them. Arthur snorted beside him, trying to hide his laughter with a cough.
Enthus, quite wisely, chose to ignore this jab of Merlin’s. “A beast left unattended. And that damned tower left still standing, a perfect place for these animals to aim at us from! What were you thinking?”
“There was a man,” Lyniah said, voice less confident than it was a moment ago. “On his own, hanging from the parapets. He might have died, had we not intervened.”
“And so you left a dragon to its own devices, and went directly against the plan to hit the towers- because of one man ?”
“Aithusa wasn’t ‘left to her own devices,’” Merlin argued, unable to keep quiet at such ludicrous claims. “I ordered her to remain in the sky until I called her back down- an order which, as you can see, she’s still following. And the battle was nearly finished, that last tower evacuated- there was no need to destroy anything more.”
“No need?” Enthus repeated, shaking his head. He jabbed a finger in Merlin’s direction once more. “You I would expect this from-”
“Enthus.” Arthur had remained quiet during the affair, but his tone held enough warning to cut off the other man in his tracks.
Enthus bit his tongue, turning his attention back to the younger woman. “But you, Lyniah? I thought you had a good head on your shoulders.” He shook his head. “Guess I was wrong. You risked the entire army- let a dragon run free- for one man! Why the hell did you think the risk mattered?”
“I think it mattered quite a bit to him,” Merlin said, unable to listen to him berate Lyniah any longer. “And his family, too. Or do they not matter as well?”
Enthus scoffed at his question, and Merlin’s anger flared. He wasn’t the only one; he felt a hand on his shoulder, and saw Arthur stepping forward.
“I think what Merlin here is trying to say is that you can yell until you’re blue in the face, but it won’t change a thing,” the king said calmly, a faint smile on his face. “What’s done is done- and given the chance, these two would do it again, and rightfully so.”
Enthus’ mouth had become a thin line. His chest heaved with an unfinished tirade. But even he knew when he was outmatched; he turned on heel, barking at a group of young knights as he stalked away.
Arthur let out a deep breath, and turned to face Merlin and Lyniah with one raised eyebrow. “As I was going to say,” he murmured. “What you two did was quite stupid.”
Lyniah straightened her back, preparing for another verbal blow, as Merlin met the king’s eye, nonplussed. Only one of them was surprised when Arthur broke into a grin.
“Well done,” he said, shaking Merlin jovially by the shoulders, who returned a similar grin. Merlin knew he spoke of more than just their saving of the lone man. With the shock of battle starting to seep out of his bones, he could embrace a moment of relief- the two of them had made it through the first battle.
A nearby Camelot knight soon called Arthur back to his duties, and so Arthur departed with a promise to Merlin to reunite later that evening. Lyniah looked after the king as he walked away, her mouth agape. “I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Why isn’t your king angry?”
“Ah, he’s known me long enough,” Merlin said fondly. “And he would have done the same.”
Lyniah still looked lost. “But… Enthus was right. It was an incredible risk… I, I acted rashly and I shouldn’t have-”
“Lyniah. If you hadn’t done it- if you had let that man die, knowing there was a chance you could save him- would you have forgiven yourself? Would you still be able to sleep at night, or recognize yourself in the mirror?”
Lyniah looked at him in confusion at first, the intensity of his words taking her by surprise. “I- no,” she said, blinking at how easily the answer came.
Merlin smiled at her. “Then you did the right thing. Doesn’t matter what Enthus thinks. The only person you have to answer to for the things you do, every day- is you.”
Lyniah nodded slowly, the crease in her brow unfurling. “You speak from experience.”
“Mm. Yes.” He looked out over the destruction. Bodies, viewed as combatants mere moments ago. Now, just husks of men, never to be returned to their families. “Too much.”
He tried hard, always, not to linger too long on the mistakes of his past. There were so many, and if he chased one, they would all drown him out.
FreyaBalinorMorganaLancelotDaegalMordredLea -
Lea.
Thean, Ava, Clo.
Arthur, Gwen, and their children.
The others, he would always carry with him- the weight of their absence was his to bear. But he had to think of the ones he could still save, lest the past overtake him completely.
Two more battles; and then, perhaps, an end to it all. |
He felt numb.
As Sansa bustled about gathering the Stark clan together, he just sat still, prone, probably in shock. The alcohol he'd thrown back had done almost nothing; the burn had been something but not enough, not nearly enough. It felt as though someone had poured ice water through his veins, freezing him from the inside out.
He was a Targaryen.
He had never been a Stark, not really, despite the words of his family, meant to reassure him,
'I'm not a Stark', 'You are to me'
'You are my brother'
'The blood of the Stark's runs through your veins'
'Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins'
'Ned Stark's bastard, Stark blood'
It was partly true, he had Stark blood, but also the blood of the dragon, the blood of the Targaryen's.
He remembered all the warning stories of the Targaryen's, their madness, how unhinged they were. What did the Gods say?
'Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land'
Had he been the right side of the coin? Or was his madness next to come?
He thought of who had sired him, Rhaegar Targaryen, he knew now he hadn't raped Lyanna, but he had taken a second wife, better but still. And then there was his Grandfather, Aerys Targaryen, 'The Mad King' that was the line he came from, people who had stabbed and schemed, who had conquered and killed.
Jon had known he was never really a Stark, but he had been proud of his heritage, Snow or Stark, proud to be a descendant of the First Men, of a noble house, and yes, he was still descended, he knew that logically, and yet his mind couldn't focus on that, only on the other aspect of his heritage. He had come from the dragons, dragons' blood, born of fire, born of madness.
His mind felt scrambled, as he felt Sansa shaking his shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to look at her, her cheeks were flushed, her hair a touch messy, as though she'd been running her hands through it. She looked put out of place, not the norm for Sansa, she was shocked too, and that tore at something in him.
How could she not be? He was a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon, not something appreciated up North.
She had said he was still her King, warming him when nothing else could, but how could he be? The Northerners would never accept him now, and why should they? He had learned the stories as everyone else did, but he had been on the Stark side, he had cheered for King Torrhen, had wished he'd never bowed, had pledged as a boy to fight for an independent North one day, hell he had made that happen!
'King in the North'
How could he be?
How could he be King in the North when the Stark blood in his veins was polluted with Targaryen blood?
Sansa seemed to think he could, and he trusted Sansa more than anyone, but this time he felt she was wrong. Not just wrong, but misguided. Should he be King? He didn't think so, not anymore.
He'd never wanted to rule, ambitious to a point yes, to make change, to do good, but he'd never been hungry for the throne, he'd never step over bodies or scheme the way they did down South, but he felt a pang at the idea of relinquishing his crown, of handing it over to Robb or his Father…Uncle now, to give it up and go back to just being a soldier. He found he didn't like that idea, not at all.
Perhaps he was more ambitious than he thought, perhaps he just liked calling the shots, perhaps he liked the way Sansa looked at him when he'd been declared King. He didn't know.
"Jon" Sansa spoke, breaking him out of his thoughts again, "We need to go and see the family, tell them, and make a plan for telling everyone else" He nodded, he knew she was reluctant to share what they knew, but he'd said they had to and here she was following him, like he was a leader.
Like he was her leader.
He was, and not arrogant, no, but he knew he was a good leader, a good commander, would he have to give that up? Should he give that up? Did he want to?
"Okay" He said with a nod, trying to come back to himself, "Gather them, I'll be there soon"
"Where are you going?" Sansa asked, brow knitting together.
"I'll follow you" He said with a strained smile, and it was a mark of Sansa's trust in him that she nodded, let it go, and went for the door.
"You know I'm here for you" She said, turning back, and he nodded, feeling something tight in his chest as she looked at him with a sad smile, "Always"
"And I for you" He didn't hesitate in saying so, he'd defend Sansa until his last breath, and a large part of why he wanted to remain King was for her, for what she wanted, for the way she looked at him. He managed a smile and nodded, "Always"
With that she departed, and once he grabbed his cloak, took another swig of drink, he too left the solar, his solar (but for how long?), and made his way back to the Godswood.
The Gods had said they'd contact him, but this was different, he needed guidance, answers, and he needed them now.
The Godswood was silent.
A layer of fresh snow had settled since Sansa had taken him to the solar, and fresh flakes drifted still down. He loved the snow, the cold, always had, never one for warm weather or a sunny sky, he liked the cold, the ice, especially as since returning from the dead he had found himself oddly immune to it.
Just another thing that had changed over the years.
So much had changed, him, Sansa, the Stark family, Westeros, the whole world. Everything had changed, the Winterfell he had left was not the same Winterfell he had returned to. Yet, he felt he had changed the most.
It was a close run thing, with Sansa having hardened, changed her entire personality, perspective and all, but to Jon it had been there all along, 'The iron underneath' as some would say, Jon felt like he had changed at a different level, a deeper level.
He didn't even know how to explain it to himself and let out a sigh as his boots made fresh prints in the snow, as he approached the Weirwood. He didn't care at the moment that the Gods had told him how it would be, that they would contact him, he needed answers.
Because, ever since they had stepped in, ever since they had intervened, he had been left with just more questions.
Why had the Stark family returned?
What did his heritage mean?
How did they beat the Others?
And if the survived … then what?
More questions than he'd had before, and so, to balance it out, he needed some answers, and he needed them now.
He didn't sink to his knees, but rather stood in front of the great Weirwood, hands clasped behind his back, in a position of respect, but his shoulders were tensed, he meant business and he wasn't leaving until he had answers.
Jon didn't know what else to do … the numbers for the battle didn't add up, and though he was thankful that their family had returned to them he had no idea what difference they could make. The Gods were always cryptic, that was known, but this? This was beyond cryptic, no one could figure this out, none.
"I need help" He said, the desperation in his voice was there, as it had been the first night, he had come…
'I need help, we can't win this, we can't hope to. I need help, I need … I need more than me'
Though this time he spoke allowed, this time he needed to say the words, he felt no less desperate, no less unprepared.
Jon knew he was a good battle commander, and a better fighter, but what he had to do? What resources he had? Not the best general in the world could make those work, there had to be something else, something he couldn't see, and so he hoped the Gods would help him see, and he said as much.
"I don't know what you want of me, what you've given me" He swallowed, tightened his fists, his hands shaking, and not because of the cold, "I can't make sense of your aid, and we're going to lose" He paused, his voice near trembling, but he took a second, gritted his teeth and carried on, "We are going to lose, we are going to die, even I can't change that" Another pause, a last hope as silence pressed on the air, "You can, so help me"
A pause, silence, nothing.
Seconds, minutes, it felt like hours.
Silence, nothing.
"Fuck" He whispered to himself, and turned on his heel, the snow crunching underfoot. He felt the hope drain from his veins, this was it, there was no further aid, there was no more help, not anymore.
He had to do this himself, and yet he knew, with all the will and ambition in the world, they couldn't do it.
Some said when one learned the inevitable, when one looked down the point of death there was a calmness, and Jon had experienced that before, in the slipping away with a knife in his heart, a strange peace that settled…
That wasn't the case here.
The panic in his chest rose, for this wasn't just him, this was everyone and all he loved. His family, the Stark's, Arya wherever she was, his friends, his subjects, Sansa …
He could look at his own death and accept it, part of him had felt like he was living on borrowed time for a while, granted something he wasn't supposed to have with his resurrection, he would die with a sword in his hand and determination on his face, he wasn't scared for himself, but for the others.
He knew others would be the same as him, almost everyone, but Sansa… she was no warrior, she didn't deserve to die like one, bloodied and in the snow, cold and alone. The panic in his chest roared, and he turned back around on the spot, fury chasing through his blood.
"How dare you" He yelled, his voice echoing through the silence of the Godswood, "We are fighting for our lives" He was incensed, he shook now too, but with anger, desperation manifesting a very different way, "We are fighting for humanity" They were, what had he said time and time again?
'The dead are coming, they don't wait'
'The storm is coming, the coldest of storms'
'When the dead knock at the door, does it matter who rules?'
All true, and so often ignored.
"Fighting" He roared, "And what are you doing? Sending cryptic messages, aid that whilst welcome is not helpful for this fight!" He should have been worried, showing such disrespect to Gods he knew existed, but he wasn't, he was just angry.
He had come here for answers, and he demanded them.
"Well?" He yelled again…
And then a sudden boom.
Deafening, he clapped his hands over his ears, and a strangled gasp left his lips as the Weirwood glowed as it had before, near blinding him, and then red as it had before, he fell to his knees, relief and fear pulsing through him in equal measure.
The Gods had answered, but how he did not know. He trembled, but did not waver, did not move, this was what he had come for, he would take any consequences that came with it.
It was odd, his heritage, which had consumed him from when he'd heard it until he'd entered the Godswood was the furthest thing from his mind.
'You remember what we swore' The great voice boomed once more, as it had before, the exact same. When Jon had first heard it, he had been terrified, he still was now, but relieved too, his call had been answered. 'We vowed, you will hear from us twice more, but not at your call, at ours. Twice more King Jon' He remembered the words, they were burned into his brain, as surely this would be.
It stopped and Jon realised they were waiting for a reply. Last time they had just spoken to him, now it was a conversation, a commune with the Gods. He imagined every Sept, and Priest would die happy to do this, but Jon just felt nervous, and desperate, hoping they could give some answers to him that helped.
"I know" He replied, his voice gruff, he wasn't one for ceremony, for scraping and bowing, he hadn't before he'd been a King, and he didn't now, 'We do not kneel' Perhaps the freefolk had rubbed off on him after all, "But I need answers"
'Answers to what questions' He was relieved it replied, and wondering if he had hit his head, had he not had so many shocks over the past weeks he'd have surely keeled over clutching his heart, but now, used to it, he took it in stride.
"Why did you send the Starks back to us?" He asked immediately, being practical, somehow managing to do so, to focus, for who knew when he'd get this again, he imagined he even wouldn't, the voice hardly sounded happy at talking to him now, and he'd come here for answers, thus he had to ask the questions.
Questions, answers, that was the game here, and one he needed to play.
'That will become clear in time' He gritted his teeth, more riddles, but as seconds past and they said no more, he moved on, forced himself too.
"We can't win the battle" He stated.
'That is not a question' If he wasn't mistaken the voice almost sounded bored, and that got his back up just a touch.
"We can't win the battle, can we?" He threw back, not in the mood for riddles or games, no matter how he needed to play it.
Jon moved politically when he needed to, he moved the pieces when necessary, but he found no enjoyment in it, none at all, not like Sansa did. He'd seen her coming up with a political plan, the way she relished when things slipped into place, he did too, but only to see her smile and to see a plan come together. He wasn't delicate with his moves, he never had been, it wasn't his style.
Yes, he'd become better since becoming King and knew sometimes it was necessary, but he preferred plainness, which he definitely wasn't getting here, hence his frustration.
'You can' It said immediately, sounding less bored now. 'You can win'
"How?" He asked, the panic in his chest rising, this was yielding nothing, nothing and he sensed he didn't have much time left.
'You already know the answer' Now he felt like yelling again and only just managed not to, just.
"No, I don't" He said, he couldn't leave here with nothing, he couldn't, and his voice rose a touch. "Give me something, anything, anything at all" He paused, forced himself to add, "Please"
'Use what has become new to you' It said, clearly irritated at having to answer, but it answered that was what mattered, 'Use the information that changes circumstances'
He paused, silence spread, and then …
It clicked.
"What fights ice" He whispered to himself, not asking now, for he knew, as soon as they had spoken, as soon as they had finally revealed something, ''Use what has become new to you, use the information that changes circumstances' He knew, it had clicked all at once, and was clear now, clear how it should have been to him, had he processed, had he looked past himself.
He knew, he didn't need them to finish his question for him.
And yet they both spoke, at the same time, on the same page, finally Jon was on that page.
"Fire"
'That is all King Jon' The voice boomed, and he felt no fear now, just a resolution, a determination rising in him, he had the answers he'd come for … in a sense, 'Do not call us again, we will not come. You will still hear from us twice more, but not at your call' It paused, 'Do you understand?'
He nodded, but it asked again, 'Do you understand?'
"Yes" He said, but his mind was racing, he barely noticed as the light grew once more, only snapped out of it as it near blinded him and then was all at once gone.
Once again, he was on his knees, the cold snow penetrating through his breeches and yet he didn't feel it, he wasn't sure what he felt. Relieved? Confused?
Determined.
Some questions had been answered, but only more generated. It felt like an endless loop, no end.
'I fought, I lost, I rest'
He would never be able to rest, never get that luxury, and that was his burden to carry now. Borrowed time, but a time in debt, it was not his own, but to do his duty, for humanity, for those he loved.
He could do that, he would have that sacrifice, if it meant protecting those he loved.
And he did have an answer, it had come to him as soon as they'd given him that nudge, he had got what he had come for, he knew what he needed to do now, and he needed to do so quickly.
"Your Grace" He turned his head, to find a page stood at the entrance to the Godswood, abruptly pulling him from his thoughts. He quickly stood and brushed off his trousers and cloak, he knew it looked like he had simply been in prayer, and so he strode forward, and nodded for the boy to continue, forcing himself to focus.
The boy … what he had been once, but not anymore, not for a long, long time.
"Your Grace there is someone at the gate" The page spoke, trembling a little in the cold, and Jon nodded striding forward, his mind far from the message, the page following close behind still trying to give it, "Someone claiming to be Arya Stark"
He stopped, abruptly, the page skidding to a stop beside him in haste. His mind snapped back to reality, just as he needed it not to.
"Say that again" He ordered, something he wasn't keen on doing, but he did.
"Someone claiming to be Arya Stark is at the gate Your Grace"
Relief, happiness, what did he feel? He hardly knew anymore, and yet he turned on his heel immediately, away from his solar and to the gate, shouting only one command behind him, "Tell the Lady Sansa" He didn't check to see if the page ran, only hurrying forward, mind completely turned in just seconds.
His plan, his revelation could wait … for a time, not a long time but for a time.
The time it took to see if his little sister had come home. |
Sarah was turning 60 in a few weeks, her husband, Harry, was not making any plans for it though. Although they have been married for a long time, as many of you will know, the spark fizzles out. Many years ago, they were quite the kinky couple, joining in with swingers and having sex with multiple partners at once.
Although one regret that Sarah always had, she never got to have sex with a woman. A huge fantasy of hers that she feels she will never get to explore now she is too old.
Looking in the mirror, Sarah was getting ready to see their children for a birthday meal.
"How am I nearly 60?" She asked herself.
For her age, Sarah was still a beautiful woman and was proud of how well she has kept her body. She was still slim and her 38H breasts have held up through the years. Her hair was long, brunette and straight and although she was getting the wrinkles that came with age, she still had soft skin.
"Are you ready yet?" Harry asked walking into their bedroom.
"Coming now." Sarah replied.
Taking one last look at herself in the mirror, dressed in a conservative blue dress, she gave herself a smile and turned away.
Sitting in a nice restaurant, Sarah's two children Martin and Jessica were there with her two grandchildren. One had just started walking and was trying to wander all over the place.
"So mum, the big 60. How do you feel?" Jessica asked.
"Old." Sarah replied sipping on her water.
"Well, you look great for a grandmother!" Martin said.
"Thanks son." Sarah said. She loved spending time with her family, but age has gotten to her and she felt a little depressed from it.
As usual, Harry barely spoke through the meal. Since his retirement if the discussion isn't about golf, then he's not interested.
Sarah had a delicious chicken Caesar salad and a cheesecake for dessert, whilst holding onto her youngest grandchild and they ended up having a lovely time.
When they got home, Harry went onto his computer and was watching golf videos while Sarah watched TV. It was 9pm when Harry went to bed and Sarah stayed up. This was their usual routine now, having not gone to bed together in years and not having sex in even longer.
Her lack of physical contact pushed Sarah to go online to find it. Porn did nothing for Sarah, she knew it was fake and the images just didn't do the job. Luckily for her, she found Literotica a few months ago and has been getting off to those stories for a while.
Most nights when Harry went to bed, Sarah would go onto her laptop on the sofa and read stories about married women that get treated like sluts.
Eventually she found that she preferred the stories of white women being with black men. Sarah did get to experience black cock many, many years ago and it was definitely her biggest kink. The dark skin on hers as she gets treated like a slut just got her so hot.
On this night, she came across the author TomMay. Clicking on his profile she began to look through his stories and came across "New Wife Gets Blacked".
Reading through and reading about this wife who was seduced by a black man had her underwear drenched before even playing with herself. She pictured herself trying to resist black dick, having a man almost force himself on her until she eventually submitted and accepted who she was. Cheating on her husband and taking all the black cock she could get.
Reading through the story, Sarah began to rub her clit, trying to keep her moaning quiet as she began to rub faster and faster. Imagining getting taken by a black man without her husband knowing had her squirming, until she eventually came hard while sitting on the sofa reading about black cock.
Closing her laptop, she went to bed to see Harry laying there snoring and eventually she managed to get to sleep herself.
For the next two weeks, Sarah spent every night reading this story and making herself cum. The fantasy of being taken by a black man becoming her go to story. Although every time that she came, she was disappointed knowing that it would never really happen. Chances are, she knew she might never have sex again in her life.
After two weeks of reading the same story, Sarah was eagerly waiting for a sequel. Not being able to stop herself, she decided to send the author a message.
"Hi TomMay, I also love Danielle's honeymoon blacking story. You seem to understand how us white girls are all black cock sluts inside...all that varies is the method of bringing it out. I do hope Danielle's story is not over."
After she hit send, she felt silly for writing it. Writing about her wanting to be a slut at her age sounded ridiculous. Yet, it was too late, she had already sent it.
The next week flew by, her 60
birthday came and went. Harry didn't do anything for the occasion as she expected. Her children did come and see her which was nice.
After a few days of being too hectic to have any alone time. Sarah finally found herself sitting in the living room alone. Loading up her laptop, she saw she had received an email.
"Hi Sarah, Thank you for your message. It isn't often I get a woman's feedback from my stories so I appreciate it. I plan to take Danielle's story further with plenty more chapters, with her becoming a real slut for black cock. Do you have any experience yourself being a slut for black cock? How did you come to get the addiction, I would be interested in hearing about your experience or fantasy and make a story tailored for you. TomMay"
Sarah read the message, she definitely did not expect a response but just reading it, she could feel the affect it was having on her body.
Not stopping to think, she began to type back.
"Hi TM,
Good to hear back from you.
I have had black many years ago, but always as part of swinging fun with my husband and friends.
I have often fantasised about becoming a black only slut, and the fantasy is always more powerful when it starts off as reluctant... hence your Danielle's story worked for me.
Sarah."
When she hit send her body shivered a little. Having not spoken to anyone about her fantasies in years it felt almost like a weight had been lifted.
She was surprised at how quickly she got a reply.
"Hi Sarah,
Good that you and your husband are both into it. Does he know about your black fantasy now? My wife and I enjoy swinging as well. Was your experience of black cock while with your husband?"
Reading through, Sarah wasted no time in replying, feeling her pussy getting more and more damp.
"Hi TM,
My husband was always there for when I got blacked, we used to swing a lot. He is not very well endowed hence my interest in black cock. Our sex life has died since and I haven't had sex in a long time. So, I have to live out my fantasy in your stories."
She got a reply very quickly.
"Hi Sarah,
I understand, I can see why women would become drawn to a big, black cock over a smaller white one. May I ask you your age?"
Sarah read the message a few times, she didn't plan on having a conversation with this person and didn't know if she should stop. Feeling almost guilty for just having a conversation with this man.
However, she could hear her husband's snoring from upstairs and the burning in between her thighs made her carry on typing and got a little ruder.
"Hi TM,
I used to have a reputation with our black friends as being great at giving head and they seemed especially keen on that. I used to go wild sucking black cock... the white guys never got a look-in.
Black just looks so much better, tastes better and cum so much more!
I just turned 60."
Sarah couldn't believe she had just said that, speaking like this to someone was driving her wild and she automatically pushed her laptop to one side and slowly rubbed her clit with a single finger and waited for a reply.
She didn't have to wait long when one came through.
"That's a great reputation to have! What made you so good at it? Did you always swallow like a good white girl? It is good that you still have these fantasies at your age.
Would you ever act on these fantasies? Or are they just that, fantasy?"
Reading through, Sarah didn't know how to reply. Although deep down she knew this was almost like dirty talking with someone that wasn't her husband, but she couldn't stop herself. She typed back.
"I wasn't the best at taking them down my throat because of my gag reflex. But when a black cock was in front of me, I went wild, licking and sucking it all over. I ALWAYS swallowed!"
Hitting send, she had decided to not reply to the last question, not wanting to go down that road. Until she saw his response.
"Sarah. You didn't answer my question about it just being a fantasy."
His dominating tone took a hold on her, she actually felt bad for ignoring that as ridiculous as it sounds! Nervously, she replied back.
"The sort of stuff in your stories are just fantasy for me... I think?"
Sarah argued at herself for talking like that! This was going too far and she was starting to feel guilty. Then she read his reply.
"There is nothing wrong with a fantasy. I know my wife loves taking more than one black cock. She is a real white slut. Tell me, how many times have you cum reading my stories?"
Her guilt still there, but Sarah felt inclined to reply.
"Several times." She said, thinking that wouldn't give too much away. She quicky got a response.
"Good, next time you cum to my story you are going to tell me."
She thought, taking her finger off of her clit which was now throbbing from this conversation, Sarah replied back defiantly.
"No, I don't play online, I'm sorry."
Happy with her response and that she hadn't taken it too far, it was a little longer for a reply but it eventually came through.
"I understand, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
She was happy with that, her worries were gone and she replied back. "Thank you for that, I just wanted to set that as a boundary."
Sitting and staring at her laptop for a reply, she waited, but it never came. After 20 minutes Sarah considered sending another message. Although she felt guilty about the conversation, she was now upset that it had ended.
Having not spoken to anyone about these fantasies for years, she felt hornier than ever now that she has. Going back onto his story, Sarah instantly started to rub her swollen clit to a very quick orgasm.
A few days later, Sarah was constantly checking for email but never got one. It was is if having that conversation has woken up her horny side.
Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. Wanting to start a conversation but not wanting to go too far, she sent him an email.
"Hi TM,
I wanted to let you know, I just made myself cum to your story."
Although she hadn't cum, she was incredibly horny and was hoping this conversation could get her going.
It was 20 minutes before she had a reply.
"Hi Sarah,
I'm glad you told me. What made you change your mind?"
Sarah thought about what to say back, her horniness taking over she typed back. "I just wanted to let you know. I'm sorry for sounding rude the other day. I felt bad having that conversation since I'm married."
She quickly got a reply.
"I understand, you are married but you have needs. Needs that you can find online that don't have to be classed as cheating. Tell me, have our conversations been turning you on?"
Reading the email, Sarah's pussy was getting soaked between her legs. Quickly looking around to make sure that her husband was nowhere around, she replied back.
"Truthfully, they have made me very horny. But I shouldn't be talking to you like this."
She got a reply quickly.
"Why not?" He said.
"I am married and so are you!" Sarah replied.
"My wife knows about our talk." He said back which shocked Sarah, not expecting anyone to know about their conversation.
"What did you say?" She quickly emailed back.
"I showed her our conversation, if you wanted to know we had great sex that night whilst talking about you." He said.
Sarah's head was spinning, had he really had sex with his wife whilst talking about her? That seemed too wild. She typed back quickly.
"Did you actually?"
Instinctively, Sarah started to rub her clit through her knickers whilst waiting for a reply.
"We love having threesomes, and my wife loves watching other women going from a nice person to a slut for black cock. We imagined what it would be like to fuck you and have you moaning like you so desperately want."
Sarah let out a quiet moan as she read this, she knew this was wrong, but she couldn't help herself. Carrying on rubbing her clit she replied back.
"It has been a long time since I had some black cock. I am too old for that now."
"You aren't too old for that, I know my wife and I are interested." He replied.
"That's crazy!" Sarah replied back.
"Are you touching yourself right now while talking to me?" He said.
Sarah didn't even think to lie, she typed back. "Yes, I am but I don't know why."
"Because you miss being a slut for black cock. Give me your mobile number." He emailed back.
"I can't do that." Sarah said, knowing she shouldn't give out that information.
Until she read his reply. "Sarah, you are stopping yourself from satisfying your needs. This is not to cheat, it is just so we can message easier."
Sarah knew that her horniness was doing her thinking, but right now she couldn't control herself. She sent back her phone number and within 5 minutes she had a text message come through.
"Hi Sarah, it is TomMay but you will address me as Master for now on."
Sarah nearly came then and there when she read it. Her body shivered at his dominance and she let out a louder moan than she intended. Then she heard Harry calling from the other room.
"Everything okay?" He shouted.
"Yes, I'm fine!" Sarah shouted back, not wanting to get distracted from her conversation.
"Yes Master." She texted back.
"Are you still touching yourself?" Master replied.
"Yes." Sarah said.
"Good girl, where is your husband?" He asked.
She knew she was going too far but she didn't care, right now she was horny and needed to cum.
"He is in the other room Master." Sarah replied.
"Good, tell me. When was the last time you got fucked by a black cock?" Master asked her.
Thinking back, she replied, "It has been about 30 years Master."
"That's been a long time, without this...." And then attached was a picture of a black cock.
Sarah was drooling staring at it,
Losing all control, Sarah texted him back.
"I miss having a black cock like that so much! It's been too long!"
"You could have it again, slut." Master replied.
Sarah thought to herself nearly cumming at being called a slut. No one had called her a slut in many, many years. She was getting hotter rubbing her clit through her underwear, trying to hold off from cumming as she was loving the conversation.
"I can't, I don't want to cheat on my husband." She replied, even though she was incredibly horny, she knew to control herself that much.
"That's fine, but there is nothing wrong with fantasising." He replied back.
"That's true." Sarah said.
"Now make yourself cum looking at my cock." Master ordered.
Sarah could hear her husband in the other room but she felt compelled to obey. Looking at his black cock she kept rubbing herself faster and faster. Biting her lip to stop the moans she could feel her orgasm building up quickly.
Staring at the dark meat, Sarah's chest started to heave as she was hit with an earth-shattering orgasm. Holding in her moans her body shook over and over as she came on the sofa.
When she was finally finished, she argued in her head about what just happened.
She argued. Putting her phone away, she composed herself and tried to distract her thoughts with housework.
For the next week, Sarah couldn't think straight. Her head was filled with desire to text TomMay, but she managed to stop herself.
Most nights, before bed she made herself cum whilst looking at his cock.
It wasn't until she was doing the shopping one day, walking down one of the aisles she spotted a large black man on the other end. Instantly she felt herself getting wet.
She said to herself. Although she couldn't stop staring at the black man, her mind wondering what he would look like naked.
Eventually the man walked past and out of sight. Then Sarah tried to carry on her shopping as usual, but she couldn't stop thinking about black men.
When she got home, she was a mess. It was like her old slutty ways have resurfaced and she was worried about where they were going to go.
Harry was out playing golf as usual, so she thought to text TomMay.
"Hi, are you free to talk?" She asked.
Within 5 minutes, her phone started to ring. Panicking, she didn't want to actually speak to him on the phone, just texting. She let it ring out and then texted him again.
"No, just texting please."
"No problem, what's up?" He asked back.
"It's like you have brought back all of my desires. I am worried I won't be able to control myself." She admitted.
This man was a stranger, for all she knew he was on the other side of the country so she felt open to tell him about what was happening to her.
"What do you mean? Has something happened?" He asked.
"Nothing yet. But there was a black man at the shops earlier and I couldn't stop fantasising about him." Sarah admitted.
It took a few minutes, but TomMay eventually replied.
"My wife has an idea that could help. Why don't you submit yourself as our online slave? You won't be physically cheating and it can keep your urges satisfied so you won't go any further?"
Sarah read the text a few times. This was never something she imagined, sure being a completely black cock slut was a fantasy but that was something she should've done when she was younger. Not now! Texting back, she said, "I can't do that."
"Why not?" He replied.
"I am married, a mother and grandmother. It isn't something that I could do." She said, although the thought turned her on greatly.
"There is no reason that those should stop you being satisfied." He replied.
Sarah thought to herself for a few minutes before replying.
"How would it even work?" She asked, the idea creeping into her head.
"You will have us as your Master and Mistress and you will do everything we order." He replied.
"What do you mean everything?" She asked, tempted but also fearful of what they have in mind.
"It wouldn't be anything too extreme, just enough to get your slut fantasy fulfilled." He replied back.
She was definitely interested. And the wetness between her legs proved it, so she replied.
"We can give it a try, but I can't promise much." She thought that was a fair compromise.
"Good, that sounds like a deal." He replied.
"Yes Master." Sarah sent back, excited with what was going to happen. Then the next text came through.
"First rule. No underwear."
Sarah read the text a couple of times, although many stories she read on Literotica had those sorts of rules, she never considered it herself. So, she texted back, "I don't know if I can do that. What if I get caught?"
"Who's going to catch you? You said your husband and you don't have sex." He replied.
He was right, Harry would never know and she could hide it easy enough. The idea of never having underwear on but no one knowing did turn her on, so she texted him back.
"I can agree to that one Master."
"Good girl." He sent back that made Sarah let out a little moan.
Deciding that she would start now, Sarah took off her trousers and then her underwear and then put her trousers back on. Feeling a little naughty, she took a photo of the underwear in her hand and sent it to her Master.
"Done." She texted him.
"Good girl, have you cum today?" He asked.
"Not yet Master." She said honestly.
"Good, you are not to cum unless we say you can." He told her. Giving away control already turning her on massively.
"Yes Master." She replied obediently.
"Good, now go about your business as normal but know that you have no underwear on because you are a slut for your black Master and Mistress." He texted her.
Sarah loved not only the talk, but the fact that there was a woman involved too. Almost fulfilling her fantasy of being with a woman.
Sarah carried on as normal, cleaning the house and going to see her daughter. The whole time she couldn't help but think about having no underwear on, how naughty she felt.
By the time she was home later she was dying to cum, but she wanted to play her part in this game and was going to obey.
When Harry went to bed, she quickly pulled up her phone and texted her new Master.
"Master, I have done as you have asked. But I am dying to cum!"
Sarah didn't know what has gotten into her, she felt like she was 18 again!
Except 20 minutes went passed and she didn't get a reply. After that she assumed she wouldn't hear back tonight so she went to bed. Getting dressed, any material that touched her clit just slightly send shivers through her body.
The next day, Sarah wore a dress, feeling even naughtier not having underwear on.
Harry was downstairs and she was looking at herself in the mirror. The bra she had on was holding up her large breasts, slightly pressing one she thought back to many years ago when she used to get fucked.
"What I would do to be young again." She said to herself when suddenly her phone vibrated.
"Hi slut. Sorry we were busy last night, I hope you didn't cum."
Sarah quickly replied, being called a slut turning her on more. "It's okay Master, what did you get up to? And no I didn't cum."
"My wife and I were fucking a 20 year old girl last night. But, good girl, I am proud of you obeying." He said back.
"She sounds like a very lucky girl." Sarah replied, when suddenly another message came through, but it was a video.
Clicking on it, she saw a young blonde woman that was bouncing back on a large, black cock. Assuming it was Masters. She could hear the girl moaning uncontrollably.
"You like that black cock you fucking slut?" She heard the man say, for the first time hearing her Masters voice.
"Yes Master, I love your black cock!" She moaned back loudly.
Suddenly, another woman came into the video, who Sarah assumed was her Mistress.
She was a beautiful woman, slim, pale skin with long black hair. She was completely naked and had smallish breasts.
She moved in front of the younger girl and suddenly she was getting fucked whilst licking this woman's pussy.
Horny as fuck, Sarah replied.
"I wish that was me!"
Quickly she got a response.
"It could be." He said.
Sarah watched the video over and over, her pussy was dripping beneath her dress and she texted him back.
"I wish. Please can I cum Master?"
She found herself loving this submissive side of her coming back out.
"Under one condition." He said back.
"Anything!" Sarah texted, desperate to be allowed to cum.
"You must video it and send it to me. You don't have to show your face." Her Master texted.
Looking at the message, she knew she shouldn't. It was riskier than anything she thought of before, but at the same time, knowing that her online Master and Mistress could watch her cum made her hornier than ever.
Weighing up the option, she decided that she was going to do. Why not? Texting back she said, "Deal!"
"Good slut! I want to hear you moaning for your black Master and Mistress." He texted back.
Sarah immediately got completely naked, holding her phone in her left hand she aimed the camera at her shaved pussy. Hitting record, she started to slowly rub her clit.
Harry was playing golf so she knew she could be loud without getting caught.
Knowing that someone will be watching this turning her on more, Sarah was rubbing her swollen clit and moaning loudly. Wanting to put on a good show.
"Mmmm Master, I want your black cock in me so badly." She moaned.
Feeling how wet she was, she slid a finger knuckle deep in her unused pussy. Quickly pumping it in and out she fingered herself faster and faster.
"I want you to fuck me like the older slut I am. And I want Mistress so sit on my face until I make her cum with my tongue!" Sarah moaned loudly.
Pushing a second finger inside of her, Sarah fingered herself faster and faster. Her breathing was heavy and her moaning was loud.
"Please Master! Fuck this dirty white slut!!" She almost screamed as her orgasm crushed into her.
"Fuuuuckkkkk!!!" She shouted, her entire body shaking and twitched as she came over her fingers.
Before having chance to doubt herself, Sarah hit send to her Master.
Getting back dressed, she saw a message from her Master.
"Good slut, my wife was just sucking my cock as I watched that."
"Yummy." Sarah replied.
She had found that she didn't feel too guilty about this. Defending herself that she wasn't actually cheating. Her husband didn't put any effort to have sex so she had to find a way to satisfy herself somehow.
An hour later, she got another text from her Master.
"Slave, your task today is that you are going to buy yourself a vibrator."
Sarah thought about this task, she hasn't had sex toys in many years. Although she knew they were amazing, she didn't feel confident about going into a shop to buy one. So, she texted him back. "I'm not sure I can get one today."
He quickly replied.
"You will obey us slave, be a good girl." He said which made Sarah feel bad for even questioning him.
"Yes Master." She said.
"We are going to test your obedience a little. Every night before you go to bed you are to text us a photo of you completely naked." He sent to her.
This excited her, it was definitely a task that she could easily do and the thought that they are both getting turned on looking at her body gave her back some confidence that was lost in the last few years.
"I will do that Master." She texted back.
"Good slut." Master sent back which already turned her on more.
After an hour of staying in the house, Sarah managed to build the courage to go into a shop to buy a vibrator.
Standing outside of it, she took a deep breath and walked in. There were only a few people in the store and they were much younger than she was, which made her self conscious.
A young girl made eye contact with her and smiled.
She thought to herself.
Deciding that she could be confident and brave, she proudly walked to the vibrator section. She was amazed with how they have changed through the years. There were hundreds! All of which seemed to do a different thing.
Grabbing a rabbit toy, she walked to the till until something caught her eye. Looking to her side was a huge, black dildo. She was mesmerised by it, it's thickness, it's length. Not being able to stop herself, Sarah picked that up and headed to the till.
Placing them down, the young woman behind the register smiled and put them through.
"Thank you." Sarah said grabbing the bag and heading out.
She felt like she was high on life right now, like a confident woman she strolled through the town. Having no underwear on and holding two sex toys she felt amazing!
When she got back home, Harry was still out.
She thought.
Going to her room, she unpacked the black dildo toy and began to undress. She was already dripping wet and began to rub the head of the dildo up and down her pussy.
With her legs spread, she began to squeeze her tits as she wet the dildo and tried to push it in. It was so much bigger than her husband's cock and it felt like she was stretching open around it.
It was too big, pulling it out, Sarah wrapped her lips around the dildo and began to suck on it like it was a cock.
Staying laid down, she pushed the black dildo in and out of her mouth, thinking of the few experiences she had like this. Using her tongue to spread her spit all over it. Once it was soaked, she went back to pushing it in her pussy.
"Fuuckk." She whispered as she could only get a little bit of the dildo inside of her, feeling like she was being stretched wide open.
Deciding that she couldn't fit any more inside of her, Sarah lay there and enjoyed the feeling of her pussy being stretched for the first time in years. Grabbing and squeezing her tits as her heavy breathing forced her chest to heave up and down.
"So big." She moaned to herself.
Picking up her phone, Sarah took a photo of herself from the neck down, making sure the get the big dildo in her pussy in the shot.
As she looked at it, she almost came just looking at herself. Loading up her texts, she sent it to her Master.
Loving the feeling, she remained there for a few more minutes until she could feel her orgasm building up. Knowing that she wasn't allowed, Sarah pulled out the dildo and licked it clean. Imagining what it would be like to taste another woman's pussy on a black cock.
It was about 30 minutes later when she got a text back from her Master.
"Look at you being a little slut. I hope you didn't cum without permission?"
Replying, Sarah said, "Of course not Master. I just wanted to feel a big cock in me!"
"Good girl. You are becoming a good little slut." Master texted back.
Later that night, Sarah did as she was instructed and sent another fully naked photo and sent it to her Master, which he quickly replied.
"Good girl, you have an amazing body for an older woman."
"Thank you." Sarah replied with a huge smile on her face.
She thought.
For the next two weeks Sarah carried on her online submitting to her Master and Mistress (Although she never really spoke to her Mistress). She felt amazing! It was as if she was getting needs that she didn't even know she had met.
They would always compliment her naked photos which made her feel confident about herself. She honestly felt as though she was a teenager again. She used the dildo a few times more but still couldn't take the full thing.
Also, she had only been allowed to cum three times which was driving her wild. It seemed her Master and Mistress liked making her wait.
She was out for lunch with her daughter when she suddenly said, "Mum you seem different?"
"What do you mean?" Sarah asked back confused.
"I don't know, you seem, happier I guess." She asked.
Sarah panicked a little at that, not wanting anyone to think anything is different since her new online submission.
"Can I not just be happy?" Sarah asked back.
"I'm not complaining, it's great. You seem like a brand new woman. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it." Her daughter said.
Sarah laughed to herself after that, if only her daughter knew she was like this because she was being a slut for a black man.
After the meal, Sarah got back into her car. She was wearing a blue dress and as usual now, no underwear.
On the drive back though, her happiness was cut short when her car suddenly broke down.
"No, no, no!" She shouted, "What's wrong?" She said to herself.
Knowing nothing about cars, she called her husband.
"Hey hun, can you come and get me? The car has broken down." She told him.
"Urgh, what's wrong with it?" He asked.
"I don't know, it just stopped." She told him.
"I'm at golf right now, can you get someone else?" He asked which annoyed Sarah. Was golf really so important that he would leave his wife stranded. When she didn't answer, Harry spoke again.
"I will text you a number for a break down services, they will come and get you."
Annoyed, she replied. "Fine." And hung up.
Harry texted her a number as she arranged for someone to come and get her straight away.
Sitting in her car alone, Sarah started to flick through her conversations with her Master. Reading the words she wrote, still not believing this slutty side was coming back out of her.
When she was startled by a knock on the window. Looking out there was the body of someone stood there, opening the door she looked up.
It was a tall, black man smiling down at her.
"I'm from the breakdown center, are you Sarah?" He asked.
Sarah was immediately put back, hoping he didn't see any of the texts she was looking at. She was also a little flustered at this attractive black man.
She thought to herself.
"Y-yes I am." She stuttered out.
"Good, my names Jeff." He said.
"Thank you for coming out here." She said back still flustered.
"Do you want to open the bonnet and I'll have a look?" He asked.
She did as he wanted, getting out of the car she watched him looking around the engine. He had short sleeves on and his arm muscles were bulging out of them.
She thought.
When he looked back up, she quickly tried to divert her gaze but was sure he caught her staring at him.
"I will have to tow you home, I think. If you don't mind?" He asked.
"Of course." She replied.
He attached a tow hook to the car and she got into the passenger seat of his truck. When he got back, his arm accidentally grazed against hers and sent shivers of pleasure through her body.
She thought.
When he started to drive, he began to speak.
"So, what happened?" He asked.
"I'm not sure, it just cut out. I know nothing about cars." She told him with a laugh.
"Young girl like you doesn't need to." He said with a smile.
"Young? I wish!" Sarah laughed back.
"Definitely, what are you? 40 at the most?" He asked.
"I'm 60 actually, but thank you for that compliment." Sarah said.
"Well, you look amazing for 60." He said forcing Sarah to blush.
Her mind fantasied for a moment, thoughts of him sitting back as she rode his black cock, or her sucking his dick as he drove. She pushed them out and said back to him.
"You look pretty good for a younger man as well."
"Thanks, I try and stay in shape. Helps with the heavy lifting of the job." He said back.
"Well, it works." Sarah said with a laugh.
She thought.
"Your girlfriend must like that you work out?" Sarah asked, pushing herself further.
"She would if she existed." He said with a smile, his white teeth shining through.
"Shame, if I was younger, you would be my type." Sarah said with a little giggle.
"Hmm," He gave a straight face and Sarah worried she took it too far, until he said, "You aren't too old for me."
"If only I wasn't married." She said trying to slow herself down.
"Ah that is a shame." He said and then he playfully nudged her leg with his hand.
Sarah's pussy was on fire! She could feel herself dripping, emphasised that she had no underwear on.
"It's a huge shame." She said and then couldn't believe those words actually left her mouth.
"Unless," He suddenly said, "You would still be interested."
Sarah couldn't believe what he just said, did he just ask her if she still wanted him even though she was married?!
It took every fibre of Sarah's being to not jump on him right there and then. All of her desires to be to let him take her. Even though her mind was screaming at her for it, she whispered, "We probably shouldn't."
He didn't reply to that, instead, he slowly moved his hand and placed it onto Sarah's thigh. Leaving it to linger as Sarah's body reacted. She knew she should push him off, she should tell him to stop. That this was wrong, but she didn't. She let his hand stay there, feeling a hot man touching her body just like this had her going heavily.
For the next few minutes, it was just complete silence, just this black man holding onto her thigh. Occasionally giving it a little squeeze.
When he had to take his hand off to change gear Sarah thought that would be the end of it. Until his hand returned, except a little higher.
She thought, but she couldn't make her body move.
"Why don't you put your hand on me?" He asked calmy, not even looking at her but focusing on the road.
It was as though her brain wasn't working, although she tried to stop herself, her right hand went up and rested on his bicep. Feeling is soft, smooth black skin. Sending waves of pleasure directly at her pussy.
She caressed his arm as her heavy grew slightly heavier.
"Put your hand on my leg." He said firmly.
She thought, her brain finally working and taking her hand off of his arm and saying.
"We shouldn't, I'm sorry." She whispered.
"Fair enough." He said, going to move his own hand away, he slowly moved it up and a finger rubbed against the side of her pussy from outside of her dress before going back to the steering wheel.
Sarah thought, her pussy screaming at her to let this black man fuck her.
The rest of the drive was in silence, until they pulled up and he handed her a card and said, "Call me if you change your mind."
"T-thanks." She stuttered and jumped out of the car.
The black man unhooked her car and drove off, giving her a smile as he went.
Running into her house, Sarah ran upstairs and grabbed her vibrator. She was horny as fuck and needed to cum.
Texting her Master.
"Please I need to cum right now!!"
A minute later, she didn't have a reply.
"Please Master! Say you will let me cum!" She texted him.
Five minutes later, still no reply. Sarah felt like she could explode and needed to cum, so out of desperation, she called him.
Hearing it ring, although she was nervous, her horniness outweighed it.
"Hello?" Suddenly a deep, manly voice answered.
"H-hi." Sarah stuttered, talking to her Master for the first ever time.
"Slave?" He said back.
"Please," Sarah paused, not believing she was about to say this out loud, "Please can I cum Master?"
"You sound pretty desperate to cum." He said back with a deep chuckle.
Sarah couldn't hold herself back, telling him.
"I just flirted with a black man who offered to fuck me! I desperately wanted to say yes but I couldn't! Please can I cum?!" She asked again.
"You can," He said, "But you are staying on the phone."
Sarah couldn't believe it, was she going to play with herself whilst on the phone to her Master. This was taking things to the next level, a level she never expected to go. But her need to cum took over.
"Yes Master." She said.
"Good, now get your toys." He said.
"Already have them." She told him.
"Get naked and lie down on the bed." He ordered.
"Yes Master." She did as he asked and then said, "Done."
"Good girl, now suck on the vibrator, imagine it is my cock you are sucking on." He told her.
She thought,
But she ignored her thought and wrapped her lips around the vibrator. Making sure to make loud slurping noises so he knew she was doing as she was told.
"Take it as far down your throat as you can." He told her.
Pushing the dildo into her mouth, Sarah quickly gagged and spat out the vibrator.
"Good slut, do you wish that was my cock?" Master asked.
Not caring anymore, Sarah moaned.
"Yes Master! I wish it was your big black cock I was sucking on right now!" And then she went back to licking and sucking on it.
"Good girl, spread your legs and line it up with your pussy now." He told her.
"Yes Master." She replied.
"Now rub it up and down your wet pussy for me. Picture it was my black cock there." He said.
"Oh Master, I need a cock in me. It's been so long. I wish I had your black cock fucking me right now." Sarah moaned meaning every word.
"Slide it in slowly my slut, slide my black cock into your tight pussy." Master ordered.
"Yeeesss Master." Sarah moaned as she pushed it in, feeling her pussy stretching around the vibrator.
"Good slut, take that black cock." Master told her.
Already Sarah could feel her orgasm building up.
"Think of me between your legs right now slut, wrapping around me as you take my black cock balls deep in you." Master said.
"Oh, fuck me Master. I want to be a white slut for you." Sarah moaned pushing the vibrator fully inside of her.
"You will be slut, you will take my black cock won't you." Master said.
"Fuck, I think so!" Sarah said, for the first time admitting it. Even in her horniest states she still held on that she would never cheat, but not right now.
"Good girl! Fuck yourself on my black cock, feel my black dick balls deep inside of you." Master said.
"You're so fucking big Master! I need your cock!" Sarah moaned louder and louder, putting her phone on speaker so she could grab her tits as she fucked herself.
"You want me to cum inside your pussy you dirty white slut?!" Master asked.
"Yes Master! Fill your slut with your cum!!" Sarah screamed out.
"Are you going to cum for me slave?" He asked.
"Yes Master! I'm so close!" Sarah moaned.
"You can only cum if you beg for my black cock!" He told her.
Sarah didn't care, her head was too far gone.
"Yes Master! You can fuck me! You can have me however you want me! Please fuck my pussy with your big, black cock!" She shouted.
"Cum for me you fucking slut!!" Master ordered.
"FUUUCKK MEEEEEE!!" Sarah screamed at the top of her lungs as her orgasm hit her.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!!" She kept moaning over and over as he came harder and harder.
"Cum you dirty white whore!" Master said forcing her orgasm to keep going.
Sarah fucked herself thoroughly through her orgasm, her pussy gushing as her Master could hear her moaning so loudly.
"Fuck, Master. That was amazing." She moaned out.
"Good girl. I need to go, speak soon." He said and hung up the phone.
Sarah couldn't move, as she lay there panting. She couldn't believe what she had just done. This definitely felt like she had crossed a line. Although it still wasn't physical, she still felt as though she had sex with another man.
Sarah couldn't stop thinking about her phone sex with her Master. Her urge for black cock was growing more and more each day. Which was just made worse by her lack of interest from her husband.
Now she had a young black man showing interest in her, she was getting more and more annoyed by her husband.
It has been a week since her phone sex with Master and since then she hasn't been allowed to cum, but her pussy constantly screamed for attention.
Last night, her Master had her edging for hours but never let her cum. She was begging like a dirty slut by the end, her pussy was dripping wet and she was saying anything she could to be allowed to cum. Yet, she wasn't able too.
Completely giving in to her part as her Master's slave, she obeyed and left her desperate pussy alone.
That night, when Harry went to bed, Sarah thought she would try and put it on him with the hope of having the first sex she's had in years.
"Hey." She said stepping into her bedroom. Harry had his headphones in and looked up to see his wife, completely naked staring back at him with a smile.
"What're you doing?" He asked taking a headphone out.
"I thought you might want to have a little fun?" Sarah asked walking closer, he giant tits swaying as she did.
"Not tonight." He said bluntly. Those two words cut through Sarah like a knife.
Here she stood, completely naked and offering sex, but he didn't want it!
Sarah felt humiliated, ashamed and angry.
Storming downstairs still completely naked she grabbed her phone and called her Master.
"Hi slave." He said answering quickly.
"Hi Master, I want to meet." She said firmly.
"Are you sure? What's brought this on?" He asked.
"I want your black cock down my throat." She said, her anger at her husband and her desire for black cock taking over.
"Where do you live?" He asked.
"Manchester." She told him, fully set on what she was going to do.
"Good, I'm only twenty minutes away. When do you want to meet?" He asked.
"Tomorrow?" She said, hoping that would give her less time to change her mind."
"I'll text you the details." He said and then hung up the phone.
This was it, Sarah has agreed to officially cheat on her husband and she was happy with her choice.
The next day, Sarah was getting ready to meet up with her Master. When she told her husband she was going out, he didn't even bat an eye lid. He didn't even notice she was in a fancy dress and had her make up done.
Deciding she wouldn't wear a bra, Sarah wanted to look as slutty as possible and feel her tits swinging freely.
The entire drive to meet her Master, she was second guessing herself.
"Am I really going to cheat on my husband?" She asked.
Yet, her decision was made.
Twenty minutes later, she was pulling up to her Master's house. A nice semi-detached house. When she knocked on the door, her hands were shaking. Suddenly, the door opened.
The man who stood before her was an amazing man, he was over 6 foot. His skin was as dark as night which just made his shining white teeth look even better. His muscles are bulging through his clothes and Sarah already felt her pussy leaking under her dress.
"Hi slave. Glad you came." He said with a deep masculine voice.
"H-hi." She said nervously, realising her fantasy was about to become a reality.
"Come in." He said opening the door.
Sarah hesitantly walked through into his house. It was a nice looking place, decorated very modern like.
Stepping into his living room, Sarah turned around and was shocked that her Master was standing right behind her. Looking up, this black god of a man was smiling back at her.
"So, are you ready to become my black cock slut?" He asked.
"Y-yes Master." Sarah said, still not believing what she was about to do.
"Good girl, and what do you want?" He asked.
"I want, I want your cock." She said still nervous.
Her Master didn't speak, instead he placed his strong, black hands onto her shoulders. Just the touch of his skin on hers sent Sarah wild. Having no sexual attention for years, she was ready to let herself go.
Slowly, Sarah lowered herself to her knees. Face to face with this black man's crotch, she stared at it, waiting for instructions.
"Take my cock out." He ordered.
"Yes Master." Sarah said, bringing her hands up to his trousers.
"My wife is out for the night, she thought to just give you dick tonight." Master told her.
Sarah didn't say anything, she just slowly undid his trousers. Her hands were trembling as she gripped onto his pants and pulled them down.
Looking to the ground when she finally pulled then down, Sarah looked up and let out a loud gasp at what she saw.
It was the biggest, darkest cock she has ever seen in her life. For a moment she just marvelled at the sight, it was so thick, so smooth and so delicious.
"Do you like?" Master asked her.
"Y-yes." She said, any arguments in her head to not do this were well and truly gone.
Bringing her hand up, Sarah wrapped her fingers around the cock that was too thick for her fingertips to touch.
"It's... so big." Sarah whispered as she slowly moved the skin of the cock back and forth.
For a few minutes, she just slowly wanked the black cock.
"Bigger than your husbands?" Master asked.
"Much." Sarah said, not feeling any guilt.
When a small amount of precum left the tip of his cock, Sarah took the plunge. Sticking her soft, wet tongue out she licked from the base of the cock, along the head and took the amazing precum into her mouth.
The first cock she has tasted in many years.
"Mmmmm." She moaned at the taste.
"Good girl, now suck on my big black cock." Master ordered.
Taking her hand off the cock, Sarah tied her hair behind her head and then returned her grip to the dick.
Opening her mouth, Sarah committed to her adultery and wrapped her soft lips around this perfect, giant cock.
"Ooohh yeah." Master moaned which just thrilled Sarah more, knowing she was pleasing this god of a man.
Having this big, black cock in her mouth brought back all of her old memories. Memories of being young and taking a lot of cock, of being a slut. She wanted it again.
She slowly began to bob up and down on just the head of the cock, flicking her tongue along it as she did.
"For an old girl you love my dick, don't you?" Master moaned.
"Mhmmm." Sarah said, not even opening her eyes. Just enjoying herself.
She couldn't believe what she was doing, 60 years old, a wife, a mother, a grandmother. Yet here she was, on her knees and sucking the giant black cock of a young man.
She started to bob back and forth faster, pushing her head further her old gag reflex came back. Spitting she moved back and saw a string of spit going from the cock to her lips.
Looking up at her black Master, Sarah only had pure lust in her mind right now. Jumping back onto his cock, she started to bob up and down like a true slut. Wanting to show this man that she was just as good as any young slut he could find.
"Oh yeah, you look great with a black cock in your mouth." Master moaned.
"Mmmmm." Sarah moaned as she bobbed back and forth, her tongue running along the smooth shaft.
"Lick my balls now my old slut." Master ordered.
Taking the perfect cock from her mouth, Sarah dove her tongue onto his big, smooth balls. Feeling her own spit from the cock spreading around her face she lovingly massaged his balls with her wet tongue. Taking them into her mouth and sucking as her right hand carried on wanking the giant cock.
Suddenly, Master gave her instruction.
"Bend over the sofa, it's time to fuck your unused cunt."
Taking his balls out of her mouth, this was where Sarah was making her boundaries.
"I have decided to leave my pussy only for my husband. But my mouth is yours to use." She said.
"Hmm, we will see." Master said, "Take that dress off though slut, I want to see those giant tits you are obviously eager to get out."
"Yes Master."
Sarah whipped her dress off, on her knees completely naked in front of this black man. He reached down and grabbed one of her huge tits.
"Fuuuckkk." Sarah moaned, not having anyone play with them in so many years.
"You like that you fucking slut?" Master said squeezing them and then pinching her big, hard nipples.
"Yeeess Massterr." Sarah moaned, feeling her pussy dripping down her thigh.
"Get back to my cock!" Master ordered letting go of her tits.
Sitting back up, Sarah opened her mouth and took the black cock back in. Bobbing up and down, moaning and sending vibrations through the cock. She felt like such a slut and she fucking loved it.
"So, you're just a throat slut, is that right?" Master moaned.
"Mhmmm." Sarah moaned.
Suddenly, Master gripped onto her hair and forced her mouth deeper onto the cock. Her bad gag reflex instantly kicked in but Master showed no sign of letting up.
"GGLLLLLGGGGG!!" Sarah gagged around the cock as he forced it deeper and deeper down her throat.
"Take it you fucking slut!" Master moaned.
Opening her eyes, Sarah could feel herself chocking on the giant cock as it slid inch by inch down her throat. It felt as though her entire throat was filled and stretching around this cock.
Then she felt it, his big, black balls resting on her chin. Looking up her jaw felt like it was split in two from the giant cock down her throat.
"GLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLG!" she gagged, spit pouring down her chin and onto her big tits, her pussy soaking wet.
"Fuck yes!" Master moaned releasing her head.
Sarah fell back and a pile of spit fell down her body.
"Go and lay on your back on the sofa, your head hanging off the back." Master ordered.
Sarah did as she was told, laying on the sofa her big tits were bouncing as she did.
With her head hanging off the side, she saw her Master, upside down, walking towards her. His giant cock swinging as he walked.
His cock found its way to her mouth and she happily accepted it in. Master's hands gripped her tits and squeezed her nipples. He started to slowly push his cock deeper and deeper down her throat.
"Glgg." Sarah gagged when she felt the cock hitting her throat but her Master was relentless.
He pinched her nipples and twisted them hard as his cock finally got balls deep down her throat.
He started to thrust in and out of her mouth, Sarah felt as though her mouth was a pussy for this black cock. He kept squeezing her tits and nipples causing a mix of pain and pleasure as his balls kept hitting her forehead as he fucked her mouth.
"That's it you dirty slut, you can't help yourself but submit to this black cock!" Master moaned.
Sarah couldn't say anything other than the gagging noises coming from her mouth, until Masters finger suddenly slid into her drenched pussy.
"Gllgggggg!!!" She tried to moan around the cock as this black man fingered her fucking wet pussy!
"That's it slut. You're going to take my cock whenever I want!" Master moaned.
Sarah was a horny mess and knew she would happily submit to this man whenever he wanted.
"I'm going to have you service all of my black friends! You will be known as the white throat slut! Everyone will know you are just a white slut to suck black cock!" Master moaned.
Over and over, he fucked her throat, Sarah was in heaven and his fingers in her pussy was growing her closer to an orgasm.
"You're going to have a tattoo to show that you are just a whore for black cock! So, all black men know they can use your throat whenever they want!" Master said, suddenly his cock left her mouth and Sarah screamed.
"Yesss!! I am a fucking white throat slut for all black cock!!!"
When his cock returned to her throat and from her own admitting what she wanted, Sarah's orgasm hit her like a ton of bricks.
Master's cock fell from her mouth and she screamed.
"I'M FUCKING CUMMINGGGGGG!!!!"
At the same time she felt her Masters cum hitting her face, opening her mouth she caught one load and tasted his sweet, delicious cum. More and more of his cum landed on her face, her hair and then on her tits.
He came more than any man she has been with before and felt her entire tits and face being covered.
Sarah's body was shaking through the longest orgasm of her life whilst covered in this cum, gabbing her tits she rubbed the cum into her skin.
"Yeeeessss." Sarah moaned, squeezing her cum covered tits together.
Master returned his cock to her mouth and Sarah happily licked and sucked it all over, milking every last drop of cum from his perfect cock.
"Fucking hell, you really needed that didn't you." Master said, panting and sitting on a chair opposite her.
Sarah sat up, her body still twitching from her orgasm.
Bringing a finger to her face, she scooped some of his cum off her cheek and sucked it clear. She felt sticky and filthy. Smiling at him she told him, "I really fucking needed that."
"I meant it, you are going to be the local black cock throat slut." Master told her.
"I understand Master." She said, knowing she was never going back. This was what she wanted.
"You are going to get a tattoo on your neck, something to show that you belong to black cock and will take any that you can get." Master told her.
In her normal state of mind, Sarah might argue and worry about the consequences. But right now, she didn't care, she wanted to please this man and all black cock.
"Yes Master." She told him.
For the ten minutes, Sarah regained her breath and came down from the high of what had just happened. That's when the realisation hit her, what she had just done.
She was panicking now.
"I should get going." She said nervously.
"Okay, I will be in touch next time I want you." Master said.
"Erm, okay." She said running out the door.
Getting into her car, Sarah felt like she was hyperventilating.
She kept saying to herself.
Taking some time to calm herself down, Sarah eventually turned the car on and started to drive home. Looking at herself in the mirror her face was a mess. Her makeup had run everywhere and she could still see bits of cum in her hair, the smell of cum was all over her.
When she pulled up to her house, she couldn't see any lights on and hoped that Harry was asleep.
Rushing inside, she ran to the shower, luckily Harry wasn't around to see her.
Getting out of the shower, she sat on the sofa for a while by herself.
Going to bed, Harry was loudly snoring. Sighing, Sarah got into bed and to her own amazement, she fell asleep instantly.
The last two weeks had been hell for Sarah. She hadn't replied to the couple of messages from her Master.
Not only was she wrecked with guilt, she was also filled with desire. Now she knew what she could have, she felt like she was depriving herself of happiness from not having it.
Although she knew it was wrong, she knew what she was missing out on.
One night, yet again Sarah tried to have sex with Harry but he fobbed her off.
She went downstairs and pulled up her phone.
"Master, I'm sorry for ignoring you. I just panicked, but I want it again and this time I won't panic."
Sarah stared at her phone for what felt like eternity. Eventually, it vibrated and she had another text come through.
"Throat Slut Sarah. If you want my cock again, you will meet me at the tattoo shop near to me. You will get a tattoo on your neck to signify your ownership to black cock. Whilst there, you will get my cock."
The end for now
|
The next weeks passed, neither more quickly nor more slowly than they should, but tallying exactly sixty seconds a minute and sixty minutes an hour, twenty four hours a day, and seven days a week. What made those weeks peculiar was rather the manner in which they were spent.
Most of those hours were spent in agreeable conversation with Darcy. They hunted, or played billiards, or simply went out, riding or walking. Why would that be peculiar? Edward did not know; he only felt that they were unlike everything he had lived before in his life.
Edward had been absorbed in the contemplation of the horizon, or rather thinking of other things while appearing to observe the horizon, when he realized Bingley and Darcy had been speaking for a while.
'I do have to go to London, Darcy, it is no sudden caprice. I would much rather stay, you know, but it cannot be helped.'
Edward watched them curiously, and Bingley, seeing him paying attention, said, 'So, anyone want to join me? We can go and be back again in only a couple of days.'
'There is nothing to tempt us, really,' said Darcy.
'Not you, perhaps, but I have great plans for doing Bennet the same favour you did me, and introduce him at White's and a couple of other places.'
'I see no great temptation in that for Bennet,' said Darcy, 'there would be nobody to interest you there, so early in the season.'
Bingley was incredulous and half laughing. 'You wound me, Darcy; you must know I do not care only for the social season. Several of your relatives will be there, and some friends as well. I know, you have no interest in going, and furthermore you want Bennet to keep you company.'
'If you want to go and be back in such a hurry, you hardly need us to run after you.'
Edward intervened then, a little irked at Darcy's ready decision making for both of them, 'I will be happy to go with you, Bingley, as I have business of my own to accomplish. I had planned to do so by letter, but I find,' he added looking at Darcy with a smile which wanted to be a smirk, 'that I favour a more meticulous approach to matters of business.'
Darcy only raised his brow in response, not letting himself be baited.
The exact time and mode of travel was planned in a few more phrases, Bingley and Edward being both of such easy disposition and decisiveness that an uncharitable person would perhaps mistake them for hasty or rash. They were set to go the next day by horseback at midmorning, sending before them some clothes by carriage with Bingley's manservant.
Darcy's irritation with his friends could not be hidden, but he would not go with them, and he kept from further expressing it. He even saluted them from Netherfield's entrance when they finally left.
Edward and Bingley were obliged then to set out at a dignified pace, until the house was out of sight, and only then giving in to more childlike impulses, they raced until they were sure they had to stop, lest they kill the horses before mid-journey.
Edward was then reminded why he had liked Bingley best at first, with his easy manners and outgoing disposition. One could never be uncomfortable in his presence, and the conversation went on always effortlessly for both parties.
They reached London in good time, and found that all had been prepared for their comfort in the Hursts' townhouse. They bathed, changed, ate something, and were out of the door as soon as they were able. Each went out to do their respective businesses first; they were both of a mind to consider duty before entertainment, especially since they wanted to leave the next day for Hertfordshire.
Edward went to his attorney's office. There they had been waiting for his letter and were surprised to see him in person. The business he had there was soon concluded, and he was left to wander about, not wanting to be back in the house without his friend.
As it turned out, Bingley was already waiting for him in the parlour when he returned.
'Ah, Bennet, here you are. I was beginning to worry.'
'Nothing to worry about, I just stopped to buy my sister a present. I would have hurried if I had known you were waiting for me.'
Bingley dismissed the thought with a gesture, saying, 'I have not been here long. I was thinking we could go dine in a club instead of staying here. My sister's cook delights in French cuisine, but I have no taste for it, especially after months of eating nothing else.'
'I am certain I shall find agreeable whatever you prefer.'
'Perfect. If Darcy were here, we may have gone to White's; but really, neither you nor I would be really comfortable there on our own. I much prefer Brooks'. Let us dine at Brooks'.'
Thus settled, it was only matter of deciding what to do between then and now. And what could they do in London that they could not in Hertfordshire? There were suddenly so many options, Edward could not decide. Bingley finally tempted him with a visit to Angelo's, to spar and perhaps to get counsel on improving his technique.
Edward owned a copy of L'Ecole des Armes and his father had taught him the basics. Furthermore he had, at one point in his life, been quite enchanted with the sport and tried to practice by himself, but it was another thing that drew him to it. He still remembered that Darcy was a very accomplished fencer, and the lure of becoming equally accomplished with the goal of besting him was strong. It was ridiculous, of course, no less because he had no hopes of doing so after one lesson.
In there they met, much to Bingley delight, some of his friends, and even one of Darcy's cousins, a Colonel Fitzwilliam. He had the most agreeable manners Edward had ever met with, polite and engaging. Showing himself to be pleasantly surprised at finding his cousin's friends in Town, he asked a good deal of questions about how Darcy was doing and if he planned to join them there.
'Oh no, we return to Hertfordshire tomorrow. We came on business that could not be delayed and Darcy found it pointless to come and go back in so little time. We have left him quite settled at Netherfield and I expect we will find him there at our return, only a little more bored than before.' Bingley answered cheerfully.
'Settled! I say, I expect he has not forgotten he has a sister that is expecting to pass the holiday season with him! I will have to write to him otherwise…'
'I do not think he would forget Miss Darcy,' said Bingley without losing his smile. 'I extended the invitation to her in any case, so it is quite possible that he has arranged to bring her to Netherfield.'
Though all this open talking about Darcy's plans was bothering him a little, as he was sure the man himself would disapprove of it exceedingly, Edward hastened to assure the colonel of his cousin's constancy. 'He has said to me that he has written to his sister to arrange it, though I am not sure if she has responded.'
'And so it goes,' said Colonel Fitzwilliam with perfect unconcern, 'I am the last to hear of it. Though I must not be so hasty to condemn them, it is quite possible he has written to me about it, and I have overlooked it; Darcy's letters are so long and serious, they cannot always claim my attention from beginning to end with success.'
This phrase, said with good humour, and in all probability conceived more to amuse than to reflect the truth, almost offended Edward on Darcy's behalf. He had to make an effort to take it as lightly as it was meant. The colonel's cavalier attitude did not endear him to Edward, and almost undid the good impression his manners had left him.
They were then joined by some other acquaintance of both the Colonel and Bingley, a Mr Clowes, which, having been a while since he had last seen Bingley, was very interested in the current state of his life.
'I say, it has been awhile since I have seen any of the people we spent that agreeable summer with. I have been very remiss with my correspondence, I suspect, but that is as it is. What news have you of the Harpers?'
'I have not known anything of them either. I went to Derbyshire the day after you left for town, and any mention of my capabilities as a correspondent is best left unsaid.'
'The day after! Miss Harper must have been devastated!' Mr Clowes's tone was teasing, not at all serious, but Edward could not like it. He wanted to hear Bingley answer, and he did not have to wait very long, as it came immediately and was easy and unaffected.
'Indeed, I doubt she was! The rest of the party stayed, and I am sure they were very merry indeed.'
Momentarily, Edward had to bite his lips to avoid asking some very ill-bred questions, but soon enough he was distracted. The three men were very entertaining conversationalists, and furthermore they were at a fencing club, and all were soon likewise engaged.
Bingley was an extremely agreeable partner for simple practice, as not only was he light on his feet and graceful, but easy on his partner as well. Nonetheless, Edward suspected that in a real match, Bingley's lack of competitiveness would annoy him no end, especially since, being the poorer fencer, Edward was sure he would feel condescended to.
They sparred, and Edward had to summon all his knowledge and ability to keep up with Bingley, even though he suspected that his friend was not using all of his. Bingley kept him on the offensive, defending his position quite easily but nevertheless giving up terrain for every attack of Edward's.
Edward soon realized Bingley was teaching him, in a roundabout way. He had not said anything, and was not saying anything now, but every one of his movements showed Edward a potential misstep in his part, leaving him enough time to correct it.
Some time later they stopped, at the end of a bout, as they were both somewhat out of breath. Edward could not really tell how much time had passed since they had begun, so absorbed with the match he had been.
There were a couple of men standing sufficiently close to them to observe them comfortably, and Edward suspected they—or in all justice only him, in his inexperience—made an amusing picture. One of them approached them then, and Bingley greeted him with respect and familiarity. He immediately afterwards introduced Edward to him. It was, it turned out, Henry Angelo himself, who was interested in knowing where Edward had learned to fence.
Edward answered with some embarrassment, 'I have not learnt anywhere, really, unless you count your esteemed father's book. My own father coached me a little, but he is not very interested in any sport, so it has been really only a little, I am afraid.'
'I only ask because you have a very interesting style. Are you interested in improving?'
'I am, of course, but I do not reside in London for any length of time, I only come, as now, for one or two days at a time. The rest of the year, I am in Hertfordshire.'
'That is a shame, indeed! Though perhaps, it is not so bad, as you would be better served in learning in the French school, I suspect. Your style, unpractised and novice as it is, reminds me of Chevalier d'Eon's. If you ever stay in Paris, you would do well in frequenting the Académie.'
Edward shamefacedly thanked him, but Angelo just proceeded to give some pointers to improve on their stances, more to Edward than to Bingley, and then he left them to themselves.
And so they sparred a little more, until they both pronounced themselves quite thoroughly done in and decided to go to the Hurst's to refresh themselves before proceeding to Brooks' to dine.
Their walk through St. James' Street was at a leisurely pace, both too tired and too happy to do more than converse of any and every thing in an easy tone. It was the perfect thing to do after the day they had, and the type of conversation one could dedicate only half a mind to, the rest of the attention used to observe the particular crowd that populated that part of town at that particular hour.
'So, Bennet, what did you bought for your sister?'
'A book.'
'Your sister likes books a great deal, I gather; we have spoken about novels in many an occasion.'
'Jane does like them,' answered Edward, beginning to understand to where the questions were tending, 'and novels best of all, particularly Miss Burney's. Are you taking notes or you will be asking me this again at a later time?'
Bingley coloured and smiled, looking up at the night, but said nothing.
'You should—you know. Not many men know—' Edward was almost stopped in his tracks. As it was, he could not avoid stumbling over his words, nor the sudden silence it followed.
'What is it?' asked Bingley, trying to catch up with him. He had stepped up his pace, completely red in the face.
'Deuced—'
'Who?' asked Bingley turning around.
'In the window,' finally responded Edward, as now that the initial moment of embarrassment had passed he felt rather foolish.
'Window? Ah! White's bow-window! That must have been Brummell and the dandies that usually surround him, then. Why, what did they do? You must not pay them any attention.'
Edward felt himself heat up again. He regretted having made such a fuss, because how could he satisfy Bingley's inquisitiveness with anything less than the truth? And, nevertheless, he felt unequal to expressing it aloud. He tried a shortened, tempered version of it.
'They were looking me—us—up and down thoroughly, without any shame whatsoever!' He tried to say it in as dramatic a tone as he could, only because he did not want Bingley to perceive there was anything else to be told.
'And I daresay it was through those dreadful quizzing glasses as well,' said Bingley, patently trying for seriousness of tone, and failing miserably. 'I say, Edward, I did not know you were so easy to fluster! You should be glad he did not cut us; the shame would have followed us all the way back to Hertfordshire.'
'Well, now you know,' responded Edward, forcing the words between the teeth of a tight smile, relieved that he did not have to explain himself further.
The truth was that one of those so called gentleman, at the occasion of their eyes meeting, quite by accident, and having finished a through perusal of Edward's person, had lowered his glass and openly, overtly, winked at him!
Edward decided not to give in to the strong necessity of checking that the lines of his coat and breeches were in order, but it caused him to want to be away from the public eye more than ever. In a moment more they reached Brooks', and the subject, to Edward's relief, could be changed.
And so they were, hours later, drinking port contentedly ensconced in leather armchairs, having eaten heartily, and talked not half as much as they would have otherwise.
Bingley broke the silence. 'So, tell me, Bennet, what matter of business brought you here? I could tell Darcy did not know and wanted to, so I kept my peace, but now I find myself quite curious.'
'Why would Darcy know? And furthermore, how did you know he wanted to?'
'So many questions instead of answering mine! It is fine, I will answer first if that is your price,' responded Bingley with merry eyes. 'My answer to the first would be, "Darcy knows everything", but as that is patently untrue, I would say, "Darcy knows almost everything, especially those things that concern his intimate friends". The answer to the second is quite as easy as that. He did not talk about it, not even in passing. He avoided commenting on the fact with me, even though I tried to speak of it. In fact, he did not mention it once, on any of the conversations we shared about the trip since yesterday.'
'Just for that?' Edward knew he sounded disappointed, but he had spoken before he could master himself.
'That is quite enough, I assure you! Darcy does not give a more obvious hint of his mind than that. If he did not care, he would have referred to it, I am sure.'
'If you say so, Bingley.'
'I say so. What is more, I assure you he will ask you about it, once he has had time to make up his mind how. He is extremely attached to you, you know; I have never known him to make friends so easily. But now, tell me first; it would be the first time I have a chance to know before Darcy something which does not concern me privately.' Tempering his tone to one of less eagerness, he added belatedly, 'That is, if you want to.'
'I have no problem with telling you, I would not consider it a matter of this much interest. It is only some matter of business with the trustees of the estate, for my father.'
'Oh, I would have expected something less mundane.'
'Like what? Meeting a secret betrothed?'
Bingley started, and then laughed before answering, 'That would have been most interesting information to have before Darcy. And I would have been anxious to see you tell him. He has been in such uncharacteristically unpredictable humour lately; I do not know how he would react. He is excessively attentive to the wellbeing of his friends, but he does frown on romantic entanglements of the kind that are not first approved by him!'
Edward, liking and not liking the turn of the conversation, decided to press it to his advantage. 'And how, pray tell, would you know Darcy's opinion on his friends' romantic entanglements?'
'I am his friend, of course,' said Bingley in a good humoured tone.
'And have you had many chances to personally verify it?'
Suddenly, Bingley's smile was almost nonexistent. 'Not many.'
'I see.'
They were both silent for a while, and Edward felt that it fell on him to begin again, and so he did, trying to lighten the mood he had so thoroughly ruined a moment before, saying, 'His preoccupation for his friends does him credit.'
'That it does, though one could find it in oneself to wish he did not feel it so necessary.'
'One certainly could. Say, why does he find it so?' Edward could not resist the temptation of asking.
'One could suppose he has often seen his friends out of undesired entanglements.' Bingley's words were carefully spoken.
'So Darcy's care is necessary after all.'
'Well, the undesirability of any thing is, in the end, a matter of subjective opinion.'
'So, the friends find themselves regretting having heeded Darcy's advice?' Edward knew his tone to be mild, but he felt anything but.
'No! Of course not!' Bingley seemed to panic in his search for the right words. 'I never—his friends never would have heeded it in the first place if they would have not thought his advice sound. It is more a problem of Darcy's thinking that it is never a good time for being married. So his standards, however sound, are rather high for both himself and for his friends.'
Edward thought on this information a little, and realized it came as no surprise at all. A moment later, and he could not avoid smirking while he said, 'I hope he approves of my sister, then.'
Bingley sat up straight. 'I certainly could not care less!' Afterwards, even he seemed surprised for his outburst.
'Not even a bit?' Edward knew he sounded amused, a faint echo of his father, but he could not only hope Bingley would not be offended, as it was beyond him to change it.
'She is… come, Bennet, you cannot pretend you do not know it! She is an angel!'
'She certainly is. I am happy you are aware of it.'
'How could I not? I may not be the most brilliant fellow, but you cannot think me as deficient as that!'
'No,' smiled Edward, 'I do not think you deficient at all.'
Bingley smiled in response, and sat back. 'Well, I am glad.' |
A reader of mine from India, G, requested a story and supplied the basic plot-points of a newlywed Indian couple who's wife is seduced by an older white neighbor. If you think you might like it, I hope you enjoy.
My name is Mohit. I work as an engineer in Silicon Valley for a large chip-maker. I've lived in Sunnyvale, California for a few years now. My parents immigrated to Southern California about ten years ago and I ended up going to Caltech before moving up north.
I suppose in many ways I've lived a charmed life, but I've always been torn between two worlds, not quite fitting into either of them. My parents wanted me to have a more traditional arranged marriage. I wanted a more modern wife, but someone who wouldn't be afraid to stay at home with the kids.
Finding my wife was interesting. There are many misconceptions about arranged marriage outside of India. No, my parents didn't have somebody in mind, a daughter of a friend of the family. Unlike my parents, who'd only met a few times before they were married, I wasn't going to be forced to marry somebody I hardly knew.
When the time came I was subjected to a daily barrage of emails where I was cc'd by my father, who seemed to spend all his time looking for prospective brides online from his home in San Diego. For many Indians new to the US, stuck between two worlds, this is a common right of passage.
Still, in the spirit of romance and adventure I'd endeavored to find a suitable match, a girl who I'd fall in love with and be my karmic destiny. That being said, you'd be surprised who you see on these websites. My father once asked me if I'd be interested in a girl who worked down the hall.
When I met Divya she was the perfect match. She was a nurse at a local hospital. She had a kind and caring attitude and we shared similar values.
I called my parents with the happy news that I'd found "The One".
Twelve months after our wedding we had a baby. I was very proud of my wife. She worked hard to get rid of her baby weight. As much as I might have enjoyed it, she didn't make large portions of hearty Indian meals. She was a vegetarian, but kept the white carbs to a minimum. She joined a local YMCA that had child care where she could hit the treadmill, lift weights and generally keep in good shape.
My life was as I imagined it, me the breadwinner, my wife taking care of house and home. We moved from our little apartment to a much nicer area in Los Altos. It was very expensive, but I figured it to be a good investment as real estate in the area was insane. It was a starter home compared to the other houses in the area, a one story ranch house with three bedrooms, but at least we could make the payments comfortably on my income.
There was another Indian family across the street that we'd hang out with, but I didn't really connect with them on a personal level. They were very traditional, nice enough, but not our type. Next door lived an older couple that was a little strange, Rick and Dorothy. They had a large house, well decorated and maintained, with a beautiful big pool in their backyard. I could go to my backyard fence and peak through the cracks, but it made me jealous.
The first time I met our neighbors was under unfortunate circumstances. About a month after we moved in, some idiot neighborhood kids had gone down the street, slashing car tires. I was in my work clothes, staring at my flat and pissed off at the world. I'd never changed a flat tire so I rolled up my sleeves and opened the instruction manual for the minivan, locating the donut sized spare tire and the jack.
Rick came down from his porch to see if he could help. We exchanged friendly greetings, and I felt relieved because he said changing a tire shouldn't be a big problem. Suddenly my situation seemed manageable.
He was in his early 60's, but had this strange youthful vitality. He had a full head of gray hair, was slender, and built like a rock. He told me he was a plastic surgeon. In his open garage I'd spied a couple of motorcycles. He wore a t-shirt that showed off his arms.
His wife Dorothy also came out, curious as to the commotion on our sleepy street. She was a fox. I'd guessed he'd done some work on her as it was hard to tell her age. I guessed she was in her 50's, but she looked ten or fifteen years younger in a strange artificial way that wasn't off putting. She dressed well, had large fake breasts, wore expensive jewelry and was damn sexy, a true MILF. She had a beautiful ass and thin waist. Liposuction was probably involved. I stared at her for ten seconds too long and when I looked back up, Rick just winked at me, smirking. I hoped I hadn't offended him.
At this point Divya came out with a cell phone, offering to call the police to make a report. I introduced her to our neighbors and started the repairs.
I struggled with the lugnuts on the tire, twisting with all my might to loosen them. Wearing a nice shirt and pants, I kept rubbing my clothes against grimy bolts and parts, souring my mood.
"Woah, woah, watch it," Rick said, "let me get dirty doing that, I don't have to go to work." He knelt down beside me and I looked up at my wife who couldn't stop smiling as he took the tire iron from me. He put the end around the bolt and pulled up hard. I couldn't believe his arms, all muscle and veins as he yanked up and twisted the bolt loose.
"Oh my," Divya said. I looked at her and frowned. She just laughed, turning her head in an attempt to be modest.
I leaned in, grabbing the tire iron. "Take a break, I can get the next one."
"Be my guest," he snickered, standing over me.
I twisted and turned making the same motion he did, pulled with all my might. My hands hurt but the bolt didn't move.
"Mohit, let Rick do it, you'll hurt yourself," Divya said.
I made an excuse, "I just don't want to get my clothes dirty, getting in too close."
Rick just looked at me with squinted eyes like he'd unexpectedly met the village idiot. He took the tool and popped off the next four bolts, each time straining and showing his muscles. He was clearly showing off.
When he was done I was discombobulated having been shown up in a contest of strength. My desk job had failed me. He handed me the jack.
My adrenaline pumping in humiliation, I was determined to finish the job. I put the jack under the car, fumbling as I twisted the crank to lift up the car.
"Mohit, let Rick do it. He's strong, he can crank it up," again Divya humiliated me.
"He's the strongest guy I ever met," squawked Dorothy, sounding like she once had a pack a day cigarette habit. She found our situation uninteresting and returned to the house.
I turned over the tire iron to him, a beaten man. He finished the job in a few minutes, including putting on the new tire. My only contribution was putting the lug nuts back on by hand so he could tighten them properly.
Divya thanked him and he leaned in and they hugged. "Thank you Rick," she said, "You are a real lifesaver!" I shook his hand and went inside to change out of my dirtied office clothes.
The baby was asleep in his crib and Divya followed me into the bedroom.
"It's a good thing Rick helped us," she said.
"Absolutely." I wasn't going to argue, figuring it was best to let it go. While I changed she came up behind me and planted a kiss on my neck.
"You weren't so bad yourself," she said, reaching around to pull out my manhood. She wanted sex now? We hadn't had proper sex in almost a year, the baby keeping both of us sleep deprived. I decided why not, I'd already called into work warning them I'd had car trouble. Another fifteen minutes wouldn't hurt anything.
We lay on the bed and I reached down between her legs, her thick thatch of pubic hair musky and wet. I slid a finger inside her and she gasped.
"Did you see how big Rick's arms were?" Her eyes were closed and she moaned slightly.
Where did this come from? "They were kind of weird, huh," I answered.
"He looked like a weightlifter," she answered, "like a bodybuilder. Mohit, please, take me."
She spread her legs and I crawled on top of her, incredibly horny and confused. As I pushed into her I said, "Forgive me for the stupid question, but did he turn you on?"
Divya leaned up and kissed me. "I'm sorry, forgive me honey. It's just been so long.."
I had to agree with that, and frankly, the sex was great. I slid into her, my cock glistening and hard. I quickly burst, flooding her with my white hot semen.
She held me tight, wrapping her legs around me, not letting me go.
I kissed her and begged her forgiveness as I had to work. The entire drive in my mind was a jumble, thinking about Divya's casual erotic response toward Rick.
Life fell back into it's normal routine, days turned into week that turned into months. Our baby was becoming a toddler and we discussed having a second child. Divya went off her birth control.
Disaster struck for Rick about six months after the tire incident. He'd come home from work one day and his wife had left him. Of course, we didn't find this out immediately, our Indian neighbors across the street tipped us off.
One evening soon after we were pushing the stroller in from of Rick's house and saw him in the garage, working on a motorcycle, a half empty beer on his workbench. As always he wore a tight t shirt clearly meant to show off his body. I wondered how that would affect Divya.
We waved to him and he seemed glad to see us. "Hey you two!" he said, "I need a break, you two want a beer?"
Divya and I looked at each other. We very rarely drank, it was verboten in our families, but Divya surprised me and said, "Sure, why not," as I was declining his offer.
"Oh!" I said surprised. "Well, happy wife, happy life," and we pushed the baby up the driveway into his spacious garage.
He showed me the Harley he was working on, and asked Divya if she'd prefer a glass of wine, which she gladly accepted. "Okay," he said, "Bring the little one, I'll give you the grand tour."
His home was spacious and beautiful, easily three times larger than our place and with an independent distinctive architecture that subtly oozed class. He showed us the top floor, each room more interesting than the last until he showed us the master bedroom and bath. The place was fit for a prince. I looked out his back bedroom window, admiring the commanding view. I noticed immediately that he could see right into our backyard without any problems.
I was shocked. I knew that sometimes Divya hung laundry out back, trying to be environmentally friendly, and she'd go topless or even completely naked from the laundry room to a clothesline on the back patio. I wondered if he'd gotten a good look at my wife.
"You have a great view," I said.
"You can see everything from up here, the wildlife is quite beautiful," he laughed as he said it. I wondered if I should be offended at the answer.
"You know Divya, I know it's getting hot, do you have air conditioning?" Rick asked.
"No," Divya answered.
"Well feel free to come on over and use the pool, all of you. Just knock first," Rick offered.
Tour over, downstairs he broke out the wine, pouring Divya the first glass. "Aren't you worried about nursing the baby?" I warned her.
"I'm a doctor," Rick said, "Your little boy will just get a good night sleep, I'm sure you both need it."
"Indeed," said my wife, taking a sip. "Pardon me for asking, but I'd heard from our neighbors that Dorothy no longer lives here?"
I was embarrassed by her question. "Divya, please.."
"No no, it's a good question. The neighbors are right. Can you believe she left me for another guy?" He cackled as he said it. "I guess I made her tits too big. Rich old guy. I think she wanted somebody who wasn't going to outlive her," and he laughed heartily, flexing one arm, a gold Rolex on his tan wrist as his veins popped.
"Oh my!" Divya said, exactly as she responded the first time she saw his body in action.
It occurred to me that as a doctor, perhaps he had easy access to steroids or HGH. Maybe he took testosterone.
"That's what I get for marrying one of my nurses, what do I expect?" Rick howled, nudging me.
We grinned at each other. "You know, my wife is a nurse by trade," I said happily, glad he'd put his foot in his mouth. I longed to better him and finally he tripped up. I expected him to apologize.
"Then maybe you better watch your wallet with this one!" He said. "Well, unless she trades up," and he he looked at Divya who was laughing, and she FUCKING WINKED at him.
'You know Divya, it's Divya right?" Rick said, "You know, I've been in the business of self improvement for a long time, and you have done a fantastic job of losing your baby weight, but if you ever want a consultation feel free to stop by and I'm sure I can help you out."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, pardon me, do you mind? I'm going to get a little close here," and he put his hand on Divya's shoulder in the way a doctor would to explain something personal. "Nursing a baby can really remove the youthful bounce a woman has in her bust area," and he outlined the bottom of my wife's breasts, not touching, but very close. "Some women also want us to do a little tummy tuck after a pregnancy, slim down the waistline," again he outlined areas he would work on. Divya looked at me smiling. She enjoyed his attention.
I wanted to punch the charming bastard and maybe even slap my wife. I kept my cool.
"Oh that's quite all right Doctor," my wife had slipped into her old nurse habits, "Perhaps when we are finished having children."
"Of course," Rick said and we made more small talk and had a second glass of wine before excusing ourselves.
We were both a little tipsy as we left. Walking up the driveway Divya said, "Isn't he great? Such an interesting neighbor. I can't wait to jump in the pool."
"Are you kidding me? I thought he was extremely unprofessional. The way he oggled you!" I said.
"You think he was oggling me?" Divya didn't seem upset, she seemed pleased!
Once inside she put the boy to bed for the night and I took a shower. Divya once again was incredibly aroused. When I came out of the bathroom she was on all fours in bed, naked, her hand reaching up between her legs, rubbing her hairy patch as she fingered herself. I'd never seen her like this.
"Every cloud has a silver lining," I mumbled.
"What?" she looked back me, a passionate look on her face. "Please Mohit, let's do it like this. Take me like an animal on all fours. I'll pretend it's Rick."
"Are you out of your mind?" I said, but the sight of her made me hard. "Time for you to take it, bitch." Now this may sound vulgar and rough but my wife doesn't mind me getting a little aggressive in the bedroom. For the first time, though, I sort of meant it.
I hated when she got in this position. My erect penis is barely long enough to penetrate her properly and I'm always slipping out. I placed my head at her opening and pushed, easily sliding it. I got a good rhythm going and lost concentration, my cock sliding out and poking her ass. "Mohit, no, please," she reached back grabbing it and put it in the right spot.
I tried again and again it slipped out. Clearly frustrated, she sighed heavily and turned over. I entered her as she spread her legs and I finished in minutes. Even after I pulled out, my seed leaking from her, she rubbed her clit for another couple of minutes until she came.
A few days later I'd been working late, and rang Divya to tell her I wouldn't be back until eight or so. In the background I heard some splashing and the laughter of our son. "Where are you?" I asked.
"Oh, I'm over at Rick's," she said, "It's so hot, the pool is refreshing."
"Is he there?" I asked.
"Oh yes, he's swimming laps right now. I just got done putting the baby in the pool. He loved it! I've got some beautiful pictures for you."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"The pictures are great!"
"No, no, I mean, you. Alone. With Rick. He's a maniac." I'd finally vocalized my fears.
"Mohit, don't be silly. He's fun. And our little one is right here. Do you really think he'd try any funny business?"
"I think maybe yes. You see how he looks at you. He probably has some hyper steroid driven sex drive."
"Mohit! Don't be silly."
"He probably takes testosterone, HGH. You see how he is, not even that upset with his wife left him. Then he flexes around you, touches your breasts in front of me."
"Look, I'm not going to argue with you. I'll go home if you want me to go home. It's just hot out. Our house doesn't have air conditioning." Divya's voice sounded disappointed.
"Am I acting crazy?" I asked.
She laughed. "Yes, I think you are a little jealous. I kind of like it when my man fights for me."
"Okay fine. But don't drink. I'll get dinner in the cafeteria. I'll be back around 9."
We said our goodbyes and hung up. I sat there in a confused daze. I couldn't help it, but for the first time I had these insane, crazy thoughts that Divya might be cheating on me. I considered blowing off my responsibilities, telling my team I had a family emergency and return home to spy through the fence.
What did I expect to see? Divya fucking Rick? It was absurd. But I knew he was a predator and it scared me. My emotions were a mixture of apprehension and something else. That something else was arousal. Call me crazy, but I had confusing, contradictory emotions, all incredibly stressful.
That night I drove home, noting the lights were still on at Rick's house, but off at my home. I walked up the driveway and let myself into our backyard via a side gate. I was careful and quiet, but the gate still creaked, needing a good oiling. I could hear splashing in the pool and some voices. My fears seemed to be coming true.
I crept like a burglar in the dark down my fence line, putting my computer bag on the ground. I found a nice crack in the redwood boards and peaked through. I had a good view of the pool. I didn't see my family but I saw Rick and another woman. Or rather, I saw her breasts.
A tan girl about my age was laying on an outdoor couch by the pool, giant fake tits pointing to the sky. Rick was in the pool swimming. I was incredibly relieved yet excited at the same time. I realized in shame that I had blue balls.
I considered my good luck and reached down, pulling out my cock as I looked at her. Now was my chance to win one against that cocky bastard. I'd have a good wank to his naked woman.
My hard penis quickly lubricated with pre-cum as I pumped it. The thrill of voyeurism pulsed through me, my head a mix of crazy thoughts.
Rick climbed out of the pool. I was stunned, his golden god body incredible. I wasn't aroused in a sexual sense, but impressed none the less. He was completely nude and his cock was five or six inches and not even hard, just sort of semi stiff. The girl on the couch got up and gave him a kiss and tugged playfully on him until he sported a solid eight inches.
Perhaps I could watch them fuck. I quickened my pace.
They spoke softly and I couldn't make out their words. Eventually she stood up and grabbed a towel, covering herself as she returned to the house. He took a seat facing me, his hard cock in his grip as he relaxed. The guy looked like he conquered the world, sitting amongst his fine possessions, a beautiful girl at his disposal.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, "Mohit, are you okay.." I spun in shock, my cock dripping cum in an arc like the silk of a spider.
Divya got a good look at me and whispered, "Oh my God!", grinning.
I froze, caught like a teenager by his mom after she failed to knock.
"I'm sorry," was all I could say. I tried to turn my groin away from her, my penis dribbling sperm all over my good pants as I tried to stuff it back inside.
Divya put her eye up to the hole. My wife, the love of my life had caught me masturbating like a common peeping tom.
"Oh Mohit. I never suspected," she looked back at me and then through the crack again, clearly taking it all in.
I thought she was going to yell and scream.
"You don't understand," I protested in a whisper.
"Shh", she answered. "It's okay. I understand." She stood up and leaned into me and we kissed.
I cannot tell you how relieved I was. "You are the best wife," I whispered.
She giggled into my ear, "Mind if I take a look again?"
Who was I to say no? I smiled, "Be my guest." Here we were sharing this secret moment.
She stared through the crack and shocked me as she pulled up her nightshirt and started rubbing herself. "See if you can find another hole in the fence," she whispered.
I looked at the fence, looking for another crack. I found one that was smaller but could still see Rick stroking himself, his head back resting. There was no sign of the naked lady. I thought to myself that this was actually sort of a happy medium. My wife and I enjoying this taboo erotic moment as a couple. I looked at her hand between her legs, rubbing, and got hard again.
I searched for the naked lady when all of a sudden Rick grunted and sperm, loads of it, flew into the air, landing on the cement with a splat. Even I was transfixed. It was like watching the Bearded Lady at the carnival. I couldn't avert my eyes.
Divya squeaked as an orgasm washed over her. Even I was surprised. Rick looked up toward us.
"Divya?" He called out, smiling.
I backed away, took her by the hand and we both ran away like naughty children. Once inside we both laughed like unashamed hooligans who'd pulled off a great prank.
"Holy fuck, holy shit, holy fuck," I kept saying. Divya leaned in and kissed me again, pulling me to the bedroom. We hopped into bed, peeling off our clothes.
"Did you hear how he called my name Mohit?" Divya gushed, clearly happy. I was just glad he hadn't called MY name.
We had incredible sex. She sucked me, I licked her, I fingered her, she even put a finger in my ass which she never did. It was crazy. We were two animals in heat. We had an epic fuck session, collapsing in bliss and exhaustion. We lay next to each other, holding hands. If we had cigarettes we would have smoked them.
Then Divya said the most disturbing thing. "I can't believe I married you. I think it's really great, but I wonder why you never told me."
"Told you what?" I asked, content.
"Your bisexuality. It makes me so aroused. Now I understand your jealousy more. You wouldn't have minded getting a piece of Rick. I'm just glad you know how it feels. It's like I know you understand me better." She elbowed me playfully.
The horror washed over me, puzzle pieces falling into place. She thought I was masturbating to Rick. When she looked through the hole she only saw Rick in his golden god glory, holding his monstrous penis. She never saw his naked girlfriend.
My heart pounded into my throat.
"Divya, my love. You are my queen. I've had such a wonderful night, but I have to confess, there was originally a woman there, naked. That's why I was aroused. She left just before you surprised me. I'm so sorry."
"A naked woman?" Divya was silent then asked, "Mohit, why were you looking in the first place?"
"I was afraid. I wanted to see if you were still at his house."
"You wanted to spy on me? What if I was with him like that naked woman you claim you saw. I'm not even sure I believe it. Would you have pulled out your penis and touched yourself if Rick was naked with me?"
"No," I said, but my cock betrayed me, rising and pressing into her side before I even uttered the word.
"No?" Divya asked. "Your hard penis tells me a different story" and she reached back to stroke it. "If you lie to me about this, why should I believe your story about this mysterious woman."
"You have to believe me. I'm not gay. I don't like men." I closed my eyes as she rubbed me. I loved her so much at that moment.
"But you'd look at me and him. Would you like to see me take him in my mouth?" My cock twitched and pulsed and I squirmed.
"Please stop, I'm going to come," I said.
She refused to back down. "Would you like to watch through the fence as he fucks me Mohit? I'm sure he wouldn't slip out like you. I'm not sure I could handle him." Her words were too much and I spurted for the second time that night.
"I think we could have a lot of fun Mohit," and she kissed me on the forehead. We both drifted off to sleep. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, but for the first time, I wondered if I had been lying to myself.
I slept fitfully, waking up at three in the morning when she left to nurse our son. I lay there thinking about having sex with her. I was in an almost manic state, worshipful of my wife. I can't explain my feelings other than to say I idealized her. My competition with Rick had sparked an almost psychotic desire for her.
When she returned to the room I crawled between her legs, worshiping her pussy, licking her until she shook with orgasmic vibrations. When I finished she pushed me away. I masturbated into my underwear as I lay beside her.
I woke up the next morning a little late but feeling exhilarated. Divya made breakfast for me and she was incredibly dressed. She wore a short pleated dress and a skinny top. Her breasts seemed to want to burst out. I looked down and she was wearing heels. This was one of her old clubbing outfits from her single years. I was amazed it fit so well.
"Divya?" I said softly, drinking my tea. "Why are you dressed like this?"
She just winked at me. "I just want to be your sexy wife? Is that so bad?"
"Are you going next door?" I asked.
"Maybe," she said.
"Wouldn't you wear a swimsuit?"
"I can bring a swimsuit. Maybe I won't be swimming." She winked at me again.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," I said. I felt myself getting hard again.
She walked to me sexily, kneeling by me and unzipping my pants. "If something was going to happen," she paused, licking my head, "and you knew it would make you very, very horny, would you really want to stop it?" She laughed and stood up, my hard pole unrelieved.
My stomach collapsed. I felt almost feverish. I collected my things and drove to work. I found it hard to concentrate. A friend of mine even commented, asking if I was tired telling me I seemed a little off.
Around 3 p.m. I got a text. "Do you want to enjoy a show?"
I responded, "What do you mean?"
"Through the fence."
I swallowed, wondering what to answer. I typed in "NO" but before I hit send I paused, erased it and typed, "Maybe".
I received a response. "Going next door in an hour. Go to the fence if you want to enjoy a show. xoxo."
I walked into my boss's office and told him I had a family emergency, and had to leave. My minivan raced out of the parking and I felt like I wanted to throw up. Tears filled my eyes. But my cock, my damn cock was also crying slick tears of arousal.
I parked in my driveway. I paused to recompose myself and opened the car door. I retraced my steps down the side of the house, stopping to pee in some bushes. I didn't want to miss even one second.
There was a note taped to the fence. "Son with sitter. Enjoy."
I stood stunned, tearing off the paper which covered the crack. My defenses had been destroyed. Fuck it, I thought to myself, and unzipped, peeping through the fence.
It wasn't long. Both of them came into the backyard, a glass of wine in their hands. They talked for maybe fifteen minutes but I only understood bits and pieces. I almost wondered if anything was going to happen at all. I didn't know if that would disappoint me or bring relief.
Divya stood up in front of Rick, and again he seemed to be giving her a consultation. He reached up and this time he touched her breast. Divya, reached down and pulled her top off giving him full access. I held my breath as he cupped her breasts, her smiling at him as he pointed out where he could improve. She kept twirling her hair around her finger, smiling and laughing.
He finished and they moved to the couch that Rick had sat on the night before. He sat next to her. She looked up at him and leaned in, kissing him open mouthed. His left arm grabbed the inside of her bare leg below the hemline. She opened her legs, signaling him to touch her more intimately. Now I could see she wasn't wearing any panties.
Not only that, she'd shaved herself completely. Her normally dark black pubic patch was now a smooth and gleaming brown, with her labia exposed. I shook as I watched Rick's thick fingers make his way to her crotch, touching her as he kissed her gently. He finger fucked her for ten minutes until she had her first orgasm, shaking and moaning.
When she finished she closed her legs and pushed him back onto the couch. She kneeled between his legs, pulling out his hard beast of a cock. She gripped it with two hands, feeling it's heft, and she licked the tip. She LOOKED AT ME as she put it into her mouth. That's when I came the first time, a splash of hot cum on the gravel below me.
For another five minutes she sucked him, but he was so large a deepthroating would have been impossible. Spit and precum slurped down her cheeks as she worked on him.
As she sucked him I heard him ask a single one word question, "Fuck?"
She nodded and leaned back onto the couch, pulling up her skirt as her pussy awaited him. The bud of her ass, her smooth pussy, split by her pink slit faced me. This was the pussy that bore my child. Rick positioned himself and she looked at me again and winked.
My cock was rock hard again. I hadn't even realized it happened. Rick's monstrous cock head hung down and he picked it up. I couldn't see it as he put it in her, I could only see his muscled ass and large hefty balls. She gasped and I knew he'd entered her. He gripped her hips and moved her onto his penis. He didn't piston into her. She was his fuckdoll and his arms used her like a sex toy.
Divya wrapped her legs around him, trying with all her might to get him deeper into her. I was shocked. She moaned and bit a cushion. Clearly she was in pain, but she didn't let it stop. It must have been erotic misery as he split her with his golden boy cock. I was mesmerized, her pleated skirt rubbing back and forth across her thighs as he pulled and pushed her onto him. It seemed to me that he was in her completely.
He leaned over, planting passionate kisses on her lips, his cock locked deep inside her.
Then he pulled out, his hard horse cock glistening with my wife's juices. Divya collapsed onto her side, holding her stomach in what looked like pain. Rick reached down and guided her onto her knees. She put her hand up between her legs, trying to protect herself with the cloth of her skirt, but she couldn't avoid her fate.
Tenderly he took a hold of her hand and pulled it out of the way, lifting her skirt. Her ruined pussy was exposed to me from behind. My wife's cunt looked like another woman's. Without hair it was different, but the physical effect of his fucking had opened her up. Her puffy lips hung helplessly around a dark deep cavern, almost perfectly circular and over an inch in diameter.
His cock danced in anticipation. He guided it to this cave, and again he entered her. This time I had a little better view as the skin of her vagina pulled tight around his cock, hugging it as he pistoned into her. She cried out, but instead of saying "no" or "stop", she kept meekly saying "Yes, yes, yes."
After a few minutes her entire body convulsed. Her back arched and her stomach dropped as she trembled, and I'll never forget how she moaned as she experienced her first real orgasm from a man's penis. She cried out "Ohhhhh Gooooood", and wept.
He grunted like an animal and forced himself deep into her. She sounded like somebody on a torture rack, crying from her orgasm. He held her tight, his balls throbbing visibly as sperm pulsed into her.
Releasing her she collapsed, curling up into the fetal position on the couch, a million sperm swimming in her. His slick white load started to ooze from her, and when she realized it, she did something that shocked me.
She got on her back, holding her legs to her breasts. She had done that to me when she wanted to get pregnant. I prayed he'd had a vasectomy.
He sat next to her and they chatted, him patting the back of her leg in an almost grandfatherly way. After a minute or two she wiped her eyes and she did something she never did with me.
His penis a mess, she sat up, bent over and cleaned him. Using her palm she scooped up his cum and rubbed it along her vagina. Then she lapped up what was left from his cock and balls. She even tried to deepthroat his softened penis, which was still relatively hard to do.
When she finished, she lay back again pulling up her legs and held them again. They chatted and laughed as she occasionally put a hand between her legs, as if to hold the cum inside.
In this position he began kissing her passionately again, Rick gripping an ass cheek, the bud of her ass exposed to me as their mouths met.
When they broke their embrace, Rick looked over to the fence and said, "I hope you enjoyed that Mohit."
I spermed in terror and arousal. I was caught, the pervert cuckold.
Divya took his hand and kissed his bronze body on the chest, admiring his nipples, running her hand across his six pack abs. She kissed him again and excused herself, dressing.
When she came in she went straight to the bedroom. I refused to let her shower. Like an inspector I examined every piece of her body. I bent down between her splayed legs, seeing the inside of her pussy for the first time, the wrinkly skin still coated in Rick's sperm.
"Lick it," she said and she forced my mouth against her opening. I wanted to gag as his juices touched my tongue and lips until I gave in, cleaning her.
----
That was three years ago. After six months her pussy was ruined for me. Sometime she would lay down and as a game she'd pull herself apart and I'd see how far I could put my hard cock in without touching the insides of her. The truth is I could get it in almost completely. I'd masturbate and then plunge into her, hoping my sperm would reach her uterus.
Divya gets almost no sexual feeling from me fucking her now. We both enjoy the new situation. It is twisted, I admit. When she first told me she was pregnant I knew who the father was. When she was five months pregnant, she went to Hawaii with him, telling well wishers that he was the father. I know this because she told me as I jerked off in her pregnant pussy.
She told me not to worry about it, that she would always love me.
I lost my job about six months ago in a downsizing. I know my wife's affair had an effect on my performance in the office, so when the list of people to axe was drawn up, I was included.
Divya now works as a nurse in his office, making double her old salary at the hospital.
I'm a stay at home dad with both kids. I furiously masturbate to cuckold and hotwife porn, thinking about my hotwife who gets fucked on an almost daily basis by that huge dick.
She's always happy to let me lick her pussy as she recaps her latest fuck. She's become an expert at giving me blowjobs.
In fact, my fingers are shaking as I type this, late at night. My wife came home from Rick's this evening and told me about her latest fuck as she sucked me off. Apparently Rick invited another doctor, Deepak, to the house.
Deepak trains with Rick. She did everything possible to make sure Deepak joins the business. She told me all about it.
|
"You're going to make Mariano so happy, baby" you say.
"Yes, daddy. I'm going to be such a good little kitten," I say. You kiss me deep and then open the door to the bedroom. Mariano is already waiting. There are straps, handcuffs, and all my special toys. A small silver dildo, a larger one, a magic wand, and all the attachments that go with it. There's also a blindfold, a little whip, a candle burning on the table, and a phone to record our adventures. All of it turns me on in an instant. I can feel the wetness already brewing deep inside me. There's nothing in the world I want more in this moment than to get fucked and get fucked hard. And then get fucked some more. The heat between my legs makes my face flush and my heart skip.
I made sure to wear a special outfit under the short little skirt and tank top I chose for this event. It's a black teddy with garters, thigh highs, and stiletto heels. I hope they both like it. I hope they want to fuck me while I'm wearing it. I left the panties out of the outfit, knowing they wouldn't be on for long anyway. The wetness drips down my thighs in anticipation of all the pleasure that is to come. I press them together, relishing the silky slick pussy juices that they'll soon be tasting.
Mariano pats the bed and I come and sit next to him. He offers me a shot of whiskey to relax and I swallow it in one gulp. He pours another and I shoot that one, too. The warmth spreads through my chest like wildfire and matches the heat I feel in my sex. Mariano looks at you and says something in Spanish that I can't understand. You both laugh at my confusion. You translate for me. "He said you look good enough to eat, Amor." I smile. I'm very glad to know that I made good choices when I put this outfit on. I can't wait until you both get a look at what's underneath it.
You climb on the bed and sit behind me so I'm situated between your legs. You brush my hair back to you can kiss my neck. Then you pull me back a little bit on the bed and grab me underneath my thighs, opening my legs so Mariano can see my soft pink little pussy, glistening in the light from the candle burning on the bedside table. He looks at you with a dangerous little smile and says something to me in Spanish this time. This one I understand. "I'm going to eat your pussy and drive you mad." I nod my head.
"What should I call him, Daddy?" I ask. You tell me I should call him Papi. I nod my head as he kneels between my spread thighs and you open me up even further. He licks my juices which have run down all the way to my thigh highs.
"Mmmm..." he says to you. "She does taste sweet." My body jerks in response to his admiration and I can't wait for him to explore me. He licks his way up to my skirt, then pushes it up to my hips to expose my bare pussy that's quivering with desire. He looks at you and raises his eyebrows. I can't tell if it's because I'm not wearing panties or if he's asking if you're sure this is okay. Maybe it's both. You lean and whisper in my ear.
"Do you want him, kitten? Tell Daddy."
"I want him Daddy. Please, can I have him?" You nod your head and I can feel your cock getting hard behind me.
"Eat her pussy," you instruct. Then in Spanish that I can understand, you say "She wants you to make her cum." He doesn't hesitate anymore. He covers my pussy with his mouth and licks me from my sweet opening to my clit and flicks it over and over with his tongue. I gasp with a sudden jolt of pleasure and he intensifies his efforts. You spread my legs even further and lean back some more so my pussy opens to him like a delicious flower. As he eats my pussy, you kiss my neck some more and I'm writhing as much as I can in your grip. My hips rise into his mouth and he sucks the juices right out of my pussy as he enters me completely with his tongue. He licks and sucks me hard and I can feel myself on the verge of cumming already. "Yes Amor," you say. "Squirt for him. Show Daddy how much you like your pussy sucked." I don't need any more of an invitation. I close my eyes, lean my head back and my sweet juices flow. He wastes no time drinking up my cum. It's all over his face and he climbs up to kiss my mouth so I can taste his lips and my own cum.
He puts his fingers in my pussy and spreads me open, stretching me out so I can fit his cock inside me when the time comes. He stops kissing me and wipes his face with one hand while he jams his fingers in deeper, three this time instead of two. I gasp and look up at him, then at you. You hold my chin up so you can look into my eyes as he makes me cum and squirt again. I cum so hard it hits the floor. The wet sounds from my pussy turn you on and make you want me even more, but it's Mariano's turn right now and you like watching him fuck my little pussy with his fingers, opening me so much you can see inside. You're rock hard now and I can feel it against my ass through your pants. I press against you so I can rub against your cock while he continues to rock my pussy.
His hand is completely wet and he has me lick it off of him. He nods at you to let you know it's your turn to have me for a little bit. You're both still dressed, and I'm still wearing everything I arrived in. "Time for fun, Amor" you say. You pick me up and toss me on the bed on my back. You take one tiny wrist in your hand and look at Mariano, telling him he should take the other.
"Please, Daddy," I say. You know what I want. You take off your tie and Mariano does the same. You each tie one of my wrists to the headboard and I'm smiling with pleasure. This is exactly what I wanted. The restraints are tight and bite into my wrists a little but I love it. I want it rough. I'm so turned on right now and I can't wait to feel what happens next. You take the blindfold off the table and put it on me.
"You have to guess who's doing you. If you guess wrong, you suck the other one's cock," he says. I nod, eagerly anticipating this game because I win either way. I either get pleasure or I get to suck cock and I want both. I know you won't cum right away and I want to taste your cum, but I'll settle for just having hard cock filling my mouth and my throat for now. I'm surprised when I feel my ankles being tied to the bed. I'm at your mercy, completely spread open for consideration from both of you. When I'm tied up nice and tight you ask me "Are you ready to play, Amor?" I nod my head. "Tienes que decirlo, Amor. Tienes que decirle a Mariano y Daddy."
"Yes, Daddy," I say. "I'm ready to play Baby." I feel a finger tracing my lips and then entering my mouth. I suck and I can taste my own flavor so I know it's Mariano. I say his name and I'm rewarded with what can only be the small dildo in my pussy. It's vibrating and whoever is fucking me with it presses it expertly against my g spot. I gasp with this new pleasure. I'm so wet that my juices are dripping down my pussy to the crack of my ass and whoever it is takes advantage of this and puts two fingers up my ass at the same time. I can feel the dildo being pressed by the fingers in my ass and I squirm with this pleasure.
"No, no, little kitten," Mariano says. Two hands hold my hips steady as the sensations increase and thrill me. "Who's in your pussy little kitten?" He asks.
"You are," I say. I know I guessed right because lips press against mine and a tongue enters my mouth. I don't taste myself this time, so I know it's you and I kiss back, happy to finally have some part of you inside some part of me. At the same time, Mariano thrusts the little dildo into my pussy harder and faster. I breathe my pleasure into your mouth and suddenly my tank top is torn off my body exposing the little teddy I chose for tonight. Your hand reaches into the top and caresses my nipple, squeezing it between your fingers before you suck on it hard. I cry out at this new pleasure sensation. You bite down a little as you suck. Mariano is fucking me fast and hard, then he pulls it out and puts it in my ass. Fingers enter my pussy. Three, I'm guessing but I can't be sure. They slide inside of me easily because I'm so incredibly wet.
"Who's in your pussy now, Amor?" you ask. I shake my head because I'm not quite sure. The dildo rams my ass and the fingers in my pussy curl upward to massage my g spot without stopping. I gasp.
"Mariano," I say, almost breathless.
"Ohh, Amor," you say. "It's not him this time. Time to suck my cock." My pussy is suddenly empty. I wait, my eyes covered by the blindfold. I hear your pants unzip and I can't want it so bad. You straddle my face and shove your cock in my mouth. I open wide, open my throat and suck you hard. I feel you tense and your cock gets even harder as you fuck my mouth. I feel pressure against my pussy and then something is rubbing against my clit. It vibrates and by the shape I can tell it's the bigger dildo. It's hard for me to concentrate on both forms of pleasure, so I just relax my body and let you both carry me away, each fucking me in your own way.
When I relax, sweet juices spurt forward again. I can hear it and feel it flooding around my pussy and my ass, making everything that much wetter, making it easier to jam that vibrating dildo into my sweet wet hole. Your hard cock blocks the sounds of my screams from erupting through the room. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes while I convulse my throat around your cock, squeezing it like a fist, trying to catch a tiny breath. You let me have one every now and then and finally pull out before you cum. Mariano pulls out of my pussy and my ass. I'm laying there, gasping for air, exposed and open awaiting the next wave of pleasure.
I don't have to wait long. Strong arms lift my hips into the air and two other slide pillows under my hips. My pussy is a glistening invitation which one of you takes no time to accept. But the question is: who is it? I feel the head of someone's dick sliding up and down my opening. Two fingers enter my pussy and one enters my ass, and whichever one of you is there pulls me upward and toward them by the pussy. It's the most bizarre and tantalizing thing. I've never been pulled around by my pussy before, and the feeling of domination is orgasm inspiring. I cum all over and the hand withdraws, replaced slowly by a cock. It has to be yours. We fit together like a hand in a glove, even though it takes a little bit of time to get you to fit in my little pussy. I know the delicious feeling of you buried balls deep inside me.
"It's you, daddy," I say before you can ask.
"Yes, Amor. It's Daddy filling your sweet pussy. Cum on my dick, kitten." You start pounding my pussy hard, my back bowed by the pillows under my hips. My head is practically upside down and I feel Mariano's cock brushing my lips. I open my mouth to take it. "No no," you say. "She guessed right. You have to fuck her how she wants to be fucked." To me he says "What do you want kitten? How do you want Mariano to fuck you now?" Although I like to be told what to do, there is something I want from him right now. "Tell him baby. Tell him how my Amor wants to cum."
I try to speak but the words get stuck at first. I clear my throat. "Fuck my ass with the big vibrator, Baby. Fuck my ass while my Daddy fucks my pussy. Please baby," I beg him. The whole time, you're still fucking my pussy driving me hard, holding a minute, shoving inside me again. He grabs the toy and starts to move away from me. "Please baby, untie one so I can rub your cock while you do it." He doesn't say anything, just unties the tie on my right hand and it goes for his dick as if it has a mind of its own. The next thing I know, the vibrator slams home, deep into my ass without warning and I scream in surprise and ecstasy.
"Fuck baby!" I scream. "Oh fuck, harder. Please Daddy." Both of you proceed to do just that, alternating thrusts as he tips the vibrator upward to stroke your cock as you slide in and out of me. Your pace is almost frantic it's so fast and hard.
"Amor!" you say sharply. You pull out and suddenly your cock is in my mouth and I'm sucking you off so hard, swallowing your cum, gulping it down my throat with eager greediness. I keep sucking as hard as I can until you stop spasming. You stay that way for a moment, your hands twisted into my hair as you bury yourself in my mouth. I run my tongue around it and then you pull out. I'm still Jerking Mariano off and he's ready to cum too. Watching us turned him on and he wants to savor the feeling of being swallowed and drained, too. He's bigger, but I can manage to deep throat him as long as I remind my throat to relax and my mouth to suck hard. It all but eliminates my gag reflex which allows him to cum in my throat instead of just in my mouth, just like I did for you.
You stroke your cock while you watch your little kitten swallow all that cock, swallow all that cum. You see that I'm not even close to done yet. "Let's flip her," Mariano says.
"Okay, Amor? You want giant cock from behind, little kitten?" I nod my head. A hand circles my throat, not too tight, but tight enough. "What, Amor? What do you want? Tienes que decirlo, Amor."
I take in a breath of air as you loosen your grip. "Please, Daddy," I whisper. "Fuck me from behind. Please baby," I say reaching for Mariano with my free hand. "Please fuck me in the ass with your giant cock." He unties my other wrist and you untie my ankles. Before you flip me over, though, you both go down on my wet pussy, licking and sucking my juices from my thighs, tonguing my ass, both of you working your way up my body, sucking my nipples hard. You take almost half my breast in your mouth as your lips work to suck my tender flesh. You each end up on either side of my neck, then you both slide two fingers in my pussy at the same time, working back and forth opposite each other. I'm still blindfolded, and not being able to see just heightens my other senses.
You both work together to roll me over and then push my pussy so I'm up on my hands and knees. I hear the jingling of handcuffs. "Amor," you say. "Mariano bought you a necklace." You rub your hand across the smooth ski slope of my ass, my hip, up to my shoulder, then snap something around my neck. It's not a necklace. It's a collar. "Is it okay, Amor?" I nod my head and then correct myself.
"Yes, Baby," I say. I like my necklace."
"You see?" You ask Mariano. "See how my kitten wants it?"
Mariano runs his hands through my hair and they finally settle on the collar. He tugs on it and pulls me closer to the head of the bed. I follow him willingly. He clicks the handcuff through the link in the collar and attaches the other end to the headboard. They both withdraw and I'm tethered by the collar to the headboard, my skirt riding up above my hips. In my blindfold I'm left to wonder who will be next.
A cock fills my pussy. It's deep. It's bigger than what I'm used to. "Oh, Baby," I say as I inhale sharply.
"Who is it Amor?" You ask.
"It's my Mariano," I say.
"That's my little kitten," you say. "Fuck her. Fuck my little kitten," you say. And he does. Ohh, he so does. It burns around the edges, he's so big and I'm so tight. But I savor it, love it, want it deeper. It takes a little working for him to fit inside me all the way. He's careful, though. He doesn't want to hurt me and spoil the rest of the evening. He's patient and it pays off. Within minutes he's sliding in and out of my little wet pussy and I'm squirting with each thrust.
"Ohh, baby," I manage to choke out before I start screaming my pleasure. Squirting and I'm soaking wet all down my thighs. Mariano stops fucking me for a minute and then he's licking my pussy and savoring all my cum, all my sweet juices. I pull against the collar as I press my hips back further. "Lick me, baby," I gasp.
I feel a sharp slap on my ass. "Nooo, Amor. You guessed wrong. You taste so sweet Amor, but it's time for punishment." That means that this time I get to suck my love, my favorite cock in the whole wide world. This isn't really punishment. But Mariano isn't fucking my pussy anymore, which is a little sad because it was feeling so good. You unclip the collar so you can get in front of me. You take my hair in your hand and this time you ram your cock in my throat, not bothering with going slowly. I choke and cough at the sudden intrusion. You hold on tight to my hair and the next moment I'm getting fucked in the pussy again. I'm sandwiched between the two of you, Mariano fucking me hard, shoving me into your cock as I get into the rhythm of mouth fucking you. This is so beyond just sucking your dick. This is a hard fuck in my throat.
I gag on you, I can't help it. You let me breathe a little bit and then both of you back up until I'm just on all fours in the middle of the bed, wearing my collar, my teddy, my garters strapped across my ass. This is so I'll have to guess again. I like this game, but I can't decide if I like guessing wrong or guessing right. The next sensation is my ass being spread apart, a thick hard cock filling it. It's huge, but I recognize it. "It's you, Daddy," I say and I laugh a little because it feels so good to have you there. I love you sunk deep into my delicious little ass. You pull out right away and then pause for a moment to eat my ass, licking all my sweet juices and making me nice and slippery. You slide back in and oh, Daddy...there's nothing like the feeling of your nice, granite hard cock inside me.
A cock enters my mouth again. This time it's bigger so I know it is Mariano. I want to treat him special and I know you're watching so I suck him hard. I give his cock the very best treatment I can and he's pulling my hair to hold me tight against him, giving me every inch he has. You're fucking me hard and fast in the ass and between the two of you I'm moaning and screaming my muffled screams and cumming and there's no break between one orgasm and the next. It just goes on and on. I start to squirt and I can't stop. I'm overwhelmed by all the pleasures you're giving and I lose all my control. I'm screaming over and over as I collapse onto my elbows with my ass in the air and a bend in my back. Mariano seems a little sad that I let him go, so you invite him for the dessert course that we all know we've been waiting for.
"Baby, please," I'm begging again. "Please fuck my ass baby," I say. You remove the blindfold and look directly into my eyes.
"You sure, Amor? He's very big. I don't want my kitten damaged." I nod my head. You grab my hair and pull my head back sharply. "What, Amor? Say it. Say it again Amor and it will come true."
I'm looking up into your eyes but I say "Mariano, please fuck my ass. Fuck me hard." You smile at me with your approval and the look is so sexy.
"You'll suck my cock, Amor," You say as you slip into my mouth. Mariano slides slowly into my ass little by little, being careful once again. His hands move up to my shoulders and yours move to my hips. I'm simply here for your pleasure now. Each of you fucks me hard down deep in my throat, and feeling the tightness of my ass as it grips. I look up at you with my mouth full of your cock and I see that you like looking at me. Like to watch my eyes water.
You pull out because you want to record Mariano fucking my ass and I want to watch later. You grab your phone and record him sliding in all the way to the base, pulling out, then slamming in again. I'm screaming, crying with pleasure and exhilaration. You're close to cumming, but so is he. He pulls out of my ass and shoves his cock hard into my mouth, cumming as soon as he gets just partway in. You take over fucking my ass while I swallow his cock and his cum. God I can't get enough. I want more, so I squeeze him as he spasms, licking up every last drop.
Then it is time for my love. You flip me onto my back and straddle my face again, jamming your cock in my throat with one hand and squeezing my neck with the other. Dark spots form in front of my eyes and the world begins to grey out. I cum one last time, squirting and screaming around your thick hard cock. The orgasm I feel is even more intense and as soon as it passes, you release my neck. Finally you let go and my mouth is flooded. I work to swallow but there's so much. It trickles from the corner of my mouth and I wipe it into my mouth with my finger, sucking it to be sure I have every bit.
We all lay there, panting, trying to catch our breath. I feel sore, used, and oh so satisfied. Walking is going to be difficult, but I'm so glad. I'm hoping to be spoiled over the next few hours and maybe I'll be ready to go again in the morning. I nod off for a few minutes. The next thing I know, you are picking me up and throwing me over your shoulder. You carry me easily to the bathroom and set me down slowly and carefully in a bathtub full of sweet bubbles and scalding hot water. Nothing could be more perfect right at this minute.
You sit at one end of the bathtub and Mariano sits on the other side. You say something in Spanish and I don't understand. He says something else and you both laugh. It upsets me when I don't understand. "I'm laughing at him for thinking you wouldn't be able to take his cock. He said if he had known, he would have flown to Colorado sooner."
I smile and drift off, contented for now, but my mind is already playing out our next scenario.
|
It’s the small things you miss: colors, tastes, sensations. The lazy, dry heat of the summer that makes you sweat. The cool hardwood beneath your feet as you crawl out of bed in the middle of the day. The way that third stair from the bottom always creaks, reminds your mom to remind your dad to fix it. The soft jingle of silverware and dishes before you reach the kitchen, muted conversations. Then bright bursts of color: Oranges in a blue bowl, red and yellow boxes of cereal on the counter, a vivid green lawn past two glass sliding doors. Your mom and dad smiling wide as you sit down to a late breakfast, teasing you, rustling your hair. Sweet, nutritionless kid’s cereal, a rare indulgence.
Your memory is vivid and bright, Technicolor.
Reality is a muted palette: black, grey, faded orange.
Your memory is vivid, bright, and fading.
You cling to every family dinner, every vacation, every birthday, every reason you had to smile. And when you run out of those, you think about that night. Sometimes you forget what you received for your 10th birthday. Sometimes you confuse it with your 8th. You quiz yourself; end up with conflicting answers each time. But the more you think about that night, the more you remember. You rake it over in your mind, hoping that you’ll discover one inane, forgotten detail that will, miraculously, set you free. Instead, the fire starts to feel like the only real thing that’s ever happened to you. It starts to drain the color from your past, until it’s as dull and colorless as the present.
And yet you continue to think about it, because you are powerless not to.
It’s a warm night. Spring is starting to slowly unfold. Your mom made a cheese gnocchi casserole that your dad likes to call ‘deluxe mac and cheese’. He didn’t joke about it that night, long day at work micro-managing funds. Everybody felt the tension.
He’s happier by the time you go to bed. It’s a stupid bedtime ritual, really. He doesn’t kiss your cheek and tuck you in anymore because you said you were too old for that, started to complain (you regret all of that now). But he still wants to be the last thing you see before you fall asleep, and you’re not too big to say goodnight to your dad. So as you crawl under the covers he smiles big and warm and says “good luck kiddo,” and turns off the light.
Your head hits the pillow with a smile because you know what he means. You’re trying out for track tomorrow. You’ll make the cut, you know how good you are. But that’s not what’s causing all these knots in your stomach. Even thinking about it gets you stupidly excited.
You imagine how it’ll feel, the rush of adrenaline still in your veins as your friends stand around after tryouts. Breathing heavily you’ll catch her eyes and see that she’s smiling. She’s been watching you this whole time. You smile back, try to play it cool, but your heart’s surging faster than when you ran.
That’s when you’re going to strut over and ask if she’ll go with you to that dance next week. You’re sure she’ll say yes, just like you’re sure about tryouts; you’ve only been flirting around each other for the last two weeks. But you’re still nervous because Jessica’s beautiful, and witty, and smart. She smiles at your dumb sense of humor and she makes you feel safe, normal (you don’t realize how important that is at the time). She’s perfect in every other way you can’t even begin to name and god you hope she says yes!
You sigh into your pillow and think it all over again. You have a plan about how to ask her out; just like you have a plan for what colleges you’re going to apply to, what grad school. Your life is a projected arch and you don’t expect too many surprises along the way, except for maybe a kid earlier than you’d planned. But those are the sort of surprises that you adjust to with a warm, tender smile.
Not like losing your entire life in a heartbeat. You don’t fucking adjust to that.
It’s a couple of hours after your dad says goodnight and you’re already in a heavy sleep. Suddenly you can’t breathe. You wake up choking. The first thing you see is smoke rolling under your door. It’s thick and black. You feel it in your lungs. It takes you a few minutes to panic; you’re too tired to get it through your stupid head that there’s a serious fire in the house. You rush towards the door but by then you’re smart enough not to grab the handle. Feel it with the back of your hand instead, and realize that you’re not going out that way, not unless you want to fry (and later you’d wish you had).
That’s when it hits you that something really fucking bad is happening. You shout out for your mom, your dad. You think you hear voices. To this day you’re not sure. Of course you choke again, because you’re sucking in the smoke curling under the door, idiot. Hack up a lung as you rush towards the window. Throw it open and climb out.
There’s an overhang that protects the porch, hangs over the front door and juts out from under your bedroom window. Like any good suburban kid you’ve crawled out of your room late at night. It was easy before, when you wanted to go hang out with friends. But now it’s like descending Everest. You’re shaking as you crawl down the overhang, slip a little, catch yourself, and then slowly dangle over the edge before letting go. Your ass hits the cement, that little paved walkway from the house to the driveway. Would have missed it if you’d remembered to jump down from the side, but you’re not worried about getting caught like last time. Now you’re just trying to remember how to breathe.
You run out into the middle of the road and that’s when you see the fire consuming your house, hear the roar of its hunger. It’s probably in your bedroom now; if you were calm enough to make an educated guess. Then you notice, with a cold chill, there’s no one else out here with you. You start screaming, at first for your mom or your dad and then just for help, from anybody, from your neighbors, from God. But nobody comes.
Your terror is met with silence, as if the whole world has chosen this moment to turn their heads. You’re alone as you watch your house burn. The image sears itself into your retinas.
You run to the front door shouting for your parents again, but the door is locked. You struggle with it. Useless, can feel the heat on the other side. And then there’s an explosion upstairs. The earth shakes under your feet. For a moment you hear absolutely nothing. Then glass shattering and the roaring of flames.
That’s when the neighbors wake up. Your friend Brady and his family are the closest. His father races out of the house. Stops for a split second, in awe of the flames before he spots you and calls your name.
Brady’s dad pulls you away. Your friend and his mother join you minutes later along with the handful of neighbors that have stumbled onto the street in their bathrobes. Somebody says they’ll call the fire department. Brady’s mother asks what about Paula and Drew (mom and dad). Brady’s father squeezes your shoulder. You don’t hear what he says.
Everybody stares at your burning house.
The Lawrence-Douglas County Fire brigade finally arrives, and the police are quick to follow. The fire fighters jump out of their trucks, assess the situation and search for a waterline to hook up their hoses. Business as usual for them. Brady’s dad approaches one of them, motions towards the house, towards you. The fire fighter looks at the house and shakes his head. He looks grim. When Brady’s dad returns to your side, he says nothing.
The police talk to neighbors and Brady’s family. They talk to you and you don’t remember what you said. It’s hours later before they confirm what you already know. Even then they don’t tell you directly. The Captain mutters something to the Deputy Sheriff who mutters something to Brady’s dad. They stand around staring at you sadly. Brady’s dad quietly asks “now what?” and you lose it. Didn’t realize how much hope you’d been clinging to until it had all been ripped away.
Everything else is a blur.
You stay with Brady’s family that night and the next day your aunt and uncle from a few counties over pick you up. Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are the only relatives you have in state, in fact the only relatives you know of. Your family circle has always been small. It never seemed to matter until now.
Aunt Em and Uncle Henry have a small two-bedroom ranch style home in Jackson County. The second bedroom is piled ceiling-high with clutter and small knick knacks your aunt refuses to get rid of. They both insist they’ll work to clear a space for you. In the meantime you sleep on a pull out couch. It smells like their bulldog and their five cats.
Your parents are cremated. Ironic, you think numbly, finishing what the fire started. Two days later there’s a funeral. You attend it in a suit your uncle lends you. It’s two sizes too big. Jessica’s there.
The police ask you to go down to the station. You assume it’s because they’ve determined the source of the fire. Your uncle brings you. The police tell you both that there’s an ongoing investigation into the fire’s origins. They tell you the Lawrence-Douglas County Fire Investigator has determined that it started in your parents’ bedroom but they are still looking into exactly what caused it. Then they add they’re not ruling out arson.
You’re shocked. Could it have been deliberate? You run through the options in your head and don’t like any of them. The police ask you to go over your statement again just to rule you out as a suspect. Your uncle asks if they’re kidding. No. They’re not. So you tell them what you know, which is nothing. Then they ask you some more questions.
How was your relationship with your parents?
Good, you guess.
Did you ever disobey them? Sneak out of the house?
Well sure. Once or twice. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad kid.
Did you ever resent that you were adopted?
….what?
You look at your uncle and ask what they’re talking about. He shakes his head. You ask again, louder this time, and the officer interviewing you suddenly looks embarrassed, mutters an apology. That’s how you find out Paula and Drew Wesson adopted you when you were six months old from the Bridge Home for Children in Kansas City.
You don’t know what to make of that news. You leave the police department stunned, like you’d been sitting in a dark room for fourteen years and someone had finally turned on the lights. It doesn’t change any major facts. Even if they weren’t blood related Paula and Drew still cared for you, treated you like their own. But something shifts at the foundation of you, a tiny crack at first. Years later it develops into a fissure.
Afterwards your uncle drives you to the house. It’s the first time you’ve been there since that night.
The front façade is standing but inside everything is black and ruined. Charred debris, collapsed structures, water soaked ashes, together with the smoke and stench; there’s nothing about this that’s familiar. It’s not your house anymore, it’s a burned out husk.
You begin to sort through the debris. You want to keep everything you find, but nearly everything is ruined by heat or water damage. You find a pair of photo albums in what used to be the living room. The albums are soaked through and the edges of the photos are curled by heat but you decide to keep it. You also find a piece of jewelry that you’d forgotten about. A weird little charm your dad (or whoever he is now) picked up in Tampa. It was the first time you saw anything like it, bull horns sitting atop a bronze head decorated with an ornamental circle. He’d always said it was “real special,” wore it when he wanted good luck and rubbed at it sometimes when he was nervous. You can’t remember when he stopped wearing it, after his mother died or after he lost his job? But you’re happy to have it back. You rub off the soot and bring it with you.
The police investigation drags on for over a month. In the meantime, you survive.
You go back to a different school. Don’t know anybody, and you don’t care. You miss your old friends; don’t have any energy to make new ones. You miss Jessica. Your grades suffer.
Money gets tight. Your aunt and uncle are always fighting about it. You feel like it’s your fault so you mow lawns on the weekend, run papers for nothing but scraps. You make every effort to be invisible, don’t want to be a burden to anyone. You make your couch every day, try to help clean up. When your uncle falls asleep in front of the TV sometimes, on the couch you sleep on, you go to the love seat instead. Even though you haven’t been able to fit on that comfortably since you were eight.
Your life feels like a box that’s collapsing in on itself. You see yourself stuck here in this house; you’re aunt and uncle growing more tired and impatient with you. You see yourself stuck in a cycle of shit jobs trying to make ends meet. You imagine all the things you wanted and all of the things you could have had and you don’t see how you can get there now. You’ve been robbed. You close your eyes and see your house burning.
So you run.
You tell yourself it’s just to clear your head, a change of pace. You hitchhike back to Lawrence and crash at a friend’s place, don’t keep it much of a secret. Brady invites all of your old friends and you almost have fun.
Sunday night the cops show up at your friend’s house. Your aunt and uncle called the police because they’re worried about you, but when the officers find you they don’t take you home, they read you your rights and slap metal across your wrists.
You have no idea what’s going on until they push you back into another interview room and accuse you of murdering your parents. They have evidence, they say, of an accelerant being used to start the fire that originated in your parents’ bedroom. The Fire Investigator pointed to collapsed furniture springs, tripped circuit breakers, and greasy windows as evidence of arson. You don’t even know what that means, you didn’t do anything. They want you tell them what really happened and you don’t know! You say it over and over again but they don’t hear you.
It doesn’t look good for you they say. It just doesn’t look good.
After an hour your uncle finds you in the station and calls for someone’s head. You’re a minor; he should have been there with you. The police don’t respond and your uncle says you’re not saying another word until they have a lawyer.
The state appoints you council. You don’t see them until you enter a plea three days later. Your defense lawyer arrives with your file under his arm and bags under his eyes. He’s overworked and underpaid; you’re the tenth person he’s seen that day. It’s hard to feel sorry for him when you’ve got a pair of cuffs around your wrists.
The state enters their charges against you: one count of aggravated arson and two counts of first degree murder. You state that you’re not guilty. Then they determine bond. The state argues that you’re a flight risk. Your lawyer argues you have no past criminal history. But the charges are severe and the judge refuses bail. You have to remain in custody until your trial is over. The judge’s gavel is a nail in your coffin. You don’t even get to say goodbye to your aunt and uncle.
That’s your first day in Douglas County Youth Services.
The walls are white-washed and sterile but soulless. You’re not human anymore you’re chattel and they herd you into an office where you’re searched. Then they hand you a change of clothes. You exchange your upscale polo for a faded orange t-shirt, your new jeans for sweats. The officers watch you as you change, sneer, think you’re some kind of yuppy who’s had it good all his life and they punish you for it. Push you, jab you and then shove you into the cell you get to call home.
Your bunkmate calls himself Gordon Walker. He’s sixteen and covered in tattoos. He’s in a gang called THE HUNTERS. You find out more about him than you’d like to. You lie about yourself. He finds out the truth anyway, about the fire and your parents and nicknames you “Carrie” like it’s all a big joke.
If you really had psychic powers he’d be the first one you got rid of.
The first night you spend in Douglas County you break in two. You have no parents, no house, and now you don’t even have a shitty pull out couch to sleep on. You feel cast aside and unwanted. The world is a weight, slowly crushing you. Your pillow doesn’t do much to stifle your sobs. When Gordon whispers harshly that you’re a pussy you want to tell him to go fuck himself but can’t manage the words.
If you think your world is done crashing down around you, you find there's still more room to fall.
You learn pretty quickly that you can’t trust anyone. The other inmates are just as fucked up as Gordon, or worse just as fucked up as you. Most of them are here for skipping school or getting caught with some pot. They tend to leave you alone when Gordon tells everyone what you’re here for. It’s like some kind of fucked up respect, or maybe even fear. You don’t mind, you don’t want to talk to them anyway.
The corrections officers are all corrupt. There’s only a few, like Bobby and Ellen, who are strict but sometimes kind. Everyone else is shit.
Tom Milligan looks like the rest of them, slack-jawed and dull-eyed. His dirty dish-water hair is always hanging in his face and he has a bad habit of trying to flip it behind his ear when he talks. You think he’s a little slow, but he’s nice at first. Gordon mocks you, says you have a secret admirer and spits out a list of homophobic slurs you choose not to remember. You keep your head down, figure if you shrink into yourself everything else will disappear too.
You try to call your aunt and uncle every day but the calls are stilted and grow increasingly awkward. They have to pay for your phone calls, and it’s over a dollar a minute. You quickly run out of things to talk about anyway.
At the end of the week your aunt visits, says your uncle is busy and couldn’t make it. You learn about her increasing health problems, money problems. You find out they sold that pull out couch you’d been sleeping on. It’s dumb, but it makes you feel replaced.
You get a package from your aunt the second week. She sends you those things you collected in the fire, some photos, and the amulet. She sends some religious card that tells you to keep faith. Your uncle doesn’t sign it.
The third week you get a package from Jessica. At first you’re ecstatic, and then you feel humiliated. You can’t imagine what she thinks of you now. She heard about the fire, and that you got arrested. She feels horrible about it all so she mailed you a book and on the back cover she wrote in pink gel pen “love Jessica” (your heart flutters a little at this, stupid thing). You cherish that book, read it front to back like it’s a love poem. It’s the first Lord of the Rings.
She sends you a second book shortly after. You start to measure your time in here by each book sent to you.
You purchase a red notebook from commissary and start to write about your days. The entries are usually short.
Your court appointed lawyer gets disbarred for mismanagement of client funds. It takes them awhile to assign you a new one. Your day in court gets pushed back indefinitely.
Your uncle divorces your aunt and moves away, you don’t know where.
Months go by, a year. You’re still attending school here and you’re doing well enough. The classes feel painfully easy but it’s at least one thing you have control over. You spend your first birthday in juvenile hall. Your aunt sends you a birthday card. Jessica sends another book. You’re convinced you’re madly in love with her even though you’ve only written her back twice. You’re too embarrassed to call her, you know it costs money. You’re painfully aware of money now.
Tom tries to rape you.
It takes you awhile to realize that’s the word for it. Imagined it as something that happens to other people, not to you. But that’s exactly what it was when he found you alone in a hallway and bullied you into a storage closet. He touches you. You’re not sure what’s going on. You fight him off but he knows how to hurt you, gets you on your knees and starts to unzip himself. Your brain just sort of turns off, like the power going out in a house. You don’t realize what he wants until he shoves it at you and tells you to be a good boy. Then you panic, blind and pure, an animal fighting for its life. You scream for help but no one comes. Like the night your house burned down, you watch something else being taken away from you.
Tom punches you when you shout, cruel and merciless. The blows stun and you shut up long enough for him to force himself on you. The memory of his smell and his taste still make you wretch. You want this to be over with, wish you were numb. But there’s a hate that’s been building inside of you for a while, a white hot anger. You’re tired of being out of control. So you think fuck him, and you bite down, hard.
He bashes your head against the wall but you find a certain satisfaction in his screech.
There are no other officers around until Tom’s the one shrieking. Suddenly a swarm of uniforms pull you out of that closet, kicking you into submission. You have his blood on your face and you’re proud.
They pretend to listen to your story but it feels like talking to the cops about the fire. They’ve already reached their conclusion. They segregate you in solitary for an undetermined amount of time as punishment. At first the silence is a comfort. It quickly becomes suffocating.
A month later your aunt passes away peacefully in her sleep. Nobody can get a hold of your uncle.
Tom finds a way to slip notes under your door: death threats, rape threats. You don’t bother reporting them.
You never write to Jessica again. You feel too disgusting and broken and she's better than that. She sends you a final letter. She’s confused at your silence and she’s moving, her mom never approved of keeping in contact with you anyway. She tries to say she has feelings for you but you scratch that part of the letter out with a pencil. You convince yourself you’re doing the right thing by letting her go. You accept that part of your life is gone.
You stop eating.
They send a psychologist to talk to you. You wonder if you scream this time, if he’ll listen, but he makes it pretty clear that the state requires him to be there. You read between the lines: he doesn’t really care. You lie. You’re fine, you just don’t like the food. He nods his head and checks a few boxes. He’s done his duty, you’re clear. He leaves.
You still don’t eat and now they accuse you of wasting time and resources. The Superintendent extends your stay in solitary.
Eventually you do eat, because you have to, even you have your limits. A week later they kick you out of solitary. You’re out for 16 hours before two kids that Tom bribed slam lunch trays upside your head. You don’t fight back because there’s nothing left in you. You’re like the skeleton of your house now, a standing structure, burnt and ruined on the inside.
And then he comes.
You don’t notice him at first; there are a few new faces since you rejoined general population. But during the fight he descends like a dark angel, over a table, and over your head. He throws one kid aside. Starts punching the other like he actually gives a fuck someone hurt you. He asks if you’re okay. You can’t remember the last time anybody asked you that.
But he touches you and something inside you screams. You spit in his face. You don’t trust pigs.
Tom hauls you off and they slap you back in solitary. You’re not surprised. You’re not even surprised to see him again. They usually assign solitary to newbies, it’s such a shit job.
But you are surprised when he tries to talk to you. It pisses you off. He has some sanctimonious attitude about the way things should be run, the way you should be acting. You write him off as a bully, just like Tom. You bluster. Say something you think sounds tough. You spit in his direction again, just so he gets the idea to stay away, and you block the hatch with your shirt.
His name is Dean.
The next day Tom’s ugly face appears in the window of your cell door and your blood freezes. He walks in. You know exactly what’s going to happen. You cry out again. You don’t know why you bother. God is deaf to you.
Tom sneers and grabs at you, pulls your hair and pushes you against the wall. You think that’s it, you really are a piece of trash now, just someone’s handkerchief they’re gonna jerk off into. But then he comes. Dean.
He’s like a bulldog, the way he charges in and throws Tom off you, the way he lays into Tom with his fists. You watch, fascinated by the ferocity, intoxicated by it. For a second he realizes you’re watching, and in some bizarre display of modesty, removes Tom from your cell. But that’s when the tables turn. Dean gets his ass kicked and you hate Tom even more. Somehow it’s easier to justify your anger when he’s hurt someone else, instead of you.
You figure he’ll go limp off to lick his wounds but he comes back for you and asks you again if you’re okay. You’re conditioned to lie. You want to say something real and honest, like thank you, but you spit at him again and then you break in two. You want him to leave because you don’t want anyone to see you like this, you’re so full of shame. But he doesn’t go. He stays. He doesn’t pat you on the back and try to patronize you, he just listens.
It’s the first time you get a good look at him. He’s young, maybe about Tom’s age but different in every way. Strong. Confident. His face is a little cut up but even through the blood you can’t deny that he’s handsome. You feel strange for recognizing that, guilty. It makes you hyper aware of yourself and the space between you. You’re not sure why he’s still here, wary of him. But Dean’s barely paying attention to you. He’s far away, thinking of something. You don’t know what but you know he wants nothing from you.
When he apologizes to you, you want to burst. You haven’t felt this human for years. You try to tell him that and it just sounds stupid, religious, and a tiny bit crazy. Worse, it spooks him. You try to make it better, eat something just so he thinks you’re okay, throw it up later because you're stomach's still in knots.
Dean probably thinks you’re skittish, that you need to be treated with kid gloves. The truth is you can’t run anywhere, but he can, and that scares you. He made you smile on one of your worst days, and you’re so fucking desperate for that again it hurts. He wants nothing from you, and you just want him to be there.
He comes back the next day, and the next. You start to relax, feel more comfortable in your own skin. Dean likes to tell jokes. They’re not always clean. It’s funny that he feels that comfortable with you, but Dean looks like he’s done every dirty thing twice. You share a joke Brady once told you. It’s just as dirty as any of Dean’s jokes and it gives you a thrill.
You jerk off. You're surprised your body even remembers how to function like this. Maybe you're not as broken as you think.
When they take your books you’re sure it’s the thing that will break you. You scream like you’ve gone mental, but you don’t care. You barely register Dean holding you back. For a brief second you hate him, like you hate everything else.
You still have your aunt’s package, but that’s all your life is now and you weep bitterly. You’re so tired of crying.
When you see Dean again he’s covered in blood, either a demon or an avenging angel from early scripture. It’s frightening to realize he did this for you. But it feels right, all that blood. You would have done the same thing to Tom. Dean knows that, presents himself like a gift. You accept.
He probably wasn’t expecting a kiss but that’s why you want to give it to him. Your body is the only thing you have left to give, in part because of him. When Dean kisses back you know nothing’s ever going to be the same for you again.
They take him away and it feels like the end of you. You have nothing. Not even tears.
A week goes by. You try to ask Ellen where he’s at, what happened to Dean. She can barely stand to look at you.
After the second week they finally let you out.
You’re led to a cell in general population holding your aunt’s package close to your chest. You’re put in a cell without another bunkmate, which is odd. On top of your mattress you find a bin and it’s filled with everything they took from you: your books, your notebook. You’re so surprised you laugh.
You spend some time sorting through the books and in the stack you find a dirty magazine. You're confused. Partly because you're pretty sure this is considered contraband. And also because you'd never pick up something like this, even if you weren't in juvie. You turn it over and written in black sharpie on the back is a message:Relax kid, DEAN W.
You scoff (jerk) but then your stomach flips. You glance down at the magazine (seriously, what the fuck) and then back to the bin with your things.
What does this mean? You’re afraid to hope. |
Duels part 2
After one heated battle comes another. Yet, on this fateful night, mayhaps a break is essential, no?
Night envelops the neighborhood as birds and small animals retreat into their homes for the night. The battlefield littered with droplets of blood and loose, cut grass lay silent, the earth ever so slowly healing. It's gotten so peaceful since the earlier hours.
At least, outside.
"Hngg, fuck-!" A deep groan echoes through Shoto's apartment. If you were brave and skilled enough to enter undetected, you would find yourself with the sight of the local demon slayer casually, no, hungrily devouring a demon's cock in the living room.
Vox Akuma's cock, to be precise. After their intense romp in Shoto's bedroom, the pair went to the kitchen for a little snack and water break, and unsurprisingly got into a heated argument about peanut butter and jelly. They played rock, paper, scissors to settle the debate, and when Shoto won, he banked on Vox's promise to bottom tonight.
"I didn't say we weren't doing it my love, just..give me time" Vox says, backing up slowly as desire starts to glint in Shoto's purple eyes as the human moves towards him.
"I can't wait anymore, darling"
And that's how and why Vox is currently on the sofa, writhing in pleasure as Shoto sucks him slow, mimicking his fingers' slow movements as they carefully, gently prepare the demon's ass.
"Oh...haaaa" Vox tried to stifle a groan as he looks down to see his little demon slayer look up at him, mouth full of cock and saliva. It was distracting enough to make him forget the fingers making their way into him for a bit, until Shoto gingerly nudges his prostate. Vox doesn't bottom often, heck, he almost has never done except for the one time he got fucked by a tentacle plant thing, but that's another story. Little noises and groans come out of the demon, not because he's afraid of bottoming, he just simply doesn't want to indulge Shoto as the human clearly wants to hear him beg.
Prideful bastard, Shoto thinks. The demon slayer is essentially just cock warming him with his mouth right now, the only movement in the room comes from his fingers picking up the pace as he works his demon open, Vox now openly panting as heat starts to form in his stomach.
Shoto releases the dick with a pop, giving Vox a smirk that has the demon turning redder. "Look at you, Voxxy. Writhing, shaking, just from my fingers." He licks a stripe from the base to the tip of his cock, kissing the head before he continues. "Never thought the day would come earlier huh? Being under my touch like this, feel what I feel babe."
"I see..hah..you learned some things, h-huh" the demon controls his breathing, the pleasure surging as the fingerfucking gets rougher, feeling himself opening up. He has the urge to just moan his heart out but his pride refuses to indulge Shoto.
"Well, I learned from the best, sweetheart." As he said that, a particularly fierce thrust to the prostate has Vox shooting his eyes open, and he doesn't remember closing them. Shoto's just enjoying the sight, his demon, his enemy, his Vox Akuma simply laying there taking his fingers and making noises like the bitch he could be. His tousled hair, sweat making it stick to his face and neck, face reddened and eyes cloudy with lust, Shoto imprints the image in his head.
"I think you're ready, love. Now, how do you want me?" Shoto doesn't know where his confidence comes from, but right now he's riding the momentum as hard as he does on Vox's dick. They were both naked from earlier and mever bothered to dress. He runs a hand through his hair, as he stands up with one hand on his hip, muscles flexing and a thin sheen of sweat adding to the lusty atmosphere.
Disliking the loss of contact, Vox slowly strokes his own cock, opening legs and spreading one cheek with his other hand, staring at Shoto who was lubing his own cock.
"Think you can make me cum, darling?" He challenges. The demon slayer's eyes darken, he positions Vox so he's laying on his back properly, making sure he doesn't strain his neck. The reality hits Shoto all of a sudden, dick getting harder. He leans down to kiss Vox, his tongue licking his lips before devouring his mouth, to which the demon responds with equal hunger.
"I'm going in" Shoto whispers. He slowly sinks into Vox, the warm space deliciously engulfing his cock. "For someone cold blooded, you sure are so fucking warm and tight" he breathes, finally sheathing his full length. Now, Shoto wasn't as big and girthy as the demon, but for a human he was pretty impressive.
Vox delights in the feeling, forgetting how much getting penetrated felt so good, and couldn't help but think about what Shoto must feel whenever he fucks his brains out.
"Are you gonna move, or are you just gonna stay there?" He challenges him again, and in no time Shoto starts moving. From a slow and steady pace, the more Vox taunts, the more the slayer moves his hips harder. It didn't take long for him to find the prostate again, and once he angled his dick just right, Vox let out a loud "FUCK!" as he felt his toes curl.
Here he was, the proud Lord Akuma, spread on a couch and fucked silly by a human demon slayer. Shoto moans at the tightness, delirious with the pleasure, drool dripping.
"Oh..oh Vox you feel so fucking good" he says in between thrusts, the demon indulging in how he tries to hold himself together. The pace gets rougher, deeper, and Vox gave up on holding his moans.
Fuck it. Fuck him. Fuck Shoto. Fuck Shoto fucking him. FUUUUUCCKKK
They find an intense rhythm, Shoto giving all he got and Vox recieving with much gusto, his noises fueling Shoto's desire. The demon feeds on the intense lust and started to pump his own cock before it gets swatted away by Shoto.
With a thirsty smirk and sweat dripping down his forhead, the human musters a sentence. "It's either we come together or you don't cum at all". That surprised Vox, delighted at how confident he has become, but also slightly irked as he has to tame his brat one more time. Shoto kept his hand on the base of Vox's cock, the demon obviously wanting to come.
"Shoto, baby, I hope you got enough cum for me"
"I've got plenty, Milord." They continue at their animalistic pace for a few seconds until
"Fuck I'm cumming!" Shoto exclaims. Vox was tipping at the edge too, focusing on his pleasure and moaning unrestrained.
"Vox, Vox..VOX!!" a scream rips out of Shoto as a particular tight squeeze sends him off the edge, letting go of the other's cock. As human cum fills the demon's insides, Shoto makes quick work and pumps the huge dick as his lord came.
"Fuck, Shoto, FUCK!" Vox reaches orgasm, his cum shooting unto Shoto's chest and a bit on the slayer's face. They both pant, Shoto pulling out of him and soon cum starts dripping from the demon's hole. He licks the cum on his face, smiling. He's out of energy but he's satisfied. He gets a towel to wipe up Vox before he straddles him, cuddling into the demon as if he didn't fuck him harder than he did when he made that comeback from the Pilk thing.
"Thank you, babe" Shoto's tired voice came, Vox's presence calming him. He's met with a kiss, one that's slow and full of love. "You still won't be the gigatop-chad you want to be Shoto" his hands run along his body and pinches his plump ass cheeks, "not with this body at least." He gets a bite on his shoulder for that. He just chuckles, despite it drawing blood.
"We both know it dear, as much as you like to fuck me, this slutty body, this tight hole, will always crave for me" he whispers into his ear, Shoto shivering as he starts to get hard again.
"We should wash up Vox" Shoto stands, with Vox hugging him from behind. Before the demon could answer, his lips met with a chaste kiss and the words "after you fuck me in the shower of course".
And again, the two go at it, finally sleeping at the ass crack of dawn. They tightly snuggle up to each other, both asses cleaned and energies well spent.
Another day, another failed slay and they finally fucked their tension away. |
*
Him: Okay, I had to get a grip on reality because this was all so unreal. I was honestly attracted to someone who didn't or at least pretended not to be attracted to me, but the lust behind those eyes, the desire behind them spoke to me. I went to my friend Craig, who hadn't been to a meeting in awhile, for advice. He was always joking and goofing off, but he had a reason for it. Being a cancer survivor who was right at the edge of death, he had a reason to be jovial. He was my best friend and informant, but when I went to him for advice and I needed him to be serious, he was. When I walked in his office, he stood up and greeted me with a crazy smile and a joke. Then he saw that I was in need of some advice.
"So tell me what's going on." He said sitting back in his chair.
"Well, I'm in a dilemma." I said and he nodded for me to go ahead. "Well you know that I've been constantly ranting about Keaton and there's this girl at the place, she helps cook with her aunt or grandma and ...Craig she's so beautiful, she pulling me in and I'm falling for her. Brendan figured it out and he was saying it was wrong because I'm with Keaton, be he doesn't understand, I'm trying to tolerate her, but she' so...Craig you see what I put up with. Today she told me her name and Craig she's so...I see the look in her eyes-" I said talking over myself not really making much sense, and pacing back and forward in front of his desk. When I looked at him, he was just sitting there with his mouth open. "Well, say something."
"I will, just start over and slow down."
"Okay look, I've got feelings for this girl who cooks for us at the meetings,"
"Trystynne?"
"Yea, how do you know her name?"
"You know I joke around with everyone, I just wanted to make her laugh and then I talked to her, she's a really smart girl."
"Tell me what all you know about her." I said with a hint of jealousy in my voice. He took a deep breath and looked at me.
"Before I do, don't you dare treat her any differently, she doesn't deserve it." He said with all seriousness in his face. "I won't." I said matching his seriousness.
"She's a 21 year old college student majoring in psychology. She lives with her aunt, the lady who also cooks for us, because she's having a hard time finding a job."
"Does she have any children or anything?"
"I didn't dive into her personal life, but I do know she has no children."
"Why would I treat her differently then?"
"But you'd treat her differently if she was a single mom?"
"Craig, that should be understandable."
"What if you two start dating? You can't accept only part of her. What about Keaton?"
"That's why I came, I need advice."
"Look, I can only give you advice. I think you should get to know her, and try to be friends first, but be warned, have your shit in order so no one gets hurt. Make sure you stay clear of drama."
"I hear you I'll talk to you later." I made my way out of his office and made a decision on what I would do.
******** Her:When I got home that evening, I told my aunt I had a lot on my mind and I went for a walk. I had to think things through. I was starting to get attracted to him. When he looked at me and smiled my stomach flipped. I was like a high school girl with a crush on a jock. I had to get real, he wouldn't go for me. I kept thinking about the possibility of him having a girlfriend and how he would only be after sex if he did talk to me. Then I thought...
'What's so wrong about that? I've gotta lose it anyway huh? Why not get it over with. Then again, what if I get attached? What if I get pregnant? What if I lose my chance to find love? '
I was so confused. A lot of my friends would tell me to take risks and live, but I didn't want to be stupid. What would I do? I needed advice, so I decided to call my friend Havanna. She had so much experience in relationships and if she didn't her rich bitch friends did. When ever they had brunches or tea times, she would invite me. She would fix my hair and help me pick out a nice dress to help me fit in. They would sit around and sip on Chardonnay and talk about their boyfriends, their flings, engagements, or the latest gossip floating around the golf club. Havanna was a high middle class girl who could portray the rich life very well. She never shunned me because I was having problems, and I never really told her about my problems until she over heard a conversation I was having with a debt collector before I lost my apartment. I called her.
"Hey beautiful sista!" She said. "Hey miss cutie." I said smiling.
"What's up? I haven't heard from you in two days, I know you're not trying to break up with me." She joked.
"No crazy girl, I've been very confused lately and in need of some good advice."
"Okay, I'm all ears."
"Well, there's this guy and he is...he stares at me a lot. Today he pushed a plate over to get my attention and when I looked at him, he had this cute, mischievous grin on his face. He offered to help but I told him no. The he walked back where I was and stood there. I didn't know he was there until I turned around. Then he asked how I was and my name and I told him and that was that."
"Is he cute?"
"Yes, very."
"Well I think he likes you, but right now he's in the process of testing you, but he's totally into you. Go for it, take the risk, live."
"Yeah, yeah."
"I'm serious, my friend girl, well this girl I know, Keaton was telling me about her boyfriend and how he's been avoiding her and how he hardly talks to her. She's been wondering if she should leave him or keep him. I told her that she only gets one life and she better make the right decision or she'll regret it and that she may need to look at herself and see if its something she's doing to push him away. Trys, do me a favor."
"What is it?"
"Take a chance please. You never know what happiness awaits you"
"Okay Han."
"Love you much."
"Love you too." With that I made my decision.
*******
Him:That night, when I got home, I was greeted by Keaton who had on red lingerie and there were candles lit. I was shocked, not to mention she had never done that before.
"Um, Keat. What's all of this?"
"I wanted to have a romantic evening. Sit down and relax honey."
"OOOkay." I sat down and she sat down beside me and started massaging my shoulders.
"Baby, I've been thinking and talking with my friend Havanna, and I want to get married."
"What?"
"Yes, its time we settle down and have children. I want us to be together forever."
"Keat-"
"Now, I know you're shocked to hear this come from me, but I want this, I want to be your wife."
"Keaton listen-"
"Come on baby, let's eat a little." She led me to the table and we sat down to eat.
"You cooked?" I said shocked. She hesitated then finally answered.
"Yes." I cut into the steak and took a bite and immediately dropped my fork and knife. That slut lied to me. I know an applebee's steak when I taste one.
"Do you like it?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Nathan, I know you need time to think, but I want this. You told me you would do all you could to make me happy and this will make me happy beyond measure."
"Keaton you need to lis-" She crushed her lips onto mine and straddled my lap. Her hand traveled my chest to my crotch and she rubbed. The friction she was creating caused me to get harder. She undid my pants and fished out my growing member. As she lowered she was staring at me intensely. I squinted against the dim light and I saw HER face. I saw her licking her lips in excitement then rubbing her tongue over the head of my now fully erect cock. I saw HER full, luscious swallow me whole. I felt HER throat relax trying to take in as much of my 9" cock as she could. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of the mouth on me while imagined HER. I imagined HER greeting me in a beautiful lingerie set and heels making her reach me a little better. I saw HER kiss me and ask how my day was, SHE would lead me over to a real home cooked dinner. I imagined HER showing those big beautiful chocolate breasts, I could literally taste them. Keaton lifted up and kissed me. I could taste myself on her lips, I stood up and still imagined she was Trystynne and I took things mid pace. I removed HER panties with my teeth letting my tongue lightly slide over her clit making her hiss with pleasure. I pulled one leg over my shoulder and teased HER juicy wet cunt. I liked around HER clit never giving HER the pleasure of touching the sensitive button and making HER beg for what SHE wanted. I wanted HER to beg for release, but I had that it was Keaton not Trystynne. I climbed up and pushed my stone hard cock into Keaton and plowed into her without mercy. I only saw Trystynne, HER calling out to me, touching me, me pleasing HER. Before I blew my load I pulled out and shot my jizz on Keaton's chest. She laid there rubbing my spunk all over her.
"That was good babe, I want this forever!" she smiled. I got up and went to take a shower. I kept thinking over and over about Keaton wanting to get married. She wanted to be happy, and she wanted this forever, but not once did she say she wanted to get married because she loved. Love never escaped her lips. It had to end.
******** Her:I jumped up out of my sleep from a dream I had. I could feel him, kissing me, touching me. I could see myself sucking on him. I had to either get over this or talk to him, but I was scared. What if he was engaged? I got up and walked to the bathroom, I felt wet and sticky from that dream so I jumped in the shower. I washed up and figured I'd go shopping. I got out, got dressed and went to one of the malls in our town and I a bunch of cute outfits, then I saw a very sexy lingerie set and decided to buy it for the heck of it. I then when to one of the stores and went to the electronic area. I was standing in front a 55" flat screen daydreaming when I heard a soft deep voice speak.
"Mesmerizing isn't it?"
"Very," I said looking at the man then looking back at the screen. I quickly looked back and it was Nathan. He looked at me with a black face. I backed away from him and looked back at the television to avoid looking him in the eye. "Sorry, I didn't notice it was you."
"I see, what brings you to Wally World?"
"I came to get out of the house."
"Nothing wrong with that, usually when I want to get out of the house, I go for a walk. Would you like to join me?"
"Don't you have to be at work?" I said still looking at the television. He reached over and touched my cheek then he gently placed his hand under my chin and turned my head to look at him. I looked in his piercing eyes.
"Now that's better. Does it kill you to look at me?"
"I don't know, I haven't stared long enough."
"It's better than you avoiding me. I'd rather you stare until you can see through my clothes than you looking elsewhere." He said seriously. I looked at him for a minute and couldn't help but laugh.
"You've been around Craig too much." I said. He started laughing with me and people started staring at us. "Ahem. I think we're a little too loud."
"Ah, go to hell." He said. He grabbed my hand and we walked off ending up in one of the deserted areas of the store. When it got quiet, I felt the urge to kiss him, so I turned around and started tinkering with some of the items on the shelf. "So, Trystynne, what do you do when you're not being bored to tears in those meeting?"
"Well," I said and turned to face him. He was leaning back with his arms folded looking down at me. He looked so good. I had never really paid much attention to how muscular he was. "I try to find jobs and take "etiquette lessons". I said referring to the brunches. I told him about my struggle to find a job to see if he would act differently.
"Are you in college?"
I nodded.
"Well I understand how that is, but I used to fish and hunt when I had spare time." He said with a big grin.
"Who do you think I am Martha Stewart? I don't fish, camp, hike, none of that."
"You should."
"Why? I hate heights, I loathe spiders, I love my life and I'd prefer to die peacefully in my sleep of old age, not mauled by a bear or mountain lion." I said. He laughed and grabbed me playfully by the shoulders.
"I'm gonna have to toughen you up."
"Don't you have to go to work?"
"Why? Looking at me starting to kill you?"
"No haha. I just wouldn't want stain your punctuality."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Look at you, you are so neat and trimmed all the time...well except when your stuffing your face, but I've never seen you with a hair out of place."
"Hmmm."
"Then again, I do only see you at the meetings."
"So you do watch me as much as I watch you." He said with a smile at the corner of his mouth. "What?" I said defensively.
"You've been watching me like I've been watching you. If you didn't, you wouldn't know how neat I am."
"Whatever," I said getting pissed off at myself because I was caught.
"I know you can feel me when I look at you." He said walking behind me and whispering in my ear. He grabbed me under my chest and I couldn't help but shiver at his touch. I had only dreamed of him touching me but to feel the real thing was like an electric current surging through me. "I've been waiting to hold you close to me and I know you've been waiting too I can feel you shaking."
I felt a tingling sensation between my legs, and my breathing became shallow.
"Oh, I've got to be dreaming." I said feeling my face. I had started sweating a little.
"I'm tired of dreaming, I'm ready for reality." He said kissing my neck. My knees buckled and I tried to move away from him but he held me there, close to him, feeling him, wanting him. "I dreamed of you last night, you've been clouding my mind since your eyes first met mine."
"Nathan," I said in a whisper that sounded like a plea.
"What do you want? Tell me, I'll do it." He said kissing little trails down from my ear to my neck.
"I can't, I just..." I tried to speak but nothing was making sense in my head. All I that clouded my mind was asking him to relieve the tension between my legs. I need the release and I wanted him to release me.
"You will." He said kissing my neck one last time "See you Wednesday." He let me go and walked away. When he left there was a noticeable absence and I felt empty. I tried to breath normally but I felt like I was going to faint, so I quickly left the store and went home.
******** Him:I left the store with my hands in front of me hoping no one would look hard enough to tell why. When I got in my truck, I had to catch my breath. Her body was so soft and smooth. I was 20 minutes late for work so I called off. I smiled when I told them I wouldn't be going in that day, I thought about her saying 'ruin your punctuality'. She had been watching me, and with all of my thoughts confirmed I had feel her. When I touched her she shivered and so did I. I thought over our little talk. She had a great sense of humor and sexy smile. When she first laughed it sent a wave through my body. I had been waiting for her to at least smile at me and when she did I wanted to grab her and kiss her. I wasn't going to let keep avoiding me, so I made her look at me. She's a beautiful woman and there was no way she was going to avoid eye to eye contact with me. I drove home, when I got there the house was empty so I got comfortable and lounged around for awhile. I thought about how I was going to take things Trystynne, I didn't want to move too fast, but I didn't want to move too slow. I wanted to get up and drive around town until I found her, but I felt that would be too much at one time. My phone rang and I answered.
"Hey what's up mane?" Craig said trying to sound like Boomhauer off of King of the Hill.
"Craig you asshole." I said laughing
"What's the news on you and Trystynne?"
"I talked to her, we had a real conversation."
"Whoa-ho, way to go bro." He said sounding like a surfer. "Come by the office and tell me all about it."
"I'll be there in a minute." When I got to his office, I told him about everything except that I almost took her in the store.
"Well you know, this might be your step up, if you're going to be with someone why not have someone who's going to be there for you."
"True."
"And one of the best parts is that she can cook that good food we get at the meetings and more."
That had me thinking even further than just being curious in the bed. She was beautiful, with a good sense of humor, and she was smart. I wanted to know her more than the simple things; I wanted to know her favorite color, foods, and seasons of the year. I could see her walking around the house playing with two little ones. I was moving so fast and feeling so much, but how could I change that without taking a chance first? Wednesday I walked in and saw her walking to the supply closet. I couldn't resist temptation, I had to talk to her, feel her. I walked in the supply closet and stood there watching her scramble to find something. She turned around dusting herself off not paying attention.
"Well I don't see any-Ahh!!." she screamed and I covered her mouth.
"Shh, you don't want anyone to bust in on our private meeting."
"Ok, you can't just creep up like that; you scared the hell out of me."
"Oh such a dirty word for a pretty mouth." I said cupping her chin in my hand. She smiled and looked up at me with those hypnotizing eyes of hers.
"I do have to work today."
"You're looking for something, who knows how long that could take." I said locking the door.
"Not long. Unlike you this is my only source of income of income and you pay to get this food, so if you want to eat you better bet out of my way." She said never losing her smile and playfully pushing me against the door.
I cupped her face in my hand and looked deep in her eyes searching for the desire. She looked down and away, but I lifted her face and brushed my lips against hers then I gently kissed her slow and carefully. She accepted and moved for another and I met her lips and I kissed her with more passion and intensity than before. She put her hands on my chest and looked down trying to catch her breath. I couldn't stop, I wanted more, so I lifter her face and kissed her more.
"I have to get back to work." She kissed me one last time and I let her go out the door. Her lips were soft and delicious. I could still feel her on my own lips. I wanted to kisses her longer, and in more places, not in a supply closet, but somewhere special. I had feelings I could not and would not repress. Just as I sat down Keaton crossed my mind. I looked over at Trystynne and she was listening to her music and playing on her phone. I wanted her to be mine but I had to get rid of that road block before I messed up something good.
|
To jog through the front door of the apartment complex and crash into someone was a silly thing to do. To do it again, in the space of two weeks, was just ridiculous. Thankfully, Courfeyrac managed to catch himself this time, by grabbing hold of the door frame and almost pulling a muscle in the process.
“Whoa!” he exhaled, heart hammering, eyes screwed shut for an impact that never came.
“You must be Courfeyrac,” a cheerful voice laughed at him.
Cautiously he inched an eye open, very much pulling his ‘why aren’t I dead?’ face – it would surprise you to know how often it graced his features.
“Jean Prouvaire,” the cheerful voice continued, extending a hand. “But call me Jehan.”
Courf shook the offered hand and grinned. Now that he had his eyes open he could see that Jehan was a petite young man with a potted plant tucked into the crook of his elbow. It was an exuberantly leafy plant, tendrils of green falling over his arm and trailing towards the floor. By all accounts it was an odd thing to be holding, but in the arms of Jean Prouvaire it looked entirely natural.
“You don’t live here,” Courfeyrac told him, double checking. He’d made sure to introduce himself to everyone in the building – and provide them with a batch of homemade cookies. They’d been misshapen and lumpy and most of the residents had looked at him like he was mad, but he persisted. It was important to get to know your neighbours (it had nothing to do with the fact that now he wasn’t dating he had an awful lot of free time on his hands).
“Oh! No. I’m a friend of Combeferre’s,”
“Ah,” Courf rocked on his heels and finally closed the front door behind him. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Jehan grinned. He shifted the plant in his arm slightly, before continuing with equal glee, “I’ve heard lots about you.”
Courfeyrac’s heart somersaulted. “What?”
“Good things, I promise. Well, apart from being tackled to the floor,”
Courfeyrac was still trying to process the fact that Combeferre had told his friends about him.
“But apparently it’s a common problem. I’ll let him know.” Jehan continued, still smiling.
“Oh yeah, wouldn’t want him to feel singled out. I tackle all of my neighbours,” Courfeyrac eventually managed.
“I bet you do.”
Wait, what was that supposed to mean?
Courfeyrac scurried across the hallway to catch up with Jehan who was disappearing round the curve of the stair case.
“Um, I don’t actually think Combeferre’s in at the moment,” he informed Jehan, catching up with him on the first floor landing. Hoping the next sentence wouldn’t make him sound too much like a stalker, “He doesn’t tend to finish until seven on Tuesday’s.”
It was a problem that he was learning Combeferre’s schedule, and starting to plan his trips down the post box or laundry room based on when Combeferre would be leaving for or returning from work.
“I know,” Jehan just smiled. “I have a key.”
They reached the second floor and Jehan once again shifted the plant pot so he could reach into his jacket pocket for a key. He hadn’t bid Courfeyrac farewell, and really, was Courfeyrac supposed to just pass up this opportunity to see inside Combeferre’s apartment?
He crossed the threshold after Jehan, pushing the door gently closed behind him and swept his gaze around the open plan living room/dining/kitchen. It was a mirror of Courfeyrac’s flat across the hall, with the same sweeping floor to ceiling windows, the same alcove tucked to the side of the living room, leading the way to where Courfeyrac presumed the bedroom would be. But for all the similarities of floor plan, it couldn’t have been more different. Combeferre hadn’t been lying when he said he had an abundance of old, abstract books. Every available patch of wall was hidden behind bookcases which groaned under the weight of what must be countless thousands of books and interesting little artefacts. A framed display of moths was propped up on the sideboard, balanced on yet another stack of vintage tomes. A small wooden globe rested on layered sheets of parchment, like a paperweight, alongside what looked like a hundred year old microscope.
Jehan crossed the room towards the window, to the little trestle table which stood before it. He swept the books from the table top and replaced them with the potted plant, finding the books a home on the nearest shelf and arranging the draping leaves in a state of artful chaos.
“No house should go without at least one plant,” Jehan said by way of explanation, making one final adjustment to the lay of a leaf before stepping back to admire his work.
“Though I do wish he’d stop killing them off. I promised I’d find him something more durable – this seemed fitting. What do you think?”
“Hmm?” Courfeyrac was still lost in the myriad of interesting objects in the room. The longer he looked, the more there was to find. It was like being in the room of requirement, he half expected to see the bust of a troll wearing a tiara.
Jehan just shook his head and smiled. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked instead. “Combeferre has the most exquisite collection of tea.”
“Go on then,” he flashed Jehan a smile. If Jehan didn’t think it rude to help themselves to Combeferre’s stash of tea, then Courfeyrac wasn’t going to object.
=
“…and ever since then he’s been afraid of wearing matching socks! – oh hello Combeferre,” Jehan snickered into his cup of tea.
“Hello, people who don’t live here,” Combeferre said with a smile, pushing the door closed behind him and dropping his keys into a small clay pot by the door.
“Hello,” Courfeyrac beamed, lifting his mug to hide as much of his face – and grin – as possible.
Combeferre surveyed the pair of them, sitting on his couch; feet kicked up on the coffee table, Courfeyrac obviously still in his jogging gear, but seemed undeterred by it. “I’m going to take a quick shower,” he passed behind the couch, pausing to give Jehan a squeeze on the shoulder, “just don’t tell him the story about the ducks,”
“Ducks? What story, what ducks?”
But Jehan was gone, lost in a fit of giggles which prevented him to chocking out more than the odd word – which Courfeyrac, no matter how he strained his ears, couldn’t make sense of.
=
He ended up staying for dinner – it turned out Jehan was a wonderful, if slightly unorthodox cook – and hearing all about their eventful days at university, where they’d been roommates, but try as he might they both staunchly refused to tell Courfeyrac the duck story.
“Yes, Joly’s always been a slightly strange one,” Jehan trailed off yet another anecdote – if Courfeyrac had thought himself a fountain of amusing and memorable tales, he’d found his match in these two. “Heart of gold though,”
“Oh yes, he’s a dear one. I hear he and your friend – Bossuet, Lesgles? I couldn’t quite figure it out – are going out again tomorrow night.” Combeferre told him.
“Again?” Courf, raised any eyebrow. That wasn’t fair.
“They’re so sweet,” Jehan cooed, scooping more mushroom and blueberry noodles onto his plate (however wrong it sounded, it actually tasted delicious). “How about you, Courf - anyone in your life at the moment?”
Courfeyrac almost chocked on a blueberry. He swallowed and coughed, and avoided making eye contact with Combeferre.
“Not a present, unfortunately.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Jehan pressed.
“Nope.” Courfeyrac smiled, allowing himself to glance at Combeferre, startled to find him already staring at him.
“Well we’ll have to set you up with someone,” Jehan beamed.
“Ha, no. I’m actually…” was he allowed to explain the bet? He hadn’t clarified that – and didn’t want to risk jeopardising the bet on a technicality – never mind that he planned on getting around it on a technicality, he wasn’t a hypocrite, shh. “Taking a break from dating,” he finished instead. “New building, fresh start – you know?” he shrugged.
Combeferre was still staring at him.
He daren’t allow himself to wonder what that might mean. |
A big thanks to macktosh for edits and suggestions.
*****
The sea was calmer today. The waves subsided just before turning into white capped hills of crystal blue water. Last night had been rough for everyone aboard, and the crew of eight had traveled far beyond the known horizons.
"What should I tell them today?" Arvid thought to himself as he tried to find the point where the sky met the water.
He was standing at the very tip of the bow with his hands gripping the rigging with iron strength. His rugged body was used to these conditions, and had strong natural muscles from the months of sailing he had put behind him. In the heat of the Yucatan summer, he had removed almost all his clothing. The breeze coming from the east cooled his skin, tanned and glistening with sweat. The direction of the wind told them that there should be land somewhere to the west.
"We have land!" one of the sailors exclaimed.
Arvid's steel blue eyes lit up with a rare excitement. A hushed jolt of energy seemed to permeate the crew, as this meant that they would soon have solid ground beneath their feet again. The prospect of leaving behind the uncertainty of life on the open sea was motivating enough, but the men knew that beyond the coast laid promises of vast riches, as was fabled by other travelers they had encountered.
Arvid shouted, "Set course for land, and be prepared for anything boys!"
The men put out their oars and began rowing at a steady pace. Arvid kept to his post at the bow, and gazed towards a thin dark stripe in the horizon. His heart began pumping faster as he thought about the adventures that laid ahead.
The sand felt hot and inviting under their feet. Having spent so much time at sea made them feel disoriented and dizzy, as if their legs expected the land to move. There were very few trees close to the water, but the crew had chopped down a few of them and pulled the boat up by placing the trees underneath it as it slid up from the water. The beach reached as far as the eye could see in both directions, and the land was flat but for a few distant mountains and green hills on either side of the horizon.
"Make camp here, it will be dark soon," Arvid commanded.
His words were stern, but well received, as his companions were more than happy to follow their leader's orders. He had brought them this far without letting them down, and their loyalty was implicit and without question.
Two of the crew had cleared an area and built a fire pit while the rest set up temporary sleeping quarters. The sky was getting dark, but the sun was setting with a bright orange hue. As they set up the camp, Arvid allowed himself to sit for the first time in what seemed an eternity. As he stared into the fire, he began to feel his head getting heavier.
"Stupid weak body. Needs sleep," Arvid thought.
He went over to his tent made of sticks, palm leaves and cloth, and laid down on the mat made of wolf pelt that he had brought all the way from home. It felt warm and inviting, and soon he was fast asleep.
Arvid awoke with a sudden twisting motion. He usually slept heavily, but tonight was different. Perhaps because his body had become accustomed to the rolling motions of their ship. He felt uneasy, as if something was watching him. He sat up and listened. All he could hear was the muted crashing of waves against the beach, and the gentle rustle of branches in the warm breeze. His eyes began to feel heavy, then he heard a faint crackle of branches. He snapped up again.
"I'm sure that was something," he thought, "or someone."
He sat up, perched like a panther ready to strike. The crackle continued, and he decided to sneak out of the tent. The air was cool, and a slight breeze made the hairs on his arm stand up and become more aware of his surroundings. He was completely naked, as the air was hot and humid and his sleep came easier this way. The campfire had died down and the only source of light was the waxing moon that dimly lit up the beach and the trees leading into the jungle. Arvid listened intently, but the noise did not return. He stood up and started looking around the camp area for signs of movement. It could just have been one of his crew, but this part of the world was strange and dangerous. It was better to do a quick search than to risk losing a man to a wild beast. He began walking around his tent. Just as he had made a few steps into the tree line, he heard a crack again, just a few paces to his right. He quickly turned and started moving in the direction of the sound. As he moved closer to where the sound came from, he heard running footsteps moving away from him, and he could see branches and bushes moving. Whoever it was had begun to run away.
"You're not going anywhere!" he exclaimed in a calm but determined voice, and began running after the steps.
The chase did not last long. Arvid was a fast runner, and even though the vegetation was thick, he was able to run through it and catch up to the spy before going too far. He reached out and grabbed an arm and stopped the chase. He adjusted his grip and held a hand over the mouth of the runner, and an arm around the waist. The spy let out a muffled shriek, which told him it was a woman. She squirmed and resisted, trying to get loose, but Arvid's grip was too strong. He picked her up and started carrying her back to the camp. She was small and light, and after a while, her struggle ended as she realized that she could do nothing to escape his powerful arms.
When they reached his tent, he decided to put her down, still holding his hand over her mouth. His eyes was accustomed to the darkness and the moonlight was now bright enough for him to examine his captive more closely. The woman was shorter than he was, and had long dark hair. She looked to be about his age, but her face was smooth and soft, unlike his own which was weathered and rough from his time at sea. Her eyes were dark brown and were bright and full of energy. He could tell that she was afraid, so he told her to be calm and relax. He knew that she didn't understand his words, but the tone of his voice seemed to have the intended effect on her, and he finally removed his hand from her mouth. She stayed quiet.
He took her into his tent and sat her down on the wolf pelt. He lit a small candle he had brought from the boat. Now they could see each other in the flickering light of the flame. They sat across one another, legs crossed, studying each other with childlike curiosity. Arvid reached out his hand and touched her hair. It was dark and straight, reaching down to below her shoulders. She reached out her hand and did the same to him. She seemed hypnotized by his hair and beard. Arvid then remembered that the people here are not blond like he was. Perhaps he was the first person she had ever seen with light complexion. She began petting his hair and beard, apparently fascinated. Arvid looked at her naked body. She had a small frame with small perky breasts. She was a beautiful woman, he thought, one of the prettiest and healthiest he had seen in a very long time.
After stroking his hair, the girl started gently touching his shoulders and chest. Once again, her eyes were big and she seemed to be experiencing this type of body for the first time in her life. His muscles were bulky and hard, and his body was lean after a long life of hard work and adventure. Her touch was gentle and caring, and he could not remember the last time he had felt this kind of contact with someone, maybe never. He started doing the same thing she did, mirroring her touches. Her skin was soft and smooth like a fine cloth, and was slightly darker than his own. He reached down and touched her breasts. They were soft and fit perfectly in his hand. He noticed that her nipples were getting hard and pointy, which he took as a sign that she liked what he was doing. He looked up at her face, and a small smile revealed that he was right.
After a few minutes of studying and caressing each other, the girl looked down at his penis with a shy but curious gaze. Her eyes became wide again, and she seemed impressed by what she saw. His cock had become straight and hard, and a small amount of liquid was dripping from the tip and was running down the side of the shaft. She reached down and grabbed it gently in her hand, and looked up at him. He looked down and saw what she was doing. A rush of energy surged through his body as she started moving her hand up and down from the base to the tip. He closed his eyes and leaned backwards, approving of her advances. She kept stroking his hard cock as the transparent liquid kept dripping out. Each stroke gave him a small burst of pleasure, making his body squirm and shift uncontrollably. He opened his eyes and looked at her. He became filled with feelings of lust, and wanted to make her feel just as good.
He reached down to her abdomen. His hand followed a small trail of hair down to a spot on her body that was wet and warm. He started rubbing the area of her opening with his fingers, helped by the wetness, which made the contact feel smooth and effortless. He started moving his fingers back and forth and looked up at her face. Her expression had changed from a smile to a more intense look. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was half-open. She let out little whimpers each time he passed by the area above her opening, and he could feel a little bump down there that seemed to be very sensitive. He decided to focus his rubbing on that spot and started moving his fingers in a circular motion, occasionally reaching down to her opening to fetch more wetness to keep the motions smooth.
Her tugs on his cock were getting involuntarily stronger and faster as his technique and awareness of her pleasure points improved. She felt a hot, almost burning sensation as his fingers passed over her, and little jolts each time he passed her spot. Sometimes the feeling became so intense that she stopped stroking him, but then continued as soon as the intensity subsided. Arvid took his hand back and tasted the wet juice that had come from her pussy. It was sweet and a little bitter. His primal instincts were awakened by her smell and flavor, making his dick even harder. She saw what he did and mimicked him by tasting the liquid that had come from his cock. It was slippery and sweet, and made it easier to stroke the skin of the tip of his penis. Their eyes met as they tasted each other, and even though they came from opposite sides of the earth, in that moment they knew their bodies were made for each other.
The wind was picking up outside, and rain could be seen in the distance, but the tent was sturdy and shielded them from the weather. Inside the tent, it was warm and comfortable. The two lovers look at each other, still touching and caressing as if they had known each other their whole lives. The girl took her hands off his sticky wet cock, placed her hands on his broad scarred shoulders, and got up on her knees. She leaned in towards his face and kissed him softly on the cheek. Arvid had never felt this sensation before, and was now completely spellbound by what she was doing to him. She continued to kiss his face and neck softly and gently, working her way around his chin and around to his ears. Her tongue left little trails as she moved, and when she got to his ear, she licked the outside edge up and down and in a circular motion. This sent a wave of prickling tickling pleasure from the top of his head all the way down to his toes, and he let out an uncontrolled gasp. The smile on her face revealed her devious intentions to give the newcomer the best greeting her body could provide.
Arvid, who was discovering new pleasures he didn't even know existed, accepted her advances. Her bravery excited him, and his admiration for her grew with every new action she took. This inspired him, and he grabbed her in both arms and held her tightly so that her legs wrapped around his waist. She was sitting on his lap, their noses touching, their eyes transfixed on each other. Several moments passed and time seemed to be standing still. Finally, Arvid leaned in and kissed her on the lips as softly as he knew how. Their lips kept touching, and moving around each other. His tongue came out and started licking her lips. Her tongue followed his lead and soon their mouths were as one, searching, playing, and tasting each other. They kept discovering new areas and corners to lick and suck on, giving warm delicious sensations, as they could feel each other's breath and smell each other's skin. Arvid would occasionally open his eyes and watch his lover working on him, and his entire existence filled with pleasure from his inside to his outside.
After a prolonged period of passionate kissing, the girl reached down between their bodies and could feel that his penis was still hard and sticky. She raised herself up from the seated position, and lowered herself onto him slowly, guiding him with her hand. Her eyes shot open, then closed tightly as his thick cock entered her, opening her up, filling every corner of her pussy. The beautiful pain was almost too much to bear, and she gasped and moaned in ecstasy. Arvid could not believe what was happening as he was entering her. The way her vagina was gripping his cock as if it never wanted it to leave was like a homecoming for his body, he had found the place he wanted to be. She sat down on him all the way, and they both felt the moment for a few seconds, each of them in total surrender to the sensuality of them becoming one.
After drinking in the initial tsunami of sensations that the union of their bodies brought with it, the girl began moving up and down on the throbbing cock of the man from the sea. Her pussy was so wet that little streams of juice were flowing down his shaft and sounds of slushing slapping wetness could be heard over the crashing waves and howling winds outside. She grabbed the back of his head, gripping his blond hair, as she lowered herself over and over again, each dip feeling better than the last. His big strong hands were cupped under her ass and supporting her, making it easy for her to work his manhood. His grip was firm and would squeeze her ass cheeks and massage them in tandem with her motions.
Her whimpers and moans turned him on more and more. To pleasure a woman like this was something that stirred him up, and he could feel his urges growing and building inside him. He felt inspired, and lifted up the girl with his arms around her, his dick slapping against his belly as he pulled out of her, as her juices were dripping down her thighs. He placed her in front of him, facing away from him and bent her down. She was on her knees with her face buried in the warm wolf pelt.
"What beauty," he thought to himself, as he gazed upon her wet and slippery body.
Her dark brown hair was flowing down her back, with some strands sticking to the small streams of sweat that were running down towards her ass. Her breathing was light, but filled with anticipation.
Arvid sat down on his knees behind her. He placed one hand on each of her ass cheeks and squeezed them firmly. She had a small, but round butt, and he was able to get a good grip on her as he pulled her whole body closer to him. She gave a short gasp in surprise of his strength. His hard cock was now resting on her ass crack, still glistening from being inside her, and dripping with pre-cum once again. The thought of what was about to happen made them both feel a surge of excitement, making his cock harder and her pussy wetter. Arvid looked down and pushed his penis down past her asshole to her dripping vagina. Brushing it against her asshole on the way down. He placed the tip at her entrance, and he could hear that she was holding her breath in expectation. He slowly started pressing himself against her, and his cock started gliding into her body. A soft muffled cry came from her as he entered, her vagina opening wider, deeper and in ways she had never felt before.
He was able to push himself inside her all the way to the base of his penis, making their hairs brush together and letting the wetness of their bodies gently kiss before he started pulling back out again. His thick veins were massaging her inside as she could feel every ridge and crease of his penis as it made its way through her body. The tight grip of her pussy made their bodies seem glued together and he had to work harder than expected to reverse his motion. Once he was almost all the way out, he started pushing himself inside her again, reproducing the same intense feelings in both of them. After a few thrusts, he found his rhythm, and grabbed her hips firmly and started hitting her as deeply as their bodies allowed. His balls were slapping her clit each time he made a new plunge, giving her a tiny spark of intense pleasure each time it hit. She responded to this by meeting his hits by pushing her hips backwards, timed perfectly to make him sink deeper inside her. Arvid noticed this and made an extra effort by flexing his ass cheeks to match her pushes.
The night air was getting humid, and sweat was starting to stream down his bulky, slightly hairy chest, across his abs, and down to his penis and balls, where the liquid would mix with the love juice that was already flowing from their bodies. After a while, they seemed to lose their sense of space and time, their only awareness being the sounds, the scents, and raw sensations their bodies were creating together. They were moving without thinking, as if possessed and controlled by spirits outside their own consciousness, only fueled by desire and lust. A great force was building inside them both, and the motions that they produced seemed to synchronize and change together, like a dance of feelings and love, with their breathing and moans the music and the slaps of their bodies the beat.
Arvid reached down and grabbed some of her hair, keeping his other hand on her hip, never stopping his motions. Her hair was tangled with sweat. He gently but firmly pulled her hair towards him, making her back arch and her face point up. He adjusted his hips, and started fucking her hard, using the hip and hair as leverage. The feeling overpowered her, and she started screaming with each forceful stroke. The building energy inside them was reaching new heights, and they could both feel that there was something coming, an unstoppable force that threatened to drain them of all their powers.
The storm outside their tent felt as if it was matching their intensity, as trees and bushes were being cast about with increasing volatility, and thunder could be heard in the distance.
"Thor is pleased," he thought, "I will be giving her my offering soon, and when I do, she will feel the power of the gods."
His vigor increased as he felt the power of the god of thunder coursing through his blood.
"Chaac is showing his approval," she thought to herself when the thunder clapped in the distance. "The gods are pleased that I am melding with the man from the sea."
The spiritual blessing they had just received drove them to both stop and turn to each other, panting and steaming with hotness. The woman laid down on her back and spread her legs wide, lifting them slightly with bent knees. She beckoned him to her with a wave of her hand inviting him to continue. He looked down at her pussy, which was raw from the work they had already done, but they were not finished yet.
He slid towards her, and bent down and laid over her, letting her feel the weight of his body. As wet skin met skin, they slid on each other and kissed intensely, using the universal language of passion to tell each other what they felt. He moved so his penis rested on her opening. She reached down and rubbed her clit with the tip of his cock. Her legs started trembling and she stopped, as the feeling was too intense. She instead grabbed his cock and pulled it into her vagina, her eyes rolling back into her head as he entered her. He noticed that she was ready for his offering, and raised himself up on his hands and began banging his hips against hers with increasing intensity. She closed her eyes and began writhing in ecstasy, grabbing ahold of anything she could get her hands on. She pulled his hair, she grabbed his arms, and finally she got ahold of the tent itself. The force of her fervor was no match for what once was a sturdy construction, and the tent began to waver.
The tent collapsed over them and now there was nothing between them. Their greasy, wet bodies sliding and twisting over each other like two snakes in a battle to the death. Arvid could feel the end coming. There was nothing he could do to stop it now, and he didn't want to. He wanted to give her his offering now. He sat up and grabbed the back of her neck, their bodies covered in the tent cloth, the storm still raging only a few steps away from them. He gave her what was left of him and his strokes were hard and deep now. She felt like he was reaching up to her chest and her body started shaking, her screams now at full force. Arvid felt his cock getting ready to explode. He put in a final effort, and let out a yell that drowned out the storm. His dick began pulsing, and hot white cum came shooting out of him, landing deep inside her. She could feel the warm liquid filling her up and grabbed him with her legs and arms so he wouldn't pull out of her. She wanted every drop of his power. His body was now totally drained, and he could barely move. He stayed on top of her, held tight by her arms and legs. She felt his heart beating fast and strong, his breathing heavy and powerful. They laid like this for what seemed like an eternity, as if time itself had stopped and they were not part of reality anymore. She stroked his hair and whispered words in his ear he didn't understand, but they made him feel safe and sound. Before they knew it, they were both asleep.
Arvid woke up with a gasp. He couldn't see anything, only blurry sights of the tent cloth covering his eyes. The woman from the night before was gone. He fought his way out of the mess of cloth and sticks to get out. He could see sunlight and the storm had passed. Once he was free, he looked around, but only his crew could be seen further down the beach, working on the ship. He removed the tent cloth, hoping to find his lover hiding under the pelt, but nothing was there but his imprint from where he had slept.
"The gods have taken her as a sacrifice," he reasoned. "I have done a great thing in the eyes of the ancients."
He could not be sure if what he remembered had truly happened, but his memory was too intense to dismiss. As he began walking towards his crew to inspect the damage to their ship, he noticed her scent from the night before. The sweet taste of her lips in his mouth. The sound of her moans ringing in his ears.
"It is a sign for us to settle here and multiply with the people here." His mind made up their fates forever.
|
Sometimes your past catches up with you. Sometimes it it bad. This time it's good.
I had been working at my job of 10 years building heavy equipment. We had been putting in over 80 hours a week, for the past 6 months. With only Sundays off my time was limited. But our 2 week shutdown was coming up next week. And that meant vacation. 2 weeks to decompress. I was 45 years old and exhausted.
Finally. Monday. Day 1 of vacation. There were a few things I had been planning around the house. The major project was to upgrade the garage. I had purchased pretty much all the lumber and other necessities and got started. My power saw, however had other plans. I plugged it in and the smell and smoking testimony told me it just died. Oh, well. It was old anyways.
Locking up the house, I pegged the useless device into the recycle bin and climbed into my truck. I headed to the nearest hardware store, a Lowe's. I grabbed a buggy and proceeded to the power tools section. I chose a DeWalt power saw. I waited in line. Behind me I heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, Wayne!"
I turned and behind me was a Black man about my age. Confusion turned to recognition. It was Tony. One of my buds from High School. Muscular and athletic, Tony had no problem with the ladies
"Tony!! Man, how are you? How long has it been? 1982? Graduation?"
We shook hands.
"Yeah, it's been a while."
After telling him I was on vacation and other small talk in line it was my turn. My purchase completed I waited by the door. He headed my way and we walked to the parking lot. Tony had bought 3 window sets and was installing them in his house. He was adding a room addition and was almost finished with the big stuff.
"Tony, how is Tia doing? Man, I haven't seen her since school."
Tia was Tony's sister. She was a demure, wonderfully curvy and voluptuous girl with large boobs. A year younger than me, a bit shorter she put me through torments all through High School. She had the prettiest smile. We were good friends and I had a big crush on her. Some of the guys at school gravitated toward her because of her chest. Some would talk about her spreading rumors. Most of us that knew her would defend her, violently sometimes, getting into fights, mashing them into a pulp, me included. Tia was a girl I loved to talk with. The times when she was having a bad day, she would sit by me. and we'd chat. I would encourage her. And then I would make her laugh. Hysterically.
It seemed to brighten her day.
I tried to get the courage to ask her out on a date, but I was a bit of a geeky White boy back then. Plus I didn't have a car. So I never did. I always felt I could never get a wonderful girl like her.
"She's doing good, but she's been through a lot lately. She lives at my house. She became a nurse at St. Joe's a few years after graduation."
"Really!"
"She got called in this morning on her day off."
Bummer. I know how much having a day off means.
"I'm glad she's doing well." I said, remembering the things I told her long ago.
In the middle of our senior year she was considering what to do after graduation. During lunch she said she wanted to go to school and become a nurse but was afraid of failing.
"Nonsense, Tia! You can do this. Don't sell yourself short. And don't let anyone tell you different. You know, it's better to shoot for the moon and miss, than to aim for nothing and get it."
Tia smiled. A smile that melted my heart. Her eyes glowed. She looked so beautiful. It looked like she was gonna cry.
"Thank you, Wayne. You have always been so sweet and respectful to me, You always encourage me when I am down."
Tia gave me a big hug. I thought I was gonna melt! I felt the firmness of her breasts against my chest. I smelled her scent. Felt her softness, so warm and wonderful. She kissed me on the cheek.
Some of our friends saw us and began teasing us playfully.
"Get a room, you two!!"
We both laughed.
"Yeah, yeah guys...give it a break!!" I told them.
I was in Heaven for days.
All during school she was always sweet to me and had beautiful eyes. A face I could look at for hours!
Tony had parked not far from me. I had loaded the saw in the back of my truck and was finishing securing the tonneau cover.
I walked over to Tony's truck and helped him strap the windows down.
"Thanks, man."
"No problem Tony"
"Hey Wayne, you said you were on vacation, right? I could use your help. The guy I hired bailed on me. I'll even pay you."
"Don't worry about paying me, I'm glad to help. One condition though. You buy lunch!"
Tony laughed, Deal!! Pizza good enough??"
"Let's go!"
I followed Tony to his house. We unloaded the windows and went to work.
We worked for a few hours. Tony called Domino's.
45 minutes later lunch arrived.
We sat and ate, talking about the past.
I told him how my plans went south after school. I joined the Marines but didn't make it through boot camp. Due to my asthma I was released with an honorable discharge. For the next few years I had travelled about. I moved around after that to California and then Texas and finally settling back home in Georgia. I spoke of how for 7 months I was married to a woman named Wendy who turned out to be a vindictive shrew. She left and went back to her ex husband. She got very little out of the divorce. I kept my home.
Tony had got a job with the city, straight out of High School. He inspected houses and helped rehabilitate the historic buildings around the area. He married his High School sweetheart, Inga. A girl I knew. They have 6 kids. Five were grown. The youngest, Mark was 15. Inga became a bank manager after college.
After lunch we went back to securing and reinforcing the window frames. Then we installed the window sets which didn't take very long. We had finished and Tony turned on the window unit on the other wall. The room began to fill with cool air.
Around 330pm, we began cleaning up, regaling in our carpentry success. Glad I learned how to install a window today.
Outside was the flash of reflected sunshine and the crunch of gravel as a car pulled up.
The front door to the house opened and closed.
Then I heard her voice.
"Tony? Are you here? Whose truck is that outside?"
Tia walked into the room, still in her nurses uniform, Still looking as beautiful as ever. She had grown a bit.
Wow.
"Tony, who is your friend?
Our eyes met.
"Hey there!" I said beaming.
For a moment she said nothing. Then her eyes grew wide.
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen we have recognition!
"Wayne?!? Is that really you? Oh, my goodness!"
"Yes!"
She rushed to me, threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. After all these years, I thought I would melt again! And then she kissed me on the mouth! Oh, my God! I was about to burst! For 10 seconds she kissed me with lips that were soft as silk. And her kiss tasted incredible! I hoped she didn't notice the rise between my legs.
"Well, hello to you too!"
Tia laughed. That wonderful laugh I would never get tired of hearing.
"What are you doing here?"
I told her on the events of the day and how I wound up at the house and we were finished for the day.
Tia and Tony exchanges the usual pleasantries only a brother and sister can have.
After, her attention returned to me.
"Well. We. We gotta talk!"
She saw him rolling up the extension cords and piling setting them in the corner.
"Tony, can I borrow him for a few minutes?"
"You two ahead. I am done for the day. I have to pick up Inga and Mark. I'll be back. Wayne, thanks for your help, man. Couldn't have got it done with out you."
"My pleasure, Tone. Anytime."
We shook hands.
"I'm outta here. Bye."
Tia took my hand and guided me to the kitchen table. As I sat, she asked if I wanted something to drink.
"Iced tea, if you got it."
"I do."
She brought our glasses and sat next to me. We began to talk. She rested her head on her hand looked at me as I talked. I told her how I joined the military after Graduation. I remembered all my bluster during senior year about how I was gonna be a KATN Marine and save the world. And how utterly crushed and disappointed I was when I was discharged for my asthma. I really didn't have a plan B. I told her how I bounced around for some years and what I did before coming back home. I worked a few places before I got my current job. How I had a few girlfriends but they never really got serious. Then buying a house, getting married only to have it fail. And how I was currently alone. Content. But alone.
Tia looked radiant as I spoke. The look she gave me made all those old feelings return.
She refilled our glasses and brought snacks for us to munch on.
And then, she began her tale.
After Graduation she went to nursing school and became a nurse, though difficult remembering all my encouragement.
"And here I am!!" She said as she waved her hands over her uniform "Tada!!"
We laughed.
Tia spoke of her younger step-sister Kira who died of Leukemia. I remembered Kira as a vivacious girl who had a streak of playful mischief about her. So sad. She was married for 5 years to a guy named Kelvin she met while working at the hospital. For a while, things were great. Then he became sexually demanding, insisting she blow him and he go down on her, Before their relationship turned physical she told him that she found it to be disgusting. She said she would never do it and will never have the desire to. He seemed to accept that, for a time.
She became pregnant, but after 4 months had a miscarriage, Her doctor urged her to have a hysterectomy as another pregnancy could very well kill her. Tia was devastated. Kelvin, was less than sympathetic. It seemed he cared more about extending his line instead of the heath of his wife. Even worse, Kelvin had been cheating on Tia for years. Kelvin filed for divorced not long after that. His infidelity among everything else broke Tia's heart. From what she told me Tony had to be physically restrained from kicking the living shit out of him. It was Tony's not too subtle insistence that Kelvin should just walk away with nothing.
And he did. Good riddance.
Me? I would have killed him. In the most diabolical way.
I never took my eyes off of her as she spoke. I could see she was starting to cry. She dropped her hands in front of her on the table, as if praying. I took a tissue from the box nearby and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes. I then gently took her hands in mine.
"Tia, I am so sorry what he did to you, He broke your heart. That's inexcusable. But you are better than him, Babe. Don't let that asshole continue to hurt you. Don't even think of him. He's not worth your tears. Sweetheart, you made your dream of becoming a nurse come true! You did it. That's great, baby. I am so proud of you!"
She looked at me and saw my eyes were getting wet.
"Wayne, are you crying?"
"Yeah, I am Tia. I get upset when people I care about are hurting."
Tia stared at me for a minute, studying my face.
She then leaned over and kissed me. I reciprocated, lightly tasting her lips. Reaching down I took her hand. I softly kissed the back of her hand and fingers.
'Tia, you are gonna be fine. Please be strong."
Getting out of her chair she got in my lap, put her arms around my neck and kissed me. Gentle at first, it quickly turned to a kiss full of desire. I kissed her back as well, moving my hands up and down her back. She moaned her pleasure, pressing her boobs into my chest. Heaven!! After a bit she looked at me in the eyes. I smiled at her. She rested her head atop of mine while I rested my cheek right above her breasts. She looked at me again, smiling her eyes sparkling. I kissed her neck.
"Tia, are you gonna be okay?"
Softly touching my face she said, "I'll be okay, Wayne. Thank you. Thank you for being a friend. For being so kind".
"It's alright hon. I want to give you my phone number. Can I do that?"
"Of course."
And she gave me mine.
"Any time you want to talk about anything, you call me? Okay, Babe?"
"Thank you." It was getting late.
"Tia, I need to get home."
She got off my lap. I stood, looking at her. She slowly moved towards me drawing me in for a kiss. My hands went to her face, cradling her cheeks as our lips found each others. I lightly bit her lower lip and sucked it. I heard her giggle. She pulled away, laughing.
I just smiled.
"Tia, I wanna see you again. Let's go out and do something. Whatever you wanna do. Will you go out with me?
"Mmm-Hmmm!"
Tia had the weekend off as did I. We'd talk about it in the upcoming days.
"C'mon. Walk me to my truck."
At the truck we paused briefly.
We kissed again. Her taste launching me into new levels of arousal. Tia leaned in on me as I rested against my truck. I wondered if she noticed what she was doing to me.
"I really gotta go, Hon."
"Alright." She said as I got into my truck and closed the door.
I started it up and rolled down the door. I just sat there for a moment and looked at her. Tia slowly walked up, stuck her head in the cab and we kissed again. Then she put her tongue in my mouth. I sucked on it lightly. My brain became fuzzy, amazed at how the evening progressed.
I gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
"I have to leave, Tia." Afraid of what might continue, how far this could progress.
"Do you have to? You can stay."
Electricity shot up my spine.
"Baby, I can't. I want to, but can't" I said literally shaking.
"I'll call you when I get home, okay."
After saying our goodbyes and a quick kiss, I put my truck in gear and slowly pulled away.
As I pulled out onto the highway and headed home, a million thoughts ran through my head. I was in a daze. The way she felt in my arms. The taste of her kiss. The way she smelled. They way her large boobs felt when they were pressed against my chest. I imagined how soft they actually were and how they would taste...
My reverie was interrupted by a loud noise.
Stop it!! Shaking myself back into reality. I had run off the road and the tires hit the rumble strip along the side. Daydreaming about her almost made me have an accident.
I made it home. In one piece.
As I sat in my driveway, I mustered the courage to call her after all we went through tonight. I dialed her number. She picked up.
"Wayne?"
"Hey. How are you?"
"I am okay." She said nervously.
Silence.
"Umm, Tia. I wanted to say how good it was to see you again after all these years."
"It was good to see you again too, Wayne."
More silence.
"Wayne, I want to thank you for being there for me. tonight. For your encouragement, and also for your respect."
"Respect?"
"Wayne things did get a little heated between us. And I literally offered myself to you. And you turned me down"
"I know Babe. You have no idea how tempted I was. I won't tell a soul about it."
"That means a lot to me."
"You mean a lot to me too, Hon."
"You didn't get rattled did you, Wayne?"
"I was a little frazzled when I left, but I'll be fine, Tia."
I told her of my near accident on the way home.
"It's all your fault too. Hope you are proud of yourself, thank you very much!"
"I'm sorry, babe." she said laughing
"Are we still good for this weekend?"
"Absolutely!! I can't wait to see you again."
"Great!! We'll do something fun and talk some more."
"Thank you."
"My pleasure. Gotta go, Babe"
"Bye!"
I hung up.
Jumping in the shower I realized I still had her scent on me. The hot water and steam spread it around, filling the bathroom. Coupled with the constant thought of her gave me a raging erection. I tried to suppress the urge to masturbate but failed. I jacked my stiff rod for minutes before finally shooting a hot stream of cum on the shower wall. Little good that did. She still haunted my mind. I finally washed myself. I threw on a pair of skivvies and a t shirt. Tossing the day's clothes in to the hamper, I took one less last smell of her that lingered on my shirt, then put it in.
I climbed into bed and slowly drifted to sleep.
We talked a few times each day. It was so good to hear her voice. We settled on Saturday for our date. I would pick her up around 8 pm.
"How should I dress?" She asked.
"Nice, casual but nice. But it's Fall, you might want to bring a light jacket. I'll wear jeans and Polo shirt."
I had finished my garage project on Friday, and spent the rest of the day washing waxing, cleaning up the inside of my truck.
Saturday morning dragged on to afternoon. I couldn't wait to see Tia again. I showered, shaved and put on a new pair of jeans and a Black polo shirt. Come 7pm I called her to tell her I was on the way.
Just before 8, I pulled up in her driveway. Nervously I knocked on the door.
Inga, Tony's wife opened the door.
"Tia is getting ready. Come!"
Inga and I sat and talked reminiscing, while I waited for Tia. Tony and Mark had gone to the local ball game.
"Hi Wayne!"
It was Tia.
Wow! She stood there, breathtaking. Wearing jeans and a peasant blouse. Underneath was a white top. Both enhanced the shape of her boobs. Her hair which she previously had pinned up fell past her shoulders. She also wore a light blue jacket. I stood there, captivated by her beauty,
"Tia, you are beautiful!" She hugged me, giving me a delightful smile.
"Thank you You look nice too!"
"Are you ready?"
"Sure. Let's go."
"You two have fun." Inga said.
She took my hand as I walked her to my truck. I opened the door and she got in. I closed the door.
I got in and started my truck.
"So, Tia. What do you wanna do tonight?"
"Supper! I am starving."
I took her to Hill's Seafood.
We were seated, and given our drinks and menus.
"T, get anything you want."
We ordered. As we awaited our food, our discussion again turned to the past. School and our jobs. Our past relationships. The death of our parents.
The food arrived. Again as we ate we talked. It was good to talk with an old friend.
I asked Tia if she would like to go see a movie, which she did. I paid for our supper leaving a nice tip. Got to love our waitresses.
"Thank you for supper, Wayne".
"You're welcome T."
As we walked outside to the truck, it had gotten very chilly. Tia took me by the arm. My upper arm was brushing against the side of her breast. And felt the amazing softness. I then noticed that the chilly air caused Tia's nipples to poke dramatically through the fabric of her blouse.
As I opened the door to the truck for her to get in, I told her as she sat down...
"Ummm, Tia, Hon. Please. Please zip up your jacket." trying to remain eye contact.
"What? Oh!" She said as she looked down. Tia quickly zipped up, embarrassed.
"Thanks, Babe."
I got in my side and closed the door.
She was giggling, causing me to giggle too.
"I'm not saying anything." I said smiling, causing her to burst out laughing.
We went to the theatre which was a few blocks away.
Arm in arm we looked at what was available. She rested her head on my shoulder.
"Whatever you want to see, T. This is your night."
She chose a RomCom with Sandra Bulloch.
Tia wanted some popcorn, enough for the both of us and a diet Coke. I got regular.
As we sat in the theatre we played the trivia games shown before the trailers began. She beat me. Drat! I'll have to study more.
After a bit the lights dimmed and the trailers began. Then the feature started.
My arm was on the armrest next to her. Her hand met mine and she softly held it. Tia laid he head on my shoulder.
The movie ended. We walked out of the theatre arm in arm and made our way to the parking lot, talking about the movie. We stopped by the passenger side and I hit the button on the remote unlocking the door. She got in. I got in my side. I looked at my watch. It was almost midnight.
We decided that it was time to call it a night. I drove her home. I held the door as she got out of her truck. She stood there and waited.
"I had a real good time, Wayne."
She started giggling again, "Thanks again for the respect."
I took her hands.
"No." I said. "I should be thanking you!" Giving her a wink, making her laugh again.
It was close to 1am. I had to go home. I walked her to her door.
"You wanna go out again?"
"You'd better take me out again, Silly!" playfully poking me in the ribs.
I had one week left of vacation and was going to try to spend as much of it as I could with her.
My lips found hers. Drinking in her sweetness. God. What this woman is doing to me.
"Gotta go."
"Be careful driving home."
"I will."
I watched her step inside and close the door. I heard the lock turn.
I went to my truck and headed home.
Once I got to the house, I quickly got cleaned up and went to bed.
I grabbed my phone and texted her I had got home safely and couldn't wait to see her again.
I drifted off to sleep. Half an hour later I was awakened by the chime. She texted back telling me she'd like to go out again tomorrow if possible, and how much she enjoyed being with me. I texted back with a smiley face emoji.
Sunday morning I cleaned up around the house. The lawn need attention so I cut the grass. I had recently bought a new riding lawn mower so the job was done quickly.
As I was putting the mower back in the garage, I decided to call Tia. It was 10am.
She answered, and I asked her if I could pick her up around noon. I knew she had to be at work on Monday so maybe we could spend a little time together.
She agreed.
Before I hung up the phone I said, "And Tia, don't forget to zip up your jacket."
Giggles again.
We went to the beach and walked along the shore, Then took her to a great pizza place. Then went downtown and strolled down the riverfront. The setting sun shown on her face making her all the more beautiful. Our date was coming to an end.
I took her home. Walking to her door she took my hand.
"Had fun?"
"I had a great time."
A light kiss and we said our goodbyes.
Vacation was soon over and I had to go back to work. I told the gang how I met an old friend from school over vacation. I told them about Tia. They were happy I had found a new lady friend after my disastrous marriage. They remembered what a grouch I was. Over the next month, Tia's schedule kept us from seeing each other often, so I cherished any time we had. She invited me over for Sunday dinner and spent time with her family. It was great.
Again as fortune would have it we both had the weekend off. Her Saturday was filled with errands and things she need to do around the house.
I had things to do as well so we settled for Sunday as our time.
I had a little something special planned. We grabbed lunch at KFC. I then took her to my old neighborhood where I grew up close to school, and the house where I lived. I drove around showing her the homes of High School friends that had moved away, died or just disappeared. Our old High School was next, seeing how much it had changed. Much of the property being slowly devoured by the hospital nearby. While driving around I asked her if there was anything else she wanted to see.
She took my hand and said, "Wayne, I would really like to see where you live."
Hesitantly I said "You do?" .
"Please."
On then way to my house, I showed her the property I lived in before getting married. A fairly new mobile home on a good sized piece of property in the country. I had lived there for over 20 years before replacing the mobile home. Then I got married and wanted to give her a house with plenty of space. I bought the house and sold the property. But the marriage went south quickly...
I turned into my subdivision. Nice neighborhood with a mixture of races. Kids playing in the streets. I pulled into my driveway.
"This. This is it."
"It looks very nice."
"Wanna look inside?"
"Yes, Wayne. I do."
We got out, she took my hand and we walked to my front door. I turned off the alarm. I unlocked it, opened the door and we stepped inside. I did my best to keep the place clean. I gave her the tour. I have a 3 bedroom two bathroom house with a garage. The living room had a sectional sofa, 55 inch flat screen and bookshelves filled with DVDs and books. Manly art hung on the wall from Route 66 signs to Stroh's beer mirrors. Thomas Kinkade paintings and a Salvador Dali print that belonged to my Mom hung has well. There was bare spots on the wall, nails still there where the ex had hung pictures of her own.
In one of the small bedrooms I had 10 Arcade1up machines inside. With neon lighting and arcade posters on the wall. Book shelves held Funko Pop! figures and Star Wars memorabilia. A little gift I gave to myself for putting up with my ex wife's crap. I powered them up and the room sounded like the 1980s again.
"Wayne! My nephew is gonna love this!"
"Well, you'll have to bring him over one day."
The other bedroom had a twin bed and bedroom furniture, I set it up so my ex's mother could come and stay with us for when ever she wanted.
I showed her the garage loaded with my riding mower, 4 wheeler, tools, fireworks and other implements of destruction.
"Wayne will you show me your room?"
"If you really want to see it."
"I do."
I walked to my bedroom door and unlocked it. I opened it revealing nothing special. A very modest room. A queen sized bed and matching furniture, with a huge walk in closet. A 35 inch flat screen on the wall. Pretty cozy.
"Nice" she said looking around.
"Tia, would you like something to drink?" I asked.
I guided her to the kitchen and got her a diet Coke. I stood at the kitchen counter silently watching her as she sat.
"Wayne, you look nervous."
I was nervous. Here I was in my home. Alone with a woman I care very much about.
"Tia, I am. You are the first lady I have had in my house since my divorce. I don't want to to hide anything from you. I want to be honest with you. But if I seem a little apprehensive at times, please forgive me. I am afraid to let you know how I really feel. Tia, I don't know where this is all going. But I want us to take our time. Please hon. I don't want to rush into anything with you."
She saw tears in my eyes.
"I don't want to rush into anything either, Wayne. You've always been a good friend. You've always treated me with respect. I love the time we spend together."
"I love being with you too."
Tia got up and moved to me. Putting her arms around me, I felt dizzy. I didn't know what else to do. So I held her face in my hands and softly kissed her. Tia moaned quietly. Our lips moved over each others. Our kissing began to become more ardent. I started to shiver.
"You're shaking! Are you okay?"
"I don't know." I told her my heart racing.
She put her head on my chest holding me trying to calm my heart.
"Wayne!! Your heart is pounding!!"
"I know." I said, holding her tightly.
"Please sit down."
She took me to the couch.
"God, Tia. You make me so damn nervous."
"What's going on?"
"Alright, you want to know what is going on? Babe, every time I see you my heart flutters. Every time I am away from you, I can't wait to see you again. I can't stop thinking about you, I lose sleep thinking about you. I can't help it, Tia. My feelings for you scare the living Hell out of me. You have absolutely no idea of what you are doing to me."
She was crying.
"Why do your feelings for me scare you so much?"
"Because I don't want them to end." Getting frustrated.
"But I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to lose what we have. Our friendship."
Tia put her arms around me.
"God, baby. I didn't know."
We held each other for what seemed like an eternity. She then looked at me tears still flowing.
I started calming down.
"Tia, I don't ever want to hurt you. I don't ever want to make or see you cry. I don't ever want to break your heart. I don't want to be rough with you. I don't want to be with anyone else but you. What I am trying to say is..."
I struggled to get the words out, going out of my mind.
"Wayne, is what you trying to say is that...you love me?"
"Yeah. I do. I love you."
Tia said, "I love you too, honey."
We reached for each other, falling back on the couch kissing passionately. For about an hour we lay there kissing, nibbling on each others neck and shoulders. Laughing, telling each other how much we meant to each other. I felt this beautiful, loving woman next to me. Tia then sat up looked at me and slowly began taking off her shirt giving me a brief glimpse of what was inside. I quickly stopped her pulling her shirt down.
"Tia, Hon. Please. No. Not like this. Not right now, Babe."
"Are you sure? I want to make love with you."
"Yeah, T. I want to make love with you, too. More than you know. But not now. Tia, Me and Wendy were married for 7 months and we only had sex twice. The last 5 months, nothing. She was a very unaffectionate woman. So please, Baby. Give me time. When the time is right, we will both know. I am willing to wait until then. I'm not gonna tell you I love you just so I can have sex with you."
She spoke no words. just held me tenderly.
We sat there talking and sharing our hearts.
"So I guess we are officially boyfriend and girlfriend now" I said to her.
Tia giggled.
We both could see how late it was getting. I had to get her home.
Standing on her porch I didn't want to let her go. Tony and his family were there inside.
"Thank you."
"For what?" I said.
"For opening your heart to me. For being honest. For loving me."
"I do love you Tia. Please be patient. Look it was a big step for me telling you the things I did, telling you the way I feel. I meant every word I said."
She kissed me, holding me tight. I felt her soft body against mine, her fine large boobs against my chest. I kissed her shoulder, moving up to her neck and stopped at her ear.
I whispered, "I love you."
"Love you too."
Good night. Babe.
She left my arms and stepped inside.
On the way home, I drove carefully. Undressing and getting into shower the thoughts of my love filled my mind. Again her scent lingered and I could still taste her on my lips. My erect member throbbed. I poured soap into my hand and I jacked to the memory of the evening. I came so strongly I thought I was going to collapse.
While in bed, I texted her. I told her how much the day meant to me, and that I loved her. I put down heart and sleepy emojis. I told her goodnight.
Well into a wonderful dream about me and her my phone chimed waking me up.
Rats.
I looked and saw it was from her. No words just heart emojis.
I smiled and tried to go back to sleep.
At work, everyone was wondering about the dramatic change that put such a smile on my face. I told them I was in love and what a incredible woman Tia was. I showed them her picture. They were happy.
Sean, a coworker teased me
"Bahhh! You got that picture out of a magazine."
You wish pal. This one is real. And all mine.
Thanksgiving was In a few weeks. On a dinner date we discussed making plans on where to spend the holiday.
"Tia, why don't we have Thanksgiving at my house? There's plenty of space. Mark can enjoy my game room. We can all watch the game. Whattaya think?"
"I'll have to ask him, but I am sure he'll go for it. They have never seen your house."
Cool.
"We talked the other day. Tony asked about you."
"Really. Annnnd?" looking up from my food.
"He asks about you all the time. I tell him what a gentlemen you are. He really appreciates the way you treat me. He knows how much we love each other."
I smiled at her.
"Y'know what happened after Tony left you and me alone at the house that night? What happened by your truck and how I offered myself to you? Well I told him about it a few days later."
"And I turned you down. Hopefully you mentioned that."
"I did. Don't worry, Baby. He really respected that. And he respects the fact even now you haven't been in a rush to take me to bed."
"Good. I don't want him coming over to my house and kicking my ass."
She burst out laughing.
"Why would he do that?
"Hey!! Big brothers are notoriously protective of kid sisters."
"He knows we're together now. He has no problem with it. I am a big girl. And I love you."
"Love ya too, babe"
Thanksgiving Day. Tia stopped by early and started the turkey and other dishes. Tony and Inga arrived with other goodies. I helped them tote the stuff in. I was gonna help but the ladies shooed me out. Mark was preoccupied with my game room. Tony and I sat around and watched TV. A incredible day with good food, the woman I loved and her family. After dinner we all sat and watched the game.
Hours later while cleaning up I insisted Tony and Inga take plenty of leftovers. The ladies loaded the dishwasher. Tony helped me take out the trash.
The kitchen cleaned, leftovers packed away in the fridge. I helped Tony load his truck with the leftovers he took, while Tia and Inga talked. It was 7pm. It was time for them to go. They wanted to get an early start on Black Friday. And they invited us to come along. We hugged and shook hands. As they left, me and Tia waved as they pulled away, my arm around her waist. We went inside.
"Well, that was really nice. I enjoyed it!" I said after washing up and brushing my teeth.
"You have a really nice family, babe."
Tia slid into my arms. "You're part of my family too, Wayne."
Our lips found each other. I held her tight against me. Touching her face and lightly brushing her cheeks I kissed her, I filled with desire. My hands went to her breasts.
"Wayne.."
'I love you Tia."
She gave me a smile.
Then Tia spoke the 5 words any man wants to hear.
"Please make love with me."
I was nervous as Hell, but I took her hand and led her to my bedroom.
I sat on the edge of my bed. She walked up, held the back of my head and slowly guided my face to her breasts. I inhaled her natural scent mingled with perfume. I marveled at the softness, even under the fabric. I was shaking. Oh, God.
"It's okay, Baby."
Tia reached down and pulled her shirt off and tossed it aside, Her huge boobs strained against the sport bra she wore, which she pulled off. Her boobs dropped some looking delicious as ever. Silver dollar areolas and fat nipples beckoned my mouth. I took one of her nipples and sucked it gently. It tasted wonderful. She held my head as I continued, her moans sending shivers up and down my spine. I was rewarded as her nipple erupted in my mouth. Tia cried aloud. I turned my attention to her other breast. Kissing and sucking her nipple until it was fully erect.
I took my shirt off. Then I stood and took my jeans off. My fully engorged penis was sticking out from the flap of my shorts. I pulled them off. As I sat back down, I went back to sucking her tits. As I did, Tia undid her jeans and let them drop to her ankles. Her pink diaphanous panties revealed a dense triangular patch of pubic hair. I took my fingers, hooked them in the waist of her panties and began removing them. She took them off and threw them into the corner.
Tia was totally naked I moved my mouth to her tummy, kissing her paunch, scar and belly button. My hand lightly brushing her patch. Moving my way up I sucked her nipples again, the other hand caressing her back.
"You are so gentle." she moaned
"Because I love you."
She climbed into bed and I got next to her. I held her just looking into her eyes, not saying a word. Our mouths and hands started exploring each other. I knew what boundaries not to cross. While kissing, Tia took my hand and brought it to her vagina. I gently inserted 2 fingers inside. I felt her creamy insides. Her breathing became rapid, as I gently rubbed her special spot. For minutes the wetness increased as I rubbed more and sucked on her nipples. Rapid breathing was turned into loud moans. Tia started to shake. Her vagina quivered and with a loud gasp, my hand was soaked.
Her sighs slowed down.
"Are you gonna be okay, Honey?" I asked.
"Oh, Wayne!! I am gonna be just fine!" She said laughing.
"Come here, you."
I got next to her. Tia began kissing and sucking my shoulders and neck. My face and lips. My hands touched her boobs, back and butt. We laid on our sides, facing each other. My raging boner rubbed up against her patch, her bushy pubes tickling. She reached down, stroking me sending me into the stars. I moaned my appreciation. I kissed her while she worked my rod. I didn't want to come then. nor on the sheet. I wanted to come between her legs. Inside of her.
Tia rolled onto her back pulling me toward her.
"Wayne, please make love to me."
"Babe, let me put on a condom."
"You don't have to." Tia said kissing my neck
"I want you to come inside me. Please, please make love to me."
I got between her legs and she guided my shaft inside of her. Grabbing my ass she pulled me, thrusting the remainder of my boner deeper inside of her. I began gently thrusting, jerking my hips back and forth. Propping myself on my elbows I kissed her neck. Tia's hands moved up and down my spine. Her thighs clamped around my sides. She began to match my rhythm. I watched with delight as her boobs jiggled with every thrust, She looked up at me with the most angelic face as I made love to her. After a few minutes, as I continued my pumping, Tia pulled me on top of her. She began biting my shoulder, her cries became louder. Suddenly her whole body shook. Her pussy convulsed around my shaft and I felt the wetness flow from her. I kept pumping. The dull ache that started in the pit of my stomach quickly moved to my balls. The ache increased and doubled. And doubled. I felt a sense of urgency. It was inevitable.
"Tia, I am gonna come!! Ohhhh!
"Wayne, please come inside me! Please! Please come inside me! I want to feel you come inside me!!"
I finally exploded inside her, shooting streams of cum into her steamy pie, giving a loud cry of exquisite bliss.
I kept thrusting, hoping to coax more cum from my aching balls. I finally collapsed, rolling off of her. We were both breathing heavily. I looked over at Tia and smiled. I got on my side and pulled her to me. We laughed together. Entangling arms and legs we kissed wildly, hungrily. My woman and I had just made love and all was right in the world.
"My God, baby. That was incredible!" I told Tia.
"You were wonderful hon. You were so gentle. You made love to me so sweetly."
I was still breathing rapidly.
"I love you..."
"I love you too, Babe"
As I lay on my back, Tia snuggled up to me. She laid her head on my chest. I kissed her temple.
With my lady beside me we both fell asleep.
I awoke to find that her hand then went to my flaccid crank. It immediately got hard.
"Hello." she said.
"Hi!"
Stroking it gently she sweetly said, "Y'know there is something I wanted to do for you for weeks."
"What?"
"Make love to you." she purred.
Tia straddled my body. Took my rock hard penis and slowly lowered herself onto me. My eyes literally rolled back inside my head. She began moving up and down. I started to move along with her. My hands went to her breasts. My thumbs gently rolling her nipples. As she sat, rocking back and forth she held my hands in place. We both began moaning in unison. I pulled her to me and we kissed hotly. Tia dangled her tits in front of me, rubbing my face with them, giving my mouth access. Putting my hands on her hips, I sucked her fat nipples hard. Again, Tia began moaning louder and louder. She sat up again, arched her back and shook violently. Her quivering pussy squirmed as a splash of wetness went dripping down my balls, soaking the sheet underneath. I began feeling the pressure build up again inside my nuts. She kept moving her hips, milking my dick. She looked down, her face dripping with sweat and saw I was in nirvana. I saw her smiling as she moved, wiggling her pussy on my dick.
"Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! Mmmmm! Oh, God, yes!!" Tia cried.
The pressured built to the point I couldn't hold it no more. I pulled her down on top of me and held her as I came powerfully inside of her for a second time.
"Tia, baby...oh my God yes!! Uhhhhhhhhh!! Ahhhhhhhhh!!"
In the afterglow, we talked and caressed each other.
"So, you wanted to do that to me for weeks?"
"Yeah." Tia said giggling
."I wanted to love you, Wayne. I wanted to let you know how I feel."
"Thank you baby. God I don't know what to say."
"Just tell me you love me."
"I love you, baby."
We fell asleep. A couple hours later I woke up. I went to the bathroom easing out of bed so I wouldn't wake Tia. And when I finished I washed my hands. I looked at myself in the mirror. I then brushed my teeth. I returned to bed. It was almost 12 o'clock. Tia had turned her back to me and we spooned in the bed. As I nuzzled and kissed her neck and my hand cupped her breast. My thumb lightly rolled her nipples, pleasing my woman. She moaned softly.
"Tia, honey?" I said as I nibbled on her neck.
"Hmm?"
"Isn't Tony gonna be worried about you?"
She turned and looked at me.
"Wayne he knows where I am. He knows I'm with you."
"He knows you're with me? How?"
She rolled over, facing me. She had a hand on my waist,
"I told him, you big Silly!"
"Oh, that's just great!!"
"What!?!"
"Tony is gonna come here and kick my ass!"
"Wayne! He is not gonna kick your ass!!" she said laughing.
"You're right. He's not gonna kick my ass!! He's gonna kill me!! I'm boinking his kid sister!!"
Tia erupted into hysterical laughter. She lay on her back, her chest heaving.
"Boinking!? Boinking!? Really! You couldn't find a better word than that?"
She grabbed me pulling me into her and hugged me, laughing loudly.
"I probably could find one. But not one that would make you laugh like that."
"I always loved the way you make me laugh."
"I love making you laugh' And I love making love with you, Tia"
"Baby, don't worry about Tony. He knows how we feel about each other. I told him it was just a matter of time before we finally made love."
"Thank God."
"You're fine Baby. Now, come here."
Boink! Boink!" she whispered.
I awoke with this goddess next to me. She lay there on her back, breasts exposed to the morning sun through the window. Like silent sentinels reaching for the sky they moved slightly as she breathed. I ever so slightly touched one nipple with a finger. Tia stirred for a moment, then awoke. Dreamily she looked at me, smiling.
"Good morning babe."
"Hey there."
I kissed her and then kissed her nipples. Her hand softly ran through my hair. Tia laid back and moaned softly. I gently sucked them to arousal. Kissing and sucking them, I lifted each boob and kissed the musky undersides as well. Kissing between her breasts I moved up and noshed on her shoulders and neck.
Tia's phone then rang, Interrupting our interlude. It was Inga and woke us up to go shopping with them.
Tia asked me if I wanted to go. I told her as long as I could be with her, I would go anywhere.
We agreed to meet in town. We needed to shower first. We were kind of smelly.
"Tia honey, all I have is man's body wash. I don't think I have anything you'd like."
"My bag is in my car. Can you go out and get it?"
"Sure."
I threw on some sweatpants and a t shirt. Her keys were in the bowl by the door.
I stepped outside. It was cold. Barefoot I made my way to her car. Freezing. Yikes! I got her bag and went inside.
"Tia, here's your stuff."
She wasn't in the bed but I heard the shower running.
I walked into the bathroom. She was already bathing.
"Tia, Honey?"
She opened the curtain revealing herself to me. Wow!
"Here's your stuff. Don't know what you want."
She reached in the bag and got her body wash , shampoo and conditioner.
"Thank you!!" she said as she closed the curtain.
A moment later the curtain opened again.
"Well. Aren't you gonna join me Silly?"
Until then, I never had a shower like that. We washed each other, soaping up and touching, kissing in the hot steamy water. It was the most incredible erotic experience next to making love to Tia, of course.
Stepping out of the shower we dried each other off. It was then I realized: Tia washed me with her body wash. I smelled like her!
After getting dressed we headed out the door, to meet with Tony and Inga in town. I drove and we spent the day shopping. I had no idea what to get for Tia for Christmas. Sitting down for a bite to eat, while Tia was in the ladies room, I asked Tony and Inga to find out what she might want.
Tony told me Tia likes crystal figurines and jewelry. Stuffed animals and books about ancient history. Quilts and old furniture was also on her list.
Following Tia, while looking for gift, I asked her what she wanted for Christmas.
"I don't know."
"There must be something that you want. C'mon Babe. Tell me."
"I can't think of anything right now."
"Well. try to figure what you might like." Giving her a kiss.
I mainly window shopped with Tia while waiting to see if anything caught her eye. Tony and Inga loaded up on gifts for family members.
Tia made a few purchases for Mark at ThinkGeek.
Tony and his wife had gifts to buy elsewhere. Tia was getting tired and wanted to leave for home. We said our goodbyes.
On the way home I asked Tia if she was alright.
"I'm okay Wayne. I love Christmas but not like crowds like that."
"You want me to stop to get you anything?"
"No, baby. Just take me home."
We got to my house. Going to the kitchen I got us a drink.
She kicked off her shoes and sat on the sofa. I sat next to her. We snuggled. Golden Girls was on. Tia said it was her favorite show.
Bingo!
Tia had fallen asleep, head on my shoulder.
About an hour later I got up letting her sleep covering her with a blanket.
I had gone to the laundry room and got clothes out of dryer. I was in bedroom putting them away.
She came up behind me and hugged me.
"Hey sleepyhead."
"Sorry I fell asleep. Can I help?"
"If you wish. All t shirts are put on a hanger. Skivvies are put in top drawer in dresser. Socks are matched, folded together and put in that middle drawer."
We finished.
We sat on the bed.
"Tia, please tell me what you want for Christmas."
"I like old books. Antique furniture. I like handmade quilts and candles. Things made of crystal. Things like that."
"Oh, girly stuff. I gotcha."
"Well I am a girl, Silly. Or do you need to be reminded?" she said giving me a wink.
"Okay! That's a start. I'll make a list."
"What do you want for Christmas, babe?"
"There is one thing I want for Christmas."
"What?"
I stared in her eyes and I said.
"You."
Smiles.
"Yeah. I'll stick you under my tree. And Christmas morning, I get to unwrap you."
I wagged my eyebrows at her.
"Why wait until Christmas to unwrap me? You can start now!" She said, pulling off her shirt.
Tia leaned in, nibbled my neck and whispered, "Boink Boink!"
I got my Christmas present early,
Saturday morning I awoke to the smell of breakfast cooking. I threw some skivvies, shorts and a t shirt on. I put an Item from the dresser in my shirt pocket.
"Good morning love!"
"Morning, babe!"
We kissed. Yummy. Her kiss tasted like maple syrup. I poured a cup of coffee.
"Breakfast is almost ready."
I sat at the table, reaching for my cell to read the news.
Bad news so early. Bah! I put the phone away.
I would rather look at my lady.
I watched her move around the kitchen. In a long flowing robe I saw she wore nothing but panties underneath. That could be dangerous if frying bacon.
Bacon was taken from the oven. Eggs fried. Pancakes were made.
Breakfast was served.
Tia set my plate before me, giving me another kiss.
I waited on her to serve herself and sit.
And we began to eat.
"Anything else you can think of that you want for Christmas, Wayne?"
"Everything I want is right here in front of me." I said looking at her.
Finishing breakfast, I helped her clean up and wash dishes. We sat on the couch, cuddling under a blanket. I gave her the remote and she chose the Hallmark Channel. Of course.
Naturally, this close to the Holidays there was an abundance of Christmas themed commercials.
"I know what to get you for Christmas, Tia!"
"What?"
I just smiled.
"What?"
Silence.
"Wayne!!" Tia yelled, playfully jabbing me in the ribs as she sat up.
Ow!! That hurt.
"The thing is Babe, I already bought it. I put a lot of thought into it. I want you to have it now."
"What is it?"
"Hold out your hand."
Nervously she did.
I put a key into her hand.
She stared at it for a moment, and looked at me.
"Wayne? Is this?"
"Yeah. It's the key to my house. I want you to have it."
"Honey, I don't know what to say."
The look on her face said enough.
"Wayne, are you asking me to move in?"
"Do you want to move in?"
"All I want to do is be with you."
"Then I am asking you to move in. If that's okay?"
Tia threw her arms around my neck.
"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh, Baby! I love you!!"
"Love ya too, Hon."
Tia called Tony and told him the good news. He and Inga was happy for us. I was happy to have this fine woman by my side and in my bed every night. Monday we went back to work. There was a few weeks to go until the Christmas break. What days off we had we moved her things into my house. When I was at work, she added a woman's touch to the place.
I bought her a prelit artificial Christmas tree. Tia wanted to decorate it herself. She made the house a warm and welcome home. Hanging lights and Christmas decorations all over the place. Tia loved Christmas.
Before Tia, I was grumpy during the Holidays. She gave me a reason to celebrate.
I put Tia's gifts under the tree, making her promise not to peek.
On Christmas Eve, Tony and his family came to our house. Tia cooked a wonderful supper and we exchanged gifts. When they went home, I was just me and Tia. We turned out the lights, got in bed. And made love. We fell asleep in each others arms.
Christmas Morning. Tia had gotten up before me She made coffee, and turned on the Christmas music
She woke me up with a kiss.
"Wake up Silly!!"
I got up and washed my face and hands. I brushed my teeth and headed to the living room. I kissed her.
"Morning sexy!"
"Good morning!"
After a light breakfast, I sat next to her by the tree. We exchanged gifts.
Tia enjoyed the Swarovski Crystal figures I got her. And the 18 carat gold necklace which shown beautifully against her dark skin. I got her a $200.00 gift card from Barnes and Noble. And a red, long flowing silky robe with slippers. A Golden Girls adult coloring book and other goodies, and 10 candles from Yankee Candle Company. Plus a gold tennis bracelet and matching earrings.
Tia got me a Dewalt impact wrench. A Arcade1Up Burgertime game (To be delivered later) and a nice knife set and a gas grill. Plus a very nice leather jacket. Socks, t shirts, cologne and a digital camera.
I gathered up the wrapping paper and boxes putting them in a plastic bag. Tia was admiring the gold necklace, still in the box.
"Hon, this is too much! You shouldn't have."
"I wanted you to have something really special for Christmas."
"Help me put it on."
She handed me the necklace and turned her back to me holding her long hair out of the way.
I looped it around her neck and fastened the clasp. I kissed her shoulder.
"There you go."
Tia turned and looked at me and then down at the necklace. It hung beautifully against her dark brown skin ending just above her breasts.
"Wayne. It's beautiful. Thank you." Tia said as she kissed me.
She stood and admired it in the mirror hung on the wall.
Picking up the trash bag I headed toward the door. I stopped long enough to kiss Tia on the neck.
"You look beautiful, Babe."
I walked to the recycle bin and tossed the bag inside. The neighborhood kids were already outside riding their new bikes and skateboards. To be a kid again.
"Tia?" I said as I walked inside.
"In the bathroom, hon."
I sat at the computer and powered it up. As I waited for the main screen to load, I heard Tia behind me.
"Wayne. I have another gift for you.to unwrap."
I turned and she stood before me. Wearing nothing but the silky robe and the necklace I got for her. And the gold bracelet and earrings. The robe was a bit too small. The robe could barely contain her large boobs. She had taken a ribbon from one of her gifts, and delicately tied it around her waist. Her pubes peeked through the opening in the front.
"My God, babe!"
I went to her, took her in my arms and kissed her. She noticed my erect penis sticking out of my shorts. Laughing she touched it, stroking it. I found the ribbon holding the robe closed. I untied it and the robe swung open. Her breasts swung free. With a shake of her shoulders the robe fell to the floor.
"Merry Christmas, baby."
Another Christmas In the bag. A new year has begun. With all the Holiday madness behind us, things were getting back to normal. it was the middle of January. Plenty of overtime for both of us. I fell more and more in love with Tia every day. I had opened my heart and my home to her. She gave me more love than I have ever known.
I wanted to make Tia my wife. I had already purchased a ring, guessing her size. My mind going in fifty different directions. I called Tony and told him I wanted to talk with him face to face. I was home alone and Tia was at work. He could be here in an hour. He got here on time. We shook hands.
I spoke to him.
"Tony, you know how I feel about Tia. I love that girl with all my heart and I bust my ass to make her happy. She is an awesome lady and I would deny her nothing. Your folks are gone. So with you being the man of the family, I want to ask for your blessing to marry her."
Tony said. "Wayne, I know how you feel about her. I appreciate how well you treat her. She tells me all the time how much she loves you, and how you make her happy. That's good enough for me. She loves you. I love you too, man."
I held my hand out and shook hands and bro hugged.
"Thanks, man!"
"And Wayne. Thanks for the respect."
I showed him the ring.
"Now all I gotta do is get the nerve to propose."
"Dude. She's been waiting for a month for you to ask!"
Tia arrived home later that evening.
I greeted her with a kiss.
"Hello babe. How was your day?"
"Very tiring. I need a hot shower."
"Are you hungry? I can put a pizza in the oven."
"Wayne, that would be great."
I preheated the oven and waited for it to reach temperature. After 10 minutes the oven dinged and I put the pizza in. I sat waiting for her. Tia emerged looking refreshed and worlds better. She wore a large sleeping t shirt that went to her knees. She walked up to me. Tia kissed me.
"Heyyy baby." She cooed in my ear.
She sat in my lap. Arms around my neck. I pushed my face between her breasts, drinking in her scent. I kissed her boobs through the cloth.
The oven dinged. Pizza was ready.
"Sit sit sit."
I cut her 2 slices and put it in front of her and got her a drink. I did the same for myself.
"How's my lady doing?"
"I'll be alright. It was just a bad day at work. It was meth head central today. It got rough. I am home now. All I need is my boyfriend and a good night's sleep."
She didn't eat much.
"Sorry you had a bad day, Baby." I said, kissing her forehead. "Go sit on the couch. I got the dishes."
She watched TV while I cleaned up. It was after 9pm. Tia had fallen asleep..
"Hey Babe, are you ready for bed?"
"Yeah," she said sleepily.
The next day I was going to ask Tia to marry me. I had gotten off work and purchased roses. I put the roses in the fridge in the garage. Tia was still at the hospital. After I got out of shower and got dressed, I got 2 glasses, put them in the fridge next to a bottle of wine. I started supper and then waited for my lady to come home. I rehearsed in my mind over and over what I was going to say to her.
An hour later. she walked through the door with a smile. I got up greeted her with a hug and kiss.
"How was your day babe? Any better today?"
"Much better! It was slow and boring. And yours?"
" Very busy. They need to fix the heat. The shop gets very cold."
Tia sniffed the air, "Smells good. What's cooking?"
"Jerk chicken. macaroni and cheese and green beans."
I took her hand. " Supper is ready. Let's eat'"
Over our food was the usual playful banter. Talk about work and current events.
Tia got up and started cleaning the table.
"Honey, I got this. Go get a hot shower and relax."
"Love you."
Kiss.
While she was in shower I got the wine and glasses ready. On the living room coffee table I lit candles and poured wine into both glasses and placed them on a crochet doily. I got the roses and set them nearby.
I popped a mint in my mouth, dimmed the lights and waited for her.
She came out. Wearing only a pair of undies and a shirt. She looked around, saw the candles and wine on the table.
"Wayne. What are you doing? What's going on?" Tia walked up and hugged me.
I produced the flowers. She gasped. Smiling she raised them and inhaled their scent. Setting the flowers down, we embraced. We kissed softly. I told her how much I loved her.
I held her hands.
"Tia. You cannot imagine how happy you have made me and the joy you brought into my life. Every day I am with you gets better and better. There are times I cannot say the words I have in my heart because I love you so much."
I got down on a knee, kissing her hands.
"Tia, honey. I love you. I want to marry you. I want to be a husband to you. Please be my wife. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together."
"Yes! Yes I will marry you. Oh, Baby I love you so much!"
I stood up and we held each other, kissing and both crying tears of joy.
Pulling the ring out of my shirt pocket, I held it with two fingers. Tia's eyes went wide and gently slid her finger into it. Perfect fit.
"It's beautiful! Oh, Wayne, thank you!" she said kissing me.
Reaching down for both glasses, I gave her one. Clinking glasses together we drank our wine looking into each other's eyes.
I blew the candles out and we walked into our bedroom.
We undressed each other. Totally naked we slow danced to the radio playing quietly on the nightstand. Kissing each other our hands explored the familiar areas of our bodies. My hands cradled her butt cheeks. Tia laughed softly, pulling me onto the bed. We fell into each other's arms legs intertwining. We kissed, our lips travelling over each other's neck and shoulder's.
"Honey, suck on my titties." she said breathing into my ear.
My mouth went to her fleshy globes and I kissed and sucked on a nipple which sent shivers through Tia's body. It erupted. I loved it whenever her nipples would become hard. Not wanting to make the other jealous I began sucking that one too. Tia's hand were gently gripping my hair, holding my head into place. Her moans and sighs driving me wild. With both nipples hard I kissed the areas around them and the space between her breasts. A hand went to her vagina and with 2 fingers entered her. Slowly fingering her secret space Tia's began squirming on the bed, her thighs closed around my hand. My mouth had moved from her boobs to her mouth. Kissing, our tongues played with each other. Her eyes, wet and glassy looked a me. Laying on our sides, I took my erect member and plunged into her. Arms wrapped around each other we thrusted together hands moving. I felt the wetness drip from her shaky pussy. Words of love we whispered into each other's ears. I grabbed her ass as I felt it arise with in me.
Tia bit my neck as my body tensed up as I ejaculated into her. We both moaned loudly.
We lay together, quietly praising each other with words of love.
Tia looked at the ring on her hand. "I love it Honey."
I took her hand and kissed it and kissed her ring.
"That ring means you are mine." I told her kissing her lightly on the nose.
She said with loving eyes. "Wayne, I became yours the day you won my heart."
Tia began kissing my neck and started sucking on it.
"Oh God. That feels so good."
He kissing and sucking became more fervent. She sucked harder. It was then I realized. Tia was giving me a hickey!
For 5 minutes she sucked, driving me insane with pleasure.
Her sucking stopped and slowed to tender kisses. She looked at my neck and laughed, admiring her handiwork.
I got out of bed and looked into the mirror. Sure enough there was a very large and dark hickey on my neck.
"Tia, I haven't had a hickey since school!"
"It looks good on you!"
I climbed back in bed with her.
"That hickey is my mark. It means you belong to me!" she cooed in my ear.
I just lay there holding my woman next to me, feeling her body and warmth.
"T, any idea where you want to go on our honeymoon?"
"Anywhere you want to go, hon."
"Have you ever been to the mountains?"
"No."
"There's a place north of here. It's above Atlanta. It's called Helen. A small alpine village. In the mountains. I always loved the mountains. There are small cabins you can rent. It's very beautiful."
"I've heard of it."
"I'd like to take you there, but.."
I stopped talking.
"Babe, what's wrong?"
"Tia, I told you before I don't want to hide anything from you. Helen is where Wendy and I went on our honeymoon."
She thought for a moment.
"Wayne, you bought this house so you two could be together, right?"
"Yeah."
"She left you. Now I am here in our house. Right?"
"Yes."
"You two slept in the same bed, right? This very same bed?"
"Yeah."
"The same bed we sleep in and make love in. Our bed. Right?"
"Yes."
"So, why don't you take me to your mountains for our honeymoon?"
I had so much love for this woman. I held her tenderly.
"When do you want to get married? You want to be a June bride?"
"No! I don't want to wait that long, Silly!"
"Well there is a lot of planning to do..."
"I don't want a big, expensive wedding! Something small. Just our families."
"All of my family are gone."
"Wayne, you are my family."
Did I tell you how much love I had for this woman?
"How does Valentine's Day sound?"
"I don't know if I can wait that long."
Tia put her arms around my waist and whispered in my ear.
"Boink! Boink!"
I made reservations for the cabin. The same cabin I had before was the only one available. Tia borrowed Inga's wedding dress making necessary alterations. And she made the preparations for a church and Pastor.
I told the gang at work about the upcoming nuptials. They were hoping I wasn't making the same mistake twice.
"No frigging way! I absolutely love this woman!" I said as my face glowed.
The weeks passed. Trying to keep my mind on my job, I couldn't wait to get back to her.
Two days before the wedding, while she was at work, I took my suit off the hanger still covered In plastic.
I tried it on. It still fit!
The day of the wedding arrived. I was nervous as Hell. Tia's family was there. The music started and the door opened there appeared my lady. Dressed in a White wedding dress. She stood by my side radiant. Beautiful.
We took our vows. We kissed. We were Husband and Wife.
There was a small reception and her family welcomed me warmly.
We changed into our regular clothes in an adjoining room.
And we were on our way. We stopped by the house and loaded our luggage in the truck. We headed to our honeymoon.
Traffic was light until we were halfway there. Construction kept us from getting there on time. Tia called ahead and told them we were running late. By the time we passed the delays it was getting dark. Were were above Atlanta. Traffic was moderate and we only had 20 miles to our cabin. Pulling into Helen, in the darkness, Tia saw the lights of houses on the mountains. Christmas lights were still up. The town sparkled.
Arriving at the cabin, Tia heard water rushing. I told her it was the river. It was very cold. We quickly unloaded our things and I unlocked the door. We stepped inside. It hadn't changed much. Very homey and rustic. A fireplace and Lazy Boy recliners. A flat screen TV. A small kitchen. There was a modest bathroom. The bedroom had a double bed and furniture.
"Wayne, this is wonderful."
I walked to the thermostat and turned the heat on to take the chill off.
"Come on. I want to show you something."
I opened the sliding back door and we stepped outside to a very large porch.
It was dark and the porch light did little to illuminate the outside.
But the sound of the river made a peaceful relaxing sound as it rolled over the rocks. The lights of passing cars on the highway above cast shadows.
"Wait until daylight. You get to see why I love this place so much."
Shivering we stepped in from the cold.
I started a fire in the fireplace, while Tia made a light supper.
With the lights turned off and not bothering to turn on the TV we cuddled in the dark on a recliner kissing and watched the flames dance.
"Thank you for marrying me, babe." I said kissing her cheek.
"Thank you for making me happy, Wayne."
The flames turned to embers. I made sure there was no danger of a fire spreading.
We went to bed. And to the sound of the river outside the bedroom window, we consummated our marriage
In the morning daylight shown through the window. Tia was still asleep. I got up put my skivvies and shirt on. I put on a robe and went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Pouring myself a cup and putting on slippers I stepped outside the back porch. It was still early. The sun tried to peek through the mountain fog. Trees along the river still had leaves on them. I stood there for a while, never minding the cold and just admired the view. I heard the sliding door open.
"Wayne?"
"Hey."
Tia snuggled next to me wearing her silky robe.
"This is so beautiful. It's just like you said Baby."
I sipped my coffee. Tia took a sip too.
"Tia, want breakfast? There is a great German restaurant here that serves the best Belgian Waffles. You hungry?"
"Umm hmm!"
She pointed to something off in the distance. Up river a Black bear foraged along the bank.
"There are bears up here. Don't worry. He won't bother us. Just don't go walking anywhere alone."
We kissed, my arms went into her robe pulling her close. It fell open exposing her naked body. The cold weather again did wonders to her nipples. I could see goosebumps on her skin. She must have been freezing.
"Tia! My God woman! There are bears out here! Put some clothes on for goodness sake!" I said as I wrapped her robe closed.
She laughed. "It's cold, honey. You know what it does to me,"
"Yes I do. Let's get inside before we freeze."
Grabbing my coffee cup, We went inside.
We walked into the living room. Tia locked the sliding door.
In the kitchen. I poured us both a new cup of hot coffee.
I heard her voice behind me.
"Wayne?"
I turned and saw my wife had dropped her robe. It lay piled around her ankles. Her magnificent nipples poked out at me. She walked to me and whispered in my ear.
"I think breakfast can wait."
Tia took me by the hand and led me to bed.
That's the way my story ends. I met my High School crush after so many years. How I fell in love with her and how I won her heart. And how she became my wife.
I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with her.
*****
This was a story written over, mostly in my mind, over the course of 38 years. I started actually writing this 2 weeks ago. Certain events were changed due to the course of time. The characters are based on real people. Names have been changed. Tia was exactly as described in the story. And yes, during high school I did have a huge crush on her. Sadly the events after high school between me and Tia never occurred.
|
Enough time has passed for Derek to admit that he wants things. It doesn't mean he goes after those things, but it's a step in the right direction. He can look at something— someone— and think 'I want' and sometimes it just is. Sometimes it doesn't twist into a soliloquy of self-loathing and inner pain and that's... that's progress.
Derek looks at Stiles now, older, sharper in some places and softer in others, and thinks about how he wants.
The whole pack is here in Beacon Hills for summer break, everyone crammed into Derek's apartment, except Jackson but he was never really pack anyway.
Stiles drifts away from whatever conversation he and Isaac were having—
("I can name, like, a hundred fertility gods in alphabetical order," Derek hears Stiles say.
"Please— I just— Please don't," Isaac says, blushing from some mix of embarrassment and annoyance.)
—and his eyes meet Stiles'. Stiles is holding up a half-empty bottle of beer, his second, in a silent toast and smiling lazily at Derek. He holds eye contact as he takes a sip, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, and Derek's eyes dip down for a moment to watch the line of Stiles' throat when he swallows. There's a drop of beer on Stiles' bottom lip, and his tongue darts out quick to lick it away before he smiles at Derek again.
"Hey, judgey," Stiles says. He isn't drunk, not really, but he's just this side of too relaxed. Easy.
Derek rolls his eyes and says, "I'm not judging you."
"You were staring," Stiles says, as if that's some kind of an explanation, and maybe it is. His fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle loosely, and then release it to tap each one lightly against the glass. If Derek concentrates, he can hear the soft, muted echo of sound the glass makes every time Stiles' fingers make contact.
"I was listening," Derek says.
"Right," Stiles says, and then turns away to wave at Scott to get his attention.
"It looked like two fauns dancing in a meadow," Stiles shouts across the room. "And you can't fail a Rorschach test. It's like failing at having a favorite color."
Derek feels a tension he hadn't even realized he was holding release and he takes a sip of his own drink, letting the sound of everyone wrap around him, warm and easy.
*
It's late by the time things quiet down. Boyd and Erica are on the couch, wrapped around each other and dozing, and Isaac is on the floor in front of them, curled in into himself, Erica's fingers tangled in his hair. Connected.
Scott left hours ago to go see Allison.
Derek is in the kitchen under the pretense of cleaning up, but he's just staring at the empty plates, cups, and bottles.
He hears Stiles coming and turns around.
"You headed out?" Derek says.
Stiles' hands smooth down his thighs, and then up again to hook his thumbs in his jean pockets. He shrugs, mouth turning down slightly, and then relaxes all at once. "Do you need any help?" he says.
He takes a step toward Derek, then another. "We kind of wrecked your place."
"It's fine," Derek says, and means it. More often than not, Derek uses the same cup and the same plate day in and day out, washing them after each meal. The mess is kind of nice; it makes his place feel more like a home.
Stiles nods a few times, but doesn't speak. The silence isn't empty; the TV is on and there's the soft sound of some late-night show playing in the background and, underneath that, the echoing chirping sounds of insects.
Derek waits.
Stiles sighs, a quick rush of air, and says, "So. You know I'm just gonna go ahead and, uh." He shakes his head, closing the distance between them instead, and touches a hand to Derek's chest over Derek's heart, fingers splayed. If Derek concentrates, he thinks he can feel Stiles' heartbeat through the palm of Stiles’ hand and doesn't let himself think.
He says, "Okay," bringing a hand up to close around Stiles' wrist, "Okay," and leans in.
*
Derek isn't Stiles' first anything. It soothes his conscience a little until he gets jealous and feels guilty that he's jealous. It’s vicious cycle.
Stiles fists the hand on Derek’s chest in his shirt when they kiss. Stiles' other hand moves to Derek's side, sliding up to fit against his ribs. Derek's hands are on Stiles' hips, pulling him in closer. Stiles kisses like he’s learning Derek, flicking his tongue against Derek’s, lightly at first then deeper when Derek's grip on his hips tightens. He nips at Derek's lower lip, does it again when Derek's breath catches, and smiles, brushing their noses together.
Derek walks them back until he's leaning against the edge of the sink. He hears low murmurs in the living room, Erica then Boyd, and goes still. Derek turns his head away, takes his hands off Stiles' hips and reaches back to grip the edge of the sink instead.
"You're— you don't, um," Stiles says, looking Derek in the eye, searching. "You okay?" Stiles' lips and cheeks are flushed pink, and he's smoothing his thumb back and forth absently over Derek's ribs.
Derek shivers, exhaling slowly through his nose, and shakes his head. "Just. Maybe not—"
"Right," Stiles says for the second time tonight, letting Derek go, and it's a little annoying, all of the assumptions packed into that one syllable. Annoying that Stiles is probably right about some of them.
"Here," Derek says, too sharp, and Stiles flinches. "Not here. I have a room."
"Oh," Stiles says. "I thought you— Never mind. It's stupid. Forget it."
"Yeah," Derek says. There’s a stubborn set to Stiles' jaw and Derek tenses, steels himself for a fight, but it drains away in an instant. Derek wonders a little what Stiles said to himself to go so calm all of a sudden.
When Stiles kisses him again, it's sweet, mouth gentle and soft against Derek's.
*
Two years ago, Stiles had given Derek a stuffed wolf as a gag gift on his birthday.
"You're stiff, man," he'd said, grinning.
Derek just stared, one hand absently petting the wolf's fur.
"I mean, like, you know, emotionally," Stiles said, making a squeezing gesture in front of his own chest that was probably supposed to provide a visual aid for his words. Derek couldn't decide if it was a little rude or just symbolic of a heart beating.
"Just. You're all tight. Like, just tense. You should probably limber up. Do a little verbal yoga." Stiles put his hands in his pocket, nodding his chin at the toy. "You can practice with him."
Stiles is on him again once they're through the bedroom door. He knocks into Derek a little too hard, stumbling, and Derek stumbles into his desk, caught off guard. A stuffed animal topples to the ground and Stiles is murmuring, "Sorry, sorry. You kept— I think I stepped on him. Sorry," against his neck.
"It's fine. It's just—" Derek says, but doesn't finish, can't think of anything to say that would matter right now. Derek lets Stiles back him up against the bed. He drops down and scoots back, letting Stiles fit himself into the space between Derek's legs.
Stiles eases down, pressing himself against Derek, and Derek tilts his hips up, moves against Stiles' hip and shudders, a moan catching in his throat.
Stiles says, "Like— yeah, like that," voice rough and low in Derek’s ear.
And Derek has this unbidden memory of when he was twenty-one. He'd met a girl named Marisol who wanted to teach him how to dance. She held him close, pressed her hips flush against his and said, "When I move, you move."
It's not— this isn't the same, but something about the moment brings on a sense of deja vu.
Stile pushes his hands under Derek's shirt, and mouths a line down Derek's neck. He sets the blunt edge of his teeth against the crook of Derek's neck and scrapes his teeth against Derek's skin. Derek makes a sound like a whimper and fists one hand in the sheets, the other in Stile's hair, holding him there.
They finish that way— first Derek, then stiles— and Stiles laughs, low, buzzing against Derek's skin. Derek wants more of that sound, more of— just more. Stiles is smearing kisses over Derek's cheek and mouth. He's saying, "Fuck," and laughing, satisfied.
"I wanted— " Stiles says, just as Derek's saying, "Our shoes are still on.
"Yeah," Stiles says. "But it was still pretty hot."
*
It would be a lie if Derek said he always wanted Stiles. There was a point where there wasn't much of anything that Derek really let himself want, and a whole host of other things he needed that seemed too far out of reach. So, it wasn't until everything had settled and everyone had gone off to college that he realized he didn't have to feed himself rage to survive; that there was more than rage in him; that he didn't just have to survive.
It was another year after that before he wanted things, saw Stiles home for Christmas— taller with his hair grown out; Derek wondered how he never noticed before how big Stiles was, never as frail as they made him seem— and Derek had a thought. It was small at first, and then grew, branching out and taking up space.
Derek didn't try to kill it, let it grow into something he could let himself believe he even deserved sometimes.
*
They're both naked now, clothes kicked off and lying at the foot of the bed, and Stiles sprawled half on top of Derek, head tucked under Derek's chin.
"Next time, I want to— " Stiles says. "We should— "
"Yeah," Derek murmurs, warm and content. "Next time." |
[y/n] watched Katakuri in fear as he slashed everything around the room with Mogura.
He was going ballistic. He was furious. He was out of control and that was because of her careless mistake.
"K-Katakuri-sama... Please..." she whispered as tears fell from her eyes.
As he continued to destroy the furniture's of her room, his forgotten fluffy scarf we're thrown from the force.
She never thought this will happen when he asked her if she wanted to visit Melodia yesterday.
If only she knew...
A day ago...
"Melodia?! You will bring me with you?!" [y/n] asked, her eyes brightening happily.
Katakuri nodded. "I have some business there."
"Thanks! Please let me come with you!"
They're not alone when they sailed to Melodia. The quintuplets, Opera, Counter, Cadenza and Gala we're with them.
As they reached Melodia, Katakuri ordered his brothers to meet whoever they needed to meet there first while he brought [y/n] to the palace.
After being saved by Katakuri, her family became a lot more nicer to Katakuri which made [y/n] happy.
[y/n] spent her day with her sister.
When her sister we're summoned by their father, [y/n] made her way towards her room, totally forgetting the time.
With a small smile, she opened the room and entered. But then as she closed and locked the door, she realized her mistake. She wasn't alone. Someone was in there.
It was her husband, Katakuri, scarf, pulled down, revealing what he was hiding under the scarf all this time.
Sharp looking teeth and symmetrical scars on his cheek that seems to go down into the side of his mouth, giving him a slit mouthed look, same as the ghost from the foreign book her brother used to read to scare her back when she was a child.
However, what really surprised her was to see him sloppily gorge on donuts and more sweets. It was out of character for someone as serious and perfectionist Katakuri.
Katakuri froze when he finally noticed her. His eyes widened and then suddenly, he was in front of her, his hand on her neck, choking the life out of her.
"K-Katakuri-sama..." she gasped for breath as Katakuri tightened his hold on her neck.
Katakuri looked different. His eyes we're blazing in anger as sharp teeth gritted.
"You saw me..." he muttered under his breath.
"P-please..." she grabbed the hand holding her neck, trying to make him let her go.
She was losing her breath. Her sight we're beginning to go black. As she closed her eyes, close to passing out, Katakuri dropped her on the ground.
[y/n] gasped for breath as she filled her lungs with a much needed air.
Still gasping, she glanced up to Katakuri who we're looking down at her, wide eye with pain and regret.
Grabbing his scarf off his neck, he threw it to the ground. He then screamed and summoned Mogura.
He turned away from her and slashed the spear around, releasing his anger on the furniture. He screamed in anger as he do so.
That brings them to the present.
[y/n] watched Katakuri in fear as he slashed everything around the room with Mogura.
He was going ballistic. He was furious. He was out of control and that was because of her careless mistake.
"K-Katakuri-sama... Please..." she whispered as tears fell from her eyes.
As he continued to destroy the furniture's of her room, his forgotten fluffy scarf we're thrown from the force.
She never thought this will happen when he asked her if she wanted to visit Melodia yesterday.
A knocking on the door sounded. However, Katakuri continued his frenzy. [y/n] wasn't sure if he couldn't hear it or ignoring it.
"[y/n]! [y/n] what's wrong?!" it was Staccato.
"What's going on?! [y/n]!" her father called. "Open the door!"
[y/n] stared at the door in fear. If they open the door, they were going to be in danger and also, she was worried about Katakuri's state of mind.
"D-dont come in!" she shouted.
"Like hell! Unlock the door at once!" Staccato ordered.
"I said, don't come in!!!" [y/n] shouted again.
"Key! Get the key!" Serenade ordered.
"No! Just break the door! Shes in danger! We dont have time! Knights! Break the door! Hurry!" Staccato ordered.
Sound of banging on the door echoed.
[y/n] looked at Katakuri in panic. "K-Katakuri-sama..." she stood up and run to him.
She tackled him and the force sent both of them to the bed.
Katakuri struggled against her but she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him to her chest in a tight hug. "Let me go!!!" he growled.
"No! Please calm down!" she begged.
"I will kill you!" he shouted as he struggled more.
[y/n] knew she can't overpower him. He was bigger and stronger after all. But she needed to hold on. She needed to hold him tight.
As the sound of the knights, trying to break the door continued, [y/n]'s tears fall.
"Katakuri-sama..." she whispered. "It's okay. Please calm down. Please..."
"You think I'm a monster! Right?! I'm an ugly looking monster to you now!"
"That's not true-"
"Lies!!!" he yelled as he tried to pull himself away. [y/n] however tightened her hold to him.
His anger was blinding him. And she can't seem to get through him.
If that's the case then...
[y/n] then grabbed the side of his head and made him look up to her.
Katakuri's eyes of fury looked up to her. [y/n] however has a gentle look on her face as she smiled through her tears, lovingly. "I love you."
Katakuri froze as he felt [y/n] 's lips pressed on him.
Her action weakened him as he stopped struggling.
His eyes remained open and wide while [y/n]'s hand on the side of his head snaked around his neck to deepen the kiss.
[y/n] pulled away slightly, forehead on his forehead, she smiled.
"I'll never think of you as a monster, Katakuri-sama. I love you and I don't care what you look like. It's not even bad as you believe it is," she said and reached to stroke the scar on his cheek. "You're very handsome, my love. So don't hide your face from me anymore."
Katakuri closed his eyes as he completely calmed down.
[y/n] smiled and pulled his face to her chest as the door opened.
Her siblings and father, along with the knights came barging in.
Their eyes widened as they saw the state of the room.
"W-what happened here?" her father questioned.
[y/n] only smiled as she pressed his face more to her, hiding his face from everyone's eyes.
"Its nothing." she said and turned her eyes to Katakuri's brothers who just arrived.
They probably heard the commotion from the outside and decided to check what it was.
"Opera-sama? Are you done with your business?" she asked.
"Err... Yeah," Opera said as he and his brothers stared at the scene wide eyed.
She stroked the back of Katakuri's head as she nodded.
"Then, let's go back. Katakuri-sama is tired."
TO BE CONTINUED
|
"Long recording today, wasn't it?"
Hyunjin forces his eyes open and blinks away the bleary film to meet Changbin's eyes. It's dark in the back of the van, lit only by lights along the street shining into the car as they pass them. Flickers of light, catching on Changbin's bangs, his chin. The light from Jeongin's phone screen casts a dull blue glow across the back of the van and puts two blue-white pinpricks in Changbin's eyes.
Hyunjin swallows around the dryness in his throat. "Yeah," he croaks. His neck hurts something awful from letting it fall back against the headrest. Pauses. "Wait," he says. "No, it was okay, I'm not compla—"
"It was pretty long," Changbin says, and Hyunjin can see that the corners of his mouth are curled. His eyes are only slits, but turned up into pleased half-moons. He's not mad.
"STAY cheered so hard," Hyunjin mumbles. "They always work so hard."
Changbin hums in agreement. "And now that they are home and resting, so can you, Hyunjin-ah."
Hyunjin glances towards the front of the car. Jeongin has his Airpods in, playing the new RPG-style rhythm game he had taken a liking to. Chan passed out not even two minutes after they had piled in. And Seungmin, while not playing music as he scrolls though his phone, is not in the habit of chatting about what he may or may not have heard his members discussing.
"I'm tired," Hyunjin admits finally. "Really, really tired."
"You had a big exam yesterday, right?" Changbin asks.
"Yeah," Hyunjin says. "I was up late studying and then I practiced extra hard yesterday until way late to make up for skipping out the day before, so I'm just a little tired."
"You can sleep now," Changbin suggests gently.
Hyunjin shakes his head, smiling a little. "SKZ Talker."
"Ah."
Hyunjin rolls his shoulders and there's an ugly crack close to his neck. He's probably a little dehydrated and he definitely pulled something while dozing like that. He licks his lips and pats his pockets for lip balm. Grumbles wordlessly when he comes up empty.
"Here," Changbin says, pulling out some of his own.
"Ah, hyung, no," Hyunjin says, shaking his head slowly. "If I'm not well, you'll—"
"I'll what?" Changbin asks, teasing lilt to his voice. "I live next door to you, Hyunjinnie. We share a toothbrush."
Hyunjin laughs through his nose and shakes his head, rolling his eyes to the fuzzy ceiling of the van. "You're gross."
The sound of a seatbelt stretching. Hyunjin tilts his head to the side and Changbin is leaning across the backseat, lip balm uncapped, holding it up to Hyunjin's face. "C'mon," Changbin coaxes. "If they tear you'll never stop chewing them."
Hyunjin rolls his eyes but leans forward and parts his lips, eyes fixed on Changbin's. Changbin takes Hyunjin's chin gently in one hand and fixes his eyes on Hyunjin's lips, careful and gentle in rubbing the balm across his lips, dragging it over twice to make sure he covers the fullness of Hyunjin's mouth. Hyunjin watches the jump of Changbin's pupils and his own lips that part in a mirror of Hyunjin's. He thumbs beneath Hyunjin's bottom lip to swipe away any excess.
"Rub them together," Changbin says, rubbing his own lips together. "Don't lick."
Hyunjin is eighteen years old and doesn't need that level of instruction, but the fussing makes him smile. He doesn't mind being babied a little. He copies Changbin and blinks slowly. "Thanks, hyung."
Changbin doesn't drop his hand. He moves it Hyunjin's neck, playing with the hair at the base of his neck. Tugging. Petting. Combing with his fingers. He can curl a little bit around his pinky finger and he lets out a soft sigh. "Getting long."
"Mhmm," Hyunjin agrees. "S'posed to keep it long this comeback." Changbin drags his nails over Hyunjin's scalp and Hyunjin's eyelids flutter closed.
"'S good," he murmurs. "Feels so good, hyung."
Changbin doesn't say anything, but he stays there, arm uncomfortably outstretched and leaning into Hyunjin's space, stroking Hyunjin's hair and petting him until he is lulled into a light slumber once again.
It's not for long, though. "Chris-hyung," Seungmin says, loud enough for Jeongin to straighten up and Hyunjin to stir.
Jeongin shakes Chan gently. "Hyung," he says.
Chan sucks in a deep breath and sits up. "'M up," he slurs. "Whassup?"
"Talker," Seungmin says softly. "Do you want to start?"
Chan mutters something under his breath and sits up while Seungmin retrieves the camera from one of the managers in the passenger seat.
Changbin's fingers move to Hyunjin's ear, tracing the shell of it and rubbing over his earlobe. Hyunjin had taken out his earrings earlier because the nickel was irritating his piercings and because of that, he's got a little bit of crust around the holes. He makes a noise in the back of his throat to warn Changbin, but Changbin gently scrapes it off with his thumbnail and goes back to tracing the shape of Hyunjin's ear, outside and inside. Hyunjin warbles almost inaudibly and relaxes against the seat.
Changbin pets him through the SKZ Talker intro, picking up Hyunjin's slack and playing carefully with him ("You're so cute." "I am?" "Yes."). He drops his hand when Jeongin passes the camera overhead to get a better view of him, but the loss of skin-to-skin contact makes Hyunjin's heart ache. His own hand trails up Changbin's arm. He rests his wrist on Changbin's shoulder and touches the soft bristles of freshly shaved hair at the base of his neck. Ghosts his fingers over the minuscule strands while Changbin growls playfully at Jeongin. He can feel goosebumps on Changbin's upper arm. He wants more.
Hyunjin stretches against his seatbelt to lean across the backseat. Changbin is leaning forward, forearms perched on his knees, and offering up a comfortable amount of real estate in the shoulder department. The seatbelt digs into Hyunjin's neck and he ignores it. He nestles his cheek against the rise of Changbin's shoulder.
Needy? It might be. Probably is. Part of Hyunjin's nefarious plan to lure Changbin away from the front seat to pet him some more. Hyunjin is aware that he's insatiable. It's why he doesn't demand; only suggests. He touches Changbin in a way that says I need you as clearly as it also says I won't force you. The camera has him in its sights as well, so Hyunjin puts on a cute pout. It's not even that performative—he feels pouty and heartache-y, and if he's cute for STAY on top of vying for attention from hyung, then all the better.
Changbin adjusts the level of his shoulder automatically when he feels Hyunjin settle against him. He's toying with a Starbucks receipt in his hands while listening to the others talk; making little tears along the edges without actually ripping any pieces off. It takes him a few beats, but he drops his eyes and turns his head to look at Hyunjin.
The ride isn't as smooth when they aren't pressed flush to the seats, so Changbin and Hyunjin rock back and forth in their own personal limbo. Hyunjin keeps himself from leaning on Changbin, cheek delicately bobbing on and a little off his shoulder. Changbin's face wavers, towards and away from Hyunjin's face. Hyunjin blinks once, slowly, a small smile on his lips and eyes on Changbin's. Changbin's eyes hold his, expression neutral. Thoughtful.
They have a silent conversation:
Yes? What's this?
Mmm-mm.
You don't make any sense.
You know already. I don't have to say it.
Yah, I'm busy taking care of us.
But...
But what?
...
Seriously, this kid...
Come back to me.
His eyes fall to Hyunjin's lips. This is not unusual. It's not like the members never take notice of each other’s most charming features and praise them off camera. Jisung used to get in so close to look at the mole beneath Hyunjin's eye. Hyunjin and Jeongin still squish each other's mouths into fish faces until they burst out laughing and end up spitting all over each other. Changbin has touched Hyunjin's lips before. He's done more.
Changbin's face dips a little closer and Hyunjin's heart kicks hard against his sternum. He doesn't fight it. The day has been so long. He would welcome a little comfort, if Changbin would just...
But they're still being filmed. There's a beat of too much silence and then Chan makes some impromptu sound effect and Changbin turns back around to engage with the camera. Hyunjin lifts his head. He looked. I saw him look.
They finish up the clip as they enter their district. It's never long, just a greeting and some playfulness for STAY. They still have another twenty minutes minimum before they reach the dorms. Changbin falls back against the seat once their members are situated, this time Seungmin asleep and Chan slipping in earbuds. Changbin turns his head to the side and opens his mouth, presumably to scold Hyunjin for his cheekiness.
In an act of pure cheekiness, Hyunjin leans against him again, burrowing the crown of his head between Changbin's neck and shoulder, tucking himself under his chin.
"Yah," Changbin grumbles half-heartedly. Hyunjin looks up, eyes wide with faux innocence.
"You're relentless," Changbin murmurs. "What am I going to do with you?"
Hyunjin smiles.
"Besides that," Changbin says.
"Not even a little?" Hyunjin's voice is low and lilts up at the end. "Cruel..."
"What's with this brat today, huh?" Changbin murmurs. "Greedy for skinship and now he wants more?"
Hyunjin nods enthusiastically.
Changbin laughs through his nose. He drapes an arm around Hyunjin's shoulders and lets Hyunjin nestle close to him, even with the seatbelt tugging. Hyunjin makes eye contact with their manager in the rear view mirror, but he doesn't say anything. Hyunjin worked hard today. He can be spoiled a little with some rule-bending.
When they get to the dorms, Hyunjin wakes up again. He doesn't even remember falling asleep. Changbin untangles himself carefully and climbs out after Chan. Hyunjin blinks dumbly at everyone piling out. He has homework still. He will also die if he has to be awake for longer than an hour more.
He's offered an outstretched hand that he grabs and allows to haul him out of the van. He stumbles a little on the uneven ground and Changbin steadies him with a hand at his waist. Hyunjin doesn't bother playing; he slumps openly against Changbin, who grunts at the weight.
"We're going on ahead," Seungmin says, and Changbin makes a noise of acknowledgment. Even though Hyunjin is bigger and taller and heavier than his hyung, Changbin loops an arm around Hyunjin's waist and tugs him along to the door. Into the lobby. Split off from their manager at the stairs. Wait by the elevator. Get into the elevator. Watch the doors close. Changbin is so warm and firm against Hyunjin's side.
"Hyung," he whispers.
"Mm?"
Hyunjin hangs his head, presses his mouth against Changbin's ear. He can't ask outright, and the right words get jumbled in his head. He parts his lips but says nothing, breathing softly against the shell of Changbin's ear. It's so quiet. He can hear Changbin let out a controlled exhale. He can hear Changbin's pulse race in his neck. He finds the words.
"Can we...do 'that' again?" Hyunjin whispers.
"Coy," Changbin mutters. "You know what it's called."
"Please," Hyunjin says. "I want to, hyung."
The elevator dings and Changbin tugs Hyunjin out. Seungmin left the door open for them and they step through, toeing off their shoes in the entryway. They pull on slippers.
"Wash up," Changbin says. "If you're not asleep afterwards, we can."
That seems fair. Hyunjin pulls off his clothes and climbs into the shower with Jisung, who squawks loudly and protests, but is no match for Hyunjin's sleepy refusal to leave. He dries off. Pulls on boxers and a sleep shirt. Brushes his teeth. Washes his face. He should floss but he still has that itch under his skin.
Hyunjin peeks around the corner to try to locate Chan and Changbin. Fortunately, Chan has set up in the living room with his laptop and is chewing on a pen cap and watching a video. A copy of the pre-recording, maybe? Or some footage a manager shot? He scribbles something in the pad resting on his knee. Hyunjin slips out of the bathroom and into the room he shares with Changbin.
When Changbin walks in after finishing his own ablutions to find Hyunjin already snuggled under his comforter. He stands in the doorway and laughs. "I didn't think you'd come."
Hyunjin sniffs, but he can't pretend to be mad for long. He kicks at the blankets. "Come in," he says, holding up a corner.
"He invites me into my own bed..." Changbin shakes his head but comes as bid, crawling under the covers. Hyunjin tugs the comforter up to their chins and they face each other with secretive smiles.
"You still want to?" Changbin asks.
Hyunjin nods.
"You know...I don't always have to start--"
"It's better when you do it," Hyunjin says.
Changbin pinches his cheek. "Baby."
Hyunjin smiles and presses a tentative hand to Changbin's chest. "Yours," he says quietly. Changbin rolls his eyes, but Hyunjin feels the kick of his heart.
And then Changbin is brushing Hyunjin's bangs back, tucking stray hairs behind his ear. Hyunjin watches his hand move with wide eyes, lips already parted. Changbin thumbs his cheek, brushing over the mole beneath his eye slowly. Hyunjin scrunches his shoulders and leans into the touch.
"I'm going to now, okay?" Changbin whispers.
"Okay," Hyunjin whispers back.
Hyunjin watches. He lets himself go loose and pliable, lets Changbin take his chin like he did in the van and tilt his face up. He leans forward, helpless, even though he said he didn't want to lead. He watches Changbin lean in resolutely, eyes slipping closed just before Changbin's mouth meets his.
Changbin always begins slowly. He treats Hyunjin delicately, as if Hyunjin doesn't think about this all the time, wondering when they can do it again, as if Hyunjin will pull away or hate it. But he likes it. The slow kissing, just getting to know each other's bodies again after time apart, warms Hyunjin to his core. He can taste Chan's toothpaste in the corner of Changbin's mouth and the usual waxiness of Changbin's lip balm. They both smell like Jisung's shampoo. The scent of Hyunjin's orange peel face wash clings to his skin, persistent.
They rest a moment to breathe, foreheads pressed together. Hyunjin's heart is in his throat. He feels desperate and surges forward to rub cheeks with Changbin, up and down, the familiar brush of soft skin soothing some spiritual wound on his heart.
"Hey," Changbin says with half a laugh. "What's all this?"
"Missed this," Hyunjin breathes, maybe too honest. He runs his bottom lip over the cut of Changbin's jaw to re-memorize the shape and feel of it. Changbin has a hand on Hyunjin's chest, too. He can feel Hyunjin's racing pulse.
"Hyunjinnie," Changbin says softly, wounded.
Hyunjin wraps his arms around Changbin and pulls him on top of him. He squeezes Changbin in a tight hug, even wrapping his legs around him. He needs this. He needs to feel how Changbin fits in his arms and if he's lost weight or if he's grown. But mostly, Hyunjin needs to reassure himself that he's allowed to do this and that he's allowed to want to have Changbin touching him like this, filling in every touch-starved crack in Hyunjin's heart.
He lets go after a moment and Changbin props himself up over Hyunjin's chest. "Sorry," Changbin murmurs. "I know how badly you need this. I left you too long."
"Please," Hyunjin begs.
So Changbin curls his fingers in Hyunjin's hair and holds him there, pressing Hyunjin into the bed with the weight of his body, and he kisses him harder. His arms cage in Hyunjin and he works him open kindly but firmly, until he's kissing Hyunjin open-mouthed, scraping teeth against his tongue and sucking gently on his bottom lip. Hyunjin melts against Changbin, his entire soul chanting safe, safe, safe.
He feels warm. He feels wanted. He feels loved.
Changbin kisses Hyunjin until their lips start to bruise. He pulls back and Hyunjin lets out a long, tortured whine.
"Hush," Changbin chides him. "I'm getting you water."
He gets out of bed to grab his water bottle from the kitchen and returns, climbing back into bed with Hyunjin who immediately curls around him. Changbin takes several long swigs from the water bottle, throat bobbing. Hyunjin touches his Adam's apple lightly as he swallows. Changbin then offers it to Hyunjin and he nurses it slower, sipping occasionally.
"I can stay?" he asks.
Changbin's eyes are already closed. "If you want to."
Hyunjin puts the cap back on the water bottle and takes up his place, nestled against Changbin's shoulder. "I want to," he whispers, before closing his eyes as well.
|
“A vote for Azula is a vote for-”
The rest of the campaign poster is torn off, but down the hall is another poster with a great shot from the professional photoshoot student body presidential candidate Azula had commissioned. What do you expect from someone whose father had been mayor so long? If there’s one thing Azula knows, it’s campaigning.
What she doesn’t know, however, is what to do with the butterflies she gets when she looks at the cheer captain. Azula’s keen political mind allowed her to crush her opponents well before candidates for student body president were announced. That same cunning mind goes blank as Ty Lee skips toward her, already in uniform for the game after school.
“Hey ‘Zula!” she greets cheerfully. Azula feels her heart accelerate dangerously at the sound of her name. “Are you nervous for the election tomorrow?”
The candidate’s mouth is suddenly dry, her face hot, but she manages to confidently reply, “Well, it’s definitely an exciting time and I’m hoping for the best.” They both know the election is a formality. There’s no one left to oppose her, but she doesn’t want to risk public approval by appearing too smug. Ty Lee’s joyful aura is not dampened by Azula’s almost formal reply.
“Of course you’re going to win! There’s no one better for this job than you!” she gushes. The candidate feels her face grow even warmer, and she’s about to accept the compliment when a student shouts down the hall. “Oh, gosh, I gotta go!” Ty Lee interjects, quickly scooping up Azula’s hand, squeezing it, and dashing off, “Bye!!”
Azula watches after her, absolutely dumbfounded. Her hand hangs in midair where the other girl left it. “Uh… bye,” she mutters to the empty hallway. Why is my face so hot? she thinks, pressing the back of her hand to her cheek to feel the coolness. Not the hand Ty Lee grabbed. The other one. She hasn’t quite regained the control in that particular hand yet. I can’t be getting sick. It must be the stress of the election… I’m sure I will feel better after tomorrow.
Ty Lee is captain of the cheerleading team, and that was the most Azula had really known about her until recently. In fact, it was only after she announced her intention to run that she had any interaction with the captain. They don’t really have classes together, or any reason to collaborate. So what could have inspired Ty Lee to want to connect?? Azula lies on her bed, trying to solve the riddle. No prior positive or negative interactions. I’ve never had anything to do with cheerleading, or sports, or really talked about either to anyone about it in depth. What does she gain from this? Then it clicks. She wants to be on the president’s good side! She’s laying groundwork to ask for favors! Of course. That’s why she’s always touching and complimenting me. She sighs with relief. A small voice nags that it doesn’t explain Azula’s strange reactions, but she stifles it and closes her eyes. She will need to be well rested for her big day tomorrow.
Election Day at last. Azula is the picture of poise, dressed to kill and acting as humbly as only a natural politician can. There are so many congratulations to accept, even before the votes are counted. The president elect finishes murmuring her demurest ‘thank you’ for the hundredth time that day when Ty Lee bounces into view.
“Congratulations, Azula!! I knew you would win! You had the best posters, the best speeches, and the best campaign ever! You’re just the best candidate there is, and everyone can see that!” Although the cheerleader appears utterly genuine (albeit equally excited), Azula is positive she had unraveled the mystery, and is undisturbed by the wave of compliments.
“Thanks! I really appreciate your support. I’m so excited to start helping the school reach its full potential,” she seals her sound bite-worthy statement with a dazzling smile. There, she thinks with satisfaction, that should show her. She won’t be swayed by all those nice words! Although her heart is pounding. It must just be the thrill of victory!
“I can’t wait!” Ty Lee nods eagerly, seeing fit to lean in closely to tell her so. “I know you’re probably ready to dive right into your work, but you can’t technically start till tomorrow, sooooo…. Want to get coffee tonight, or something? To celebrate your big win?”
Azula is once again shocked into silence. “Uh,” she says vacantly, momentarily forgetting her politician’s responses. Celebrate? She hadn’t really considered it. She figured she would just go home to her empty (yet opulent) house and work on homework, maybe watch a movie before bed. Father would be tangled up in some meeting or other for hours, and it’s not like he has any idea what goes on in his daughter’s life. She’s staying out of trouble, and therefore out of mind. The gears tick slowly in her brain. Celebrating sounds nice. She has no other plans. Therefore coffee is acceptable. Ding! “Yeah, sure, that sounds good!” A delayed, yet passable reply.
The captain doesn’t seem disturbed by Azula’s inability to process the request, and immediately responds, “Here, let me put my number in your phone! We can work out the details later, ‘kay?”
Still in a haze, the student body president offers her phone, unlocked, to the other girl. A new number is entered in a flash, and the phone is returned. However, when Azula goes to take it,Ty Lee cups her hand unnecessarily to pass it back. It sends a bolt of sensation straight to Azula’s chest, one she can’t describe. “Thanks,” she hears herself say distantly, as if someone else is speaking through her mouth.
Ty Lee giggles, as if something funny, and butterflies spring to life in the other girl’s stomach. “Catch you later, Ms. President!” she coos, laughing once more as she slips into the sea of students.
It’s all been arranged. Azula will pick Ty Lee up at 7:00 and they can go to the coffee shop from there. Thank goodness their meeting time is later in the evening, as it takes the president elect way too long to figure out an outfit. What does one wear to get coffee? Google isn’t much help. It kept giving advice for coffee dates, and this isn’t a date. It’s just coffee. Obviously. She opts for black skinny jeans, sneakers, and a blood red shirt with gold bangles on her wrists. Casual, but not sloppy. Of course, Azula is never sloppy.
She pulls up to Ty Lee’s house, and is impressed by the size of it. Her family must be well off too. Azula revs the engine to let the girl know she’s arrived. Not a moment later, Ty Lee appears in heels, a flowing skirt, and pink top that Azula can only describe as ‘cute’.The cheerleader appears to be glittering. Her clothes are dotted with discreet pieces to catch the light, and even her skin appears to shimmer as she eases into the passenger seat.
“Hey,” Azula manages to greet, although she was planning on saying something more articulate until her mind was wiped clean at the sight of the other girl.
“Hey,” Ty Lee grins, looking pleased. A moment passes as they look at each other, and finally she asks, “Ready?”
“Oh! Yeah!” Azula snaps back to life, puts the car into gear, and pulls away. |
“Anija is going to be so mad.” Genji repeats, grinning from ear to
ear, bouncing up and down on the beaten path. Snow crunches under his feet,
though he doesn’t sink far down into the snow. His green kimono is heavily
quilted, but it doesn’t stop him from doing a few handstands, flipping from
hands to feet, to hands to feet a few times.
The air is cold and pure, trees coated in white snow like royal icing.
McCree walks stiffly in his formal wear, admiring each bush, each branch
encased with ice like a piece of art. Breath fogs in front of his face,
sinking down with the condensation. It was frosted over enough to be
seasonal, but nowhere near the amount of snow the storms of Switzerland
had granted him.
McCree’s eyes flicker ahead of them to the tiny elderly lady currently
leading their mountainous ‘nature’ walk. She still walks spryly, even with
a cane and her heavy, formal woolen kimono. Paternal Great-Aunt Mao, Genji had said, she’ll be accompanying us today.
“Shush, Ganju.” McCree keeps his eyes locked on the woman’s back. Their
Great-Aunt is still walking a few metres in front of them, not showing any
indication of interest in their conversation, but it didn’t hurt to be
careful. “You think I’m happy about this?”
“You’re grinning.”
“I’m not!” McCree tries to school his face back to a neutral, but his
cheeks stubbornly refuse to flatten back to straight. His hand goes back to
his hair – well, Hanzo’s hair – and runs his fingers through it a
few times. Genji watches, humored eyes matching a mischievous smile.
“Jesse, it’s okay to be excited. You get to witness one of our
clan’s secret rituals! It’s a rarity, you know.” Genji whispers to him.
“This is my first time getting to go, well, the first time I remember, and Anija only got to go to our mothers’!”
“Oh no, I’m not going to have to do any weird magic rituals, am I?” Jesse
hisses back through clenched teeth. “I’ve been practising the language, but
if it’s some magic bull – “
“You’ll be fine!!” Genji puts a hand on his shoulder briefly. “Really, it’s fine. I’d warn you if it wasn’t. We’re just going to the heavens.”
“The heavens?”
“Just for a visit.”
“Genji!”
He laughs again and bounces a few steps ahead, some kind of mischievous
sprite at ease when away from the estate, his youth bubbling to the surface
amongst the wilderness. It’s like he’s vibrating, not from the cold but
from excitement. The three of them had large backpacks; Genji’s with their
lunch, Great-Aunt Mao’s with three thermos’ of tea, his own with the most
important package of them all; the urn.
He’s carrying the ashes of Hanzo and Genji’s late father on his back.
Sealed, fastened, wrapped in a thick blanket.
Perhaps if he didn’t come from a culture that celebrated the dead every
year, this would be a little more odd.
McCree takes a few quick steps, almost trips on his kimono and lungs to
snatch Genji’s belt before he leapt away again.
“Genji, I’m serious – “ He hisses between clenched teeth. “What are we here
to do?”
That morning he had offered no explanation, just barged in, threw some
clothes at him from the closet, and helped him get dressed.
We’re already late
– Genji had told him, - just hurry up, Granny’s waiting.
He seems willing to take pity on him, but half spins like a dancer and
frees himself from McCree’s clinging hands.
“Our family owns a private mausoleum, it’s pretty high up, in a crater
nestled in a mountain. We also own all the land here for like, miles, I
guess? Anija would better be able to tell you the exact
square-hectarage, if you’re interested.”
McCree whistles.
“Really? Why here? Why not somewhere more convenient, somewhere we could
drive to?”
“It’s where our ancestors made their pact with the great dragon.” Genji
says it so matter-of-factly that McCree has to pause a few seconds to take
it in. “That’s why it has to be there.”
“ – aaaand you’ve lost me.”
“It makes sense! Our ancestor long long ago was passing through
these mountains, trying to find a shorter path from one settlement to
another. He wasn’t afraid of passing through these forbidden lands, though
rumours said the area overlaps with another realm, one where spirits and
gods reside. On the very top of the mountain, he met a wounded dragon.”
“A real one?”
Genji looks at him like he’s a kindergartner.
“Yes, a real one. He brought food and other offerings to the
dragon, even got severely injured trying to protect it from bears and
wolves! Once the dragon had its strength back it thanked him by offering
him a blessing...” He pauses for a few moments, then turns his head back to
creepily stare at McCree before saying;
“…its own blood.”
McCree shrugs – sharing your blood as thanks didn’t seem that weird,
considering everything else the dragon cult had going on.
Genji sighs a quick huff, but continues, clearly less enthused;
“By drinking the blood of the dragon, our ancestor was promised powers
beyond what any mortal had experienced before, and in return the dragon
could expect loyalty and a host in the physical world whenever they saw
fit.”
“Wait- back it up. A physical host? As in, get possessed?”
Genji raises an eyebrow. “I mean, yeah? Uh, well, rather the word might be… sharing. It was always explained like; this world is just one
plane of what exists. It has become inhospitable for these spirits. So they
latch onto us, can see the mortal world through us if they so
wish, can influence it through us if they so wish. A symbiotic
relationship. We are their…. Uh, what’s the word in English? Channel? No, Canal? Focus?” He scratches his
chin.
Then snaps his fingers.
“Conduit!! Yes, Conduit. That’s the one.”
“ ‘inhospitable’? Wow, two-dollar word right there.”
“Shut-up Jesse. Did you learn nothing?”
In this moment, he seems a lot like his brother. So serious, they’re related after all. McCree tries not to laugh
while nodding, biting his own bottom lip to keep it straight.
“Something about dragons, getting possessed through their blood. Easy. I
just wanna know why we’re going on a three-hour hike to the middle of
nowhere, your daddy’s ashes on my back.”
Genji’s head tilts, pauses his pace for a moment.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Jesse’s feet half-slips again on the half-iced snow – stupid wooden shoes – but Genji grabs his upper arm with the speed
of a hawk and helps steady him.
“Careful. It won’t be good if we break the urn.”
“No shit.”
“Language~” Genji reprimands with a wink, tilts his head briefly towards
his Great-Aunt. “She at least knows enough English to recognise
swears. Are you standing good now?”
Jesse nods, and Greenback lets go of his arm. His grip had been strangely
shaky as if the teen was feeling cold, though his hands were hot enough for
Jesse to sense it through his clothes.
“Are you getting sick?” If Genji got sick and went out of commission, he’d
be done for. Who else would guide him through this swap?
“Sick? I’ve never felt better.” Genji grins again, does another flip for
emphasis.
“Don’t know how you do that without breakin’ your neck.” Jesse is half
tempted to try it – maybe in such a fit body as Hanzo’s it’d be easy, a
muscle memory trigger...
The weight of the urn against his back persuades him otherwise.
After
.
“So, if our family has a private crypt at the top of this
mountain, we’re going to deliver these ashes into their proper spot.”
“Yup.”
“But why now?? I’ve seen the shrine to your father set up in your home for months. Why today, on the first day of the new year?”
Genji shrugs, ever the helpful guide.
“It’s always been this way.” He continues to bounce slightly on his heels,
even as they stand in place.
“If a family member dies, they are honoured in the home for several months,
so people who live far can come visit and pay respects. That’s when the
official funeral happens too, their life is re-told, their biography shared
and everyone prays for them. The first day of the new year, direct family
brings them to their final resting place.”
It made slightly more sense, but only barely.
“So they’re brought here because it’s where your ancestor met the dragon? –
“
Granny Mao has stopped her ascent, looks over her shoulder at them, her
cane dug hard into the snow. She speaks a line back of rapid Japanese at
them both, taps her cane a few times. Jesse makes out ‘hurry up’,
and some kind of question, but through her odd accent she can’t understand
any further. Genji does a rapid head bob while replying back in Japanese he does understand; a polite apology.
“What’d she say?” He quietly hisses to Genji’s ear once the Great-Aunt
turns around.
“She said she’s ‘four times our age and making more progress’. She
wants us to hurry up, and we can take a break up ahead.”
Fair enough.
The climb gets steeper, thank goodness the path was somewhat stamped down. It’s like they really are ascending to the heavens. He wouldn’t
doubt it at this point; they pass through bouts of low clouds, bushes and
trees dripping with diamonds, a winter wonderland. Their path gets enough
light from the early-afternoon sun to sparkle, and though the cold air
burns his lungs he feels full of life.
How did this place exist
? So close to the city, yet he feels like he’s worlds away. There’s no
sound besides the crunching of their feet through the snow, their breathing
that fogs the air. He looks at Genji; his brother is gazing about
in wonderment, dark pupils almost eclipsing his grey eyes.
He wishes Hanzo was here. This was a place meant for him and his family,
not for an outsider.
The path levels out eventually, no longer forcing a climb up a hill.
Great-Aunt Mao points to a spot, an overturned log lying under a barren
tree. They place down their waterproof blanket, McCree helps Mao lower
herself to the ground while Genji begins pulling out their packed lunches.
The tea is still hot. McCree screws open his own thermos, frowns down at
the leaf-water inside. Should have thought to get coffee instead. Even instant stuff.
Looks up from his thermos a moment, Genji is grinning at him, half hidden
behind his own mug.
“Anija – “ He says, “Kyatchi!”!”
and tosses his own thermos towards
him. McCree barely manages to grab the thing, but grips it around the
handle.
He screws open the top, and the wafting of black coffee feels like the
first puff of a cigarette. Drinks too fast, scalds his tongue.
““Arigato.”!” He pants.
Tosses his previous thermos over; Genji shoots out his arms for it too
late, and fumbles. It drops into the snow, still relatively unharmed.
Great-Aunt Mao chuckles, shaking her head at them both. They eat boxed
lunches, drinks huddled in their hands to warm them. The cold from the
ground seeps up through the blanket, numbing his thighs, they probably
wouldn’t be sitting long.
Their lunchboxes are neatly stacked when they’re finished, shoved back into
Genji’s – much lighter – backpack. The half-full thermoses are relocated
into there also, and the small backpack once carried by Granny is rolled up
and shoved into the bottom.
Mao is shaky when she rises to her feet, even with the cane speared down
through the snow. McCree gingerly slides off his backpack, wary of bumping
the ashes inside, and gestures for Genji to take it.
The younger looks horrified a brief moment, like he wishes to flee. It’s a backpack, not a wasp nest. McCree gestures again to the
backpack with what he hopes is a good impersonation of Jefe’s withering glare, and Genji bites his lip, sniffs a little loudly before
picking it up and putting the pack on front-ways, folding his arms onto it
like a pregnant woman would support her belly.
McCree then bows slightly towards Mao, offers his back.
“Hakoba sete.” He says.
All that romance anime Fareeha had wanted to binge came in handy, after
all
.
He peeks over his shoulder back at Genji, who offers him a weak smile and
twitches his hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture.
Damn.
Mao however doesn’t seem to mind. She climbs onto him piggy-back style, and
remarks something else in her fast, accented tone. Another look back to
Genji: He gives a thumbs up.
She hardly weighs a hundred pounds. Between that, and Hanzo’s fit body, it
was easier than he thought.
Their progress picks up after this. McCree watches his feet, trying to
avoid slipping now that his cargo was alive.
Genji runs ahead, hands awkwardly cradling the front backpack. Little
clouds rise from his mouth, he sprints up to where his vision of their
winding path ends and disappears over the blip.
They had been climbing a mountain, right? Perhaps that was the top
.
“Did we make it?” He calls up after Genji, then stops short . Fuck, the English –
Genji disappears over the top of the hill. McCree sighs, looks over his
shoulder.
“Omachikudasai!” he says up to his passenger, and the
woman’s wrinkled hands grip onto him a little harder.
The path disappears steadily under his feet, pushing the last few steps,
almost to the top, almost there-
Then, his feet stop.
McCree takes a sudden breath.
It’s like a crater. Was the wounded dragon that fell onto the mountain the
cause of this indent, or was it from a more logical cause? Did a meteor strike here long ago?
It is reminiscent of an impact site, like a shallow basin with him standing
on the rim. The forest had cut off, leaving the whole area bald besides
some iced over shrubbery. The sky is infinite above this place, the sun
being reflected and concentrated off the iced crater like a concave mirror.
It’s shining, like the whole place is crusted with quartz, paved with
pearl.
Jesse finally shuts his gaping mouth, blinking like he’d wake from a dream.
Ahead of him, he sees Genji’s green silhouette with arms held out like a
child mimicking an airplane, descending on the path lower and lower to the
center, the base navel of this sacred place. There’s a marble building
there, five-hundred feet square. Next to it is the only tree left in the
crater. Snow crusted, skeletal fingers imploring the sky, he can’t tell
what kind it is, only that it is huge, trunk red like dried blood.
A small pond encircles the marble building in what appears to be a moat . Man made, perhaps?
He starts his descent. Genji is at the front of the mausoleum by now,
jumping up and down and waving up at him. Still, he watches his feet, both
hands folded behind his back to support Granny Mao.
Eventually the slope evens out. The base of the basin, he leans forward and
allows Mao to slip off his back. She takes his elbow.
There’s a bamboo bridge arcing over the moat. It seems mostly frozen, but
still he didn’t fancy testing the ice.
Almost there. Had Hanzo really come here before as a child
? To a kid this place would seem… well, it’d be enough to make him believe
in something. Maybe not God, but something.
Jesse crosses the moat without incident, supporting Mao as they walked the
final few feet to meet with Genji in front of the mausoleum.
There’s dragon decals carved along the double pillars framing the door,
while the roof looks more like it has scales than shingles. It’s only one
story but looks twice his height. There’s Kanji he can’t decipher carved
into the marble above the threshold, along with the slightly subtler symbol
of Hanzo’s family. White with streaks of grey running through it, the veins
of a living creature.
“Sorede?” He asks, acutely aware of how clunky he
sounds with Mao standing at his side.
Genji has the backpack placed to the side of the door, resting against the
wall. Jesse kneels in front of it, unzips it very slowly, reverently lifts
the bundle of blankets inside. He looks to Genji first, but the teen is
looking off back towards where they came. Mao catches his questioning gaze
on its way back to his hands, and she gives him a reassuring nod.
Jesse unwraps the blankets with cold, clumsy fingers.
It’s not like any funeral urn he’s ever seen. It’s blown glass, twisting
and reaching like flames at the top, though the bottom is still traditionally shaped. Orange and blue splash against one another,
silver specks occasionally accenting the diving and curling of the glass.
“Utsukushi...” Jesse whispers without knowing why.
Then he clears his throat.
Mao’s smiles kindly at him, briefly pats his shoulder before turning her
attention to the door. She speaks sharply, quickly, and Genji jumps. He
turns back to the crypt, face twisted as he turns the slotted marble
diamonds that lined the door frame from horizontal to vertical. A crude,
but pretty locking mechanism.
Not enough to prevent strangers from breaking in, but enough to keep
the door shut in bad weather
. Then Mao grabs the silver handle set, presses in with her thumb at the
push-button, and pushes in. There’s no locks on it, no secret keypad.
They are really confident that nobody will try to vandalise
. Then he looks back at the crater, at the end of the path they had walked.
It took three hours to get here, in an area known to be owned by a
mafia family. Maybe it wasn’t so unusual after all
.
It swings inward easily.
Doesn’t even squeak. Was it that well maintained, this far in the
middle of nowhere
?
He almost laughs;
was there some poor janitor somewhere, hired for the sole purpose to
maintain this shrine
?
Mao walks in first.
Genji stands stiff, picking at his sleeves, feet rooted to the frosted
ground. Jesse slowly rises from his knees, mindful not to trip in the
kimono as he hugs the urn to his chest. He bites the bullet; walks in
second.
There’s skylights, letting in cold afternoon-sunlight. Queer shadow-puppets
are cast from the snow covering up parts of glass, mottling the polished
limestone floor. It’s enough to see by, but not by much. Goosebumps run
rampant on his skin, breath rising like spirits, dancing among the beams of
light.
It’s cold as an icebox
.
He could probably lie head to foot on the floor, and not touch both walls.
Shelves run to both the right and left of him, meticulously arranged with
engraved Kanji on a plaque over their spot. Candles are placed about in
various colours but none are currently lit. The urns placed on shelves
closest to the door look like hand carved, polished wood, but as they go
along they turn to metal, to ceramic, and finally to glass.
McCree whistles; a whole family reunion in here.
It branches a little, urns appear to be grouped occasionally on higher and
lower shelves, but Kanji neatly marks each one, numbers accompanying the
names. Dates, rather. Their life-length summed up in a line.
He follows Mao to near the end of the chamber, near where the hall split
like a Y into two paths. She takes the left path, stops somewhere near the
middle.
She points to the empty spot with the engraving already in place, patiently
waiting below for the final part of the effigy to fall into place.
“Koko ni.” she says, and Jesse steps forward, humbly places
the urn up on the high shelf. There’s already a plaque engraved with all
the info. How long had that been there?
She lights the candle in front of the urn and places a stick of incense
into a nearby burner, bows her head, kneels in front of the spot, hands
clasped. Jesse looks to her briefly, then mimics the action.
Where is Greenie
?
He opens one eye, looks off to the side. Genji is looking in, a shadow
casting over the door, but not coming past the door frame.
“Koko ni kite.” He calls, trying not to wince when his
e comes off more like ee than eh.
Genji flinches, but slowly enters, limbs stiff, face ashen. He eventually
kneels next to Jesse, kneels so his forehead nearly touches the limestone.
Where their knees brush against each other, he can feel the vibrations.
Jesse opens an eye to peek out. Genji is still bowing.
Greenie… even Hanzo hadn’t written much about his father. Was this a
release for him, or a tragedy
?
For a moment he thinks of Jefe and bites his own lip.
Maybe it’s not necessarily one or the other
.
Jesse loses track of the minutes. Waiting with his hands clasped, breathing
in the smell of burning rosemary, it’s like he’s back at a kitchen of his
youth.
Then Mao starts to talk, quick rhythmic lines flow out into the air between
them, floating on the incense.
A prayer, probably
. He can’t join in. Neither Hanzo nor Genji had taught him this sort of
practise.
Then just as quick, it’s over. Jesse opens his eyes; Granny Mao is standing
now, stretching out her old bones with soft cracks and pops he can hear.
He nudges Genji with his foot, red-eyed, the teen rises from his bow with a
long sniff. He pats his shoulder, but Genji retracts from the gesture.
It’s different for everyone, perhaps.
The exiting and sealing of the crypt is solemn as a wake, but the moment
the final support is slid across the door’s slits, the air is breathable
again.
Granny deeply sighs, then sticks her hand into the folds of her purple obi,
and pulls out a small, red flask of dull metal. It looked to be one of
those fancy heat-insulated containers. She twisted open the top, holds it
up to the sky a moment, took a quick swallow, then wiped the top with her
sleeve. She holds it out towards him. Jesse takes it, sniffs at the mouth
of the flask.
It smells …oddly, like rice. Tentatively he tips it up to his mouth. It’s
burning hot – not just from the strength of the ethanol, but from literally being hot. The heat races down his esophagus to warm his
gut, burning sensation travelling to his face once the after-tang of the
alcohol finally registers.
“Sake?” He coughs; he’d had the drink before with Genji, but it
certainly wasn’t his cup of coffee. He passes it off to Genji, who lifts it
up and clearly takes more than a single shot. After three gulps, Mao makes
a sharp eh! Sound and smacks him lightly with her cane.
He drops the flask, licks his lips, not even sputtering.
“Gomen'nasai~” he says, cheeky grin not quite selling it. Mao
scoffs, snatches the flask back.
“You two,” She says eventually, once she tucks the flask back into her
kimono. “It’s time we had a talk.”
She’s speaking in English
. McCree goes still, tries not to look immediately at Genji. Their
Great-Aunt’s eyes are staring specifically at him, like they’re boring
through his soul. He swallows.
Genji stands up straighter, and McCree follows suit, pulling his shoulders
back like aligning his spine would free the frog in his throat.
“You don’t have to speak in English for us, Granny. We’re just practising –
“ Genji tries, smiles weak like hot wax and Mao cuts him off with a glare.
“ – I wish to practise too, then.”
Both boys stop, eyes drop down.
“The last time Hanzo-kun was here, it was for your mother. Now, your father
is gone too, and Hanzo-kun will be new kumicho.”
Mao is looking straight at him when she says it. He winces – and tries to
backtrack immediately to a calm expression, heart racing in his chest. She
then sticks the cane into the snow and reaches out to both of them with her
wrinkly palms. He takes Jesse’s hand in one, Genji’s in the other. Her
hands are soft like tissue paper.
“Our family is strong through two things; blood and loyalty. But we are
still family. Most important is love that connects us . You need to watch out for each other, at each back.” Her hands
squeeze theirs, strength of a past age bleeding through. “Protect
each other, even if you fight, you are brothers always. Do you understand?”
Genji is gnawing at his cheek, looking at his feet. McCree looks back and
forth between the two, tongue as tied as Greenie’s .
“Promise me.” Granny Mao pushes again, pulling both of them in a step
closer. “You boys look after each other.”
“I promise.” McCree says immediately, without further hesitation. Hanzo and Genji… he’d do whatever he could to keep them safe. The
crisis hadn’t hit them yet, but he’d be here when it does, even if he had
to beg Jefe for days to get a spot on the drop-ship. Genji’s eyes flick
back up from his feet, wide and watery. His face trembles, slightly shaking
his head back and forth as Japanese tumbles from his mouth in an awkward,
bundled clump.
Mao’s head tilts, her mouth moving just as fast. Genji shakes, blinks long.
“Yes.” He finally says, clearing his crackling throat. “I’ll try.”
Granny Mao nods, small smile finally relaxing the wrinkles on her face.
Then she turns from Genji, looking back to Jesse with the same, wizened
dark brown.
“Hanzo-kun.” She says slow, eyes crinkling down into a mournful gaze.
“You’re dreaming, aren’t you?”
His mind blanks, mouth dry as a desert.
English, or Japanese? Which does he answer in
?? Automatically his mouth goes to form something much more
familiar, Spanish curls his tongue in his throat.
His mouth opens, but he can’t speak. Mao’s eyes stare him down, just as
disciplined as Jefe, as piercing as Ms. Amari’s.
She seems to get what she was looking for even without a reply, and nods on
her own.
“Here.” She places Genji’s hand on top of his, and cups them both
between her own. “You are lucky. Remember today; here, we are connected to
our past and our future.”
One final squeeze, their hands all stacked together, then she slides her
hands back away. Jesse breathes for what feels like the first time in two
minutes, nudges Genji still frozen, and hurries to slip on two of their
backpacks.
Mao is already walking on, leading the way on the path back home. They run
to catch up, heading back out of the mountain’s divot. Once at the top,
Genji offers his back to Granny.
The sky is starting to tinge orange. McCree looks behind him one final time
down to the valley, the lands surrounding the crater. It’s still, the
clouds and trees motionless despite the light breeze. Jesse shakes his
head.
Heavens, huh
? Dragons, and Magic… perhaps this really is all a dream.
-=-=---=-=
Genji splits off from their trio as soon as they return to the estate.
Jesse watches him sprint up the stairs, not hindered by the restricted
range of motion granted by so many layers.
He’s fast to go change to common-clothes
.
Jesse escorts Mao back to her room, bows, then traverses the maze of the
mansion heading up any staircase he can find until he’s at the second
highest floor. He walks the soft tatami flooring, circling until he finds
the right door.
Knocks.
“Greenback! It’s me. It’s just… me.” He looks around; this place makes him paranoid. Every shadow seems alive, every
creak of wood sounds like a ninja’s misstep.
He waits for a reply, ear pressed against the odd sliding door.
When he doesn’t hear one, he rolls his eyes and digs his fingers into the
slits in the door. “Pull up your pants if they’re down, like it or nah, I’m
coming in!”
It’s not locked.
Jesse flicks the light switch, stares about the messy room. Shelves of
anime and videogame memorabilia crowds any available surface, posters from
movies filmed all over the world are taped to the walls as fun swatches of
colour in a room that could have easily stayed as sterile and soothing as
the décor at a high-class spa. The formal wear they’d had on that morning
and afternoon was strewn about the floor, bed all mussed as if it’d been
jumped upon.
“Genji?” He calls again, drops to his knees with slight difficulty to check
under the bed, even checks the teen’s personal bathroom. He’s gone.
Maybe he went down to the kitchen? Waiting for their supper
?
The window is open, the cold breeze stirs the curtains. Where had he gone?
Squinting out the window, he can’t even see footprints on the snow leading
from the roof to the courtyard.
Fucking ninjas
.
Jesse shuts the window, leaves the room and closes the door behind him.
A man is waiting in the hall, standing just outside Genji's door, tapping his foot. The mood from the stranger is insidious; it seeps heavy into the air, poisons the comfortable lamp light. Yet somehow, Jesse schools his surprise away, only feels his cheek twitch. It’s what Hanzo would do, right?
The man looks mid to late twenties, has a tattoo of red and black tracing
up his neck, scaly and appropriately dragon-themed he imagines, though the
higher-necked sweater cuts off most of what he can see. The long, black hair to
his shoulders is slicked back with gel, his brown eyes are cold, and his short
beard is immaculately groomed.
Jesse recognises him. He’d seen him previous at the meeting with Masuyo
sitting on his family’s side, and during that one meeting where his family
talked at him.
He still doesn’t know his name, or their relation. Judging by his age,
cousin, perhaps? First or twice removed?
Jesse clenches his jaw and tries to look unimpressed. It was a strat that worked for Jefe, so maybe it’d work for him.
After a beat, the stranger nods his head in greeting, and speaks first. Genji is named several times, the man’s eyes are cold as stone.
Icy ethereal hands creep around his ankle, slide up his shirt, holding him in place.
This feeling, he’s had it before, back as a lackey for the deadlock gang.
He knows the request for an unsavoury job when he hears it.
The last few lines of Japanese he does recognise, though they
seemed much less threatening in the action anime he and Fareeha binged. The
hanging light above them flickers.
“Take care of him.” The man says, lifting his chin. “ Or we will.”
McCree’s palms itch.
He can’t. What would Hanzo do
?
“I understand.” He says back, keeping his face schooled. What
else, what else could he do?? Wasn’t he supposed to be in charge, or was
Kumicho an empty title?
The man turns and leaves. There’s a magnum tucked into the back of his
pants. His own hip feels achingly empty.
Once the stranger is gone, Jesse shudders. Looks back at the room, imagines
it empty, dust caking the toys and game consoles until someday, some
servant throws it all in the trash or a donation bin. He goes up a back staircase and sprints up to his own room, trips on the stairs twice. No more family darken his way, thankfully.
Hanzo was going to need a long note. Even with that…
Jesse looks to his own window, then yanks the curtains to the side, opens
the latch and slides the pane open.
Now, he waits.
His winter formal wear takes him near an hour to take off, even longer to
fold and put away. Eventually a maid brings him supper on a tray, and he
sits on his bed, plate on one leg, diary on the other.
Occasionally he looks back up at the clock, the hours drag like cold
molasses. He waits, and waits, guilt getting stronger once it hits
midnight, doubling itself every hour after. He sends for coffee twice, then
roams the estate barefoot three times in an attempt to wake up.
He’s stealing Hanzo’s time, now. His stomach twists, unsettled, and he
doubts it’s from all the black coffee.
By the time he returns to his room, the clock reads ten past five. By this
point in Switzerland, he’d probably be in bed, unless Fareeha was really
pushing for another episode, or had put on a longer movie.
Maybe he should have slept. Would Hanzo back here be better able to
handle this? Was this a mistake? There can’t be much time
–
Scratching of fingers gripping against the snow. His head whips behind him,
staring at the window. He breathes, hand hovering at his side, though he
knows there’s no gun there.
If it is anyone other than Genji, he’d be fucked
. Assassins exist, right? McCree bites his lip; why didn’t he ever think things properly through?
Green hair, bright as a highlighter was a flash through the glass before a
body stumbles through the open window, dress shirt half unbuttoned, tight
black jeans and Prada shoes dripping-with snow.
Genji.
McCree’s heart lightens like a balloon, rises to his throat.
Then, it freezes there.
The teen stumbles again, falling to his knees as his left foot makes it
through the window. His face is flushed, pupils blown over his grey, eyes
bloodshot.
He’s shaking, slipping as he tries to stand.
McCree tries to keep his tone light.
“Where’s your jacket?”
Genji spooks like a rabbit, he
flinches up to his feet, face going paler if that was possible.
“Anija – “ He blinks, looks about the room in alarm. The rest of
his Japanese comes out in a blob, indistinguishable. McCree shrugs.
“I was hoping you’d come here instead of your room, on account of us
needin’ to talk.” He says, makes his way to the window with his hands held
up as if in surrender, calmly and slowly closed the window with a snap, and
locked the latches.
Genji is breathing fast, hand goes up to clutch over his chest. Faster and
faster, they’re shallow and useless.
“Hey hey hey – “ Jesse gently places a hand on Genji’s shoulder, the other
flinches away. “You’re okay, you’re home. Want to come sit down? Have a
drink?”
Genji stares up at him blankly, like he couldn’t comprehend his words.
McCree debates repeating himself for a few seconds, but then Genji finally
nods, and shuffles over to the king-sized bed.
His body is twitching like he’s being shocked with electricity, muscles
jolting every few seconds.
He’s seen this before, too
. Jefe was wrong – Gang knowledge wasn’t all useless.
“Greenback, I need to get you some water, and some ice packs. Maybe call an
ambulance. Stay here, okay? Don’t go anywhere – “
He starts backing away, slow steps backwards towards the door.
“ – No. No! No no no – stop. You can’t.“ Genji stammers out, English
sounding rough and odd right now, his mouth forming the words but it’s off,
somehow. Slurred and half-pronounced. “You can’t call. Jesse, pl-please.”
Jesse stops, but looks back quick to the door, then to the bedside table.
Hanzo’s cell had a proper lock on it that he didn’t know the combination
to, he’d have to find a landline somewhere, anywhere. The only
place he remembers for certain there being one is the kitchen. What would Hanzo do?
“Listen, you’re a bit fucked right now. What if something happens?”
“I just, I’m fine. I’ll be fine, this is nothing.” Genji’s grin at him
seems more like a grimace, and Jesse goes back to the bed, snatches the
tall glass off the dinner tray.
“You’ll have to be okay with tap-water then.” He says. Genji nods so fast
he fears the teen would get whiplash.
He grabs towels from the bathroom instead, soaks them in cold water, and
fills up the cup to the brim. Returns to the room and sees the boy lying on
his side, hugging himself on the bed.
“No no, hey. Stay awake. You need to drink this water at least, okay?”
McCree drops the towels and shakes him with his free hand, holding out the
water with the other. Genji half sits up, manages half the glass, spilling
at least another fourth over the side from the shaking of his hand.
“It’s my fault.” He mumbles, mouth still half on the rim. McCree peels
back the blankets, drags them over and drapes one over Genji’s shoulders.
“What’s your fault?”
“Today.”
“’Today’?”
“It’s my fault. I know everyone blames me for it. Anija too.”
Water sloshes over the side of the cup. He brings it to his lips, manages
two swallows with a loud gulp before he speaks again;
“It’s my fault father died.”
What could he say to that
? He knows sparse details, but a teenager rebelling was certainly not the
most stressful thing a mafia-lord has ever experienced, surely. An early
death from aneurysm wouldn’t solely be from Genji.
Though there is something to be said about watching dumb kids making
dumb choices…
His thoughts go to a heavy-built, six foot-two man with a buzz cut and a
bad afternoon shadow.
Supersoldier or not, Jefe is the type of personality to get so mad he’d
have an aneurysm out of spite. Then his ghost would return from the
dead and haunt him
.
But this wasn’t about Jefe
.
Jesse pats Genji’s shoulder again; this time he didn’t shrink away. Too
blitzed perhaps, to care.
“You know it’s not. I bet your father was stressed enough with his
lifestyle. You just existing was not enough to make him pop a
clot.”
“He hates me. I know it.”
“Your father? No father could ever – “
Genji is shaking his head back and forth. His voice croaks;
“Hanzo.”
Before Jesse even processes it, he’s shaking his head back, just as vehemently . No. This he knew for a hundred percent certain.
But Genji’s eyes are half closed. The empty glass slips out of his hand and
hits the floor, a high-pitched crack pierces the early morning silence.
McCree grabs the wet towel, blots it against the teen’s feverish forehead.
“Greenie, you idiot, “no puedes dormir ahora!” He gives him another shake, then reaches up and pinches the kid’s
earlobe, his cheek. Genji grunts, tilts his head away in a quick jerk,
lines creasing between his eyebrows.
His lips start to move, slurring the sentences back in fluid Japanese.
McCree strains to hear him;
“ – Don’t tell Hanzo… Please, please don’t tell Hanzo,– “
McCree swallows. Looks over towards the window, thinks of the journal on
the dresser, the note already three-quartres completed.
“Greenie, this isn’t – I can’t – “
Then Genji’s awake and focused again; reaches past the blotting towel and
snatches McCree’s hand into his own iron grip, grey irises wide and locked,
trapping Jesse into his whirlwind gaze.
“Promise me. Please, Jesse.” He’s squeezing hard enough to break
his fingers. McCree reflexively pulls back – he can’t get them out.
“He’ll kill me. He will. I know he will. You can’t – you can’t tell him.”
McCree swallows.
“Hanzo wouldn’t. I know he wouldn’t.”
Genji laughs then, bubbly, high pitched giggles escaping in a rush that
keep him twitching until he finally lets go of McCree’s fingers. Then, as
they finally subside into hiccoughs, he folds his hands together to rest
over his chest, eyes fluttering back shut as he releases a serene sigh.
“…I hope you’re right…”
McCree stares, hardly blinking as the minutes slip by, counting his own
breaths along with Genji’s. Soft snores eventually rise from beside him,
and the vice around his chest gives a single inch.
He’ll be okay, though he’d probably feel like he was hit like a truck
tomorrow morning
. McCree grimaces; that feeling was a distant memory, but still too
familiar to be comfortable. He stands, stretches; his clothes are sticking
to himself with sweat, just as Genji’s was. He drops another blanket over
the teen, strips off until he’s in his boxers and crawls into bed beside
him.
He’s probably not going to sleep tonight. But he has to, or they won’t swap
back. Tonight’s not the night he tests one of their riskier ‘ swap theories’.
McCree lies on his back, forces his eyes to stay shut, and tries to forget
the journal laying on the dresser.
|
Beca isn't following her.
That's not what's happening here.
That would be weird and creepy, and a total abuse of her powers.
Right?
Right.
So she isn't following her.
Even if that is exactly what it looks like. As she crawls her way along the roof tops and leaps over the gaps between the buildings, always moving in the same direction as her. Never falling so far behind that she loses sight of fiery red hair being tousled by the wind.
The material of her suit stretches with her every movement and it feels good, but it also feels like she's kind of naked. So that's pretty weird. It fits nicely though and the mask breathes better than she thought it would. She'd been on her way to take the suit out for a test swing when she'd spotted Chloe making her way along the street, book bag slung over her shoulder. Halfway through wondering if the redhead was headed to the library, Beca was tugging herself around by a web and not following her.
Would it be that creepy really though, even if she was? It's edging towards the evening and that's when all the insects come out of the woodwork. Would it really be so wrong of her to want to keep an eye on Chloe? Isn't that the friendly, neighbourly thing to do?
She trails along the rooftops, mindful of her visibility and the people milling about below, and when Chloe stops at the crosswalk outside of their local coffee shop, Beca smiles behind her mask.
Chloe is going to the library.
She rests gloves hands against the low wall that circles the edge of the rooftop and provides a decent amount of cover. The eyes of the mask are large but reflective, meaning no one can see in and her range of vision is pretty awesome.
Which is exactly why she spots it.
Him.
Working his way down the street that Chloe is about to cross, towering over people and delivery trucks like something out of a nineteen-fifties horror flick. She hears the screams of the people that have noticed him, but those directly below her don't have the hearing she does, and for an instant she's frozen. Watching as his extra metal limbs carry him along, effortlessly turning over a car that dares to get in his way as he reaches the edge of the intersection.
Chloe's intersection.
Chloe who, by the time Beca can tear her white, almond-shaped eyes away from the monster man, has obviously noticed his presence and is staring at his approach in stunned shock as the people around her start to shriek and flee in terror.
Pieter Kramer had been a much celebrated figure in the world of robotics—and weirdly, modern dance—until a freak accident had caused his latest invention to "act out of turn" and fling half of his sponsors out of a twenty-first floor window. At least, that's what he had claimed in the beginning. But then his funding had been pulled and his dance studio refused to renew his contract once it had run its course, and Pieter just lost it.
Like really, really lost it. In a full-on, crazy, "my metal arms are now a part of me because I have nothing else" kind of way. And it would be sad if he wasn't so effing dangerous and hellbent on destruction. He also struck Beca as kind of an arrogant asshole – because hey, it's kind of her job now to learn about these mad scientist-turned-villains and she knows how to work YouTube – which makes it easier for her to feel less bad and more ass-kicky.
She watches Chloe take off, headed for the library building amidst a handful of others and then pushes out a breath as she stands from her crouched position. It's not as though anyone knows it's her beneath the skin-tight red and blue, but there's still an immense sense of nervousness because what if she messes this up somehow? What if she swings in there only to get her scrawny ass handed to her by a dude who looks like a bionic insect? Those are the kind of cool points you can't always get back once you've lost them.
“Okay. Yeah. Okay, you're totally fine. You're cool. Super cool. Frosty.” She sighs with a shake of her head. “Okay, let's not... say that again.”
The sound of shrieking metal pulls Beca out of her thoughts and she looks up in time to see Doctor Octopus, as she's taken to calling him in her head – the dude has eight appendages, he's brought this upon himself – bending a street lamp in half with one of his metal arms while waving his other five in the air as he raves about something she can't quite make out. His accent is really thick, okay? The shrieking stops and Beca sees the post literally rip in half, then he's hauling it up over his head and Beca's off.
She lifts an arm and feels a thread of webbing shoot free at the curl of her two middle fingers, loosed by the tensing of the muscle that the action causes. She twists her hand around and catches the end of it, giving the line one firm tug before leaping off the edge of the roof.
She can't exactly feel the breeze in her hair, but it's still pretty freaking awesome. Whipping by her face as she swings down and around, stretching her legs out and letting her lips curl into a grin beneath the mask as she clocks Pieter's eyes widening right before her feet hit his face.
“That's right!” She calls out, sending him back and swinging under the lamppost as he drops it. “Totally a human spider kicking you in the face.” She spins in midair, shooting a web towards the nearest building to anchor herself and then another to the makeshift missile, slowing it before it can do any damage. “Although,” she's swings gently backwards towards the building, bracing herself with a foot against it's side as rests the post against the ground, muscles barely straining against the weight. “Not really. Because that's kind of a weird mental image?” Her eyes flick over to where Doc Oc is shaking off the cobwebs – “Insert rim-shot here.” – and preparing to stand. “I swear, I don't look that messed up under here.” She gestures to herself as she hops off the side of the building and starts walking towards him. “You on the other hand...” she flicks her wrists and spits out two separate balls of webbing, capturing two of his pincers and tethering them with a line of web that she uses to yank him backwards, “well,” he stumbles and she spits another two balls towards the cement to trap the ends of the webbing there and hold him in place. “Honestly? I've seen car commercials that were scarier than you.”
“Who in the hell are you?!” He roars, twisting his head around to look at her as he tries to pull his arms free, but she's already moved onto his others and soon enough all four of them are stuck to the ground and he's gone really red in the face.
“I am,” she pauses for a beat, twisting her face beneath the mask, “I have this crazy urge to say 'your worst nightmare', but that's like, really super lame.” The people that had been running for their lives only moments ago have all sort of stopped to watch the interaction and Beca is suddenly aware of a hundred pairs of eyes on her. Hot and heavy.
And that's when she sees Chloe.
Who isn't in the library at all, but is actually standing in the crowd that's gathered, staring at her with wide eyes and parted lips. For a few heartbeats, Beca is dumbstruck. Utterly and completely, in a way that's going to make her feel so stupid later. Because in that instant, she's just like everyone else at her stupid high school; fawning over the glory that is Chloe Beale.
And so what.
It's no big deal.
It's whatever.
She throws out an arm and sends a web up towards a lamp post Pieter didn't pull down. She springs forward and, with a hidden smirk, decides to show off a little.
She swings in a circle around him, alternating between hands as she spins web after web around his middle until he's wrapped in a cocoon of the stuff. Then she kicks her legs up to thrown herself into a high back-flip, landing on top of the post Pieter's trapped beneath.
"Das auto that, bitch." She resists the urge to snap her fingers. Tilting her head to look down at him, she tries not to laugh when she sees the way the veins in his neck are standing out in purple lines against the red of his skin.
It's kind of fun, making bad guys look like idiots.
Doesn't hurt when there are pretty girls in the audience either. Pretty girls who are staring at her like she's some kind of God.
But then someone starts screaming again, yelling about “He's getting loose!” and Beca's attention drops back to Doc Oc so fast she thinks she might have given herself whiplash.
“You dare!! You think you can stop me?! No one can stop the great Pieter Kramer!!” And now he's raving. Great. One of his arms comes free with the sound of cracking cement and Beca's entire world slows down as she watches him haul the concrete slab up into the air and toss it carelessly into the crowd.
Towards Chloe.
She's moving faster than her mind can process. Screaming for people to move, to get to somewhere safe, and she sees Chloe take off running. Beca swings up behind her and then with a whoosh of air and an uninhibited shriek of surprise from the redhead, she's gathered her up in an arm and is carrying her towards the rooftops just as the chunk of pavement slams into the building. Chloe's bright blue eyes are the size of saucers as they stare at her masked profile and Beca can hear her heart hammering in her ears. The arms wrapped around her hold tight and the one Beca has wound around Chloe's back holds her as close as she can without crushing her.
Chloe doesn't say anything.
Beca wonders if that's because she can't.
She swings until they're a safe distance away and Beca lands them both safely on the rooftop of their local newspaper headquarters. Chloe slowly pulls away from her, taking a step back, and Beca reaches a hand up and around to rub at the back of her neck before holding it out towards the redhead.
“Just... stay here.” Altering her voice doesn't cross her mind, she only thinks of it later when she's dodging one of five punches being thrown at her simultaneously and hopes the mask is enough to change the sound of it. “I'll come back for you.” Then she's swan diving off the side of another building, like this is becoming her new 'thing', and heading back into the melee.
She doesn't really expect Chloe to still be there when she returns, looking a little worse for wear after her first real fight but victorious nonetheless.
But she is. Sitting beside the roof access door with her legs pulled up to her chest and her chin resting on her knees.
She doesn't really expect Chloe to smile like that when she sees her from behind white, almond eyes. But Chloe does.
She doesn't expect there to be any kind of playful conversation.
"So what do you go by? Spider-Man? Spider-Woman?"
"As long as it's not 'Spider-Bitch', they can call me whatever the hell they want. I'm not really into labels."
"Hmm. Good to know."
But there is.
Because it's Chloe.
And Beca should know that expectations usually end up flipped on their head when it comes to her.
She's already turned huge parts of Beca's life upside down.
What's one more? |
"Hush, now," he says, stepping toward you. "I'm so glad you returned. Now I don't have to go to any trouble before I can kill you, you treacherous bitch."
You are too shocked to move. You just stand there, wide eyed, and follow the arc of his dagger as he swings it at you.
You scream, now. You scream and jump backward, but only after the dagger has already met its target.
A target, which was thankfully not your heart. Or your throat. Instead, there's a tiny little cut across the bridge of your nose. The barest graze, a well measured sample of Loki's anger.
He stalks toward you, another step, the dagger lifting for a second strike. His eyes are those of a predator, watching intensely for every twitch of muscle indicating your intended movement.
As soon as you stumble back, he swings, cutting the fabric of your sleeve, nothing more.
"Loki!" you plea, desperate and afraid.
He smiles, toying with you, and takes another step. You realize too late he's driving you away from the door.
Walking backwards, you look behind you, and the dagger cuts across your cheek. You run. Hide behind the desk. Put it between you.
"Loki, listen to me!" you beg. "I came here to apologize! To fix things! Please, stop this!"
Loki doesn't pursue you further, standing on the other side of the desk, the dagger lowered. He's no longer smiling—thank the stars.
"I know why you came," he says softly, all the while gutting you with his eyes. "Because you love me."
The hand with the dagger in it trembles, his knuckles clenched too tightly around the hilt.
You take a few steps back until you hit the bookshelf behind the desk.
"Loki..." Your voice fails to rise above a whisper. "Why are you doing this? Please let me fix it. I never meant to betray you."
"Yes, you did," he says calmly, and begins walking around the desk toward you. "But if you think you betrayed me, you are mistaken."
You try to run from him, but to your horror, you can't move. It's like your body is glued to the bookshelf, and you realize he's doing it. No matter how hard you strain, you can't get free of his magic.
"Nothing happened that I did not anticipate," he explains, coming to a halt in front of you. For the first time, you feel nothing but terror when you look into his ice cold eyes. "You think I would let you lead me into an obvious trap, because what? I'm blinded with love?" He laughs mirthlessly at the notion.
You keep pulling against your invisible bonds, needing all your willpower not to panic. That means you have no strength left to keep the tears from your eyes.
Loki doesn't seem to care, regardless.
"I don't love you, pet," he says in a low voice, leaning down so his eyes are level with yours. "I don't now, and I never did. In other words—" he leans so close you can feel his hissing breath on your lips— "I lied."
You are trembling now, and you have to bite your tongue not to make a noise of fear.
Loki watches you impassively for another moment, then pulls back, pacing about in front of you. "Yes, pet. The day you came at me with that kitchen knife, I deduced immediately what must have happened. You are far, far too naive to realize my manipulation, so of course you had help. It did not take me long to find her, you know. One kitchen maid disappears, another replaces her. Clever plan, but of course you had to ruin it."
He pauses his pacing to look at you. You're shaking harder and harder. Silent tears are running down your cheeks. His words don't even register emotionally. There's only so much pain your mind can handle, and it maxed out the first time he swung his dagger at you.
"You realize now, it was all an act?" he continues, making it sound like a question. Slowly, he wanders back to you, closer and closer, until his hand grips your chin and his mouth is at your ear. "I was so convincing, was I not? Saying how helplessly I've fallen for you. How I would do anything for you. How I need you. Kneeling at your feet and pleasuring you. Pretending that I'm nice. That I deserve you. That I deserve your mercy, and your guilt. You ate it all up so willingly, didn't you? –Almost didn't go through with it, did you?" He chuckles lightly. "But I pushed you forward, and pretended that you betrayed me."
He pulls back again to soak up your reaction. You're still trembling, but now you ball your fists.
"No..." you say, and then louder. "No!"
"Yes," he says. "Yes, sweet pet. I knew the entire time."
"No, no, no!" you scream, pulling at the restraints again. "It isn't true! You couldn't have known! You couldn't have! You do love me!"
You sob loudly, and Loki reaches out to caress your cheek tenderly, a look of pity on his face.
"Oh, sweet thing," he coos. "Look at you. So desperate for my love that you refuse to accept the truth. I never did love you, pet. I said all that so you would not kill me. So you would run back to me in case you managed to flee. And here you are, just as I planned. Even sooner, actually. You must have missed me."
"No, no, no," you sob, refusing to listen or look at him. "You're lying! You just want to hurt me!"
"Shhhh," Loki hushes you, still gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Your desperate wishes will not change the truth. Why do you think I made a show of claiming you in the kitchens if I did not know your friend was there? Why do you think I was so adamant about getting you further into the forest? Or did you think my dagger landing near you was a coincidence? I do not miss my targets, pet. I threw it there, so you would pick it up, and you did. Then I drew the fight toward you and let myself be knocked to the ground. I knew you would not kill me. If you had tried, of course, I would have stuck this in your throat."
He laughs and holds up the dagger. You stare at it. Your whole word is spinning around you. Reality itself is changing, rewriting itself into a horrible nightmare with each of his words.
"But..." Something doesn't make sense. "But why would you... Why would you not kill all of us in the forest? Why would you let us get away? You had us."
You've calmed somewhat, feeling completely numb. Maybe this is your body's last defense against the pain. Maybe you won't even feel anything when he sticks the dagger in your heart.
"That was my original plan," he admits. "In fact, I was planning to kill you even before your friends came. You were such a nuisance to me. I was impatient to get rid of you as soon as possible. I would have slaughtered you all in the forest, but I underestimated their coordination. It is quite difficult to get your bearings when being assaulted at three fronts in a dark forest."
His words register in your mind, but they don't stick like the rest of them. They aren't convincing you, for some reason.
"No, you couldn't have known all this," you mumble. "Wouldn't have underestimated your opponent."
"But I did," he says immediately. "Just accept it."
And then you realize why his words aren't adding up. Because they're lies. And that means all his other words are, too. They are lies, cleverly hidden behind layers of truth. And again, you realize why. He did suspect what you were planning to do. He did know Rika was there. But he did nothing, for the same reason he's lying now. Because he loves you.
"Loki," you say quietly, meeting his eyes. "I don't believe you. You're saying all this to hurt me, and you're trying to hurt me because you want revenge. And you want revenge, because I did betray you. Because I broke your heart, and you weren't in control at all. Your words are contradicting themselves. If they actually were true, you wouldn't be telling me all this. You would have just killed me."
Loki's eyes narrow, and then his face contracts in anger, and you know you're right.
"That is a pretty bold statement, pet," he spits. "Are you sure you're not in denial?"
You draw in a sharp breath. You can feel the adrenaline thrumming through your veins. "I'm sure."
"Then let me prove it to you," he snarls, his teeth bared. "You're going to betray your friends to me, and then I will kill them. I won't even let you watch. You die tonight, with the knowledge of what you've done."
Before you can even open your mouth to tell him you would never betray them to him, he has his hand pressed against your forehead, and suddenly you lose all vision.
You can feel him in your brain, feel his magic penetrating your skull and pushing into your memories. Like fingers rifling through pages, he goes through your most recent memories and pulls them forward.
You see yourself at the abandoned store, eating breakfast with Rika, Mat, and Lee. It was just this morning. Loki watches the three of you for a moment, then goes forward, until you're leaving the store. You go along the dirt road until you reach the city, then enter the tavern. Loki now knows the general location of the hideaway. He watches briefly as you meet with the Assassin's Sisters, then draws out of the memory and rifles further back in your mind.
You see more flashes of memories, see yourself getting younger. You're in school, presenting a report. You've practiced for days for this presentation, but when you begin it, you fumble with your words and misspeak your own name. Everyone laughs, and you start crying. They start yelling your misspoken name until the teacher quiets them down, but you know they would call you by that name for the remainder of your time at that school.
Thankfully, Loki doesn't stay in the memories of your school life for too long, going back even further. It seems he is looking for something specific, and soon enough, he finds it.
The door slams behind you as you run out into the dark street. You're crying and completely blind with rage, ignoring the shouts of your parents to come back. Instead, you run even faster. You run straight into the forest, sobbing the entire time. As soon as you see your favorite thicket, you slow down, wiping your face on your sleeve. Determined, you get on your hands and knees, move some of the branches aside, and crawl forward through the hollowed out tunnel you've created there.
It's hard to see, and some of the branches whack you in the face, but you know where to go. Dirt and dead leaves cling to your palms and the skirt of your dress.
Suddenly, your right hand makes contact with something dry and malleable. Something scaly, something that moves. You hear the crack of its spine, and suddenly it lashes out and there's incredible pain in your arm.
You scream and jerk back. The pain is so intense that your reflexes take over and you hit it with your other fist, but it's not moving anymore. You jump up and run out of the thicket, clutching your wounded arm to your chest.
You can feel the blood running down your skin, but worse than that, the pain seems to spread. You're gasping and crying and running and thinking that you're going to die. It gets worse and worse, your whole arm feeling like it's being dissolved with acid. Your vision keeps blacking out and your feel yourself getting cold and clammy. Is this what dying feels like?
Your legs have turned to lead, by the time you near your home. Thankfully, your parents are out on the street with lanterns, in search for you. You scream out to them, then fall to the ground unconscious.
***
Your eyes are glazed over. You can hear heavy breaths, and at first you think they're yours, but then you realize that they're Loki's.
He pulls away from you and steps around the desk, going to the door. He opens it and begins talking to the guard. You vaguely register him describing the location of the abandoned store, then the appearance of your friends.
"They should be asleep," he says. "Send ten men. Use as much force as necessary to apprehend them. I want them in my dungeons ere sunrise. Go."
"Yes, sir." The guard claps his fist over his heart and hurries off.
By the time Loki closes the door and turns back to you, you're alert with fear.
"Please... Please don't hurt them," you beg.
"Shhh," Loki says and comes closer. His expression is neutral, and you can't read his intentions. You realize he's no longer holding the dagger. It's on the desk, next to the dirty cape. You don't know if that makes him any less dangerous or not.
He walks all the way up to you, crowding your space. Then he leans down and connects his lips to yours.
You stare at him in shock, but his eyes are closed. He kisses you softly, but your body doesn't react the way it used to. As soon as you've mustered the strength, you twist your head away and break the kiss.
Loki draws back, opening his eyes with a long, shuddering breath.
"You don't know what you do to me," he says, grabbing your hands and moving them up beside your head. They're still stuck to the bookshelf, but now his fingers are entwined with yours.
The closeness has your heart jumping in your chest. "Please," you say again. "Please don-"
"Shhhhh," he breathes against your lips. "Hush, sweet thing. Stay calm. I don't want you to suffer."
You realize with horror that he's talking to you the way one would talk to a horse with a broken leg. A horse that's about to be put out of its misery.
"No, please!" you wail. "Please, don't kill me! Please, Loki!"
This time, Loki doesn't interrupt you. He just watches you, unaffected.
"Shhh," he says again. "I can make it nice. I can make it good for you."
His thumbs stroke over your fingers, and you realize he's pushing more of his magic into you. It's an uncomfortably hot sensation spreading through your veins, but once it reaches your heart, you feel some of your fear and sorrow dissipate. It moves lower and you feel the familiar trickle of arousal. The heat spreads through your belly, through your entire body, and you feel calm and warm and aroused. With the last bit of clarity, you realize just how much worse this is to before.
Loki studies your expression, and once he's satisfied, pulls his hands away. "There, is this not better?"
You don't answer. "You still love me," you say instead. "Otherwise you would not be doing all this."
Loki's hand moves to your cheek. "You understand that I must do this, don't you? That I must kill you?"
His words are soft, his eyes big and there's pain in them.
"No, I don't," you say firmly, shaking your head. "I know I hurt you, but this won't heal your heart. All this will do is cut another scar where there are already so many. If you let me go, I promise I won't abandon you."
Loki draws back, his expression turning into a sneer. "You're saying that to save your life," he says, his eyes glistening. "You don't mean it. How can I trust you, after what you've done? How can I trust you, when everyone I've ever loved has betrayed me?" He practically yells the last part, his voice shaking with emotion. He reaches behind him and grasps the dagger once more, waiting for your answer.
You eye the dagger, unable to hide your nervousness. "You have no reason to trust me," you say calmly. "But I am willing to prove what I said. Put me in shackles, if you must. Keep my friends in your dungeons. I won't abandon you."
Loki grits his teeth, the dagger trembling in his grasp. "That proves nothing. If I force you to stay, of course you will. Prove that you would stay of your own free will. Prove that you're mine."
"Oh... Okay," you breathe, trying to remain calm. Whatever spell Loki put on you seems to be fading. "What... do you want me to do? Let me go and I'll do it. I won't run."
Loki's eyes are narrowed, trust clearly void in his heart. He thinks about your words. "Let me fuck you," he demands, and you can't stop yourself from flinching.
He notices, and scoffs. "So you won't do it. But when my life is the one in your hands, then you have no problem taking pleasure from me. Is that it?"
You realize with a pang of guilt how right he is. What you did was multiple levels of wrong. No wonder he's hurt enough to want you dead. Pretending to sweeten his last moments, you just made your betrayal so much worse. You took from him, danced and had sex with him for your pleasure, not his. Knowing full well he would die. You are in no way better than him. Not after having done that.
Loki watches the theater of emotions on your face, eyes wide and searching. Then they narrow, and he lifts his dagger. "I think I need to remind you who exactly you belong to, slave."
He brings the dagger down and tears the front of your dress open, exposing your chest.
You stare at him in shock and fear. "Loki! Wha- what are you doing?!"
He ignores you and places the tip of the blade just above your right breast. Then he slices it upward, cutting a bright red line to your collarbone. You suck in a sharp breath, but the knife is moving again, halfway back down at an angle. The rune for "L".
You whimper at the sharp, stinging pain. Your blood is trickling from the gashes, running over the slope of your breast. He move the knife to your left, leaving four more cuts as he spells an "O".
He glances briefly at your face, which is contracted in pain, before moving over your left breast. You flinch and whimper at each further cut, breathing through your teeth as tears flow from your eyes. He cuts you three more times, and then it's written out across your chest in bright red pain: LOKI.
He leans back, breathing heavily, and looks at his work. Blood is trickling down between your breasts. He leans down and catches the rivulet with his tongue. He follows it up to its origins. And then, he licks over your wounds.
You wince as his tongue makes contact, but he doesn't stop. He licks up your blood until its flow has lessened, coating every cut in his saliva. At first, the pain gets so much worse, but his cool tongue is somehow soothing, and it turns into a dull throb. Finally, he straightens up and licks the last bit of your blood from his lips.
"Open your mouth," he commands.
You blink, too stunned to react.
He reaches for your chin, tilts your head back, and pulls your mouth open. Then he steps closer and leans over you, and you think he's going to kiss you. Instead, he spits some of your blood into your open mouth. Then he shuts it again. You are even more shocked now. You taste the metallic tang in his saliva. Before you can think to stop it, your natural swallow reflex kicks in and it slides down your throat. Only then does Loki let your chin go and steps back.
"You belong to me," he says. "I own you. I am your king. Your master. I can do with you what I wish. Do you accept that?"
"Do I..." You're completely lost. "What?"
He comes closer again, grabbing your chin and rubbing his thumb over your lips. "Are you willing to prove your loyalty? You said you wanted to prove it."
This doesn't sound good, or safe, but you prefer it over death. "Yes..." You nod, looking up into his eyes.
"Good. Then let me fuck you." His gaze is challenging. "One more time."
"Before what?" you question, uncertain.
"Before I decide what to do with you. I've already replaced you, you know. I have other women warming my bed. One of them should be there right now, in fact." He searches for a reaction. You don't give it to him. You simply hang your head and lower your gaze. "Okay."
He lets your chin go, and then he's pushing up your skirt. He moves one hand between your legs, pulling away your panties. You let them fall down your legs. His fingers brush against you, testing for your wetness. Due to the spell he used earlier, there is a bit there.
He draws his hand away again and unlaces his pants, then pulls his cock out and gives it a few strokes. You don't look at him. He steps even closer and you feel it push at your entrance. When the head slips inside, you gasp and your eyes snap back to his.
There's a sting. You're not wet enough, or maybe it's because you haven't had him in a week. He pushes further and you whimper. Then he grabs your legs and hoists them up around his hips, sliding all the way inside with one thrust.
You make a pained sound, squirming about to ease the sting that accompanies the massive stretch. Loki hisses in pleasure, growing even harder inside you.
He begins to grind into you, bumping the mouth of your womb. His eyes are closed, his head leaned back, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you know they'll leave bruises.
You whimper, but your legs hook around him, your body finding familiarity in this sensation. You rock against him, craving the mix of pain and pleasure he's giving you. If your arms were free to move, you'd probably sling them around him.
Loki is grunting softly, delivering short, hard thrusts into you. He rams against your cervix with each stroke, making your toes curl with pain and pleasure in equal parts.
"Lo... Loki," you gasp, flexing your fingers and wishing you could push them in his hair or rake them down his armored back.
"Are you enjoying this, little slut?" he asks, his attention drawn back to you. "Does your body crave me, even now?"
You give him a helpless look and he thrusts harder, just to see your expression change to one of pain. You gasp, soft whimpers and moans escaping from your lips.
"You do," he assesses. "You like this, you filthy whore. Are you going to cum? Hm?"
He steps as close as he can, pressing his chest against yours and driving himself as deep inside you as possible.
You wince and squirm helplessly, his leather tunic brushing against your wounds, his cock bruising your insides.
"I know you want to, little bitch," he continues insulting you. "Should I let you, do you think? Should I make you squeeze down around my cock?"
He draws his hands away from your thighs, but they stay up around him by force of his magic.
You're crying, and when he moves one hand between his and you body and rubs over your clit, you sob in unwanted pleasure. He leers at you, feeling you twitch and clench around him. He keeps rubbing against your clit, forcing pleasure into you, the drag of his cock intensifying with each thrust.
"Mm, fuck, that's good," he hisses. "Your cunt is gripping me so tightly. It really missed me, didn't it?"
You keep squirming and whimpering, but there's nothing you can do. Your only comfort is the fact that he won't kill you after this, and that he's already replaced you. Some other woman will have to suffer him. He's just getting you out of his system one last time.
His thrusts grow faster and more erratic, and then his free hand wraps around your throat. He's grunting in pleasure, and you think he's nearing his finish. His fingers are squeezing the sides of your throat, his other hand still rubbing against your clit, and sadly, you're getting close, too.
Your hips are bucking against him, not caring about the bruising force of his thrusts. "L-Loki," you gasp, feeling the blood dam up against his fingers, no longer circulating to your brain. "What- Please-!"
"Cum for me, slut," he grunts, not even looking at you, too lost in pleasure. "Cum and milk my cock. I want to shoot my seed into you right as the light leaves your eyes."
Your eyes widen, and you try to struggle. "Please, Loki!" you wail. "Please don't kill me!" But you already feel yourself fluttering around him, your orgasm brought to its beginnings by his fingers, the ones rubbing furiously over your clit, and the ones throttling the life from you.
He looks up and grins as it erupts around you, causing you to clamp down around him and wail in ecstasy. He rides you through it, his own breaths becoming labored, a layer of sweat on his skin.
"Are you sure you wish those to be your last words?" he asks, slowing his thrusts to delay his own release.
Your eyes have rolled back in your head, your vision blacking out. Your head hurts more and more from all the blood stuck there. Dying isn't like the explosive burst of your orgasm. It's harsh and painful and every fiber of your being is fighting against it. You feel your senses shutting down, and it leaves you enough room to think of your final regrets, your final memories, the faces of your loved ones. You try to think of Rika and Mat and Lee. Of your parents. For some reason, in your state of half consciousness, all you can think of is one moment in the tavern.
You see The Grandma smiling at you, and all the faces of the people you inspired. You smile back at them, and then you realize something.
"I... I'm a martyr."
You aren't even sure if your raspy voice has reached Loki, but now you go willingly into the blackness, knowing it to be the truth. |
Playing games proved harder than expected. Bumblebee found it hard to concentrate on the game. His faceplate switched many times during the game which threw him off.
The more he played the more irritated he got. Everything felt off. His reaction time was off, he had no flow and his optics got stuck on details in the background instead of focusing on the actual game play. Everything was just a bit off. And it frustrated him.
He tried to ignore the feeling and just focus but it was getting harder and harder. His faceplate switched again and he drove off the road. Again.
“Frag it!” He screamed and threw the controller hard on the ground. It smashed into the floor and it was miracle it didn’t break in thousand of tiny pieces.
He looked at controller which was now laying on the ground. He had surprised himself with the sudden burst of aggression.
Bulkhead and Sari who was also playing jumped and just stared at Bumblebee and then at each other. They put down their controllers, a lot more gently than how Bumblebee had done it.
“Are you okay buddy?” Bulkheads voice was cautious like he was testing the ground.
“I keep falling off the road” He grunted and crossed his arms.
“Okay..But you were still in the lead. You could have easily gotten back to first place.”
“It’s not about the first place!” Bumblebee screamed. “It feels wrong!” Sari and Bulkhead looked at each other clearly confused.
“Wrong in which way?”
Bumblebee grab his helm. It felt like his processor was going to explode.
“I don’t know!”
Sari cocked her head to the side.
“You know that it feels wrong, but you don’t know what feels wrong? How don’t you know?”
“I just don’t know!” Bumblebee had always felt a kind of flow when he played video games but that flow had stopped and it irritated him to no end. He still liked playing games and he was still pretty good at it. But it just felt wrong. How was he supposed to explain that? It was like something was preventing him from getting that flow.
Bumblebee felt a servo on his shoulder and he looked up and meet Bulkhead concerned optics.
“How about we do something else? I’m working on a new painting. Wanna keep me company while I paint?”
Sari turned off the TV and the room fell into silence. Bumblebee let his arms fall to his side and he started breathing slowly, and soon his faceplate turn back to normal. Bumblebee nodded. He needed to take a break from playing video games no matter how weird that sounded in his helm.
“Sure.”He carefully got up and in a snail pace walked over to the wall so he had something to lean on and they slowly made their way towards Bulkheads room.
He open his HUD and looked at the clock. It had been 20 minutes since the others left. He was wondering if they had stopped Lugnut yet. What if they failed? Bumblebee shook his helm. No he shouldn't think about stuff like that. They would be fine. He was just being paranoid. What if it was a trap? He tried to force the thought out of his mind. This was stupid, why was he worrying? He needed to trust that his team could handle themselves. They’re offline right now and it’s all your fault. Bumblebee started to look around. Searching for something interesting enough to take his mind off his dark thoughts.
Thankfully they entered Bulkheads room which was full of stuff to look at.
Bulkheads room was filled with complete and incomplete artworks. The walls was covered with paintings that he had made himself. There were some depicting nature, like golden leaved trees and beaches at sunset. Some paintings were a bit weird. A face just made out of rectangles and similar weird stuff like that.
In the middle of the room was a big canvas covered in all kinds of coloured paint. Bumblebee had no idea what the painting was suppose to resemble but he didn’t want to ask incase it upset Bulkhead.
Bumblebee and Sari sat down and looked on as Bulkhead painted. They talked about all kinds of stuff. Like how warm it was getting outside, which superhero could kick another superheroes aft and similar stuff.
But the topic of Bumblebee’s triple changer change never got brought up. It almost seemed like Sari and Bulkhead purposely avoided it or anything related to it.They didn’t talk about his absence or his faceplates or triple changers. Anything really that could touch the subject of Bumblebees change.
Bumblebee didn’t know how to feel about it. It was nice not having to focus on that after it had been the main topic of pretty much all conversation for a couple days. But he also was worried that they were avoiding it because they didn’t like it. Like, it was a problem they were trying to hide by not mentioning it or like it was going to go away by not talking about it or in worse case they were avoiding it because they were embarrassed.
Bumblebee tried to ignore that thought. He had been doing that a lot lately, think of stuff and then bury it in his mind and hope that it would not crawl back up and bite him in the aft later. It probably was not what people would call “healthy” but Bumblebee didn’t care much. So he threw that source of anxiety into the pit just like he had done with Ratchets comments about Blitzwing and his worry over his team and tried to carry on like nothing had happened. He hoped he didn’t have to think about that stuff again. But destiny had other plans.
“They have been gone for a while now” Sari said. It was obvious she was talking about the rest of the team “Wonder how they’re doing”
“I’m sure they are fine” Bulkhead said reassuringly and picked up another can of paint.
Bumblebee felt that seed of anxiety make itself known again. Wonder if something has happened. No, no he had just gotten rid of those thoughts. Bumblebee looked around the room to find something else to think about.
His optics landed on a painting. It was depicting a couple of circles in different sizes and colours overlapping each other.
“Hey Bulkhead is that one knew?” Bumblebee pointed at the painting. It was a bad distraction and he sounded a bit desperate but he wanted to try to steer the conversation away from the topic off the rest of the team.
Bulkhead looked up from his work and followed Bumblebees digit with his optics to the painting.
“Ya it’s pretty new. Do you like it?” He asked and returned to painting. Bumblebee thought it looked a little bit lazy. It was just circles. But there was no way he was telling Bulkhead that.
“It’s nice. I haven’t seen it before. When did paint it?” Bulkhead brush stopped moving and Bumblebee immediately regretted his question. Bulkhead hesitated for a moment before he started talking.
“I finished it when you were..well when you did..Umm whilst you..”.
Sari groaned at Bulkheads hesitation and answered for him.
“We did it whilst you were in the medbay.”
“Oh” Bumblebee said nothing more. He had tried to steer the conversation from a subject he didn’t want to think about and had instantly steered it right into another topic he had wanted to avoid. Just his luck.
“Yeah, we visited you while you were in the medbay" She continued. "You were asleep though. Did Blitzwing tell you that we visited?”
“Blitzwing mentioned it.” Bumblebees seed of anxiety started to grow again. He was starting to have a hard time not thinking about what the rest of the team was doing. He started fiddling with his digits.
“Good. He told us to be quiet and not to wake you.”
Bumblebee just nodded in acknowledgement and focused his energy into trying to keep his mind in check. He tried to focus on what Sari was saying but his thoughts kept lurking around in his minds like ghosts or wild beast he tried to fend off.
Sari looked up at him. She started to look concern.
“Are you okay?”
Bumblebee forced a smile. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of that he was worried about the rest of their team, but he also knew that Sari was too smart for not to notice something was wrong.
“Ya, just wonder what's taking him so long to come back”
Sari’s concerned face disappeared and a smile formed on her face and she started teasingly making kissing noises.
“You miss your boyfriend!” Bumblebees faceplate switched and everything turned blue.
“Do not” He hissed.
“Bee and Blitzwing sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g!”
“Stop I don’t miss him." Everyone in the room could tell that was a lie. "I’m just wondering what's taking him so long. Shouldn't they be done by now?”
Sari stopped making kissing noises and shrugged.
“Maybe. At least Blitzwing should be back. He can fly so he don’t have to worry about rush hours.”
Bulkheads said something but Bumblebee didn’t hear him. It was like all sound was getting muffled and his optics didn't focus. It sounded like Bulkhead and Sari was walking away from him. Their voices was getting father and father away until he couldn't hear them anymore. His faceplate switched but he didn’t pay any mind to it.
Primus what if something did go wrong? No he shouldn't think that. What if they’re going offline right now and I don’t even know it? He tried to stop his thoughts. But it was like he had built a dam around all his worries that was now beginning to crack and the intrusive thoughts started to leak out. He tried to cover the cracks but they were too many. What if it was because Bulkhead or Sari wasn't there.
“Bumblebee?”
If that's the case it’s all my fault! If they’re all offline right now it’s all my fault! If I hadn't been turned into a triple changer I could have been out there helping them right now.
“Bumblebee?”
Why did have to go on that joy ride? If only I had stayed at the base, or taken someone with me this would never had happened!
“Bumblebee!”
Bumblebee snapped out of his thoughts. Bulkheads voice was clear again and he was looking straight at him.He looked concerned.
“Huh?” Bumblebee answers. Bulkhead rolled his optics. It looked like he had taken Bumblebees surprise as nothing more than him being bored and not listening.
“I asked if you could grab a can of blue paint from storage?”
“Wha..Oh blue paint. Ya sure” Bumblebee got up. His legs were shaking slightly. He felt exhausted and sick down to his tanks, like he was going to throw up. It felt like his processor was working through a hundred things and thoughts at the same time and it gave Bumblebee a splitting headache.
Still despite feeling like scrap Bumblebee slowly went out of Bulkheads room towards the storage room on his unsteady legs.
He opened the door to the dark room. He hit the light switch and the room filled with dim light.The room was full of junk ,oil cans and dust. But even if the room was stuffed with stuff it was all organised. Optimus had made sure of that. Bumblebee started looking around and nearly immediately found a can full to the brim with blue paint. He slowly picked it up and started to make his way back to Bulkhead.
Bumblebee looked at paint in the can. With every step he took a small wave appeared in the paint.
Then an idea hit him and he stopped in the middle of the hallway. If I’m worried about the mission I can just call them.
Bumblebee felt stupid for not thinking of it earlier. He would just call Blitzwing and ask him if everything was going okay. Bumblebee wasen't sure what he would do if he said it was not going alright but Bumblebee didn't care about that for the moment. He activated his comms and tried to contact Blitzwing.
“Hey Blitzwing how’s the mission going? Have you beaten Lugnut into scrap metal yet?” Bumblebee waited for a minute, waiting for an answer but all he got in response was static. That’s fine maybe he didn’t hear it.Calm down. Bumblebee tried again. “Blitzbrain pick up your comms” still nothing. Bumblebees whole frame started shaking. He felt his faceplate switch. “Blitzwing if this some kind of sick joke, knock it off! It’s not funny! Blitzbrain for Primus sake answers, or at least say something! Anything!” But Blitzwing did not answer. Calm down. Don't panic. His faceplate switched back and he tried one last time. “Blitzy please answer. Please tell my you’re okay...Please” Bumblebees words rang out, they echoed down the empty hall. But there was nothing but dead silence coming from his comms.
Bumblebee felt his faceplate switch again..and again...and again before Bumblebee knew it his faceplate just started spinning like a merry-go-round. Bumblebee felt dizzy and pure panic had taken a hold of him. He’s offline! He’s offline! He’s offline and it’s all my fault! If I had told him to stay he would still be online! He wanted to scream. Scream until his voice box broke but no words left his mouth. He wanted to run to where Blitzwing was but his legs would not move. He felt paralyzed and cold.
Bumblebees faceplate switched again and he felt a stab of pain. Bumblebee yelped and let go of the paint can.
The can smashed into the ground and sent blue paint flying everywhere. It covered the floor and some splashed up onto Bumblebees yellow paint and the walls. But Bumblebee didn’t care.
His faceplate kept switching and with every switch the pain only grew. Bumblebee tried to force his faceplates to stop switching by trying to hold onto it with his servos but he couldn't get a good grip. His faceplates just continued to switch and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It felt like he was loosing control of himself.
Bumblebee suddenly felt a servo on his shoulder. His faceplate switching momentarily stopped and he looked up at Bulkhead. Bulkhead optics was full of worry. Bumblebee freaked out and slapped Bulkheads servo off him like it had burned him and started walking backwards until his back hit the wall.
Bulkhead raised his servos to show he was not going to try to touch him again.
“Bumblebee, please calm down. It’s okay, it’s just paint. Let’s just calm down and clean this up”
He looked at Bulkhead, he now also saw Sari who was standing in the doorframe to Bulkheads room. Both of them was looking at him with worried faces.
Bumblebee couldn't stay there any longer. It felt like he was suffocating, it felt like needed to escape, leave , crawl into a hole and just disappear. On shaky legs he moved as fast he could towards his room. His room was close by so Bumblebee didn’t have to walk far. Bumblebee leaned on the wall and was able to make it without falling down. He threw open the door to his room, stumbled in and locked it behind him.
He felt tears start running down his optics both from pain and sadness. He threw himself onto the berth and curled up into a ball. His faceplate started switching again so now was both his faceplate and spark hurting. He still couldn't scream. Only pathetic sounding whimpers left his mouth.
He heard Bulkhead and Sari calling him from outside the door, but Bumblebee just put his servos over his audio receptors in an attempt to drown them out. And he just laid there on the berth and cried whilst his thoughts wreaked havoc in his mind.
|
Sans scratched the back of his head, stuffing his hand back into his pocket. His scowl remained steadfast as he stared down the items in front of him. It had been a few years since the barrier broke, but things topside were just not the same. Humor was not the same. He couldn’t find anything that was right.
Christmas was rapidly approaching, and he’d thought the holiday was big on the underground. Here, Christmas was some sort of overdone, over commercialized ritual. The decorations went up for sale four months ahead of time. Everywhere you went, Christmas, Christmas, Christmas. It wasn’t that he minded the holiday, it just had a lot more emphasis on it, and it felt like there was a lot more pressure. Despite the seemingly endless displays of gifts, there seemed to be a lack of
perfect
gifts. It didn’t help that he’d waited to finish until the holiday was a week out, or that he’d come shopping alone. He’d thought about looking on the internet, but it was a little late for that. He only really needed one thing, but he was beginning to think it might be a thing that didn’t even exist.
He sighed, turning away and leaving the store empty-handed. Stopping outside the store’s doors, he zipped his jacket against the winter air, stepping to the side of the entrance. Monsters and humans alike filed around him, across the sidewalks by the stores, all doing last-minute gift runs. Sans sighed, breath clouding the air in front of him, and pulled his phone out.
* hey alphys
* need some advice from the human expert.
* where can i find gag gifts and shit like that
It took a moment for her to respond, and Sans idly paced the walkway away from the doors. He eyes a lineup of fir trees, contemplating trying to get Grillby to reconsider his steadfast refusal of a christmas tree. In all fairness, he probably would be the one to do most of the work of putting it up and taking it down. It wasn’t that Sans wasn’t willing, but Grillby hardly let him do anything more than pick up a plate or a magazine. Sans’s phone buzzed, and he slid it out again, reading Alphys’s reply on the screen.
* Alphys: That depends...
* Alphys: What are you looking for in particular?
He sighed again, breath creating a cloud in the cold air. He’d had a feeling it might be this hard, but he wished it wasn’t.
* a shirt
* that says
* number one uncle
* for pap
* DO NOT TELL UNDYNE
He waited for a moment, scowling, boots scuffing the layer of sand and salt that covered the cement walkway.
* Alphys: Uhhh
* Alphys: Too late?
Grumbling, he angrily tapped out a reply.
* tell her not to tell pap then
* i will kill her i stg
* Alphys: I will!
* Alphys: I had to tell her. I don’t know where to find anything like that
* Alphys: She says Goodwill. And she promises
Sans frowned at her response.
* she better
* Alphys: Congrats from both of us, by the way!
* yeah yeah
It took some searching, but he managed to find a couple stores close by. He had a feeling it was possible, after seeing many shirts with various similar sayings on them. The stores seemed to be a collection of horrible clothing that would make the perfect shitty gifts. It was a time consuming task, however, as they were mixed with everything else and in no real order.
In the third store and after five hours of searching, he finally found it. Hand stitched, huge, and ugly as hell. It was a sweater, knit white with a red border on the sleeves and bottom hem. Across the chest it read “World’s Best Uncle”, and Sans couldn’t shake his grin. It was perfect. Horrible and perfect. Pulling out his phone once more, he held it out and took a photo, sending it to Alphys.
* tell undyne i said thanks
“Toriel has taught you to bake cupcakes?” Papyrus’s voice came from the living room after Sans let himself in. Closing the door behind him and sliding his shoes off, he realized Papyrus must be on the phone, presumably with Frisk, as he didn’t hear a reply. “Would you really? That is very kind of you.” There was another pause, and Sans leaned around the corner. His brother was sitting cross-legged on the couch with his cat beside him. Papyrus saw him and gave a wave as Sans entered the room, plastic bag in hand. “I must go, Sans is here. I will see you soon.” Sans was close enough now that he heard Frisk on the other end of the line shout ‘I love you!’ to his brother. The cat hopped down from her place on the couch, stretching and greeting Sans as Papyrus told frisk he loved them too and hung up the phone.
“Sans! Frisk called to tell me Toriel is teaching them to bake,” He said, standing to hug his brother.
“I heard,” Sans replied, hugging his brother back with his free arm. “I uh, I have… something for you,” he said as Papyrus released him, feeling nerves start to creep up on him. He knew his brother wouldn’t react badly, but it was still making him anxious. He held the bag out to his brother, who took it excitedly. “I was gonna wait ‘til Christmas, but… I, uh… I changed my mind. Just open it.”
“Okay…” Papyrus replied, sounding uncertain and fixing his brother with a suspicious stare. Sans was being oddly serious, and seemed slightly nervous. It wasn’t that strange, but considering the situation, Papyrus hadn’t expected this. Sans watched his brother pull the sweater out of the bag, turning it curiously, expecting one of Sans’s pranks. The older skeleton crossed his arms, waiting for his brother to finish his inspection. Finally, seeming satisfied that nothing would come out of it or shock him or make noise though he gave Sans a disbelieving look, he held the sweater up by the shoulders. Sans watched his face as he read the words across the front several times, his expression changing to shock. He stayed that way for a moment, slowly reading the words over again.
When he finally looked back up at Sans, Sans barely had time to give him an uncertain smile before he was lifted off the ground in a hug before being equally as quickly put back down. “I’m sorry! I didn’t- I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His hands hovered to either side of his brother, a look of worry across his features.
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“Good. Is this- Are you really having a baby?”
“Yeah. No jokes this time.” Sans shrugged, watching as Papyrus peeled his shirt off and scrambled to get the sweater on. “...Are you really gonna wear that?”
“Of course!” Papyrus responded, looking mildly offended. “How could I not? It’s perfect. And I will, obviously, be the world’s best uncle,” he replied, pulling the sweater down and looking awfully proud of himself, eyes scanning the words on the front once more, a grin across his face that Sans knew probably wouldn’t fade any time soon.
“Obviously,” Sans repeated, smiling warmly. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“So can I see?” Papyrus asked, then.
“What?”
“Can I see,” Papyrus repeated again, slower this time, impatient.
“Oh, uh, I guess? There’s not much to see, but…” Sans lifted his shirt as his brother knelt on the floor, and Papyrus marvelled at the sight of the tiny, dull iris-purple colored heart that appeared on his brother’s now solidly blue stomach. Once his curiosity was sated, he stood again and Sans pulled his shirt back down. Fully clothed, it wasn’t even noticeable yet, but Papyrus’s stare lingered a moment. Sans smiled again, relieved by his brother’s enthusiasm and excitement.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M GOING TO BE AN UNCLE!” Papyrus shouted suddenly, overtaken by excitement. He whirled back to face Sans, then, hands clenched tightly into fists, grin still plastered onto his face. “CAN I TELL UNDYNE?”
“Well, I, uh… I kind of… uh, she might… already know…” Sans said, looking anywhere but at his brother, smiling nervously.
“WHAT?!” Papyrus shouted, absolutely devastated. “YOU TOLD HER BEFORE YOU TOLD ME? WHY?!”
“It was an accident! I needed help finding the sweater,” Sans explained, holding his hands up. “I asked Alphys where to find stuff like that, and… Undyne was with her and she just… found out. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t believe you…” Papyrus said in mock resentment, though he was obviously at least a little disappointed.
“If it makes you feel better, you can tell anyone else that you want. I haven’t told anyone other than them. Grillby too, of course,” Sans amended, though it was probably obvious. “And the less I have to do, the better.”
For once, Papyrus didn’t lecture him on his laziness and instead, agreed with him. He could get used to this.
|
Little Harry was playing in the bathtub when it appeared.
"Blub, blub," he said, providing sounds for his giant squid toy. His "giant squid" was little more than a plastic many-armed object that had been magicked to swim around him as he played. It was smaller than his daddy's hand, but much bigger than his own, and therefore "giant" in his mind. In his left hand he also held a tiny figurine with long shiny robes and a pointed hat.
"Oh no, Mr. Merlin!" He cried out as the giant squid started making its way toward his Merlin toy. "Watch out or da Gi'nt Squid'll get ya!" He said with a look of horror on his face.
Midway through his play, he stopped and turned towards his daddy who was crouched beside the tub, washing his back.
"Daddy, make 'im talk, please?" He begged; green eyes big in his face.
His daddy sighed, rolled his eyes and then said in a rather formal and unusually gruff voice, "You'll never take me alive! Get back you vile creature! Or I shall be forced to smite you!"
Harry dissolved into giggles at his daddy's acting.
"He wouldn't smite 'im daddy!" He gasped out between giggles. "He'd blow 'im outta da water. Right, daddy? He's a wizard, right daddy?"
His Tall Man grinned down at him and rinsed the soap off his back before replying to his fervently spoken request.
"One of the most, if not the most powerful wizards in history, Harry," he said, reverting back to his normal tone of voice.
"Not stronger'n you, Daddy!" Little Harry protested vehemently, twisting his wet head back and forth.
"Quite possibly he was," his daddy said with a modest smile to the wide eyed boy in front of him.
"But you're da bestest, strongest wizard in da whol' wide world!" The small boy proclaimed, standing up in his tub. Severus took advantage of the opportunity and quickly wrapped a warm fluffy towel around his son, before picking him up and carrying him over to the countertop.
"Right, daddy?" Harry asked, peering solemnly out of the towel that almost completely covered him from where he sat atop the countertop.
"Perhaps, Harry. Perhaps," his daddy said with a smile as he further dried him off.
It was only after his Tall Man had combed his hair and helped him into his pajamas that he remembered to ask his question.
"Daddy?" The green footed pajama wearing boy asked his Tall Man.
"Son?" The man asked, carefully putting Harry's glasses back on his face.
"What's dat?" The small bespectacled boy asked, looking behind Severus.
"What's what?" Severus asked, not bothering to turn yet.
"Dat door?" Harry asked, pointing to the door that had appeared at the end of the bathroom during his bath.
Severus narrowed his eyes in questioning, but obediently turned and looked behind him.
There was a door there. And Harry was right; it hadn't ever existed there before.
"I don't know, Harry," he answered honestly, a touch of uncertainty evident in his voice.
"Id it safe?" Harry looked trustingly up at his Tall Man and the man frowned in reply.
"Historically, the castle has on occasion, chosen to provide more rooms or make adjustm-," he looked down and remembered his audience, "—changes," he corrected himself, "to the rooms already existing for its inhabitants. That is, for the people living within its walls, Harry. I personally have never seen it done before, but I have heard stories throughout the years of random rooms appearing for those who have needed them." His face was thoughtful as he looked at the door in question.
"Can we go and look?" His son was holding out his arms in a silent plea to be picked up from the countertop he was still sitting on.
"You mustn't touch anything unless I give you permission," his dad said carefully, clearly having made his decision as he hoisted the small boy up to rest on his hip.
"Yay! An inventor with my daddy!" Harry clapped his small hands together and his daddy smiled at him.
"I think you mean 'adventure,' Harry," the man corrected him gently.
"Yeah, dat!" The small child said excitedly, latching his arms around his Tall Man's neck and leaning against his chest comfortably.
. . .
Gellert's words had filled him with such motivation towards helping create a better tomorrow for their sorry little world, Albus remembered.
"Men and wizards aren't so very different, you know," had been Albus's hook into Gellert's world. It had gone against everything that he had known—everything that the purebloods preached.
"What separates them, then?" His younger self asked, obviously intrigued.
"Wizards are the world's perfect species. We speak, we invent, and best of all, we create. At a glance, men do all these things too, but without magic. For whatever reason, men are broken—incomplete creatures."
"What of muggleborns then?" He had asked.
"Merely proof that something is wrong with Muggles as a whole. If Muggles can create Wizards, and Wizards can create Squibs, then obviously the two have interbred in the past. And this is the result—strife amongst families that is caused by the black sheep that wander amongst them."
Gellert had bought his interest with radical suppositions, bending his brain (and eventually his heart) into completely new shapes that had helped to open his mind to possibilities and dreams of a different kind of world.
If they could separate out the two lines of Muggles and Wizards down to its most perfect, purest form, then they could end the war between the two sides and further unite the magical realm.
At least, that had been the idea at first. Over time, those dreams and ideologies had . . . shifted, until all that was left of those marvelous concepts had been bare skeletons held together with little more than a forgotten hope for a better tomorrow.
. . .
Severus was still appreciative of the vast changes evident between this bathtub experience and their first one. He remembered how tiny, how fragile the child under his hands had been in the beginning of their relationship, and although he wouldn't admit it aloud, it warmed his heart to see the progress his small boy was continuing to make towards becoming healthy—physically and mentally.
"Daddy?" Said boy's voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him quickly back to the present.
"Right," he said, nodding more to himself as he pushed open the new door and walked them into the unknown. His wand was in the hand not holding onto his son, and he held it out defensively as he carefully moved forwards into the surprising new room.
As it turned out, "surprising" was a very apt descriptor for the space they now found themselves in. Although no lights came on as they moved forwards, the room was still fairly well lit, and when Severus looked upwards, he realized why.
Suspended above them was a miniaturized model of the universe, complete with small tiny pricks of light for the stars, and different coloured glowing spheres that were moving in various orbits around the sun (which was currently dark).
"Wow," both man and boy breathed out in unison together as they stared up into the unusually high rafters of the room.
Of all of the planets above them, the small green and blue Earth was currently the brightest lit, aside from its moon. Although, Severus had an idea about what might change that.
"Lumos," he whispered above the still damp hair of his son, and abruptly the sun came on, lighting the world around them with a soft comfortable glow.
Ducking their heads at the sudden light, Severus had to blink several times before being able to see his surroundings. He quickly realized that what they were standing in was no ordinary room, but a bedroom. Furthermore, it wasn't anything like any of the other dungeon bedrooms he had seen in all of his years at Hogwarts, but rather something completely unique and special.
To their left was a small green canopied bed. Although it was lower to the ground than Severus's own was, there was still a small stepstool that sat beside it, just in case.
The floor was covered in a very soft and plush light green carpet, inlaid with trails of silver that sparkled the longer one stared at it.
The walls were not the typical cold stone that all dungeon rooms featured, but were smooth and painted a soft blue. Across from where they stood, Severus saw a small boy sized desk and chair, and upon further investigation, found a variety of paper and coloring materials atop it, as well as inside its many drawers.
There were also several bookcases that practically begged to be filled with interesting books, as well as a brightly painted wooden toy chest that they found sitting at the foot of the bed. Severus found a plain mahogany dresser, and discovered that it was already filled with all of Harry's small clothes.
As they rounded back towards the bed again, something caught Severus's eye. Laid out atop the pillow was their friend Captain, and Severus imagined that the bear had been waiting for them since before they started Harry's bath.
"Capt'n!" His son proclaimed as they came within arm's reach of the small fuzzy pink toy.
Severus picked up his son's friend and handed it to the boy with a small smile. Immediately, Harry grabbed it up and squeezed his bear tightly, his eyes still large in his head from the wonder of the room around them.
"Daddy? Whose room is dis?" His small boy asked in awe.
Severus fought from smiling as he looked down at his son.
"Why, don't you recognize it?" He asked with a straight face as Harry looked around them once more.
"Nuh uh, Daddy," Harry answered with a confused look.
"Well, silly boy. Don't you know your own room?" He asked, finally giving his child a small grin.
If his son had looked awestruck before, it was nothing to how he looked after hearing Severus's unexpected question.
"M-Mine?" His son asked quietly as he held on to both Severus and Captain tightly.
"Apparently the castle decided that you needed a room, so it created one for you," he said lightly, moving them over to the bed.
"Should," his son swallowed and huddled up against him nervously. "Should I say 'thank you?'" Harry whispered, his eyes large behind his tiny glasses.
The idea hadn't actually occurred to Severus, but as he thought about it, it seemed a perfectly reasonable question.
"I think you should. It seems that the castle has gone to quite a lot of trouble for you. It must like you a great deal to make you such a nice room," Severus whispered conspiratorially. He had sat them down on the bed and was now leaning against the wall with his son in his lap.
"Thank you Castle!" His son abruptly shouted out in the stillness of the room around them.
Severus couldn't help himself as the absurdity of the situation sunk in. He began laughing, and before long, his small boy had joined in.
Somewhere close by, perhaps around them and under them, or even far above them, the castle shifted a bit on its foundations as it merrily began laughing too. |
The Librarian
Chapter 6
“Sex magic!” Lucius choked and sputtered, nearly snorting tea out of his nose. “You must be joking.” He paused and then focused on Severus and chuckled. “Oh, I see. That's it exactly, isn't it? Very funny, Severus, you almost had me that time. Ha ha ha!”
Severus smirked. “I'm being completely serious. According to MacDougal, using Tantric methods aren't necessarily a required component of charging a talisman, but it is an efficient way to raise the high levels of magical energy needed. Safer for Hermione, or else she could risk a drain of her own magic. ”
“Dear Merlin, he sounds quite mad. You didn't leave Hermione there with that lecherous old coot, did you?” Lucius sounded worried.
Hermione walked into the dining room to join them for lunch. Passing behind Lucius' chair, she paused to teasingly tug the neat blond queue tied back with a leather thong. “Goodness, Lucius, you almost sounded concerned about me for a moment.”
Severus smiled as he'd been the one to tell her that Lucius was very twitchy about anyone touching his hair. She did it often now to just to irritate him.
Lucius lightly smacked her hand in retribution. “Well, truth be told, I was more worried for my own sanity, love. You have no idea what a burden it was to try to keep Severus' spirits up when you were gone for just a couple days. The poor boy was practically desolate without you.”
“Hm... Yes, I'm sure,” commented Hermione. “And by the way, Lucius, Liam is not a lech. He's a highly respected wizard who's an expert in the crafting of talismans and amulets.”
Lucius huffed. “Really my dear, how highly respected can he be if he is feeding you fairy stories about Tantric magic?”
“Fairy stories?” Hermione said coldly, clearly not appreciating Lucius denigrating her mentor.
“Everyone knows all those old stories about sex magic are merely a myth.”
Hermione moved to Severus' chair and bent to brush a kiss on his cheek before sitting next to him. “You mean you didn't tell him?”
“No. I didn't think you'd want me sharing the intimate details.”
Lucius paused, straightening in his chair. He looked from one to the other. “What are you two talking about? What details?”
Ignoring him, she addressed Severus. “I didn't expect that you'd tell him specifics. But I thought guys liked to brag about their accomplishments—in general terms of course, nothing too detailed. You know like the number of times of you made me...” Hermione's face took on a rosy tint. “Well, I think it was three last night.”
Lucius' eyes popped open wide, and darted back and forth between them.
Severus chuckled, dark and dirty. “Three! Don't fib, sweet. It was five, at least.”
She leaned forward and in a hushed voice clarified, “I meant the three right together. You know, as in multiples, the others were extra.”
Taking Hermione's hand in his, Severus turned it palm up. He pressed a kiss to her wrist just over her pulse point, causing her eyelids to flutter. He turned to Lucius. “We can assure you, Tantric magic is not a myth.”
“Oh, definitely not,” Hermione agreed emphatically.
Lucius gulped. “So you two have...?”
“We have... um... begun to study the method,” offered Hermione.
Severus smirked. “It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it.”
“Well if you find the project too objectionable, old boy,” Lucius taunted with a leer in Hermione's direction, “I'm more than happy to step in and volunteer my services. I wouldn't mind a few lessons myself. ”
Severus shot him an icy glare which Lucius ignored. “In fact, it would be my pleasure to lend a hand or any other parts Hermione might want the use of. I'd be ecstatic to spend time with your lovely librarian, working on extra-curricular projects.” Lucius waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
With low growl, Severus was on his feet his wand inching its way into his hand, a hex on the verge of his lips.
Hermione just as quickly had her hand on his wrist. “Severus, stop. He's pushing your buttons.” Turning to Lucius, she scolded, “And you should know better than to tease him like that. One day you'll regret it when you push him too far.”
Severus sat back down, saying nothing for a moment. Truthfully, he'd been surprised by his own reaction. At Lucius' comments, he'd felt a surge of possessiveness so strong, he'd wanted to blast his friend across the room.
Eyes downcast, looking guilty, Lucius cleared his throat. “Hermione was quite right. I was teasing you, and it was clearly in an inappropriate manner. I apologize, I honestly meant no harm.”
“It's possible that I may have over-reacted.” Severus was quickly learning that when it came to Hermione, he was not nearly as tolerant of Lucius' juvenile sense of humor as he used to be.
Hermione spoke up, breaking the tension. “I did want to ask for your assistance, Lucius.”
“Of course. How may I help, my dear?”
“I was wondering if your library might contain information on the subject of Tantric magic. Liam was able to provide us with a couple of books. Apparently, over the past century or so the magical world, at least here in western Europe, has discounted the practice entirely. From what I can tell, much of the information they did have was eradicated.” Hermione frowned, clearly appalled at the possibility of books having been destroyed.
“My theory is the Victorian era,” Severus offered. “The magical world is more affected by Muggle influence than they will readily admit. The idea of sex magic would definitely have been looked down upon most harshly at that time. ”
“You might be onto something. Hm... I wonder,” Lucius paused, rubbing his chin as he pondered.
“What is it?” asked Hermione, hopefully.
“I do recall an incident right after my grandfather died, I was quite young at the time. My grandmother had been going through his personal study and was scandalized by some of his books, so much so that she told my father to burn them. However, I remember him ordering the house-elves to store them in the attic instead.” Lucius shrugged. “It might be nothing, but I'll check when I go home.”
~*~
The next day Lucius entered Hermione's office, levitating a heavy box of books before him.
“You found something!” She was unable to hold back her pleased smile.
“I did. I didn't go through them all so I'm not sure if it's what you had in mind. I'm certain that these are the books that so offended dear grandmama.”
Hermione opened the box and she and Lucius began pulling books out and stacking them on her desk.
When they were done sorting through them, they had found five books devoted solely to the subject of Tantric magic and four other books that contained one or more chapters on the topic. There was a good amount of information here to fuel their studies.
Glancing through the remainder of the books, Hermione picked up one large thin volume.“The rest of these appear to be wizard erotica, and while interesting, not really what I was seeking for our research.”
Lucius noted with a smile that although it wasn't what she'd been looking for, she continued to leisurely leaf through the volume which contained detailed illustrations.
“Oh my.” Hermione tilted the book first one way then the other. “Is that... is that even possible? Physically, I mean.”
Lucius looked over her shoulder at a picture that depicted a witch being pleasured by two wizards at once. He cleared his throat delicately before he replied. “Yes... Yes, it is.”
Hermione looked over her shoulder at Lucius, eyes wide.
His gaze did not meet hers, but he nodded slightly. Then, running a finger under the edge of his collar, as if it were suddenly too tight, he said, “I'm going down to see Severus for a bit. I assume he's in his lab?” Without waiting for a reply he headed for the door. “Keep the books as long as you need. There's no rush.”
~*~
“Severus?” Hermione had checked his lab, and all around the house and finally realized he might be gathering potions ingredients so she decided to look outside. She found him sitting in the gazebo, an empty basket next to him. “Hey, I've been looking all over for you.”
“I came out to gather some herbs, but got distracted. Thinking.”
Hermione looked closely at him. He seemed to be in an odd mood—pensive. “Are you all right?”
He glanced up, and gave her a sorry hint of what was supposed to be a smile. “I'm sorry, this is always a difficult time of year for me no matter how hard I try to ignore it.”
Halloween.
Why hadn't she realized? She'd blathered on for weeks about using Halloween, for doing the charging—until Liam had vetoed the idea. It was too soon; he'd said she needed more time to create the talisman and for she and Severus prepare. They'd settled instead on the winter solstice. Liam had approved as he said it represented the end of the cycle of darkness and a new beginning, which is what she hoped her gift would bring for Luna.
She hadn't even considered how Halloween might affect Severus. And now it was only a couple of days away. Gods, she was such a thoughtless cow. “You shouldn't have to ignore your feelings. I'm sorry, it was very thoughtless of me. I didn't even think about how difficult Halloween is for you. It's good that Liam convinced me to wait for Yule.”
Severus held out his hand. “Come sit with me.” When she took his hand he pulled her onto his lap.
“I want you to understand, it's not that I still love Lily. Looking back now, that seems like more of a teenage infatuation gone wrong.” As he spoke, Severus' thumb rubbed idly over the back of her hand. “Upon reflection, however, I think that her rejection of me was inevitable—not just because of my actions when I called her that horrible name, but because deep down we weren't really suited. I'd managed to convince myself that if not for Potter she would have chosen me. But now, I don't think that's true. After she died, I was never able to get over the guilt.”
“Oh, Severus.” Hermione wrapped her arms around him, stroking his hair and murmuring words of comfort. Her heart ached for him. Then an idea began to take shape. She had the perfect amulet for Severus, it was one she'd made for herself years ago. She could renew and strengthen the spells on it. She would find it and give it to him as a gift.
After a bit, they got up and walked back to the house. Halfway there Severus stopped and turned to ask her, “Earlier you said you were looking for me. Was there something...?”
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” she said, grabbing his arm in excitement. “That's why I came to find you. I know now where we have to go to charge the talisman. Liam suggested someplace significant to me. And he said it's not integral to the process, but if the location has a connection to old magic it can increase the energy.”
“Stonehenge is right here in Wiltshire, or there's Avebury,” offered Severus. “Surely some of the best known and oldest of such places in the world.”
“You're right, they are, but they're not my spot.” Hermione stopped on the stone stairs leading into the house, one step up from Severus. She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked into his face. “Remember a while back when we talked about coincidences?”
“Yes, it was when you'd returned from your trip to visit Miss Lovegood.” Severus said, wrapping his arms around her. “I said that true coincidence is very rare.”
“Yes, and do you also recall the two stone circles that Luna and I visited? The Ring of Brodgar and the Stenness Stone Circle?” He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Well, in my reading today I discovered that in older times they were known by different names.”
“And I suppose you are going to tell me their significance?” he prompted her teasingly.
“I shall indeed. The Ring of Brodgar was once called the Temple of the Sun.” She bounced on her toes, barely able to conceal her excitement. “And the Stenness Stone Circle was called the Temple of the Moon. Severus, the moon—Luna! Coincidence?”
“It does seem unlikely.”
“And that gave me another idea, so I looked up the qualities of moonstone.”
“Of course you did. And what did you find, my lovely little swot?” He nuzzled at her neck.
“Lots of stuff, but the thing I found most useful is that moonstone is a powerful filter stone. Filters attract positive energy flow and keep negative energy away and they also work to keep things from sapping our energy. What is our magic if not a sort of energy? I'm definitely going to incorporate moonstone as one of the crystals I use.”
Still holding her snugly, he gave her a kiss. “You are a genius, my dearest.”
“No, I'm not. But I am a damn good researcher.” Hermione grabbed his hand to lead him into the house.
~*~
On Halloween morning, Hermione set a small black pouch next to Severus' breakfast plate.
“What is this?” asked Severus picking it up, his brow furrowed.
“It's a gift for you.”
“A gift?” He looked suspicious. “Why? It isn't my birthday.”
Hermione felt nervous. What if he thought she was interfering, or that she knew better than he how to deal with his own feelings? Too late to worry about that now, she swallowed hard and forged ahead. “I thought of it when we were talking about Halloween a couple of days ago. It's one of the amulets I made for myself years ago. It didn't work all that well for me, but I thought it might be helpful for you. I've renewed and strengthened the spells I cast originally and added a couple more.”
She twisted her hands together nervously. “Go ahead, open it.”
Severus didn't move; he just held the pouch in his hand staring at it. She gnawed at her bottom lip, positive now that this had been a horrible idea. She stepped forward, reaching for it. “I'm really sorry, it was a silly thought. Here, I'll take it back and get rid of it.” She grabbed it and pulled, but Severus wouldn't let go and for a moment there was an awkward tug of war over the blasted thing. “Severus, please, I didn't mean any harm. I should have realized that it was a stupid idea, really just let me have it.”
He stood and she tried to pull it away once more but he pulled it back, jerking her to him. He wrapped his arms so tightly around her that she feared her ribs might crack. His face was buried in her hair and she could barely hear his whispered, “Thank you.”
“Y... you're welcome.” She hugged him tightly in return. “You know it might not even work. I mean I hope it helps, but these things are sort of iffy.”
He pulled away from her and stared back down at the pouch still in his hand. “I doesn't matter if it works or not, it's the fact that you wanted to do something for me, to try to help me. That you would care about me enough to go to the trouble...”
Hermione reached up and cupped his face in her hands forcing him to look at her. “Severus, of course I'd do anything I could to help you—anything. And I do care about you, I care deeply. I... I love you.” Severus' eyes went wide with shock; his mouth opened slightly but no words emerged. Clearly he'd been struck dumb by her revelation.
She smiled up at him. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just blurted it out like that. But the truth is, it's how I feel, and I'm not sorry about that at all. I love you, Severus Snape, very much. Please don't worry, I know you don't feel the same way, and I don't expect it. But it doesn't change how I feel.”
In the next instant she found herself wrapped in another bone-crushing hug. “I love you too.” The words were whispered against her hair again, the four most beautiful words she'd ever heard.
A moment later he dropped down into his chair as if his legs would no longer hold him. He'd pulled Hermione down onto his lap, and his arms wrapped around her as though he'd never let go. Tears streamed unbidden down her cheeks, while Severus took several deep breaths as if he'd like to cry happy tears too, but was too much of a manly wizard to allow such a thing to happen.
She was worried that he'd said it out of obligation. “Severus, that means a lot to me, but I don't want you to feel pressured to say the words back to me. I still love you no matter what.”
Finally he regained control of himself and managed to brush her tears aside with his thumbs. “I say the words because they are true. I do love you. I've known it for a while. I was afraid to tell you, though, afraid to take the risk, afraid you wouldn't feel the same. I was being a coward.”
“Hey!” She bunched his shirtfront in her fists. “Don't call my wizard a coward. He's the bravest man I've ever known.” She kissed him hard. When he tried to caress her face, the pouch, the loop of which was still attached to his finger, bopped her on the nose.
She grabbed it out of his hand. “It's about time you opened the blasted thing.”
Loosening the drawstring he shook the amulet onto the table: a black stone with a few thin striations of silvery grey, attached to a black braided cord. Severus smiled. “How did you ever guess? It's my favorite color.” He examined it closely, then looked up at Hermione. “It's some type of obsidian, isn't it?”
“Yes, it's called apache tears, or perhaps one would be an apache tear. They're found in the American southwest and parts of Mexico.”
Severus held it up by the cord to examine it in the light, then placed it in his palm and just held it there. “And what are its qualities?”
“It's known for relieving grief and sadness, repelling negative energy, and removing emotional barriers. It's also said to promote forgiveness and protection.” Hermione shrugged, “It's a little late to be of much use to you this year. But in the future, when you start feeling sad or melancholy in the days leading up to Halloween, you could wear it around your neck or just carry it in your pocket if you wanted to.”
Severus tucked it into the inside front pocket of his robe. “Thank you again.” He smiled at her as he drew her to him for a kiss.
~*~
After Halloween, time seemed to fly too quickly. Before they knew it the winter solstice was just a few short days away. They'd traveled to Stenness where Liam had offered them the use of his former home, a cottage outside of town and not far from the standing stones.
With the date and place decided, they needed to plan the final logistics. As Orkney lay on latitude 59 degrees north, the day of the winter solstice would provide only about six hours of sunlight and the weather would be cold.
“Severus, even with warming charms, being naked on the cold, damp ground is not my idea of a good time and it certainly can't be conducive to successful sex magic,” Hermione complained.
“I'm sure we can come up with something.” Severus thought for a moment, then spun around. “I know, we'll use a tent. We can set it up as close to the standing stones as you want, even inside the circle if you choose. And with it warded and disillusioned there's no chance of it being seen by Muggles.”
Hermione gave him a murderous look. “You do realize that you're talking to the witch who spent nearly a year traipsing around England in the worst possible conditions, living in a tent, picking up after two teenage boys and a never ending pile of stinky socks. I swore that I would never, ever set foot in another tent again under any circumstances!”
She'd been acting quite the bitch all morning, so Severus graced her with a nasty smile.“Well then, it seems that fate is about to make a liar out of you.” When he turned, though, one look was his undoing. Her face crumpled in despair and her bottom lip began to tremble. “No! Don't you dare cry. There is no crying allowed.”
Hermione sniffled loudly. “I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. We're never going to be able to make this work.”
With three strides he had her tight in his embrace. “It is a good idea, and we are going to make it work. Do you know why?” Her face was buried against his chest as she shook her head. “It's going to work because you, my darling girl, are the most brilliant witch I've ever known.”
“Oh, Severus.” She snuffled some more. “What if, after all this, it doesn't help Luna at all?
“Even if that happens—and I don't believe that it will—then at least you will know that you've done everything you could to help your friend. And even more important, Luna and Blaise will know it too.”
That was all it took to set her off and she sobbed in his arms as he swayed gently, comforting her like a child. “Shh... it's all right, love. I changed my mind, you go ahead and cry all you want. Get it all out. You're stressed and you're worried and you've been pushing yourself too hard. It's all come to a head.”
When her sobs subsided, he pushed her back, offering her a hankie. “Everything will be fine. I'll take care of the tent. It's the most practical solution and even you must admit that wizarding tents can be quite comfortable, even luxurious. It's only for one night and I promise I will make sure it's perfect.”
Hermione nodded, wiping her face. “Perfect means no stinky socks, right?” she said with a weak smile. Then she dipped her head and mumbled roughly, “Thank you for putting up with my madness. I'm sorry for the melt-down. I guess I was more stressed than I realized.”
Severus led her to the sofa by the fireplace. “Sit. I’ll make some tea – you could use a cuppa.” When he returned Hermione was holding the talisman she'd designed for Luna. True, she'd had Liam's guidance, but the final decisions were hers. She'd incorporated moonstone, quartz, and amethyst with protective and strengthening runes and symbols engraved on the back..
Severus set her tea in front of her and took the pendant. Sitting next to her he examined it. The finished piece was a large oval, over two inches long and an inch and a half wide. The stones were set in silver with Celtic style swirls wrapped around them. It was beautiful. “If the talisman making doesn't work out, you could still make a fortune designing jewelry. There isn't a witch alive who wouldn't treasure this.”
Hermione smiled wanly and sipped her tea. Setting the pendant down next to the tea pot, Severus tipped her face to look at him. “I want you to finish your tea and then go rest. While you're napping I'll take care of the tent.” She opened her mouth to speak but he put his finger against her lips. “I promise you won't be disappointed.”
After kissing the tip of his finger she said, “I was just going to say that I trust you, and thanks for taking care of me. I'm so used to being the one taking care of other people, I guess I just don't see it when I need some care myself.”
~*~
Hermione watched as Severus lit the red candles all around the bedchamber of the tent. He'd kept his promise and it was perfect. He'd made the room look like something out of the Arabian Nights. The huge bed was covered with colorful pillows in of all shapes and sizes. Gauzy silk drapes and swags hung from the ceiling around the bed tied back with satin ribbons. The room was heated both by warming spells and a of couple small portable fire places. The entire space was now was lit by the gentle glow of candlelight and the combined scents of vanilla, ginger and ylang ylang filled the air.
Hermione fussed with the belt of her robe. She'd picked a deep, rich red for her robe, symbolic of passion, desire, love, and energy. Severus had chosen black. She couldn't help but smile to herself—typical Severus, however an appropriate choice as black was a symbol of elegance, power, strength, and authority. They'd donned the robes and nothing else after they'd separately completed spiritual cleansing baths with scented salts and oils.
Severus had finished with the candles and now stood before her. “I think everything is ready. How do you feel?”
“I'm excited—nervous. I'm not so sure that staying celibate for several days to build the sexual energy was such a good idea.”
Severus smiled at her quizzically. “And why is that?”
“Because if you so much as breathe on me I'm going to go off like a rocket.” Severus chuckled at her admission. Taking a deep breath, she smiled up at him. “How about you, how are you feeling?”
“Like you, I am excited and definitely aroused.” He took her hand and pressed it to the front of his robes so she could feel his erection. “But surprisingly not nervous at all. I feel exhilarated, as if I could take on the entire world.” He cupped her face in his hands and drew her to him for a kiss.
Reminiscent of their first kiss it started slow and built to a crescendo. During the course of this, Hermione managed to slip loose a button or two on his robe to reach in and caress his cock in her hand. He felt hard, yet the skin was silky soft. She dropped gracefully to her knees before him, cupping his balls in her hand to roll them between her fingers and tug just a little roughly, as she knew he liked. This was confirmed by his quick intake of breath and a softly whispered, “Yesss... oh yes.”
She wet his cock with long slow licks and kisses up and down it's length. Her fingers circled the base and she pumped slowly as she sucked the tip into her mouth to swirl her tongue around the head. His responding groan incited her to slide him even further between her lips, sucking as she pulled nearly all the way off, then slid forward, going a little farther each time.
Hermione tossed her hair back with a flick of her head and looked up, and their eyes locked. He reached for her, first caressing her face before threading his fingers through her hair. He held her where he wanted her, taking control, he pushed forward, each thrust bringing him a little deeper into her hot slick mouth. He didn't force himself on her so much as hold her in place. In that moment, Hermione should have felt controlled, but instead felt a profound sense of power. She hummed against his hard flesh and Severus' eyes practically rolled back in his head as he pulled off with a soft popping sound.
“Vixen! You do realize your goal is not to get me off as quickly as you can,” he panted. “You're killing me already, you little witch.”
“Brightest witch of the age, or so I've been told.” Hermione smiled up at him. “Just trying to build the sexual tension a bit, love. Is it working?”
“Only too well,” he growled as he reached to help her to her feet. He led her beside the bed where he untied her robe while she undid his and they laid them aside. He gathered her close and kissed her again before helping her onto the bed.
“I need some time to recover from your little game, so it's your turn to be the object of my attentions. I want to try some sensation play.” Severus ran a fingertip very lightly from her shoulder, down her arm, back up to trace across her collarbone then down around her naval and back up. “But if you get too close you must tell me, in case I'm too involved to notice. You're my focus and as such I want you to submit to my ministrations. Understood? ”
“Yes.” Her reply was a mere whisper. Dear goddess how was this going to work? Just having him trace a finger tip over her made her nipples draw up to hard little nubs and her pussy clench tightly.
Severus leaned over her. “Close your eyes.”
Hermione's brows drew downward. “Why?”
“I don't suppose you'd accept 'Because I say so?'” At the slight roll of her eyes he continued. “Because I want you aware of each touch, each sensation. Let it all wash over you. Let it stimulate you, arouse you. I want you to to feel it all.”
“All right.” Hermione closed her eyes and felt Severus shift next to her, then he gently kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her chin. His lips were on hers and she tried to kiss him back.
“Uh, uh, uh. Relax. Just feel.”
With a groan Hermione nodded and he continued. He brushed her hair behind her ear, and his tongue traced the shape of it, sliding around and down until he suckled her earlobe between his lips before releasing it with a slight nip. At her gasp he chuckled and even that sound drove her mad. He continued his descent and lightly kissed several spots along her neck, then sucked at the spot that never failed to drive her wild. She gave a tiny buck of her hips as she whimpered a bit. He stiffened beside her and that made her smile, knowing that her little involuntary sounds and movements affected him.
Severus pulled back a bit and she felt him reach across the bed to the night stand. He began to trace patterns over her naked body with something soft and flexible. She was torn between trying to figure out what he was using and whether his tracings were random movements or meant something. She finally decided it was a feather, a quill perhaps, but by that point she didn't care if the designs had any meaning. If he continued much longer, he would surely drive her mad. He traced it all over her, over her breasts, nipples, down her torso, around her naval, to her sides, down her legs to her feet and back up, purposely avoiding her now soaking pussy.
She squirmed around, moaning softly. Gods, she just wanted him to touch her there. Instead she felt him reach across to return the feather, and then his hands came back to her breasts. He squeezed them, plumped them, shaped them. Then his fingers pinched and twisted her nipples lightly at first and then with increasing pressure until it was on the edge of pain and yet somehow he made it feel good. He continued to toy with one nipple as his clever mouth found the other. His tongue lapped around it, licking and flicking at the tip as her wiggles and whimpers increased. Finally he closed his lips around it and suckled, occasionally he scraped it lightly with his teeth before sucking it hard again. It made her hips buck against the bed. He chuckled evilly, and moved to the other side to begin all over again.
By the time he'd finished his play with that breast she was squirming and pressing against him. “Be still,” he scolded. “Concentrate on the sensations.”
Hermione took a deep breath and tried to settle, making a conscious effort, but a sound escaped her lips that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “Hermione, open your eyes, sweetheart.” Severus pulled back to look down at her. “Are you all right.”
“I can't stand it. I want you to fuck me now!”
Severus' laugh was deep and throaty. “That's how you're supposed to feel, but we need to draw it out. That's the whole purpose, to build the energy slowly. I have so much more planned for you.”
She moaned helplessly. “I think you're too good at it. It's torture. I want you to keep touching me, but if you do I know that I'm going to explode.”
“Shh... come here.” He gathered her close. “Take a few deep breaths and relax. We'll just rest for a moment or two, then you can torture me again for awhile.”
She could feel the slickness dampening her thighs and Severus hadn't even touched her pussy. Well, she'd try her own version of sensation play, she'd show him torture. She poured a drizzle of massage oil onto her hands and then spread it over his back. Taking her time she slid her hands in rhythmic swirls and circles from the base of his spine all the way up to his shoulders and back down in light teasing strokes. She continued over his taut buttocks and hips, down his thighs and calves and ankles. “Turn over,” she whispered, and started all over on the starting from the soles of his feet and working her way back up.
They played back and forth for an hour or more, taking turns teasing and inciting each other to sensual heights, then backing off to let things cool down. It felt like it went on forever. Hermione was sure she was going to be driven slowly insane before the night was over.
“Can you feel it?” Severus voice was deep and husky, as he pulled away from her lips. “I can feel the energy, rising, thrumming between us. Like that time in Liam's office when he made us touch each other palm to palm to feel our magic.”
“Yes, I feel it too,” Hermione agreed, rubbing against him. “Only this is ten times stronger than that day.”
“I know.” His lips slid along her jaw line and down to hit the trigger spot on her neck where he paused to suckle, pulling a long moan from her. She rubbed against him, practically humping his thigh. “And I'm not even inside you yet. It'll be a miracle if we don't spontaneously combust. I want you now, Hermione.”
“Please,” Hermione begged. “I thought you'd never ask. I want you so much.”
Severus rolled onto his back and pulled Hermione on top to straddle him. He held his cock, sliding the tip through her wet slit, poised at her entrance, but he let her take control from there. She descended slowly, sliding down then pulling back up, inch by inch, taking him further in each time until he was seated fully inside of her. She gazed into his eyes and sighed happily. “Oh gods, finally. You feel so good.”
“You do too, but I know something that will feel even better—move.”
So the dance began. Slowly at first, in and out, the tempo increased gradually until they had almost reach the peak. But before they could tumble over, Severus pushed her back and pulled out. “We must try to prolong it, to ride the crest a bit more,” he murmured in answer to Hermione's disappointed groan.
Sliding from beneath her, he arranged her on her hands and knees and holding firmly onto her hips, in one swift thrust, he was buried inside. He started to build the rhythm all over again. Soon he was sliding over her G-spot on every hard thrust.
Hermione was trembling and again felt herself on the verge of orgasm when Severus pulled out and flipped her over onto her back to settled between her thighs.
“Damn it. Severus, No! No!” she shouted, pounding her fists against the bed in frustration.
He grabbed her hands and stretched them above her head, pinning them there with one hand as he hovered over her. “I know, sweet, I know. But the energy is high, so high. Can you feel it?” She nodded frantically. “I want to finish like this, so I can see your face and kiss you and tell you how much I love you.” As if to prove his point he leaned down to kiss her.
“I love you too,” she gasped when he pulled back. “So much. But if you stop again, I think I might kill you.”
With a grin he slid in to the hilt. “No stopping this time, I promise. We finish together. And remember our purpose—the ritual.” There was no slow, gradual build this time, Severus pounded into her in swift, sure strokes. He released his hold on her wrists, and bracing himself with one hand, he looped an elbow under her knee and pulled her leg up. The position opened her further and he slid even deeper. “Oh gods, yes.”
He was slamming into her, filling her, pushing her to the edge, closer and closer. “Oh please, oh please...” Hermione gasped, her breaths coming harsh and fast. “Severus... I'm so close... please... fuck, oh fuck!” She felt herself topple into the abyss, her orgasm took her. She thought she might have screamed but wasn't sure. As Severus came inside her with a loud guttural grunt she felt another orgasm roll through her, and even though she was sure he'd come, he kept thrusting, rough and deep and another shock wave hit. As hard as it was to concentrate, each time she tried to focus the energy she felt on Luna's talisman.
Hermione didn't know if she'd passed out or just collapsed from fatigue but when she came back to herself, she wasn't sure how much time had passed: seconds—minutes—more? It couldn't have been too long, though, because she felt Severus slip out of her. Instead of flopping down next to her as she'd expected, he proceeded to nip his way down her body. “Open for me,” he commanded, settling between her thighs.
“Severus, no. I can't possibly...”
“I think you'll find that you can, my dearest,” he insisted, ignoring her protests. “And you will,” He began to pet and play with her, his thumb circling her clit as he slipped first two then three fingers inside. He knew just the right spot and he rubbed against it over and over. He kissed and licked and tongued her and when her arousal rose to the peak he sucked her clit between his lips sending her over the top. Hermione soon discovered that Severus was right, she could and she did, again and again. She learned that you really can have too much of a good thing, and that Severus Snape was a man who took his Tantric Magic very seriously. By the time he'd finished, they collapsed into each others' arms totally exhausted.
~*~
Hermione wanted to give Luna the talisman as a Christmas gift, so she invited Luna and Blaise to celebrate Christmas Eve at the dower house. It was just supposed to be just the four of them: a nice quiet, intimate evening, but as things unfolded Hermione wondered if the magical world had anything like Murphy's law.
First Harry Floo-called, whining that he was going to be all alone. When Ron heard Harry was coming, he wanted in too, along with his new girlfriend Pansy Parkinson. Severus declared if her dumb-arsed duo was coming he should be able to invite his as well, so Lucius and Draco were added to the list. Then Pansy asked if she could bring two friends, Millie and Gabrielle, who were alone for the holiday. It turned out that the girls also happened to be teammates of Harry's. Since Wynnie and Malcolm McGonagall had gone off to Italy to visit their daughter, Hermione ended up asking Mac and boys along with Liam, and of course that meant Minerva since she usually spent the holiday at her brother's home. So much for the quiet, intimate evening.
Considering it's impromptu nature, dinner for fourteen people—Mac's boys having chosen hang out in the kitchen with Snip—went quite well. Sated, they moved the party to the parlor for after dinner drinks and to exchange gifts and pleasantries.
Hermione, wanting to get Luna and Blaise alone, asked them to meet her in the Library. Catching Severus' eye, Hermione tipped her head toward the hallway. Severus extricated himself from a conversation with Liam and Lucius and slipped out of the room behind her..
He closed the door to the parlor and turned to Hermione. “Something you need, love?”
“I've asked Luna and Blaise to meet me in the library, I wanted to give her the Talisman privately. Since you played a huge part in making it, I'd like you to be there too. If you don't mind, that is.” Hermione fidgeted nervously, plucking at the cuff of her robe.
“Of course I don't mind.” Severus stepped close and tipped her chin up to look at him. “I want you to remember what I said back in Stenness. Whatever the results, Luna will appreciate all that you have tried to do.” Taking her hand, he drew her down the hall towards the library.
“Severus, your library is beautiful,” said Luna as they entered the room.
“Yes, the remodeling project turned out quite well,” added Blaise.
“Thank you. I am quite happy with it. Although,” he said with a nod toward Hermione.“I'm afraid that my librarian has her work cut out for her. There is still a great deal to be done.”
Luna nodded with a knowing smile. “I'm thinking that the Librarian will have to close her office in Thurso as I suspect she'll be working out of Wiltshire from now on.”
Hermione flushed at Luna's comment and went to get her gift out of the desk.
Severus leaned towards Luna and said conspiratorially, “How very intuitive of you, my dear. You may be right about that.”
Hermione returned with a thin square box in her hand. “Please, sit, both of you,” she said, gesturing to a seating area by the hearth. “Luna, I wanted to give you your Christmas gift privately. It's something I made especially for you.” Hermione handed her the box.
Luna removed the ribbon and paper and opened the box. “Oh, Hermione! It's gorgeous.” She ran her finger over the face of the pendant. “I've never seen anything like it.”
“I made it with you in mind. Remember years ago, when I tried my hand at making amulets?” Luna nodded. “Well I'd decided to start again, but then I learned about talismans, which are similar, but in general stronger and the energy is more focused.”
Hermione reach over and lifted the talisman out of the box. “These two small gems are your birthstone, amethyst, known for repelling negative energy and enhancing intuition. This larger round luminous stone is moonstone, because it made me think of you—Luna. It attracts a positive energy flow, and stops other things from sapping your energy. And this big smoky white stone is quartz, it's a good balance stone.” Hermione turned the pendant over to show Luna the runes. “See, I chose Algiz, for protection and
to channel energies appropriately, Kenaz for the fire of transformation and regeneration, and Sowilo for the life-force, health.”
Luna slipped the chain over her head. “Thank you so much. I love it, Hermione. You're the best friend in the world.” She wrapped her arms around Hermione in a tight hug.
“So, do you feel anything Luna?” Hermione asked hesitantly. “I mean can you feel any of the spells, the protection, positive energy, anything?”
Luna shrugged with a smile. “I feel good. I feel loved. It's nice.”
Hermione tried not to show her disappointment. She gathered up the ribbon and paper to throw away. Blaise tagged after her and grabbed her wrist. “Hermione, wait. I know what you were trying to do. Severus told me.”
She rubbed a thumb under her eye to brush away a tear. “I didn't want to say anything. If it didn't work I didn't want either of you to be disappointed.”
“I want you to know how much I appreciate what you tried to do for her. But you know what? I'm not disappointed at all. Sure, if it had worked it would have been nice. But it wouldn't have changed how I feel at all. Even if she never gets her magic back, I'll still love her just as much as I do right now.”
“Oh, Blaise!” Hermione threw her arms around her friend and hugged him tight. “I am so happy that Luna has you. And you're absolutely right, she is perfect just as she is.”
They both turned to look across the room and saw Luna having an animated discussion with Severus by the fireplace. She seemed excited about something and was pointing at the mantel, while Severus had a blank look on his face.
Blaise laughed, “I think we'd better go save Severus. I don't think he fully appreciates Luna's perfection as much as you and I do.”
They started across the room, but Hermione stopped dead in her tracks halfway across the room when she heard Luna say something to Severus about Nargles. She grabbed Blaise's wrist in a death grip.
“Luna?” Hermione's voice was low and tense.
“Yes, Hermione?”
“Did you just say something about Nargles?”
“Oh yes, I did,” said Luna. “I don't want to seem rude, but I thought Severus should know that there's a whole nest of Nargles living up on the mantel. Something should be done or before you know it, you'll have a whole colony of the little buggers.”
“Luna? Can you sense the Nargles right now?”
Luna's eyes grew even larger than usual. “I...Oh my... I can!”
Hermione felt a rush of excitement. “Blaise! She feels the Nargles!” With a shout of joy, Blaise gave Hermione a hard, fast hug before turning to sweep Luna into a tight embrace, twirling her around and round.
“Let's give them their privacy,” Hermione said as she grabbed Severus hand and pulled him out of the library, closing the door behind them.
In the hallway, Severus looked at her in total confusion. “I have no idea what just happened back there.”
Hermione grinned like a mad woman. “Don’t you see? Luna could feel the Nargles. It means her magic is coming back.”
“Hermione, there was absolutely nothing on that mantel. It's all in her head.”
“Of course it's in her head, Severus, but why should that mean that it's not real.” She held his hand over her heart. “You can't see my love for you, but I can assure you that it's very real. Do you believe that?”
Severus gave her one of his rare smiles and bent to kiss her tenderly. “Always.”
The End |
"You will need to recuperate for at least three days here before returning to England, Mr Deer. You should also visit a doctor before departing to ensure you are strong enough."
Eggsy bit down on the desire to laugh in the doctor's face – he liked this doctor. He had organised a room at the 21C Museum Hotel which, according to his research, was the best but he didn't hold out much hope that either of them would be using it.
"I would appreciate your help, Eggsy," the doctor said, turning to look at him.
"Of course," Eggsy agreed immediately. Harry looked at him. "I've got a hotel room all organised."
"Excellent, and you need to monitor him closely."
"I won't take my eyes off him," Eggsy promised. "What do I need to do to keep him healthy?"
"Don't let him go to hate churches."
"I shall not be attending another such establishment," Harry told her, fiddling with his tie.
"Good," she made a few notes on the chart and smiled at Harry. "I will be back in a few minutes with a set of instructions for you both. Then we can finalise your release."
"I appreciate your assistance, Doctor." Harry told her with a small smile.
"It's not every day I have such dapper patients."
"Thank you, Doctor."
She smiled at him and left the room.
"A hotel room, Eggsy?"
"You were shot in the head, Harry. Even if it only did 'minor' damage it's still a head wound so I booked a room in case I could convince you to take it easy."
"I will, of course, follow doctor's orders. A gentleman should always take the advice of someone who is more knowledgeable than himself."
"'Course."
/\/\/\
Eggsy opened the door to the room and watched, helplessly, as Harry walked through the door. The older man had been uncomfortably unsteady on his feet. Eggsy understood – the head wound had done more damage than leaving the older man with a curving scar across his temple. The nurse had warned Eggsy that Harry would be unsteady, wouldn't be able to walk for long stretches, and may experience vertigo. It would be the end of Harry's ability to be out in the field – to be Galahad, he just hoped that Harry would think of Arthur has a worthy consolation.
"I do believe that the hotel room was a wise choice, Eggsy."
"I'm just glad you agreed to come here," Eggsy said, wanting to reach out and wrap his hand around Harry's elbow so that he could help the other man. He didn't think Harry would appreciate it though.
"Help him," Roxy said into his ear.
"He doesn't want me to," Eggsy hissed back quietly.
"At least offer."
Eggsy was tempted to take off his glasses and make a face at her but he felt he should resist those urges now that he was a Kingsman. "Harry…"
"I'm going to sit down," Harry told him. "Then you can see if you can find me a cup of tea. You shouldn't assume someone doesn't want assistance."
"Fuckin' hell, Roxy," Eggsy grumbled as he walked into the room's kitchen and found tea and a kettle.
"I would have offered before," she told him, her voice completely devoid of sympathy. "A Kingsman always offers assistance."
"When Harry says that he says gentleman."
"I'm a lady, Eggsy," Roxy told him. "In case you're having an issue working out incredibly obvious things."
Eggsy huffed.
"He's not going to want bag tea."
Eggsy looked down at the tea bag in his hand with confusion.
"Tea is supposed to be in leaf form." Roxy explained.
Eggsy knew that tea came from leaves but he had not fucking idea what Roxy was talking about. "What the fuck?"
Roxy laughed in his ear. "Never mind."
Eggsy grumbled about her silently and took the mug of tea back to Harry who accepted it without pause.
"Thank you, Eggsy."
Eggsy nodded but didn't speak, thinking over the stilted walk to the car when he'd reached for Harry but the other man had pulled away. Eggsy had pushed the desire to help away while he watched Harry struggle into the back of the car, watched him walk awkwardly into the hotel. He wondered now if Harry had even pulled away or if he knew that Eggsy had been offering him help.
"Harry…"
"Yes, Eggsy?"
"Why did you call me Gary?" Eggsy paused; it hadn't been the question he had meant to ask.
"It is your name and one day, if you decide you want someone to call you Gary, you can count on me."
"That's not why you called me Gary."
"I wanted to know how it would sound."
"And?"
"I prefer Eggsy."
Eggsy smiled. "I prefer Galahad."
"It is a good name."
"I'm not really up with Arthurian legend, me, who was Galahad?"
"Galahad was the purest of the knights."
Eggsy laughed. "I ain't pure. Not sure I can take the name."
"And what makes you think I will give it up so easily?"
"Me mum loved that show Merlin that was on a couple of years ago, right. So, if I'm going to work for the Kingsman I want an Arthur I can believe in, like the guy in that show made his knights believe in him."
Harry smiled at him. "And who do you believe should be in such a role?"
"You."
"Merlin has seniority over me," Harry explained, voice quiet.
Eggsy watched him closely; he was beginning to look pale again. "Merlin likes his computers too much."
"And I am trained for field work."
"I can be your weapon in the field."
"My Galahad."
"Exactly."
"And what makes you think I would be a suitable Arthur?"
"You picked me, didn't ya? You're just what that place needs."
Harry smirked at him, lips widening slowly. "That's your gauge?"
"I would trust you with my life, me family's life too, and that's something, innit?"
"Yes, indeed, that is something, Galahad."
Eggsy laughed. "That was a bit strange."
Harry inclined his head in agreement. "I shall continue to call you Eggsy except in official situations."
Eggsy smiled. "I'd like that." Eggsy settled on the sofa next to Harry and flicked the TV on. "You know right, that anything you need, I'll do."
"I appreciate your assistance."
"No matter what it is, yeah? Just ask. And if asking is hard then just let me do it."
Harry nodded, agreeing.
"Do you want to lie down?" Eggsy asked as Harry listed on the sofa.
"Yes."
Eggsy stood up and held out a hand to Harry. The older man took it and allowed Eggsy to hold him until he found his balance.
"I am able to get to bed without assistance." Harry reassured him.
"I'm just going to come along anyway."
"Of course you will, Eggsy."
Eggsy followed Harry into one of the bedrooms and helped him remove his shoes before he slipped into bed. He left Harry to sleep and settled on the floor outside of his bedroom so that he could keep an ear on the other man. He had promised the doctor after all.
/\/\/\ |
*****
I can't really say where it all started. I mean, beginnings after all are such difficult things. Did I begin at conception, or at birth? Did my essence begin with my father's smile, the one my mother found so irresistible? What if my father had followed the rest of his family to South Carolina? They moved when the brake assembly plant shut down. Dad stayed in Ohio. Ohio was where the young woman lived who eventually became my mother. Perhaps, the antecedents of my life were present even then.
If that logic is correct, so that my mother's affinity for my father's smile was, in fact my ethereal beginning, then my present situation can be traced to a promise. It was given to me seven and a half years ago. Back then, I had just graduated from High school and was enrolled in the local community college. I've always worked on computers. In high school I was in charge of the student network, it was an electronic forum for socializing, gaming and online tutoring. Students could access assignments and get help with those assignments any time of the day and any day of the week. It came easy to me. I guess that's good because I also ran track and played basketball all four years of high school.
The promise that I've referred to, came from John. Now he's my boss and CEO of the company I work for. Back then, he was just a guy with an idea. That idea was RealComp Industries. It was a good idea, and he was passionate about it. I was caught up in that excitement. So I decided to give my time and nearly all of my energy to this idea. I was sure the company he was creating would succeed and when it did it only made sense that my efforts would be recognized.
The company's done more than just succeed. In the last two and a half years RealComp has experienced almost exponential growth. Hell, it's doing great.
We sell hardware and software solutions for inventory and security needs. Our account reps walk their customers through the process of choosing, configuring and maintaining their installations. What sets us apart is our price and reputation. For a customized solution we are the cheapest. Our hardware is assembled in the USA and we create customized software here. When the Great Recession hit we were singled out as being one of the most cost effective, U.S based, solutions in the market. Three trade magazines featured interviews with John.
At first, my duty was to maintain the company's computers. Since we only had a couple of employees I also worked the helpdesk and answered the phones. Fortunately, that role ended the first time the File Sever went down. As John wrung his hands like a frightened grandmother, I calmly restored the entire system from back up with no data loss. Two days later I was supervising a new hire for the helpdesk. I was dedicated to RealComp even as I earned my Associates and Bachelor degrees. During those years, although I frequently racked up forty to fifty hours a week, I was paid for twenty hours. I was officially a part timer but I routinely gave the company twenty to thirty hours a week without pay. All of that sacrifice was meant to show my loyalty and devotion. In hindsight, I'm not sure it showed anything.
Anyway, the promise was a simple one. "Stay with us and your hard work will be rewarded." Though John never said it that succinctly, it was always implied, even from the very start. It was agreed that directly after graduation I would get a salary based upon full time hours. This agreement, unlike his promise was honored. I graduated in the first week of June, and, after a week of vacation I started full time as the information manager at RealComp. For someone accustomed to working full time but only getting paid for twenty hours, the new salary felt like a bonus. The best part was that I finally was a part of the team. I went to meetings and I talked with other employees instead of just fixing their computers. They conferred with me on expansion issues and asked for feasibility projections. I felt like an equal. I bought a new car and for the first time, ate lunch with some of the Account Managers.
By Christmas, I was as much a member of the admin team as John. My change in status was obvious at the Company Christmas party. In the old days I always parked as far away from John's house as I could. Back then I didn't want the Account Managers walking past my rusty old Mazda on their way to their new cars. This Christmas I counted seventy four steps from my Lexus to John's front porch. The prior Christmas, I had stood motionless for a good two minutes at his red front door trying to compose myself before I knocked. Jamie, John's wife, opened the door as if she had been standing there the whole time. She is always a gracious host, but being in her fancy home always made me feel a bit uneasy. As if at any moment I was going to break something. But that was before my graduation, this last Christmas I wore the first suit I had ever bought with my own money. It fit great and I felt great wearing it. I wasn't the first guest to arrive nor was I the last. Jamie greeted me with the same gracious smile and handshake and then motioned for me to come into the house. I helped myself to a drink like an equal.
My first year was great, sales were up and the company was flush with sudden cash. I took advantage of the situation and made prudent investments in the infrastructure, the kind of things that would have been questioned or even frowned upon in a more anemic environment. The second year passed with big bonuses. I used mine to pay down my student debt. Our Summer Parties, like our Christmas parties were thrown at John's house. It was at the Summer Party of my third year as a manager that I learned about the new position. It was VP for North East sales. Robert Billings and Richard Kilberdt, two of our oldest Account Managers, came to me with cocktails in their hands and asked if I would do them a favor.
"Come on man, can't you tell us who is going to be the new Vice President for the north East region?" Robert asked.
Richard shot Robert an incredulous grin. Then asked with an overwrought pacing of his words, "what he meant to ask was, you can see emails can't you? I know you don't, but you could, couldn't you?
My gaze shot between them both, then after taking a sip of my drink I asked "What the hell are you guys talking about?" I was genuinely perplexed.
Robert laughed hoarsely then asked, "You don't know do you?"
"Know what?" was my only reply before I lifted my glass; this one was a long draw on my Gin and tonic.
"John is dividing the northern territory in half. My friend here believes he is getting it, I believe Robert is an idiot. We just thought you might know something." Richard said, and then looked down into his small dark cup.
I didn't answer them, instead, I tilted my head grinned and walked over to the hors devours table. I didn't say anything because, they were right I didn't know, and that was unusual. I kept quiet about our conversation. Office politics was never something I was particularly good at, so I just played it cool and acted as normal as possible and I'm so glad that I did, as in any fast growing company changes often go through a lot of stops and starts. There was nothing said or done about the position until the following spring. That was when I was taken into the conference room and introduced to Tiffany.
I forgot Tiffany's last name and damn near forgot my own when I saw her. Tiffany is a five foot eight inch buxom brunette with smooth, unblemished skin and hazel eyes that were as disarming as a sudden blow to the head. Later, when the introductions were complete, I had the time to get a good look at our new Vice President of North East sales. She was wearing a nice pair of four inch heels, so she wasn't as tall as I had originally surmised. Barefoot, Tiffany was probably five feet four inches tall. Her height was the only misconception I could find. Her large chest was in perfect contrast to her flat stomach and perfectly shaped ass. She had a captivating smile and an impeccable resume. She held a master's degree from a well-known University and had over ten years of practical experience in our field. She had just moved to the city and was looking for a position in a small company when she ran into John.
Nine o'clock the next morning Dave sent out the email announcement. Later in the afternoon, Tiffany and John toured the building making all the necessary introductions with the staff and explaining her new role. She settled in pretty well, that is, until the middle of the summer. Her sales team was falling behind. Quotas weren't being met and she was absent far too much for a person in her position.
There was a lot of talk that she wouldn't make it through the year.
Then, we had our annual summer time party and everything for Tiffany changed. Looking back, I suppose everything changed for me that night too.
The summer party is always a formal affair. John lives across town in one of those neighborhoods where the street signs are made out of wood with the names in base relief. The streets have two lanes that are divided by a small verdant space and the street lights are on black caste iron poles. Unlike my neighborhood, no one is afraid to walk their dog or jog late at night. My date had copped out and unfortunately so had the electricity in part of our building. Normally, a power outage isn't a problem, but this time the RDS server didn't come back up. All of our people use that server. I was tempted to tear it down and see why it hadn't come up automatically, but I was already late for the party. So I stopped by the office and manually rebooted the server. Once I got it back up and running I locked up the office and drove to John's house.
I had to park on the opposite end of the street. When I got to the door, I was ushered in by Tony and his new wife Jill. He works our helpdesk. They were leaving to go home and relieve their babysitter. I walked inside, said my hellos and made my way to the bar. I was talking to Rob when I first saw Tiffany. She was wearing a simple red dress with matching red high heels. She was talking to Richard and holding a glass of white wine. As I watched her, it became obvious that she was only half listening to him. Every couple of seconds her eyes would scan the crowd. Occasionally her glance would linger on someone or something but never so long that Richard seemed to notice. Eventually she excused herself and made her way around the room. She and I talked for a minute about the new tablets that had been given to her sales staff.
"Those were a great idea." Tiffany said with a lingering smile.
"Thanks, I figured it was a good buy and the time was right. I'm glad I was able to get them with the memory and processor upgrades." I replied automatically. When I looked up to Tiffany's face, she was looking away from me like she had with Richard.
"I'm sorry, but I have to leave early. My son is with my mother and I promised to rescue him before midnight. I'm going to say goodbye to John. I'll see you on Monday at the office." Tiffany told me with a bewitching smile and a warm touch on my forearm. I tried not to stare as she wended her way through the crowd. I went out onto the patio. The night was beautiful with a full moon and light breeze. John kept the sliding doors open so people were milling back and forth between the house and the outside bar that was next to the stone barbeque.
"Nice to see you could make it Ed."
I turned to shake John's hand. He had that same enthusiasm in his eyes. John swept his hand around and told me, "I told Jamie I could pull this off. She's in Dallas visiting her cousin. The poor woman's got a terminal case of twins."
"Well I suppose congratulations are in order. I mean anyone can have twins, but to pull off a company party at your house. I've been here over an hour and I still haven't heard any breaking glass. Now that's a feat." I said with a slight wave of my hand.
John laughed then caught the attention of one of the waiters and told him to bring us both drinks. I tried to beg off telling him that I had already drank my limit. John didn't seem to notice my protestations, so I held the glass and tried to sip as we talked. Before I knew it the glass was empty and John was handing me another. I had a great time but knew from the second glass that I couldn't drive home.
I must have been out in the patio for a long time. When I went back into the house, I found that most of the people were gone. I didn't want the few that were left to know that I was too drunk to drive, but I also couldn't leave, so I decided to walk it off. When no one was looking I walked out the front door and started walking in the general direction of my car. I passed my car and at the end of the street I made a right and discovered that the block was a long affair. I walked past several small business that were closed for the night but walked into the twenty four hour coffee shop. I got a king sized coffee with two added shots of espresso. I drank it slowly in an overstuffed chair at the back of the shop. I was at the bottom of my cup when Tiffany walked in. She approached the counter and ordered something cold. She waited there at the counter fidgeting like a novice thief until the attendant took her money. She handed him a bill and pointed for him to put the change in the tip jar. At the door Tiffany turned and shot the attendant a wicked smile before the door slammed shut behind her. The boy hadn't moved since Tiffany paid for her drink. I saw her car pull away and that's when I noticed that my cup was empty. When my cup hit the trash can the barista nearly jumped out of his apron.
I smiled at the kid, waved my goodbye and walked out the same front door Tiffany had used. Why was Tiffany at the coffee shop? She left the party a couple of hours before I did. She had plenty of time to get home. I was suddenly ashamed of believing her. It was plain that I wasn't important enough for the truth. John's street was empty when I reached my car. The accent lights in John's front yard were on but everything else was dark. Those dim lights turned out to be enough to see the back of Tiffany's car. It was sitting in John's open garage.
My car was parked under a tree. I stood in the pool of shadow staring at the BMW. Why was Tiffany back at the bosses' house? Had she forgotten something? No, if you forget something you park in front. She was trying to hide her car. She didn't want anyone to know that she had come back to John's house. Why? Why would she care? I found myself ruminating over this question as I crossed the street and stole along the edge of John's hedge row.
From my new vantage point, John's patio looked like the stage of a private amphitheater. To my left stood the brick wall of the house with the curtained sliding patio doors. It posed as the back stage. To my right were the tiers of flowers and shrubs that rose up like rows of theatre seating. First, there was a row of flowers. These were annuals that ringed the stage. Above them were the azaleas and rhododendron. Then a row of red and pink roses. At the top was a ring of dense arborvitae.
With the thick hedgerow behind me and the arborvitae in front, I felt completely invisible. The breeze didn't even penetrate the bushes. The only light was from the moon. I found a spot in the arborvitae where the yellow light from the patio torches streamed through more easily. So I went to it and found a delicious sight.
Tiffany was standing in front of the barbecue. She was holding a wine glass and was taking a slow slip. John was sitting in a chair just outside the sliding doors. Tiffany put the wine glass down. The corners of her mouth rose as she licked her lips and turned to look at John.
"I'll get the numbers back up. Joe and Tim had some home issues. That's over and don't forget that we had that bad installation in Renco." Tiffany said. She was replying to a question I hadn't heard.
"The numbers will come up. What I want to know is how are you going to make them rise?" John said with an edge in his voice.
Tiffany pursed her beautiful rosy lips and took a moment before replying. "I'll work the leads myself if I have to."
"You can't." John said cutting Tiffany off.
"You are a VP what are you going to do?" John asked. His voice held the same edge but now there was also impatience behind his words.
"I'll work on it. I'll..."Tiffany repeated but stopped when John waved his hands.
"You told me that already. Tell me something else." John started to look disgusted
Tiffany stared at the floor as she said, "maybe a mail campaign to drum up extra business."
Tiffany went quiet when John abruptly turned around in his seat. When he turned back he was holding some papers in his hand.
Without looking up at her, John held the papers between them and started rattling off a list of possible interventions. He told her that instead of just throwing away money and paper she could try opening a business directory and check out the businesses that would most likely benefit from our services and products. As he got farther down the list he began to bite off each word as if their utterance offended him.
John finished with, "invite the CEOs of our current customers to a product demo. Make sure there is plenty of free food and drinks. Then casually hit each up for a referral."
As John finished his list a pall fell over the patio. He was obviously disappointed that Tiffany hadn't put forth any of these ideas. Tiffany stared at the floor and John stared at her. There was no warmth in his eyes. He was as angry as I had ever seen him.
"You would be doing this shit if these were true.", John spat as he crumpled the papers in his fist. "We don't lie and we can't abide a liar. I don't see how we can keep you Tiffany." John said flatly.
"Is it really that bad?" Tiffany asked as she licked her lips and her eyes searched the floor.
"You can't do the job. You lied on your resume, hell, you don't even have a master's degree. I got to hand it to you, you sure had the wool over my eyes. I'd never have given you the job but for all of the back story you put into this." John said as if he were apologizing.
"I need the job. It's been the best thing that's ever happened to Michael and me. I can do better, I know I can if only you'll give me the chance." Tiffany sounded less and less frightened as she spoke. Tiffany's eyes flitted upward for just a moment. She had a mischievous grin on her face. I'm certain John didn't see it.
John sounded tired as he said, "I'm sorry Tiffany, I know you and your son need this job. I need someone who can perform. And someone who's not going to lie to me. I'll make sure you get a month's salary and you'll keep your benefits till the end of the quarter. Now I think you better go home."
Tiffany took a couple of steps toward the garage then stopped and turned to face John. John looked puzzled as she asked, "How many people know about my resume?"
"I was so embarrassed that I hadn't checked it that I didn't tell anyone. It'll be our secret if you wish." John answered. This time it was his turn to stare at the floor.
"So no one knows about it?" Tiffany asked. Her question sounded more like a statement.
"No." John said dismissively.
Tiffany turned and lifted her gaze up to John. Their eyes locked.
"Oh dear God." I said out loud. Thankfully it was just a whisper. In front of me, on the other side of the hedge Tiffany had shrugged out of her red dress. She stood like a statue in front of my boss. Her huge breasts were tipped with wide pink nipples that rose to small buds in the evening air. John didn't say a word as the buxom brunette stepped out the red ring her fallen dress had made on his patio. Tiffany approached John with the grace and confidence of a show girl. By now she was between John and the round patio table that had been used for drinks.
Tiffany stopped for only a moment, then gave john a wry smile and said, "No one needs to know anything. We can have more than one secret John. We can have a lot of secrets."
Tiffany licked her lips and then shot John disarming smile. She was standing on one leg with the other slightly bent. The only thing Tiffany was wearing was a deep red thong, her red high heels and that smile. If I were John, I'd have given her my new car. Thankfully, John is already married to a beautiful woman so his resolve was qualitatively better than mine.
John's eyes never left Tiffany's as he said, "My, you are a very beautiful woman. But, I think you should put your clothes back on, because this won't solve anything. I've already told you that I'm not going to tell anyone about your past. Nudity won't make your sales numbers go up. Just go home."
Tiffany smiled broadly as if she knew that she had the upper hand. Slowly and quietly, almost too quiet for me to hear; Tiffany said, "It's not nudity I'm proposing here. I've seen you look at me. You don't have to long for it. You can have it, any time you want it, you can have it. If the numbers don't go up then our secret stays with us. I'll take your severance and move on. If they go up and believe me, they will, then we both win."
Tiffany ran both of her hands down her sides. She hooked the thin band of the thong under her thumbs and pushed it half way down her ass. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed and formed a perfect triangle above her pussy. "I love sex. I'm sure you will too. We can have a great time and no one need be the wiser."
John was a paragon of strength. A sexually appealing, beautiful woman was standing in front him as naked as Eve and he replied in a calm even tone. "I've watched you, but I think you misunderstood my intentions. You're a very beautiful woman. Certainly you can find a man to take care of your needs."
Tiffany bit her lip and looked John up and down. With a toss of her thick dark hair she said, "I'm not looking for a man. This is sex. The good kind; no strings attached. You and I can do this. All I need is a second chance at the sales numbers. Whether the numbers go up or not, you win. You're a good looking man. I'm sure you've had more than a few women in your day."
Tiffany took a step closer to John. She was standing with her feet about shoulder width apart. She bent down a few inches and whispered her question, "Have you ever had one you didn't have to pay for?"
For several moments no one moved. Tiffany's gaze locked with John's. John was a rock. Then he smiled, "if you mean a woman that I didn't have to buy dinner first or..." John spread his hands out to either side and continued, "a house and a car, then I'd have to say no".
Tiffany turned, bent over and put both of her hands on the table. With her right hand she reached back and pulled her thong down to her knees. With a quick shake of her right leg, it fell and made a red circle around her feet.
Tiffany looked over her shoulder and said breathily, "Now you do."
John countered and for the first time he was smiling. "The first sample's always free. Every pusher knows that. But, nothing is ever for free. You'll keep your job. That's going to cost me something. I've already told some of the others that you should be replaced. I haven't told them why but I have told them, now, I'll have to tell them why I changed my mind. I've never been a good liar. Besides I don't like getting into something I don't know how to get out of."
Ignoring John's protestations, Tiffany whispered breathily, "I've seen how you look at my ass. I bet you want to touch it. Now you can, you can touch my bare ass. You can touch my pussy too. You can come over here and fuck my wet pussy. You want to do that john, you know you want to fuck me."
John sat up and was stroking his chin with his right hand as he replied to Tiffany's wanton display. Every word she said was true for me, but John was stoic, in fact he almost looked put off by what Tiffany was saying. I began to worry that he was going to throw her out. Maybe get up from his seat and make her leave, with our without her clothes on.
Then Tiffany began to moan. She was resting her head, chest and shoulders on the table. Her right hand was under her and her feet were about two feet apart. The hot bitch was masturbating. I couldn't see her fingers but her firm ass wiggled slightly from the stroking she was giving her pussy.
"Oh God it's been so long since I've been fucked. Come on John, fuck me." Tiffany pleaded softly.
John was transfixed until Tiffany turned her head away from him. Now she was facing the roses. Tiffany's perfect ass was still perched high in the air. Her naked breasts were still smashed on the table top and her fingers were still stroking her cunt. John stood up. He was still next to his chair when Tiffany moaned again. But instead of approaching her, John turned and looked toward the sliding glass doors. John could have been a statue except that he slowly nodded his head.
Tiffany must have interpreted John's immobility as fear because she began to coax him. She said in a low husky voice, "I'm not looking. I won't know who came up and touched my ass. I won't know who put their beautiful cock in and gave me the fucking I need. I'll never know."
In a steadier voice than I could have mustered John asked, "Are you on protection?"
Tiffany seemed lost in her own fever. She answered with a simple "yes". Her voice was small and seemed as far away as the office. John approached her. When he was an arm's length away he stopped and stared down at her. Tiffany's perfect ass was perched high in the air. Her large bare breasts were smashed on the table beneath her. She was a bitch ready for mating.
Tiffany spread her legs and panted, "Please fuck me. Use me. Make us both come."
"I'll make us come." John answered
Then with a wave of his hand John said in a commanding voice, "Just not the way you think."
Without a sound the sliding glass door opened and Daniel emerged from the curtained entry. At the same time, John moved to Tiffany's right. Tiffany turned her head and looked back at John. Now her head was turned away from Daniel's approach. There was no faraway look in her eyes. Her brow was furrowed and her gaze had narrowed. She looked like she was on the verge of a decision. Her face bore no hint of arousal; all of that evaporated with John's cryptic statement. Whatever she was contemplating it was not the question of whether she should stop masturbating. With the turn of her head I could see her arm muscles flex. She wasn't just brushing her fingers across her lips. She was finger fucking herself and with more than one finger. She was putting on quite a show for John, and now unwittingly for Daniel.
Daniel stopped a few feet away from Tiffany.
Daniel is our logistics and tracking man. He makes sure the shipments go out on time and they get to the right place. He also coordinates trainings and workshops. It's a thankless job but it's one that Daniel has done very well. He has put together trainings and user tips for our customers. He's an intelligent hard working guy. He's also a guy that a woman like Tiffany barely notices. He doesn't have the standing to warrant her time, just like I didn't warrant her time earlier in the party.
"What do you mean not like I think?" Tiffany finally asked. For the first time there was a tinge of fear in her voice. I believe at that point she didn't know Daniel was behind her any more that she could have known I was on the other side of the hedge.
John knelt beside Tiffany. Their faces were only a couple of feet from each other.
"Don't stop what you're doing. I like it. It turns me on. Tiffany, I like to watch. Fuck, I love to watch. Seeing a pretty woman bent over my patio table pleasuring herself is one hell of a turn on. What you are offering me is great but you don't understand who I am." John paused for a moment. Then continued more slowly, "I'm not a liar. Most of all not to my wife. I won't cheat on her. She's never had a problem with me watching porn because Jamie knows that watching isn't cheating. What do you think of me watching you?"
"Do you mean we both masturbate?" Tiffany asked with a sly smile returning to her face.
"That would be nice. But you want me to lie to the admin team. You want me to stop your dismissal and act as if I didn't know that you fabricated everything on this resume. No. Watching you finger yourself wouldn't be enough for all of that. I have integrity. It may be compartmentalized but I have it all the same." John said. He sounded confident.
"So what do you want?" Tiffany asked. Her lips were slack and her eyes were taking on that faraway look again.
"I want to watch you fuck someone else." John said coolly.
"Ooh, I could arrange that. I didn't know you were so kinky." Tiffany replied quietly.
"So you agree?" John asked. He sounded like he was finalizing lunch plans.
"Oh, yeah, we can do this." Tiffany purred.
Tiffany began to get up then she caught sight of Daniel. In a flash, Tiffany rolled over stood up and crossed her harms in front of her breasts. Tiffany's voice cracked as she tried to demand an explanation from both men.
In a measured, soothing tone John explained that Daniel had stayed after the party to talk. "I'm going on vacation next month and Daniel has already been to Jamaica. We were going over some of his vacation pictures. He's pointed me to some great places. Looks like I'm going to have a great time. I'll owe him for all of the help."
John looked from Tiffany to Daniel and then asked the middle aged black man "Do you think this will make us even?" once again, John's equanimity made him sound like he was settling a lunch tab.
"I don't know, I, I don't know about this..."Tiffany stammered.
John began to explain, "What do you mean you don't know? What the fuck is this all about? You do this with Daniel or..." John reached down and scooped Tiffany's dress off the patio and tossed it to her. She caught it and quickly used the material to cover her breasts. John looked at her in disgust and finished with, "you can leave. If you go now, don't even bother going to the office on Monday. My offer stands. You'll get the severance. I just don't want to ever see you again."
Tiffany took a couple of steps toward the car and then stopped. "It'll be just this once right?" she said with her back to John.
"No. as I told you, you're asking a lot out of me. You've given me a promise; something not worth much from a liar. I need more than just a promise. It doesn't matter anyway, you've decided to leave, so go, I've got things to do." John said with dismissively.
But Tiffany didn't go.
She stood in the same spot and for the longest time didn't move. Then she turned and said, "I'll do it and I'll do it again when this is over in six months. You said you didn't like getting into something you didn't know how to get out of. Here it is. Our agreement starts with you watching me fuck Daniel and it ends with you watching me fuck Daniel. The whole thing will take no more than six months. I can bring up the numbers by then. If not, then well, at least you get two good shows."
John pointed to the spot where Tiffany had laid across the table and said, "Get your ass over there."
Even as she walked over to Daniel Tiffany continued to barter with John. She asked if he could just watch her give Daniel a blow job or a titty fuck, but John refused. Finally, Tiffany looked at Daniel and smiled as if she were acknowledging his existence for the first time.
"No matter what happens, you'll enjoy yourself." Tiffany said to Daniel with a sly smile just before she went to her knees in front of the black man.
Tiffany smiled up at Daniel. Then unbuckled his belt, unsnapped his pants and pulled down his zipper. His gray khakis fell to the floor. Daniel's semi-erect cock sprung out and nearly hit Tiffany on the nose. It was uncircumcised and as wide as her wrist.
"Oh my god", Tiffany said with her nose only an inch or two from Daniel's black manhood. She continued to comment with, "This is a nice big one. I've never been with a black man. This will be the first black penis I've ever had. I love it. It's so big."
Tiffany tilted forward and buried her nose in the space between Daniel's thigh and pubis. She inhaled loudly and then shivered and squeezed her thighs together. Tiffany looked into the eyes of her black lover and said lustily "You smell like a real man. Oh my God, you've got the whore coming out of me."
For some reason, that I'll never fully know or understand, I took that moment to look up and down the hedgerow. I suppose with everything that was unfolding in front of me I needed to make doubly sure that I could relax and take it all in. Or maybe it was my need to self-regulate. At that moment it was just too much; the haughty bitch who would barely say two sentences to me was about to be fucked by the company's warehouse manager.
When I turned and looked back through the hedge Tiffany was standing facing the table. Daniel was behind her. He was naked from the waist down. Daniel's in excellent shape. He is pure, well defined muscle beneath smooth black skin.
Tiffany turned slightly and asked, "Do you have a condom?"
The question was obviously meant for Daniel but John answered, "He doesn't need a condom, you said you were on the pill."
Tiffany bit her lip and looked as if she were considering something. Just then, Daniel's demeanor sublimated. He transformed from the congenial, middle aged man as I had always known to be, into an angry dominant black man. He ran his hand smoothly up Tiffany's back till he came to her neck. He opened his hand and holding her neck he pushed forward till she was bent over the table.
"Listen here bitch. I know you're thinking you can't take me bare because I'm black. So, I tell you what, you can do as John just said, do it and you do it our way or pick your shit up and get in your car and get the fuck out of here."
While Daniel was talking his hand was between Tiffany's legs stroking her sex.
"So which is it? You staying and getting what you came for, or are you going to scurry on back home?" Daniel taunted.
Tiffany responded by lowering her torso onto the table, arching her back and pushing her sex into Daniel's groin.
"Ok, now I see. You want this. But we can't have any misunderstandings. So answer me and tell me true. Do you want me to pound your pussy?"
"Fuck me Daniel. I want you to fuck me." Tiffany whispered.
Daniel clenched his teeth and forced Tiffany's thighs farther apart. Then he rubbed his manhood against her cunt. He pumped his hips so that his cock slid over her lips. With each thrust I could see the head of his cock rise over her ass like a baton playing peek-a-boo. After the third or fourth thrust the head shone wetly. Daniel turned and smiled broadly at John. Then he gave Tiffany's ass a resounding slap. While still rubbing his cock over her lips, Daniel commanded, "Say it louder so John can hear. He's the one paying for the show. Now, tell him!"
Tiffany turned her head looked right at John and said in a voice smooth as cream, "I want Daniel to fuck me."
John crossed his arms over his chest and asked, "How do you want him to fuck you?"
Daniel answered, "She's so fucking wet. She loves this shit. You wants it hard, don't you bitch!"
Tiffany flashed a sly smile and then said in a brazen voice, "I've always wondered about fucking a black man. Why have sex with him if it's not hard?".
Tiffany snaked her hands back to her ass and pulled her cheeks open. Through a low moan the bitch said, "Fuck me Daniel; make me feel it."
Daniel pulled back, arched his back and sunk half of his thick cock into Tiffany's dripping cunt. Tiffany grabbed the edge of the table. I could see her knuckles turn white as Daniel savagely mated with her.
"Damn bitch; you love it hard. This shit is turning your hot ass on isn't it?" Daniel said loudly; too loudly from John's reaction. Daniel, flashed a toothy grin and mouthed "okay" back to John.
Tiffany didn't see their interaction. In any case, I doubt she would have cared because just then she wailed, "Fuck me. Please, God, fuck me."
Daniel obliged his mate and hammered her with his black shaft. As he fucked Tiffany, Daniel shed his shirt. His abs were thick and knotted. Sweat ran down Daniel's face, neck and chest till he was drenched. Propping himself up by his arms, he bent over Tiffany. Now his chest was on her back and his arms caged her in on both sides. At this point, Daniel changed his movements. His brutal thrusts changed to calm smooth undulations.
With his mouth by her ear he said loudly, "Thick ass, big tits, you were made for fucking the brothers. I'll bet after this, you'll be hitting up the hood for some black meat."
Tiffany didn't look capable of a meaningful response. Her eyes were half closed and her mouth hung open and every now and again she mumbled something as her stomach convulsed.
Daniel came to a halt. He didn't move. His manhood was still ensconced in Tiffany's wet pussy. Every muscle in his body was rigid as he stood between Tiffany's legs.
Tiffany wailed, "Oh God no! Don't stop, please! I need to cum again!"
Daniel ignored her plea and asked, "Bitch, you are so turned on it's like I'm fucking a can of pudding. You never had a black before, have you?"
"No, no I haven't. I've never fucked anyone like this, it's so..." Tiffany's voice trailed off.
Tiffany's stomach convulsed again.
Daniel pointed down at Tiffany's ass and proclaimed for John, "Look at this. Look at this would you? This hot bitch is making herself cum."
Daniel turned back to Tiffany and commanded, "Move your hand away. Get your hand off your pussy. You best do it now bitch. "
Tiffany's face contorted into a silent scream. Then her hand emerged from under her stomach. Her fingers glistened in the firelight.
"What were you doing Tiffany?" John asked evenly.
"Cumming." Tiffany answered.
"Shit, bitch you been cumming since you dropped that dress. You were fingering yourself." Daniel said as he once again mashed his groin into Tiffany's soft ass.
Tiffany's head jerked up and she glared back at John. John smiled, sat back and said, "Daniel isn't the only one who is enjoying himself. What's it like fucking him? "
Tiffany's glare softened into a mischievous grin. She licked her lips and turned it back onto John. "I'm sure this is what you've been wanting to see; isn't it baby? He's so strong and masculine. I'll never forget his cock. My body, my pussy loves it. You love watching me don't you?"
Slowly, John nodded toward Tiffany and her black lover. John moved so slowly, he looked like a man in a trance, drunk on the energy of the taboo spectacle in front of him. I certainly was; I couldn't tear my eyes from the hole in the hedge.
"Are you going to do what he said?" John asked Tiffany. His tone implied that he knew she would say yes.
"He's all I need." Tiffany replied then abruptly stopped talking, closed her eyes and pursed her lips. A moment later, she moaned loudly and slowly opened her eyes again. Her torso went soft. Her legs were no longer straight. Tiffany's eyes took on the pleading look of a hungry puppy.
"He knows. He knows what I need and he's giving it to me. Oh God!" Tiffany said shrilly.
John replied quickly with "He's telling you that you need more black cock. Maybe he should make sure you get that too."
Tiffany's gaze bore into John. She seemed to collect her wits and was considering the possibilities then said "if it feels as good as this, maybe. Oh fuck maybe I will. He sure does have the whore coming out of me. But, I can't have black men hanging around my house."
Daniel responded to Tiffany's lazy reasoning by growling, "Bitch, we don't want to go to your house. We just need to be where the pussy is. You'll be coming to us."
Through a wet sly smile Tiffany responded sweetly with "Problem solved."
Daniel exclaimed, "Damn Tiffany you are soaking my cock."
For the rest of their time together, Daniel's mating was slow, deliberate and powerful. Tiffany's body took each push like a prize. That is, until he snarled and announced "I'm coming. Oh God, I'm going come."
Tiffany's eyes flew open and her right hand pushed back on Daniel's hip.
Tiffany wailed "Not inside. Please don't come inside me"
Daniel swatted her hand away, bent over her once again and said, "It's too late for that shit. I'm already there!" Daniel's muscular black body went rigid. He bared his clenched teeth and he pumped his seed deep into Tiffany's womb.
Under Daniel's rigid black frame, Tiffany laid as she always had, head down and ass up. But now she was sobbing. Once Daniel was spent, he staggered away from Tiffany. His whole body was glistening. Slowly, Tiffany rose to her feet.
"Use the basement bathroom." John told her as he jabbed his finger in the air toward the sliding glass doors.
When the glass door slammed shut behind Tiffany, Daniel turned to John and asked, "What the fuck? You saw it. We didn't do anything she didn't want."
John just wagged his head and didn't say anything. Immediately, Daniel picked up his pile of clothes and dressed like he was suddenly late for something more important.
At just the time Daniel was fastening his belt John came out of his trance and said "Before you go, I just want to say..."
"No need to say anything, we didn't do anything wrong. Last I saw we all got what we wanted. No one else need know anything about what just happened." Daniel smiled broadly and then added, "Hell, we all had a good time. I hope it's just as good in six months. That's what I need to say." Daniel said and finished with a sharp nod of his head.
John put up his hands. "You're going the wrong way with this. I Know we didn't do anything wrong. I recorded everything just to make sure she don't come back and say we did. I'm damn glad I put that microSD card in this thing." John held up his phone like it was the Ace he needed for his royal flush.
"Hot Damn, you even got a souvenir of the night. Man, John you made out like a bandit" gloated Daniel.
"No Man, we made out like bandits." John said. His expression changed a little. He looked back at the patio doors then stood up and walked over to Daniel.
In an eerily calm voice John laid out his intentions, "The movie isn't anything. Mostly sound anyway, it's just that after all of this I don't want her coming back and saying we took advantage of her. Like you said - we all had a good time. But why do we have to abide by her rules? Six months my ass. More like six hours. If we play our hand right you'll tap that white pussy as much as you want."
Daniel's eyes went as wide as his fists as he stammered through his response, "what are you talking about, I mean if she's good for it so am I, but I aint forcing anybody."
Indignant, John replied, "I'm not forcing anybody. Look she'll be back soon. Go around the corner and wait. I want you to hear what we talk about. Then you tell me if anyone is being forced.
Daniel nodded and quickly walked to the hedge. I was so caught up in the scenario that I didn't worry about him seeing me until he was around the corner. Thank God his attention was on the patio. If he had looked at the hedge I'm sure he would have seen me.
I heard the glass door roll open just as Daniel settled into his spot. Tiffany walked out as if the party was still going on and others may be watching her. The bitch always acted like she was center stage.
"Daniel left huh?" Tiffany asked. She sounded deflated.
"Yeah, I guess you wore him out, he said he needed to get home" John answered halfheartedly.
"Well I guess I best get going too..." Tiffany added as she took a couple of slow steps toward the back of the patio where her car was parked.
"Wait a minute. I have to ask you a question." John said
Tiffany stopped but didn't turn to look at John.
John appeared nonplussed as he thread his trap, "why would a woman get up and run into the bathroom after sex? More precisely why would a woman cry after a man came inside her? Most likely she didn't want to get pregnant, but, that can't be your reason because you said you're on the pill. And, yet, you were afraid and you did run away."
Tiffany turned around. She stared silently down at John's feet.
John spoke as if in the middle of a revelation. In a quiet even tone he said, "It's not disease. As much as he works out and worries about his body, no way he has anything. He's as clean as I am. That only leaves..." John stopped and let the thought dangle in the air. Then he shifted and said the obvious, "you're not on the pill."
A moment later, John shook off his faraway stare and fixed his angry gaze on Tiffany. With a rising fury he bellowed, "Fuck, you hoped that I would fuck you. You were trying to trap me. God Damn it, you fucking bitch!"
John stood up. Tiffany paled in front of him. "You wanted me to knock your ass up. Then you'd have everything. You didn't come back to plead for your job. You came back for some kind of pay off. Damn it. I've heard of this kind of thing but I never thought I was important enough for some bitch to do it to me. I'm no basketball player. I'm not David Letterman. Fuck, why didn't I see this? What kind of woman are you?" John finished his tirade with his fists resting on his hips and leaning close into Tiffany's face.
Tiffany still hadn't said a word.
John ran his fingers through his hair then shook his head and stepped even closer to Tiffany. She stepped back. It was only a couple of inches but she was definitely retreating.
John raised his voice and said loudly, "You're not on the pill are you?"
When Tiffany didn't respond John repeated the question. This time he bit off each word and flung them at her. When he was finished Tiffany lowered her eyes and shook her head.
"That's what I thought. That's what I bloody well fucking thought. So what are you going to do? I mean hell, Daniel doesn't need this shit any more than I do." John said as he glared balefully at Tiffany.
Tiffany still wasn't talking.
John eased up a bit. In a calmer voice he told Tiffany that she needed to get one of those pills and Tiffany spoke for the first time. She said, "The morning after pill. I can get them over the counter. I don't think I'll need but..."
John cut her off, "but you're going to get it and you will take it." He said with a nod of his head. He kept nodding his head until Tiffany was doing it too. He stopped when she said she would drop by the pharmacy on her way home.
Tiffany apologized. She said that she was sorry and that she only meant to argue for her job but things got carried away. She pleaded with him to understand that she hadn't meant to trap anyone. Then she said, "I'm afraid of losing my job it's the best thing that has ever happened to Michael and I."
John's demeanor changed completely.
John stood back on his heels. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and rubbed each elbow with the opposite hand. He looked like a father contemplating the reinstatement of his daughter's allowance.
Tiffany's lips were trembling and her eyes followed John's every move. She gasped when he began to speak. "This is pretty serious. This shit changes everything." John said as he wagged his head. He looked like he was trying to find the best words to carry bad news. He sounded almost kind as he told her what she was going to do.
"From now on I call the shots. Do you hear me?" John said.
Tiffany nodded. Then quickly said, "I understand."
John rattled off his intentions, "Good. You can forget about the whole once now and once in six months bullshit. It's three times a month with once per week and one week off. That one day of the week, Daniel can have anything he wants. He'll be prudent and you'll be obedient. Every day you'll come to work looking like its Daniel's day. No exceptions."
Tiffany blanched.
John stopped. A gravid silence filled the void between them until John cracked the tiniest of smiles and asked, "How old is Michael?"
"Eleven." Tiffany answered reflexively.
"He'll enjoy the extra money you'll make doing this." John added.
"I'm not a whore." Tiffany said. There was uncertainty in her voice. She added, "I can't sell myself."
"I suppose then you're not a whore. You're just a good mother trying to get the best for your son." John said dismissively then turned from Tiffany. She looked confused. She started to stammer something but john cut her off with "You tried to trap me with sex, and yet you're not a whore. You told me that you were protected and you're a good person. Get off my property. Don't bother going to the office on Monday. We don't need you're kind. Oh and by the way, don't bother making any false accusations, I've got surveillance cameras. Your whole little strip tease is on hard disk and believe me, I've got all of our conversation on audio. So take your scheming ass home and tell your son that you're moving into an efficiency apartment."
Tiffany turned to leave and this time it looked like she was going home, but just as she reached her car she turned and asked, "what does dress like every day is Daniel's day mean?"
"What the fuck does it matter, you turned it down remember?" John replied.
"I know but I was just thinking if it weren't too obvious." Tiffany replied timorously.
John walked up to her car. They talked for thirty minutes or so. I couldn't hear anything they said and I'm sure Daniel couldn't hear anything either. I looked out the driveway and realized that my car was still parked on the street. They would see it. Daniel and I go to lunch at least once a week and I always drive. He was certain to recognize my car. I backed up away from the hedge and walked as quietly as I could back to the street. I pulled my car around the corner then ran back to John's house. Tiffany was gone. Daniel and John were talking.
They were standing close together.
"Don't give her time to change her mind" John said.
After a while I heard another snippet, it was Daniel and he said "Damn, you'll get a show. We'll have a great time."
"Just make sure you get it on disk." John insisted.
Daniel shot him a doubtful look, then asked, "How am I going to do that?"
John's reply was "Figure something out. But, it has to be on disk. She came to us. I don't want her turning the tables on us."
"Even if we have it on disk, if she takes us to court it could ruin the company. I mean think about it, even though she is wrong and we are right, the whole sordid thing will get played out in court. " Daniel replied.
"She won't take us to court." John said with finality.
"How can you say that?" Daniel replied with a raised cheek and furrowed brow.
John was staring at the floor. He looked up into Daniel's eyes and said, "Daniel, you don't get anywhere with just a stick. And believe me a carrot will get you only so far. We're going to use both. Do you care if she gets a little bonus in her check?"
"That depends if I get more of what I got tonight." Daniel said with a huge toothy smile.
"That's the only way she'll get the bonus. It won't be too much and it won't be too little. We don't want her to think we are paying for it; because that will only make her feel insulted. At the same time, she needs to get enough to keep that kid of hers in video games and her in lots of those designer dresses she likes so much."
The two men continued to conspire as they walked back into the house. I took the slam of the sliding glass door as my cue to head home.
|
The door shut behind Shang Qinghua and Mobei Jun. It took a lot for Shang Qinghua not to start grovelling at his husband's feet, wouldn't that be quite the throwback. He told himself that he would try to explain calmly and
not
ramble on. Then in the death silence of the room where he could only hear his heart and unsteady breathing,
''Qinghua.'' Mobei Jun merely uttered his name and his heart already quickened. He slowly turned to face his husband, afraid to see his expression. He slowly looked up to see an eyebrow raised at him. He was unsure whether he started shivering from the temperature of the room or that look he was given. He knew he was a blabber mouth and that’s exactly why,
“My king! Please do not misunderstand the situation, it is not what you think it is-” He started,
“So you and Shen Qingqiu did not tell us that you would enjoy leisure time with each other in the room, only for Jun Shang and I to look only to be greeted by an empty room?” Mobei Jun cut in. This made the words on Shang Qinghua’s lips die. He knew this would all be a lost cause. He blatantly lied to his husband, snuck out, all because he was jealous and sick of seeing the world he created. He would be considered lucky if he were not to be thoroughly punished for this- after all he swore his life to the other.
“Shang Qinghua, why did you leave?” The ice demon’s stare pierced him like sharp icicles. He knew that he would not be able to get out of this without telling the truth. He didn’t need to admit everything, right? Especially the he was jealous part.
“This one needed to step out of this place for a while.” He responded.
“Then why not tell me? Are you hiding something that I know not of?” Mobei Jun interrogated.
“This one is not hiding anything! The reason why this one did not tell you is because- well- my face is too thin to admit it-” He could not admit that all it took was a jar of vinegar to send him spiralling into pitiful thoughts and reckless choices. But the silence in the room was deafening and he could feel the demanding question even unspoken. He gulped,
“This one was tired of seeing others… demand for your attention.” He miraculously worded it safely.
“Does this one not treat you with enough attention yet?” Mobei Jun frowned thoughtfully.
“No! You treat me well, and give me enough attention.” He hurriedly reassured.
“Then is it that other demons need my attention? Why would you be tired of that? Has the court not taken my attention on a daily basis yet?” Was the oblivious response he got. Suddenly all safe wording and filtering disappeared as he exploded.
“NOT IN THAT WAY! DO YOU NOT SEE THE WAY THOSE DEMONS WISH FOR YOU TO INCLUDE THEM IN A HAREM THAT YOU HAVE A RIGHT TO HAVE?!LEFT AND RIGHT THEY'VE BEEN PURSUING YOU THIS WHOLE TIME.” His chest heaved after this, then continuing with a weaker voice,
“And what do I have against them?" His insecurities showed through once more as tears fell.
"They have the status deserving to marry someone with your standing. I’m a mere peak lord who barely had any cultivation in the first place. There are others who are more honorable than this lowly one. Many more are more powerful, better suited in my place. Not some servant who was pitiful to beg for his life. There are countless peerless beauties to choose from. There are many who you would most
definitely
find less annoying. Endless choices who are simply better, willing to wholly submit to you, not cause you such troubles, and not keep a secret like-” Well he absolutely fucked up in that last part. Although he has sprouted shit like ‘I am your father’ or something, this was always ignored by the other. There was no escaping this one though-
“What was the last thing you mentioned? Did you not say you have nothing to hide?” There it was: the question there was no getting out of. He wondered if Cucumber bro got away without mentioning that part.
“This one has to admit that… he is not who he really says he is.” He says slowly. Sensing that Mobei Jun would not be vocal about his questions,
“I am not actually from this world. I’m from a more modern world, and remember when I was hinting at situations? Like howI returned with prepared talismans when your uncle tried to kill you. I came from a modern world where
this
world was a
book.”
He said practically in one breath.
“What?” Mobei Jun frowned.
“Have you not noticed me muttering about things you do not understand? The way I already knew certain things and avoided those situations. Don’t tell me you don’t remember when-” He continued to ramble.
“A- Hua.” Mobei Jun started, the endearment made his brain stop for a moment.
''Was this what you were most worried about?'' His husband continued. He was unsure what to say so he just nodded embarrassedly, turning his head to face a different way.
He jumped when he felt a hand on his jaw. He didn't notice when Mobei Jun moved closer to him. The handsome demon now stood in front of him, pulling his jaw to face his husband's face. His face was tilted up so their eyes would meet. The touch felt warm and suddenly calmed his unsteady breath. Mobei Jun's other hand gently wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes.
“I care not for your past life, nor your life before me if you do not wish to share. All I want is for you to be by my side from the day you pledged your life and loyalty to me. You took care of me when I was injured, you were a loyal advisor by my side. I do not care for the status of other demons, nor how powerful they are. As annoyed as I seem, I enjoy being able to protect someone beloved to this one. I care not for looks either way, but the smile you wear sends other peerless beauties to shame. Shang Qinghua, I was the one who pursued you regardless of what little I knew about your past. You need not to be anxious for this one only has eyes for you.” Mobei Jun’s expression softened. The warmth in his husband’s voice melted all the worries away at that moment- the warmth only he would ever experience. Despite the natural cool that the ice demon radiated, Shang Qinghua felt warm.
|
*****
I got to work early on Monday. Normally I'm the first one in the office. Since I was even earlier than normal I was surprised to see Tiffany's BMW. It wasn't in her normal parking space. It was in the last row under the low mulberry tree, a place that a woman like her would never park her expensive status symbol. Like some kind of amateur sleuth, I killed the headlights and parked at the other end of the lot. Then I quietly made my way through the shadows to the building. I used my pass key to get in through the back door. The alarm panel started beeping. If Tiffany was here she hadn't deactivated the alarm; I had thirty seconds to turn it off before it sounded and alerted the police. I ran to the security keypad located in the front office. Fortunately I got to the keypad in time. The alarm didn't sound so I stood still and waited several minutes for any sign of movement. The building was dark and completely quiet. Perhaps by leaving the alarm on, she would have been forewarned of anyone coming in?
Then reality kicked in and I thought, "Well, maybe she's not here." To make sure, I decided to take a look around. If I ran into someone, anyone, I'd need a reason for stalking around in the dark. I decided to pick up an old hard drive from the storage room. If asked, I could just lift it up and say that I was replacing a faulty drive.
All of our offices have large glass transoms on either side of the door. Tiffany's office is on the side of the building opposite mine, so I picked up the hard drive and walked across the building. When I turned the corner and walked down the hall where Tiffany's office was located, I stopped. Her office lights were on. The light spilling out into the hall wasn't the stark white light of the overhead fluorescents but was soft and yellow. Most likely from the floor lamp next to her plants. I walked steadily up to Tiffany's office, she was seated at her desk. She was staring at something in her office that was too far off to the right for me to see. The hall lights were off, so I was standing in pitch black, but I felt as obvious as the noon day sun. I moved back away from the transom. My view of Tiffany's office narrowed but I could still see her and Tiffany was more interested in something I couldn't see. Then, from the right, Daniel stepped into view.
He was dressed in normal business casual attire. He was smirking as he said something to Tiffany. Tiffany's expression could have set the office on fire. Daniel shrugged his shoulders and put his hands up like an act of surrender. Tiffany's expression softened. She stood up and walked around her desk. God, I wish I could hear what they were saying but the door was closed, the air conditioning was on and they were obviously talking quietly to each other. Then Daniel smiled, said something and Tiffany giggled and shook her head. It was then that Daniel's expression turned fiery. He reached out and took hold of Tiffany's forearm pulled her close and said something to her. He showed his teeth as he spoke. Daniel's baleful expression didn't soften until Tiffany slowly nodded her head. Then, Daniel's eyes sparkled and he was all smiles.
Tiffany stepped back and picked up a dress that had been laying on the chair. She held it against her. It was short. In fact, it was much shorter than anything I'd ever seen her in. Daniel held up a pair of shoes. Tiffany's mouth dropped open. She shook her head and appeared about to protest when Daniel reached out and held her chin in his palm. With his thick fingers he made Tiffany's lips purse. The look of danger was back in his eyes as he held the clear four inch mules before Tiffany's face. They were stripper shoes. Daniel said a few more things and then kissed Tiffany on the cheek and then backed away. Tiffany nodded, took the shoes from Daniel and disappeared into the Records Room. I felt the door shut behind her. Several minutes later the door swung open and a very different Tiffany emerged. She approached Daniel as if on a catwalk. When she reached him she entwined her body around his and kissed him passionately. Their tongues danced together as his hands ran up and down her body. The dress had a plunging neckline and a hemline that hugged her thighs only a couple of inches below her perfectly shaped ass. Finally, his groping stopped and with both hands on her shoulders Daniel guided Tiffany to the floor. What I saw next was the most erotic image of my life.
Still wearing her clear stripper shoes, Tiffany rested on her knees and anxiously unzipped Daniel's pants. She hauled out his black cock and in a flash, Tiffany changed from a proud business executive to a nasty wanton slut. She broke eye contact with Daniel. Instead of his eyes she stared at his massive cock. With a slight smile playing on her lips Tiffany slowly rubbed his meat. Then she pressed her face against the veiny shaft and rubbed her cheek against it. She held it away from his pants and slowly planted little kisses all along it length.. Slowly her mouth moved up toward the tip. It was wet from his drooling pre-cum. She kissed away the moisture. Then ran her wet tongue up and down his length.
After several minutes, the black shaft was covered with the moisture from Tiffany's tongue and it shone like polished ebony. Daniel was visibly panting when Tiffany finally took the head of his engorged cock into her mouth, he put both of his hands on the desk behind her head and arched his back. His mouth was open but whatever he was saying did not make it through the closed door. The meaning of his actions were clear. Daniel started making quick jerking motions with his pelvis. He put one hand on the top of Tiffany's back. It appeared to be there more to steady himself than to force Tiffany to swallow his seed. Because there was no indication that she was backing away from his release. Tiffany accepted his length into her mouth and throat as she lovingly caressed his thick testicles. Daniel's need could not be denied. He pressed forward, planted his other hand on Tiffany's desk leaned on it and roared. Daniel's sudden shift pushed Tiffany backward against her desk. She was now sandwiched between Daniel's muscular black thighs and the front of her massive desk. I kept my eyes on her as Daniel screamed again. Tiffany never stopped swallowing. Finally, Daniel pushed himself away from the desk and out of Tiffany's mouth. Tiffany sagged against the front of her desk. She was flush. The tops of her breasts were a mottled pink. There was drool and a thick strand of semen hanging from her dainty little chin. Tiffany wiped the fluid off her face and swallowed it. She then grabbed the base of Daniel's cock tightly and moved her hand upward to the crown of his manhood. As her hand reached the head a line of thick seminal fluid ran from the tip of Daniels cock and pooled onto Tiffany's hand. Again the wanton slut licked up the seed and swallowed it.
After a few moments, Daniel reached down and helped Tiffany up. Tiffany leaned back against the desk then took a couple of steps toward the records room.
"Wait a minute." Daniel bellowed loud enough for me to hear through the door and over the air conditioning.
Tiffany stopped. Daniel buttoned the top of his pants but left his belt unfastened and his zipper open. Then he walked past Tiffany into the Records Room. A moment later he emerged holding Tiffany's dress wadded up in his hand. Tiffany came from behind him. Her arms were straight down her sides with her fingers pulling down the bottom of the short dress. The tight material would only stretch so far, even pulling as much as she was, the dress stayed scandalously short. It was obvious that if she wore that dress today, she couldn't even think of bending over. I smiled to myself envisioning the haughty bitch walking down the hall for her Monday morning meeting. At every step the small dress threatening to ride up and expose her bare ass. And she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. With no designer clothes to hide behind she'd be as vulnerable as Eve. Her piety would serve her for nothing. Because everyone would see her. They would see the tops of her breasts and the shape of her ass. The entirety of her shapely legs would be on display. Her true self would be known.
My musing stopped when Daniel finished buckling his belt and started walking toward the door. The door in front of me. I'd be found out as soon as the door swung open. The light would show me standing their enjoying Tiffany's debauchery. I couldn't move. I was frozen. I should have moved or at least walked farther down the hall. But I did nothing, I didn't even breathe, then Daniel stopped. He turned around held out his hand and said something to Tiffany. Tiffany was crestfallen. I stepped back away from the door. But I couldn't walk down the hall. I had to see what was coming next. Daniel back stepped until he was standing in front of Tiffany. Tiffany's legs opened at his approach. Their lips met as he pressed against her. Tiffany edged back onto her desk. Her mouth opened and she licked Daniel's lips. Tiffany tried to pull Daniel on top of her as she lowered herself back onto the desktop. Daniel bent over her, passionately kissing her and fondling her perfect legs and near naked ass.
The scene was easy to interpret, Tiffany's voluptuous body was open and willing. Daniel could do as he chose. She wanted to couple and mate with him, but Daniel had other plans. In an instant he stepped away from her and pulled her panties down her legs. To make it easier for him Tiffany moved her legs and pointed her toes. Daniel held the black panties between them and then suddenly pulled away from Tiffany. With a contemptuous smile Daniel tossed the crumpled dress onto Tiffany's chair. Daniel's lips slid back from his teeth as his smile grew into something ravenous.
Fortunately Daniel bellowed out his intent as he said, "Bitch, there's your dress. Hell I can't have your naked ass going up and down the halls."
Tiffany propped herself up on her elbows. Her soft white breasts spilled out the top of the dress. She rested her heels on the edge of the desk so her knees were apart and high up in the air. Her pussy was naked, accessible and ready. But Daniel didn't move; he didn't take the invitation, instead he laughed.
Tiffany sat up and tucked her breasts back into the top of her dress. She looked vaguely disappointed but mostly hurt. She didn't look at Daniel, instead she slid off the desk and stood barefoot facing her tormenter. She kept her gaze at his feet. She said something that I couldn't hear and Daniel laughed again.
Daniel took on a slow rhythmic drawl as he replied to Tiffany. He said, "We're not done; not even close to being done. We agreed upon two things, you is mine when I want it."
Sheepishly, Tiffany began to protest. With a slow wag of her head she said, "We agreed to one day a week."
Daniel glared at her. There was violence behind his eyes. It was obvious that Tiffany saw it. She averted her eyes and stared at the floor beneath their feet.
"You got one thing right. It's one day at a time." Daniel said through a softening sneer that culminated in a warm inviting smile. In an instant Daniel's demeanor changed and he sounded like a friend as he said, "Now, I'm sure you is going to be well compensated for all of your work. Your sales will pick up and all of this stuff will just be memory. A good memory I hope. I mean I'd like to think when you're older and your son says that you just don't understand you can smile back and tell him that you know more than he thinks." Daniel exhaled then continued, "You're a smart lady. You didn't have to do this. You could have walked away. Hell I'm sure John would have given you an even better severance. I'm thinking you are doing this for something. Tell me what it is? Why are you having sex with me."
Tiffany shrugged her shoulders and said sheepishly, "This is the best thing I've ever had".
"You mean this?" Daniel said with light squeeze of the bulge in his pants.
Tiffany grinned and rolled her eyes. "Yes that's good too."
Daniel looked hurt, "Good?"
Tiffany giggled and replied, "Oh, that's the best. The best I've ever had." Tiffany moved closer and squeezed Daniel's meat through pant leg and said through a mischievous grin "My job is great and well, getting this" Tiffany pressed herself against Daniel and gave his cock a few quick pumps. "Makes me love my job." She finished with a wicked grin.
Daniel smiled back and said, "Well, let me tell you, knowing that you are walking around here as hot as pepper in August makes this a great place to work. What makes me love my job is knowing that you are completely accessible."
Daniel let the thong he had taken from Tiffany dangle from his index finger. Then he pulled a small pocketknife out of his pants and cut the tiny thing into two pieces. As he let the ruined panty fall to the floor Daniel took a deep cleansing breath and announced "Now that's better."
Tifany stared wide eyed at Daniel as he put the knife away and ticked off his expectations. Daniel talked like a man accustomed to getting what he wanted as he said, "First, no panties. That's not one day a week. That's every day of the week. Of course you can wear them when your monthly time comes around. During that time you can wear slacks. No tight pants, just some nice slacks that will make me wonder what's underneath. All of them other days you are wearing a skirt or dress and nothing underneath, so don't wear one of them outfits with the bottoms sewn in already. None of them damn skirts that come with their own built in panties. You understand?"
Tiffany gave a demure smile and nodded as she said, "You want me accessible. That's naughty. I like that. I can be nasty. I can be real nasty. You're not trying to make me lose my job are you?"
"Now, why would I do that? Really, why in the hell would I want to do that?" Daniel quickly replied.
"Hell this place just got interesting." Daniel added.
"Well, me without panties makes your job more interesting" Tiffany said.
"No, it's more than that..." Daniel snapped.
Tiffany finished Daniel's thought by saying, "now you can take me any time you want. Out by the dock, in the storage room or right here in my office. I'm open to you, but only you know it."
Tiffany licked her lips, stepped lightly up to Daniel and gave him a long, soft, wet kiss.
Daniel looked thoughtfully at Tiffany then in a slow deliberate voice he said, "I don't have the kind of job you have, I don't get bonuses and I don't get a feeling of fulfilment. When the job is done and it's done right I get to go home without any worries. Don't get me wrong, the retirement plan is better than most and the hours are good. When I was younger I went home with sore muscles and an aching back and I did it for less pay. I don't mean to lose my job because of this arrangement between you and John. You say no and you mean it, then well, I'll stop. But, after what you just said, I guess I don't have too much to worry about."
Tiffany smiled and just said simply "No, you don't have anything to worry about. You're discreet and what we are doing for John will stop when my numbers come up. Till then, I'll wear what you want... and yes, I'll not wear what you tell me not to... Hell, if it's interesting, then maybe you and I can continue this even when John is out of the picture."
Daniel laughed; when he stopped he looked appraisingly at Tiffany then reiterated his expectations. This time she didn't argue about how many times a week or what clothes she could wear. She had learned her place in this game.
For the rest of the morning, I tried to convince myself that nothing was actually happening. Then I saw Tiffany go to lunch. She was wearing her normal variety of jewelry; large beads with silver accents. Her dress was also of the normal variety. Tiffany was not the kind of woman you could look at, from any distance and not know she was a woman. Tiffany never hid or downplayed her large breasts and perfectly shaped ass and legs. So she looked normal that is, until you got to the shoes.
Even on the coldest days, Tiffany never wore hose or tights. That normal decision was now defined as something completely different. Without the shoes, baring her smooth shapely legs was a normal everyday occurrence. After all, it's the fashionable thing to do these days. But the shoes hinted at a secret persona. It was impossible to look at Tiffany while she wore those stripper heels and not wonder what was under that professional suit. Wearing the shoes turned her simple acceptable decision to bare her legs into a whorish exhibition. The shoes hinted at a secret persona that she kept just out of reach from us. Her acquiescence to the demand of wearing the shoes was utterly complete. Tiffany's demeanor didn't change in the slightest. She walked down the halls normally. She talked and joked with others as if she were wearing a pant suit and boots.
On my way to the morning meeting I found myself behind Tiffany. With four inch heels Tiffany's ass swayed seductively with each step. Her dresses were always just less than conservative, but with those heels on, she looked wanton. Simply watching her walk filled my mind with images of her fucking Daniel. The knowledge that she was completely bare under that brief skirt made me hard. The other men in the meeting may not have known about Tiffany's lack of panties but every one of them stared at her throughout her presentation. I looked around the room and saw that nearly every man was transfixed. They were cats eying a mouse. Tiffany was at the display board. She was droning on about sales and income. She said something about projections and percentages. All I saw was her perfect ass pushed up nicely by those clear stripper shoes. All I heard was the voice in my head saying "Oh God, I gotta get me some of that." Followed by the wish that she would bend over or sit on the edge of the desk.
Of course, with or without the shoes, Tiffany never bent over at the waist. Occasionally she took a big step and the hem of her skirt rode up, but overall, her presentation was the same as any other she had given, except that no one argued or questioned her.
There were a couple more presentations. Who gave them and what they said will forever be a mystery to me. Because once Tiffany sat down, I could do nothing but look at her perfect, shapely legs that she kept re-crossing in front of her. Those beautiful, perfectly shaped legs were perched perfectly atop a sexy pair of clear stripper mules. The dress hugged her like a hungry snake. It was elegant and I'm sure it was quite expensive. The top showed a good four inches of the most incredible cleavage I've ever seen. She may have thought that the thick necklace with the two inch round beads gave the tops of her breasts some needed cover. But really the necklace was the perfect excuse to look at her exposed tits.
The meeting lasted almost to lunch time so when the door opened everyone scattered. I watched Tiffany walk down the hall atop those shoes. Though she was elegant and graceful, she also exuded a wantonness that her expensive business suit and tasteful jewelry could not hide. I looked around, several of the associates, many who were staff in her own department were also staring down the hall.
Tiffany looked great as she left the building. She was as alluring as any runway model. The allure didn't radiate just from her beauty. She was certainly beautiful. Like any beautiful woman she could make a man feel great just by standing next to him. But the allure was earthier and base. It connected to our basic drive to take a mate and possess the vehicle of our immortality. I didn't want to stand next to Tiffany; I wanted to fuck a baby into her.
After lunch I found myself jumping at any chance to work on her side of the building, but Tiffany stayed in her office behind her desk. She came out for two short meetings. The last one was with logistics; Daniel's department. It was five o'clock when the door opened and a couple of the crew made their way out. Looking at their watches, the first two decided to finish the day with a smoke break. Three more came out joking among themselves.
I overheard their banter as I pretended to be working in an access panel in an alcove by the emergency exit. "Damn did you see Tiff?" Todd said with giggle.
After a quick look up and down the hall, Tony replied "Fuck, how could I miss that? A blind man could see that. After looking at her walk around the room, I'm going to be hurting for a week. God Damn, I'd give my ass to tap that shit."
Barry chimed in with, "Eww. Who would want your ass as a trade?"
All three of the guys laughed. Then Barry, added quietly, "Tiff is a fine looking woman. But you all better be quiet if you want to keep your jobs."
Todd and Tony shrugged and turned toward the loading dock when someone said, "Hey, what you guys up to?" It was Tiffany. Her new shoes clicked a light drum beat in the hall.
Barry spoke up first, he was apologetic as he said "we still got some cases that need to go out."
Tony quickly added, "Yeah, and there's some cleaning up after Todd dropped those peanuts all over. Man, those things get some static electricity in them and they stick to everything."
Todd sounded wounded as he answered, "It wasn't my fault, the box was closed. How can I help a split box? Shoot you could have told me before I tried to lift it."
Daniel walked out to a lot of laughter.
Tiffany smiled and then said something about them all getting back to their jobs. Daniel agreed and said, "Yeah, you guys need to get those last cases to Arlington out and the dock cleaned before we all check out. Tomorrow is going to be a big day for all of us."
Again Barry was the one who spoke up. He looked around at the other dock workers and said "Come on, let's get this done. Todd, don't use the shop vac. It'll make those damn things cling to everything." Barry then looked at Tony and told him that he would help him put those cases together and mail them out.
Tiffany looked around the group and announced cheerily "Well, I guess that settles that. Daniel, looks like Barry's got your job sewn up."
Barry boomed and waved his hands as he said, "Oh don't say that, I don't want him thinking that."
While small talk broke out and everyone was laughing Barry suddenly looked stricken. The reason was Daniel. I looked over the group and saw that while everyone else was talking and joking with each other, Daniel was staring wide eyed at Barry. The same way my dad would stare at my wife when it was time for grandma and grandpa to go home. The expression left his face when Barry ushered the others through the door and into the dock.
Daniel followed their exit with, "I'll see you guys in a couple of minutes. Make sure those cases go out this afternoon or one of you will be driving them down to the post office... on your own time. Tiffany and I need to get a few things straightened. I'll see you in a few."
I heard someone, most likely Barry, tell Daniel that it'll all get done and that the bills will get posted too.
Daniel nodded and turned to Tiffany.
The dock doors slammed shut just as Daniel reached over and grabbed Tiffany's ass.
Tiffany turned toward Daniel. Her expression was cool, her smile was slight and easy.
Daniel turned and motioned toward his office. Tiffany's smile widened; no doubt she thought no one was witnessing her exchange with the Dock Manager else I'm sure she would have yelled at his sudden audacity. But, she must have thought they were alone because she licked her lips, pulled Daniel close for a long wet kiss then walked like a hungry cat searching for milk. Without a glance backward, Tiffany opened the door and walked into Daniel's sparse office.
I stepped away from the alcove.
I don't think anyone saw me, even though I was in the middle of the hallway,. Tiffany was in Daniel's office, all of the shipping personnel were in the dock and Daniel's focus was wholly on the contents of his office. He opened the door and closed it behind him without ever looking back. This time, I didn't approach the office. Instead, I stood in the same spot and waited. I kept my arms to my sides and tried to not think about what they were doing in that dirty office of his. I'm sure Tiffany was once again sampling Daniel's impressive manhood. Their time alone in Daniel's office was much longer than the time they had spent in her office. Their fornication was quiet, at least I couldn't hear them from where I stood but then again I was several feet away and the dock lay between Daniel's office and me.
Daniel was the first one out of the office. He saw me as he cleared the door frame.
"Hey Ed, what are you doing on this side of the building?" He asked loudly. He was walking straight toward me. His smile vaporized any doubt that he had just fucked Tiffany.
I tried to look casual as I told him that we had a conflict with the hotspots. I got through about half of my overly rehearsed excuse and just stopped. Daniel's jaw went slack when I said, "So how does her ass feel?"
Daniel chuckled and said, "So you saw that?"
I responded with, "Yeah, I sure did. If you just did what I thought you did, you are one lucky mother fucker."
Daniel walked past me and put his arm around my shoulder as he passed, "Come, I got something I want to ask you."
We walked the ten feet to the exit doors with our backs to his office. I knew Daniel, he was a good, honest man. He couldn't keep a secret like this that would give him bragging rights.
Daniel made a show of closing the door behind us and then looking side to side as if to make sure we were alone. It was the south side of the building, there wasn't anything but concrete walkways and patches of short grass. Daniel turned to me, smacked his lips and slowly unwound his little lie. He said, "Well you see, Tiffany, well she kind of got too much to drink at the party and told me some things that she wouldn't have. Mostly, that she been wanting to get to know me a little better."
I shook my head, "Bullshit." I said back to him I couldn't make it that easy for him.
Daniel gave a small shake of his head and then continued, "All right I'm just paraphrasing here. In any case she called me after the party. We hooked up and well, let's just say she is still aching from our last encounter."
"Last encounter?" I asked incredulously and then continued with "you mean from last night or just now in your office?" I smiled broadly at my friend.
"Alright, here's the deal. We hit it off a bit last night. Who am I to keep a pretty lady from hitting on me? Come on man, you know me, I'm not stupid, just well hung" Daniel said tapping on his thigh.
"Well" I said then paused. I cocked my head a little and finished out my thought, "you might be thinking with that monster in your pants, but in this case I can't blame you. That is one hot woman."
"Yeah, no denying that..." Daniel said with a growing smirk. Then he smiled brightly, but the brightness was the glint off a freshly laid trap.
Then he laid it out in front of me. The proposition was as dangerous as a steel trap. He started with "You can get some of this too. I don't mean that she'll have sex with you. It took all I could do to get her follow me into the office; even then we just kissed."
Deliberately my expression changed and Daniel stammered and said, "well she did kiss me. It's just that we did a little more than that. You know, hugging and shit."
We both laughed.
Then I walked right into the trap. I simply asked him what he meant. That admission was enough to betray me. It gave away my desires and like Daniel said, he's no idiot.
He voiced a simple suggestion, he said "Let's get some pictures and some video. You work the camera, I'll make sure that we stage it right so you won't be seen."
Against my own rising excitement, I said quickly "I don't know man, that's kind of fucking creepy."
Daniel jerked his head back as he said, "creepy? Man, it's me that will be naked or least mostly so. You just got to make sure you keep her focused in, and don't make it look like you is checking me out. Haven't you ever wanted to be on a porn set and see the pro's fuck? Well, we're not getting paid for it but we'll be doing the same thing the pornstars do."
Daniel resumed his easy stance then, with a sly smile, he added "I'll make sure of it."
The next day late in the afternoon, after everyone had left the building I found myself in the Records room with Daniel's camcorder. The records room was really the dumping ground for all of our marketing and sales material that didn't belong or wouldn't fit anywhere else. It wasn't hard to find a hiding place between the columns of oddly stacked cardboard boxes, piles of posters, easels, banners and excess foam core that no one ever bothered to throw away.
I waited in the Records room feeling more like an idiot with each passing minute. Tiffany could walk into the room and catch me hiding. All of the Ethernet cables ran along the hallway so there was no reason for me to be in the Records room. My doubts came at me in rapid fire. What if I get caught? What if I get caught with the camera? What if Daniel locked me in here? How far could I trust Daniel? One after the other my doubts came as unanswerable questions. I trusted Daniel because my lust want me to; it needed me to trust him. With my desires burning lower, logic was beginning to take over and with it there was no reason to stay in the dark Records room. So I pushed aside a pile of posters and squeezed between two stacks of dusty cardboard boxes. I brushed myself off, straightened my shirt and stood still. Someone was in Tiffany's office, a shadow moved across the opening at the bottom of the door. I froze, then I heard Daniel's voice followed by Tiffany's shrill laughter.
A few more minutes passed. Finally, like a curious child I bent down and looked through the space between the bottom edge of the door and the floor. They were standing at the opposite end of the office. Tiffany had her back to the Records room. I stood and just as the air conditioning kicked on I turned the knob and cracked the door open. With Daniel's camera in my hand I sealed Tiffany's future. Tiffany's conference table had been pushed back against the wall. Daniel and Tiffany were passionately kissing in front of one of the overstuffed chairs. Daniel had one arm wrapped around Tiffany's waist. His hand was angled down cupping her perfect ass. He was palming Tiffany's head with the other, keeping her in the long passionate open mouth kiss. Even with her slut heels on, Daniel towered over Tiffany.
They broke their kiss, Daniel took a step back. He put his hand on her cheek kissed her again then slowly sank into the seat. The big black man smiled up at Tiffany and then pointed to the floor in front of the chair. Tiffany immediately went to her knees and buried her face in his lap. Tiffany kissed the front of Daniels pants. She planted kisses up and down his zipper and then went even farther down to kiss the fabric covering his anus. Tiffany's motions changed as she took in her master's scent. She was a cat rubbing on its owner. She reveled in his scent. Then, like a kindly owner Daniel unbuckled his belt. Tiffany lift her head and their eyes locked as his hands slowly unfastened his pants and pulled down the zipper.
Tiffany kissed the prominent outline of Daniel's manhood on his boxer shorts. Then, as if to prove the extent of her longing, she sat back on her haunches and untied Daniel's shoes. One after the other she gently laid them on floor. Tiffany carefully removed each sock and folded it and laid it in the corresponding shoe. She then put her hands around her lover's waist and as he lifted himself she slid his pants down. In just a few moments his pants were neatly folded and placed atop his shoes. Again, Tiffany kissed the front of his boxers and then nuzzled deeply between his legs. When she came up, she stared expectantly at Daniel.
"What do you want?" Daniel asked matter of factly.
Without hesitation Tiffany said, "Your Cock."
Daniel corrected her and asked her to be more specific.
"What do you want? My what? Say it all." Daniel demanded with a menacing scowl.
Tiffany responded demurely, "I want your black cock.
Daniel toyed with Tiffany and said, "That's better, but why do you want it?"
Tiffany looked up at Daniel. There was need in her eyes as she said softly, "I want to put your black cock in my mouth and give it all the pleasure I can..."
Daniel nodded slightly and Tiffany gingerly pulled down his boxers. Lifting his ass off the chair, Tiffany took them and left them in a pile on top of his pants. Daniel's uncut manhood was hard and looked to be as thick as Tiffany's wrist. The head of the huge black thing laid high up on Daniel's hairy belly. It was drooling like a dog that was about to be fed. Tiffany lapped up the liquid, smiled up at her master and then dropped her head down and licked Daniel's testicles. She bathed his large sack with her tongue. She cradled each orb and holding them up so they dangled in front of her face, she kissed each as softly and lovingly as a mother kissing her child. Slowly Tiffany's attention went up the thick black pole. Cradling his testicles in their hairy sack, Tiffany sat up and moved her tongue up to his thick, dark shaft. Daniel allowed her the use of her right hand. Tiffany hefted Daniel's meat in front of her face and smiled. Then she licked it with long thick strokes that left its hardness glistening.
Once Daniel's manhood was fully hard it jutted from his body like a polished, unforgiving onyx. Tiffany stroked and licked the object of her idolatry until Daniel stood up and then while still on her knees, tiffany took the dark head of his shaft head deep into her mouth.
Daniel put his hands on the back of Tiffany's head. "Oh that's it. Damn you know how to treat a black cock. Come on baby keep giving me everything you got. Don't stop, don't you fucking stop."
Tiffany wasn't going to stop. Saliva was running from her mouth, her eyes were watering and occasionally she even gagged a bit, but she never slowed down or lessened the fervor of her ministrations. On her haunches, Tiffany writhed in front of her dark master. Periodically, she took his hardness out her mouth and pumped it with her right hand as she buried her face in Daniel's crotch. She pumped his meat while she licked his sack and gently sucked on his big black balls. But, Tiffany changed immediately when Daniel called out that he was going to cum. She slowed her fevered actions so she was holding the head of his cock between her red painted lips and methodically stroking his length. Daniel's cock gleamed as if it had been oiled. Daniel moaned and Tiffany's cheeks expanded with the sudden flood of seminal fluid. After a few quick thrashes, Daniel stepped lightly over to his seat and fell heavily into it. When he was settled back into his chair and she once again had his full attention, Tiffany looked into his eyes and conspicuously swallowed his semen.
After licking the few drops of semen off her fingers Tiffany said, "My lord that was a lot. I've never seen so much."
"How about swallowed that much?" Daniel quipped.
"That too." Tiffany replied. With a mischievous grin, she then added, "I've never swallowed it before."
"What? What did you do, spit it out?" Daniel asked incredulously.
Tiffany was looking away at nothing when she added, "No, I'd suck on it for a little while, then we'd fuck."
Daniel nodded toward Tiffany's desk and said, "Well, we're going to do that too."
"Ok, whatever you want." Tiffany replied with a gleaming smile.
Tiffany stood up and removed her clothes. It was obvious that Daniel had her well trained because she left her jewelry and high heels on. She threw all of her clothes into the empty chair across from Daniel.
Daniel flashed a predatory smile and asked, "Do you like fuck?"
"I love to fuck you." Tiffany replied. Her voice was a coarse whisper.
Tiffany bent over her desk. The heels made her ass perch high up in the air. Her large firm breasts brushed the desktop as she turned her head to look directly at Daniel. Daniel was still sitting as he was when he first fell into the chair.
Daniel's cock semi-hard cock jutted upward as Tiffany began to speak. "You make me feel alive. I'm awake, I'm worthy, I'm not sleeping through my life." Tiffany closed her eyes and snaked two fingers down to her sex. She massaged her wet cunt as she continued to speak.
Tiffany was free associating. She spoke as if pleading with her own super ego. Her voice was the coo of a dove as she said, "I can fuck because I'm good at it. I can suck because I'm good at it. I know because I do them with you. I don't have to hide that I'm a woman."
In a flash, Daniel was standing behind Tiffany.
His flattery came with a wolfish grin that Tiffany couldn't see. In a tone as smooth as warm honey and just as sweet, Daniel said, "You're not just a woman. You're my woman. You're strong enough to have sex with a black man. You've got luscious curves. Every man should want you, but only black men can have you."
He talked to her slowly and purposefully. Each statement was perfectly timed with the simple massage of her sex. Daniel swabbed Tiffany's hungry cunt with the thick head of his manhood. Daniel bent down over Tiffany and with his right hand gently massaged her clitoris. Tiffany rested her head on the desk.
"You're a black man's woman. That means your heart is mine. You may love a white man, but you'll always need a black cock. There will always be that itch."
Tiffany moaned and rested her head on the desk. She had a far off look in her eyes. "You know it's true don't you baby?" Daniel asked her.
Tiffany nodded, then almost immediately added, "I've never had sex like this. You know what I need when I don't."
With his open palms on each of her ass cheeks, Daniel opened Tiffany fully and pushed hard against her. She was suddenly smashed against the edge of the desk. She quickly repositioned her hands so she could hold her position against the onslaught. Her legs spread wider and she pushed her ass up even higher. "Tell me some more baby. Tell me how my cock feels. I need to know." Daniel commanded in a low hard voice.
"I'm so full. I love your cock. It's why I'm here." Tiffany replied dreamily.
Suddenly Daniel stepped back from Tiffany and in one fluid motion crouched down and buried his face in her sopping pussy. Tiffany jumped and screamed at the sudden change.
"What are you doing? You can't do that, don't please..." she said while flailing her right arm behind her. It was a halfhearted attempt at pushing Daniel away. Tiffany's protestation only lasted the few seconds it took for Daniel's tongue to bring her to orgasm. Tiffany screamed and convulsed over the desktop. As her ecstasy diminished and her scream turned into a heavy, deep moan Daniel stood up wiped his mouth and slammed his cock into Tiffany.
Tiffany was nearly delirious from her fading orgasm. The reintroduction of Daniel's black cock was hardly noticed. Well, Daniel made Tiffany notice.
"This is why you're here; you understand bitch? This is what you're here for. You need to cum. You've never had an orgasm like this have you?" Daniel demanded. He accentuated the question with a quick slap on Tiffany's ass.
"No", Tiffany said. Her tone was wet from the flood of sudden emotion.
"You want more don't you?" Daniel demanded.
Tiffany didn't answer. Tears were running onto the desktop. With a hand full of hair, Daniel pulled Tiffany's face around so he could demand an answer. The tears stopped and resolve stole across Tiffany's face. She glared at her dark lover and said in a clear steady voice, "Yes I need more."
"Then ask me for them", Daniel told her.
Tiffany complied with, "Please Daniel, make me cum. Please, please; I'll do anything. Just keep making me feel so good."
Daniel made Tiffany feel good. He fucked Tiffany's pussy like a machine and for her part, Tiffany accepted her place. She encouraged her black lover to fuck her by saying "Take me, take that pussy, it's yours. No mercy baby no mercy."
With a quick, violent thrust and a wolfish grin Daniel buried himself again and again into Tiffany's depths. Tiffany grunted and gripped the edge of the table. She gave her lover better access to her pussy by lifting her left leg and laying it across the table.
Daniel goaded her by saying, "Oh, yeah baby, that's it, put that pussy out there. You want this now don't you. You need this black cock. Your pussy is so wet. You been thinking about getting my cock in you again haven't ya baby?" Daniel was panting and talking through clenched teeth.
Daniel stared balefully down at his big titted white conquest. He used Tiffany's hips as handholds. He fucked the haughty sales manager like dog breeding his bitch. Like any canine, Daniel didn't give one wit about Tiffany's wellbeing or pleasure. The more she screamed the harder he fucked her. And Tiffany did scream, but she wasn't in any pain. The bitch was climaxing. She started cumming as soon as Daniel's big black cock touched her and I don't think she ever stopped.
"Oh, my God", Tiffany yelled. Her voice was shrill and broken. She was shaking and trembling beneath him.
Daniel quickly replied with, "Yeah, pray to God bitch. Pray that this dick never go away. You love it don't you." His voice was hard and his thrusts were deep and as mechanical as a piston. Beneath him, Tiffany shook and babbled as her eyes narrowed to thin slits. The bitch was climaxing again.
Daniel, became a well-timed fucking machine. "Tell me what you're thinking. Come on baby, tell me what's in my woman's head. What's making you cum so much. You're so fucking wet. What's turning my bitch on?"
"I'm yours baby. I'm all yours." Tiffany replied. Then suddenly the big breasted bitch's demeanor changed completely. She lost the facade of sophistication. On Daniel's cock, Tiffany was nothing but a randy slut.
Tiffany Ranted as she said, "Fuck me. Fuck me hard. I'll do anything just fuck me. Please God just keep fucking me. Yes, it's so good, I love you. I love your cock. I love it, I love it, I love it."
Tiffany shook like it was suddenly winter. She moaned loudly and then her body went slack. Her eyes were closed and for several minutes Daniel kept fucking her sopping pussy.
With no preamble Tiffany begged for Daniel's semen. Her eyes opened and she said. "Baby, please cum in my pussy. Give me your seed. Cum inside."
Tiffany repeated those words over and over like a prayer of supplication. From above, her black lover grunted. Tiffany replied to the animal sound with the same mantra over and over "Cum inside me" she said over and over.
Sweaty and slick like a frothing horse Daniel stiffened and ground his groin into Tiffany.
"Oh, that's it baby, shoot that beautiful cum inside. Fill me up. Fill me and I'll be yours forever. Oh God, Oh my God." Tiffany said in a calm voice full of surrender.
Daniel quivered as he slowly pulled out of Tiffany. When he took a step away the camera caught a fat glob of semen fall from her gaping cunt.
"Well, prove your words. Clean me off" Daniel commanded.
Tiffany turned around and immediately went to her knees in front of Daniel. She licked Daniel's scrotum and then licked her way up his length till she was tonguing the spongy head of his enormous cock. Tiffany did more than just lick clean Daniel's cock. Once the tool of his love making was clean, Tiffany licked the sweat from Daniel's chest and belly.
In a soft, cloying voice, Tiffany asked if she could get her things and go to the restroom. For the first time, Daniel snuck a peek at me, then looked down at Tiffany and said, "Sure baby, but you need to be ready for round two. I'm not finished with you yet."
Without question or hesitation, Tiffany gathered her skirt and top and after putting them on she left the office. Immediately, Daniel waved me out of the Records Room.
"Are you really going to fuck her again?" I asked incredulously.
Daniel's eyes widened, "Did you see that bitch? Of course I'm going to fuck her again. I'm going to fuck her for as long as I can. That bitch is mine."
Daniel was flashing me a big toothy grin as he ushered me out the door.
That was my first time as camera man; it was not my last. From that point on, I made sure the camera was always ready because Daniel's text usually came only minutes before I had to be in place. I've recorded Tiffany doing a great many things and I'll describe them later...
|
Parents – or adults in general – all share one talent: To interrupt teenagers and misinterpretate the situation. Especially if movies are involved. Let me explain. Imagine you’re watching a movie with your partner in crime you’ve been crushing on for almost a quarter of your life. She’s comforting you, even though she just sees you as a friend. Your both in a very – what others would call – intimate position when suddenly the door to your back opens and your fathers secretary – and self declared ‘compensatory mother’ – butts in. And on top of that the movie you’re watching decides to play a sex scene right in this poor moment of bad luck. Well, so much for the situation Adrien and Marinette found themselves in. Luckily Adrien had the reaction of a cat, shot up and pushed his Ladybug down in his lap so Nathalie wouldn’t be able to see her. “Adrien!”, the lady taunted. “It’s almost midnight! Your father won’t be amused if you’re not sleeping right.” “I suggest you get out of here as fast as you came in.”, Adrien hissed in a dangerous voice that made Marinette shiver, glaring at the woman in the door. He cleared his throat and used his lips to emphasize his words. “I’m jerking off.” The next thing Marinette heard besides her blood rushing was a door being slammed shut, followed by a groaned “Not again – I swear those teenagers!”. “Works all the time and should keep her away for an hour.”, Adrien grinned to himself and then it hit him. He looked down at the girl lying in his lap and flushed. “Oh – I’m so sorry. That was Nathalie. My dad’s assistant.” “You take an hour to –” She couldn’t even finish her thoughts. Marinette covered her face in embarrassment and tried really hard not to laugh. Well that answered the question she had thought of while showering. “’s okay, kitty.”, she stammered. “It’s just my head – weird images.” He laughed hard. “So, you just admitted that you imagined me” Adrien teased and made a suggestive move with his hand, ”jerking off? Did I at least look good while doing it?” Marinette just wanted to disappear as her facial color proofed him right. ‘Dear lord or whatever, please turn me into cutton candy.’ The Ladybug side got the better of her. She propped herself up. “Be careful or I might punch you in the dick for this!”, she threatened. “Can’t be worse than getting my staff full force in it.”, Adrien shrugged still grinning. She raised an eyebrow. It hurt considering she’d basically glued her eyebrows to the fabric of her mask. “Excuse me?” “We’ll finding out that the stick can be extended...”, he chuckled and mimicked a pained expression. “Let’s just say it really hit me below the belt.” “Meowch!” Both started to laugh. “First time I tried to use my yoyo I hit a building” Ladybug sat up and ruffled through his hair as he fell into her lap. “... with my face. Had to skip school for two days straight because of headaches and random nosebleeds.” The laughter continued for a short while until they both fell silent. “My father bangs her, you know...”, Adrien suddenly said with a glare towards the door. His expression unreadable. “Nathalie, I mean.” Green eyes closed as if he remembered something he didn’t want to remember. “He thinks I don’t know but I do know.”, Adrien mumbled in Ladybugs lap. “And I do also know that she is married and has a family.” “You mean she’s cheating on her husband with your father?!” “I think he’s forcing her.” Adrien shook his head. “He has something against her that will make her do this.” His face against her lower stomach Adrien curled up like a hurt kitten. Marinette continued to comfort him, stroking his hair and sometimes trailing his jaw line with her finger; feeling the soft skin. “My father is a cruel man. I wish I could just break out of this life – be Chat Noir forever.” The girl started staring off into space. “Yeah, I know that but different.”, she responded. “Don’t get me wrong, I love being Ladybug but I hate the expectations people have towards me. I have enough of that being Mar– just me.” Adrien gave a small purr and both of them drifted off in their own trails of thoughts. The movie got completely unnoticed but it created a lively atmosphere. Marinette suddenly froze. “Your birthday is in a few days!!!” Green eyes looked startled at her. “How’d you know?” Marinette grinned sheepishly and couldn’t hold back a blush spreading in her face. “Already forgot that I used to be obsessive about you?” Remembering the planner she had about his daily schedule, Marinette had to admit that her previous obsession was kind of a sick. “Are you throwing a party?” Adrien shook his head. “No, father won’t allow it.” Hands were balled into fists. “In fact he’s so overly protective that he won’t let me out those days except for school. Even though he usually doesn’t show up on my birthday.” “Would you like to have a birthday party?” The nod from him was the allowance for her to start planning. ___________________ The next morning both got a harsh wake up due to a timer ringing in a sound that could wake up half Europe. Well at least the female part had a not so nice wake-up. Marinette hid her face in the pillow she was clutching with one arm. A groan escaped her lips. This wasn’t her alarm. She opened her eyes. This wasn’t her room either. Why was the TV still running? She stiffened. Something soft was in her other hand. A bundle of hair. Looking down she saw Adrien sound asleep in her lap. ‘Wa-wa-wah, did I really spend the night here?’ Carefully and desperately not trying to wake the literally sleeping beauty, Marinette stood up. She stumbled over to the source of the ringing sound, just to notice that it wasn’t a timer but in fact her own phone that made those horrible sounds. ‘Of course. It’s Saturday, why would there be any need for a timer?’ She looked down at the phone just to realize that it was an incoming call. From no one else than Alya. “Shit.”, the bluenette cursed. Quickly throwing a look over her shoulder to be sure Adrien was still sleeping, Marinette picked up. Girl, I’ve been trying to reach you for the last two hours. I’m standing in front of your bakery and no one opens. I thought you’ve been kidnapped. Where the hell are you? Marinette crunched her nose. Alya practically screamed into the receiver. At this rate she couldn’t assure the feline boy wouldn’t hear the conversation. “Alya, I’m okay, please stop screaming. It’s 7 am for god’s sake.”, Marinette pleaded. “You’re going to wake up half of Paris!” She sat down on the bed a few feet away from the couch. “I am totally okay, I swear. I’m just with a friend.” What friend? Did yah stay the fucking night without telling me? Why didn’t yah answer my texts? What did yah do to be too busy to answer your best friend? The dip dyed girl was still yelling what caused Adrien to rustle on the couch. From her point of view, Marinette couldn’t see if he was awake or not. So she stood up and wandered over. A big mistake if your partner in conversation is a yelling psycho. Green eyes opened, looking at Marinette with a sleepy expression and damn it looked hot and left the superhero speechless. “What’s wrong?”, Adrien asked, rubbing his eyes not seeing the phone in Marinette’s hands. “It’s cat-urday. Why ‘u up so early?” WHAT WAS THAT? GIRL, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? A BOY? ARE YOU WITH A BOY? DID YOU SPEND THE NIGHT WITH A GUY? |
The fourth Red Bull tastes more like poison than the third one did, but Clint keeps sipping with a single-minded sort of determination, because he needs to drive another four hours before he can pull over for a rest. He’s been driving for 12 hours now, and, as best he can tell, he’s somewhere in the middle of fuck-only-knows, Colorado, and if he hopes to make it to L.A. by Christmas, well.
There’s no time for sleeping.
And Natasha will kill him if he doesn’t make it to L.A. by Christmas.
It’s possible Clint ought to have left New York a week or so earlier, but he’d needed to earn enough gas money for the trip, and busking when you’ve only got a shaky-at-best grasp of chord progressions is slow business.
As it stands, he’s reasonably sure he’s got enough money to make it, so long as he doesn’t need to stock up on any more Red Bulls.
He’s so tired, it’s hard to keep his eyes open. And now it’s dark, which makes it worse.
Clint is just starting to think that maybe he should call it a few hours early when tragedy -- the very worst form of tragedy -- strikes.
He’s awake. His hands are shaking from the Red Bull, his eyes are burning but wide open, he’s hyper-aware of everything going on inside his beat up old truck and outside of it, and even then, he is completely unprepared for the animal to dart out of the ditch.
Right in front of his truck.
Clint isn’t ever going to forget the sound of the animal hitting his bumper, of the pained sound it makes as it’s thrown forward, of the scream of his brakes, of the way his voice cracks when he swears.
It was a dog. It was a fucking dog -- he hit a dog -- he will never, ever forgive himself if he killed a fucking dog.
He can see the animal lying still on the road up ahead, lit up by his headlights, and for a long moment, Clint thinks it’s dead. And then it wags its tail, a single weak little thump, and Clint is up and out of his truck without thought.
“Hey, little buddy,” he says, shaking from more than the Red Bull now. He kneels on the snowy road and doesn’t care that his knees are instantly cold and wet. The dog -- a mangy, beat up golden retriever, is panting in pain, his fur is matted with blood, and his one eye is looking up at Clint with a pleading sort of trust that makes his stomach hurt. “You’re okay -- you’ll be okay.”
The stupid dog’s tail wags harder and he starts struggling to get up, falling back down with a yelp.
“Oh god,” Clint mumbles, stripping his sweater off and carefully wrapping the dog in it. “Shh, lay still, I’ve got you.”
He bundles the dog into his car, making a nest out of any of his clothes he can find to keep it warm on the passenger seat. He blasts the heat and keeps one hand on the dog’s head, stroking his ears as he talks non-stop about how he’ll take care of him and help him get well and find his family and everything will be okay.
He takes the first turn he comes to, following the signs to Hardisty, Colorado, and hoping against hope that they’ve got a 24-hour animal hospital.
*
They don’t.
The vet’s office is easy to find. The entire town consists of one main street and a handful of roads with houses on them, and the vet is on Main Street. It’s also locked up tight for the night, and no matter how many times Clint pounds on the door and shouts for help, no one is there to help him.
In his truck, engine still running and heat still blasting, the dog is waiting, bloody and in pain, trusting Clint to fix it, and he can’t.
“Fuck, please,” he calls, pounding on the door again.
He’s startled when a car pulls up just behind his truck, even more so when he realizes it’s a sheriff’s car.
“Got a problem here?” the sheriff calls, silhouetted by his headlights.
“No,” Clint says, wondering if knocking on a vet’s office, crying, is a crime in this part of the world. “Well, I mean, sure, but not a legal problem, just a dog-related emergency.”
The sheriff is quiet for a moment, and then he steps forward, and Clint can see him better. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, blonde, and far too attractive for a small town sheriff in the middle of nowhere. He’s also frowning.
“Dog-related emergency?”
Clint rubs at his runny nose with his mitten and says, “I hit a dog with my truck and he’s hurt real bad.”
“Vet’s not open til 9,” the sheriff says.
Clint throws his hands up, aware of how pathetic he looks. He’s crying, wearing a blood-streaked t-shirt and a pair of mismatched mittens, in the middle of some tiny town. It started to snow a few years ago. It’s fucking freezing. And the only thing he can think to do is keep knocking on the vet office door and hoping someone hears him.
“I know,” he says. “But I thought… You know. Maybe this dog deserves a Christmas miracle or something.”
“Okay,” the sheriff says. “Hold on.”
He goes back to his car, gets on the radio, and Clint just bets he’s calling for backup because he needs help dealing with the crazy man clearly not dressed for Colorado in the winter, rambling and crying on Main Street.
The sheriff comes back a moment later and says, “Name’s Steve.”
“Cool,” Clint says. He kicks a bit of snow at the vet’s door. “Am I under arrest, Steve?”
Steve frowns. “No? Should you be? I mean, if you hit the dog and left it there, I’d probably have trumped some charges up or something.”
Clint’s shoulders slump. “If I’d have done that, I’d have deserved it,” he says.
“A name would be nice, though. Not for legal purposes, but just to be polite.” Steve smiles a little.
“Clint. Barton.”
Steve holds out a hand so Clint does the same, scrambling to take his mitten off before Steve can touch it, because he’s used to to wipe his nose half a dozen times. They shake hands and Steve says, “Pleasure to meet you, Clint. I’m about to swing by the station for a coffee refill and you look cold. Want me to bring some back for you?”
“Uh, no?”
Steve nods and then another car pulls up, spraying snow and parking haphazardly. A guy gets out, silhouetted in the headlights the way Steve had been, and he snarls, “What the fuck, Steve? It’s nearly 1 AM, what the fuck could be so damned important--”
Steve cuts the guy off and says, “Dog-related emergency, Buck. This is Clint. Looks like just your type. Take good care of him, I’ll be at the station if you need anything.”
And he flashes a lazy salute and a smirk and gets back in his car, driving off with a wave.
Leaving Clint alone with a guy who reminds him of an angry bear more than anything else.
“Where’s the dog?” the guy snaps.
“Uh. In my truck?” Clint says, unsure. “Are you the, uh, vet?”
“I’m not the taxidermist,” the guy snaps. And then he pulls a key out and unlocks the vet office door with it, which answers Clint’s question. “Get the dog.”
The vet storms into the office, leaving Clint alone in the snow. He opens the truck passenger door and carefully lifts the dog up, saying, “Don’t worry, just because he’s got no bedside manner doesn’t mean he can’t fix you right up.”
The lobby is still dark but there’s a light glowing from a room down the hall, and Clint follows it, finding a little exam room with a table. The doctor -- Dr. Barnes if the plaque Clint passed in the hall was to be believed -- is washing his hands at the sink, back to the door, but when he turns around, he makes an impatient sound and gestures to the table.
It takes Clint a moment to react, because… Well. He’d managed to avoid staring at the vet from the back, despite the fact that Clint hadn’t ever seen a veterinarian wear jeans that tight or have an ass that worth wearing tight jeans for.
But now, when face-to-face with Dr. Barnes’ furious, cold, and frankly beautiful face, well. Clint gets a little distracted.
“Table,” Dr. Barnes snaps.
So Clint shakes it off, mumbling an apology -- to the dog, not the doctor, because rude fucking doctors don’t deserve any sorts of apologies no matter how beautiful they are. He sets the dog down as gently as he can.
“What happened?” Dr. Barnes asked, already running careful, gentle fingers over the dog’s side, feeling for injuries. Clint is startled to see that the doctor only has one regular hand -- the other is metal and shining dully in the light.
Clint looks away quickly. “Uh. I hit him,” he says. “With my truck.” Dr. Barnes snorts and Clint adds quickly, “I was just passing through. Do you know him? Does he have a family? I didn’t see him, he ran out of nowhere.”
“Dogs don’t run out of nowhere,” the vet snaps, gently probing at the dog’s ribs.
“Can you fix him?” Clint asks. “I’ve got money.”
“Of course you do. Just leave him here, I’ve got it. Might as well get off to wherever you were going.”
Startled, Clint says, “Oh, no, I’ll stay. I’ll wait. I need to make sure he’s okay, I need to tell his family. I can’t just --”
“This dog doesn’t give a shit if you’re here or not,” Dr. Barnes says coldly. “So you’re just wasting your time. I’ve got it.”
“You’re kind of a dick, for a vet,” Clint tells him, keeping it light, because yeah, it’s true, but he doesn’t want to convince the vet not to help this dog.
“And yet, I’m not the one who nearly killed a dog tonight. I’m going to give him a shot for the pain before I get him in the x-ray. You going?”
“No,” Clint says, stubborn. “I’m gonna make sure he’s okay. I mean, I’ll wait in the lobby if I’m in the way.”
“Yep.”
The doctor walks away.
“Dick,” Clint hisses, but then he strokes the dog’s head, smiling at him when he wags his tail a little. Even bleeding and in pain, the dog’s a sweetheart. He’s also clearly had a shitty life, judging by the scarring Clint can see, by the fact that he’s half blind. “I’m gonna call you Lucky,” Clint tells him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Just until we find your family.”
Dr. Barnes comes back and glares pointedly until Clint backs out of the room and finds a chair in the dark lobby. He can’t see any light switches, so he sits there in the darkness, waiting, waiting, waiting…
He’s not sure when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up, it’s morning, the sun is up, and there’s a kind but confused woman behind the reception desk. Someone’s thrown a blanket that smells like dog over his shoulders and left a cup of coffee on the little table beside him.
It couldn’t have been the bitchy doctor, so Clint smiles gratefully at the receptionist and then takes a sip.
*
Lucky is stable but heavily medicated, and he’s being kept for observation because he may have some internal bleeding. He’s not microchipped or registered but the sheriff is looking out for any lost dog reports, and the receptionist promises to let him know and sends Clint on his way.
He goes back to his truck, shivering because it snowed another foot and all his clothes are bloody from being used for Lucky’s nest on the passenger seat, and Clint’s a bit at a loss here. He can’t leave, not until Lucky’s all better and his family has been found.
He sits in his truck for a little while, savouring the coffee until it’s gone, and then driving down the street until he finds a diner, splurging on another cup and a slice of pie. He eats slowly, making the pie last as long as he can, and when it’s done, he finally looks at his phone.
He’s got 17 messages from Natasha, asking where he is, if he’s stopped for a rest yet, if he’s driven off the road, if he’s lying dead in a ditch, etc.
He texts back a quick, “Got hung up in Colorado, check in soon,” and then shoves his phone back in his pocket.
Clint pulls out the sum total of his funds -- a ratty manila envelope filled with fives, tens, twenty dollar bills -- and counts them up quickly -- he’s got $327 dollars. Okay. How much does a dog x-ray cost, anyway?
Probably more than $327. How is he going to pay for Lucky’s vet bills and still get to L.A. in time?
“Clint!” He looks up. It’s Steve, grinning at him from the doorway, kicking snow off his boots before making his way over to Clint’s booth. “Mind if I join you? Just on break.”
“You still on duty?” Clint asks, as Steve slides into the seat across from him.
“Nah. Wasn’t on duty last night,” Steve says. “Just… couldn’t sleep. How’s the dog doing?”
“Not sure yet.” Clint wrinkles his nose. “The vet is, uh.”
Steve laughs. “Yeah. Bucky’s not all that warm at 1 AM, that’s for sure. Or most any other time of the day. Don’t take it personally. He chose to work with animals for a reason -- he’s terrible with people.”
“As long as he helps Lucky get better, I don’t care how grumpy he is.”
“Lucky?”
“Just what I’m calling the dog until we find his family,” Clint says quickly, because he doesn’t want the sheriff to think he’s getting too attached -- that he intends to add animal theft to his list of transgressions here.
“No luck with that yet,” Steve says. “But a lot of rural places might not even notice a dog go missing for a day or two.”
“I’d notice,” Clint says, scowling into his coffee mug.
“Are you in town long?” Steve asks. “Got the impression you were just passing through.”
“Uh. Well. I was. But I need to make sure Lucky’s okay.” Clint shrugs, feeling awkward. “I’ve got to be in L.A. by Christmas, but. Can’t leave without knowing.”
“You know, Bucky’d probably be up for giving you a call and letting you know either way.”
“I’m the one who hurt him, and that’s most important,” Clint tells him. “I’m responsible. I won’t just leave him -- he’s a real good dog.”
Steve grins at him. “Glad to hear it.”
*
“It’s a pretty nice kennel, all things considered,” Clint says, because it is. They’ve set up Lucky for recovery in a large, fenced in kennel, covered the concrete floor with so many blankets, Lucky’s paws will never have to get cold, and it’s dark and quiet. Perfect for a pup recovering from wounds sustained by an absolute idiot driving a beat up old truck.
And it’s so dark, Clint’s pretty sure that Bucky the Veterinarian won’t spot him here, sitting propped up against the wall in Lucky’s kennel, stroking Lucky’s ears while the dog wags his tail at him in a drugged out stupor.
Lucky’s got a cast on his front leg and bandages covering a few spots where his fur has been shaved, so Clint’s got him carefully tucked into the blankets, leaving his tail free to wag, of course.
“You’re gonna be okay,” Clint tells him, leaning his head back and blinking sleepily up at the ceiling. “Dr. Bucky’s gonna take the best care of you, and Sheriff Steve’ll find your family -- I bet they miss you a whole lot. I know I would.”
Lucky’s tail thumps against the floor and he flicks his tongue in a sleepy, sloppy kiss against Clint’s fingers.
Wrinkling his nose and laughing a little, Clint says, “Yeah, you’re pretty much the best boy, aren’t you. I’m so, so sorry, I’m the worst, I can’t believe I hit you. I’m gonna stay until you’re all better and home again, okay? I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure you never have to wander around by yourself in the dark again. And--”
“Aside from the broken leg and a few scrapes and bruises, he’s fine.”
Clint gasps, startled, as he snaps his head around to see Bucky leaning against the wall by the door. Lucky’s tail just wags faster.
“How long have you been there?” he asks.
Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question.”
Bucky is frowning -- what else is new -- but it looks different this time. Less furious at being awake, at Clint’s existence, at Clint having hurt a poor, innocent dog. Now he looks confused and pissed about it.
And he’s wearing scrubs. With kittens on them. What the actual fuck, Clint should not be so attracted to a guy who clearly hates him, Natasha is right, he’s a train wreck.
“Delores let me in,” Clint says, doing his best to look as sweet and innocent as a man guilty of hitting a dog with his truck possibly can. “I’m very charming. And I was worried about Lucky.” The receptionist had only put up a token resistance when Clint had asked to see Lucky, probably assuming Clint had some right to be there, seeing as she’d found him sleeping in the lobby when she opened.
“I can see that,” Bucky says, and Clint deludes himself into thinking Bucky’s confessing to seeing how charming he can be. That’s totally it. “But the dog’s fine. Nothing some rest and painkillers won’t fix. He got lucky.”
“See?” Clint says to Lucky, scratching his head. “I told you that you were the luckiest dog, that you’d be fine.”
“He’s only got one eye. And he’s got a lot of bones that’ve healed, and not well enough to indicate he’d received veterinarian care for whatever wounds he’d sustained. And last night, a dick with a truck hit him. I don’t think he’s the luckiest dog.”
Aghast, Clint tucks Lucky in more carefully and snuggles him. “That’s -- that’s awful,” he says, protective. “But, see, he’s doing okay, despite all that. And soon he’ll be home with his family.”
He’s feeling a little uncertain about that. If what Dr. Bucky is saying is true, then maybe Lucky’s family isn’t the best family to go home to. Or maybe he hasn’t got one at all.
It takes half a second for Clint to make up his mind, and then he announces, “If you didn’t have a family before, you have one now, Lucky. I’ll take care of you.” He glances up a moment later, having forgotten Bucky was there glowering at him. “Uhm, if that’s okay, I mean.”
Bucky’s frown has turned into a scowl. “You want him? Why?”
“Because he’s the best boy,” Clint says, unable to understand who wouldn’t want this dog. “Because he’s in pain and he’s high as fuck and he’s still wagging his tail at me. Even when he was first hit, and he was bloody and in pain, he was wagging his tail at me. He’s just -- he deserves the best home.”
“And that’s with you. You can’t even take care of yourself, from what I can tell. You’ve been running around in a bloody t-shirt, in the middle of winter, in Colorado. How the fuck are you gonna take care of a dog?”
“You’re… not very kind, for a vet,” Clint says, looking away and feeling very small and stupid. But maybe Bucky’s right. “I guess we just gotta find his family then.”
Bucky sighs, shaking his head and pushing away from the wall. He comes over to Lucky’s kennel, unlatches the door, and comes inside, crouching beside Lucky, who’s still got his head pillowed in Clint’s lap.
“He’s a good dog and he deserves a good home,” Bucky agrees, stroking Lucky’s face. Lucky licks his hand. “Protocol is we keep him in isolation at the pound for three days, waiting for his family to claim him. If they don’t, he’s up for adoption. I’m keeping him here til the end of the day, just to make sure he’s handling the pain okay, and then I’ve got to discharge him and Steve’ll take him.” Bucky hesitates, looking up at Clint, and Clint’s never actually been this close to him before, and if he was distractingly beautiful from far away, it’s worse, this close. “So if no one claims him, and you pass Steve’s background checks, he’s yours.”
Clint feels like his entire body lights up. “That’s all I have to do?” he asks, voice a little breathy.
Sue him. Bucky is really, really close. And really pretty. And apparently grumpy as fuck animal doctors do it for Clint.
Bucky considers him for a moment, still stroking the dog lying between them. His gaze wanders from Clint’s eyes, down to his mouth, lingers for a moment, and if Bucky hadn’t made it very, very clear before now that he hates Clint with every fibre of his being, Clint would almost be tempted to think Bucky was affected by being this close.
But that was impossible.
Bucky blinks and looks away and scowls more ferociously than ever. “If you think you could pass the background checks,” he snaps, getting to his feet.
“I can. I totally can. I mean, I think I can. Things that are sealed in a juvenile record, those things wouldn’t come up, would they? I mean, they’re sealed for a reason, right?”
Bucky looks back at him, smirking a little, and fuck, shit, goddamn, smirking is a good look on him. If scowling was enough to make Clint’s heart skip a beat or two, smiling is even better.
“That’s Stevie’s problem, not mine,” he says.
And then he leaves. And doesn’t even kick Clint out. And, even better, a few minutes later, one of the vet techs shows up with a mug of coffee and says, “Dr. Barnes asked me to bring this to you?”
Clint takes it gratefully and every sip warms him from the inside out.
*
The vet office eventually closes and it’s dark and cold, so Clint ducks back into the diner, orders the cheapest thing on the menu, and eats it really slow. Eventually, the diner closes too, and then he’s back outside, and it’s darker now, and starting to snow.
Thank god for his mismatched mittens, he thinks, as he climbs into his frigid truck. At least his fingers are warm, though the rest of him is freezing. Colorado three days before Christmas is the coldest place on earth.
He drives his truck up and down main street for twenty minutes, until the ancient heater is capable of pumping out a bit of warmth, and then Clint finds a shadowy spot to park and curls up in the passenger seat with a beat up blanket he finds shoved back behind the seat.
The heat gradually fades away and he can see his breath fogging up the air. Clint’s pretty sure he’s shivering too much to sleep but eventually, he manages it.
He’s woken abruptly not too long later, when someone pounds on the window, which is too frosty to see out of.
He sits up with a yelp, and motherfucker, he can’t feel his toes or his nose or anything in between.
Shivering violently, he tries to roll down the window but it’s frozen shut so, cursing, he shoves the door open.
Bucky’s standing there, all wrapped up toasty warm in a parka and toque, and, yep, still scowling.
“What the actual fuck are you doing,” he snaps. It’s not a question. “It’s -4, you can’t sleep in your truck -- it’s not even fucking wind-proof, you’ve got a goddamned hole in the back windshield. You’re going to die and then Steve’s gonna have to spend his Christmas investigating the absolute idiot who drive into town, nearly killed a dog, and then froze to death in his own goddamned truck!”
“It’s n-n-not th-that c-c-cold,” Clint says, but it’s really fucking cold.
“You don’t even have a coat!”
“In my d-d-defense,” he says, shuddering. “I’m on my w-w-way to L.A. Don’t n-need coats in L.A.”
“You said you have money,” Bucky growls, yanking the door open further. “Get out of there.”
“I d-do,” Clint tells him. “I got t-three hundred a-a-and thirteen dollars. How m-much is Lucky’s bill?”
“More than that,” Bucky says grimly, and then he’s taking off his amazing, warm, snuggly parka and wrapping it around Clint’s shoulders and slamming the passenger door shut, herding Clint down the sidewalk.
All the houses on the street are lit up with Christmas displays, sparkling lights, inflated reindeer and snowmen. The sidewalk is lined with glittering candy canes. It looks like something out of a movie.
Bucky drags Clint to the only house on the street that’s lacking that Christmas cheer. There’s only one decoration here -- a sad, droopy looking Charlie Brown Christmas tree in the yard. It’s a small house, tidy, and Bucky pulls out a key and unlocks the door because apparently, he lives here.
“W-wait,” Clint shivers. “Where are we--”
Bucky drags him inside, locks the door behind him, and says, “Take off your shoes. Jesus, Clint, your shoes have fuckin’ holes in them, how have you even survived this long?”
While Clint is trying to kick his shoes off, Bucky disappears into the house, still cursing under his breath. He returns a moment later with a pile of clothes, taking his parka from Clint, hanging it up, and shoving the clothes into his arms. He points down the hall.
“Bathroom,” he says shortly. “Go put those on. All of them.”
“S-surprised you’re not making me s-strip for naked s-snuggling,” Clint grumbles. “You k-know. For warmth.”
“Go,” Bucky snaps.
Clint does.
There are three layers of warm, cozy shirts and sweaters in his arms, as well as some flannel PJ pants that feel fantastic once he kicks off his jeans and pulls them on. He’s still shivering, but his toes are beginning to defrost, which is a painful but relieving experience.
He makes his way to the living room, intending to thank Bucky for the warm clothes and promise to get a room at the motel by the highway, but stops dead in the doorway.
Bucky’s on his knees beside a wood burning fireplace, coaxing the flames that are licking away at a piece of wood he’s just added. His face is lit up in the warm glow, he’s wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and beat up old jeans. There’s a real Christmas tree in the corner but no one’s bothered to decorate it beyond an old star on the very top.
There’s no possible way that Bucky can be real. Clint’s fallen into some weird, holiday-themed fantasy. He’s probably freezing to death in his truck right now and just dreaming all of this.
The tree probably would be decorated if he was dreaming, though, because who the hell gets a tree and leaves it bare?
“You don’t have any pets,” Clint says, for lack of anything else to say. “And, uhm, your wife -- girlfriend --”
“I’ve got three cats,” Bucky says. “They don’t like strangers.”
Clint snorts a little. “Kinda like you?”
Bucky ignores him. “And no wife or girlfriend or husband either. Sit down. Drink your hot cocoa. It’ll be warm in here in a minute.”
Clint’s already feeling warm -- a little overly warm, really, because Jesus, Bucky’s got more muscles than a vet ought to have.
But there’s hot chocolate waiting for him on the table, with little marshmallows floating in it, and if he’s gonna die dreaming about this, what a way to go.
Clint curls up on the sofa and sips at his hot chocolate and says, “Uhm, thanks. I can probably get a room at that motel, I totally won’t go back to sleep in my truck after I’m done this hot chocolate, I promise.”
Bucky gives him a look, clearly not believing a word out of his mouth, and says, “Use that afghan on the back of the couch. You’re still shaking.”
There is, indeed, an afghan on the back of the sofa, one of those heavy knitted ones with the holes in it and the ugly colours of yarn, and he pulls it around his shoulders greedily.
The fire is roaring now and Clint can feel it even from across the room. Bucky gets up, dusts his hands off, and says, “I’ll get you a pillow and blanket. No use giving Steve a suspicious death to investigate over Christmas.”
Clint opens his mouth to argue, but he’s the warmest he’s ever been, and the fire, the afghan, the sweaters and flannel pants -- he’s sleepy and the idea of crawling back into his truck makes him want to cry.
“Thanks,” he says softly instead. “I’ll find a place tomorrow, I swear.”
“How long you intending to stay?” Bucky asks him casually, opening a chest and pulling out a thick, warm blanket. “Thought you had someone waiting for you in L.A.”
“Natasha,” Clint says, cradling his mug and blinking slowly at the firelight. “My best friend. We have a job and I can’t be late.”
“But you’re still waiting around here on a dog that’s not even yours.”
“Priorities, Barnes,” Clint mumbles, struggling to keep his eyes open. “I have them.”
“Uh huh. Sure you do. You’re a disaster is what you are. Don’t know how you managed to survive this far on your own.”
Clint wants to argue, wants to comment on how the edge in Bucky’s voice is softer now, but he’s sleepy and he’s warm and the next thing he knows, someone’s easing the mug out of his hands and sighing.
“Just sleep,” Bucky says, quiet. “Figure the rest out in the morning.”
“Your butt looks real good in kitten scrubs,” Clint tells him around a yawn, letting Bucky nudge him until he falls sideways on the couch.
“Jesus,” Bucky laughs, still soft. And then he’s smoothing a blanket over Clint and the amazing afghan and Clint’s falling asleep and it’s the sweetest, warmest sleep he can remember having.
*
He wakes up with a calico cat curled on his chest, staring at him with bright, judgy eyes. One of her ears is ragged from frostbite.
“Hey there,” Clint mumbles. “Heard you hated people. Don’t seem so grumpy to me, not like--” He reaches out to pet her and she swats at his hand and leaps to the floor, stalking away in a huff. Clint laughs. “Okay, maybe a little like Bucky.”
“I’ve been talking to Steve,” Bucky says suddenly from the doorway, and Clint jumps.
“Oh, hi, good morning,” he says, feeling awkward and rubbing at his hair. It’s standing up like crazy, he just knows it is.
“Hey.”
Bucky’s wearing pajamas. It’s like each time he goes to get dressed, he thinks ‘what’ll make Clint the most inappropriately attracted to me?’ and goes with that option. Super soft sweats riding low on his hips and a long-sleeved sleep shirt that’s a bit big and hanging off his non-metal shoulder? Bare feet? Fuck.
Also, he’s holding a spatula. And the whole place smells like french toast. And Clint totally must have died in his truck last night and gone to heaven.
“So, Steve. Told him you nearly got yourself killed last night and might need money. He’s got a few odd jobs you can do for the station. It’s the big town Christmas festival tonight.” Bucky smirks. “Might just pay enough for Lucky’s vet bill.”
Clint’s eyes light up. “Really? That’s amazing! I’ll do anything, especially for the sheriff’s department, because that means it’s probably all legal stuff. Can’t see the sheriff wanting me to give blowjobs for cash, right?”
He laughs. Bucky cocks his head a little like he can’t quite figure Clint out. “Right,” he says, after a beat of awkward silence. “I made breakfast.”
He retreats back into the kitchen and Clint buries his face in his hands and groans, wishing he wasn’t such an awkward excuse of a human being, for once in his damned life.
Bucky’s kitchen is small, cozy, with a little breakfast nook, a little table by the window overlooking the snowy backyard. There’s a different cat munching on some kibble by the fridge and it looks up and hisses before going back to its meal.
“Your cats are pretty antisocial,” Clint says, sliding into a chair at the table.
Bucky hums in agreement as he slides a plate of french toast on the table. “All three of them were brought to the clinic by people who found them near death somewhere, either frozen or hit by cars. No homes, no families, no personalities that made them very attractive for families.” He shrugs. “I got the space for them.”
“Kinda make a habit of bringing home strays?” Clint asks, as he pours too much syrup on his french toast. “Like me?”
“You’re the first human stray I’ve brought home,” Bucky says with a small, crooked quirk to his lips that just might be a smile.
“Well,” Clint says, mouth full of french toast, pointing with his fork. “You made an excellent choice bringing me home. I’m way too awesome to freeze to death.”
“Sure you are,” Bucky agrees, sounding sarcastic as he takes a sip of coffee, but Clint sees the smile he’s hiding behind the mug. “I’ve gotta get to the clinic but Steve’ll swing by to pick you up around 10, that okay?”
“Sure, sure, sure,” Clint chirps, not at all anxious about apparently being left alone in Bucky’s adorable little house. “Or I could come hang out at the clinic. You know. If you want.”
“Nah,” Bucky says. “Just stay here. Don’t steal anything. Relax. Stevie’s real excited to have someone around to help out for the next day or two, so.”
He gets up, clearing the table around Clint’s plate, which is still piled high with french toast he’s determined to finish.
Bucky leaves a short while later, after setting out an extra jacket, hat and scarf for Clint to use.
And for a few minutes, Clint doesn’t know what to do with himself. He half wants to try starting a fire in the fireplace but god knows, he’d probably burn the place down.
So instead, he wanders the main floor of the house, avoiding the upstairs and Bucky’s bedroom, because Bucky’s grumpy enough without having actual cause to be so angry. And he ends up studying the sad, bare Christmas tree.
He finds tin foil in the kitchen and sits himself down in the living room and a few hours later, he’s covered the tree in garlands made of folded bits of foil and little silver arrows.
*
“We don’t get many animals at the pound here,” Steve says apologetically. “So sometimes, especially at Christmas, we end up using the kennel area for storage. You sure you don’t mind cleaning it out for Lucky?”
“Dude, no,” Clint says, bouncing on his feet and looking around the cramped, messy kennel area at the back of the sheriff’s department. “It’s so much better than the alternative -- Lucky’s too pretty to go to jail.”
Steve smiles. “We wouldn’t put him in a holding cell, but I see your point,” he says. “After you do this, we’ll transport Lucky over from the clinic, and then see about putting up some Lost Dog posters to find his family.”
“Sweet,” Clint says, but it doesn’t sound sweet at all. He swallows down his feelings, though, because he’s an expert at that, and goes about organizing the various boxes and debris that have been shoved in the sheriff station’s single kennel.
Lucky arrives after the kennel has been cleaned and swept and stocked with cozy blankets and a nice doggy bed, and Clint carries him carefully out of the squad car. He helps him onto the bed and makes sure his food and water are nearby, and that his pain medications are stashed carefully out of the way.
Lucky looks a little sad and lonely, probably because Bucky’s got him in one of those plastic cones, so Clint decides it’s time for a coffee break anyway and crawls into the kennel to keep him company, stroking his ears until the pain medication takes effect and he falls asleep.
It’s hard to leave Lucky there all alone, but Clint’s got to help Steve out as best he can to earn enough money for the bills and to somehow still get to L.A. in time, so he hasn’t got a choice.
Natasha calls him as he leaves the kennel, and he answers with a distracted, “Hey, I’ll be there by Christmas, I swear.”
“You should have arrived by now. Are you on the road?” she asks. “You haven’t been checking in. Where are you?”
“Uhh. Colorado? Still?” He winces.
She’s silent for a moment and then says, “You know how important this is for us, please, please tell me you’re not going to fuck it up.”
“I told you! I’ll be there! I just… got hung up.”
“What could possibly be more important than--”
“Nat, I hit a dog.”
She’s quiet for a moment and then sighs. “Is it okay?”
“He’s getting better. But I couldn’t just leave him, Nat, I--”
“I know. I get it. Please just… you need to be on the road by tomorrow, Clint. Okay?”
“I know! I will!”
“Do you need money? You can probably catch a flight in Denver.”
“Nope,” he says, just like he’d said when she’d offered to fly him out to begin with. He’s a little less confident this time. “I got this.”
“Okay. Okay. Just… I’ll see you on the 25th. Right?”
“Absolutely.”
He swears under his breath as he hangs up, but he can still totally make it on time. Right?
He has to.
*
The thing about Hardisty, Clint learns, is that Christmas is a very big deal. The festival starts with a parade, which only consists of about eight floats, but it’s a very small town. The highlight of the whole thing is the Santa float at the very end and that, much to his secret delight, is where Steve stations him for the evening.
Because they lost the annual fitness competition back in the fall, the sheriff’s office is responsible for the Santa float, which means Steve’s dressed up as Santa himself and still grumbling about how Tony and his firefighters cheated at the competition. And Clint… gets to be a fucking elf.
It might be the highlight of his year.
He’s got a green tunic, red and white striped leggings that make his legs look fucking amazing, little curled shoes with bells on the toes, and a droopy elf hat. One of the deputies had painted candy canes on his cheeks and used a bit too much glitter along his cheekbones and his job is to throw mini candy canes to all the children gathered along the parade route while Steve waves and ho-ho-hos. Two of the deputies are dressed as reindeer, and the other one is a scowly and clearly reluctant Mrs. Claus.
And Clint couldn’t leave Lucky behind, that was for sure. The dog was too sad, too lonely, too pathetic in his cone and his cast. So Clint had taped a pair of antlers to the cone and loaded him up into a wagon he’d found at the station and trucked him down to the parade float and placed him on board.
When Steve had given him a look, Clint had just said innocently, “It’ll help him find his family, right?”
Steve had laughed and let it go.
Christmas had never been a big thing for Clint. Growing up, there hadn’t ever been any money for much of a Christmas, and after his parents died, none of his foster families had ever cared enough. At the circus, Christmas was just a time to get wasted.
But this? Sitting on the side of a flatbed truck beside Santa, dressed like an elf and tossing candy canes to children, while Christmas music blared out of the truck stereo? Winding their way through the snowy streets of a sleepy little Colorado town?
This is probably the most magical thing that’s ever happened to him. And he’s getting paid for it.
By the time they make their way to the end of the route and climb down off the float, Clint’s cheeks hurt from grinning. He isn’t even cold, thanks to the heaters that some kind soul had stashed all over the truck, which is awesome because he doesn’t think his elf shoes would do much to keep out the chill.
They head into the arena for the Christmas party, and Clint pulls Lucky along in his wagon. Once Steve is set up on his big throne and the kids start lining up, Clint goes to his own station a short distance away, where his guitar and a comfy chair are waiting for him. Some deputies are off painting faces, others struggling to make balloon animals, but after Clint mentioned his awful ability to play guitar and sing, that’s what he was assigned to do.
He had warned everybody that he wasn’t very good, but considering the deputies are currently struggling to make even the most basic balloon poodle, he figures actual talent isn’t what they’re looking for.
He starts enthusiastically strumming a mangled version of Jingle Bells and swarms of children run at him and start singing along with far more enthusiasm than melody.
It’s amazing.
Clint plays every Christmas song he knows before he starts launching into new ones he makes up on the spot, and by the time the DJ and dancing part of the party starts, his voice is feeling a little rough.
The children dart off as soon as the overhead lights dim and the party lights and disco balls start swirling on the dance floor, and Clint adjusts his hat, makes sure Lucky is still sleeping soundly, and wonders what he’s supposed to do now.
“I lend you to Steve for one day and look what he’s done to you.”
Clint looks up with a grin, seeing Bucky standing not too far away, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest like he’s been there a while. He’s wearing a Christmas sweater with a goddamned reindeer on it, like he’s got any room to talk about Clint’s elf outfit.
The sweater is doing amazing things for his arms and shoulders, but Clint doesn’t notice.
“You’ll never manage to convince me that you didn’t know exactly what Steve was going to do with me when you called him this morning,” Clint tells him with narrowed eyes, still grinning. “Besides, I look awesome.”
He wiggles his toes, bells jingling, and Bucky laughs. Clint doesn’t think he’s ever seen him laugh before, and it’s so different than his usual guarded scowl, Clint can’t help but stare a little.
He comes closer, dropping down to sit beside Lucky’s wagon, and saying, “How’s this little guy doing?”
Clint shrugs. “Humiliated because someone made him wear a cone, but otherwise okay. I didn’t want to leave him at the station, he looked so lonely.”
Luckily sleepily wags his tail and Bucky tries to stand his drooping antlers up to no avail.
“Any luck finding his family?”
“Nope,” Clint says. “Maybe he was a stray!”
“It’s possible.” Bucky looks at Clint now, taking in his elf hat that keeps getting in the way of his eyes, his tunic, his striped leggings, his curled shoes. He grins a little, reaching up and flicking the bell on the tip of Clint’s hat. “I didn’t know you played,” he says, jerking his chin at the guitar.
“Oh, not well,” Clint tells him, wrinkling his nose. “I’m really bad at it. But tourists in New York aren’t real particular when it comes to giving buskers a dollar or two, and it’s a good way to get some gas money.”
“That the gig you’ve got in L.A.?”
“Oh god, no. No one would book me for this, are you kidding?” Clint grins and starts strumming Stairway to Heaven, though it’s barely audible over the Rocking Around the Christmas Tree that the children are thrashing to on the dance floor. “I do performance archery. I’m real good at it.” He shrugs because modesty is for people who can’t hit a target at 40 feet with their eyes closed.
They are having a conversation and it’s weird because Bucky is clearly making an effort. Clint wonders if it’s the elf outfit, if that’s somehow caused Bucky’s heart to grow three sizes to become a real human being who actually goes out of his way to try to have a normal conversation with someone.
“I’m on to you, you know,” Clint tells him, his fingers tripping up over a simple chord progression. He just carries on.
Bucky looks up at him, eyebrows quirking. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re not as much of an asshole as you want people to think you are.”
A bit of tension in Bucky’s shoulders relaxes a little and he smiles. “Are you sure?”
“Yup.” He punctuates the word with a transition into Bohemian Rhapsody. He’s really bad at it. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t keep making sure I’ve got coffee. And you’d probably have let me die in my truck last night. And I’d probably have deserved it, after hitting Lucky the way I did.”
Bucky considers it for a moment, scratching Lucky enough to make his butt wiggle, and then he says, “Or maybe I just like you.”
Clint’s fingers stumble and his guitar makes an awful, tuneless jangle of mismatched chords. “What? Me?”
Bucky shrugs with a self-deprecating smile and gets to his feet. “Got a bit of a thing for hopeless blondes -- you and Lucky both.”
Clint’s mouth is hanging open, it’s very unattractive, even with the glitter and the candy canes and the elf hat.
Bucky isn’t looking at him anyway, he’s scowling off into the distance, and says, “Gonna go get you a drink, you sound like you could use it.”
And then he ducks into the crowd and disappears like a coward, but Clint can’t blame him for it. He’s sort of feeling a bit like a coward himself.
*
Santa gets to take a break after all the children get their gifts, and Clint corners him in the skate sharpening booth where he’s hiding. He’s discarded his hat, beard, and big red coat and is throwing back a quick beer.
Clint kicks the door shut, points an accusing finger at him, and says, “Bucky said he liked me, what the fuck is that about!”
Steve blinks at him over the lip of his beer bottle, takes a sip, and says, “That makes sense.”
“Makes sense?” Clint asks him, shrill. “In what universe does the super hot small town veterinarian like the walking human disaster who ran over a damned dog?”
“It probably helped that you nearly broke down the vet office door when you found out it was closed, that you sacrificed every piece of clothing you own to keep the dog warm in your truck, that you fell asleep in his lobby after he was an ass and kicked you out, that you charmed your way into the kennel to check on the dog, that you were so determined to make sure the damned dog was okay, you tried to sleep in your truck. And he did mention how stupid you look in your t-shirt, running around in the snow, in mittens that don’t match.” Steve shrugs. “He’s got a type. Animal-loving hopeless cases. Plus, you’re dressed like an elf, Clint.”
“I do look pretty good in these leggings,” Clint says faintly. He doesn’t quite know what to do with this information.
Steve claps a hand on his shoulder and says, “Listen, I know he can be gruff, especially at 1 am when faced with an injured dog, and he’s pretty used to assholes just dropping hurt animals off at the front door, if they bother to bring them in at all after they get hit. We get a lot of people driving through, especially around Christmas.” He crosses his arms, beer still in one hand, and studies Clint for a moment. “You don’t have to overthink it. I mean, you’re in town for what, another day or two? That’s probably the only reason he bothered to mention liking you. He’s not much for commitment.”
Clint throws his hands up. “And what am I supposed to do with that?”
“What do you want to do?” Steve asks, like it’s that simple. “I mean. He sent me a picture of the tree, Clint. It was a nightmare just convincing him to let me leave that there, and the only reason he gave in was because the cats liked it. And now you’ve got it shining and done up.” He shrugs, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “And you’ve got him here. Bucky hasn’t given a shit about Christmas, not since we got back from our tour overseas. But he’s at the town Christmas festival, and he’s got Christmas decorations in his house, and I even caught him smiling a little while ago. So you’ve already done enough. It’s a goddamn Christmas miracle from where I’m standing.”
Clint huffs out a breath, puffing up the bell at the tip of his hat, but Santa’s break time is suddenly over and he’s got no more time to convince Steve that there’s nothing about him that’s a Christmas miracle.
He goes back into the arena, feeling a little panicky and anxious, and the feelings only intensify when he gets back to his station and Lucky’s cowering, whimpering, and a furious guy is standing beside him, holding his collar tight enough to choke him.
“What the fuck,” Clint snaps, ready to punch the guy in the face. “You’re hurting him, who the fuck--”
It’s not very elfish language.
The guy, who is easily as tall as Clint, who’s pretty tall himself, spins around and Lucky yelps when his collar is yanked. “You the asshole to blame for fucking up my dog?” he snarls, gesturing at Lucky -- at the cast, the bandages, the cone.
“Your dog,” Clint says, suddenly feeling sick. “I -- well, I mean, he ran out in front of my truck.”
“Because he’s a goddamn idiot,” the guy says, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not paying for this shit. You shoulda just left him.”
“I should have -- what? He was hurt, I couldn’t just leave him,” Clint cries, torn between wanting to shove this guy as far away from Lucky as he can, and also acknowledging that Lucky has a family. Clint had been deluding himself into believing that he got to keep him, but he can’t, not if Lucky’s got a family already. A shitty as fuck family. But he’s pretty sure the law isn’t on his side here.
“I ain’t paying for it,” the guy snarls, tearing the cone off Lucky’s head and yanking him out of the wagon. Lucky tries to catch himself, but his front leg is in a cast, and he falls to the ground.
And there is no fucking way this guy is walking out of here with that dog.
Clint has half a second to come up with a plan that involves killing this dude and grabbing the dog and making a run for it before his fist comes into contact with the guy’s jaw, snapping his head back. He’s big though, so he just stumbles back one step and then comes at Clint, grabbing him by his elf tunic and yanking him up off his feet.
“You’re gonna regret that,” the guy hisses, and they’re gathering a crowd of horrified parents and their festive children and the guy’s about to slam his fist into Clint’s gut, he can feel it. He goes to brace himself and then there’s a metal hand gripping the guy’s shoulder and Bucky is there, looking furious.
“Rumlow,” he says, cold. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Saw my dog in the goddamn parade,” the guy -- Rumlow -- snaps. “Came to get him back.”
“He’s not taking Lucky,” Clint pants, shoving at him and yanking himself free, before scowling at Bucky. “No way that’s happening.”
“Lucky?” Rumlow sneers. “This dog ain’t got a name. He’s a piece of shit dog that’s only good for keeping the crows and magpies out of my chickens, that’s all.”
Lucky -- the same dog who tried to get up to lick Clint’s face after he’d been hit by a truck, who hadn’t let any of his injuries stop him from wagging his tail, is hunched up on the floor as small as he can make himself, trembling. He hasn’t bothered trying to get up from where he fell, and Clint is going to destroy this guy.
But first, he needs to take care of his dog.
He kneels down, crouching protectively over Lucky, cradles his head and strokes his thumbs over Lucky’s ears and says quietly, “Don’t even listen to him, Lucky. You’re a good dog -- the best dog -- and he’s not taking you home, never again.”
Lucky flicks a small lick against his palms and then Rumlow makes the worst decision of his life and goes to kick Clint out of the way.
His foot doesn’t connect, because Bucky’s yanking him back and Rumlow snaps, “That guy stole my fucking dog.”
Bucky says, in that same quiet, deadly tone, “Now, that can’t be right, Rumlow. Last I heard, you’re banned from owning any sort of animal at all, for at least another four years, after Steve busted up that dog fighting ring of yours. So this dog -- Lucky -- he ain’t yours. Is he?”
For a minute, it looks like Rumlow’s going to push the issue, and Lucky must be really good at keeping the crows and magpies away, but then he rolls his eyes and yanks out of Bucky’s grip with a huff and says, “Dog’s not worth it.” He storms away.
Clint’s hands are shaking, not with fear, but with the need to tear Rumlow into little pieces. He tries to calm down because Lucky’s still trembling, and Rumlow is a piece of shit who isn’t worth scaring his dog over.
Because Lucky is Clint’s. He doesn’t give a fuck what Steve’s background check says.
“Hey,” Bucky says, soft, dropping into a crouch beside Clint and studying him, even as he strokes Lucky’s back soothingly. “You okay?”
“Gonna kill him,” Clint says, keeping it conversational, while he gently fits Lucky’s cone around his neck again. “Wanna be my alibi?”
Bucky laughs, reaching up and tugging Clint’s elf hat out of his eyes. “Sure I will. Whatever you need.”
Clint looks up at him, eyes wide and mouth trembling with fury. “Rumlow won’t get to have him, will he?”
“Rumlow’s banned from owning any sort of animal -- including chickens. Steve’ll probably head out to his place in the morning, seize any animal he’s got on his property, serve him a warrant or two for breaching conditions.”
“Good thing I cleaned out that kennel,” Clint says, letting out a tight breath. Lucky struggles to sit up, leaning heavily against Clint.
“Wanna get Lucky home?” Bucky asks, still stroking Lucky’s back. “He could probably use a bit of quiet, after that.”
Clint could probably use the quiet too.
*
After lighting a roaring fire in the fireplace, Bucky pulls out a bedraggled but cozy dog bed and sets it right in front, so Clint can lay Lucky there. Seemingly fully recovered from his anxiety earlier, Lucky happily wiggles his butt and curls up and gazes adoringly at Clint while Clint sits beside him and pets him.
“He’s a really good dog,” Clint tells Bucky, who snorts with amusement and pats Lucky on the head. “If I had to put up with Rumlow the way Lucky did, I wouldn’t be half as sweet as Lucky is.”
“That would be a shame,” Bucky says, going into the kitchen.
Clint has changed into some flannel PJs, and he sits beside Lucky in front of the fireplace, letting the warmth seep into his bones. He’s tired and he’s achy from a day spent doing odd jobs and then being an elf, and he’s sleepy as his adrenaline after the Rumlow incident crashes.
He’s hugging his knees to his chest and staring into the flames and Lucky is snoring softly by the time Bucky comes back with hot chocolate, complete with little marshmallows.
“Definitely not as much of an asshole as you wish you were,” Clint tells him with a smile, as Bucky settles in on Lucky’s otherside, with his own mug of hot chocolate.
“Shut up and drink it,” Bucky says, but Clint sees him hide a smile in his own mug.
It’s quiet and soft and the little foil arrows on Bucky’s Christmas tree catch the firelight and shine.
“You should have a TV,” Clint says. “We could watch Charlie Brown discover the true meaning of Christmas or whatever.”
“I don’t believe in the true meaning of Christmas,” Bucky confesses.
Clint looks at him and says, “Me either.”
There’s a moment there, as Clint sets his mug aside and strokes Lucky and his fingers accidentally tangle up with Bucky’s, already there, that feels a little heavy, a little intimate. Bucky’s gaze locks with Clint’s and everything is warm and soft in the light of the fire and Lucky is snoring and it feels important.
Clint’s an expert at running from important moments, but before he can open his mouth and ruin this one, Bucky links his fingers with Clint’s and says, “You taking Lucky with you when you go?”
Clint squeezes Bucky’s fingers and says, “You willing to cover for me if I fail the background check and have to grab him and run from the long arm of the law?”
Bucky smiles, slow, and his gaze lingers on Clint’s lips and he says, “Already told you. Anything you need.”
And fuck it, Clint decides. He licks his bottom lip and Bucky’s gaze goes a little heated.
Clint might not believe in Christmas miracles, but this, this is easy.
He leans closer and Bucky tips his head up and they meet in the middle in a soft, chocolatey kiss, Lucky still sleeping stretched out between them.
It stays soft for a moment or two, sweet enough to make Clint’s toes curl in the heavy wool socks Bucky lent him.
He could do this all night -- slow, careful kisses, roaring fire, snoring dog --
And then Bucky slips a hand around to the back of his neck, tilts Clint’s head back just a little, and sucks on his bottom lip and grins around the needy, accidental noise Clint makes, and suddenly it’s not soft and sweet at all anymore.
Bucky pulls away just far enough to nudge Clint’s cheek with his nose and murmur, “You’re getting glitter all over me.”
Clint pulls back and looks at him and grins because Bucky’s face is shining in the firelight. “Looks good on you,” he says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out much rougher than he meant it to.
“C’mere.”
Bucky tugs at him and together, they manage to crawl around Lucky, who doesn’t even wake, and then they can get much closer -- close enough to tug at flannel pajamas and lick and bite at all the fire-warmed skin they uncover.
Afterwards, when Clint’s knees are sore but the rest of him feels fucking amazing, Bucky drags his afghan off the sofa and wraps them both up tight in it, and Clint falls asleep tucked up against Bucky’s chest, warm in the firelight.
*
He wakes up the next morning to Bucky kissing his way down Clint’s chest, which is already liberally marked up from Bucky’s mouth the night before. He’s got no complaints, though -- feels like waking up with Bucky’s mouth on him might be his favourite way to wake up -- and afterwards, he tries to help Bucky make breakfast.
After he burns the first pancake, Bucky kicks him out of the kitchen and takes over and Clint takes Lucky out instead.
They eat. And then they tumble into Bucky’s bed and only surface a few hours later to shower.
After Clint’s gone down on him in the shower, while Bucky soaps up his hair, Clint hums, “You don’t have to work today?”
“Clinic’s closed,” Bucky says, fingers running through Clint’s hair. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“How convenient,” Clint says with a bright grin.
And then, forty minutes later, after Bucky lazily jerks him off, while they’re stretched out in bed and naked and needing a shower again, Clint’s eyes fly open and he says, “Oh holy shit, fuck, I am so fucking dead.”
Bucky blinks at him sleepily. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Clint says shrilly. “I need to be in L.A. by morning!”
“Oh.” Bucky blinks again. “Right. Okay. I can drive you to Denver, it’s 40 minutes.”
“I haven’t got money to fly,” Clint says, eyes wide. He’s scrambling out of bed. “I’ve barely got enough to cover Lucky’s vet bill, not to mention his adoption fee, and --”
“Calm down,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes fondly and throwing some clothes at him. “You never had to pay Lucky’s vet bill.”
Clint gasps and clutches the clothes to his chest and says, “Did I pay Lucky’s bills with sex?"
“No!” Bucky laughs. “Jesus. Go shower, I’ll book you a flight.”
Clint checks his phone and has 37 messages from Natasha. He dashes off a quick, “Boarding a flight asap” response and then jumps in the shower.
He’s still damp but dressed when he stumbles downstairs to find Bucky just closing his laptop. “Figured you’d want to leave Lucky here,” he says. “Flying in his condition won’t be the best thing, and you’ll have to come back for your truck anyway, right?”
There’s an unfamiliar note of uncertainty in Bucky’s voice but Clint is distracted and hurried, so he just nods and says, “Yeah, sure, of course.”
He kisses Lucky on top of his head and Bucky’s already got his car warming up outside.
The drive to Denver takes 40 minutes and they are at once the slowest and the fastest minutes of Clint’s life. All too soon, however, they’re parked outside the airport and Clint’s undoing his seatbelt.
“Thanks,” he says, still rushed and distracted. “For everything.”
“No problem. Booked you a one way flight, wasn’t sure you’d be coming back.””
Clint finally catches the strange note in Bucky’s voice and squints at him. “Course I will. Take care of Lucky for me?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t scare off any other travelers passing through. And don’t let Rumlow get him.”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Rumlow was arrested this morning for breach of conditions.”
Clint grins. “This day gets better and better.” And then he leans across the console, grabs Bucky by his scarf, tugs him close and kisses him hard. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Sure,” Bucky says, still uncertain, clearly trying to hide it. “You’re gonna miss your flight.”
“The fact that you got me on one at all is a goddamn Christmas miracle,” Clint says with a breathless, wide smile. “I’ll see you.”
He hops out of the car and has to run to make it through security in time, but he takes off 48 minutes later, and makes it to L.A. just in time.
It’s not until he lands that he realizes he never got Bucky’s phone number.
*
It’s nice to have his bow in his hands again, and Natasha only teases him for a little while before she helps him cover up the marks Bucky left on his neck.
They perform at a fancy circus-themed party at a Malibu mansion, the kind filled with people Clint wouldn’t hang out with if he was paid to. He and Natasha perform after the acrobats but before the dancing dog act, which is good, because dogs have always been Clint’s weakness.
It’s a good gig and it pays a whole lot, and it’s good to be back in the swing of things. He and Natasha have performed their archery/knife throwing act together for so many years, it’s seamless by now -- and the twist, when Natasha goes from damsel in distress to the one in charge of the knives while Clint’s the one strapped down never fails to get cheers from the audience.
After their act, Clint waits while Natasha changes out of her skin-tight costume, because it always takes her longer than getting out of his vest takes him. She’s hidden behind a screen and he knows she can take care of herself, but he likes to wait around because a lot of times, audience members think that she’d be open to them dropping by for an aftershow special, and Clint’s presence usually convinces them to give up on the idea before it gets too messy.
“I didn’t think you were going to make it,” she tells him, still ducked behind the privacy screen.
“Told you I would.”
“Don’t even pretend that it wasn’t a miracle you got here at all. I know you. And there was a dog involved.”
“A dog and a super hot vet,” Clint agrees. “I think you’d like him.”
“The dog or the vet?”
“Both.”
She’s quiet for a moment, before appearing with her back to him so he can help her with a zipper. “You going back?”
“Have to,” he says. “I left my dog. And my truck.”
“And your boy?”
He shrugs as she looks at him pointedly over her shoulder. “Not my boy,” he says. “But maybe.”
“I’ve got a few meetings set up for us while we’re in L.A.,” she says. “You okay staying for that?”
Clint scowls because meetings are Natasha’s thing, not his, but he can’t really abandon her after barely making it here to begin with. “Of course,” he says gruffly.
*
It’s a long, boring few days of meetings, booking gigs for the next year, negotiations with management companies, and Clint hates every minute of it. He’s also getting twitchy, because he promised Bucky he’d come back, and has no way to tell him why he’s been delayed.
Natasha’s the one who finally rolls her eyes at him and says, “Why didn’t you look up his vet clinic and call him there?”
It’s a good idea. Pity Clint hadn’t thought of it himself, and now, they’re already standing in line at security in LAX, so what’s the point?
When they arrive in Hardisty, it’s nearly midnight and all of main street is shut down, the entire town gathered there for some reason, and it’s not until the fireworks start going off that Clint realizes it’s New Years Eve.
He leaves Natasha at the upscale Motel off the highway and makes his way to Bucky’s house and wonders if Bucky really expected him to come back -- if he’d really even wanted him to.
Steve had said that Bucky didn’t like commitment, after all, and Clint’s brought significantly more baggage with him this time.
Everything he owns, in fact.
When he gets to Bucky’s place, he sees that someone has strung lights up in the trees in the front yard, and even hung a few strings along the eaves. The house almost looks as lit up and Christmassy as the rest of the houses on Bucky’s street. There’s even a wreath on the door.
He knocks and can’t help but grin even though he’s feeling nervous, because he can hear Lucky barking crazily inside.
He starts to worry that Bucky might be down at the fireworks, and then the door swings open and Bucky’s there, looking rumpled and annoyed and wearing a snuggly sweater.
Bucky just stares at him like Clint’s the last person he expected to see on his doorstep, and Clint says, “You’re not down at the fireworks.”
“Didn’t want Lucky to get scared,” Bucky says, which is silly, because the whole sky is lit up in shades of blue and gold and Lucky couldn’t give a shit, too busy wiggling like crazy and trying to hop up to lick Clint’s face. “Didn’t think you were comin’ back,” he admits finally.
“Course I came back,” Clint says. “Left my truck here. And my dog. And I missed you. Happy New Years?”
“How long you stayin’?”
Clint shrugs and tries to tone down his beaming smile because he’s not all that sure of his welcome just yet. “A while? I got nowhere else to be. Brought everything I own -- even Natasha. You’ll like her. I think you’ll like her. I mean, I hope you’ll like her. She’s a little scary, but --”
“Clint,” Bucky says, relaxing finally, smiling slow and shy and a little sweet.
“Yeah?”
“Get in here.”
Bucky tugs him in by the front of Clint’s sweater, catching him when Clint stumbles over Lucky, and kissing the laughter right off his lips.
“Steve says you’re a Christmas miracle,” Bucky says, after he’s kissed Clint breathless.
They stumble into the house together and Clint kicks the door shut as they do. The wreath tumbles to the ground
“Could say the same about you,” Clint says.
The fire is already burning and Lucky barks happily at him and it’s the best holiday season he can ever remember.
The end. |
The car door closing...
... sounded very far away... the seat yielded to a large presence and Tiffany felt herself tilt toward it... the car started up again...
went through her mind as emotions rather than words. Her eyes opened and the scene unfolded before them... rear seat... huge car... sumptuous leather under her... legs uncovered... skirt up around waist...
... her body felt a flush of sensuality... she turned her head... there was the very large black man looking into her eyes...
"How long... ?" she formed the beginning of a sentence.
"Not long," he answered, knowing her thoughts. "Time for one stop. "
She saw the elongated box he held in his hand... a box for jewelry.
"This is for you, Tiffany. " He opened the box. Inside, on a bed of inky black velvet lay a very thin, very elegant chain of pure gold.
Tiffany knew something expensive jewelry. Her father had given her a piece or two of her mother's to wear occasionally after the woman's untimely death eight years ago. Tiffany had worn good jewelry... This elegant little chain seemed to shimmer before her eyes...
"To anyone who asks, this is a 'thank you' for helping me shop today, Tiffany. "
She nodded slowly, still in the process of regaining consciousness.
"... But, it is really a symbol of the chains that bind you to your pampered lifestyle... you are tied by your own will, Tiffany, a force stronger than any metal there is... I will tell you more... later... when you are ready... Give me your wrist. "
Tiffany obediently held out her arm and allowed Joseph to clasp the chain around it. She turned her wrist and admired it, feeling a shiver run down her spine. She had the distinct impression that she had just allowed Joseph to put her in chains... a fresh warmth spread through her, starting inside her panties and spreading slowly... deliberately... through every cell of her body... as he had said, she
bound to a cushy lifestyle... what else?...
"I miss my homeland, Tiffany," Joseph said, reaching out and giving her right breast a squeeze. "I miss seeing Mount Kilimanjaro... and all its beautiful topography. "
Tiffany's breast grew warmer under Joseph's touch... she felt growing awareness of her sexual areas... breasts... nipples... moisture between her legs... as a result of Joseph's words... and hand.
"I think I feel homesick for Africa... " He looked into her eyes. "You don't want to see me homesick for my country, do you, Tiffany?"
In a brief
Tiffany felt like Joseph had introduced another dimension to their communication... Like when he had asked her earlier, "Would you like me to teach you... " and the message that came to her was,"
" She heard the
words he said this time, but the message that came through, "
differed significantly.
Tiffany didn't know how long ago it was that Joseph's hand had launched her to her first earth-orbiting orgasm. But, she felt undeniable sexual warmth at his touch and felt nervously willing to experience more... She hadn't had time to contemplate her first experience... that would have to wait... She felt about this situation with Joseph exactly like a child on her first visit to a three ring circus. There were lights, explosions and amazing feats all around her... right at this moment... she had never experienced anything like it... but, tomorrow, when the circus moved on, would the explosions and the magic be gone, too?... forever?... The possibility horrified Tiffany... She felt she couldn't take a chance on missing out...
She shook her head. "I don't... want you homesick," fresh shivers raced through her.
Joseph smiled... "Thank you, Tiffany. I miss all 11,700,000 square miles of my home...
. " As he spoke, his hand moved across her breasts... over her shoulders... caressed her soft neck... Tiffany adored the sensations Joseph's hand had sparked along her body... she leaned back as his hand slipped down over her panties... it briefly touched Lake Assal when he said the word
and shocks jolted through Tiffany's loins upon hearing him say the word that way and feeling him touch her
in the same instant... his hands slipped down her long half-bare legs softly and slowly... the slower Joseph moved the warmer Tiffany became... when he reached her boots, which extended from the floor to just below her knee, he again slowly caressed her calf through the material all the way down to her shoe and back up...
"Tiffany, show me around my cunt-try," Joseph said, looking into her eyes. "Heal my homesickness... "
She looked up at him as his hand left her bare knee...
her nerve ends screamed... and why she respond physically every time he used words like
or
as he had earlier? Of course, she had heard the root word used before, but never used it herself. Words like that usually spewed out of the mouths of toughs at school or on the street, not gentlemen introduced to her by her father. Strangely, Joseph's using the word contributed to her state of arousal. It seemed another barrier no longer existed after he said it.
"What is the highest point in Africa?" he asked.
"Mount Kilimanjaro," Tiffany the good student answered, in a soft voice... not certain where this was going...
He said nothing and Tiffany wondered through almost 60 seconds of silence that hung between them...
.. her mind stumbled frantically through her sensual daze... she certainly
the correct answer...
Finally, Joseph spoke, "Can you point it out to me?"
Her eyes went to his... questioning... he held her gaze...
Tiffany raised her hand... excitement and anxiety flooding through her... she pointed at her right breast with her left hand...
"What are you pointing at, Tiffany... " his even voice directed her.
Her left hand crossed to her right breast and touched it... then pulled away... she looked at him beseechingly... this was outside her realm of experience by a wide margin...
His head shook slowly...
Her fingertips hesitantly returned her right breast, slowly moving around it from the bottom to the top... Tiffany had closed her eyes... she couldn't bring herself to meet Joseph's gaze... her fingertips slowly circled around her warm breast... she wondered at its resiliency as it yielded to her touch... the silk of her blouse slipped over the smooth surface of her bra under her fingertips... the sensations began building... Tiffany struggled with her self-consciousness...
"What is it that is special about Mount Kilimanjaro?" the even voice asked.
Tiffany blinked. "It's the... highest point in Africa. "
"Are you going to be able to reach the peak, Tiffany?" he asked.
She looked up into his eyes...
Her eyes closed again as her fingertips sought out the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro for Joseph... she sucked in air on their first contact... her fingertips moved slowly around her nipple as Joseph wanted... she felt the nub tighten up and swell to nearly bursting... it felt good...
"Look at me, Tiffany... " The voice was even, not harsh, but not gentle, either.
She opened her eyes on his command... her fingers continued to circle her nipple... there was no escaping Joseph's gaze... she felt like parts of her had begun to glow under it... he looked into her eyes as her finger continued its slow thrilling journey around the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro...
"Now look at your fingers... " the even voice directed her.
She dropped her gaze to her fingertips which circled the nipple of her right breast...
... the fingers circled slowly and Tiffany could see the impression of her elongated nipple below the two layers of silk that covered it... the sight of her fingers and the bulge beneath them inflamed her further...
"Do you remember Tanzania, Tiffany?" He asked.
Joseph had told her earlier that Mount Kilimanjaro lay in Tanzania. Without further direction, Tiffany moved her right hand to her left breast and caressed it for him... her arms crossed in front of her breasts... the fingertips of her left hand made slower and slower little circles around her nipple while her right had squeezed and tested the resiliency of her left breast... waves of warmth and arousal pulsed through Tiffany as her two hands fondled her large throbbing breasts in front of Joseph...
"Good girl... " the voice said evenly... Joseph did not offer her a smile...
Tiffany felt warmth and undeniable moisture between her legs upon hearing Joseph's words... amazingly these words of approval excited her almost as much as his hand touching her panties had earlier... she felt them just as intimately... it thrilled her to do what he told her...
"I feel my homesickness waning, Tiffany. Thank you... you are a fine substitute for my native cunt-try... " He spoke, enjoying the view of the beautiful teenager seated in front of him wearing only a silk blouse and thin bra beneath it... a black miniskirt which she had pulled up around her waist... it covered no more of her than a thick black belt... below it were a small thin pair of white panties which let her dark patch of pubic hair show through... the moisture of her panties allowed the outline of her lips to show clearly...
he remarked mentally... the high boots from the Italian designer Prada reached to just below her bare knees which had parted by about 12 inches... she writhed slowly with her hands crossed and fondling her two large breasts... just as he had directed her to do...
"Enough of the high ground, Tiffany. I want to travel from Africa's highest point... down to its lowest. " Joseph said.
Tiffany was totally engrossed in Mount Kilimanjaro and Tanzania as her left and right hands fondled her right and left breasts, respectively... she was stimulating herself under Joseph's direction... her nostrils opened widely as she sucked in more air and her level of arousal built... she barely heard the words Joseph had spoken...
"What is... and where is... Africa's lowest point, Tiffany? The even voice requested...
The words reached her consciousness...
Tiffany remembered well that Lake Assal was Africa's lowest point... she also recalled with a shiver that Joseph had designated the lowest point on Tiffany's torso... as Lake Assal... when he had placed his hand there previously Tiffany had experienced her first orgasm in response to that touch... on the outside of her panties...
Her eyes opened and looked into Joseph's... He returned her gaze without blinking... she faltered, but knew that she would give him what he wanted... the fact that Tiffany had brought herself, under Joseph's guidance, to a very heightened state of sexual arousal made it not only possible but a certainty that she would show him exactly what he desired... her body sought after the additional stimulation that Joseph offered to her like a sportsman dangling bait before fish...
Slowly her right hand released Tanzania, her left breast, and began its trek down her body... leaving the smooth silk of her blouse, the hand traversed her small soft white panties slowly... meanwhile the fingers of her left hand were squeezing and softly tugging at the nipple of her right breast as the embers smoldering in Tiffany's loins required more intense sensations... the fingers of her right hand slid lower on her panties, almost halting when they felt her first pubic hairs beneath them... they eased lower over the thickening of Tiffany's small trimmed patch of hair... a moan escaped as her fingers descended... they slipped down till they rested on top of her lower lips... the sensation of contact was amplified by the very wet state of her panties at this point from her secretions... the soak-through made it feel to Tiffany's finger tips as though there was nothing between them and her lips... just as her eyes opened, her hips moved of their own volition sparking friction between her fingertips and her lowest moist lips... her hand had stopped moving, but her hips had started... her eyes widened as they found Joseph's... a torrent of emotions swept over Tiffany. She realized in her stupor that control was slipping out of her grasp...
Joseph thought the young girl's eyes reminded him of the look he had seen n the eyes of animals that he had hunted just before they realized that they were about to die... only in the beautiful Tiffany's eyes, he could see the sexual hunger that drove her... sensual hunger and surprise... cerebral surprise that she balanced on the brink of her second orgasm before this strange man who seemed to have taken over her body... her right hand clutched hungrily at her left nipple while her hips undulated beneath her left hand which she pressed deeply against the sopping wet panties covering her lips... Joseph smiled as her body writhed out of cunt-trol...
"Enjoying your visit to Lake Assal, Tiffany?" Joseph asked in a quiet voice,.
Awash in sensuality, Tiffany barely heard the words.
"Do you like showing me Lake Assal, Tiffany?"
Her eyes opened and she peered out confused through her haze of arousal... She caught Joseph's words... her hands continued their manipulations of her young heated sexual parts... her attention remained riveted on her internal sensations rather than external...
"Tiffany... do you want to cunt-tinue in Lake Assal?" Joseph persisted.
The girl withdrew from the brink of orgasm on which she had been hovering...
"... Yes... " she answered, nodding, hands diligent at their labors... maybe now he would leave her be...
"Yes... what?"
"Yes... I want to... " she said, frustration evident in her tone... her hands labored on her body to maintain her level of arousal...
"Want to... what, Tiffany?"
"Want to... " she said looking directly into his eyes, searching for what he wanted from her... he wore a peculiar smile...
... she thought...
"to cunt-tinue. "
"Good girl," he said. "You may cunt-tinue, Tiffany. "
And Tiffany closed her eyes with his permission... again there was that flood of arousal that followed his approval and that word... her left hand squeezed and rolled the nipple on her right breast... her right hand pressed down between her legs, fingers sopping wet... her hips undulated freely... her fingers dug in so deeply that she had pushed part of her panties up inside herself... her head was bobbing now in rhythm with her hips... her eyes had lost focus... the lovely young woman's mouth hung open and drool slipped over her lower lip...
"Spread your legs, Tiffany... you don't need to act ladylike now. " Joseph's voice told her.
Tiffany relinquished her last vestige of acting ladylike, opening her legs widely and allowing her hand to slide down deeper over her dripping wet lips... Joseph offered no further interruptions as he enjoyed the spectacle of the barely-covered pretty young rich girl stimulating herself in front of him... long booted legs spread wide... moans issued from her throat... her hips rolled of their own accord... her delicate fingers dug into her crotch while her other hand toyed furiously with her breast... Tiffany surfed the crest of a sensual tsunami entirely crafted by Joseph... her focus had locked inward... her eyes were open, but she could only see the multi-colored fireworks exploding within her... there were no external sounds for her... she heard... and felt, a roaring inside... lights exploded behind her eyelids... between her legs her dripping wet fingers were sliding over and into a volcano...
"AAAAWWWWWWWWwwwwwwww... " came out of Tiffany's contorted lips as her aroused young body took over completely... "AAAAAAAHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh... "
Tiffany's second orgasm had greater length and breadth than her first... Her hips pumped out another time as a third earth-moving quake rocked her quivering young body... "UUUUUUHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... " she said, fingers nearly penetrating herself.
"You have a nice feel for Africa," Joseph said.
|
Tiffany Adams had the face of an angel, but the devil definitely had a hand in the design of her body. The curvy 18-year old strolled through the lobby of the midtown Manhattan building where her daddy's company occupied the top floor. Standing 5 foot 6 inches high and wearing stylish Prada black leather heeled-boots that rose to her knees, but fell nearly a foot short of the top of her black miniskirt, the girl could stop traffic - and knew it. The 68 degree August New York weather had provided the perfect setting for this sensual jewel to strut her stuff. She wore a red bolero jacket demurely buttoned up. Under it she had a white silk blouse was buttoned over a white silk 35 C cup bra that held up her full breasts. Her black expertly-coiffed hair framed her delicate features like black velvet in a jewel box sets off gems in a bright light.
The elevator starter said, "Afternoon, Miss Adams."
"Hi, Eddie," she said to the man old enough to be her father. She barely noticed him. But, after all, here he was running the elevator console in daddy's building. He didn't merit any more respect than that...
She boarded the nearest open elevator and smirked to herself as she saw one of the businessmen already inside the car nudge the fellow next to him. Men are so silly, she thought. They had been falling all over themselves for her since she turned 12 and started maturing early. Daddy's money didn't do anything to diminsh their admiration either. Anyone who wasn't stunned by her appearance still would genuflect before the Adams millions. She was off to lunch with Daddy, Ben Adams, this afternoon. Just the two of them ... or so she thought.
Adams Exports had two huge frosted glass doors which Tiffany pushed through imperiously. She was the princess of the manor, after all. She was aware that everyone in the firm knew who she was and would do anything she wanted - and smile all the while. She didn't have a very high opinion of any of them. She considered them bought and paid for - like her clothes only not as expensive. That thought caused her to giggle to herself ...
Approaching the receptionist desk, she wondered at the young black man behind it. Must be new; she hadn't see him before... Oh, well ... "Please tell Mr. Adams I'm here," she said barely looking down at the fellow...
"Who shall I say ..." he managed to get out...
"His daughter," she cut him off coldly as if his question couldn't have been dumber...
"Oh..." he blurted and fumbled with the keyboard in front of him... clearly unnerved...
Tiffany took obvious delight in the young man's discomfort ...
"There's the apple of my eye," she heard from behind her ...
Spinning around with her 'daddy smile' lighting up her face, she held out her arms for a big hug.
"Watch the hands," she heard a deep voice say, as she wrapped her arms around him.
She looked up to see one the of the biggest blackest men she had ever seen looking into her eyes. She felt herself shrink back from him...
Ben Adams stood six feet tall and weighed 190 lbs. He didn't look small to anyone. Nonetheless, the black man approaching dwarfed him.
"Sweetheart, I'd like you to meet Joseph Adeosun from Nigeria."
"Oh ..." she said and found herself blushing unaccountably. Was it just the unexpected presence of the dark giant? Or was there something menacing about him... "It's a pleasure," Tiffany said, holding out her hand.
"The pleasure is mine, princess," he said in a deep voice that reminded her of Darth Vader in Star Trek. Her tiny white hand was swallowed up in his huge black mitt. "I can see why you are so proud of her, Ed," he said to Mr. Adams, but didn't take his eyes from Tiffany's.
She could feel her neck heating up. What was it about this man that so disturbed her? After all, here she was with Daddy. It wasn't like anyone could or would dare hurt her here of all places. But his eyes didn't leave hers ... they seemed to be looking inside her ... and enjoying what he saw ...
"Mr. Adeosun owns one of the largest exporting firms in Lagos," her father said. "I hope you don't mind if he joins us for lunch today..."
"Not at all," she lied, removing her hand ... She just wanted to escape the disturbing man's gaze. Somehow he made her feel exposed ... to him she wasn't wearing $3500 worth of designer clothes that intimidated people left and right ... and let them know she was special ... she just felt uneasy and ... uncovered.
Adeosun was thinking ...
Mr. Adams left the two together while he returned to his office for his Blackberry wireless communicator. The busy executive couldn't be out of reach for an instant.
"Your father tells me you are off to college next month" Adeosun said. "You must be leaving some poor boy at home with a broken heart."
Tiffany laughed uneasily ... while rather sophisticated as the daughter of a multimillionaire, she hadn't experienced much with the opposite sex. Daddy had strict rules and most of the boys at school were so silly she didn't want to waste her time with them. One of daddy's rules had been that she maintain excellent grades and that took a lot of her time, too. Also, she very much enjoyed getting pampered at The Spa and spending daddy's money in the boutiques. "No," she said, "I haven't had time for much of that."
Adeosun thought.
"Okay, gang, let's go," Adams said, returning, reaching for his daughter's hand.
Tiffany breathed a sigh of relief at daddy's return. She felt the man finally release her from his gaze.
"My club has an excellent chef, Joseph. I'm sure you will be impressed..."
"I am already," the big man said.
On the elevator ride down, Adams told his daughter about the rite of passage in Adeosun's country which required him to kill a lion with his bare hands.
"My gosh...," Tiffany blurted. Maybe this streak of power in the man was what had disturbed her so... how had she sensed it, she wondered.
"It wasn't a very big lion," he said, chuckling...
Tiffany envisioned him in a loin cloth with a spear in his hand and felt a shiver ...
"We're going to ride in a Rolls, honey..." Adams said ... "Mr. Adeosun travels first class..."
"Fun," Tiffany responded. "I haven't ridden in one before ..."
As they exited the building in midtown, a huge black car with darkened windows pulled up to meet them at the curb.
The car had an abbreviated front seat area and an extended back seat area, like a stretch limo.
Tiffany climbed in first and her father slid in next to her. She breathed a sigh of relief at the seating arrangement. Then Adeosun appeared at the other side of the car and climbed into the rear with them. There were rear facing seats. He took one of them ...
"Hope my long legs don't get anyone tangled," he joked. But, his seat afforded him the perfect view up Tiffany's long legs and short skirt. She wasn't able to turn her body or her legs would have been against her daddy's. Their host smiled at her ...
"I wonder if Adams Imports needs one of these for its senior staff ..." Adams said, half-joking.
Tiffany tried to keep her hands in front of her skirt ... she had worn a white low rise panties, they were a very soft fine material with the thinnest stitching, she hated pantylines ... so old wave ...
At the club, they were seated at a prime table. Tiffany always enjoyed being served in this first class way .... When the waiter came, her Daddy ordered 25-year-old single malt scotch for the men and allowed her to have a pinacolada. Adeosun must be important too him, she thought. He is usually stricter about her drinking alcohol.... Lunch went well. Tiffany had grilled sea bass and two more pinacoladas ... she had become a bit giggly by the time the final coffee course came.
"Ben, I have enjoyed your club and hospitality immensely ... please allow me to order the coffee course... we have a wonderful coffee drink in Lagos that I would like to share with you .... Do you like coffee, Tiffany ...?" Adeosun asked.
Tiffany giggled ... "I single-handedly support the Starbucks by us," she said.
"Good ..." Adoesun answered. "Now, where is our waiter? Oh, I see him ... " He rose to meet the waiter.
"You don't need to go get him ..." Adams interjected.
Adeosun smiled at them and looked into Tiffany's eyes ..."I know ... I want to surprise you..."
Tiffany felt the look and another shiver ran down her spine ... what was it about him?
"Say, mate," he said to their waiter. "I want you to mix us up three coffees and add double shots of Kahlua and Myers rum along with a shot of Bailey's." He handed the waiter a $20 bill. "You can do that, can't you?"
"You bet, sir ... anything else you want, just let me know," he said, pocketing the money. Nice start for the day. He knew Adams was a halfway decent tipper, too. This was gravy.
Adeosun headed back to Tiffany and her father smiling broadly.
"They know how to make it..." he said. "It is a wonderful, very popular drink in my country. I hope you will like it, Tiffany. Do you drink adult coffee drinks?"
Her father laughed. "Not usually, but in honor of the occasion, we'll make an allowance."
"Daddy! I drink Coffee Bailey's at the club all the time!" Tiffany protested.
Adeosun thought.
He smiled again, licking his lips in anticipation, hoping the give her an opportunity far greater than this to prove her maturity ... actually, to demonstrate her insecurity...
Adeosun smiled again when the waiter arrived. He had done it up proudly, holding a tray with huge three steaming mugs covered with whipped cream.
"Excellent," he said. "My compliments again on your club, Adams. This is a first rate accommodation."
The waiter beamed, as did his host.
"A post-prandial toast," Adeosun said, raising his mug. "To a long and mutually satisfying relationship."
"I'll drink to that," Adams said, lifting his mug and taking a sip. "MMMMmmmm, that's delicious... do I detect a hint of rum?"
Tiffany took a sip, too. The powerful liqueurs were masked by the coffee taste. "Gosh, it's delicious," she said. "What do you call it? So I know what to ask for ..."
"I created it myself," Adeosun said, smiling directly at her ... "I call it African Baptism. I can't tell you how happy I am that you like it, Tiffany." He reached across the table and put his hand on top of hers briefly.
The huge black mitt presented a dramatic contrast to her tiny white one... Tiffany marvelled at the warmth of it ...
"Oh my ..." Adams said looking at this Rolex. "Where did the time go? I have a 2:30, I can't get out of..."
Adeosun was all understanding. "Don't worry about it, Ben. I did want to ask a favor of you before you left. I wondered if I might keep your Tiffany for a while this afternoon ... she is about the same age as my own daughter. I wondered if she might help me do some shopping for her. I want to bring something back from 'the big city.'
Tiffany felt her heart sink even through the current dull haze she was experiencing.
went through her head.
Adeosun was peering into her eyes again. Behind his back, Ben Adams was nodding his head broadly to his beautiful daughter.
Tiffany realized she had no choice. It was important to Daddy. Period. "I'd be happy to," she said, venturing to look into the tall man's eyes. He was peering into hers with what looked like a hint of a smile...
Ben Adams kissed his daughter, shook hands again with Joseph and took his leave. Tiffany faced her challenge... she took another healthy drink of the sweet drink to fortify herself.
"Wonderful, Tiffany," Adeosun said. "I can't tell you how much I am looking forward to your help. You clearly have a highly developed fashion sense. My daughter's appearance will definitely benefit from your input."
"Thank you. I'm happy to do it," she said. "I have expensive taste, though," she giggled. "At least that's what daddy says ..."
"It's obvious that you do. You're a thorobred if I ever saw one. " Adeosun said, visually appraising her and her outfit. "I'm guessing those Prada boots set Ben back plenty... and here's to our adventure." He lifted his drink again in a toast.
Tiffany took another healthy drink of her African Baptism, enjoying the taste and false fortification...
"I thought I would get her a couple of sweaters ..." he said, eyeing Tiffany's breasts. "She is about your size ... what are you about a 35B?"
"I'm 35C," Tiffany the student blurted out, while Tiffany the deer in the headlights cursed herself for spitting out intimate information about the exact cup size of her breasts to this man ...
"Really," he said, again looking studiously at her breasts ...
Tiffany felt her neck heating up under his appraisal. ... She lifted her mug to partially hide her face while drinking down too much of the strong drink too fast ...
He put his hand on top of hers lightly. "What do you say we take these with us?" He asked. The huge mugs were nearly finished at this point.
"All right," she said. Tiffany felt a little fuzzy .... She thought there wasn't that much left to the drink, anyway but, why not?
"Where is our waiter?" he asked, looking around. "Oh, I see him." He raised his hand and rose at the same time to approach the youth. They met 15 feet from the table. Adeosun turned around and pointed to the drinks on the table. "Pick those up and give us two fresh ones in carryout cups, will you?"
The heavily tipped waiter was only to anxious to accommodate the tall man. He returned in two minutes with a couple of fancy 'travel mugs' with the club logo on them - filled to the brim with fresh coffee drinks.
Tiffany rose with Adeosun and found her balance with slight difficulty ...
"Uh oh," the older man said. "Maybe the little lady has had her limit ..."
Tiffany composed herself and picked up her travel mug. "I'm fine," she said, not appreciating the 'little lady' remark and determined to prove him wrong. She didn't notice the satisfied smile on Adeosun's face.
"Let me help you, Tiffany," he said as she started to wobble a bit. His strong hand grasped her upper arm and she silently, but gratefully, accepted his help. Too late she realized his help included the back of his hand intermittently brushing the side of her breast ...
Tiffany held her travel mug in one hand and allowed herself to be led by the arm ... she also became aware of something ... as Joseph's hand brushed the side of her breast, she felt the globe warming under his contact ... her nipples were also tightening ... she inhaled deeply ... surprised ... it felt verrrry nice.
At this point in her life, Tiffany had had minimal contact with the opposite sex. Some dates, some clumsy fumbling by high school lotharios. But, she had primarily been amused by their clumsiness. At no point had she experienced pleasure in the form of sensuality or eroticism... the fact that an older man's hand bumping her breast
was giving her pleasure was a shock literally and figuratively... Her policy had always been
because there had been nothing in it for her ... Now, in her semi-inebriation, she had the stunning realization that it felt
The elevator ride down to the ground floor also provided new thrills ... Joseph's hand released her arm, sliding against her breast and side as it did. Tiffany found those touches pleasurable... Then, she felt something bump against her backside ... the expensive skirt was not very thick and she could feel fingers slide across first her left cheek then her right .... Normally, she might have said something or turned around to find the culprit ... but, again,
She said nothing, but enjoyed the sensation across her cheeks ... the light, soft horizontal brushing sent little sparks shooting from the skin of her backside right through her pelvic area into her loins ... if it had occurred by itself, the touch would have been inconsequential, but combined with the drinks she was consuming and the hand bumping her breast ... she found herself becoming more aware of parts of her body in a way that she wasn't usually ... She inhaled deeply as the touch awakened another tiny area of her body's landscape ... she felt the warmth spreading inside her down there ...
Although Tiffany couldn't tell, Joseph was indeed watching her. He studied her body language with little swift glances. What he saw pleased him, her altered breathing, the slight flush to her cheeks ... he knew well the early signs of arousal and Tiffany was demonstrating several of them... his own body responded as he thought of the hidden excitement going on in her lush body ...
Bloomingdale's was a short pleasurable walk from Daddy's club ... several bumps of her breast punctuated the journey ... Tiffany felt flushed with the increased blood circulating through her body, particularly to her very sensitive areas ...
"I know exactly where the designer sections are ..." Tiffany said, looking toward the elevators. She didn't want to make eye contact. She had decided she couldn't look into his eyes. She didn't want to see awareness of what was transpiring between them. If she didn't acknowledge it ... well, maybe it just wasn't happening ...
"My daughter is already benefitting from your expertise, Tiffany. It would take me an hour to locate it on my own." He gestured at the size of the huge New York department store, but his hand gave her breast another nudge the she felt reverberate through her body and settle in her lower stomach. "Are we going to ride the elevators again?
"Yes," she said as they approached the elevator bank.
"Good," he responded. "I enjoyed the last ride ..."
Tiffany's neck colored slightly ... she, too, had enjoyed the ride down to the ground floor ... as the touches heightened her own personal state ....
The door opened and several people got on after deferring to Tiffany and Joseph. Again, his hand released her arm. This time it slid down, touching the side of her breast, her lower rib cage and came to rest at the side of her hip... Tiffany shivered inwardly with the sensations ... the touching points felt like little sensual explosions as nerve ends registered the contact and reported it to her brain ... Tiffany reveled in the new sensations as well as the lingering ones at her breasts ... her nipples remain distended and her breasts radiated heat ... Joseph maintained a slight contact with the side of her cheek, again moving about an inch back and then returning ... Tiffany felt the electricity run through her body again, settling in the warm and dampening spot between her legs ... her neck turned pink as she realized how pleasurable this was ...
The elevator door opened on the designer shop floor and they disembarked.
"I thought we might look at sweaters," he said.
"Sure," the pretty teen answered. "They have a nice selection here."
They found their way to one of the counters full of sweaters.
"This is the size she would wear," Tiffany said, warming to their task. She was a born and bred shopper.
"I like this beige one," he noted after a moment. "Would you mind taking off your jacket, so I can see how it looks?"
Tiffany slipped out of her jacket and set it on top of the sweaters. Her travel mug rested on the table.
Joseph grasped the sweater around its middle and held it out for Tiffany.
She took the garment by the top of the shoulders and lifted it in front of her. Joseph hadn't let go, however, and as she pulled the sweater up to her neck, she felt his fingers rub against her breasts ... first the right, then the left ... his fingers touched just under each nipple and gave a slight lift before settling just above the nipple and breast and ceasing the contact. The result was an electric charge that Tiffany felt start at each of her breasts and race through her body like a lightning bolt. Awash in sensuality, she felt confused... she loved the sensation, but wasn't sure how to react ... she didn't want to accept this touching, but she didn't want to stop it, either ... also, did anyone see that?... a quick look around ... no, at least it occurred beneath the sweater...
"Do you like it?" He asked, smiling ...
she wondered ...
His fingers repeated their little magic and again Tiffany was jolted with the pleasurable sensations...
"How do you like it, Tiffany?" He asked again...
"Hunh ..." was all Tiffany managed to get out of her mouth which seemed somehow as thick as her brain seemed to be ...
He was all smiles as he rescued her from her dilemma ..."The sweater ... do you like it?"
Tiffany was experiencing so much warmth coursing through her body already, she barely noticed the heat of the flush that started at her neck and reddened her cheeks. "Ohhh, yes..."
"Wonderful," he said, still smiling. "Do you mind if we try one of these red ones? I really appreciate your sharing your opinions with me." He took the beige sweater and placed it on top of Tiffany's jacket. He picked up a red sweater of the same size and held it up toward Tiffany ...
She grasped the top again and held it under her neck... Joseph again held the sweater as he had the beige one ... this time his fingers touched her breasts, but in the reverse order ... first the left one and then the right one ... they lingered a half second longer this time ...
Tiffany's nostrils widened as she took in a sharp inhalation when the fingers again stimulated her large warm globes ... she almost closed her eyes with the pleasure of it ... she swallowed visibly ...
Joseph smiled down as he noted her reaction ...
... he asked mentally.
"Do you like it, Tiffany?" He looked into her eyes this time instead of at the sweater...
"Yes," she said. "I do." She failed to meet his gaze directly. She knew he was not asking about the sweater... She also feared that she wasn't referring to the sweater, either ... she adored what happened to her when those fingers sent the tiny lightning bolts through her body ... her nipples were standing up with perfect little erections ... she could even feel pleasure from the contact each made with the inside of her bra cups ...
"Well, let's pay the lady," he said and picked up the two sweaters along with Tiffany's jacket ... "You won't need this in the car," he said. He also didn't want another layer in his way later ...
"Okay," she said and followed along. She still toted the remains of the drink in her travel mug and used it to hide behind occasionally while sipping ...
Joseph paid with his gold card and then put out his arm for Tiffany as they headed for the elevators ...
She slipped her arm inside his and brushed her left breast against it seconds later ... as they walked to the elevator.... He smiled inwardly as he appreciated her sensual progress ... she wouldn't have been capable of that contact on her own earlier ...
When they got on the elevator, four other people boarded with them... He slipped his hand down to her backside again, but his time just grazed her cheeks ... he kept his hand barely in contact with the center of her skirt's rear ... while his hand made contact with the expensive material of her skirt, it created almost no pressure on her buttocks ...
On her part, Tiffany missed the contact ... the embers within her that had begun smoldering needed to be fed ... she was aware of the fingers lingering just at the back of her skirt ... but they weren't giving her any pleasure at all ... they seemed just out of reach ... her hips rolled backwards almost of their own volition until they found his hand and pressed themselves against it ...
Joseph stood slightly behind her so he could observer Tiffany without her noticing ... he had left the ball in her court ... he stifled a smile as her pelvis swiveled back till her mini-skirt and panty-covered cheeks made contact with his waiting hand ...
he rewarded her with a soft very slow caress that slid over first her right cheek and then her left cheek ...
... his large hand in a matter of seconds had slipped across every square millimeter of her perfect heart-shaped backside ... her skirt was so thin that his fingertips also found the very tiny seams of her panties ...
As the door opened, Tiffany had the distinct impression that the back of her panties sported tiny flames ... although Joseph's hand no longer covered her cheeks, the sensory memory lingered on ... her nostrils dilated as her lungs unconsciously sought more oxygen ...
"Oh, you know what, I forgot my drink up by the sweaters," he said, looking down into her eyes. "Would you mind terribly a quick ride up to get it?"
Tiffany almost felt relief at the request. His various touches had awakened the most beautiful sensations she had ever experienced ... if he wanted to touch her further on the elevator, she was definitely available. "No problem," she managed a stiff smile. Dealing with the waves of sensuality coursing through her proved something of a burden when it came to simple social interactions for her.
On the way back to the elevator, she turned toward him slightly to increase the contact with her breast ... more heat ... tighter nipples ... the smoldering embers kept needing more fuel ...
The few people riding the elevator were engrossed in their shopping conversations. No one noticed Joseph's hand press into Tiffany's warm breast ... or her intake of breath ... again the back of his hand slipped down her side slowly making contact along the way ... Tiffany thrilled to the contacts at each point ... little sensual sparklers lit up along her body in the wake of the hand ... then it reached her cheeks ... the large fingers slipped along her hip pressing slightly ... then it turned around so that the front of his hand made direct contact with her left cheek ... slowly the fingers spread out until the large hand cupped her left cheek with his finger tips on her panty line at her legs ... Tiffany felt flushed with the heat generating down below and pulsing upwards and
her ... as had happened on the previous elevator ride, her hips swiveled upward to increase the contact ... she had never imagined the exquisite thrills that could come from such simple touches ... she felt like she was burning up ... the hand slid across the back of her skirt and caressed her right cheek the same way ... then it moved to the center of her backside and cupped her entire rear end ...
... she had the strongest desire to spread her legs apart .... The elevator door opened on their floor. Again, they exited and a sound issued from Tiffany's throat as the large hand released its grip on her buttocks... Tiffany almost closed her eyes so that she could continue to enjoy the sensations she felt on her cheeks ...
It took only a moment to find his travel mug and they waited for the elevator again ... Tiffany smiled inwardly, knowing that the caressing hand would return momentarily ... Unfortunately, Tiffany the shopper encountered a friend of hers on the car ...
she asked herself rhetorically .... she managed a quick introduction to Joseph and then her acquaintance got off the elevator ... one more floor ... a brief flurry of touches ... breast ... thigh ... cheek ... open door ...
Joseph put his arm out and Tiffany grasped it and pressed her breast against it fully ...
"Are you ready to go for a ride in my car, Tiffany," he asked, looking down into her eyes.
Tiffany felt ready for anything he might propose that would bring his hands into closer contact with her screaming nerve ends. She met his gaze. "Yes, Joseph. Let's go..."
They exited the huge department store and didn't have long to wait for the black Rolls to pull up for them ...
|
Sans
Of course, things settle down once Paps brings out the spaghetti. His cooking just keeps getting better, and everyone’s too busy stuffing their faces to be wild and crazy. Hard to believe that, just a year ago, his… s’ketti… heh… was hardly edible. The table only seats about six people, so most of us have taken our plates into the living room. Frisk and I are on the couch with Checkers sandwiched between us, there are a couple of overstuffed chairs that Mettaton and Toriel are lounging in, and most everyone else sits on the floor, including Paps, who’s leaning against my end of the couch.
I can’t tell you how happy it makes me, seeing everyone together like this.
Can’t believe so many of our friends made it, I really can’t. I guess nobody can say no to Paps. Didn’t realize how lonely it’d been, just me and my brother in a new, empty house that really didn’t feel like home. I may not open up to people easily, but I really like having them around, and these particular people… they’re special, y’know?
Then there’s that one.
I shoot Checkers a glance out of the corner of my eye. I’m not sure how she’s done it, but I feel really comfortable around her, like I’ve known her forever. Better be careful; there are lots of things I gotta keep to myself, things about me, about the past, things even Paps doesn’t know. If I get too comfortable I might let something slip. Might be best to create some distance between us. The thought squeezes my heart. Or it would if I had one. I’m surrounded by people I love, and the fact that they don’t know me, don’t really know what’s going on inside, well… sometimes I think it’s gonna kill me.
If I can’t tell them what goes on in my head, in my heart, how could I ever tell her?
Shit, shit, shit… don’t do this. The day’s been so good. Your house is full of friends, you’re comfortable, you’ve got spaghetti, and in a few hours, when they all go home, you’ll play some Skyrim and probably fall asleep on the couch. It’ll be fuckin’ sweet. So think about the good things. Just the good things. My eyes drift to Checkers again. I can feel a quirked smile rising up one side of my face. Speaking of good things…
I’m sorry we scared her earlier, but now she’s looking a lot more at ease, and is fielding questions from the others with what looks like pleasure in the conversation: how’d she meet us, what does she do aside from work in a café, does she like anime, etc. Turns out she likes video games and does handicrafts, like crochet and beading and stuff. She reads a lot, too. And, yes, she likes anime. I’d like to ask her some questions of my own, but I figure I’ve had her to myself for most of the day and I oughta let the others have their turns. I’m trying not to let myself feel discouraged that Checkers isn’t paying attention to me. At the same time as I’m reminding myself to keep her at arm’s length. How does that make any goddamn sense? What the hell is wrong with me?
Her friend, Roxy, she’s getting the same treatment, being quizzed about herself and her life by whoever happens to be nearby. We all know each other pretty well, but these new girls, they’re basically like mysterious strangers. Roxy’s still hanging with Grillbz, over by the wall, and has picked up another friend while Checkers and I were gone: Argyle, known to most of us as the Monster Kid. MK’s even more hyperactive than Undyne, and since Roxy apparently has an ungodly amount of energy and can actually tolerate his presence for more than a few minutes, he seems to’ve latched onto her. MK doesn’t have any arms, but is doing pretty well for himself with the spaghetti, picking up one noodle at a time with his long tongue and slurping it with a totally unnecessary amount of noise.
Undyne’s been bouncing in place over there by Alphys for a while, and apparently she’s met her patience quota for the day, because she suddenly leaps to her feet and shouts, “It’s time for cake now, right? I’ll go cut it!” and races into the kitchen.
“O-oh, dear…” Alphys says, putting a hand to her mouth. “I’d b-better go h-help her.” She hefts herself up off the floor as Undyne’s voice comes ringing out of the kitchen door, yelling something that sounds like, “Now that’s a knife!” Alphys shuffles quickly into the kitchen and I can hear her quietly mumbling, trying to talk Undyne down. There’s only one way this can end.
“welp, everybody, let’s go get some cake.” … Before Undyne smashes it into paste or something. There’s a clatter from the direction of the kitchen, and the bright whirring noise that means Undyne has manifested one of her spears. “like, right now,” I urge, and everybody stampedes for the kitchen.
We interrupt Undyne just as she’s about to do a passion smashin’ on our poor sheet cake. Alphys is hanging off her arm like a big yellow bracelet, but Undyne doesn’t even seem to notice. What she does notice is all the rest of us charging into the kitchen like a herd of wildebeest, yelling at her to stop.
“Somebody has to cut it,” she complains, looking a little put-out. Then her face brightens, and that wild, shark-toothed grin of hers reappears, and she reaches behind me and yanks Checkers out of the crowd. I have to fight the sudden urge to grab Checkers myself and pull her back behind me. “(Y/N) should do it!” Undyne announces, putting Checkers into a headlock. Checkers, to her credit, doesn’t seem too freaked out, just a little surprised and, well, uncomfortable. She wouldn’t have handled it well earlier in the day; I guess she’s built up a tolerance to crazy shenanigans. “Here,” Undyne urges as Checkers tries to pry her head free. “Use this.” And Undyne hands Checkers her own energy spear.
Checkers stops struggling. “Whoa,” she says. Her fingertips trace the haft of the spear, twitching as bright sparks of magic fly out of it and into her, setting her hair to floating as if she was touching one of those lightning ball things. She peers at it closely, turning it this way and that. Undyne has released her, but she’s still bent over. I snigger. She hasn’t even noticed she’s not in a headlock any more. She also hasn’t noticed everyone watching her. I guess it didn’t occur to any of us that magic stuff might be as fascinating to some humans as things like the stars and the grass are to us. It’s a magic moment for Checkers, pun intended of course, and I think we’re all glad, honored even, to be there while it’s happening. I know I am.
Then Undyne shouts, “Cut it already!” and the spell is broken. Checkers jumps, and everyone laughs. Gamely, she uses the tip of the spear to start slicing a grid into the cake. The lines she cuts in it smoke slightly, and the smell of baking sweets wafts through the air. When she starts passing out pieces, the edges are warm, and the frosting is slightly melty, making the cake super-moist. It’s heavenly.
Checkers is staring at me. I was too caught up in cake heaven to notice, but she’s so intent on watching me that her own fork has frozen halfway to her mouth and is just hovering there like it’s forgotten its purpose in life. I stare back at her, disconcerted. “what? cake on my face?”
“Where does it go?” Checkers asks bashfully. I glance at the bite on my fork, and then at her. Huh. Never been asked that question before. “I mean, you don’t have a throat, or a stomach, do you?” she continues. Then, “Do you have a stomach?” as if she’s expecting me to say that, yes, despite all appearances there’s a stomach under my t-shirt.
No. No there’s not.
“uh,” I stall, trying to gather my thoughts. “it’s kinda technical.”
“I mean,” Checkers continues, “do you have, like, invisible organs and stuff?”
I laugh. “no, no organs.”
“Because when I, uh, touch you, I can feel a sort of…”
Jeez, how many questions does she have? Has she been holding them back this whole time? She looks uncomfortable again, like she’s embarrassed to want to know more about me… about us.
Nobody should ever feel bad for having questions.
How can I make her more comfortable?
I put down my cake plate, the better to focus on the conversation. “checkers, look, nobody here is gonna mind if you wanna ask them about themselves. i mean, if you’re curious about monster stuff, we understand.” Checkers mumbles something about not wanting to be offensive. I laugh. “undyne just put you in a headlock, and you think you’re the offensive one?” She thinks about that for a moment, and then gives me an amused chuckle. “look,” I say, “i’ll trade you. i answer one of your questions, you answer one of mine. sound alright?”
Something about the equal exchange idea seems to put her at ease. “Okay,” she responds. “What’s that… uh… stuff that I feel when…”
“when you touch me?” I finish for her. She nods. “pseudo-flesh. it’s an impermanent ectoplasmic structure that’s unique to skeletons and ghosts. its basic purpose in skeletons like paps and me is to protect the bones from impact. it’ll accumulate subconsciously whenever i anticipate contact with something, and i can make it dissipate by sort of… relaxing it, like a tensed-up muscle. at least i imagine it’s like that,” I chuckle. “it’s sensitive in its own right, so I can also examine potentially dangerous things by touch without worrying about getting injured.”
“So when I do this,” Checkers says, and holds up her hand. I hold mine up in response, and she moves forward to touch me. Her warm fingers explore the gentle support of my pseudo-flesh, and then I relax it and her hand meets mine as the ectoplasm melts away to nothing. Her hand is soft against my sensitive bones. Something powerful is happening to me; I don’t know why, but suddenly I feel myself on the verge of tears. I don’t even know if they’re happy or sad tears. I just know I can’t let them fall. I swallow, hard, and force whatever it is I’m feeling down into my toes. I imagine it draining away into the earth. I hold still as Checkers traces my fingers with her own, exploring me with childlike wonder. I watch her face while she does it.
When she lowers her hand, I feel its absence, a hollow feeling like despair against my finger bones. I have to fight with myself not to cling to her hand, not to reach for it once it parts company with mine.
“Cool,” she says. “Your turn. What’s your question?”
“you know what?” I mumble. I can’t, right now. I just… I can’t. “some other time.” I pull my hood up, hiding my face, and stuff my hands in my pockets for good measure. I turn away and trudge up the stairs. As my bedroom door closes behind me, I hear a concerned voice, drifting through the crack between the door and the jamb just before the latch clicks shut. How Checkers’s voice can find me through all the noise going on in the house is a mystery to me.
“Sans?”
You
What just happened?
You think at first that you offended him, but that can’t be right. He was trying so hard to put you at ease; he’s been trying all day to help you relax. You’d finally gotten to dig for answers, and he seemed happy enough to give them. And then… he just withdrew. He didn’t seem angry, just… just downhearted.
You think to yourself, tracing back over everything you’ve seen of Sans, which isn’t much. Still, it doesn’t take you long to realize that he is withdrawn: it’s a large part of his personality. You didn’t notice before because he’s friendly and funny, but sometimes he just seems to… shut off, to disappear from the world. Odd things will get to him, like that sun you drew on his Coke glass the day you met him, and suddenly he seems to be elsewhere, caught up in some inner world. On reflection, you start to worry that his inner world is a dark one.
Without meaning to, you find yourself climbing the steps, heading for the room Sans disappeared into, most likely his bedroom. You reach the door and twist your hands together for a moment, wondering if bothering him is the wrong thing to do. But then you think about the look of him as he retreated up the steps: he seemed so weary, lost, and alone.
You raise a fist and knock quietly at the door.
“yeah?” The voice inside sounds drawn-out, like it’s taking all the speaker’s energy just to force out that one syllable. Still, there’s an overlay of false cheerfulness to it, an attempt to make it sound normal and happy which completely fails to hide the fact that something is very wrong. It hurts your heart to hear it.
“Sans, it’s me,” you venture. “Can I come in?”
There’s a long silence from the room beyond the door. Then, “i’ll be out in a few, okay? just… just go have fun, and i’ll see you in a little bit.”
You hover outside Sans’s door for a moment, unwilling to leave but unsure what to do. Finally, you gather your courage and raise your fist again.
“Knock, knock,” you offer as you suit action to words.
You twist your fingers together nervously, waiting for a response. It takes a couple seconds to arrive.
“who’s there?”
“Panther.”
“… panther who?”
“Panther no panth, I’m going thwimming.”
“a-ha-ha!” There’s that laugh again, surprised to hear itself. There’s a slight rustling from the other side of the door, and then it clicks open. Sans stands in front of you, a bit bashfully, as if you’ve caught him doing something he shouldn’t.
“May I come in?” you ask again, quietly.
“might as well,” he answers with a wry smile, and you follow him into the room, closing the door behind you.
The sun hasn’t set yet, but the curtains are drawn, making the room seem dim and dreary. There’s a cluttered, dusty desk against the far wall, a treadmill with dirty clothes hanging on it, and a bed with no sheets… no, actually, it’s just that the sheets have been balled up and tossed on the floor, as if Sans had started to change his bedding and lost the will to do so halfway through. The floor is strewn with debris. The whole place smells like dirty socks.
Depression oozes from the walls.
Sans slumps down onto the mattress, back against the wall and knees drawn up to his chest. He gestures sardonically, smirking. “welcome to the master bedroom.” The lights in his eyes are much dimmer than you’re used to seeing them, and they’re flickering slightly, like candle flames. It makes him look anxious and sad.
You approach the bed and sit down beside him, close enough that your leg is pressed against his. You can sense that talking isn’t the way to go in this situation; Sans seems to want to keep whatever’s bothering him private, and you don’t want to push him or make him uncomfortable. You want him to feel better, not worse. What should you do?
Sans is giving you a bitter smile, but he’s also looking at you with wide eye sockets, his flickering pupils drinking in your features as if… as if he’s been living alone on an island and yours is the first face he’s seen in years.
God, how can he be so lonely in a house full of people?
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you put an arm around his shoulders and draw him to you. He’s tense for a few moments, surprised and uncertain, and then he shudders, hard. Holding him close to you, you can feel the tremor as it makes its way down his body. In its wake, Sans seems to melt into you. His arms come up and his fingers wrap themselves in your shirt, and he clings to you like a child. You lean back against the wall with Sans practically in your lap, and stroke the back of his skull, the back of his ribcage, his spine. You murmur simple, soothing things like, “I’m here,” and “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Sans doesn’t make a sound, but after a while you can feel a warm wetness seeping through your shirt where his face is buried in the crook between your neck and shoulder. You wish you could tell him it’s okay to cry, but something tells you you shouldn’t mention it. You keep holding him, stroking him, and murmuring small comforts, until his fingers release their grip on you and his arms relax, drifting limply downwards. His breathing has turned deep and even.
He’s asleep.
You continue to stroke him, marveling at the soft-yet-hard texture of his skull, unwilling to move or stop what you’re doing for fear he’ll wake up. Something tells you he needs whatever sleep he can get. You catch yourself sniffling, and that’s when you notice that your eyes feel hot and swollen, and the slightly crusty salt trails of dried tears decorate your cheeks. You’ve been crying, too.
Oh, Sans...
You sit on the bed with Sans asleep against you for what feels like a long time, but is probably only about fifteen minutes or so. He smells like ozone, the scent of magic, and petrichor, like the first drops of rain on dry dirt, and underneath that is a subtle, spicy musk that’s strangely human-like and distinctly male. His warm weight lulls you into a near-sleep state yourself, and you drift comfortably in and out of consciousness until you’re roused by clamorous feet pounding up the stairs and a loud voice proclaiming, “SANS! SANS, GET UP, YOU LAZYBONES! IT’S TIME TO OPEN OUR HOUSEWARMING GIFTS!” Papyrus knocks on the door thunderously.
Sans stirs sleepily against you, slow to wake. He makes a noise of confusion and lifts his head to blink blearily at you. Muzzy and unfocused, he ventures, “wha… ’m awake. you’re ah… nnn?” You giggle.
“Have a nice nap?” you ask him.
“mmm,” he hums, and sinks back against you, apparently intending to go back to sleep. Papyrus knocks again.
“SANS! SANS, I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT ANYWHERE ELSE! COME OUT, RIGHT NOW! I CANNOT OPEN PRESENTS WITHOUT YOU, AND OUR FRIENDS CANNOT STAY ALL NIGHT! THERE IS NOWHERE FOR THEM ALL TO SLEEP, AND SOME OF THEM HAVE TO WORK IN THE MORNING!”
Sans makes a noise of denial and snuggles closer to you. It seems he’s an obstinate sleeper. You shake him gently, and again he greets you with confusion and some disjointed syllables. You guess he wasn’t truly awake the first time, and this time is obviously no better. So, to help matters along, you take him by the shoulders and bodily sit him up. While he blinks owlishly and rubs at one of his eye sockets, you straighten his hoodie a bit so he doesn’t look too rumpled when he goes to rejoin the outside world. You reach around to the back of his neck to try and make the hood lie better, and suddenly his eyes blink open wide, and he jerks backwards and falls off the bed, hitting the floor with a startled squawk.
“‘Morning, sleepyhead,” you greet him, leaning over the edge of the bed to smile playfully at him.
“nngh?” he grunts gruffly, rubbing the back of his skull. He must have banged it on the floor when he fell. “checkers? what’s…”
Papyrus cuts him off by pounding on the door again. “SANS! BROTHER, IF YOU ARE NOT OUT HERE BY THE TIME I COUNT TO TEN, I AM COMING IN TO SHAKE YOU! I KNOW YOU HATE THAT!”
Sans twitches. You snicker. He turns to you.
“you wanna…”
“Follow you down in a minute, so we’re not seen leaving your room together?” You smirk at him.
Sans flushes shyly and rubs the back of his head. “uh-huh.”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” You lean back against the wall again as Sans stands up and heads for the door.
“paps, i’m up. i’m up, okay? stand back, i’m gonna open the door and i don’t wanna hit you with it again… or do i?”
Sans
Opening the presents doesn’t take long. Not many people brought one, which is fine: what we really wanted was to see them all again. I’m not much for surprises, and my enjoyment of stuff, things, and etc. is pretty much limited to how comfortable they make me, how funny they are, and whether or not they’ll fit in the X-Box. Paps, on the other hand…
“SANS! SANS, LOOK! IT’S A TOASTER *AND* AN OVEN!”
I snicker. So does Checkers. She leans over to whisper to me.
“I dropped it when Papyrus picked me up. If it’s broken, let me know and we’ll exchange it.”
“sure,” I whisper back, trying not to think about the feeling of her breath ghosting across the side of my skull. Too bad I’m the worst at not thinking. Checkers… I still can’t believe… Did that really happen? I mean, of course I had an emotional breakdown in the middle of a party. That’s just something I’ve come to expect from myself. (Sans, you impossible asshole.) What I mean is, did Checkers really hold me while I cried on her shoulder? God, that felt good. Didn’t realize how much I needed to be touched… Please don’t take that the wrong way. Paps hugs me sometimes, but I never let it last long. Too afraid he’ll get a better read on me than I want him to. Paps is the best thing in my life, and he deserves to be happy. And part of that is making sure he thinks I’m happy. So I tend to discourage hugs. He mostly shows his affection by nagging, anyway.
When Checkers pulled me against her and held on, something tight in me just… dissolved. I’m still reeling from the aftereffects of whatever weird relief I got from it all. I feel a little floaty and disconnected, but a little more able to face whatever comes next.
One problem, though: now I don’t know how to act around her. I’m ashamed that she saw me like that, weak and worthless. And, more than that, I’m afraid she’ll stay with me again, comfort and hold me again next time it happens. And if she does, I might come to depend on her, even to need her. And if I need her, then what’ll I do when she disappears?
‘Cause she will.
Everything does.
Anyway, the whole thing was a big emotional exhibitionist mess, and it all sorta feels like a dream to me. A nice dream, though… Stop it. Just stop. You don’t need anyone, and you certainly don’t deserve someone like Checkers. Don’t be a baby, and don’t foist your shit onto other people. They have their own problems. They can’t spend their time dealing with yours.
I’m looking at Checkers again and not paying as much attention to the proceedings as I should be, so when Paps tosses me a smallish package, it bounces off the side of my head. Ow. Everyone laughs except Toriel, who gasps, “Oh my goodness, are you alright?” Frisk, who’s sitting on my non-Checkers side, makes a grab for the package and snatches it out of the air. She almost drops it as soon as she catches it: it’s about the weight of a bowling ball, and I guess she wasn’t expecting that. Good thing I’ve got a thick skull. And that Frisk is so fast. She holds the package out to me, smirking.
I can feel a blush heating my face up. Gotta try and cover up my Checkers-centric behavior before anyone realizes why I was so distracted. I glare at Papyrus, who’s opening his mouth, getting ready to scold me. “geez, bro, no need to box my ears.”
Everyone laughs again. I glance around at them. Doesn’t look like they’ve noticed the connection between my head-in-the-clouds display and my new human friend, but it can be hard to tell with this crowd: some of them are pretty observant (as well as pretty discreet), and, let’s face it, I haven’t exactly been subtle. In fact, for someone whose middle name would be Subtlety if he had a middle name, I’ve been… just… ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous. How did this shit happen? C’mon, man, get it together.
I take the gift from Frisk and, before opening it, throw out another couple puns for good measure. “welp, no time like the present. let’s wrap this party up.” Paps groans. Checkers giggles. I blush again. Goddammit.
I tear open the wrapping.
It’s the ice cream maker.
I start to laugh, suddenly delighted. Checkers laughs with me. |
They ignored the envelope for nearly a month. It sat, with the small folded piece of paper on top, gathering dust on the kitchen counter. Rebecca glanced at it from time to time, shifting things around, moving a plate or a cup or a platter out of the way. The tea canister found a new home on the opposite counter, so as to avoid looking directly at the envelope and on the mornings he was there, Ted found himself looking at it with a forlorn kind of longing.
If anything he wanted her to make peace with it. He’d never demand she make a choice she wasn’t ready to make, he’d never put his nose where it didn’t belong. But they’d been together for nearly five months and he was valiantly fighting against the feelings of jealousy deep down in his gut, when he watched her leave the club with men he knew were going to touch her, to be with her - on particularly dark nights when he was alone in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, he allowed his stomach to churn with the notion of their lips on her skin, their hands in her hair, their breath, their voices in her ear.
He knew what he signed up for. He promised her, he wouldn’t get jealous. He promised her, he wouldn’t ask her to change.
His heart ached when he looked at her. Ached with the knowledge that he had her heart, but he shared her body and it was starting to split him in two.
He knew it was naive for her to not consider the envelope as a way out.
But she wouldn’t talk about it.
She wouldn’t even acknowledge it and he tried so hard not to push it, for fear she’d lose her temper and throw the envelope in the trash. They’d come close a couple of times. They’d very nearly fought about it, her tea spilling across the counter, staining the corner of the envelope as she mopped it up with a towel and he’d stopped bringing it up after that.
She wasn’t ready.
They knew her mother was still in town. Every other day, there was a small package on the front step for Scarlett - a toy, or a treat or a little note. She was trying to mend a bridge that Rebecca was so sure had washed away years ago and Ted couldn’t claim to know the intricacies of it, he was so new to their lives, but he saw the look on her face when she picked up each package, he saw the touch of sadness in her eyes as she read every note.
He remembered what she’d said about her mother, that first night they were together.
She missed her.
***
“So you guys are going pretty strong, huh.” Beard questioned, folding a towel over and over again at the end of the bar. But it wasn’t really a question - he was well aware of the status of Ted’s relationship with Rebecca, had even spoken a few words to her himself, when the moment had presented itself - beyond their initial meeting, the night they’d kicked Rupert to the curb.
Ted knew his friend didn’t wholeheartedly approve.
“Yeah, she’s amazing. But you knew that.”
“Right.”
Ted sighed. “Look, Beardo, I get what you’re trying to do and I appreciate ya, but she’s not what you think. Heck, what do you think? I don’t get it. You’ve never been the judgemental type, why now?”
Beard’s eyes widened and he leaned across the counter, focusing intently on his friend. “I’m not judging her,” He said it like the notion was preposterous - and that was certainly more like his friend. “I’m just worried what it’s going to do to you, when you realise you can’t handle sharing her.”
Ted swallowed, looking down at the glass in his hands.
“Because that’s what you’re doing. Three nights a week your girlfriend is in bed with other men. Men, I might add, that you’re fully aware of. Doesn’t that get your goat?”
Ted shifted his shoulders, standing up straighter, his chin high. “No.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not the same as when she’s with me.”
Beard nodded. “No, you’re right, it’s not. But it’s,”
Ted cut him off. “I knew full-well her occupation, when I walked into this. And I’d do it again, and again and again. I won’t give her up, I can’t.”
“Ted,”
“I love her, Beard.”
Beard nodded his head slowly, looking down at the towel folded up neatly in front of him as he let out a long sigh. “I know.”“You think I don’t wish it could be different?” Beard looked up at him, and Ted shifted a little closer, their voices hushed across the bar. “Of course I do, I’m only freakin human, buddy. But she,” He glanced over towards the stairs - it was almost nine, she’d be coming down the stairs soon and he’d have to pretend like he didn’t see her, that he wasn’t watching her - pretend like he'd never met her before in his life, if only to keep himself from launching across the bar and whisking her away.
He looked back to Beard, who was studying him intently as he took a deep breath. “Beardo, if this is all I ever get, it’s gotta be enough. She’s worth it.”
“I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
The sound of familiar laughter on the stairs drew their attention, and Ted was struck breathless by her long legs dipping out from the split in her sculpted red dress, her hips sashaying with every step. She glanced over, meeting his eye for the briefest moment, just enough to convey exactly what he needed - I’m okay, I missed you before she refocused her attention on the man by her side.
“She’s not going to hurt me.”
Beard just hummed, not pressing any further. He knew where his friend was coming from - Beard had known Ted for years, had been his friend through school and girlfriends and Michelle - they’d seen the very best and worst of each other and still held strong. He knew, without a doubt, that Beard knew the agony churning inside of him, regardless that he refused to admit it.
It didn’t matter what words were spoken between them. Beard saw right through the mask of indifference, saw through the veiled facade and knew that inside, Ted was screaming.
***
He was the first one to duck out into the hall, the one to slip into the alcove and spend a good minute and a half, taking deep breaths, trying to steady his rapidly beating heart. A minute and forty-five seconds passed and then he felt the cool brush of a breeze across his cheek, followed by the crisp smell of citrus and lilacs.
His heart did a quick double-tap as he stepped out, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her with him through the nearest door before pressing her up against it, his knee between her legs and her lips, against his jaw all before he took a breath.
“Ted,” She gasped, breathlessly, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her voice shaking as he reached over beside her and latched the door. “What are you doing?” Her words weren’t a protest, per se, but she’d likely stepped away from her date for only a moment - relieving herself, powdering her nose, reapplying her lip-liner; any of the above - and she’d be expected back. But his hands ached to hold her and his lips burned to taste her. “I’m sorry,” He shuddered, gripping her thighs firmly and lifting her up to wrap her legs around his waist before he deposited her on the counter - it was the ladies restroom, he just realised. All green tiles and gold fixtures, a moody kind of lighting that gave the place an atmosphere that only added to his heady desperation.
“I can be quick.”
She pulled back, breathless, her lips a little red-raw from her smeared lipstick and the rough scratch of his stubble. Her eyes widened and he grinned as he watched her chest heaving out of her dress. He studied her, one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her firm, the other reaching up to gently run his finger along the thin black strap of her dress.
She seemed to ponder him for a long moment and he knew, if she pushed away, if she told him no, if her jest turned to anger that he’d intruded where they’d agreed he wouldn’t interfere, he’d step back instantly - he’d do what she asked.
He wouldn’t risk her deciding this was all too much.
“Okay, but I have to keep my dress on and don’t touch my hair.”
“Oh nuts, that’ll be hard, it’s so soft.”
“Ted,” She warned, but there was a touch of amusement in her tone, a sparkle in her eye.
“Yeah, okay,” He wasn’t gonna look a gift-horse in the mouth. He dove for her, littering rough, desperate kisses along her clavicle, down her chest, his moustache and lips, buried between her breasts as she ran her nails across his scalp, making him moan, the flesh of her breast caught between his teeth, making her breath hitch.
“You bit me!” She gasped.
“You did that thing you do with my scalp that makes me almost come in my khakis.” He looked up and winked at her. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“Is it?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, darlin, it is. Anyway, come on, we’re on a time crunch here, scooch forward.”
She laughed heartily, shifting her hips until she was perched right on the edge of the counter, held up by his hips between her thighs and his hands low on her ass, gripping, kneading as he found her lips and kissed her hungrily.
“I need you, Ted,” She breathed against his ear, her arms clinging tightly to his shoulders, her nails digging into his biceps. “Please.” He reached between them, bunching her dress up against the back of his wrist as he dipped his fingers into her panties, spreading her with his thumb and pointer, before pressing his middle finger in, right up to his knuckle. “Fuck!” She shuddered, her nails gripping his arms tighter, her breath stuttering against his jaw.
“Like that?”
“I’ve been watching you all night, Ted,” She moaned. He pumped his finger as she spoke, savouring the way it made her breath hitch on every syllable. “Your arms, that little bit of hair falling in your eyes, your ass in those trousers.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes.” She sighed, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, letting her eyes fall closed and he chuckled rather smugly at the knowledge he could do this to her.
“Certainly feels like someone has had an effect on you?” He grinned when she opened her eyes and narrowed them at his implication. “Sure it wasn’t money-bags out there?”
“Ted,” She sighed, but the irritation was short lived when he added another finger and her mouth fell open.
“Ernest isn’t,” She stopped what she was saying abruptly when he captured her lips with his, whatever she’d been planning to say, lost in the kiss as she dropped her hands down from his shoulders, and made quick work of his belt and fly, pushing his layers down his hips just enough to free him.
“You’re ready?”
“Mhm,” She moaned, gripping his ass with both hands and pulling. “Now, please.”
It was rough and unceremonious and far less romantic than either of them would prefer, but she was ready for him and he was desperate for her, so when he brushed her panties aside and she gripped his shoulders tightly, lifting herself up just a little, he thrust into her right to the hilt, holding her steady as she whimpered, one hand clenched to the back of his head.
“You okay?” He questioned, against the side of her neck.
She just nodded, wordlessly and that was enough for him to start moving. He thrust into her, hard and fast, one hand gripping her thigh, the other curled around her waist. She made small sounds, whimpers, moans, little sighs that made his hand tighten around her thigh and his hips pump faster.
“More,” She groaned and Ted reached up, his fingers reaching for her hair but he stopped himself, his hand slapping against the counter as she met his eye with a warning.
“Sorry, sorry,” He chuckled. “Force of habit.”
He used his palm against the counter as leverage, shifting her to lean back a little, thrusting deep, faster, her chest heaving with the force of it. “Please, Ted.”
“I-I got you, darlin,” He stuttered, so close himself. “You take what you need, my hands are kinda full.” Rebecca didn’t hesitate, reaching between them and rubbing her own fingers against her clit and the sight of it, of her lip between her teeth in concentration, her eyebrows pinched like she was caught somewhere between bliss and achieving a goal, and her strong, agile hand working at her own pleasure - he came undone. His hips lost all rhythm and his breathing became erratic, pumping just a few more times before he couldn’t hold back anymore and he was spilling into her, his lips on her shoulder, one of her hands in his hair and the other, pinned between them as he collapsed against her.
Rebecca whimpered as he pulled out of her, a whining, desperate mewl that pulled at his heart and he reared back quickly. “I’m sorry, I-”
“Ted, it’s alright.”
“No, it isn’t, you were so close, you,”
“Ted, it’s okay.”
“No way,” He stopped her hands where she was pressing against his hips - she’d already slipped off the counter, but he wouldn’t have it. “No, fuck that. Stay there,” He planted his hands firmly against her waist.
“Ted, it’s alright. Honestly.”
“Nope.” He quickly zipped up his pants before he dropped to his knees before her, lifting her dress to her hips and taking hold of her thigh, shifting her leg over his shoulder so that he could lap at her with his tongue.
“Oh my god,” She shuddered, desperately gripping the counter behind her, her hips tipped forward, against his mouth. “Jesus, fuck, Ted,” She muttered and he grinned against her, his tongue swirling circles against her sensitive ball of nerve endings as he thrust two fingers into her, pumping determinedly as he sucked and licked until she was coming with a cry, shifting up against the counter as if to pull away, like it was too much, her legs turning to jelly, before he stood up and wrapped his arm around her waist, to keep her steady.
“I’m sorry,” He muttered quickly against her ear, the secure hold he had on her to keep her upright, turning into a tender embrace, the longer he held her.
“What for, Ted, that was,”
He cut her off. “I promised I wouldn’t get jealous, I promised I wouldn’t do this.”
“Hey,” She pulled back, reaching up to brush at his hair gently, attempting to tame it. “It’s alright.”
“It’s not though,” He sighed. “I promised you. But then I saw you, in this dress, with that guy, Rebecca,” He let out a shuddering breath.
Rebecca giggled, and that was the very last thing he’d expected her to do, when he was essentially admitting that he wasn’t cut out to share her, that he was possessive, that he was jealous, that he wasn’t as able to control those emotions as he’d promised he would be. But she was giggling, honest to goodness giggling, and her fingers were in his hair, tracing an adoring line down his temple, over the apple of his cheek, down his jaw, until the tip of her thumb found his lips and she grinned up at him.
“Ted,” She spoke gently, her voice soft and soothing, like warm honey. “It’s okay. Your timing was perfect, actually.”
“How is that, even,” He stammered. “What?”
“It’s not like that, with Ernest, he doesn’t,” She took a breath. “He doesn’t want…that.”
“Ernest is?”
“My date.”
“Oh.”
“Honestly, Ted, I was horny as fuck,” She chewed on her lip, looking up at him through her lashes. “I watched you tap a keg tonight, Ted, I saw you shifting it, your arms, your,” She took a deep breath, making a show of gripping his shoulders as she spoke. “I wanted you, just as badly as you wanted me, and we’ll come back to that little possessive streak of yours later, but I needed this.” She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want it.”
“So it’s not like that, with him?” He questioned and he knew, deep down, he shouldn’t ask - he’d made promises to her, spoken and unspoken and one of the unspoken ones was that he’d never ask. His only stipulation was that she was safe, that’s all he truly wanted. Safe and protected and within reach if ever she thought that wasn’t the case. He told himself he’d never ask for anything else from her, in relation to her job. But he wasn’t sure if it was the euphoria of what they’d just done or the conversation he’d had with Beard earlier, but he needed to know.
“No,” She chuckled, brushing the back of her knuckles against his cheek. “He just likes me to listen.”
“To listen?”
“Yeah,” She shifted away from him, taking a step out of his arms so she could straighten her dress, before spinning around and looking at him in the mirror as she checked her makeup.
He’d been careful; he hadn’t touched her hair, just like she’d asked, so it was barely out of place. She flipped open her clutch, smiling at his reflection as she re-applied her lipstick. “His wife passed away about three years ago, and just over a year ago, Mae introduced us.” She turned back around, offering him a gentle smile and a little shrug of her shoulders. “I mean, initially, yes, that is what he wanted. Or at least, it’s what he thought he wanted. But he couldn’t go through with it,” There was a tear in the corner of her eye and Ted noticed it, ready to reach up and brush it away for her, if it broke free. “He was so heartbroken, so lost, and then I asked him if he wanted to talk about her, I think he was surprised I was willing to listen.”
“So you…”
She nodded. “He takes me to dinner, we have a few drinks and I just listen to him talk about her. He loved her so much, Ted.” She let out a breath. “He still does. You know, they were married for fifty years.”
Ted reached for her, curling his arms around her waist. “You have the most amazing heart, did you know that?”
“I just listen to the man, Ted.”
“There aren’t many that would.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her in his arms for another moment before he knew he had to let her go.
***
“Hey,” Rebecca’s soft voice surprised him. It was late and he was sitting at one of her kitchen stools with a hot chocolate and a book spread out on the surface, every other light but that of the little pop-ups in the counter, off. “What are you doing here?”
He watched her as she set her clutch on the counter, rounding the bench to flick on the still warm kettle, readying a cup of tea.
“Keeley let me in,” He answered quietly, taking a sip as Rebecca turned around and rested back against the counter, arms folded over her chest. “Scarlett’s fast asleep.”
She nodded slowly with a soft smile. “And Henry?”
“Oh, he’s at home with Beard.”
“Ah.”
“Listen, Rebecca,” He started, moving to stand up, but she held a hand out, halting him half-way to standing.
“If you apologise, one more time, Ted.”
The faintest smile brushed across his features, and he softened, just looking at her. She’d already kicked off her heels, no doubt by the stairs, and it looked like she’d run her hands through her hair, because the soft waves were a little more dishevelled than when he’d seen her last. She just looked softer, all over, like their days in the park, like their sunlit mornings after peaceful, passionate nights in each other’s arms.
“I just,”
She cut him off, gently. “It’s okay.” She reached for him, grasping his hands, pulling him all the way to standing, tugging him towards her until their stomachs were pressed together and his palms rested on the counter behind her, his body curled around her’s. Comforting, not crowding. He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose as he smiled. “But do you want to tell me what got into you tonight?”
“Rebecca,”
“I’m not angry.” She sighed. “I just want to know that you’re okay.”
“I’m not,” He answered honestly, because it was true; he really wasn’t okay. He thought he could be; he thought for her, he could do anything. But what Beard had said, kept ringing in his ears.
It wasn’t his right, it wasn’t his place - he’d walked into the love he had for her with eyes wide open, knowing full-well, what he was getting himself into. He couldn’t very well ask her to change everything she was, for him - because he was selfish. But he was.
And he knew, realistically, that’s not what he’d be asking. But she’d been handed an opportunity, her mother had stood there and offered her a way out, and if he was honest with both of them, for over a month he’d grown more and more frustrated that she’d refused to even consider it.
He couldn’t help but feel there was a part of her that didn’t want out.
He knew it was fear - her work, her life, Mae - it was what she knew. It wasn’t the safest, but it was comfortable because she knew where she stood and maybe she wouldn’t be uprooting her entire life and leaving everything she knew to restart everything in another country, with a tiny son, but the idea of setting a new course was still scary. He understood that.
But every time he watched her walk away with another man, he felt the vice around his heart tighten.
“I thought I could do this.”
“Ted, what are you saying?” She pulled away, stepping out of his arms as the kettle whistled, making her way around the counter with hitched breath, her hand over her lips, fear in her eyes. “What are you,” She gasped. “What is,” She couldn’t finish her sentence, any sentence. All she had was the crippling fear that had sprung to her eyes at his words and he felt the vice tighten at the knowledge that he’d put it there. “Do you not want to be with me anymore?”
Ted dashed around the counter, reaching for her, desperately stretching his hand out for hers when she attempted to pull away, the fear making her eyes widen, her breaths deepen. He thought for a moment, she was about to have a panic attack, if not for the way everything stilled when their fingers touched.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” He tugged her back towards him, reaching up to cup her cheek as she pressed her eyes closed, taking deep breaths, in and out. “I’m just saying, this is so much harder than I expected. Because I love you so much more than I thought I was able.”
Her eyes flew open. “Ted,” She breathed out.
His voice dropped low, barely a whisper, a breath between them as he spoke, afraid the words would cut them asunder if he spoke them too loudly. “I breathe for you, Rebecca. I can’t bear the thought of being without you, without Scarlett.” Her chest heaved with the weight of his words. “And I’d never ask you to do anything that you’re not ready for, I’d never ask you to be what you’re not, but-” He reached for the envelope that still lay on the counter, unopened, untouched and watched as the little piece of paper with her mother’s phone number fluttered off it as he picked it up and held it between them.
“I will love you, no matter what you choose.”
“Ted, I can’t,” She was shaking her head but Ted stood firm, one arm held gently around her waist, his palm splayed on her back, as he lifted the envelope between them.
“I am not asking you to do anything but open it,” He rested it against her chest, his eyes not leaving hers. “Read it. Please,” he added desperately. “I will support you no matter what you choose, but I need to know that you’ve considered every option, that you’ve considered it for Scarlett, and for us.”
“Ted, I don’t,”
“It’s not about the money. I need you to know that. I don’t care about all that, but if something in this envelope can set you and Scarlett free, I want you to consider it. Please.”
She raised her hand between them, resting it over the envelope holding it against her chest as she nodded, silently.
“Okay,” He pressed a kiss to her lips, smiling as she chased it when he pulled away, her fingers curled in the sleeve of his shirt, unwilling to let go. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pecked her lips again and then released her, stepping around the counter, grabbing his keys as he headed for the door.
She spun on the spot, her voice coming out hoarse from lack of use and the tightness creeping up her throat.
“Ted,”
“Yeah?” He stopped just by the door, smiling at her as she gripped the kitchen door frame.
“I love you.”
He smiled, the full warmth of it touching his eyes, the vice on his heart loosening just a little.
“Well that’s a good place to start.” He gave her a little wave as he pulled the door open and stepped out. “Night, honey.” |
When Wei Wuxian awoke the following morning, the bright sunlight streaming in told him that he had been asleep far past the Lan sect’s usual curfew. Whether he had fallen asleep voluntarily or his body had just repeatedly passied out from pain, he wasn’t entirely sure. He vaguely remembered waking up throughout the night, spouting random slurs of words to Lan Wangji in a state of pained delusion, and Lan Wangi having said something in return every time, but he couldn’t remember much more than a fuzzy memory.
Perhaps he had just been telling me to shut up.
Throughout the night every time he woke up in screams, Lan Wangji had also woken. Wei Wuxian felt a small jab in his gut. He did feel sorry towards the other man, maybe even guilt, but that did not mean he had forgiven him for what he had done behind his back, nor was he pleased about not being given a proper warning about the murderous wards that imprisoned him.
As his mind pulled itself from its fuzzy state, he realised that, somehow, the same relief from the previous night flooded his veins. He hummed, content, allowing himself to sink back against the sheets that embraced him. He enjoyed the warm air from the incoming sunlight on his skin, the feeling of clean clothes against his skin after so long without adequate laundering facilities in the Burial Mounds. The comforting scent of sandalwood that came from somewhere filled his senses. He breathed in deeply, letting the smell, his numbed senses and the warmth flowing through his arm envelope him in bliss. A small mew left his lips, followed by a moan as he let the feeling overwhelm him. That was, until he heard sound of clothing shuffling.
His eyes shot open to see Lan Wangji staring at him, expression as unreadable as it had always been. Bright eyes locked on Wei Wuxian’s own and Lan Wangji’s pupils flickered as if they couldn’t decide how to interpret what they were looking at as they stared at each other for a moment, at a loss for words. Lan Wangji sat inches away from where Wei Wuxian laid, hand lingering above Wei Wuxian’s injured arm, continuously pouring his energy into the injured cultivator. Now that Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to look at said injuries, he could see that he donned fresh bandages delicately wrapped around his arm, the material neatly wound around the entire right arm.
What do I say? Do I stay mad at him? He deserves it, but…
How could he yell at the man who was taking care of him? If Jiang Cheng was there, he would have hit him despite his injuries for being so rude. Wei Wuxian could have argued that his injury was both of their faults. He could, additionally, have argued that the only reason Lan Wangji remained to provide pain relief despite having done so all through the night was his guilt for the part he played in it all. Interrupting Wei Wuxian’s thoughts, It was Lan Wangji who spoke first.
“You are beginning to heal,” he remarked, “Later we will check the remaining pain. Will you be able to handle it?”
Wei Wuxian’s ego was bruised as he laid there, injured and dependent.
“You could just try it now,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek before he said something out of lingering annoyance that would bring about another stale atmosphere.
Lan Wangji shook his head. “Eat first.”
Wei Wuxian was grateful, noticing another array of beige dishes on the small table next to the bed. If he was going to be in pain, at least it wouldn’t be joined by painful hunger pangs.
“What about you? Did you already eat?”
Lan Wangji averted his eyes back to Wei Wuxian’s bandages, “While you were asleep I briefly stepped out. I gave you extra relief before I left to give myself time to eat.”
Ah, how could I forget. The Lan sect eats so delicately it takes them a million years for one measly bowl of rice. He tried not to snort at the idea.
“You must have been exhausted if you gave me extra.”
Especially if you’ve been doing this all night.
Lan Wangji’s mouth sat in a firm straight line. He was already dressed for the day, forehead ribbon sitting straight against his smooth, unblemished skin. However, the bags under his eyes were more noticeable than usual. Purple and blue against the delicate porcelain. “It is fine. Today I have no physical tasks.”
“I see.” Wei Wuxian pushed himself up onto his one good elbow and gestured to his numbing arm with his chin. “How are they looking? The cuts.”
“No new blistering.”
Wei Wuxian grimaced, remembering how his arm had looked before. He almost didn’t want to eat at the thought but perhaps he needed real portions of food, no matter how bland, after months of eating only small portions to ensure each Wen had enough. He sighed at Lan Wangji.
“Help me sit up, please. I’ll eat.”
After Lan Wangji had gotten Wei Wuxian settled against the head of the bed he allowed Wei Wuxian to attempt to feed himself with his non-dominant arm. It took far longer than he had expected. His arm shook as he tried to bring it towards his mouth, shaking half with the unfamiliar feeling and half with frustration. After numerous failed attempts, Wei Wuxian decided he would most definitely starve to death. Still, Lan Wangji hadn’t offered to help, and Wei Wuxian was silently thankful for being allowed to keep his dignity despite the frustration.
He had protested when Lan Wangji said that he should get dressed, knowing that he would be unable to do so independently in his current state.
We’re both men and there’s nothing shameful about bodies! But… Lan Wangji having to dress and bathe me?!
That was too far.
So, they had come to a compromise, despite Lan Wangji arguing that bathing would help relax the other’s muscles and speed up healing. And, deep down, Wei Wuxian knew that Lan Wangji had seen it all before, had helped him in that way during that month he was comatose, but it was different when he was conscious and aware. He had some pride left.
Not a lot, granted, but some.
Lan Wangji handed Wei Wuxian a damp cloth so that he could wipe himself down as well as he could with his one arm and get himself as dressed as far as possible while Lan Wangji looked away. He had only needed to help when it came to getting the injured arm inside his robes. Whilst doing so he had politely averted his eyes from Wei Wuxian’s exposed upper chest and had bolted away immediately afterwards, going to organise the books on the shelf.
Huh, I must have not put the books in the right place.
He could see Lan Wangji’s ears, the tips flushed pink. He realised it must have been hard for Lan Wangji, to suddenly have to help another person in such a personal way. He doubted that Lan Wangji had ever been in this position before.
He never liked me talking about taking my clothes off, even with the Xuanwu.
For the next few hours Lan Wangji sat on the floor by the bed, close enough to keep transferring energy but far enough away that he could read a book without Wei Wuxian disturbing him. It wasn’t like Wei Wuxian had planned on disturbing him, he simply needed some time to lay and think. To process what had happened. He couldn’t pick up his flute like he usually did and control corpses to relinquish his anger, he had to just… Lay there. Think. Process.
I can do that, I can deal with my own thoughts… I think.
Wei Wuxian laid atop the bed, unmoving and silently engrossed in his own thoughts. It had been a month. He wondered how Jiang Yanli was doing now. He had not yet seen his nephew and he wondered: Is he healthy? Would he grow up to despise me knowing that his father died at the hands of my creation?
After a few hours of silent reading and contemplation, Lan Wangji had to leave to dine with his uncle and brother. He still had family matters to attend to, after all. If he suddenly disappeared all day, who would not be suspicious?
It was at that point that he decided he would check on Wei Wuxian’s pain levels without giving him any spiritual energy to heal. Unsurprisingly, as soon as the spiritual energy ceased, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but let out a blood curdling scream as sudden lashes of fire poured down his arm. Lan Wangji took note, and afterwards, leaving for dinner, sent a large surge of energy into Wei Wuxian before he left. The loss of such a great amount of energy at one time caused Lan Wangji to stumble slightly on his way out of the door before quickly regaining his balance. Wei Wuxian wondered if he was the only one to ever see the mighty Hanguang Jun stumble.
The energy surging through his veins, Wei Wuxian let himself be taken by the fuzzy feeling that engulfed his entire body, enjoying the break from the short painful burst. He conjured the image of Lan Wangji’s strained features as what little energy he must have had left poured out in an unspoken promise that this was to keep Wei Wuxian going until he returned later.
When Lan Wangji did return a while later, he held a new tray with a small bowl containing yet again more congee. Wei Wuxian had voiced his distaste of the tasteless mush already but Lan Wangji was firm in his stance on the matter. He insisted on plain and nourishing foods until Wei Wuxian made a full recovery no matter how much Wei Wuxian complained.
After he had finished eating, Wei Wuxian spoke up as Lan Wangji returned from disposing of the dirtied dishes.
“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he said, “about me being here.”
Lan Wangji froze, waiting. He had just been about to sit back down to continue reading. Before Wei Wuxian had spoken it had seemed that the remainder of the evening was going to be spent in the same silence that had filled the room all day. Tense and filled with unsaid words. Wei Wuxian studied Lan Wangji’s face before he spoke again. After Lan Wangji’s own meal and brief rest from spiritual energy transfer, he looked less fatigued, almost back to his usual self. He looked as though he was capable of understanding.
Wei Wuxian continued. “I need some time, to think about everything,” he confessed. He had thought about it all day, but without hearing from Lan Wangji, this was the only decision he had been able to make thus far.
Lan Wangji nodded. “That is fair.”
“But,” he continued, and bit down on his lip. “If I were to, live here… with you. If I were to willingly stay, I mean, what would that mean?”
Lan Wangji took his seat at the edge of the bed. “For now, the cultivation world is still too dangerous. People have been waiting for you to die, so that they can get the Stygian Tiger Seal for themselves.”
“My Sty—“
Shit!
How had he forgotten? His eyes widened in horror as he realised that if he was no longer in his old robes, then his amulet was gone, too.
Fuck.
Lan Wangji interrupted, getting a word in before Wei Wuxian could yell.
“It is safe,” he said and pulled out a pouch from the inside of his sleeve. He placed it beside a bewildered Wei Wuxian. “Here, now that you are conscious. It is yours.”
“…Thank you.” Wei Wuxian stared at in a mixture of relief, awe and horror. He almost didn’t want it, for the trouble it caused. But he was glad it was not in the wrong hands.
“As for your situation,” Lan Wangji continued, releasing a drawn-out sigh as if it was straining him to talk this much. “Stay until it is safe. I promised you that I would help you.”
Wei Wuxian nodded and picked up the pouch beside him. He could feel the energy radiating from the object even without peering inside to check its contents. He folded it inside of his palm. “Then, you leave me no choice.”
I will stay here until it’s safe.
I will stay with Lan Wangji in the Cloud Recesses.
What I couldn’t achieve alone, how I couldn’t get those I cared about to trust me…
Now, I will have Lan Wangji.
If not anyone else, at least Hanguang Jun is on my side.
Who else could say that?
“I will stay here,” Wei Wuxian decided, and Lan Wangji jolted upright, his always stern expression softening as he stared at Wei Wuxian. He looked like he didn’t believe a word that just left the other's mouth.
“You will?”
Wei Wuxian nodded, “But, I require some things if I am to be stuck here for the foreseeable future.”
Lan Wangji nodded. His expression remained open, expectant. It was the first time since Wei Wuxian had been here where Lan Wangji finally looked relaxed, as if he had been on edge the entire time up until then.
Wei Wuxian gave him a toothy, still-high-from-excess-pain-relief grin. “I need things to keep me entertained! I wish to know all of your sect’s secrets, bring me all the secret texts! I will read them until I know all the secrets of you strange, secretive bunch.”
Lan Wangji frowned slightly, “I cannot.”
Wei Wuxian pouted. “Oh, come on! Don’t you owe me at least that? It’s not like I can reveal any of it anytime soon… Which I wouldn’t, obviously! Everyone knows you Lans have the huge mysterious library anyway.” He butted his bottom lip out obscenely, trying the doe-eyed look which had gotten him many favours from young maidens in the past.
Lan Wangji visibly swallowed hard. “I will bring you some books tomorrow.”
Wei Wuxian beamed, his first genuine happiness in a month.
That night as they laid in bed preparing to sleep, Lan Wangji placed his hand over Wei Wuxian’s bandaged one just so that he could lay more comfortably whilst his spiritual energy was slowly draining. The previous night holding his arm above Wei Wuxian’s had made it ache and numb by the time morning came. Between doses of deep sleep, Wei Wuxian woke a few times in the night. Once again, just as he had done yesterday, Lan Wangji was providing relief a few seconds later before Wei Wuxian drifted off again.
Wei Wuxian woke up first, feeling refreshed with too much built up energy from a full day of doing nothing under his belt. He tried and tried, but couldn’t get back to sleep. Carefully, he cracked one eye open to see Lan Wangji’s sleeping face not too far away from his own. Somehow, Wei Wuxian had moved way too far into the opposite side of the bed. He had colonised Lan Wangji’s half of the bed leaving Lan Wangji dangerously close to falling onto the solid wood floor.
His arm still stung and felt sore, but it was bearable enough to not cry out. He noticed the bandages were only bloody in a few spots, also. It appeared that two nights of digging into Hanguang Jun’s spiritual energy reserves had paid off. He shifted back over to his side of the bed to give said man some of his space back and bit down on his lip to stop from crying out as he adjusted his arm.
It hurt as much as a sword injury might have done, but he had had worse in the past so he did his best to remain quiet. He didn’t want to wake Lan Wangji who had spent most of the previous day labouring over his injuries. He watched as a strand of hair that had fallen in front of Lan Wangi’s face moved every few seconds as he exhaled from his nose. Rising and falling. Pitch black against porcelain. In the soft morning light, he looked as though he had descended from the skies above, surrounded by a halo of morning sunshine that crept in.
It was clear why Lan Wangji was known as one of the Twin Jades of Lan if he even managed to look elegant as he slept. He thought it was rather unfair.
Wei Wuxian really felt bad for Lan Wangji’s future wife.
She’s going to have it hard being compared to her too good-looking husband all the time. Surely Lan Qiren must be on the lookout for only the top beauties worthy of his nephew. That poor old man has quite the challenge on his hands.
After breakfast, Lan Wangji had insisted on giving Wei Wuxian some more spiritual energy to keep him from discomfort whilst Lan Wangji had other matters to attend to. Wei Wuxian protested for a while although, deep down, he was glad for the relief again.
Once Lan Wangji had left not long after, Wei Wuxian managed to pull himself out of bed, as the pain in his arm temporarily subsided he wished that he could bathe in privacy. Checking that the door wasn’t opening, that Lan Wangji had not forgotten anything and come back, he slipped off his robes and opened the door to the adjoining room. To his surprise there was some water in the tub that Lan Wangji must have left earlier. He shivered at the draft that filled the room.
He dipped his fingers into the tub. The water was lukewarm, but good enough. Anything would feel better than only a wet cloth again.
He managed to bathe before the slow dull sting in his arm had started to return but, thankfully, he felt refreshed and clear minded. Deciding he needed to do something, he proceeded to check what kind of books sat on the bookshelf in the room but was displeased to see that they were mostly books on medicine, healing and playing the guqin.
He must have been bored waiting for me, Wei Wuxian thought, running his fingers against the spines before plucking one at random.
Annals of Healing
Lan Wangji had promised the night before that he would bring books to keep the other entertained but these would have to do until then. Perhaps if Wei Wuxian asked nicely he would bring him porn… but, he doubted Lan Wangji owned such materials. He couldn't imagine a group of Lan disciples sat pouring over a spread of explicit images. So, he gave up on his hopes of erotica. Those kind of thoughts would have to wait until all of this was over.
Sitting back down on the bed, he cracked open the heavy book. He didn’t understand some of the words, had no idea what the ingredients were that were listed, but kept reading nonetheless about the various antidotes for Wisteria poisoning. It was a welcome distracting from anything and everything not on those book pages.
Later that evening Lan Wangji, as promised, returned with another plain tray of food and a few books. Wei Wuxian was surprised to see that they weren’t Lan Sect books but, instead, detailed the history and customs of past sects of Yunmeng. He accepted them gratefully and reminded Lan Wangji that he still wanted books about his own sect but these would do, for now.
That night, Wei Wuxian only needed some mild pain relief to send him to sleep and once more during the night when he had woken up sore.
“Lan Zhan,” he called out groggily. He reached his good arm out across the bed in search of relief from the burn that made his way through his shoulder. His fingers brushed soft robes and he stopped his fidgeting.
“Mm,” was all Lan Wangji said, reaching his arm out until it rested on top of Wei Wuxian’s comfortably, energy flowing.
Somehow, the following night, too, they slept with their arms touching once more. Wei Wuxian figured it just made more sense rather than sleeping so far apart Lan Wangji had to keep moving if he was needed.
The fifth night as they laid in bed waiting for sleep to come, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but comment on how quiet Lan Wangji had been that day. He had left again for a few hours during the day before returning and re-dressing Wei Wuxian’s wounds wordlessly. Wei Wuxian no longer required pain relief and Lan Wangji just provided small amounts of energy to speed up healing.
As Lan Wangji removed the soiled bandages in exchange for new fresh ones, Wei Wuxian was pleased to see his arm had healed more than he had expected. Only the gashes remained, the burnt skin having healed and back to his natural colour. The gashes, too, were beginning to seal. He touched the skin that had recovered fully as the bandage was re-wound over his wrist, happy to find that it just felt like skin and didn't hurt to touch.
After, however, both men laid in silence, a body’s width of space separating them. The atmosphere felt thick after days of minimal communication and Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure if he should be the one to break it.
He must miss sleeping alone.
Wei Wuxian turned his head to stare at Lan Wangji who wore an expression Wei Wuxian hadn’t seen on the other’s face in a long time. His eyebrows were lowered, his mouth a taut straight line as he stared at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him. It was how Lan Wangji looked at Wei Wangji when he had accidentally touched his forehead ribbon years ago, getting angry for some reason over a piece of fabric.
It was strange to think of back then and then come back to reality. In that moment, they were not Hanguang-Jun and the Yiling Patriach. They were just two men, laying in silence in the same bed. Lan Wangji wore the same plain under-robes as Wei Wuxian which were white and far thinner material than his usual attire. The robes crossed over across the Lan Wangji’s ribs in a V-shape which exposed part of the pale, refined collarbone underneath. Wei Wuxian thought about his own body and how it compared, how beneath his own robes was the Wen sect scar standing out against his skin, tarnishing it.
Lan Wangji would never bare such a mark. His body would never be as scarred and imperfect as mine.
Wei Wuxian looked back up at Lan Wangji’s face, studying it carefully for a few moments before he spoke.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian whispered and rolling onto his side to face him.
Lan Wangji rolled his head to one side so that he could stare back at Wei Wuxian. Their faces were all of a sudden inches apart. Although the room was quickly darkening as night fell, Lan Wangji’s bright eyes stood out amongst the darkness. Wei Wuxian observed, the bright colour of Lan Wangji was strangely unnerving against the cool tones of the dark room, liquid gold against the night sky.
“What are you thinking?” probed Wei Wuxian, voice still hushed. “You looked like you’ve wanted to fight with the ceiling for some time now.”
“I am fine.”
Wei Wuxian sighed, “Come on, don’t lie to me. You know you’re not supposed to lie.”
Lan Wangji froze, his eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He frowned.
“Things are far more complicated than before,” Lan Wangji finally said, eyes briefly glancing down Wei Wuxian’s horizontal figure, pausing at the white bandages that peaked out beneath whiter robes.
Wei Wuxian swallowed. “Look, I know that you’re probably really uncomfortable, sharing a bed with me…” The tips of his ears flushed hot as he spoke, as if it was somehow shameful to admit that he needed Lan Wangji to share his bed with him. Even though it was for medical purposes, he couldn’t exactly go visit the infirmary, he felt embarrassed just the same. “But,” he continued, “Don’t be angry at me, okay? I think perhaps after tonight I will be able to sleep alone. I’m mostly healed now, and it barely even hurts.”
“Are you embarrassed?” Lan Wangji’s voice was soft against his hard expression.
“Embarrassed? No! How could I be embarrassed when we’re both men!” he smiled to try and ease the tension. It didn’t work.
Lan Wangji looked back towards the ceiling. “Very well.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian pried again. “Tell me the real reason you’re mad. It’s not just that, is it?”
“Mn.”
“Such a bad temper,” he teased lightly. “You know, you’re really interesting when you’re angry. If you’re still mad tomorrow, then perhaps you can go kill some trees like you did back at Phoenix Mountain!”
Lan Wangji’s head snapped back to face Wei Wuxian, “What?”
Wei Wuxian shrugged his one good shoulder and rolled back onto his back, satisfied at having gotten a reaction. “At Phoenix Mountain whatever bad mood you were in seemed to go away after you killed some innocent trees, that’s all.” A pause. “Hey, what were you so angry about that day anyway?”
“I don’t remember.” He looked away, once again.
They both stared at the ceiling rather than each other.
“Sure you don’t, it was a while ago,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “It was a good day, for me at least.”
He thought back to the maiden who had pinned him against the tree, holding him down as their lips collided in his unexpected first kiss. He reached his fingers up to touch his bottom lip, thinking how she had taken it between her teeth that day. She was fierce, strong. Wei Wuxian didn’t know he’d be into that. He wondered, where was she now? What did she think of him now that he had become the Yiling Patriarch? Perhaps she regretted it, perhaps not. He would never know.
Lan Wangji mumbled in acknowledgement and clamped his eyes shut, preparing to sleep.
“But…” Wei Wuxian didn’t want to sleep yet, but he knew nine o-clock was nearing closer. He wanted to get some more words out of Lan Wangji before he slept. “You know what is bothering you today, so why not tell me? It’s not like I can go and tell anyone. Your secrets are safe with me — for obvious reasons.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched between the pair and Wei Wuxian regretted trying to get an answer. Clearly, he wasn’t going to tell him.
“Good and evil,” Lan Wangji whispered after some time, “Their existence. What they are. What do you think?”
Wei Wuxian frowned. “What do you mean? Good is good, evil is evil. What else is there to say?”
“Do you believe people can only be good or evil?”
The faces of Wen Chao, Jin Zixun, Wen Ruohan came to mind.
“Probably. Why? You don’t think so? Evil… Perhaps? Good… Huh. I suppose it’s harder to think of good people. It’s hard to know what intention someone really has, you know? But if I really have to think about it… My shijie! She’s a good person right down to her core. If there is such thing as a wholeheartedly good being, it has to be her. But, why? You don’t think so?”
“I used to,” Lan Wangji admitted, eyes still shut. “I used to think things were simply good, or simply bad.”
Wei Wuxian held his breath, bracing himself. “…And then what? Why don’t you think that way anymore?”
Wei Wuxian knew the answer. He knew that Lan Wangji was talking about him. Wei Wuxian, a man viewed as only evil by many, but Lan Wangji clearly did not think so. He thought there was something in Wei Wuxian worth saving. At the same time, he knew that Lan Wangji didn’t approve of his actions nor his cultivation methods, but, despite all of that, he didn’t think Wei Wuxian was an evil person. He still wanted to clear Wei Wuxian’s name despite the evil things he may have done. Things he didn’t ask about.
“What about me?” The question had come from Lan Wangji.
Wei Wuxian choked on the breath he had been holding. He gasped for air, shoulders heaving as he shook and tried to regain his breath. Lan Wangji, in panic, had shot up, hoisting Wei Wuxian to sit properly and began to hit him on the back.
“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Wei Wuxian pushed Lan Wangji’s arm away. He scowled at the man, in disbelief and annoyance at what he had just heard. “What are you talking about ‘what about me’? Who would say you were evil? What kind of nonsense are you spewing? Absolutely ridiculous!”
Yet, Lan Wangji looked troubled. He turned his back on Wei Wuxian to stare across the room at the empty wall, the forlorn expression once again taking hold of his dominant features. “I brought you here,” he said, “Was that a good thing? Was it bad? I don’t know. Can actions be both good and evil, too?”
A few days ago, Wei Wuxian would have answered that there was no good that could come from what Lan Wangji had done. He had stripped Wei Wuxian of his choice, even if that choice was more of an obligation to protect those closest to him rather than a conscious decision. Was it a good thing that he had not been slaughtered by the Jin sect? Was it a bad thing Lan Wangji saved his life against his will?
“And you, Lan Zhan? Do you think you did a good thing?” he questioned.
Lan Wangji’s shoulders slumped. “What else could I do, Wei Ying? Let you die?”
Wei Wuxian reached his good arm out towards the other, inching closer and closer. He stopped himself just a hair away from rubbing Lan Wangji’s back, from touching his shoulder gently to show him he was there, that understood his turmoil. It was the same turmoil that Wei Wuxian had faced – did he do nothing, did he let the Wens just die without a fight?
The physical touch somehow felt inappropriate considering the lack of formal clothing. He had touched Lan Wangji countless times before, had jokingly clung onto the taller man as poked fun, had slept with their arms touching for the past few nights, but this was different. It wasn’t something he was sure Lan Wangji wanted, if he had ever touched someone before purely for comfort. In that moment it was Lan Wangji voicing his deepest concerns with the person whose bed he was sharing. This touching was not for healing, not for fun. He wanted to comfort him, but…
Wei Wuxian’s hand dropped back into his lap.
“Lan Zhan, I… I always thought since I rescued the Wens that this would be my new life path, that it was my purpose to protect them and keep them safe. I didn’t consider a future in which I was here, and they weren’t. For me, there was never any thought about me living on. I was always expected to sacrifice myself if it meant saving Jiang Cheng, and I…” he took a deep breath, “I don’t remember the last time I had a life to live as I want. To just live for me, not to keep someone else safe. I was angry at you for denying me that choice but, now… I’m not sure if I ever gave myself a choice, either.”
He was suddenly glad Lan Wangji was facing away, that he wasn’t watching him as the thoughts that been swirling around his mind all day poured out.
“Do you remember?” continued Wei Wuxian, “That time, I told you that I would be happy to die if it was by your hand. But… You should also know if it was by your hand, I would be happy to live, too. I know you did it because you cared.”
Lan Wangji tilted his head back, closed eyes almost submissively facing the heavens. The moonlight captured his expression perfectly. Pained, conflicted, resigned.
Like this, Wei Wuxian noted the other man’s unfairly high nose bridge, his sharp jawline. As he had done before, he only pitied the man’s poor future wife.
“Good…” Lan Wangji mumbled, eyes still shut, “Evil. The core ideas of the three thousand rules I have followed. How are they so complicated?”
This time, Wei Wuxian did place his good hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, feeling it tense beneath his touch. He gave it a light squeeze.
“You’re good, Lan Zhan. You’re good.”
Wei Wuxian turned another page in the Annals of Healing. He hated to admit it, this boring drawl had captured his attention. He never knew there were so many ways to be poisoned, so many injuries. He learnt that there was even a certain kind of grass in the mountains that could burn through your stomach if ingested, and the treatment was just as painful. He kept reading despite the grim content; it was not like he had much else to do.
It was beginning to get dark again when Lan Wangji arrived with a modest dinner. Wei Wuxian had noticed now that Lan Wangji always arrived at the same time each day, shortly before sunset. He didn’t need to look up to know it was another meal of plain porridge and vegetables, or, perhaps, maybe some rice if he was lucky.
“One minute,” he called out, holding up a finger.
He’d just finish this page and then eat. But Lan Wangji didn’t place the food onto the table as he had done for the past few days. Instead, he stood by the door silently. When Wei Wuxian finally looked up to check what was taking him so long, he saw that Lan Wangji held the tray with one hand, the other hand holding something else. It was a wooden toy designed for a child and shaped like a butterfly.
He frowned – what would Lan Wangji need with a toy?
And then his heart stopped, the book clattered to the ground as he rushed over.
No, he had seen this toy countless times. How could he have not recognised it before?
“Is he— is it this—“ he spluttered, hands shaking as he reached for it. “Is this real?”
Lan Wangji nodded, and Wei Wuxian dropped to his knees as he cried. But this time, they were not tears of sadness. |
Dean glared down at the traitorous open zipper on his khakis. Rolling his eyes, he flopped down on the bed, praying that Cas or Benny wouldn’t walk in on him looking like a girl trying to get into a tight pair of jeans before a big date. With some tugging and a lot of cursing, he managed to get the zipper up and the button buttoned, but he was out of breath and completely uncomfortable by the time his pants were closed. Carefully he pushed himself up to sit hoping that the thread securing the button would hold.
“Son of a bitch!” He forgot to tuck his shirt in.
Dean fell back on the bed in defeat rubbing his palms roughly over his face. With a frustrated exhale, he shoved the pants down and flung them at the pile of pants next to the closet door that he’d already tried on before burrowing under the comforter on the bed, not caring that his dress shirt was going to get wrinkled. Pity Party – table for one.
Only 12 weeks pregnant and already his damn pants were too tight. This was the cherry on an already shitty sundae. His hormones were running amok. Yesterday, he cried harder than Kevin Tran did when the kid skinned his knees during recess, and all Cas had to do was start humming Arms of the Angel and he turned into a snotty mess, bawling about the poor abused dogs and cats in shelters with nobody to love them and why won’t anybody love them?!
He was tired all day long. If he wasn’t actively doing something, then he was passed out, asleep, didn’t matter where. He’d fallen asleep at his desk during nap time five times over the last two weeks, and every time he rode somewhere with Cas or Benny driving, he ended up slumped against the passenger door and drooling on his shoulder before they’d even gone two miles.
His body was all out of whack. He was peeing almost every hour (thank God his classroom had its own bathroom) and he hadn’t pooped in a week. Not to mention the almost constant pup sickness. The only things he could safely eat without knowing he’d be kneeling in front of the toilet for half an hour afterwards were saltines, applesauce, graham crackers, and the vanilla protein shakes Cas brought him from the geriatric unit at the hospital. He cursed the biological imperative that told him getting knocked up was a great thing – getting knocked up was fun (he wasn’t about to deny that), being knocked up was the worst thing ever.
“Dean?” came Castiel’s voice from the doorway. “It’s almost time to go. Are you ok?”
“No,” he replied miserably. The other omega would easily smell that he was fine, just aggravated.
The mattress dipped as Castiel crawled up next to him, trying to puzzle out the best way to rouse Dean out from under the covers. Dean pulled the blankets closer around him, making his comfortable fortress momentarily impenetrable.
“Is the nausea back?” Cas finally gained access to the top of Dean’s head and he threaded his fingers through his hair, rubbing his fingertips soothingly over his scalp.
“No.” Dean immediately relaxed at the massage. Damn Cas’s magic fingers!
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Stupid pants don’t fit.” Dean arched his neck pushing his head up into the other man’s hand.
“Ooh,” Cas said unable to hide the amusement in his voice.
Growling, Dean batted Castiel’s fingers away before flicking the covers up over his head again. “S’not funny, asshole.”
“They were going to stop fitting sooner or later. It just happened sooner rather than later.” Chucking, he left the bed, but Dean knew better than to think Cas was leaving him alone to wallow in his misery. A few seconds later something landed on his head. “Wear those.”
Dean pushed back the blankets to find a pair of Castiel’s scrub pants draped across the pillows. “I can’t tuck my shirt in with these.”
“Then wear a shirt you don’t have to tuck in. Kindergarteners don’t much fashion sense anyway.” Castiel drew back the rest of the covers and grabbed Dean by the hands, pulling him out of bed.
Dean gave a put-upon sigh, but unbuttoned his shirt and trudged off towards the closet to find something else to wear with the olive green scrubs. At least they weren’t the purple ones. Castiel could rock wild-colored scrubs, but Dean couldn’t, even though his students would probably go wild to see him in neon green pants. He settled on a gray Henley shirt. It felt weird to be so casually dressed in the middle of the week, like he was about to go to work in his pajamas. When he was finally dressed, he held his arms out to his sides. “Look ok?”
Castiel tilted his head to the side and squinted. “You’ll do.”
With a sheepish smile, Dean punched him gently in the shoulder as he headed out of the bedroom. At least he was going to make it to work at his usual time. So far, he hadn’t been late, still managing to be at work before the first bell rang, but he always liked to have an hour or so before the kids started trickling into the room to make sure everything was ready for the day. This morning, he woke up blessedly nausea free for the first time in a month. He knocked his fist on the wooden doorframe hoping that pup sickness would stay away all day.
Benny was by the front door with his hat tucked under his elbow, frowning down at his cell phone. When Dean rounded the corner, the look of concern faded away from the alpha’s face and he smiled. “Was wonderin’ if I should be jealous of the toilet, what with all the time you’ve spent huggin’ it lately.”
“It’s all your fault.” Rolling his eyes, Dean leaned in for a kiss. “Not sick this morning.”
“Color me surprised. What took you so long to get ready then?”
“He’s getting fat,” Castiel teased, but slid an arm around Dean’s waist to soften the blow.
“I’m not…well…” Dean huffed petulantly, figuring it wasn’t worth trying to deny the painfully obvious.
Benny eyed him critically for a moment before grinning. “Are those Cas’s pants?”
“Yes. Can we go, before we’re late?” Dean grabbed his bag and stomped out of the house, ignoring the overly doting, amused look that Benny and Cas were sharing at his expense. He sulked in the Impala, fiddling with the radio while he waited for his alpha and omega to part ways at the side walk. Thankfully, Castiel didn’t bitch about taking the gas guzzler to work or Dean’s choice of blaring AC/DC so early in the morning when he slid into the passenger’s seat.
Dean dropped Cas off at the hospital, leaning over to give the other omega a peck on the cheek before watching him walk into the building for his 12-hour shift with the large travel mug of coffee clutched tightly in his hand. Dean didn’t envy him his long shifts at the hospital, even if it meant longer weekends. At least teaching meant he got extra-long vacations over the summer and winter holidays. With thoughts of the upcoming Thanksgiving break swirling in his head, Dean parked the Impala in the teacher’s lot at the elementary school and headed inside to get ready for a full day with 18 five-year-olds.
***
At quarter to four in the afternoon, half an hour after the dismissal bell, a familiar face appeared in the door of Dean’s classroom as he and his aide Casey finished straightening the activity centers.
“Hey, Mom!” Dean said with a big grin as he weaved his way between tiny desks to get to the front of the room. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey, baby.” Mary caught him up in a hug, squeezing tightly. “I subbed for Mrs. Ferris upstairs in fourth grade today.”
“Hello, Mrs. Winchester!” Casey waved from the sink where she was washing tempera paint out of paintbrushes.
“Hi, Casey,” she said, smiling. “Did you guys have a good day?”
“Yeah. Hey, Dean, if you want to go, I can finish up. We’re almost done anyway.” Casey smiled. She had been a lifesaver over the last month, happy to come in early whenever Dean was running late because he couldn’t pry himself away from the commode. So far, only she and his principal were aware of his pregnancy. He wanted to wait a little while longer before making the announcement to the rest of his co-workers.
It was easier to keep the secret from other people in the greater pack, but it was nearly impossible to keep the secret from the family pack. Familial kin had extraordinarily sensitive noses when it came to the scent of other family members. Mary had scented the new pups only a week after Benny came home to two positive pregnancy tests, and it wasn’t long before word spread along the family grapevine, but they were all diligently keeping the news close to home for the next few weeks.
“Thanks, Case.” Dean walked over to his desk to get his workbag. “Would you check around the room to see if you can find Jesse’s folder? He didn’t turn it in at the end of the day.”
“He probably hid it in one of the cupboards again.” Casey chuckled and waved. “Have a good night!”
“You too,” he replied with a return wave and ushered his mom out of the classroom. They walked through the empty hallways and out to the parking lot where the air was starting to turn brisk. Dean turned to his mom as she kept pace with him. “Need a ride home?”
“I was thinking about stopping by the mall first.”
Dean groaned. “Cas called you. Didn’t he?”
Mary smiled, nodding. “Said you had a wardrobe malfunction this morning.”
With a sigh, he patted his slightly pudgy middle and pouted. “Yeah. None of my pants fit anymore.”
They slid into the Impala together and within minutes were out on the main thoroughfare heading towards the sprawling outdoor shopping center in Lawrence.
“Guess I should have warned you. I was so bloated when I was pregnant with you that by my third month I’d gone up two pants sizes. I finally quit wearing pants altogether.”
“I’m not gonna start wearing dresses. Just wish sweatpants were on the dress code for school. Nice comfy, stretchy sweat pants.”
Mary chuckled and turned up the radio as Freddie Mercury started crooning Is this the real life? so they could sing along at the top of their lungs. With perfect timing, the epic song ended as Dean pulled the massive Chevy into a parking spot at the mall. They spent the next couple of hours in the men’s clothing section at the omega shop picking out and trying on slacks, jeans, and shirts to last through at least the first few months of Dean’s pregnancy.
When they were finished checking out, Mary dragged Dean down the sidewalk to Baby Gap.
“Oh, c’mon, Mom!” he whined. “My kid’s not gonna be a little douche.”
“But, they’re so cute!” She gestured to the tiny mannequins decked out in khakis and white polo shirts in the window displays.
“Yeah, and we can get those same exact clothes for half the price at Target.”
She laughed softly. “At least satisfy my grandma craving by taking me to Babies R Us.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “I thought we were shopping for me.”
“Please.” She turned big hazel-green eyes up at him. And, that was where Sammy got it from.
“Fine, but I have to pick Cas up at 7.”
Mary lit up so happily that Dean couldn’t help but smile at her. They tossed the shopping bags in the Impala’s trunk and headed across the street to the baby stuff megastore.
As soon as the double-doors automatically slid open, Dean was completely overwhelmed. Yeah, ok he still had the pregnancy test stuffed in a drawer back home with its little blue plus-sign indicating the positive results and he’d been sick as a dog for the past month and he’d just come from buying paternity pants at the omega store, but strangely enough, stepping into Babies R Us was what really drove home the point that oh-shit-I’m-pregnant.
“Dean, are you ok?” Mary asked, concerned.
“I’m…I’m…” He stumbled over to a wooden bench near the check-out stands, sitting down hard. This was his life now. He was having a baby. Cas was having a baby. There were going to be babies in their house, ruling their lives for the rest of forever. There were going to be sleepless nights, poopy diapers, earaches, scraped knees, birthday parties, slumber parties, first days of school, first boyfriends, first girlfriends, graduations, weddings, more babies. It was too much.
He couldn’t remember how to change a diaper; the last one he changed had been Sammy’s twenty years ago and he was pretty sure his mom did all the work and he just got the credit because he was such a good helper. What if the baby started crying and wouldn’t stop? What if the baby didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like the baby? He wasn’t old enough to have a baby, was he? Wasn’t he just in high school getting the talk that having pups too young would ruin his life?
Oh god, his and Benny’s flour baby had been a disaster in Home Economics. How had Cas not been there to do the stupid project with them? Oh right, he had actually signed up for electives on time that year and got into Ceramics and Health Sciences before the classes had filled up, unlike Dean and Benny who waited until the day before the school year started to finalize their schedules. By then only Home Economics and Chorus were still open. Their poor abused sack of flour. At the end of the month, the 5-pound bag of flour weighed only 3 pounds with a good bit of that being from the duct tape holding it together; they finally had to seal it up in a big Ziploc bag to keep from getting flour all over the place. They were going to be horrible parents!
Dean barely registered that Mary had wrapped her arms around him, pulling his face into her neck so he could breathe in her calming scent – sugar cookies, lavender, and oranges. She murmured things into his ear that he couldn’t quite understand over the rushing of his panicked thoughts. Mary stroked his arm gently. Several minutes passed before Dean could take a deep breath without it causing a painful hitch.
"Are you back with me?" Mary asked softly as she kissed his temple.
Dean nodded, slowly becoming aware of the store and the other shoppers who were thankfully paying them no attention whatsoever.
She smiled. “Ok. Let’s forget Babies R Us for now and go pick up Cas. I’ll make you boys some tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Sound good?”
His stomach growled eagerly for once instead of churning at the mere mention of something other than a dry, bland cracker. “Yeah that sounds good,” he replied quietly.
The little bit of extra energy that had sustained him all day was now completely gone. Dean leaned against his mom as they made their way back to the car. He didn’t even argue when she fished the keys out of his pocket and opened the passenger side door for him. The ride to the hospital was quiet, only the soft murmur of the radio breaking up the noise of the road beneath the tires.
Even though he knew Mary was planning to take Dean shopping, Castiel was still surprised to see her behind the wheel when the Impala pulled up to the curb in front of the hospital. Dean was slouched down with his head resting back against the top of the seat and his eyes closed. Castiel climbed into the back, leaning over the front seat to kiss his mother-in-law’s cheek.
“Hey, my other baby,” she said affectionately, smiling over her shoulder to him as he fumbled with his seatbelt.
“Is he ok?” Castiel furrowed a brow in concern as his nose caught the faint scent of anxiety in the air.
“Had a little freak-out in Babies R Us.”
“About what?”
“Not sure. He didn’t tell me.” Mary steered the car out of the hospital lot and headed towards the Lafitte house.
“I’m right here,” Dean complained without opening his eyes. He felt a warm palm gently brush along his forehead and let the touch soothe his still frayed nerves. He had no idea how Castiel seemed to be so unaffected by his own pregnancy. The other omega hadn’t had a single second of pup sickness and still had the boundless energy that got him through his long days at work. He didn’t cry at the drop of a hat or run to the bathroom every ten minutes. Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little jealous, but Castiel was so good to him, so caring and tender (even if he was a snarky asshole sometimes), that he could never get mad at him for winning the early pregnancy lottery.
When they got home, Castiel ushered Dean to the bedroom while Mary headed to the kitchen. Benny and John were already home from work, sprawled out in the living room watching pre-game coverage for the Chiefs game against the Eagles. When younger alpha made a move to get up, Mary patted his shoulder gently. “Give them a few minutes.”
Castiel stripped Dean of the clothes he had been wearing all day and handed him his favorite Led Zepplin t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both super soft with age. After he changed out of his scrubs, he built up a nest on the big bed and pulled Dean close, wrapping his arms tightly around his mate. “What made you break down in the middle of Babies R Us?”
“Nothing.” Dean nudged his face into Castiel’s neck, blocking out the rest of the world.
“Dean Winchester doesn’t go to pieces for no reason.”
He huffed softly. “Stupid baby shit, man. Fucked up hormones. Not that you’d understand.”
“Ah.” The sound was a little wounded at Dean’s tone.
“How are you so calm about all of this?” Dean reluctantly leaned back so he could look at Castiel. “I’ve been freaking out since we both peed on those sticks.”
“Who’s to say I’m not worried too?” Castiel sighed and gently tucked Dean’s head back down against his shoulder, resting his cheek against the other man’s forehead. He laced their fingers together and confessed. “I’m terrified. I didn’t expect us to get pregnant at the same time. I always wanted it to happen to you first, so I could see what it was like beforehand, see how you handled it.”
“Oh, I’m handling it just great,” Dean scoffed.
Castiel squeezed him gently. “I think you’re handling it as well as anybody else. I make it out the door every morning only because of you. I figure if you can make it to work every morning no matter how many times you throw up, then I have no excuse to call in sick.”
Dean turned his head and snorted his irritation into Castiel’s armpit. His voice was muffled when he spoke again. “I’m so tired of feeling out of whack.”
The dark-haired omega massaged the base of Dean’s neck making him go limp and pliant against him. “I know, but it should get better soon.”
“God, I hope so.” Dean fiddled with Castiel’s shirt tail and pants until he could press his palm against the other man’s flat belly. If it wasn’t for the fact that he could smell the pup, he’d wonder if Castiel was even pregnant.
There was a hesitant knock before Benny poked his head around the crack in the door. “Ya’ll ok?”
The two omegas reached out for him and he took the invitation to crawl into bed next to Dean. They didn’t speak, just soaked in each other’s presence, letting the familiar touch and smell of home ease away the day’s stress. Dean knew he’d be fine; his mates would make sure of it. He’d get on board with the whole baby thing, but it didn’t have to be today. They still had months to plan and prepare. For right now, he could just enjoy a night of food and football. Of course, they’d have to rouse themselves out of their warm nest first. |
Chapter Fifteen
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
By the time she returned to her book the cocoa had grown cold. Rather than reheat it in the microwave or make herself a new mug entirely, she decided to take Sherlock's advice and head to bed.
Molly doubted she'd actually be able to sleep (she was far too keyed up for that), but it might help her relax a bit while she waited for him to come home.
Water chased the unwanted cocoa down the drain, and she took the time to rinse the mug out before leaving it in the sink to be dealt with in the morning. Her eyes lost focus as she watched little drops of water leak from the closed tap. The slow, rhythmic sound of droplets tapping against porcelain stilled her mind and she could think clearly for the first time since Sherlock dropped his bombshell.
Did Chapman really think there was anything he could do to make Janine take him back at this point? Sherlock was right, it would have to be a very elaborate plan indeed to manage that. The more she thought about it, the more out of character it seemed for the odious bully. She'd only been around him twice and that was more than enough for her to see that he wasn't brilliantly cunning (or even particularly bright). He had defaulted to vulgarities, threats, and his fists rather quickly on both occasions. She didn't have that much experience with intelligent criminals--although quite a bit more than the average gal on the street, surely--but it was painfully obvious that he wasn't an elaborate-plan-making sort of man.
One last water droplet formed at the tap. It fell and Molly gasped as everything snapped into place.
The uneasy feeling she'd had every time Sherlock talked about Chapman trying to abduct her came back tenfold. It had never made sense in her head. She'd almost had it all figured out before, when she and Sherlock were in Soter's taxi on the way home from dinner at the Chinese restaurant. Chapman hadn't come to her flat for her, he'd come for . . .
Sherlock.
She painfully gripped the edge of the sink until her nails turned white, and put the last pieces together.
Chapman had wanted Janine, but she turned to--How did Sherlock put it?--to another Alpha male. A smarter, stronger, better Alpha male. Sherlock wasn't just a threat to Chapman's relationship with Janine, he was a threat. Full stop.
And how would a manipulative man who thought with his dick and fists rather than his brain react to a threat?
He'd eliminated it.
There was no way Chapman could afford to let his rival (and that must be how he saw Sherlock) continue to walk around, a constant reminder of how he had lost. How he was inferior.
Molly realized Janine was about to become collateral damage in whatever this thing was between Chapman and Sherlock. She wasn't the end game anymore. She was the bait, just like Chapman had tried to do with Molly.
Sherlock was going to walk right into the trap because he wanted to believe Chapman was smarter than he appeared. He wanted a challenge, craved it, needed to prove that he could outsmart yet another above-average criminal. Sherlock was clearly giving Chapman too much credit. He'd gone to the cottage hoping to encounter a rapier of a man, but he was going to run straight into a blunt club.
There would be no clever trail of clues leading to a puzzle, with Janine and another boost to the consulting detective's already massive ego as a prize. Instead, there would be an angry man waiting to wage a physical battle, not one of the mind. As fit as he was, Sherlock was no match against a gunshot wound (as had been made perfectly clear already).
She told herself not to panic. Sherlock was extremely good at deductive reasoning. Surely he'd figure it out on his own.
Unless he misses it. He always misses something.
"Shite. He's going to get himself killed. Again. For real this time."
Molly hurried back into the sitting room where she'd left her phone to charge. She had to call and warn him; and when he laughed at her for telling him something he'd already known, she would happily feel a little silly for overreacting.
The call went straight to his bloody voicemail.
She paced around the room, tapping her mobile against her chin as she tried to sort through the incredibly small number of options available to her.
She could call Greg. He'd already made it clear that his hands were tied as far as official channels with the Yard were concerned, but she had no doubt that he'd come running to help if he thought Sherlock needed him. However, Sherlock was right; Greg wasn't part of the cloak and dagger crowd. There was every possibility that he'd go rushing in and things would go even further to hell.
Mycroft? Sherlock would never forgive her.
More importantly, Molly had no clue how to contact him quickly. If she had the time to waste she could try calling the number she used when she needed a ride somewhere. There was no guarantee the nameless man on the other end of the line would be able to contact Mycroft directly; but she knew that he could contact Soter who, in turn, spoke to Anthea on occasion. What Molly wouldn't do for Anthea's mobile number at the moment.
She cast a brief thought toward the surveillance people across the street that were supposed to be keeping an eye on 221B, but she couldn't remember if they worked for Sherlock or his brother. She had no clue which flat they were in or what they looked like. How much time would she lose trying to find them, and would they even know how to get in touch with Mycroft quickly enough to be of any use?
John was the obvious answer. He was used to sneaking about with Sherlock, and he had a gun (that no one was supposed to know about and yet everyone did). It was late, so she'd probably end up waking him and Mary, but it was important. Surely Mary would understand.
Molly froze with her thumb hovering over the call button on her contact list. She bit her lower lip as she considered what she was about to do, then scrolled a little further down the list and hit the button.
It rang several times before someone picked up. "Hullo?" a drowsy feminine voice finally answered.
"Mary? Oh thank God."
"Molly?" Mary's voice became clearer, more lucid. "What is it?"
She could hear John in the background, asking if something was wrong. "I need your help. Sherlock's in trouble."
There was the sound of the phone being passed over and then John started peppering her with questions, "What's he done? Is he hurt?"
"Probably not yet, but that's only because I doubt he's made it all the way out to Sussex." Molly started pacing again.
"What's he doing in Sussex?" John asked.
"Walking into a trap. But not the one he thinks he's walking into. A different one, that he's not prepared for."
For a long moment there was nothing but silence on the other end of the line, then John spoke again, "What?"
"I know, it's a little complicated and confusing, but trust me. He's either going to walk in on Janine and her exceptional cleavage or a rich thug who isn't nearly as smart as Sherlock wants to think he is."
"What?" John repeated. He was beginning to sound like a cranky parrot, and it was really starting to get on Molly's nerves.
Molly snapped, "Could you put Mary back on the phone?" Really, if she'd wanted to talk to John, she would have phoned his mobile in the first place, not Mary's.
"All right, luv. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on." Mary's tone was soothing and any other time Molly would probably have appreciated it, but now was not one of those times. She didn't want to be soothed, she wanted help.
"Janine's gone missing, and Sherlock thinks that arsehole who broke my toe with his ribs has her. He's gone to get her back, and I think he's about to make a bad mistake. Someone is going to get very, very hurt and I'm scared that it's going to be Sherlock." The more she talked about it, the more helpless Molly felt.
John and Mary had an urgent conversation which Molly couldn't quite hear, then Mary returned to the phone. "John's getting dressed right now. Do you know where he needs to go, or should he come by Sherlock's place first?"
"No!" Molly exhaled loudly in an attempt to control her frustration. "I mean, I didn't call for John. Although, you can bring him along if you want. But I called for you. I need you to do whatever it is you do and help Sherlock. You need to go rescue him, so he can rescue Janine."
Silence again, only this time it felt charged with something that made the hair on the back of Molly's neck stand up. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know the specifics, but I know there's more to you than you let on. I recognized it the day you kept me company while Sherlock and John went out to the Barrett estate. There's something dangerous about you, and you hide it most of the time which tells me you don't want people to see it. But I've spent enough time around the type of people that Sherlock tends to surround himself with to know, well, you're not simply John's wife. I mean, obviously, you are, but . . . Whatever you did or do, I need that. Sherlock needs it. Please." She was practically begging and she didn't care.
Mary didn't say anything for a long enough period of time that Molly began to doubt herself. Was she wrong? Had she let herself get carried away by her concern for Sherlock?
"Give me ten minutes to get someone to watch Bethany, and then we'll be on our way."
Molly sagged in relief and leaned against the arm of Sherlock's chair. "Thank you. Mary? Do you think you should bring John's gun?"
"We'll be there in thirty minutes. Be ready." Mary's voice was colder, more direct than Molly could ever remember hearing it before. It should have scared her, but she found it oddly reassuring as she ended the call.
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
The Watsons pulled up to the kerb thirty minutes later, almost to the second. Molly had been anxiously waiting for them on the pavement in front of 221B. John was driving, with Mary in the passenger seat, so Molly hurried into the back. She noted a small, dark duffel on the seat next to her, but didn't touch it.
"Where are we going?" John asked as he pulled back into the street.
"Do you know where Janine's cottage is?" Molly hadn't been able to find the address on the internet or anywhere on Sherlock's desk.
Mary nodded. "I do." She leaned over to put it into the car's Sat Nav and realized John was looking at her strangely. "She sent us a Christmas card. I had to send one back, didn't I?"
John continued to stare at his wife for longer than Molly thought was strictly safe considering they were still in the middle of city traffic. "Does she know about . . ."
"Oh, no. No, I don't think so." Mary gave him a hesitant smile, then glanced at Molly in the backseat. Her smile faded. When she spoke again, it was more of a command than a suggestion. "All right. Tell me what's going on. Everything you know, everything you think you know. Everything."
Molly started with Sherlock asking her to let Janine stay and why, her own run-ins with the cretin, the emails and texts to Janine, and finished up with Sherlock leaving for Sussex Downs. She told them why she thought he was in trouble and waited to see if they thought she was being foolish.
Mary nodded several times as Molly talked, her expression becoming more and more shuttered with each word. "We'll need to see the cottage, figure out what Sherlock's walked into, before we can come up with a plan." She turned to her husband. "How much longer?"
"Uh, another forty-five minutes."
Mary nodded again, although it appeared to Molly as if the other woman was distracted and hadn't really paid that much attention to John's answer. Molly settled back in the seat to wait. She didn't do well with waiting, not when she was anxious. She bit at her thumb nail and tried to come up with something to take her mind off her worry.
A couple of minutes passed in silence before Molly broke. "Military?"
"Hmm?" replied John without taking his eyes off the road.
She leaned forward as far as her seatbelt would allow and addressed Mary. "Where you military, like John?"
The couple shared a look, and then the other woman shook her head. "Not quite."
"Didn't really think so, but . . . well." Molly shrugged and picked at a worn spot on the knee of her jeans.
After another long patch of silence Mary turned to face the backseat again and asked, "Aren't you going to ask more questions?"
"Do you want me to?" Molly had been trying to respect Mary's privacy. It was obvious that whatever was going on with Mary wasn't something she wanted to share with all and sundry. Since Molly was selfishly exploiting that to get what she wanted, she figured the least she could do was keep her curiosity contained.
Mary tilted her head and looked at her as if she'd never seen Molly before. "I . . . No?"
"Then I won't." That seemed straight forward enough. Molly worried her lower lip between her teeth and fidgeted in her seat. Five minutes passed, possibly six, before she sighed and leaned forward again. "Sorry, I can't. I've got another one. Just . . . Was I right? Will you be able to help Sherlock, if he is in trouble like I think he is? Did I do the right thing in calling you? Both of you?"
Mary and John shared another look, and Molly envied them with their ability to communicate with just a glance.
She met John's eyes in the rearview mirror. "We can definitely try."
"Okay. Good." Molly nodded several times, mostly to reassure herself. "That's all I need, then."
"Really?" Mary continued to study her as if Molly were an oddity she'd never encountered before. "No more questions? No curiosity?"
A snort escaped Molly before she could stop it. "Trust me, I am full of curiosity. Practically vibrating with it. But since I met Sherlock I have seen so many things I'm not supposed to talk about. I've done things I'm not allowed to talk about. Bodies disappear from my morgue without a murmur of concern from my bosses because Someone gave an order. I've been hijacked to help Sherlock simply because he doesn't want to work with most of the other staff with lab access, and the things he does in there are probably not sanctioned by Barts. I've been introduced to the enigmatic Mycroft Holmes, and I've learned it's best if I don't ask too many questions around or about him. I've helped fake a man's death, and I still feel really bad about not being able to tell you about that, by the way."
John grunted in response. Molly decided to interpret that as a 'don't mention it'.
"Sherlock and John both trust and care for you, Mary, and that is . . . enough for me, right now. You have to understand that I long ago realized there are certain things I really do not Need to Know, and shouldn't even ask about. Especially if I want to be able to sleep at night."
Mary blinked several times, then settled back in her seat and made herself comfortable. "All right, I guess that's settled then."
"Yep."
Molly caught John looking at her in the rearview again. He lasted less than a second before he blurted out, "Seriously, though?"
His wife smacked him in the arm; not hard enough to cause the vehicle to jerk, but enough to earn an indignant 'oi' in response. "She said she's good. Move on."
They sounded so much like an old, bickering married couple, it made her feel as if everything was normal for a few seconds. "If it would help you feel better, John, there are probably loads of things I've been cleared to know about that I couldn't tell you, even if you asked."
"That's . . . not as reassuring as you might think."
Molly shrugged. "I tried."
இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—
Scared did not begin to cover how Molly felt as she peered through the cottage window one more time. Terrified came close, but still fell short.
John had insisted on parking a good distance down the road from the small cottage to keep Chapman from hearing the car. It had taken several minutes to silently scurry across the garden, duffel bag in tow, and around the perimeter of the house until they found what they were looking for. John and Mary both agreed that rushing headlong into the cottage without assessing the situation first would be disastrous.
In the end, they found the people they had been looking for gathered together in a bedroom. Chapman was plainly visible through the delicate lace curtains, holding court in the middle of the room as he trained a gun on Sherlock who was seated on a chair near the bed.
Janine was tied to that same bed with several colourful scarves and ribbons, barely covered in the delicate lace nightie Molly recognized from the photo on Sherlock's phone. She strained against her bonds and spewed venomous insults at Chapman. "You piece of shite! Untie me or so help me God I will-"
The gun menacingly swung toward the bed. "You'll what, pet?"
She surged upward as far as the restraints would let her. "I'll cut off your d-"
"Enough!" Sherlock's drew everyone's attention, including Chapman's. "Shut up, woman." The consulting detective shook his head, seemingly attempting to commiserate with their captor. "Was she like that with you, too? Always yap yap yapping, like a small annoying dog."
"Oh, smart man," Mary whispered. "He's trying to keep the ex's attention focused on him and off Janine. If that guy is as unstable as you think, he might shoot her if she irritates him enough."
"But Sherlock's irritating, doesn't that increase the risk of him getting shot?" Molly worried out loud.
Mary ignored the question and indicated that they needed to move away from the window so they could talk. "Are you sure you want to do this? John can do it instead, can't you?" She may have been addressing her husband, but Mary's gaze never wavered from Molly.
"Yep. It might be better if I did, actually," John offered.
Molly knew he was trying to do the right thing and keep her out of harm's way, but that wasn't the plan Mary had originally suggested. "You said he would be more likely to react the way you needed him to if I was the distraction, because he already knew me."
"That's what I said, and I stand by it." The hard expression Mary had been wearing since they left the car softened briefly. "But that does not mean you need to be the one to do it, Molly. If you can't be one hundred percent certain that you can go through with this, you need to stay here and let John take your place. Do you understand?"
Could she do it?
Another burst of angry expletives cut off suddenly. Whatever was going on in that bedroom wasn't going to get any better while she stood around outside dithering. Molly nodded sharply. "Let's go."
Mary studied her for a moment longer, then turned and headed around the front of the cottage. She kneeled in front of the door, duffle bag on the ground beside her. John aimed a small torch at the lock so she could see it better. It seemed like the longest ten seconds of Molly's life, waiting for the nearly silent click of the lock disengaging. Mary stood and tossed her lock picking tools into the open duffle before pulling out a handgun. They waited as Mary loaded and double checked her weapon, then she carefully led the way through the mostly dark cottage.
The three of them hesitated in the shadows outside the partially open bedroom door. Molly could hear Sherlock talking inside. "This is getting dull, Chapman. Could you speed things up and get to the point of all of this . . . melodrama."
"Don't rush me, you impatient pissant," Chapman snarled. There was silence for a moment, then Chapman tsked several times. "I know what you're trying to do, Holmes, and it won't work. I've got very specific plans for you two, and I won't let you antagonize me into ruining them."
Molly wiped her damp palms against her jeans and took several calming breaths as she waited for Mary's signal.
"It's nothing fancy, not like what you're used to, I imagine. But it should do. A bit of a classic, actually. A sexy rendezvous gone wrong. You two met up for a little kinky fun and things got out of hand. Holmes here is going to strangle you, pet, and then hang himself in remorse."
"No, I don't think I will," Sherlock replied as if he were casually turning down the offer of coffee and dessert after a heavy meal.
"That's where the gun comes in, I'm afraid. It won't be as elegant, but it will do in a pinch. New angle. You are a lover spurned by your former girlfriend. You've come to convince her to take you back; and when that doesn't work, you shoot her and then yourself. The world will think you're a jealous pervert who murdered your sometimes lover and couldn't handle the guilt." Chapman sounded so pleased with himself, it was disgusting. "As the current boyfriend I will, of course, be appropriately devastated when I hear the news."
Mary held up several fingers and slowly began to count down from three.
"No one will believe that," Sherlock scoffed. "Since I reappeared the media has been bending over backward to kiss my arse. Haven't you heard? People love me. I've got fan bloody clubs."
"It is amazing how the corpse of a pretty girl can turn public opinion. Murder/suicide scandals are very popular right now. Your name should be smeared across the papers by tomorrow."
Mary's fingers ticked down to one.
Molly walked into the bedroom with her head held high, looking far more confident than she felt. "It would serve the arseholes right."
Chapman's head whipped around, his mouth open in a way that would have made her laugh if he didn't have a gun pointed at Sherlock's head. "Where the fuck did you come from?"
She ignored him and glanced at Sherlock. For a split-second he appeared to be utterly panic stricken at the sight of her, then his expression morphed into something closer to cool disdain. Molly continued to complain to Chapman. "I've seen the texts between the two of them. For a self-described genius, he's an idiot. He assumed I wouldn't find out that he's been seeing--no, fucking--Janine the entire time he's had her hidden away. He told me they were split up. Kept saying he needed to leave for a case, but I knew--I knew--he was coming here to see his bit of stuff on the side."
Her gaze flicked toward Janine on the bed, and she realized Chapman had shoved the end of another scarf into her mouth. No wonder the other woman had stopped yelling.
The gun wavered slightly, but Chapman kept it aimed at Sherlock. Molly needed to get that gun pointed somewhere else or Mary wouldn't be able to pull off her part of the plan. She took a step back, widening the distance between herself and the others, trying to continue to draw Chapman's attention toward her and away from Sherlock.
"I suppose I got that wrong, didn't I? I'm the bit of stuff, since I was a back-up to your preferred shag," she spit the words at Sherlock, then continued to speak to Chapman. "Tosser thought he was pulling the wool over my eyes, telling me he had to visit a friend tonight." Molly casually took another few steps back so that she could lean against Janine's dresser. "Don't let me stop you. They both deserve it. Can I watch you do it?"
Chapman grinned. The gun lowered a bit as he turned his head to watch her. "I knew you were feisty, but this . . . You're a blood thirsty little thing, aren't you?"
"I've got a temper." Molly flicked her gaze toward his broken nose and then she smiled maliciously. "But you already knew that. How is the nose, by the way?"
Chapman's grin immediately disappeared and he bared his teeth at her. The gun swung in her direction, which was exactly what she'd been hoping for. As Molly dropped to the floor (desperately hoping that she was fast enough, and that Chapman had a horrible aim in case she wasn't), she heard Sherlock bellow, "No!"
Her palms hit the hardwood flooring first, the impact made her teeth snap together. A deafening bang made her ears ring. She could see Sherlock launching himself off the chair toward Chapman, even as the other man screamed in a combination of rage and pain. The gun fell from Chapman's useless hand as a red stain blossomed high on the sleeve of his expensive shirt. Molly suspected the humerus might have been hit by the bullet--if not fractured--judging from the way Chapman's scream turned into a high pitched squeal when Sherlock knocked him to the ground.
It took her several valuable seconds to scramble off the floor and launch herself at the two men. Chapman continued to try to put up a good fight even with a bullet hole in his arm, probably fuelled by adrenaline and anger. Unfortunately for Chapman, Sherlock had just as much rage, the advantage of leverage, and a lack of a gunshot wound on his side. Molly tried to pull Sherlock off the other man, but it was as if she wasn't even there for all the good it did.
Sherlock threw another punch, hitting Chapman in squarely in the jaw. The injured man's head banged against the floor and he went limp.
Suddenly there was another pair of hands and arms trying to yank Sherlock away. John managed to do what she couldn't; he pulled Sherlock free and wrapped him up in a bear hug to keep him from continuing to pummel the unconscious man.
Molly dropped to her knees at Chapman's side. A quick check confirmed there was an exit wound but no exposed bone. She awkwardly applied pressure to staunch the blood flow. "John! We need to hurry!"
Sherlock continued to strain against his friend's hold. John tried to calm him, "She's fine, and he's out. Stand down, man. Damn it, Molly, tell him you're not hurt!"
"I'm fine, not a scratch, I swear," Molly replied as reassuringly as she could, which wasn't as much as she had hoped. "Please, Sherlock."
He stilled when she said his name. Sherlock nodded once, sharply, and John tentatively released him.
While Molly continued to tend to Chapman, John pulled a pair of gloves out of his jacket pocket. He picked up the dropped gun and gestured at Chapman. "Help me lift him."
Sherlock frowned. "Why?"
"Really? You're going to argue with me right now?"
Sherlock grimaced, but he bent down to help John lift the unconscious man.
"Hold him up," John ordered as he wrapped Chapman's fingers around the gun. He pointed it toward the wall above the chair Sherlock had been sitting in. "Cover your ears, Molly." Once she did, he squeezed off two shots, then passed the gun to Sherlock. "Don't lose that."
Chapman groaned without fully waking.
John pulled a second gun out of his pocket and shoved it into Chapman's other hand, making sure to get the arseholes finger prints all over it. He offered the gun to Sherlock. "Be helpful and go outside to summon the police a few times, would you?"
Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then took the gun with a nod. "Of course, gunshot residue. Very thorough." He dumped Chapman's dead weight on John (who staggered and then none too gently lowered Janine's ex to the ground) before disappearing through the bedroom door.
Molly hurried to the bed and pulled the gag out of Janine's mouth. "I'm so sorry it took so long. Just give me a second and I'll get you untied, I promise."
Janine rotated and flexed her newly freed wrist. She jerked her head toward Chapman, who was still out cold. "Is he going to live?"
John nodded as he ripped the sleeve off of the other man's shirt to get a better look at the damage. "Unfortunately, he will. Molly, I'm going to need a tourniquet."
"On it." Molly tossed several of the scarves at him.
Two gunshots split the air outside and Molly jumped. She looked to John, wondering if she should be worried, and he merely shook his head. Molly's hands trembled as she finished untying Janine. Now that the worst was over--the part that could have gone pear-shaped and so easily turned deadly--her nerves threatened to overwhelm her. She felt shaky and sick to her stomach, and knew there was a small chance that she was going to throw up.
Sherlock reappeared. Once he verified that Chapman was still incapacitated, Sherlock put both guns on top of the dresser. "Molly?"
"Still fine, promise." His expression softened just a bit when she spoke.
"The local constabulary should be on the way." Sherlock crossed the room, stepping over Chapman's body, and offered his hand to help Janine off the bed. "Are you all right?"
"I will be." She wrapped her arms around her torso and looked around the room. "Going to have to replace everything in here. Fix the holes in the wall."
Molly suspected the other woman was in shock. Janine was far too calm considering everything that had happened. Molly understood the feeling.
"Would you feel better if you put on a dressing gown or something? Maybe splashed some water on your face?" Sherlock asked.
Janine tore her gaze away from Chapman and focused on Sherlock. Her eyes cleared and she drew a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, I would." She skirted around the man on the floor and hurried through the bedroom door.
Sherlock put his arm around Molly's waist and pulled her close. She dropped her forehead against his chest and snaked her arms under his coat, needing his body heat to warm her. Over the top of her head she could hear him speaking to John. "Are you done?"
Molly turned slightly so that she could see the doctor as he finished double checking the field dressing he'd given Chapman's wound. He stood and pulled his gloves off, tucking them into his pockets. "Yeah. He's stable, although that's going to hurt a hell of a lot once he comes to."
"Good." Sherlock's arms tightened around her for a moment. She could feel his chest vibrate under her cheek as he continued to talk to John. "You should probably leave. Your ride is waiting."
John looked a little nervous as he stood up. "About that-"
With a dismissive wave of his hand, Sherlock replied, "Haven't seen you all day."
She nodded in agreement. "I took a cab. I heard my friend was back in the country and wanted to come by for a visit. Imagine my horror when I walked in on that arse holding Sherlock and Janine at gunpoint. Everything was a bit of a blur after that."
"What about Janine?" John asked, turning a worried eye toward the bedroom door.
"I haven't seen you since I left for Japan." She stepped the rest of the way into the room, and finished wrapping herself in a warm flannel bathrobe. "I'm not sure why you don't want the cops to know you were here, but I'm not really going to question it at this point, am I?"
He smiled, clearly grateful that Sherlock and Janine were on board so easily. "Right. Someone give me a call if Sherlock needs to make bail, then?"
Both women nodded and Sherlock called out to John before he could make it out the door. "Later on you and I are going to talk about why you thought it was a good idea to bring Molly here."
"Other way around, mate. She brought me." John nodded to Molly and Janine, then disappeared down the hall.
Sherlock lifted Molly's chin so he could see her properly. "Then I suppose that talk will be between you and I, won't it?"
Molly swallowed hard and hugged him tighter. "I'm not going to apologize."
"So," Janine interrupted Sherlock before he could start to lecture Molly. "Someone want to let me know what I'm supposed to tell the police?" |
“FRIDAY translation please? OH FUCK!” Tony calls as he stumbles out of the way of the two women, as they punch and duck and kick over the kitchen.
“Miss Lewis said ‘Your aim has gotten... ‘poor’ in your old age Auntie, what would our instructors think?’” The AI responds.
Clint let’s out a low whistle, “your girl’s got some balls! 20 bucks says the mini-widow gets a hit in.”
“Are you serious?” Tony asks, “I love my new lab monkey but seriously against Natasha? I’ll take that bet.”
“Don’t interfere Buck.” Steve warns, as Bucky takes a step forward towards the battling women, raising his arm to stop him, but thinking better of it at the last second, pulling back.
“Don’t push me Punk.” Is the stern reply he gets.
“Look out how they’re fighting Buck, they aren’t trying to take each other out. They’re testing each other.”
Bucky looks and once he calms down and pushes the Soldier from his mind, he sees what Steve is telling him.
Natasha is solidly attacking Darcy, but only enough to make Darcy defend herself, none of the moves she is pulling would seriously harm the girl. It’s clear from their fighting styles that they were both trained in the same place, but Darcy has something more fluid, something more oriental in her movements. Whereas Natasha is a weapon, Darcy is a dancer. Darcy has yet to go on the attack, just blocking and dodging Natasha’s onslaught with the Black Widow yet to make a solid blow land. That is incredibly impressive, Steve and Barton, even Bucky himself have sparred with Natasha and gotten seriously hurt.
Bucky can tell from the microscopic facial expressions that Natasha is displaying that she is both impressed and pissed. Impressed that Darcy is defending so well, but also pissed Darcy is defending so well, that she has yet to make an impact against the younger woman. This makes the Black Widow a bit frustrated, and she starts to push harder.
Darcy notices this, working hard not to let her opponent through, but remembering all the Red Room’s instructions she recalls the moves the Black Widow is making and begins to predict what is about to happen.
No one in the room notices the timer on the oven going off, or if they do, they don’t care. Until Natasha takes a chance on doing a powerful swinging kick, hoping to knock Darcy down, instead, to the surprise of everyone in the room, Darcy steps nimbly into the Black Widow’s space, rotating with her, and launches a forceful punch into the assassin's solar plexus, knocking her to the ground, winded.
You could hear a pin drop as everyone’s hearts seem to miss a beat in surprise, including Darcy’s. Tony pulls a bill out of his pocket and hands it to Clint, with his mouth gaping open.
“Well I don’t know about you guys.” Darcy says, turning her back to Natasha, admittedly somewhat foolishly but Darcy is determined, and walking to the oven and stopping the timer. “But I don’t like burnt chocolate cake.” She pulls the cake out and sets it on the rack to cool. The Black Widow is still sitting on the floor so Darcy makes another potentially foolish move and goes back to her, offering a hand up. The assassin takes it and Darcy is surprised not to find herself on the floor with a knife at her throat, instead the Black Widow nods at her in a sign of respect, before moving to sit back on her stool at the kitchen counter.
Tony is the first one to recover from the shocked stillness of the rest of the room. “Where the hell did you learn that Lucy Liu?”
“Clearly the Red Room, like Natasha.” Steve answers for her.
“There was a different style in there though that the Red Room doesn’t teach,” Clint turns to Darcy, “The monks, it was a martial arts temple?”
“Oh that makes sense then, cos that was some serious Jackie Chan/Bruce Lee shit.” Tony says, not giving Darcy a chance to answer, as he moves his hands in a cheap imitation of a karate chop.
“So who sent you to us then Miss Lewis, if that is your name?” Steve asks crossing his arms and glaring at her.
“The Warlord sent her Rogers, we’ve all read the mission report.” Clint answers stepping in between Steve and Darcy, facing the Captain with his stance mirroring his, acting as a sort of shield for Darcy.
“Don’t forget I offered her a job, so technically I’m the one that sent her here.” Tony defends Darcy as he too moves between her and the Captain.
Steve is looking stunned that his teammates are advocating for her, he looks to Natasha who just smiles at him slightly and shrugs. “The Red Room was decommissioned years ago, I’m guessing she escaped before then. I wouldn’t mind hearing your story Darcy, when you feel up to it.” Steve isn’t the only one shocked at the Black Widow’s soft and gentle voice as she makes her request of Darcy.
Throughout this whole discussion Darcy and Bucky haven’t said a word, Darcy is looking at the ground near Bucky’s feet, scared to look up and see the disgust and hatred he will surely be displaying. But Bucky is looking directly at Darcy with the complete opposite of that on his face. He moves to her, gently putting his finger under her chin and pulling her face up so she has to look him in the eye.
“You escaped from the Red Room?” Bucky asks her quietly.
Darcy nods, a single tear escaping from her eye when she sees he doesn’t hate her. “A long time ago,” she whispers back.
“Clever girl,” Bucky says as he pulls her into his arms, laying a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Darcy’s body trembles as she holds back a sob, unable to process the emotions going through her with his simple acceptance. “I had decided to tell you, I was just scared.” She murmurs into his chest as he holds her.
“I know Doll.” Bucky looks over her head at Steve with anger in his eyes for how his best friend has been acting. Steve, for his part, is hanging his head in contrition, the remorse clear in his eyes as he watches the two together.
“Natalia, you risked a teammate on your hunch, was it worth it?” Bucky questions in Russian.
“I risked nothing,” she replies, also in Russian.
“Translation please FRIDAY!” Tony calls but the assassins ignore him and the AI as it repeats their conversation in English.
“I saw how she caught you, how she put a pillow under your head. How she took care of Stark, like she did in the reports and footage we have of her looking after Dr Foster and Dr Selvig. In the attack in New Mexico, she risked her life to save the animals in the pet shop.” Natasha continues in Russian, counting off her reasoning on her fingers, “there was never any risk. I knew she would protect Stark because she had already adopted him into her care, just like she did with Dr Foster.”
“Adopted me? Pssht.” Everyone ignores Tony.
“What if she didn’t have the skill to stop the knife! What if she tried and failed! You would put that on her conscience?” Bucky accuses. Darcy can feel him vibrating with anger at the Black Widow and she tentatively rubs his back, trying to calm him.
“You saw the speed of her reactions, her ability, when you surprised her, when I surprised her, how she decided to beat Barton on the rock wall. Again no risk.” Natasha scoffs, completely unconcerned.
Darcy is as quiet as a mouse during this exchange as she is surprised and feeling very warm with how ardently Bucky is defending her, but on the other hand she does actually agree with everything Natasha is saying. And if someone had entered her family unit, showing signs like she did, she would probably have done something similar to draw them out. Maybe not risking someone’s life on it, but somehow she would have got to the bottom of it.
“It’s OK Bucky,” she gives him a fierce look as he goes to argue with her, “no, I’m not saying they did it the right way. But I understand why she did what she did.” Darcy pulls out of Bucky’s arms, feeling bereft of his touch immediately so she takes his metal hand in both of hers. Looking at the Captain she speaks in English now, “I understand that you may have felt pushed into a corner, with everything Bucky has been through, and everything you have been through to get him back. To have an unknown, come in and seemingly threaten him, I may not agree with it but I understand it.”
“You’re not Hydra.” The Captain states, rather than asks, but Darcy feels the fury and indignation travel up her spine as she steps towards him, poking her finger into his chest.
“I’m Jewish you douchenozzle! I have forgiven your rudeness to this moment Captain Rogers, because I have made allowances for your emotional distress regarding the treatment of your best friend. But from now on you better watch it or I will make you regret it.”
The super soldier raises his hands in repentance as Tony claps his hands and Clint whistles in encouragement, both enjoying seeing their new friend stand up for herself.
The Captain opens his mouth, to apologise maybe, but Darcy never finds out, as the Avengers Assemble Alarm goes off and quickly they all disappear to the Quinjet, to go face the next villain. Leaving Bucky and Darcy alone in the common area, still holding hands.
|
Rey is a good few feet away when Kylo’s mind catches up. He launches up from the makeshift throne they've made him and does his best to catch her dress in his fist, but the fabric barley slips through his fingers as she marches down the steps and by the time she hits the sand she's like a rocket.
She wasn't this angry when he shoved his blade through Han; she wasn't this angry as she stood over him and choked the life from him after hours of torture. The expression on her face is far harsher than anytime she's called him a monster in their endless fights. And he can feel the darkside floating off her. His heart squeezes as he chases after her. She's dangerously close, something he's noticed a lot lately. It should make him proud, that was their goal wasn't it?
Her limbs are shaking with each stomp through the sand. She won't look back at even one of the many calls of ‘scavenger’ he makes. But what could have set her off so badly? He searches the crowd, trying his best to find a source.
It isn't until she halts dead in front of the troopers that he even stops. Kylo has to dig his heels into the sand to keep himself from slamming into her back.
She's shouting something awful, basically hissing at the troopers, and maker does she have a potty mouth. She slams her fist down on one of the troopers and knocks the weapon from his hand so violently that the man has to take a step back. It's only when the soldier moves that Kylo sees the mother and her children. When his brain catches up to what his eyes are seeing his blood starts to boil. Why would she keep risking herself for things, people, that don't matter?
She keeps snarling words out, doing her best to be threatening but Kylo can't concentrate on her words. How could she be so reckless after being warned time and time again? How could she have so little self preservation? If Snoke didn't kill her, he'd surely teach her a lesson personally this time. He reaches out and tugs her, accidentally so hard that she hits his chest with a thud.
“Now is not the time, Scavenger.” He bites out each word. Her lightsaber shrinks down as horror grows in her eyes. “Get back to the stage. “
Kylo has never seen anyone look so perfectly bewildered and enraged simultaneously. She only blinks at him a couple of times before barking commands at Phasma. He can't help but frown, hard, even now she's still trying to help these people that are so far below her. He drags her back to the stage, Kylo replacing her as the angry one and Rey blushing hard, embarrassed at all the stares thrown her way. Despite this she still throws her shoulders back, as though to say she regrets nothing. Neither of them say another word, and almost too quickly, as though it were purposely cut short, the ceremony ends. They’re in a daze as Kylo drags her off the stage and onto the transport. It isn't until he realizes he's still got her well formed bicep in his palm that he lets go as the ship ramp raises shut.
“I was starting to lose circulation. “she grumbles sarcastically. And it's not like this isn't their normal attitudes to each other but by the Maker has Kylo has enough.
“Good. “ He bites back, and he means it. Kylo crosses his arms across his chest like a child. Rey scoffs and there's another beat of silence.
Everyone in the transport, troopers, officials, all shift a little uncomfortably.
He knows, he knows so much better than to fight with her in front of all these people but he just can't let her get off easily.
“How many times do I have to tell you your little stunts aren't okay?” The words leave his lips in an odd mixture of a sigh and a shout, either way exasperated. “Do you want to get yourself killed? This is exactly how you get yourself killed!”
“And?” Rey shouts back. One of the troopers closest to her flinches. “My family has abandoned me. What? I should preserve myself to spend my years with you?”
Ow. Kylo has to admit that hurt. Even if the two of them aren't clamoring to embrace their newlyweds bliss it's still unpleasant to hear someone would rather die than be with you.
“You should preserve yourself-” he starts, and then has to stop and rethink his words since he can't very well say ‘because I tell you too’. All the air in his lungs quickly heaves through his nostrils. “You should preserve yourself so you can do good for the galaxy as the Empress. You want to help pathetic little desert dwellers? Then stay alive. Don't act like your brains are made of Bantha shit. “
There's now a noticeable gap between the two of them and any other passengers. Anyone else on the ship is pressed as against the wall as they can manage. There are even a few people with sweat dripping down their collars.
“Every time I try to help anyone I've got you in my KRIFFING ear-” two troopers make eye contact across the ship, one nods his head in a way that asks if they should intervene the other shakes his head furiously, as though to say ‘be my guest buddy I'm not getting in between that for ten thousand credits. ‘“-telling me I'm acting the wrong way. I'm just supposed to sit back as the Empress of the entire galaxy and let starving children be treated that way by my own troops-?”
Rey has turned to face him in her speech and she prods a finger into his chest a little harder than she should.
“They aren't your troops. “ Kylo says before he's fully processed her words. And then it hits him, they were starving children- just like her. Suddenly he knows all too well why she had acted that way. She saw herself in the dirty little family. He deflates of course there's still a hint of bitterness in his chest because she just has to see herself in every single stupid helpless person.
“And yes-”He hisses, but there's no real steam behind him anymore. “You are. You're loyalty is to the First Order, not to the people. “
“No.” Rey spins on her heel, refusing to look at him as she speaks. Instead she focuses on the small circular windows. “My loyalty is to my husband, not this deranged organization. That was the deal. I married you, I’ll give you children just like I was asked too but I will not, I will never, bow my head down and submit to this evil that you allow to run rampant in the galaxy. “
Kylo knows she's not speaking frankly. Or that she'd give him any of these things, least of all her children, but the sentence stops his turning mind. He's so desperate for even a small taste of it, her loyalty, a family, that's he's hooked as soon as it leaves her lips. His hand reaches out and touches her shoulder, turning her to look him in the eyes. And he's sure his expression is ridiculously soft but he can't make himself care in the moment.
They've both forgotten about the others in the shuttle, and even though the crowd was the initial reason they were so close to each other they're practically inches away with no real reason anymore.
“I'm not the one asking you too.” He says in the lowest voice he can muster, hoping hers are the only ears it falls on. “I'm just asking you not to get yourself killed… for me, Rey, if no one else… if not you. “
It's the closest he’ll ever come to a confession of any kind, and though he doesn't explicitly say anything he can see Rey’s heart drop in her eyes. The sound of her name feels so odd on his tongue he wants to repeat it, over and over again until it feels like he was meant to say it. Instead, however he stays quiet just waiting for her to speak.
Rey takes a step back, closer to the crowd than to him, knocking his hand from her shoulder.
“Emperor, I-” she speaks, but lets it die on her tongue, staring out the same window again. What could she even say? He's not expecting her to agree and jump into his arms, so then what is he expecting? This should be nothing short of disaster.
There's nothing she can say. Or wants to say, he isn't sure but either way the shuttle docks and the door lowers open. Anyone on the ship flees at first opportunity.
He gives her one more glance, and when he decides she isn't going to speak he starts to walk with the others. But Rey catches his cape in her hand.
“It's the anniversary. “She says softly like the thought has plagued her, breaking the silence, and Kylo raises a brow. She counts days; he remembers that from the trip into her mind on Starkiller, little ticks across steel walls. He wonders for a moment if her quarters are littered with the same marks. It's been a full cycle since-
“The anniversary of what?” Kylo asks, his voice a low rumble. He thinks he knows what she's referring too but he wants to hear it from her lips. He makes no attempt to turn and watch her, keeping his eyes on the hangar just outside.
"Of the day we met.”She mumbles, more to herself than him. It's been three hundred and sixty four cycles since she dug herself out of the sand in that Hail Mary run to the Falcon with Finn- a year since that first desperate scrambling away from him on Takadona, the first time she's seen his face on the Starkiller. It all seems so long ago. "Of Han's-" she stops in her tracks, and he's sure she's looking sheepishly at his back as it stiffens with the name. Has it already been a year? It feels like yesterday that he sliced through his father. He still feels like he's just met her.
“I'm tired of fighting, Ren. “She says softly against the cold air. “I'm tired of being alone. “Her mumble is just quiet enough to reach his ears and Maker how his heart breaks.
"You aren't.” He almost whispers back and he waits patiently for her to release his cape and stalks down the ramp.
But just as he fades from view he places a small reassurance in the corner of her mind.
"I'm always with you.” |
Levi had moved over to the breakfast bench by the time Eren finally emerged. Levi's sweats hung loosely on his hips, there was about an inch gap between the hooded shirt and the sweats, showing the teens jutting hips. He was insanely thin and Levi bit down a growl. How could the facility allow this"Erwin cooked, come have something to eat"Eren eyed the plate of food like he'd never seen food before in his life. Levi picked the plate up and moved it to the end of the breakfast counter, before moving back to his own seat. The omega started to eat, all but scoffing the food down as fast as he could"Hey, slow down, you'll make yourself sick"Levi knew Erwin was just trying to be nice, but Eren dropped the slice of toast he'd been devouring and scrambled from his seat, he moved back away from the plate until his back hit the wall and he sank to the floor. His hands came over his head like he was about to be beaten and Levi glared at Erwin "Eren, its fine. No ones going to hurt you, Erwin just didn't want you throwing up"
Eren shook his head, clearly terrified. His hands grabbed at his hair and he began to pull hard, Levi jumped off his stool and grabbed at his wrists, Eren whimpered and tried to pull away"Calm down, I know I said I wouldn't touch you, but you don't need to hurt yourself, you've done nothing wrong... now do you think you can let your hair go for me?"Eren maintained the tight grip on his hair and Levi released his wrists, he kept his hands open as he slid them up and onto Eren's hands"Can you let go? Or do you need help?"Levi gently pried Eren's fingers out of his hair, one by one, strands of the thick chocolate hair clung to the omegas fingers and Levi bit down his anger at whoever had hurt the beautiful omega. He backed up a little to give Eren some room to breathe "Do you want to finish eating? Or do you want me to show you to your room?"Eren didn't look up at him and Erwin coughed lightly, like he was reminding Levi he was still there. The alpha ignored his friend until Eren finally looked up, tears were running down his face and his green eyes sparkled"Alright, bedroom it is"Levi stood and turned, Erwin was watching him in clear confusion, the alpha gave him a tiny nod to let him know it was alright. He walked towards the end of the breakfast counter and could feel Eren moving behind him. He waited a moment before walking across the living room and into the hallway that ran under the stairs up to his room.
Sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows, the hallway was warm, but not too warm. Eren's room was the only room that lead off of it. He opened the door and stepped back, letting Eren walk into the room ahead of him. The omega span around slowly, examining the space"There's another 4 bedrooms, but this is the nicest of them all"The walls were white, but the interior was decorated with shades of ruby red. The omega was clearly not used to such luxury and seemed to shrink away from it all"I know it's plain, but once we do some shopping and you get some things you can call your own, I'm sure it'll feel more like home. My bedrooms right upstairs, so if you ever need me, don't hesitate to come see me..."
Eren turned towards him and Levi noticed he was shivering"Are you cold? You can go ahead and rest if you like? This is your house now Eren, I won't let them take you back to that shit hole of a facility"Eren didn't move, so Levi did, he walked back down the hall and into the living room. Erwin was now sitting on the sofa, his head resting in his hands"Levi. Are you sure he's what you want?"Levi frowned, he crossed and sat in the recliner opposite "I'm not saying he isn't a good looking kid, but... is he really right for you? He's obviously damaged""Erwin, on this you need to trust me. He's just scared, once he loosens up things will be fine. You can head off, I think he's scared of both of us, both being alphas and all""What if he snaps?""Then I'll deal with it, just make sure Kenny hasn't found out and bring those files over tomorrow"Erwin pushed himself up "I think you're making a mistake""Even if I am, I'm not kicking him out. I'll see you tomorrow at 7"Erwin crossed and disappeared towards the front door. Levi sighed, he'd have to change the door code again. He hated that he couldn't even trust his best friend with something like the codes, but Erwin answered to his uncle and Kenny had a way of getting the info he wanted, no matter the price. He sank back further in the recliner and Titan came running across the room, lightly leaping into his lap. He scratched the cat behind the ears for a moment "You be nice to Eren, he's had a hard life like we have"Titan jumped off his lap and stalked away.
Despite all his outwards confidence, he had no idea what he was supposed to do with the omega. Eren needed clothes, food and his own bathroom things. He wished the kid would talk to him, he was sure the teens voice would be the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. With the thought of clothes on his mind he forced himself up and into the study, retrieving his iPad before heading back to Eren's room. The door was open and the teen was sitting on the floor, he knocked lightly and Eren didn't move, he crossed around and sat across from Eren, waving the iPad lightly"I want to order you some clothes, do you know how to use one of these?"Levi held the device out and Eren took it with shaking hands"You don't need to be so careful. It can always be replaced. Why don't you try Amazon? You can order some books and such if you want. You don't need to be shy in asking. I know what it's like to have nothing of my own"Eren clearly couldn't believe his words, he stared down at the iPad still shaking"My mother died when I was a kid... and I lived on the streets, I had to steal what I needed from the trash of others... finally my uncle took me in... and he tried to kill me... now I work for him... life's fucked me over too. Erwin doesn't know, so it's just you, me and Kenny. You don't have to talk to me, but I do want you to know that I'm on your side"
Tears rolled down Eren's face again, Levi longed to reach out and wipe them away. He stood, all he could do now was wait for Eren to come to him. |
What was happening? Ichigo had retreated into the inner world quickly. He only stayed aware long enough to see what the hell his hollow half was doing. He was doing that, with Renji? His mind was racing. He’d often thought of Renji that way, those dark eyes, long red hair he longed to see released from his ever-present hair tie, but it was all in his head. After what he’d done, after what Aizen had turned him into, why would anyone, let alone Renji, want anything to do with him?
He was a despicable, filthy creature. He’d broken, shattered, and he didn’t want to even think of trying to piece himself back together, it would hurt too much. He’d let all this happen. Aizen had told him so many times. He hadn’t resisted enough. He hadn’t tried hard enough, and he wanted to be hurt. He longed for it. And when it stopped, he wanted it again. And that was the most disgusting feeling of all. Wanting those hands gripping his body, wanting those eyes staring down at him with lust and…hatred? He wasn’t sure. He just wanted to escape, but even his inner world offered no sanctuary, becoming inaccessible once his reiatsu was sapped away and he couldn’t reach his soul’s other pieces.
Maybe that had been the worst part. Unable to touch Zangetsu and Shiro. Unable to feel their comforting presence through the whole ordeal, he couldn’t even have assurance that there was life beyond the white walls and painful pleasure of Aizen’s touches. All he knew was he was locked into fear, pain and need. And he’d been abandoned by his friends.
Maybe that knowledge was what led him to the breaking point. When Aizen told him how long it had been, and how no one had come to his aid at all. It broke his heart more than a little to know it. It was then he didn’t have to chain him up to keep him from leaving the room. He just gave up and wanted to die.
But why would Renji do that? Let Shiro…and then let him know that he knew he was in there…why would he do something like that?
Ichigo shivered at the memory of that warm and thick reiatsu that was distinctly Renji flowed into him. It wasn’t like the pressing, cold reiatsu that Aizen had forced him down with. Forced, Ichigo thought. Forced. He felt the difference. Could he be wrong? Could he really not be as dirty and disgusting as he thought for what he did? Had done to him? Which was it? He was so confused.
He pulled his black clad legs to his chest and rocked, barely noticing that his shihakuso was almost fully replaced. That meant his reiatsu was healing, didn’t it? How had that happened, he thought, his head a whirling mess of emotion and turmoil.
-oooooo-OOOOOO-oooooo-
Renji emerged from the room, tying up his hair and looking up to see everyone sitting around the tea room table avoiding his gaze.
“What?” Then he glanced over behind Urahara’s back and remembered the monitors that displayed what was happening in the room he’d just emerged from. “Oh.”
He shrugged and sauntered over and flopped down beside Rukia.
Urahara cleared his throat behind him. “Renji-san, I think now, while Ichigo’s in…ah…flux would be a good time to attempt another foray into his inner world.”
Renji stood up again, flinching as pain shot up his backside. Now he remembered why he rarely did that…
Grimmjow sat still where he had been watching the two alphas tangle. It had been awkward, neither one really submitting. But it had done something. He’d seen those big brown eyes open for even the slightest of moments in something other than fear. He shifted uncomfortably, quelling his own desires. He wanted to bring the orange haired boy back. The one with the fire in his eyes, and the unbelievably cocky attitude that didn’t back down, the one who spent over three months of torture before he finally broke under Aizen’s twisted ministrations. And he’d be damned if he didn’t get that boy back. And tell him how absolutely hot his cockiness was.
Grimmjow looked up as Urahara and Renji came in again. Shiro, positively blissed out after his romp with the red head laid back comfortably, not having bothered to replace his shirt. He grinned at Renji who rolled his eyes.
“Oi, Red, ya still able to walk, proud a’ya,” he smirked.
Renji glowered at him. “Why you…”
Urahara put a hand on Renji’s shoulder. “Yare, yare, settle down, let’s try this again before Ichigo can resume his defenses. If nothing else, you may have shaken his foundation. Let’s home it will allow you to stay in his inner world long enough to do some good. Now come,” he said, getting Grimmjow to lay down on one side and Renji on the other.
Grimmjow grunted, and crossed his legs and lay on his side, hiding his obvious arousal at the events that had just taken place. He was going to ache after this. Renji locked eyes with Grimmjow over the form of the seemingly sleepy Shiro. There was something in his eyes and Grimmjow recognized it. Determination to drag the orangette out of his fog and back into reality.
“Okay boys, try not and tear down anything Renji’s…ah…sacrifice…built up,” Urahara said with a grin. There was chanting and humming of machinery and once more the three opened their eyes to the sideways world.
Something was different though. The rain wasn’t as heavy, the sky wasn’t as dark, and the buildings were higher out of the water. Shiro looked around appraising the situation. There was a flash and Zangetsu was beside them.
“He’s confused, but the thread wasn’t cut off as I had feared it might.”
“Thread?” asked Renji, turning to the older figure.
Zangetsu nodded. “The act would either widen the small thread of hope connecting Ichigo to the surface world or sever it completely. The attachment to the surface world is slightly stronger, but the thread is fraying at the edges, so it must be solidified before it breaks completely.”
“Well, fuckin’ hell, let’s do this shit,” the white version of Ichigo muttered flash stepping away, Grimmjow and Renji following a second later.
“He’ll resist still, he can’t help it,” Zangetsu said, keeping pace easily beside them. “Don’t stop, don’t let him push you away. Shiro and I are part of him, so we cannot possibly repair the damage. He controls us both, after all.”
There was sickening spin as both Renji and Grimmjow lost their footing and were somewhere Grimmjow recognized immediately, and after a moment so did Renji. Las Noches.
There were screams from down the hall and a string of cuss words. They both recognized Ichigo’s voice, and obviously unbroken at this time. They entered the room, unseen, to find a pink haired Szayel leaning over the boy bound to the surgical table. He was panting, blood leaking from a few punctures on his arms and chest.
“Fuck you!” he screamed, catching a breath. “Quit fucking stabbing me with that goddamned needle, teme!”
Szayel moved away, disappearing, leaving the panting shinigami alone for a moment. He returned just as quickly with a different instrument. It looked like a drill with a space at the end. Ichigo’s eyes widened. “What the fuck is that?” he cried out.
Szayel sighed. “I’m sorry, Ichigo-chan, but this is really going to hurt. I need a marrow sample, and you seemed to have built up a resistance to the drug I’ve been using to knock you out. I’ve given you as much as I can, but it doesn’t seem to be affecting you like it should. I didn’t want to do this while you were conscious, but this is the last one, I promise Ichigo-chan.”
There was a buzzing sound as Szayel turned the device on and Ichigo began to squirm away from him. He put a hand on him, turning it off and grabbing another syringe from his table. “I’ll give you this, it will paralyze you, maybe numb some of it, but I can’t numb the bone,” he said, injecting something into his arm. His body visibly relaxed, and he looked someone blissed out.
Szayel appeared disturbed, and Grimmjow had never seen that pink haired freak look like that. He reached down and ran a hand over the boy’s head.
“I’m sorry, Ichigo, but Aizen doesn’t like what I’ve found. He’s angry because he wanted so much more from you. I can’t recreate what happened to you. I can’t even understand it. And the tests, they show so much potential in you that it’s ridiculous. The power you possess, even you can’t fathom what it can do, and I tried, I really tried, but I couldn’t keep it from him,” Szayel leaned over and put his head against the semi-conscious boy’s forehead. “He’s going to break you, Ichigo, and that’s a shame, but what I am going to do against the likes of him? I’m only octavo, nothing compared to the eight above me. He’s making me come up with something after Gin’s done tormenting you. I’ll do what I can, but he’ll know if I do too much. I’m sorry.
“Truly, for the first time in this miserable existence, I’m sorry. I doubt you’ll remember this, what I’m saying, but I hope you do, somewhere, because what he has planned is terrible, and if I had the guts, I’d kill you on this table. But I can’t do it. I can’t just kill you.”
The pink haired Espada stepped back, sighing and turning on the drill-like device and pressed it against the boy’s thigh and began the procedure. It wasn’t long until he was done, and cleaning the blood and vomit afterward, Ichigo having screamed himself horse as the thing drilled into his bone. Szayel put the sample away and patched up the various wounds from testing his body, his fingers stopping to press against his sweaty face as he breathed heavily, winding away into unconsciousness finally.
The world spun sickeningly again, causing both Grimmjow and Renji to stumble, crashing to the floor. Quickly they gathered themselves up and started walking, just following the corridor they were in.
“That’s why he let me go,” Grimmjow said with a sigh.
“Huh?” Renji said looking up.
Grimmjow swallowed. “When I found him, I took him to Szayel, and he watched as I left through the garganta with him, never stopping me.”
They heard screams again, this time peppered with a gentler voice laughing and talking around them. Both Grimmjow and Renji recognized that voice. Gin Ichimaru. There was a flash and they were standing in another room, Ichigo’s body spread out, arms open to either side. Blood was flowing down his chest and back as Gin circled him. They noticed now and then Gin glancing up and back down to Ichigo.
Renji followed his gaze and saw a small black globe. “Monitoring device, Aizen watched this every time,” Grimmjow provided. “Szayel didn’t allow them in his lab, but Gin loved putting on a show for Aizen with that zanpaktou of his.”
“Fuck off, Gin, leave me alone,” Ichigo said breathlessly. “I’m tired, how much more of this is there? Just fucking kill me.”
“Ichi-kun, ah can’t kill you!” Gin announced, leaning down and smiling snake-like at him, then whispering almost too low to be heard by the voyeurs in the room. “But ah do wish ah could do that fer ya. Sorry ‘bout that, Ichi-kun.”
There was another spinning sensation and they were still in the room. Only now, Ichigo was laying on the dirty mattress, sleeping it would seem. The door opened and Szayel entered with a plate and glass. He slowly set them down beside the sleeping form. He sighed and injected him with something. Ichigo stirred sleepily and his brown eyes opened and stared at Szayel again, half aware.
“It’ll keep you alive, but I wish I could fill it with poison. Aizen’s taking you out of here tomorrow, Ichigo. I…I wish I could do something, but he watches everything. It’s wrong, I know it, Gin knows it. We tried. But Aizen made sure to watch every move we’ve made, making sure we didn’t slip up and ‘accidently’ kill you before he got to the last stage. Always a game with him, Ichigo, always a game. Stages. He’s so angry that the research into you yielded no results. He even quit incursions into the World of the Living. He wanted you to help him take the soul king’s place, or at least use your power. But he can’t, you’re the only one that can use it, and it infuriates him. And gods help you, he’s going to show you and Soul Society how angry he is.”
“What are we watching?” Grimmjow asked quietly.
Renji stared. “This is stuff he doesn’t remember, not really, he was half conscious. So, he doesn’t remember them saying these things. I think we’ve jogged it loose. Maybe Gin and Szayel trying to tell him that it wasn’t his fault will help him in some way?”
It seemed time passed and Szayel came back again, this time with Ulquiorra.
“Please hurry, I must return soon. This is not my idea of a thing that requires my attention,” Ulquiorra said, impassive as usual.
“I’m sorry, Ulquiorra-san, but Aizen-sama does not want any of the more aggressive Arrancar or Espada interfering in this transfer,” Szayel said, unhooking Ichigo and lifting him from the bed, his weight surprising.
“Why does Aizen-sama not simply kill this boy?” Ulquiorra asked as they headed out of the room. In Szayel’s arms, Ichigo moaned and rolled his head, his eyes half open. “It is beyond me why he does not.”
“Some perverse pleasure,” Szayel muttered, staring down into the sunken cheeks of the half-starved boy.
Renji and Grimmjow followed, but they really didn’t have to move, it seemed the world followed Ichigo at a blinding and sickening speed.
“Pleasure?” asked Ulquiorra, pushing open a door almost identical to every other. Szayel entered and laid his bundle on the bed, securing wrists and ankles as Aizen had asked.
“Yeah, you know, gets his rocks off?” Szayel said with a frown at the utterly emotionless Arrancar.
“As in sexual pleasure?” asked Ulquiorra, tilting his head to the side. “I have participated in such acts before, but do not understand why Aizen-sama needs this particular boy for that purpose. There are many Arrancar with which he could couple.”
Szayel shook his head. “It’s more than just sexual pleasure. He’s his enemy, someone he’s struck down; he wants to humiliate him in every sense of the word. You’d never understand, Ulquiorra, so don’t try.”
Szayel leaned over, pulling a couple syringes from his leather satchel. He carefully administered each one. “What are those?” Ulquiorra asked passively.
“One is a chemical Aizen wanted, to make the boy enjoy his torture. The other…is something I’m giving him to dull pain and clot blood faster,” Szayel said with a sigh.
“Did Aizen-sama ask you to administer that one?” Ulquiorra said, staring at the stirring body on the bed.
Szayel shook his head. “No, he didn’t, but I’m trying to keep him alive, though I should really just kill him and suffer Aizen-sama’s wrath.”
Ulquiorra looked over at him. “Why would you kill him if you should be keeping him alive for Aizen-sama?”
Szayel shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand no matter how hard you tried, Ulquiorra. I may be completely fucking insane, but some things shouldn’t be done.”
The world shifted again, and they were staring at Ichigo. He was sitting on the floor in the room and Grimmjow recognized the scene all too well. Ulquiorra was staring down at him, impassive as Ichigo writhed in pain, blood spreading out around him.
“Interesting,” Ulquiorra commented and turned and left.
Renji’s breath hitched. He was seeing memories so he couldn’t interact. Ichigo finally tried to stand, his legs buckling, the shattered bones unable to support the weight of his body.
“I want to die,” he moaned, beginning to sob. “How could they…leave me…like this…after everything, after I…gave…”
Around them a voice spoke, not in line with the things happening in the room, but it must have been Ichigo remembering. Both Renji and Grimmjow recognized the smooth silky sounds of Aizen’s voice.
Ichigo, they’re not coming for you. You heard the head captain, he wouldn’t help Inoue, you think he would help you? You’re a monster, you’re not worth saving. You’re worthless now, look at you, mewling and begging me to touch you. What a little whore you’ve become… And they wouldn’t want you now, who would want you now? I’m going to keep you here until you give up completely. Don’t think I don’t see that tiny spark in your eye. That tiny little sliver of hope that someone, anyone will save you. They aren’t. And until that spark disappears, I won’t let you die. Only when you’ve given up all hope, will I kill you and end this, Ichigo. Only then.
You enjoy this, you crave my touch on your skin, how sick and twisted you must be down deep, Ichgo to like what I’m doing. I feel your breath and the shaking of your body. No, they would be so ashamed to see you like this. Once their strong and powerful protected, reduced to this writhing mass of…nothing. You’re nothing now except my toy, my pet.
They’ve always been afraid of you, my pet. That untamed and wild hollow inside you. They don’t understand it. They fear it. And they’ll always fear it. That’s why they haven’t come, you know. That way they don’t have to kill you themselves, because they can’t bring themselves to do in an ally. But they’ve abandoned you, it’s been almost four months Ichigo, and not even one has come to Heuco Mundo to even find out.
And then the world faded out and they were standing on one of the sky scrapers, the rain falling full force again, the sky almost black. Standing on the edge was Ichigo, screaming at the sky.
“How could they leave me?” he sobbed, dropping off the edge of the building. |
Peter was half asleep, daydreaming instead of paying attention to the lecture. He already knew what Mr. Harrington was teaching; Mr. Stark had taught him everything about the subject months ago. He wondered if Mr. Stark was right all along and if he should have just skipped his last few years of high school and jumped to college because he was so bored in every class. Every class just felt like a waste of time. He was almost fully asleep, head leaning on his hand when Ned smacked him causing his arm to fall. He almost hit his head on the desk but caught himself at the last second. He looked over at Ned who smiled and shrugged, pointing at Mr. Harrington.
The teachers usual monotone teaching voice had changed, and he smiled at the class telling them that he had an exciting announcement. He waited for the class to settle down and once they did, he told them that they would be going on a field trip and not just any old field trip, they would be taking a trip to Stark Tower. This time Peter didn’t even try to stop his head from hitting the desk, letting out a groan as he wondered what he did in a past life to deserve the luck that he had. He twisted his head to look at his friend but only groaned further when he saw Ned laughing at him. He was screwed.
When the bell rung, he drug his feet walking up to Mr. Harrington’s desk, briefly entertaining the thought of walking out of class without grabbing a permission slip. He knew that Ned would kill him though; his best friend had been asking him for a while to come to the tower and see some of the stuff that he was working on. He was trying, he really was, but it seemed like every time him and Mr. Stark set up a day for Ned to come over, some new villain would attack the city and they would have to reschedule. If Ned had already come over, he would’ve skipped without a second thought, but he wanted to be there to see his best friends face when he walked into the tower.
He watched Ned’s face light up when he grabbed a permission slip and tried to smile at him in return, but he was pretty sure he only managed a grimace. They walked towards their lockers, Ned chattering the entire way about how cool the field trip was going to be, but all he could think about was how absolutely screwed he was. He knew that Mr. Stark would be at the tower that day because their field trip was on a Friday and his mentor was always at the tower on Friday because he went to the tower after school that day. He also knew that the other interns were going to give him hell for going on a tour of the place he worked. He had made friends with a lot of the interns and they all joked around with him like he was their little brother. He was also pretty sure most of the interns and employees thought he was Mr. Stark's kid since all of them called him Jr which was going to be pretty hard to explain to his classmates if that happened. There was also the question of how his classmates would react to his clearance level, which was much higher than an intern usually had.
Suffice to say, he was so not looking forward to the field trip.
When Friday came, he couldn’t tell whether he was more relieved or anxious. The entire week leading up to the field trip was filled with taunts from Flash and his goons. Peter couldn’t tell if Flash was more excited about going to Stark Tower for the first time or proving him wrong. There was also the problem of his aunt. She had cackled when he sheepishly handed her the permission slip and he swore that his aunt and his mentor were planning something. His aunt was texting someone a lot and that was suspicious because his aunt was an old soul and preferred phone calls to texting which meant she was hiding something from him. He had also noticed Mr. Stark's name popped up on his aunts phone when they were watching a movie one day.
He groaned as he slowly climbed onto the bus. He was trying his hardest to be cheerful today because Ned was so excited, and he couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing his best friend. He forced a smile onto his face as Ned started talking about all the things that they might get to see on the trip. The smile became less forced the longer he listened to Ned talk and he briefly entertained the thought that he might not be anxious at all by the time they reached the tower because it was a long trip and Ned was bound to talk the entire trip.
“Hey Penis” Flash yelled, “are you excited for everyone to see how pathetic you really are? Its gonna be hard to keep up all the lies when no one there knows who you are.” The smile slipped from Peter’s face as a few people on the bus snickered and he saw Ned frown. The only reason that he was on the trip in the first place was to see how happy Ned was and now his friend was upset.
He was about to retort when MJ beat him to it.
“With how often the word penis passes your lips you would think you would know what a dick was. No one cares Flash.” She rolled her eyes and went back to reading as the bus went silent save for the sounds of Flash sputtering.
Gradually the class resumed talking as Peter mouthed thank you at MJ who only rolled her eyes again.
When the bus finally stopped outside of Stark Tower, everyone rushed off except for him. He had seen the tower so many times that he was used to it. He couldn’t deny that it was beautiful, but he was used to seeing it and took his time coming of the bus, trying to calm his anxiety. His class walked as fast as was socially acceptable only stopping when they reached the lobby. They didn’t have much time to gape at the lobby before a tour guide approached them.
“Good morning Midtown! My name is Thea and I’ll be your guide today. I hope you’re all excited to see what Stark Industries has to offer. Since you guys are a technology school, we’ll mainly be touring the R&D labs today, but every tour includes stops on the museum floors. We have two museum floors, one dedicated to the history of Stark Industries and one for the history of the Avengers. You guys are going to be receiving guest passes that will allow you all access to whatever floor I am on. They are linked to my pass so make sure you stay with the group, no wandering off. They passes will be deactivated at the end of the tour, and you guys are free to keep them! Make sure you keep the pass fully visible at all times. Mr. Stark’s AI watches every move in this tower and is constantly checking the badges, say hi Friday!”
“Hello Midtown, I hope you all enjoy your tour.”
Peter stifled a laugh as a good portion of the class jumped at hearing Friday’s voice. He watched as the tour guide called out names and everyone walked up to get a badge. He expected to hear his name, but he never did, and he felt his stomach twist with anxiety. If he didn’t get a guest badge, he would have to use his badge and he knew that Friday announced all the badges.
“Alright now that everyone has a badge-”
“Excuse me miss, one of my students didn’t get a badge. Peter Parker?”
He felt his face flush as his entire class turned to face him including the tour guide. She looked down at her list and scanned until she found his name.
“Oh, well it says that he already has a badge, so problem solved! If you guys could follow me, you’ll need to swipe your badge and then we’ll get started on the tour.”
She started walking towards the scanner and his class stopped staring at him, Flash giving him a dirty look before he pushed his way to the front of the group. She swiped her badge, Friday’s voice ringing out in the lobby.
“Thea Ramsey, Gamma 4, clearance: Senior Intern and Tour Guide”
His class looked at her in awe, one of them raising their hand.
“What do the levels and clearance mean?”
“That’s a good question! There are four main classifications; Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. Delta is for guests, press, and our cleaning staff. Gamma is for interns. Beta is for the lab supervisors and high-ranking members of Stark Industries. Alpha is for Mr. Stark, Miss. Potts, the Avengers, and a few other trusted members of Tony Stark's inner circle. The number that follows the classifications indicate how much access you have to the tower. 1 is the lowest level and it goes to level 5. I have level 4 because I’m a tour guide and need access to labs that are outside of my area of focus. The clearance simply tells what you are.”
His class nodded and he felt his anxiety get even worse. He knew that Friday had a different tone when talking to him and it would be noticed by everyone. He felt his palms start sweating and wished he had decided to just stay home. He watched as his class went through the scanner and thought about turning around and just sitting on the bus as Ned went through. He swiped his badge and winced when Friday’s voice rang out.
“Peter Parker, Alpha 5, clearance: classified. Hello Peter, you’re back early, not skipping school, are we?”
“N-no Friday, I’m on a tour with my class” he mumbled out. He loved Friday, but today he wished that she had spoken to him with the same removed tone as the rest of his class. Her teasing tone didn’t escape the notice of his class who was looking at him in shock.
“Very well Peter, would you like me to notify boss of your arrival?”
“NO! I mean no, that won’t be necessary Fri.”
“I’m sorry Peter, as part of the superheroes know best protocol he has already been notified.”
He could hear the sorrow in her voice, but it didn’t do much for his anxiety. His anxiety had been rising since he had learned about the trip and he didn’t know how much more he could take. The tour guide cleared her throat and gathered the attention of the class who was gawking at him.
“Okay, right this way!”
The tour continued without any excitement until they reached the intern labs for chemistry departments. He knew that the chemistry interns had been working for almost a week straight to finish their final projects. Sleep deprivation and chemistry experiments didn’t mix well. He knew that better than anyone after the incident in his mentors lab when he tried to mix a new web formula on less than an hour of sleep over the course of five days. His mentor still wouldn’t let him live that incident down. There was even a picture of him stuck to the wall with webs, a sad expression on his face that his mentor had compared to a puppy.
He watched an intern pour a mix of chemicals into a beaker over a flame and felt his senses go haywire. His eyes widened and he tackled Ned to the ground as the beaker exploded. Flaming pieces of glass flew everywhere as a fireball consumed the worktable, papers going up in flames. Sirens blared and lights started flashing as he pushed himself up, grabbing for Ned who sat up as well. His senses which had already been on high alert for whatever his aunt and his mentor were planning, exploded.
His slammed his hands over his ears, trying his best to block out the sirens and moaned as his eyes slipped shut. He could still hear everything. He heard the cars on the street below, he heard the conference that was happening on floor 83, he heard the screeching of the elevators. He heard someone screaming and realized belatedly that he was the one who was screaming.
He felt hands on his arms, trying to pry his hands off his ears and thought about decking whoever was touching him. He would have if he didn’t have to take his hands off his ears. He just wanted it to stop. There was just too much noise, too much, too mu-
“PETER!”
His eyes flew open and darted around wildly, finally landing on his mentors face. He looked down and saw the noise-cancelling headphones that his mentor had made specifically for his sensory overloads. He watched as Mr. Stark mouthed to him what the plan was and nodded.
He wrenched his hands off his ears and almost sobbed at how loud everything was before the headphones were smoothly slid onto his ears. He felt his body slump and winced when flashing lights hit his eyes before blackout glasses were slid over his eyes. He could still hear faintly even with the headphones, but it was a million times better than when he didn’t have them on. He heard his mentor tell his teacher that he was going to be taking him, and he felt himself get picked up. His mentor didn’t wait for a reply before he started walking and he felt a small smile come over his face as he heard the man tell him to rest before he passed out.
Field trips were still the worst but being carried to his room wasn’t the worst thing to happen. |
they don't know nothing about redemptionthey don't know nothing about recovery-against me!, thrash unreal
This is one possible future: after the Battle of Canary Wharf, her parents take her back to Pete's house. She opens her eyes every morning and stares at the ceiling. Maybe she gets out of bed. Probably she doesn't. She eats the food Jackie puts in front of her, sometimes. Sometimes she doesn't. She sits by the window and watches the clouds pass across the sky, or she lies in bed and watches the sunlight move slowly across the floor until the shadows creep in. Then she watches the moon rise. Then she watches the dark waving shadows of tree limbs across her ceiling. Maybe she dozes off at some point. Maybe she doesn't. She doesn't like to sleep, because then she dreams, and there's no point in dreaming. Not anymore.
This is not the future Rose chooses for herself.
So after the Battle of Canary Wharf, her parents take her back to Pete's house. All night, she lies awake, staring out into the gray darkness. And the next morning, she gets out of bed. That's important, she decides. Getting out of bed.
She'll work the next step out from there.
It takes a month to sort out the legal issues. Even Pete Tyler can't just snap his fingers and make everything run smoothly. Jackie's dead in this universe, after all, and Rose...well, Rose was a dog. It's not simple and straightforward like it was for Mickey, who just slipped seamlessly into Ricky's place in this world, with no one but his gran and Jake aware that anything had changed. But Rose's sudden appearance into a universe that never knew her – it's complicated.
She finds it very difficult to care. She doesn't belong here, after all – it seems only just that the rest of this world agrees.
She spends most of her time wandering the streets of London. Pete's at a complete loss with her and doesn't try to put a stop to it – what authority does he have, really, over this pseudo-daughter he never raised? – and her mum worries. But Mickey, at least, understands.
"It took me a while to sort it all out, too," he says, accompanying her on a stroll by the Thames. "I mean – it's London, yeah, it's home, but it's not. You got to sort of figure it out for yourself."
"There's meant to be a place with really fantastic curries right...there," Rose says, pointing. "Instead it's – what, Canadian cuisine? Didn't know that was a proper sort of food."
"Well, yeah," Mickey says, "mooseburgers – they're all the rage."
Rose just looks at him.
"Seriously, though, Rose, I get it, I really do." He sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You're not the only one has to make adjustments. Your mum's not having an easy time of it either."
But Jackie has someone's hand to hold in this universe, and Rose...well. "How long did it take you?" she asks instead, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "To...y'know. Adjust."
"Still haven't, not completely," Mickey says cheerfully. "Three years in, I still get confused by the upside-down traffic lights. I mean, green for stop and red for go? Came near to smashing up Jake's van like a thousand times and counting." His gives her a good hard look, and it's like he wants to reach out for her, but he doesn't. His voice softens. "Give it time."
"Easy for you to say," she remarks, the bitterness creeping in. "You chose this world. I didn't."
Mickey sighs and drapes his arm across her shoulders in a half-hug. She flinches at his touch.
She remembers:
Pulling on a hoodie over her tank top and pajama bottoms, she wandered out of her bedroom. The TARDIS hummed faintly, but it was all too quiet. They weren't drifting through the Vortex; this was the stillness of the ship at a complete stop, resting on solid ground.
She made her way through the dim hallways to the console room. The familiar green glow of the console was comforting, in its own way. Nothing wrong, then. No warning lights or screeching sirens, no whirring machinery, no Doctor...
The TARDIS door was wide open.
She walked towards it – not quite frightened, just a touch concerned. It wasn't like the Doctor to go out and just leave the door to his ship wide open. Maybe Adam had wandered off? That would be a major headache in the making. She should never have invited him onboard. Well, she'd just have to go and find him, then, quickly, before the Doctor knew anything about it—
She stepped out onto an alien world. The TARDIS was parked atop a small, rocky bluff above an endless valley. Strange constellations twinkled in a dark, rust-red sky, the color of dried blood. The light from three moons turned the landscape ghostlike. Tall silver-edged grasses waved stiffly in the metal-scented breeze. There were strange gouges in the land, fading now, as though a battle had been fought here long ago. The Doctor was sitting there on a long, flat rock, motionless, staring out across the vast, scarred plain.
Rose knew that she wasn't meant to have seen this. She should have slept through the night, oblivious, and by the time she woke up, the TARDIS would have been off again, leaving this unknown planet behind as though they'd never been there at all. She could turn right around and slip back to her room and he'd never realize.
But every line of his body was taut, sharp angles and hunched shoulders rigid with tension, and she couldn't just leave him there alone. She went and knelt down beside him. He didn't look at her, didn't give the slightest indication he was even aware of her presence, just kept gazing out at nothing. The bleakness in his eyes chilled her to the bone.
She didn't say a word, just stayed by him in his silent vigil throughout the rest of the night, as the stars wheeled overhead and the moons gradually sank down behind the horizon, fading away with the coming dawn.
Finally, she stood, wincing at the stiffness in her knees. She let her hand fall to his shoulder in a gentle caress, then started to turn away. But he reached up and caught her. His hand grasped hers for just an instant, so tightly it hurt. Then he sighed and closed his eyes, letting her go.
She went.
When she emerged from her room an hour or so later, the TARDIS was spinning through the Vortex again, Adam was gaping wide-eyed at the alien machinery, and the Doctor was darting around the console as usual, all manic energy and biting sarcasm and wide grins. She never asked about the battle-scarred planet and he never spoke of it.
Later, when she knew a bit more, she wondered if it had been one of the battlegrounds of the Time War, a broken monument to the memory of the Time Lords. A reminder of all he'd once done and failed to do. Or maybe it was something else entirely. She can't ask him now. She'll never know.
Eventually, Rose Marion Tyler is acknowledged as a legal citizen of the People's Republic of Great Britain, and Pete offers her an entry-level position at Torchwood. Her mum protests, of course. Volubly. Over lunch, no less.
"If you think I'll allow you to haul her off back into danger day after day, you've got another think coming," Jackie threatens.
Pete takes her hands, attempting to placate her. He really ought to know better. "Now, come on, Jacks—"
"Oh, don't you Jacks me," Jackie huffs, yanking away from him. "This is my daughter you're talking about. Years I spent worrying myself into an early grave over her an' her traveling, and now you want to shove her in front of the worst sort of trouble as lands on this planet—"
"It's a desk job," Pete says. "Data entry and filing, at least to start. What sort of danger d'you think she'll get into?"
Jackie actually shakes her finger in his face. It would be funny if Rose cared enough to laugh. "Danger magnet, she is, and that Torchwood's no better in this world than our first one. Weird sorts of weapons and aliens popping up all over the place, and you want to put my Rose right in the front lines!"
"Jacks, it isn't like that at all, I already said it's mostly filing—"
"And just what sort of information is in those files, Pete?" Jackie half-shouts. "Stuff about traveling between universes, maybe? Ways she might rip herself away from us again?"
Rose just listens detachedly. Of course that's what Jackie's really all worked up about. And maybe for good reason. She feels a flicker of interest in Torchwood for the first time since being dragged unwilling into this universe. She really ought to have thought of this herself.
Mickey, who's been sitting at the kitchen table with his sandwich watching the argument without comment for the past fifteen minutes, lets out a short laugh. Both Jackie and Pete whirl about to look at him. He shrugs. "Hey, she's gonna be looking for a way back to the Doctor anyway," he points out. "At least this way she doesn't have to break into the bloody place to find it. You really wanna stand between Rose and that information? 'Cause that is not gonna go well."
Rose smiles.
This is one possible future: some cataclysmic accident rips open a new breach in the universe. There are monsters she's never even heard of emerging from the Void – no armies, thank god, and neither Cybermen nor Daleks, but the wide variety of alien species is staggering, and Torchwood isn't even remotely equipped to deal with the sudden onslaught.
Rose fights, because they all fight, because there's no other option. She's sure that some of the aliens aren't even hostile, just lost and bewildered, but they have no means of communicating with humans and what can one insignificant girl do? She carries an enormous blaster through the embattled streets, and tries to ignore the tears that stream down her face every time she has to open fire.
Something strikes her from behind, and she stumbles and falls behind the blasted-out shell of a car, losing her weapon. She just lies there in a daze for she doesn't know how long, but it can only have been a minute or two. She hears a roaring sound, and someone screaming, but it's all faint and weirdly distorted, as though she's underwater. Was there an explosion of some sort? What's wrong with her ears?
There's someone standing over her, reaching a hand down. She takes it blindly, pulling herself up. And then long fingers twine around hers, achingly familiar, and time stops.
"Doctor?" she whispers, looking up at him.
He grins. "Run."
They run.
And everything's a mess, the world in uproar, strange creatures howling from the Void and open war on the streets of London, but all she can think about is the feel of his hand in hers, the sheer joy in his eyes when he glances down at her, and she's so filled to the brim with happiness she thinks she might burst with it. He came back to her. He's here. And she's never letting him go again.
But that's just one possible future, and she actually feels a bit guilty for wishing it could come true.
Then comes the dream, his voice whispering in her head, and Bad Wolf Bay.
She thought she'd already hit rock bottom. She thought she'd pulled herself back up again. She thought she was settling in here, adjusting, figuring out some sort of life for herself. She thought it would get easier every day. She thought she was doing fine.
Boy, was she wrong.
It's a bit like the end of Wizard of Oz, Dorothy awakening at home surrounded by the people she loves. Sweet, really, and lord knows it's safer back on the family farm. But there's that whole wide terrifying wonderful world she's lost, yellow brick roads and emerald cities and ruby slippers. It's one thing if Kansas is all you've ever known, dull and comfortable and safe. But once you've seen a universe in Technicolor, how can you go back to living your days in black and white?
Rose wonders if she'll spend the rest of her life longing for that somewhere over the rainbow.
She remembers:
"I was just trying to discourage him a bit!" the Doctor had protested, when they found themselves backed up against a middling-to-high stone wall.
"Doctor, there are easier ways. Oh, god, he's got a – what is that thing, anyway?"
"Gargifasrian thermoplastic device. Wonderful bit of work, really, gives your spine a lovely little tingle, popular among masseuses galaxy-wide. Um, not at that setting, though. Here, if I give you a lift up—"
They made it back to the TARDIS, of course. They always did. She'd thought they always would, then. It was before the Beast in the Pit, before she'd ever heard of parallel universes, even before Madame de Pompadour or discovering there were other companions out there, stuck in just one time and place for the rest of their personal forevers.
It was also after Bad Wolf, though. After his regeneration. She really should have known better.
Nothing in particular happened that day. She'd teased him about his interpersonal skills (or lack thereof), he'd jabbered on for hours about the propensity of certain species to turn anything into a weapon, and off they'd gone to the next adventure.
It's not that there were never consequences, or scars, or ugly memories. That darkness had always been present, the Oncoming Storm. But at the end of the day, she could reach out and take his hand, and he'd smile down at her, and that was enough.
She doesn't miss the adventures – well, all right, yes, she does, so very much. But they wouldn't have meant a thing if it weren't for him.
She's sitting at a desk in the corner of the workroom, doing her daily allotment of mindless busy work (because she's The Boss's Daughter, and they have to give her something to do), when she gets tired of listening to five technicians debate over the current weird piece of alien tech they've got jerry-rigged together.
"...clearly a weapon of some sort," Barnes says heatedly. "If you just look at the dimensions of the inner module—"
"Yes, but the tubing dynamics are all wrong for that sort of thing!" Mack insists. "Unless you think the primary energy source is—"
"Well, if it weren't all busted up, maybe we'd be able to—"
It's not that Rose has the slightest interest in their work, because she doesn't. It's just that they're being so stupid.
"It's in backwards," she finally says.
The technicians stop arguing and turn to gape at her.
"The cooling unit," Rose clarifies. "The big yellow tubey gizmo thing. Oh, shove over, will ya?"
She stomps over the workbench, and before any of the useless techies have a chance to stop her, yanks the part out of the large device, flips it over, and sticks it back in where it belongs. With a gasping, grinding sort of noise, the whole alien contraption wheezes to life. Rose takes a prudent step back just before it sprays them all with ice-cold vapor.
"And it's not a bloody weapon," she informs the stunned technicians. "Honestly, what is it with you lot? Think bombs are the only things that could possibly slip through a rift? Anyway, it's just a Flabidagorian air conditioner."
They continue gawping.
She shrugs. "It gets really hot on Flabidagoria."
And she goes back to her data entry.
After that, she notices, she's not just The Boss's Daughter anymore.
This is one possible future: she steps out the front door of Torchwood and literally walks smack into him.
"What the hell?" she demands, and then looks up to a pair of intense, familiar, beautiful brown eyes. "Oh."
"Oh," he echoes, grinning so widely it nearly splits his face in half. "Hello."
"I thought – it's supposed to be impossible," she says, afraid to blink, afraid if she reaches out he'll turn into mist and drift away.
He shrugs and tugs his ear, looking vaguely embarrassed. "Yes, well, turns out, that word does not mean what you think it means. Or it shouldn't. Or I should know better than to go flinging words like that around all willy-nilly, really, I must've been off my head – impossible from a Time Lord, what a load of bollocks, you'd think I was losing my touch or something—"
And that's how she knows he's real, because she has to grab him by the tie and drag his lips down to meet hers to shut him up.
But really, Rose thinks, that would be too easy. She's not one to lay about like some damsel in distress, waiting for him to return for her. If she wants to find a way back to him, it's up to her to do it.
She remembers:
In her nightmares, that's always where the memory ends, with her alone and monsters screeching at the windows. The tears roll down her cheeks and her sobs are swallowed up by the vast emptiness of the church. Or is it a beach in Norway? She can't tell the difference over the singing in her head, which sounds a bit like the howling of wolves. And the Beast is coming, coming, coming...
When she wakes up, gasping, she's soaked in sweat. She hugs herself tightly, trying to stop trembling, trying to shake off a bone-deep sense of utter wrongness. The idea that there's a woman alive in this world who wasn't alive before, and that woman is her, and this entire universe is different because she's here now. That she's not meant to be here at all.
For the better part of a week, she flinches whenever a passing zeppelin temporarily blots out the sun. Eventually she realizes it's because she's expecting Reapers to swoop down upon her at any moment.
"It's like...I haven't got a place here," she says, a little drunk but not nearly drunk enough. The pub is crowded and noisy, and she has to lean halfway across the table to make herself heard. It is vitally important that they hear her, she thinks hazily, though she isn't entirely sure why.
Mickey and Jake exchange looks. "Sure you do," Mickey says. "Word around Torchwood is that you're being promoted to team leader, even."
"Took me three years to get that far," Jake adds. "And you swan in and hop up the ladder after thirteen months. Nepotism, that is."
She waves her hand irritably. "S'not what I mean. I mean...here. I don't belong. An' with mum an' dad an' the baby an' all—"
"No kidding." Mickey shudders. "Seriously, it's a bloody nightmare," he explains for Jake's benefit. "Grown man and woman reduced to gooey looks and cooing, it's a sad thing to see."
"So get your own place, then," Jake suggests to her. "Lord knows you've the money for it. My cousin's friend rents this nice flat down in Chelsea, could do you up nicely. Or there's this twee little house down the road from me—"
"Oh, yeah," Mickey cuts in, "isn't that the one with the woman moving out to be with her sister in Newcastle—"
"—right, 'cause it's right difficult with the brother-in-law's accident and all—"
"—she made us a horrid round of tea this one time, really, it was embarrassing—"
"—with the rock-hard biscuits, oh my god, d'you remember? Anyway, the house isn't half bad, really," Jake goes on, "dubious tea aside."
That's not what she means either. It's her mum and Pete, making the perfect little family together with baby Tony that neither had in their separate universes, and no room for Rose. It's Mickey and Jake, fast friends (and, she suspects, more than), starting improvised rounds of football in the Torchwood corridors and finishing each other's sentences, leaving her feeling a bit like...well, a bit like the tin dog. It's Torchwood, which uses her and challenges her and forces her to become someone more than herself – all of which is lovely, really, and she's proud of herself. But that's not the same as having someone's hand to hold.
And there's still that niggling sense that she's taking up a space that's meant to be empty. There was no Rose-shaped hole in this universe that she's needed to fill. Quite the opposite. There's a Rift in this universe, too – not in Cardiff, though. Closer to Manchester. Lately, Torchwood's been hearing strange reports. What was once a tiny nick in the fabric of time and space is now a tear, and Rose isn't entirely convinced it's not her fault. But how can she explain all that without sounding completely barking?
Or maybe that's just the depression talking.
She lets herself drift, half-listening to Mickey and Jake rattle on about nothing in particular, and tries to forget everything she's ever learned about paradoxes and impossibilities.
This is one possible future: she copes. She recovers. She moves on.
Days and weeks and months pass, and she stops dreaming about the Doctor every night. She starts forgetting bits and pieces of their travels together, whether that planet with the yellow sky was called Tironia or Pirhanacon, the precise feel of the TARDIS console under her palms, the scent of the Doctor's aftershave. Sometimes, whole days pass when she doesn't think of the Doctor at all. And she's fine with that.
Her life settles into a predictable routine – well, with a few aliens and weird gadgets added to the mix. She marries Mickey, or that quiet bloke with the nice bottom over in Research, or someone she meets in the markets while arguing over the relative merits of pears versus apples (she likes oranges best herself, but they apparently didn't catch on in this universe). They have a lovely ceremony on Pete's estate, which lots of local dignitaries attend. There are two plump children with brown-gold hair, and a dog, and extravagant Sunday dinners. She rises the ranks in Torchwood and never brings her work home with her. It's a normal life, a perfectly fantastic ordinary human life, and she's fine. Perfectly fine.
It's not just a possible future, it's a probable one, and it absolutely terrifies her.
She's up in Lancashire with her team, tracking down a rather nasty little band of aliens who seem to be selling human organs on the intergalactic black market. Not quite the usual sort of organs, livers or lungs or kidneys. Instead, they have a particular fondness for spleens.
The team finally corners the aliens in their ship (which bears a strong resemblance to a smallish submarine). Rose has never encountered this species before, and without the TARDIS translating their squealing, she's got no idea what they're called or currently blathering on about. She doesn't much care. Her team's already eliminated three out of the five of them.
Just as she waves her strike team forward to take the little ship once and for all, someone appears out of nowhere and jumps ahead of them, guns blazing.
Or gun, to be specific. To be even more specific, sonic blaster.
"Oi!" Rose shouts, more than a bit put out. "Stand down, Agent, we've got this bloody well covered."
Jack Harkness stops in his tracks with an irritated sigh. "Oh, all right," he says. "Don't get your panties in a wad." He turns and really looks at her for the first time, and a saucy grin spreads across his face. "Actually, I think I'd rather enjoy following behind you."
She's not sure whether to snort in disgust or leap into his arms. Jack. Oh, she doesn't have time for this! "Just stay out of our way, Jack," she snaps, trying to maintain some semblance of authority. "This is a Torchwood matter. The Time Agency's got no jurisdiction here."
He raises an eyebrow. "Well, carry on, then."
She does, and in under fifteen minutes, they have the remaining two aliens in rather heavy restraints and the submarine-ish spaceship secured. Once she's satisfied, she waves her team away. "Go and take care of them," she says, indicating the aliens. "I'll catch up with you back at the Manchester base."
And then she's alone with a man she's missed so fucking much, second only to the Doctor.
"Right," Jack says, eyes hard. "Now let's start off with how you know my name, and then move smartly along to what exactly your dealings are with the Agency."
She supposes she ought to be kicking herself for the slips, but she just can't be arsed about it right now. Although she does wonder why she so quickly reached the conclusion that this Jack was still with the Time Agency. Maybe because he looks a few years younger than the Jack she first knew in her universe. Maybe because he doesn't have those shadows behind his eyes, the scars of betrayal. Maybe because he was running straight towards trouble instead of away from it.
Or maybe it has something to do with the lapel pin he's wearing with the Time Agency insignia on it. Not that a twenty-first century contemporary would recognize that particular symbol, but some things apparently don't change from one parallel universe to another.
"I haven't got any dealings with the Agency," she says, folding her arms in front of her crossly. It's that or reach out and pull him into a hug, and she doesn't think that'd go over too well. "And I'd like to keep it that way."
"Yeah, well, too late," Jack says. "And you didn't answer my first question."
She rolls her eyes. "You're the one hopping about through time. You really have to ask?"
He watches her narrowly, considering, and then reaches the obvious (for him) conclusion and relaxes. "Ah. We've met before. Your past, my future, right?"
Rose shrugs. "Something like that, yeah."
"Well, that's another matter entirely." He flashes her his trademark Captain Jack Harkness grin, guaranteed to have any male, female, or otherwise gendered biological entity swooning in under five seconds. She resists. More or less. "As you already know, I'm Jack Harkness. And you are...?"
"Rose Tyler," she sighs, shaking his hand. Easiest just to go along with it. "Lovely to meet you. Again."
"And you're with Torchwood, I gather," he says. "Nice job with the Tryptofallians, by the way. Bit messy, but effective, particularly given your early twenty-first century limitations. Well done. And now I'm going to go take their ship off of your hands."
She blinks. "Oh, no, you don't. That thing's going straight back to Torchwood with me. We took out the aliens, we get the salvage."
"Nice try, sweetheart. Look, you seem to know a little about time travel, at least. Know anything about anachronisms? Paradoxes?"
Her gut twists. She can almost hear the Reapers' screeches. "More than you might expect," she says, wary now.
He gives her another once-over, reevaluating her yet again. "Good. Then maybe you'll listen to reason, and I won't have to Retcon you." Another charming smile, this time with a hint of threat underneath. This Time Agency might not have stolen his memories – or, at least, not yet – but it's sounding more like the one in her universe every minute.
It takes a good twenty minutes of haggling back and forth, but eventually they settle upon a deal. The Time Agency gets the ship – in particular, its extremely advanced medical technology. And Torchwood gets intelligence on a long list of alien species. "Obviously nothing about future events, I'm not trying to cheat history here," Rose explains. "And these are all species I have some basic info on already. But some of my current intelligence may be...flawed. And if any of these guys break atmo over Westminster Abbey, I want to know how to deal with them."
"Fair enough." Jack looks over the list. "Hell, I haven't even heard of a couple of these."
Rose hopes with all her heart that means they don't exist in this universe. There are enough bad guys out there as it is. "You've got two hours," she says. "I'll meet you down in Manchester, Albert Square. Data chip with the intelligence I've asked for. Or the deal's off, and I take that Tryptofallian medical technology and extend the human lifespan fifty years."
Jack smirks. "Just two hours?"
"Two hours my time," Rose clarifies, rolling her eyes. "Take as long as you want in your timeline, I don't give a toss. Just hope your timing's better than another traveler I once knew."
She remembers:
They spent hours just wandering from stall to stall, while Jack explained the various exotic goods up for sale.
"Here, Rose, have a look at this!"
"It's a hat."
"It's a pandimensional heat energy dissimulator, made of genuine Halipariatic llama fibers."
"It's an ugly hat."
"Rose, you have no imagination. Ooh, synchronizers!"
All in all, Jack enjoyed shopping even more than she did, and that was saying something.
He briefly abandoned her at a food stall, saying he needed to find something resembling a loo. Twenty minutes later, she'd eaten all of her meal (she wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it tasted a bit like roasted chicken, with a side serving of something very nearly identical to chips) and half of his chips besides. "What was that all about?" she asked.
"Nothing much," he said, eyes far too wide to be innocent. "I'll tell you later."
She shot him a suspicious look, but didn't comment.
Hours later they returned empty-handed to the TARDIS, where the Doctor was still poking around the control room. "There you are," he said, heaving a long-suffering sigh. His eyes sharpened. "What, you spend a bloody week out there and nothing to show for it?"
Rose shrugged, leaning against the console contentedly. "S'not the point. Besides, dunno what the currency is here, hard to buy stuff without money."
"I could've given you some," the Doctor said, chagrined. "Guess I forgot."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Typical. Anyway, I had a few credits on me, so here." He pulled something small out of his pocket and tossed it over to Rose.
She caught it reflexively, surprised. "Jack, you never!" she said, looking down at the tissue-wrapped gift. "But why—"
"I saw it and thought of you," Jack said, shrugging it off. "Open it."
She unwrapped the tissue to find a small medallion of some alien stone, a thousand glittering shades of red and pink, cut in the shape of a rose. It was beautiful. A bit predictable, really; like no bloke had ever bought her roses before, thinking he was so original. But it was really lovely all the same.
"Oh, Jack," she breathed. "Thank you."
"Females," the Doctor muttered, from the other side of the console. "Show 'em thousands of worlds, that's nothing up against something small and sparkly. What's so special about a bit of rock, then?"
She grinned over at him, catching her tongue between her teeth. "We like dancing, too."
Exactly two hours after Rose left him, Jack finds her in Albert Square. "Here you go," he says, tossing the data chip over.
She catches it easily and looks it over. No way of telling from the outside, of course, but she chooses to trust him. "Thanks," she says. She tucks it into the inner pocket of her jacket, and pulls out an envelope. "And this is for you. A signed letter from Torchwood headquarters, authorizing one Jack Harkness to take custody of a certain spaceship. Just show it to the military team I've got guarding the ship, and they'll let you through."
He takes the envelope with a smile. "Well, that was easy. Wish all my assignments could go this smoothly."
She shrugs, sitting down on a bench. "I'm not trying to make life difficult for you. Or the Agency. I'd just like you all to stop interfering with my century, please. We've got it covered."
"Yeah, you do." He sits beside her. Not too close, not quite invading her space, but comfortably, like two old friends. It's probably just meant to be a cover, but the casual ease of it all makes her ache for the Jack she once knew. She genuinely hopes this Jack gets to follow a better, happier path. And that he avoids all Daleks and Game Stations that might or might not exist in this universe.
They just sit there for a little while, watching the people heading home from work and the lengthening shadows. "So how do you first meet me?" Jack finally asks.
Rose laughs to keep herself from crying. "You know I can't tell you that."
"Well, sure. I'm mostly surprised you know you can't tell me that."
"The twenty-first century may seem backwards to you lot, but that doesn't mean we're stupid. Anyway, I work for Torchwood." As though that explains anything. She had to jump through more than a few administrative hoops in the past two hours to get rid of the spaceship without revealing anything about the Time Agency.
Jack looks her over for a moment, then grins. "Torchwood. Sure. That's how you know so much about time travel. Oh, don't tell me a thing, sweetheart," he says, when she opens her mouth to defend herself. "I like a good puzzle. I'd rather piece this one together myself."
You won't, she doesn't say. You can't even begin to imagine.
"Anyway," he goes on, "while I was waiting for our historians to put together the info you asked for, I browsed around this street fair they've got set up just outside our archives. Found something you might like." He pulls a very small, soft bag out of his pocket, made of some velvet-looking material.
"Jack..." she says warily. "You don't even know me. Why—"
"I saw it and thought of you," Jack says casually. "Just take it, willya?"
She almost rolls her eyes. How parallel universe of him. But she accepts the little velvet bag and opens it.
It's a tiny medallion, formed out of white gold, in the shape of a wolf.
She tucks it away in her purse, hoping he doesn't notice her hands trembling, and gives him a smile. "That's lovely, Jack."
He grins. "Well, I had to make up the cost of the ship somehow. Just a bit of outdated intelligence is close to cheating you, frankly. I'm an honorable man. Can't have you – by which I mean Torchwood – taking a loss on it."
"How considerate of you," she says, looking him over. Considering. She's learned better than to just ignore the wolf's trail by now. "Y'know," she says with a very particular sort of smile, "I don't think we're quite even yet, though."
"Oh?" He leans in, definitely up for it. Of course, it's Jack. She could be a green-skinned octogenarian and he'd still be up for it. "So how much do I still owe you?"
"Price of a drink, I think."
As she'd expected, Jack doesn't stop at just the drink.
It feels good, Rose thinks later, in the hotel room, pressing her sweat-slick body up against his. She'd always wondered, before. And now she knows: what he tastes like, how the planes of his shoulders feel beneath her fingertips, the heat of his mouth on hers. The look on his face when he moves inside her.
Not that this is exactly how it would've been with her Jack. There's no shared history here. No easy camaraderie or mutual affection. But also no competition, both vying for the Doctor's attention (which she almost always won). No outrageous flirting, just to make him jealous, to cover up the fact that if given the choice, both of them would have chosen him over each other.
She could never have done this with her Jack. And even this, here, stranded in another universe – it feels dangerously close to cheating. But not quite.
Just for tonight, she wants to feel less alone.
Afterward, she slips out of bed, careful not to wake him. She dresses quickly and gathers her things. And then she rifles efficiently through his knapsack until she finds his small stash of tech – simple locating devices, the sort that any good Time Agent would keep near at all times. Distress beacons.
She only takes one. He probably won't even miss it. A bit of jiggery-pokery with her own piece of tech (courtesy of Mickey), and she's got it set to the frequency of his wristband vortex manipulator. Just in case. She figures she never knows when it might come in handy to have a Time Agent at her beck and call.
She walks out of the hotel and doesn't allow herself to look back.
This is one possible future: she looks back. She slips back into bed with Jack, and the next morning, he wakes her up early to have another go. She gives the data chip to her team, he sends the spaceship off to the future, and then she lets him recruit her to the Time Agency.
They become partners, one of the most effective pairs of Agents in the history of this universe. Rose and Jack, Jack and Rose, they travel across time and space, setting things to rights, averting paradoxes. Saving the world. This Agency remains uncorrupted. No one ever steals Jack's memories. He never turns to a life of crime. The fifty-first century marks the start of the Second Great and Bountiful Human Empire, and they're right at the forefront.
She makes love to him under the wide purple leaves of an alien tree on a lush planet devoid of sentient life, and he starts a revolution on a distant star five thousand years earlier. Every day is a new adventure. Nothing is permanent except Agency debriefings and each other.
And she never sees the Doctor again. Because even if he does manage to find his way back across the Void, to this world, he won't have the faintest idea where to begin looking for her.
She can't do that. Even though she knows it's only the barest hint of a possibility, she can't just go ruling it out completely. She has more faith in the Doctor than that.
She can't give up all hope of ever seeing him again. Not even for Jack.
But she does wear the medallion he gave her on a chain around her neck from then on, right next to her TARDIS key.
Mickey finally decides to go in for his Baccalaureate (which is sort of like this universe's version of A-levels, only a bit more complicated and extensive and vaguely French-ish), and he bets Rose a hundred quid that she can't get as many As as him.
It's a five-month-long battle of wills, books and papers strewn across their shared office in Torchwood. She gets less sleep less regularly than she can ever remember in her entire life, and that includes periods of constant running from danger with the Doctor and marathon sessions of booze and sex with Jimmy Stone. For a week, she speaks mostly in algebraic formulas, and she occasionally hears him muttering gibberish about quarks and photons when he's fallen asleep at his desk.
In the end, it's a draw – five As and one B each. They each put up fifty quid toward a really ridiculously posh bottle of brandy, and drink themselves into a well-deserved stupor in celebration.
It's one of the best nights of her life, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the Doctor. She wonders if this means she's moving on.
And even if not, she thinks he'd be right proud of her.
It's baby Tony's second birthday, and of course Jackie insists on throwing him a lavish party. She got used to having money right quick, Rose thinks wryly.
Long after the birthday boy's been dressed in his red jimjams and put to bed, the party goes on, with drinks and laughter and no small children anymore. Jackie and Pete dance slowly to gentle jazz rhythms, and Rose gives the rest of her drink to Mickey and walks out to the veranda alone.
She leans against the balcony and pretends she's not remembering barrage balloons or invisible spaceships or the Doctor swinging her around in a dance.
"Sorry," someone says. "Just came out here for a smoke, don't mind me."
She turns. It's Jake. She can't tell in the moonlight, but she suspects he's currently flushing a dark red, just like he has all evening whenever he looks at her. Well, it's not her fault she stumbled upon him and Mickey in a rather compromising position in the cellar while she was looking for a particular vintage of wine for the party.
"Don't mind me," she says, grinning at him. Mickey has been surprisingly blasé about the whole incident, but Jake was mortified. She supposes being caught out by your boyfriend's ex-girlfriend has that effect.
After a moment, he walks up to her. "Look," he says, too quickly, "I'm sorry about earlier, we never should have—"
"It's not like I didn't know already," she says. "It's fine. Good for you, Mickey's a good bloke."
Jake looks at her sidelong, as if considering. She gets the feeling he's choosing his words carefully. "You and Mickey—"
"Are long over," she interrupts. "Well before he ever came to this universe. And then you two had three years together alone before I swanned back in. You never had this talk with him?"
"Oh, we did," he says hastily. "But you never – god, months I spent after you came back, wondering when he'd finally run back to you." Surprisingly, he doesn't sound too bitter about it. "You led him a merry chase for a while."
"I was so selfish," she admits. "So..."
"You were nineteen," Jake says. "That's all. Happens to the best of us."
She lets out a short laugh. "Yeah. Still. God, I was a right bitch."
"No, never that," Jake says thoughtfully. "Just a bit thick, I think."
She swats his arm, and he laughs.
"D'you love him?" she asks abruptly.
Jake scratches the back of his neck, looking exquisitely uncomfortable. "Do I – yeah, I guess. I dunno. What is love, really, anyway?"
She doesn't even have to think about it. "It's having someone's hand to hold. It's knowing that the universe is vast and cold and uncaring, and you're hardly a speck, but still not feeling alone. It's wanting to be a better person just because he's there. Love is..." She swallows hard, blinking away tears. "It's seeing the world in Technicolor."
After a second, Jake reaches out awkwardly, rubbing her shoulder. "Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah, I love him."
"Good," she says, shaking him away. She tries on a smile. "Tell him that. Every day. Mickey deserves it." Her voice softens. "And so do you."
He smiles. "And you, Rose?" She doesn't respond, so he presses on. "You were lovers, weren't you? You and the Doctor."
"Yeah," she says, surprising herself. She's never said it. Four years and she's never once said it – not to her mum, or Mickey, or anyone. For a while, it was like telling anyone would've cheapened it, somehow – as though she were just some silly girl mourning her lover. As though she wouldn't have missed him as much otherwise. "Yeah, we were, at the end. Not for very long – not for long enough." She smiles, sadly. "Forever wouldn't've been long enough, though."
"Right," Jake says. "I'm sorry."
"So'm I."
She remembers:
Finally, one unremarkable afternoon (or morning, or evening – it was hard to tell in the Vortex), she knelt down beside him, gently pulled the wrench out of his unresisting hands, and kissed him.
It wasn't much of a kiss – just the soft pressure of her lips against his, undemanding, and then pulling away. He blinked at her, their faces still so close she could almost feel his eyelashes brush against her own cheek. "Rose?" he asked quietly.
"I thought I was gonna die on that shuttle," she said simply. Her voice was soft and calm – no histrionics, no tears, no melodrama. Just a statement of fact. "I accepted it. I'd done what I could to stop the Beast, and there was nothing else left to do. Thought I'd lost you already, so that was that, anyway."
"Rose," the Doctor said again, unsteadily. He reached up and cupped her cheek in his cool hand.
"No, wait," she said. She took a deep breath. "Just lemme finish. I'm not trying to – anyway, look, I know what the Beast said. An' maybe it's true, an' maybe it's not. It doesn't matter. Just – whatever happens to me, or to us, I want to at least have had this. That's all."
His eyes were very dark. "I'm not going to lose you, Rose."
She smiled ruefully. "And I'll never leave you, you know that. But...just in case, yeah? I want this. You. Us. So next time I think I'm gonna die – well, at least I'll have lived first."
This time, he kissed her. "Rose Tyler," he said hoarsely against her lips. "I..."
"I know," she murmured, reaching up and running her hand through his hair. "I'm here now. I'm right here."
When he touched her, it was like he was discovering something rare and wonderful. She opened her mouth to his, deepening the kiss, and let herself fall.
She'd been ready to die for him. But that was easy. Living for him, the fantastic life he'd always wanted for her – that, she's since learned, is much, much harder.
Early one morning, the Torchwood communications team intercepts a message from the Air Force. Apparently they've just shot down a unidentified flying object in British airspace. Rose and her team fly out to Hertfordshire within the hour to salvage any alien remains.
They don't find any bodies on the grassy hillside, but there are a few interesting devices that emerged from the wreckage relatively unscathed. By the end of the day, her tech expert has put together a detailed report. "It matches up with some of our intelligence," Barnes tells her. "I'm pretty sure we're looking at the remains of a Jathar Sunglider. Now, I'm not entirely positive about this, but I believe that with these devices, we can harness a degree of energy..."
He rambles on for a solid ten minutes as she gets increasingly nauseous. She knows what this is. And exactly what it could be used for.
They need to get rid of this technology. Immediately.
Rose suggests to Barnes that they continue the conversation over drinks in the local pub. He agrees. And then she drops some Retcon into his pint and slips out once he's passed out on the table.
Back at the crash site, it only takes a minute to clear the rest of her team out of the area. They're used to taking odd orders from her, and none of them heard Barnes's report. Finally, she's alone with the Sunglider remains.
It's a good thing she nicked that distress beacon from Jack Harkness last year.
It only takes forty minutes, with her sitting by the wreckage and staring up into the moonlight. "You know, I thought I'd misplaced a beacon somewhere," Jack remarks, standing over her. "I should've realized."
She smiles up at him. "Hello, Jack."
He crosses his arms in front of him, looking ever so slightly miffed. "I'm not your pet Time Agent, Rose."
"The thought never crossed my mind." She pulls herself to her feet, brushing dirt off her trousers. "I wouldn't have called if it weren't important, you know."
"It better be," he says, unimpressed. He looks around. "What fell?"
"My sources say it was a Jathar Sunglider." She gives him a pointed look. "Now, I know exactly where that intelligence came from, so I'm gonna assume it's accurate. And I need you to take these remains as far away from this time as possible."
He raises an eyebrow. "Last time we met, you got a little fussy when I tried to take away your toys."
"That was different." She takes a deep breath. "Jack, if my people get a hold of this, they will build an energy weapon the likes of which this century was never meant to see. Powerful enough to turn any nearby alien spacecraft to ashes instantaneously."
Jack's eyes are sharp now, his whole body tense and focused. "You can't. All it takes is one trigger-happy world leader – you'd wreak havoc upon the timelines."
"I know," she snaps. "Why d'you think I'm trying to get rid of it? I'm all for Earth being able to defend itself, but this – this is beyond monstrous. I've seen it. And I want nothing to do with it."
"Good," Jack says shortly. He starts tapping something out on his wristband. "I'm taking care of it. Can you keep your people away from this site for the next hour or so?"
"Already done."
When he looks back up at her, there's a new respect in his eyes. "Good," he says again. "I've got to stay here until the team I called gets in. Wait with me?"
She sinks back down in the grass, relief making her feel languid and light-headed. No one's going to be shooting a retreating ship out of the sky in this universe. She vividly remembers the look on the Doctor's face when Harriet Jones gave the order. This one's for you, my Doctor, she thinks.
Jack lounges beside her, looking up at the sky. "I'm glad you stole my beacon," he says with a lopsided grin.
She smiles back at him. "I'm glad you answered my call."
"You thought I wouldn't?"
"Never doubted you for a second, Jack."
"That's not my real name, you know," he says abruptly. "Jack Harkness is just a cover identity. I use it on certain sorts of missions."
She hesitates. No, she didn't know, not for sure, but at the same time – she's not entirely surprised.
Before she can say anything in response, Jack shoots her a sidelong glance and goes on. "But then, your name's not Rose Tyler either, is it?"
Now that she wasn't expecting at all. "Course it is, what're you on about?"
Jack shakes his head. "I did a bit of research in the Agency archives after our last...encounter. Now, I know you like to think Torchwood's some sort of top-secret installation, and I hate to spoil the surprise, but there's a little law coming up in your not-terribly-distant future that'll open all Torchwood records to the public – well, relatively speaking. Point being, by the time the Agency is established, all of your activities from 1879 onward are accessible to anyone with a data port." He gives her a hard look. "And there is no record of any person by the name of Rose Tyler to be found anywhere in the Torchwood archives."
Her hands are shaking. She stuffs them in her jacket pockets. "Then there's gaps in the records. Three thousand years later, I'm not surprised bits went missing along the way."
"Oh, you would be surprised at just how complete the archives are," Jack says, voice silk-smooth. "I can tell you that the current director is a Peter Tyler – not very original there, Rose, borrowing his last name like that. Torchwood's still fairly small at this point, less than a hundred licensed agents all told. Of your rank, maybe ten. There's a man called Ianto Jones, he's your head researcher. Adele Ngyebe, she's top-notch at tactics – I'd've put money on that being your real identity at first, except I've seen her photo and there's no resemblance whatsoever. Mickey Smith is your computer whiz. There's a Jake Simmonds—"
"All right, stop!" she shouts, jumping to her feet, more than a little frightened. This isn't her Jack, as she's just been vividly reminded. She can't assume he's on her side. "So you know everything about us, I get it."
He just looks at her for a moment. His eyes soften. "But I don't," he says. "I know absolutely nothing about you. Because Rose Tyler doesn't exist."
"But I'm right here," she whispers.
He gets to his feet, standing just in front of her. "But you're not meant to be here, are you?" he says quietly.
And she suddenly remembers her old nightmare – her first Doctor and Reapers and the universe shattering. Rose, there's a man alive in the world who wasn't alive before. Golden light and the soft, eerie sound of something singing...
Some small part of all this must pass across her face, because Jack nods. "Figured as much. I knew there was something off about you from the start – you're as anachronistic as that Sunglider. So what's the story? Ex-Time Agent gone local? You get stranded here somehow?"
She laughs. The sound is harsh even to her own ears. "Stranded," she echoes bitterly. "Yeah, something like that."
"Need a lift?"
She looks up sharply. The casual, almost indifferent tone in his voice is belied by the tension in his shoulders, the intensity of his gaze. "What, trying to get me in your spaceship so you can seduce me again?"
"Don't need my ship for that," he says with a smirk. "But seriously, Rose. I can take you back to...well, wherever you came from. Or anywhere else you'd rather be. You don't have to be stuck here forever."
"You'd do that for me? Why?"
He shrugs. "Gives me a chance to indulge my curiosity, I guess." He looks at her for a long moment, and she tries not to tremble under his gaze. "Rose, let me take you home."
Home. It's not a place, not some planet he can just drop her off on. Not in this or any other universe. "I wish you could, Jack," she says quietly. "But it just doesn't work that way."
Whatever he's about to say is interrupted by a flash of light, and a team of Time Agents materializes around them. "Location secure," one of them says stiffly. "Your orders, sir?"
Jack sighs, turning away from Rose. "I need this site clear by morning," he says in a clipped, official tone of voice. "All this wreckage, every last scrap of metal. I don't want to find a single loose bolt left in the grass, you understand? Convey it all to checkpoint Alpha-Sigma-Eight-Bravo."
By the time he looks back, Rose is already walking away. "Hey!" he calls after her. "I'll be seeing you, yeah?"
"No, Jack," she replies softly, knowing he can't hear her. "No, you won't."
She remembers:
She smiled up at him. "Forever," she said, and watched the grin spread across his face to mirror her own.
God, she'd been so young.
The Sycorax actually do try to stage an invasion that Christmas. They're a bit late, she thinks, but what's a few years between universes?
There's no massive energy weapon to blast their ship into ash, but then, they hadn't actually needed that on the other Earth, either. Of course, this Earth doesn't have a Doctor to defend it. Instead, they have Rose and Mickey, and the fact that they've been using the other Sycorax invasion as a Torchwood training exercise here for years.
It's almost laughable. Well, the part where a third of the human race climbs up to rooftops and bridges is still a bit frightening, but they know so much more now. And this is the value of good intelligence, she thinks, fingering her wolf medallion with a smile.
She doesn't actually need to do much, just sits back and watches over the monitors as their teams handle it. The Sycorax turn tail and flee without so much as a single casualty on either side.
"Everyone lives," she murmurs. "Just this once, everyone lives."
Maybe this is her future: to spend the rest of her days sorting out the mistakes made in the other universe. To redeem humanity in this one. Not a bad life, she decides, surprising herself. Not a bad life at all.
It's not that she's stopped searching for a way back to the Doctor. She hasn't, not really. It's just that sometimes, there are more important things to be doing.
Between missions, Rose tinkers around in one of Torchwood's many workshops, rummaging through found alien tech and helping sort out the valuable bits from the intergalactic rubbish. Today, some big-shot American businessman is supposed to come in with a piece he found over in the States. She hadn't been paying much attention to the ridiculously drawn out process of negotiations to get him over here, but she's vaguely curious about the artifact itself. No one knows much about it. Probably it's just more rubbish, she thinks wryly, but it can't hurt to have a look.
She realizes her mistake when the zeppelin lands in their docking bay and Henry van Statten steps into Torchwood.
"Here we are, then," van Statten announces proudly. "The long-awaited meeting, eh?"
Durham, the director of technology, shakes van Statten's hand vigorously, going through the expected platitudes. There are photos taken with the businessmen and the Torchwood techies, and all that sort of diplomatic nonsense. Rose doesn't really hear any of it. She only has eyes for the very large crate being carefully unloaded off the zeppelin.
"Now, you be careful with that," van Statten tells the workmen jovially. "Very valuable artifact, that is! At least, that's what we're all hoping, eh?" He gives them all a smarmy smile.
There's a jolt, and a shout, and as if in slow motion, the crate slips from its restraints and tumbles the remaining meter or so to the ground. Just before it hits the floor, she sees the large stamp on its side: Bad Wolf Shipping Inc.
"No," she whispers.
The crate splits open. One panicked workman, dashing forward to catch it, stretches out a hand and touches the exposed metal frame of the artifact inside.
"No!" Rose says again, shouting it this time, as she runs up and shoves the unlucky workman aside. The remains of the broken crate blast outward, showering them with splinters. Someone screams in pain. Rose just brushes the shattered wood off her lab coat and straightens to face the inevitable.
"I HAVE BEEN REJUVENATED," the artifact shrieks. "YOU WILL ALL BE PUNISHED."
A Dalek. She should have known from the start.
"It speaks," van Statten gasps, voice filled with wonder.
Rose ignores him. "Hello, Dalek," she says. "Come to parlay, have you?"
"THERE WILL BE NO PARLAY," it announces. "YOU WILL SUFFER. YOU WILL DIE. EVERY HUMAN ON THIS EARTH WILL DIE. I AM DALEK. I WILL EXTERMINATE YOU."
This is it. There's no going back from here. Torchwood has weapons aplenty, but nothing that can do more than sting a Dalek. Nothing but Rose stands between this monstrosity and everyone she knows and loves in this universe.
Rose Tyler, the Doctor had said on that beach in Norway. Defender of the Earth.
Quite right, too.
"Oh, no, you don't," she tells the Dalek, squaring her shoulders. "Not this time."
"AND WHO ARE YOU TO STOP A DALEK?" it screeches.
She smiles. It isn't a very pleasant smile. "Your worst nightmare."
The Dalek hesitates, but only for an instant. "YOU KNOW NOTHING OF NIGHTMARES," it says. "YOU WILL NEVER DREAM AGAIN. EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!" It aims directly at her chest.
"I warned you," she whispers.
The Dalek fires.
She hears singing, golden and warm, filling her mind to the brim. And then there's only darkness.
This is how Rose Tyler of Torchwood dies.
"I warned you," the Bad Wolf says again. She reaches out a hand. The Dalek shrieks and melts away to dust, as though it had never been. Maybe it hadn't. Afterwards, no one in Torchwood can say for sure. There was a golden light, Mickey will tell Pete Tyler. And then – nothing. Nothing at all. We found this. And he'll show Pete a tiny medallion, the sort of thing worn on a charm bracelet or necklace, white gold, in the shape of a wolf.
The Bad Wolf opens a door where no door exists, and then closes it behind her.
Rose awakens with a pounding headache to discover she's alone on a concrete floor. She pulls herself up to a sitting position, wincing. After a few minutes of just breathing deeply, the headache starts to recede, and she can think properly again.
She's in some sort of abandoned warehouse, it looks like. There's no one else there, nothing to give her the slightest hint of what this place is. Where is she?
She closes her eyes, thinking back. She remembers waking up this morning in her flat in Chelsea to the sound of the phone ringing. It was her mum, just calling to remind her she was expected back at the estate for dinner this weekend. Then she went off to work. Slow day, nothing much going on, she and Mickey and Jake had taken a nice long lunch at the pub before she went back in to work on some gadgetry. Then the zeppelin came...
There was singing. She remembers that. She frowns. No, there was something before that—
Oh.
She's on her feet in a second, running across the warehouse floor, shoving open the double doors that lead to the outside world. The bright sunlight hurts her eyes, but she doesn't care. She's on a street, city street, outskirts of some city. Industrial sort of area. Could be London or Manchester or Cardiff, no way of knowing. She can hear traffic in the distance, but this street's quiet, just a few parked cars. Where is she? God, it's so quiet, cities shouldn't be this quiet, what's—
No zeppelins.
That's when she notices the warmth against her chest, under her shirt, and she grabs at the chain she's always worn across her neck.
Jack's wolf medallion is gone, lost. And the TARDIS key glows with bright heat in her hand.
Rose just stands there and stares at it. Impossible. She'd grown up out of these fantasies. She'd got over it. Recovered. Went right on living. This can't be – she couldn't have – how?
And there's so much she's now lost, if this is really happening – her mum, Pete, her little brother. Mickey and Jake and her other coworkers. Torchwood. Her work, her team, all the thousand tiny ordinary ways they save the world, day after day.
But then again – there is no record of any person by the name of Rose Tyler to be found anywhere in the Torchwood archives, Jack told her. As if she'd never existed there at all.
She looks back over her shoulder at the warehouse. Scrawled across the wall, in bright red spray paint, is the image of a snarling wolf. And off to the side, half-hidden behind the heavy door she'd so carelessly shoved open, is a very familiar blue box.
She knows it's the right TARDIS, the right timeline, because the key is almost unbearably hot in her hand. She steps up to the door and slips her key in the lock. It practically glides in, pulling her forward, calling her on home.
She hesitates.
There are thousands of possible futures diverging just before her, from this particular moment, and for just an instant she glimpses them all. There's so much she doesn't know, after all – how long it's been for him, if he's traveling with anyone now, whether he's still in this latest regeneration or if he's wearing a whole new face. If he's been searching for her, still. If he wants her back. And if she steps inside this box – so many possibilities, so many of them bad. She could die tomorrow on some strange, cruel planet far from home, or he could, or he might demand she turn right around and go back to Pete's World and the fantastic life he wanted her to have. Or he could sweep her up in his arms and snog her senseless, hold her hand as though he'll never let it go again, drag her along on a thousand possible terrifying marvelous adventures.
She's not a Time Lord. She's not even the Bad Wolf anymore. She's just Rose, and she can't see the future. Not even a little bit. Anything might happen now.
The TARDIS is a bright, Technicolor blue.
She turns the key and steps inside. |
In the morning, Alex was much brighter and John had smiled widely when she bounced into his room to hug him and announced that they'd be leaving for the camp site at three in the afternoon. She'd gotten up early and gone with Mrs Holmes to get the new tent that they had spoken about for her (Sherlock and John were still sharing despite all their moaning).
After speaking about everything really fast, she pushed him towards his suitcase and demanded he dressed and come down the stairs immediately for an early lunch.
John chuckled as he dressed, pleased that Alex seemed a lot better. Maybe he'd been completely wrong and she was just a little under the weather and needed some sleep.
Sherlock was awake when his mother and Alex headed out. *Tent shopping* his mind supplied as he went into the kitchen to make some coffee and put a pot of tea on for john and his father. He sipped at his tea while he watched the news. Another suicide bomb… a suicide that didn’t make sense. BORING.
When John got downstairs, everyone else was already sat at the table. He quickly sat and apologized for being the last one.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't know you were waiting on me." He said, sitting. It's then he realizes the food is still cooking and everyone is waiting for the food, not him.
He blushed brightly and Alex giggled at him. John smiled at her, happy to hear her laughing even if she was laughing at him for being completely unobservant.
Sherlock laughed quietly with Alex. Trust John to be the one who awkwardly entered and mistook the situation. That’s why he loves him. He always managed to entertain him no matter how dark his mood was, not that John was only useful for entertainment purposes. He was much more intelligent than Sherlock had previously thought and had always managed to challenge him, make him think things through so that he not only thinks about the problem but the situation as a whole.
John soon chuckled with the pair of them before he quieted down. He looked to his side, where Mycroft sat.
"I thought you were heading home today, Mycroft?" John asked, his tone much friendlier with the elder Holmes than it ever was before Alex came into the picture.
Mycroft nodded. "I am. Mummy convinced me to stay for lunch, though"
John nodded and flashed another ‘Watson’ smile. "I see."
“He’s just here for the food, homemade, free food.” Sherlock joked, his face dead straight to help wind Mycroft up but winked at Alex when Mycroft looked towards the food that was being cooked.
Mycroft opened his mouth to counter Sherlock when their mother spoke, her voice was quiet but powerful, emphasizing her authority in the house despite her children being all grown up..
"Boys, don't. What if Alex has a brother or sister one day? She'll think fighting is normal between siblings” She scalded, not fully realizing what she'd said until after. Mrs. Holmes didn't let herself react though, just continued cooking.
"Well, it kind of it. All siblings fight now and then." John added, not commenting on the thing about Alex having siblings.
Sherlock bit his tongue to stop himself from opening his mouth in shock. Another child… with someone else fathering it… Sherlock could barely contain his anger at the thought. “I’m going for a smoke.”
John winced when Sherlock got up, knowing exactly what Sherlock was thinking. John thought the same thing about him. He didn't want Sherlock to have a child with another Omega and he's sure that Sherlock's reaction meant he didn't want John having a child with another Alpha.
"I'm going to go talk to him" John told them and smiled before he went outside to join Sherlock on the porch.
Sherlock took a cigarette out of the packet and quickly lit up, filling his lungs with smoke and sighing with relief, needing the calmness that the cigarette brought. It helped him to stop thinking about John in heat with another man.
Another man knotting him, filling him with pups….
"Sherlock?" John asked gently, standing behind the man as he watched the smoke twirl up into the air. He doesn't move closer just yet, not sure how angry Sherlock is.
It was only an innocent comment but he understood how much it hurts.
“I should be able to deal with comments like that. They shouldn’t effect me like this. But they do… and it brings pain to my heart.” Sherlock held out the open packet to John, knowing that he hasn’t smoked since he was a teenager but thought that the omega might fancy one.
John waved away the cigarettes. "That sounds like you're apologising for how you're feeling. Don't do that. I… I really fucking hate the idea of you getting another Omega pregnant. Makes me feel sick... If Alex did have brothers or sisters, I'd what them to have the same parents as her. For her sake..."
Inside Sherlock smiled at John’s comment, happy that John felt the same way because it meant that didn’t look like John would be impregnated by another Alpha anytime soon. Outside, Sherlock kept a cool, calm face on, not wanting to outwardly show his happiness. “It is slightly… alarming that we both feel the same way even though we never actually bonded. Usually Alphas and Omegas would only feel this way if there had been a strong biological link that tied them together, therefore tying their Alpha and Omega sides together causing heightened emotions at the thought of the other person being reclaimed by someone else.”
"Isn't the biological link the child we have?" John pointed out, looking down at his feet and not meeting Sherlock's eye. "Besides, I think it's pretty normal to get jealous of the idea of the person you love, or once loved, with someone else."
“I never thought about it like that before.” Sherlock muttered taking another puff of his cigarette. Alex was probably the biggest reason why Sherlock had spent 13 long years yearning after John in a way that he had never felt before. Of course while they were together, Sherlock longed to be with John all the time, such was his inner Alpha’s possessive nature but after John left, it was 100 times stronger. He had never gone a day without feeling that pull to be close to John and this pull had only stopped when he found out about Alex.
John nodded, still not looking at him. "So... Don't work yourself up thinking I'm going to have another Alpha's children because I'm not. I can assure you of that." He smiled before turning back towards the door. "I'm still getting over the Alpha who gave me my first child"
After saying that, John was quick to open the door and head back inside. His heart pounding and cheeks flushed. So much for just leaving it for Alex's sake. He might as well have told Sherlock he loves him and snogged him again.
"Idiot..." John muttered to himself but part of him, not that he'd admit it to anyone, was happy he'd said that. Relieved.
Sherlock’s breath hitched in his throat when he heard John’s words. It took him a few minutes to control his breathing again as he was in complete and utter shock. John still liked him…. John wanted him still.
When his cigarette nearly burnt his finger as it had burned down, he pulled out another, puffing on it rapidly for some time until that one had also burned down. He took out some chewing gum so his mother wouldn’t be able to smell the smoke on his breath, still hating how she told him off for something so petty.
Now he had to do something, he had to try and get John back, no matter how hard it would take he was going to try. John said that he would only get together with him if it was ok with Alex… Sherlock knew that Alex was fine with it, she had practically begged him to ask John out the other day. So he just had to ask for Alex’s help, get her to make John understand that, if anything, she would benefit from them being together as a family unit.
Sherlock walked back into the house, taking out a chewing gum as he walked. He found Mycroft and his mother in the lounge, his father, John and Alex all in the kitchen so he quickly excused Alex from the table and led her to her/his old room.
"So... What happened?" Alex asked, bouncing on the bed a little as she practically threw herself on to it. She put her hands on the bed, steadying herself. Alex then smiled at her father. "I'm assuming that something did happen going by how much you smoked. The gum is just even more of a give away, just so you know"
Sherlock chuckled. “I only smoked 2, nothing too bad. Try and deduce it Alex, if you put your mind to it and really see, you should be able to deduce it easily.”
Alex shrugged. "Deducing is boring. I know how to do and can't always stop doing it to people but I don't see the point. I don't care about other people's lives. Only friends and families. Even then, I'd prefer to be told so I know for sure that they want me to know"
Right now, she sounded very much like a blend of Sherlock and John. Not that she realised that, of course. The ‘not caring about others’ was obviously a Sherlock thing. ‘Wanting people to trust her’ was more of a John thing. Thinking deducing is boring... Well, that was definitely an Alex thing seeing as both her parents were fascinated with it.
“Deducing is not boring” Sherlock stated in a clipped manner, his face scrunching up just at the thought of deducing being boring because for him, it was everything. It could give you so much insight, so much knowledge that could help you so much. “But I suppose… if you’re not interested in it then I cant really blame you. Some people find it annoying.” Sherlock took a deep breath, looking at his daughter with admiration. He was proud of her, she wasn’t like the awkward kid that he was when he was younger and he was thankful for that. He was ever so lonely when he was younger and didn’t want the same fate for his child.
“I have realized that I don’t want to stand back and watch another Alpha claim your father and I can see that he, after he understands a few things, would also like the idea of bonding with me. But he still needs to understand some things. He needs to see that it is best for you to grow up in a family environment, the family being you, your father and me.”
Alex smiled at that, liking the way Sherlock had said it. He hadn't just said he wants John back and that John said something suggesting he wanted the same. No, he truly put his heart into the words (even if it seemed a little stiff to some people, Alex could tell it was heartfelt for Sherlock).
"Well, to be blunt, you both need to stop being idiots and dancing around everything. I bet he wasn't direct about his feelings."
Sherlock scoffed, “That’s never going to happen, Alex. We are both stubborn and will never admit anything that direct. Although, your father was very direct with how he felt, the most direct I think he has ever been.”
Alex raised her eyebrow, doubting that. "Okay, what did he say? His exact words."
Sherlock thought back to when they were outside. “I'm still getting over the Alpha who gave me my first child.” That was fairly direct… ok it wasn’t but it made it perfectly clear for Sherlock that he had to do something.
"Okay, so it's obvious what he means. It's still not that direct. He didn't say I'm still in love with you." Alex replied. "Well, you've promised me that you'll win the auction so that you get a date with him. It's simple, you pour your heart out to him then."
“Pour my heart out to him? I have already done that Alex. He just told me that he needed to put you first, that he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, that it would make you unstable.” Sherlock just realized how messed up this situation was… he was asking his daughter for relationship advice…
"And you just giving up the moment he hesitates is definitely going to show him you mean it" Alex said, sarcasm dripping from her tone as she gave Sherlock a meaningful look. "Even stubborn people can eventually be persuaded"
“You need to tell him that you wouldn’t mind us getting together. You are his number one priority at the moment especially after the little “lost” stunt you pulled. He wont be persuaded by anything I say until you show him that you don’t mind any of this.”
"Oh, I'm sorry, were the eight or more years asking for my other dad not enough?" Alex snapped, glaring at him.
“Clearly not,” Sherlock commented, starting to pace around the room. “As he continues to believe that this will stunt your development.”Alex sighed and flipped back on the bed, now laying flat on it. "Fine. Don't try or take my advice about you making an effort"
“I am going to “Make an effort.” I am just asking if you will talk to your father about it, preferably right before the charity auction. Then maybe, maybe he will listen to me and see that he needs to think about his own desires for once.” Sherlock huffed, coming to a stop before pacing again.
"I'll talk to him" Alex nodded. "Don't worry about that but it's mainly on you. Don't think that me talking to him will make it plain sailing for you"
“Yes yes, I get it Alexandria.” Sherlock muttered, his arms crossing over his chest.
"Don't get annoyed with me just because I'm right" Alex huffed, still annoyed that Sherlock thought one conversation would make a difference after years of her practically begging to see him. And yes, she knew that she said to him stubborn people eventually get the message but it's different when you've been giving the message for eight years. Well, Sherlock is here now... Maybe it'll be different. She hopes.
“Sorry, its just…. Its annoying so bloody annoying.” Sherlock huffed, putting his hands through his hair.
"You know that you're saying this to the wrong person, right? You need to be telling dad all this. I mean, I'm glad you're telling me. After making the large-ish bid on the auction, tell him all this. Tell him you love him."
Sherlock smilec at his daughter. “I will. I definitely will.”
Alex grinned and sat up, standing and walking over to her father. She wrapped her skinny arms around him and squeezed him for a few seconds. When she pulled away, she wrinkled her nose up. "You smell like an ashtray"
“I don’t smoke much but when I do, I don’t just smoke one so you will have to get used to that, especially if I managed to convince your father to get back with me.” Sherlock winked at Alex, trying not to laugh at the expression on her face.
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Why would being with dad mean you smoke more?"
“Noooo… I’m just saying that if I get with your dad you will see me more and you will have to cope with my… weird habits.”
Alex nodded. "Ooh. I see. It's fine, though. Harry smokes a lot and I normally don't mind the smell. It's like having that bug yesterday has heightened my scenes a bit... Especially smell."
Sherlock tried not to smile when he heard about her heightened sense of smell. Of course John was right. Too bloody good at his job. “Your dad doesn’t like me smoking and he despises the smell. Wouldn’t kiss me if he could smell cigarettes on me.”
"Bet that made you want to quit" Alex laughed, moving away slightly because the smell really wasn't very nice. "He hates it when Harry smokes and forces her to smoke in the garden. Once he's gone though, she doesn't bother."
“Yes it did, but I just cut down to a few whenever I really needed to think.” Sherlock thought to the time when he flirted with John whilst he was smoking and they ended up having amazing sex. Probably not the best idea to think about sex around his daughter.
Alex nodded, oblivious to Sherlock's thoughts. "When I need to think, I either go running or practise with Nathan for games."
“You will not see me running for fun anytime in the foreseeable future.” Sherlock murmured, sneering at the thought. “Your father will probably come up to make sure that everything is alright if we stay up for much longer.”
Alex nodded. "And we need to pack everything and double check everything before we go up to the cabin place thingy later" She smiled. "Maybe you can drop a hint tonight to dad but I'd pour your heart out on the date you get for the auction"
“Drop a hint?”
"I dunno... Like he did. Just hint that you still love him as well"
Sherlock smiled, remembering the moment when John said that he still loved him. It made him feel so wonderfully warm inside. “I will Alex, I promise. I’m not giving up on this. On him.”
"Good" Alex grinned and hugged him again before she headed towards the door. "C'mon, dad'll end up here if we don't go down soon
Sherlock followed Alex down the stairs and back into the lounge, sitting down on the sofa, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “We should start getting everything sorted out for camping later on.”
That's when Sherlock's father spoke up. "The tents and cases are all in the car. So, as soon as you'll already to go, we can go" He smiled.
“Cases?” Sherlock asked.
"Our suitcases, Sherlock" John said, unable to not chuckle at that.
Alex smiled from where she's sat beside Sherlock, glad to see her dad laughing and enjoying himself instead of being awkward like he usually is after something happened between him and Sherlock.
“Yes, I guessed that.” Sherlock said smirking. “I just thought we were doing this properly. Walking instead of using a car, backpacks instead of suitcases. Just because them lot,” Sherlock pointed to his parents. “aren’t doing it right doesn’t mean that we should do the same.” Sherlock put his arm around Alex’s shoulders, smiling at her.
"We're old, we're allowed to cut corners" Mrs Holmes chuckled, wrapping her arm around her husbands waist. "But we have plenty of backpacks if the three of you want to walk there and carry your things that way." She said, looking to John to see if he wanted to do it like that.
"Great idea." John nodded, seeing that she was looking to him for his input. "Where are the bags, Mrs Holmes? I can get them down or up or which ever way I need to bring them"
Mrs Holmes looked to Mr Holmes seeing as he was the one that knew where they are. "They're in the room your in actually, John, you'll find them in the cupboard. I'll go get your suitcases"
The two men nod to each other before going separate ways. Mr Holmes out the front door and John upstairs.
Sherlock followed John up the stairs, incase he needed some help finding the cases. When they reach the room, John immediately went to the cupboard, opening it and taking out the first backpack and handing it to Sherlock. Once they had gotten all of them out, they carried them all downstairs to the lounge, Sherlock carrying two (after insisting that it is his duty to do so) whilst John carried one (arguing that it Sherlock shouldn’t stop saying such stereotypes around Alex who is impressionable.)
Alex could hear them bickering and she rolled her eyes. Her dad (John) really didn't realise how many of those Omegas-are-equal speeches he gives without even realising it. She would say something about it if she didn't know that it kept him happy to be able to remind even a small part of the world that being an Omega did not mean being weak.
You just had to take one look at her dad to know that. Ex-army, successful job as a doctor, having brought up a child with little help from anyone and working hard every day to make sure they had the best life they could. There was no one who could look at John and say that all Omega's a weak and helpless.
Whilst John gave him the omega equality speech, Sherlock was hoping that John knew that he didn’t view Omegas that way, that he wasn’t another pig headed alpha. Sherlock had never viewed john as anything less than him (maybe in intelligence but he felt that way about everyone) and always included him in his investigations, never worrying that an omega would slow him down or mess things up. Because in his mind, being an omega only made John understand the emotions better than Sherlock did as omegas were hard wired to be loving, caring, the glue of the family. A good thing.
“John, you know I didn’t mean that, right. I was just trying to help. I didn’t like the idea of you carrying these down incase they got in the way and you fell.” Sherlock whispered to John when they reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Yeah, course. Nice save" John snorted, not convinced by Sherlock's words.
It wasn't anything against Sherlock personally. John was simply convinced that all Alpha's look down on Omega's, even if only a tiny bit. It's wired into them. They have instincts to protect Omegas, they can't control it. Needing to protect something, though, suggests that whatever you're protecting is not able to protect themselves the way an Alpha could.
Sherlock wanted to carry the bags to help, fine. But John is more than capable of carrying some bloody bags. Sherlock doesn't need to protect him from the stairs.
Sighing, John shaked his head and waved off the matter before Sherlock could say anything else. He should have realised that he'd do this at some point. Before Alex was born, John found it easier to keep all the Omega equality stuff to himself and this is probably the first time Sherlock has heard him talk like this. He had to try and keep it in. Sherlock didn't really care about all that, after all.
“No, no, you are not going to wave off the matter. If anything Alex should hear this.” Sherlock raised his voice slightly, throwing his hands around. “Can you think of one time that I ever discriminated against you based on your secondary gender alone?”
"Just now when you practically ripped the bag out of my hand so I wouldn't carry it and injured myself somehow. You might not have said so or realised it but if I wasn't an Omega, you'd have no reason to protect me from a pair of bloody stairs" John said, glaring at Sherlock and not realising how much he'd raised his voice.
Alex smiled sadly at John. Maybe she should have warned Sherlock not to get into anything like this with John. It only ended in tears. Alex remembered the time she witnessed an arguement between Harry and John because Harry, who is an Alpha, made a joke about John being such a typical Omega mother.
Mrs Holmes walked down to her son and John and placed her hands on John's shoulders. The man looked back at her and relaxed instantly at the presence of another Omega, smiling at her a little as his cheeks turn pink with embarrassment.
Sherlock inwardly said, No its not because you’re an omega that I took that bag out of your hands but because I love you and I want to treat you right. But out loud Sherlock says, “Im sorry if I offended you John. I really didn’t mean to upset you.”
John nodded. "It's okay... I overreacted a bit. I dunno, I'm sorry. I'm just used to dealing with patients that have been convinced by Alpha's they're not worth anything because of their secondary gender. It's kind of hard not to want to convince the world that's not true when it's so personal..." John looked around at everyone one and apologised again.
Alex smiled at him before standing and taking one of the bags. "There. Now everyone's equal" She said, making everyone laugh and lightening the mood as she'd intended and John pulled her into a hug and kissed her head.
Thankfully it looked like all the tension had disappeared so Sherlock led John and Alex outside to where his father had placed their suitcases. He quickly opened his own, revealing its contents. “There is a very specific way to pack a rucksack especially if you are walking a long distance like we are. We need to put the heaviest items at the bottom, followed by the stuff we only need when we get to the campsite and finally everything we might need whilst we are travelling.” Sherlock took the tent out and put the parts in three separate parts. “Ill take the poles and the pegs, Alex, you take the outside of tent and your father can take the inside.”
Sherlock took the poles and pegs and put them in the rucksack right at the bottom. Then he piled some clothes on top (and yes they were normal, casual clothes, not his usual suits and shirts), and finally placed some of the food that his mother had set out for them on top.
It wasn't long before they were on their way. John said goodbye to Sherlock's parents and apologised to them again (thanking Mrs Holmes as well) before they all left. Alex had a map in hand and had tied her hair up, put a cap on and pulled her hair through it.
John tapped the cap as they walk. "Isn't this Nathan's? He left it at our house about a month ago... Alex, why haven't you given it back yet?"
"He said I could keep it. It's a good hat" She shrugged, not taking her eyes off the map as they continued to walk.
John looked to Sherlock, their conversation about Alex going into a rut coming to mind. John didn't want her anywhere near boys if she was preparing to present. He knew they were best friends, John had leant his close females friends clothing and even gave jumpers and stuff to them but this seem a little different.
Sherlock eyes immediately widened when he heard it. He could easily see Nathan and Alex getting together in the future especially as Nathan was likely to present as an omega but he didn’t like the idea of his daughter, gallivanting with some boy. He had first hand experience of how boys were. They were all hormones and mess but then again, the boys Sherlock was thinking about were Alpha boys, maybe omegas wouldn’t be as interested in sex as Alphas were (however John’s nickname in the army had been three continents Watson…)
John didn't comment any further on it. He was sure that he was just worrying needlessly. After all, she and Nathan were just twelve. At the moment, the most they're likely to do is hold hands and maybe kiss if they did 'go out'. Sex wasn't something he needed to worry about until both the kids had presented and were at least fourteen. He has a few years yet before he has to become really protective about things like boys. Still, he'd be keeping as eye on them.
He offered Sherlock a reassuring smile. He wanted to walk a bit faster and catch up to him, hold his hand as they walked and quietly talked about little things. He didn't do any of that, of course. He just imagined doing it as he smiled and the he looked after, forgetting those thoughts.
Sherlock smiled back, knowing that if John wasn’t worrying about them then he shouldn’t. Instead he carries on walking, occasionally leaning over Alex’s shoulder to make sure that they were going in the right direction. He realized how nice it was to spent time with them, both of them, even though they weren’t really talking, simply walking together through the countryside.
They walk in silence for some time and none of them really find it awkward. It was just comfortable. Exactly like a family. A family can happily spend time together without words and that's what it feels like right now. They're a family.
John grinned at the thought before he looks sideways at Alex. She had a smile on her face as well. John was glad she's enjoying herself.
Suddenly Sherlock caght sight of something ahead that could be a huge problem to them. A river with no apparent way of crossing it. Despite this they carry on walking until they are right in front of it. “We should keep walking the banks of it and hopefully there will be a place to cross.”
Alex nodded but after an hour of walking, she sighed and stopped. She peered across and tried to look down either side. There was no bridge or way to cross that she saw. The river wasn't too wide or fast. She could easily swim across. Humming, she tries to judge the distance. If she was lucky, she could throw the bag across but that was unlikely.
"Oi, Dadlock? Are these bags waterproof?"
“Yes but I don’t think its wise to cross.” Sherlock looked right and then left, taking in the area and deducing as much as he could incase there was another way out of this situation. “Maybe we should keep walking. There is bound to be a bridge somewhere…. About half a mile that way.”
Alex gummed. "Wise or not, I think we should. I can't be bothered to walk and we still have to get to the cabin. I say we swim. It's less than a two minute swim"
John huffed and pushed them aside, deciding for them when he wades into the water.
“Jesus, John. Do you want to get pneumonia?” Sherlock practically shouted, moving closer to the river to watch John to make sure he is ok.
"It's been in direct sun all day. It's warm!" John called before he dived in the deeper water and started to swim across it.
“It could be dangerous.” Sherlock replied, even though he knew that it is not dangerous. It was fairly deep (but he knew John was a competent swim), there were no strange pond-life or vegetation and the water was as clean as river water could be.
"Still don't need protecting!" John called, swimming the last stroke and climbed out of the lake.
“Am I not allowed to care for you?” Sherlock quickly closed his mouth when he realized what he just said. He felt his cheeks start to burn up so he dramatically took his bag off and thew it across the river before swimming across it just as John did.
"Idiots..." Alex muttered and shook her head before she threw over her bag, just managing to get it across, and swam after Sherlock.
When Sherlock climbed out of the water, he waited for Alex, holding out a hand for her in order to help her out. “See! Alex isn’t an Omega but I’m protecting her.” Sherlock called out to John in an almost childish way.
"She's a kid, your kid, of course you're protecting her!" John replied, already walking into the woods again.
Both of them were being rather childish and Alex just rolled her eyes, smiling a little. They're not arguing, more just teasing and being playful and it's good that they're that comfortable.
“Nnnnno. Im protecting her because I love her. That’s the only reason why I would protect someone. Why on earth would I want to protect some random boring omega?” Sherlock answered throwing his arms in the arm (see, child!)
John paused before he turned around to face Sherlock, playfulness gone. "So I'm just some random boring omega now? Fuck you, Sherlock. I'm the omega that gave you a child to love and protect!"
“No. no, John. You misunderstood what I just said completely. I only protect the things I love, John. Y-you come under that category.” Sherlock took a deep breath in and held it, waiting for John’s reply.
John blinked and looked to Alex as if checking that she had heard the same thing as him. The anger had left as soon as it had come and now he was just confused. Alex nodded at him, confirming for him that he had indeed heard correct. She was grinning at him and making gestures for him to say it back.
John stares at Sherlock for a moment before he turned another without a word and continued to walk.
Sherlock let the shock and anger overwhelm him, not sure exactly what just happened. He practically announced that he loved John yet… yet John had just walked away. How could he just walk away? If he was John he would be kissing him with such force because John, John was his life but he had just turned away, like it was nothing to him.
Sherlock bit the inside of his mouth to stop the frown from appearing on his face. He was disappointed and ever so angry but he could let Alex see that… weakness.
Alex sighed and she reached out to hold Sherlock's hand, squeezing it and started to walk again. She doesn't say anything, just held his hand as a way to comfort him.
John walked far away, breathing deeply as he tried to control all the emotions bubbling up inside of him. First of all, he was so damn angry. How dare Sherlock just announce that with Alex right there?! Secondly, he couldn't help but be unbelievably happy. Sherlock loved him back! This really meant that they definitely had a chance to become a proper family in time.
Sherlock held Alex’s hand for the rest of the walk to the campsite/cabins because if he didn’t, he was worried that he would hit something (most likely a tree as it was the only bloody thing around). From time to time, he would speak to Alex in short, clipped sentences but the majority of the journey was spent in silence.
After another 3 hours of walking they arrived at the campsite/cabins, tired and worn out. Sherlock threw his bag on the floor, resolved that he would never do that again as he saw it as a complete waste of his bloody time. He thought it would give them some time as a family and it did, for about an hour but after that it was a nightmare. He was never putting himself through that again.
“I’m not going to go to the auction.” Sherlock whispered to Alex when they sat down in his parents’ cabin. “There’s no point. It’s obvious that he doesn’t love me simply by seeing the way that he reacted when I told him how I felt. And if you look at the way he keeps looking over to us-“
"Shut up" Alex hissed, interrupting him. "Don't you dare give up now. You are going to that auction and you are going to go on that date. You promised me, for one, and also he does love you back, Dadlock. I know he does. You shocked him, and I was there. He's not going to declare his love when he's shocked and in front of me. Just... Just don't give up"
“Im not giving. Its just… i…” Sherlock looked down and fiddled with a piece of grass. “I don’t think I can face his rejection again.” Sherlock muttered so quietly that Alex could barely hear what he just said. Sherlock knew how much it would hurt him if John rejected him again.
Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock thought of the advice that his brother had given him when he was younger. Maybe he should have listened to his brother after all. His life would be totally different but then he would be so torn up over an omega that clearly didn’t love him.
"For God sake. Why does no one listen to me?" Alex huffed. "He does love you. He told you himself that he's not over you! You're an idiot to think he'll reject you. Look, I wouldn't be surprised if he comes to me soon and asks about what I want. You're going to that auction, Dadlock"
“I know that he told me that he still loves me but his body language is screaming that he doesn’t. Why would he turn away from me when I told him that I loved him if he felt the same way?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows at his daughter, a serious expression on his face.
"Embarrassment? Anger that you said all this in front of me? Maybe a bit pressured? Shocked? There are many reasons he would just walk away rather than response" Alex reasoned.
“Pressured… embarrassed… shocked. I suppose I didn’t think it though… wasn’t the best idea to spring it on him like that.” Sherlock rolled up the sleeve of his jumper and put a nicotine patch on it. He had decided to stop smoking altogether and had packed a few packets of patches, hoping that he could stop completely before the bachelor auction.
Alex smiles at Sherlock before she wrapped her arms around him. She kissed his cheek before he pulled away, still not used to receiving affection.
"Let's go help set the tents up. This is one thing the omega does need help with"
Sherlock chuckled at Alex, getting up off the floor to go and help John. He picked up his backpack and took out his part of the tent, leaving it on the floor until the others had also taken out their parts.
Once that was done they slowly started to put the tent up, everyone helping out equally in the construction and even though there were a few mistakes made (all John’s fault but he argued that it wasn’t him!), they managed to get it done in a good amount of time.
Alex felt their positions had reserved. She was the mature one here, just getting on with putting up the tent so they could get in. If she did something wrong, she'd just change it. Her parents... Well, they were still acting like children. They tried to rush to do the tent, as if in competition with each other despite the fact they were putting up the same tent. If a mistake was made, they'd leave it and start shouting a few moments later that it was the other persons fault.
Alex's tent was up first and she had help from both of them but once it was done, she went to the cabin to see her grandma and granddad and just left her parents to argue and struggle with the tent.
She supposed she understood why they were both acting that way. Both were angry and upset and so on but still, she thought that the adults would be able to act civil.
Sherlock had tried to ignore John as much as possible while he was putting the tent up but he had failed spectacularly, wanting to fight with him at every opportunity. When the tent was finally done he joined everyone else in the cabin, bringing his bag in with him. “Please say someone has made me a cup of coffee. I need one after that.”
"Make it yourself" Alex snorted from where she was lounging over the sofa with a book in her hand. "It's your own fault you're all worked up and had to spend an extra hour putting the tent up. Same goes for you, Dad" Alex looked up and her eyes flickered between her parents.
They both look at her in shock, obviously about to blame the other person when Mrs Holmes spoke up.
"She's right, boys. Now, come on, no more arguing. Sherlock, you and John can both make tea or coffee for everyone. Tea for me, Alex and your father. Then whatever you two want" She used a sweet tone but there was no question of the fact that she ws telling them what to do, not giving a choice.
They slump like a pair of caught out teenagers before trailing into the kitchen to do as they're told. Alex laughed once they had disappeared and Mrs Holmes joined her, agreeing that they are just big kids.
When they entered the kitchen, Sherlock immediately went to the kettle, filling it with water, looking like a scolded child. “This is your fault.” He hissed at John, slamming the kettle down on the stove. The took the lighter out of his pocket and quickly lit the old stove, letting John take care of the rest of the process as he slumped against the work surface.
John grunted at Sherlock and fixed the tea for Alex, himself and made a coffee for Sherlock before asking "How do your parents take their tea?"
He turned and raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.
“My mother takes it white, no sugar. My father, black again no sugar.” Sherlock grunts, not looking at John when he speaks.
"All right" John nodded and fixed the other two cups of tea. He placed all expect Sherlock's on a tray.
John placed Sherlock's coffee beside him and flashed a short smile, wanting to stop arguing if it was so noticeable to their daughter, before he carried the tray through to the living room and placed it on the table.
Sherlock followed him into the kitchen, slumping down on the only chair available. He sipped at his tea, ignoring all conversation. He was so fed up with everything. He was honestly considering taking drugs again- it seemed to be the only thing that could take away the throbbing ache in his heart. But he had a daughter now, he couldn’t turn to something that could so easily destroy his life.
The day paseed and the atmosphere slowly lightened up and the tension faded. John and Sherlock even manageed a few brief smiles. Then everyone goes to bed, John, Alex and Sherlock made their way out to the tent.
After saying goodnight to Alex, John hesitated and gestured for Sherlock to enter the tent first
Sherlock kissed the top of Alex’s head before she went. He went into the tent first, not wanting to argue with John anymore, they had had enough fighting for one day. He brought his bag in with him, taking his sleep bag, mat and pillow out of the backpack and laying them out on the right side of the tent. Then he took out his clothes and put another t shirt on to keep himself warm.
John did the same as Sherlock, sorting out his bed before he pulled on an extra layer for warmth. He then snuggled in his sleeping bag and gave a soft, content sigh.
"Sherlock? Can you turn the light off, please?" John asked, referring to the battery power lantern styled light that sat just a little closer to Sherlock's side.
“Course.” Sherlock said quickly, reaching over to turn it off. He sat there in silence not saying anything but he finally spoke, the urge overwhelming him when he did get the courage. “I’m sorry for my behavior today… and… and for what I said. I didn’t mean to say it at all, let alone embarrass you.”
John took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself as he tries to think of a response. Part of him had expected this to happen, the other part expected them to lay in awkward silence before falling asleep.
"You don't need to apologise to me, Sherlock. You shocked me, that's all. And yes, I was embarrassed too. But... you're not the only one who acted like a child" He gave a soft sigh. "We can't do this again, argue like that. It's not a good example for Alex and I don't want her to think her parents are going to be acting like kids. She'll think she has to be responsible for us... I can't, I won't, let that happen to her"
That all made perfect sense to Sherlock and he found himself calming down a bit just by thinking about what John had just said. Yes, he didn’t want Alex to see them arguing. It’ was bound to be bad for a child to see her parents arguing all the time.
“I agree, John. I promise that I wont act like I did today. I will try and contain my emotions better in the future.”
"The... uh, original outburst wasn't the problem. It was the way we were after, just so you know. Anyway, goodnight" John looked at him, flashed a smile and then turned so he was facing the side of the tent and not Sherlock.
“Uhrmm… Night.” Sherlock replied, as he lied down and snuggling into his sleeping bag. He laid there thinking over John’s words in his head, trying to understand what he had been trying to say however it was all too much of a mystery for Sherlock since it concerned emotions which Sherlock always read wrong. In the end he fell asleep, hoping that he would be able to understand everything soon.
John woke in the middle of the night, gasping as he finally managed to escape the nightmare. He didn't often have nightmares anymore. The thoughts of war all but left his mind, his only worries now about his daughter and his family. Life had changed dramatically after he left central London and it was like the fighter in him had been tamed slightly (although he did occasionally need a good night out with friends to just do something stupid, even if that was just get ridiculously drunk and pass out on one of their sofas).
The moment John's eye opened, his eyes moved to Sherlock. He checked for bullet holes and wounds and he finds none at all, of course he doesn't find any. He breathed a small sigh of relief before he climbed out of his sleeping bag and exited the tent. John walked as quietly as he can, not wanting to wake anyone. He checked on Alex, who was fast asleep and snoring loudly seeing as she fell asleep on her back. John smiled at his daughter and quietly re-zips her tent before tip-toeing back to his own.
Everyone was okay. No one attacked or shot or even scratched. He knew that she'd be fine but despite knowing this, he had to check and confirm.
When he entered the tent again, Sherlock was sitting up and looking at him. John winced, realising that he must have woken the young man when he left the tent.. or worse, when he was having a nightmare. John prayed it wasn't the latter.
Sherlock had been woken up by cold air. At first he didn’t realize why the bloody hell there was a draught until he realized where he was and understood that John must just need to the toilet. He attempted to go back to sleep but knew that he would not be able to until he knew that John was safely in the tent. Luckily John hadn’t been too long and was quickly entering the tent once again but he was looking rather guilt. Ideas flooded Sherlock’s mind as he tried to pick up on john’s body language because that would be the thing that would tell him why he was guilty.
John swallowed and quickly closed the tent so the cold air didn't fill it. He'd forgotten to close it when he left and silently curses himself for forgetting. It wasn't exactly warm out there and John's arms were still prickled with goosebumps. Luckily, Mrs Holmes had packed a few heat packs that would warm up when shaken so he took those out and shook 4 of them, handing two to Sherlock when they warmed up. Despite Sherlock wanting to do this camping thing properly, he agreed that they'd need heat during the night.
"I'm sorry for waking you. I just wanted to check on Alex" John informs him as he passed him the heat packs. "I, uh... I didn't wake you before I left, did I?" He looked to Sherlock.
He didn't mind admitting that he'd had a nightmare that scared the hell out of him to the point he had to go check his daughter hadn't been shot - a shiver runs through him at the thought - but it was another thing completely to have had someone witness you that scared. John knew that he could shout and say all sorts when dreaming.
“Its fine. It was just the cold. Not used to having a freeze breeze in my room whilst I sleep.” Sherlock joked, squeezing onto the heat packs in order to warm up his freezing hands. Then he put the packs into the sleeping bag to get it warm in there whilst lifting his hands to his face to warm it up.
"Sorry, I - uh - I had a bad dream. I was focused on checking on her. Didn't mean to freeze you" John gave a small smile, hugging his pack and sat on top of his sleeping bag.
He was cold but he didn't want to even get in the position to sleep yet. The nightmare still lingered and even though he had checked on everyone, he wasn't calm enough to sleep yet.
“Are you ok?” Sherlock asked, sitting up in the sleeping bag, anxious about John’s well being. He knew how bad John’s dreams could be and before, he was always there for him and he wanted to be there for him now.
John nodded. "Fine. Wide awake, though, but I'm sure that doesn't surprise you. You know what I'm like after nightmares." He smiled at the other. He'd changed in many ways but some things just never change and all those things that haven't changed, Sherlock will be aware of. "I rarely get them about the army anymore. Just.. Alex and family, now."
“Well we only have a few hours until its time to get up so it wont be too bad if you don’t get back to sleep.” Hopefully he would though because Sherlock was starting to feel a bit awkward and normally he would just walk away from something if this happened but he was n a tent, there was no way that he could do that in this instance. Sherlock didn’t really know what to say yet he knew that he had to say something. What if he said something wrong and made a fool out of himself? What if he asked something that made John angry with him?... All Sherlock wanted was for John to like him, exactly how he loved him.
After a few minutes he finally spoke up. “Have you seen your counselor recently? Maybe she could help with them?”
"Oh, no, it's not like I'm plagued by nightmares" John smiled at the other man. "I haven't had a nightmare for a while. Just tonight for some reason" John shrugged. "I.. You and Alex were hurt" He admited before looking down with a blush. "You died before I could... could say anything to you. It wasn't pleasant at all..."
Sherlock gulped, looking down at the floor also, trying to hide the smile that appeared on his face at the thought of John being worried about him. But… the words that John had just said suddenly burned into his mind. He.. he needed to say something to him, something important, something that had to be said before he died…
Sherlock looked up again, reaching out to put his finger under John’s chin in order to make the man look at him in the eyes. “Maybe you should tell me now, whilst it is still on your mind. It sounds important and I want… no I need to know.”
A small breathe escaped him when Sherlock's fingers touch his skin and their eyes met. John's mouth went dry and he shifted, feeling awkward and tried to shake the image of kissing Sherlock (and the hand on his chin) off. When Sherlock didn't release him, John changee direction. Instead of pulling away and trying to escape, he pressed forward and wrapped his arms around the other's waist, his head resting on his chest.
He could not say it. He was not sure if we even wants to stay it but hew as craving to be close to the man he cared for so much. He knew he was being unfair, throwing a bag of mixed signals at Sherlock time and time again. John wasn't sure when he would be able to explain all the things that caused him to leave. He vowed to himself that he'd try one day, though. Maybe in the far, far future.
"Can you just.. hold me? Like you used to? Please?" John askd, voice small and weak as he squeezed his eyes closed. "I want to hold you"
To begin with Sherlock was so shocked that he froze on the spot, not moving, not breathing. He didn’t want to do a single thing that would cause John to move away from him because he needed this almost as much as John did. “Of course.” Sherlock said, happily wrapping his arms around john, pulling him in closer so that he could smell his scent.
It was wonderful and it reminded him of so many memories…. When they had finished a case and they would simply fall onto the sofa and laugh…. When Sherlock would wake up in the morning alone because John had gone to work and he would dig his nose into the pillows, John’s scent was just so alluring.
Sherlock wanted to say something, he wanted to tell John how he felt, make him understand how deep his feelings went but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. It also helped that he knew that he already had a plan of action, that he would go to the auction and woo John, just like he had done all those years ago.
John relaxed immediately when Sherlock began to hug him back and agreed to hold him. He was hit with another round of memories and he wanted to cry at the sudden warth of emotions battling within him.
One memory sticks out in particular. They'd tumbled into the flat after a thrilling case, high in the adrenaline of it all. Both of them had been shot at and in fights that night and a single wrong move could have easily meant one or both of them died. It was as if they both realised this at the same time. They dove for each other, arms locking and lips meeting as they stumbled towards the sofa. Sherlock and he had hugged and kissed for a long time, Sherlock gently pressing him into the sofa the whole time. They just wanted to prove to themselves that the other was fine and alive. In John's opinion, that was the first time they made love rather than had sex.
John swallowed and looked up at Sherlock now, twelve years later. He'd have to settle for cuddling to prove Sherlock was alive and well. With a small, almost silent sigh, John laid his head on Sherlock's chest again.
"Would it be all right if I sleep with you tonight - like this I mean - hugging? I want to be close to you. I need to have you close."
Sherlock smiled warmly at John, trying not to blush. “Yes, if you want to.” Sherlock snuggled back into the sleeping bag, resting his head onto his pillow once again, bringing john down with him. “S-should we sleep back to front or front to front… or… what?”
John could't help but laugh at Sherlock asking whether John wants to spoon or not. It wasn't a mean laugh even though he was laughing /at/ Sherlock. It was just a laugh to show John was comfortable and Sherlock didn't need to be so nervous. It was also an 'I think you're adorable' laugh.
"Front to front like this is fine. I always liked laying my head on your chest"
“Ok… that’s fine by me.” Sherlock rearranged himself into a better position so that john would be as comfortable as possible.
John let out a small, content sigh when they settle. Sherlock was comfortable and familiar. John had had one or two serious relationships since he left Sherlock but he was this relaxed so quickly by their presence. Only Sherlock made him feel that way.
"Thank you, Sherlock." John murmured quietly, arms wrapped around Sherlock's middle and his head on the Alpha's chest. "This is... perfect. So, thank you."
John’s weigh on Sherlock’s chest was perfect. So bloody perfect that Sherlock wanted to shout at John, prove to him that they were meant to be. However he refrained himself, pressing his lips tightly against one another to stop them from opening and revealing what would be, hard words. “Its fine. It was always this perfect.”
John just nodded slightly, eyes now closed as he laid wrapped around Sherlock. The detective's scent covered him and comforted him, helping him relax. He felt protected as Sherlock held him and it was one of those rare moments where he didn't care that he was being treated as weaker. Nightmares always made him forget he wanted to be a strong independent person... but everyone has times when they just need a hug and need to be the one that's getting looked after. This was one of those times for John.
"You smell nice." John commented with a smile, his face pressed against Sherlock's chest and so close to sleep that he barely considered the words before they left his lips.
Sherlock tried not to blush but it was hard not to when his omega complimented. The omega who he loved, who he cherish, who he wished would say such things everyday so that he could do the same thing for him.
“Thank you.” Sherlock whispered ever so quietly into John’s hair, the smell of John’s shampoo rising through his nostrils, making him breathe in deeper in order to retain the memory of the smell in his brain for future reference. John used a different shampoo since they last slept together, it was more plain, practically scentless but the new one smelt of mint. It wasn’t what he was used to but it was still wonderful because it was John lying his head on top of his chest.
Normally, John would either snap or seriously question the fact that Sherlock, his ex, is smelling him but he was far, far too tired. Absolutely exhausted. All the drama today, with Sherlock admitting his love for him and Alex seeming to have grown up too fast, was just too much. He was done.
Soon, John is using Sherlock as a pillow and snoring lightly as his body relaxes completely against Sherlock's now. The last thing on his mind was that nightmare, he was only relaxed now.
Sherlock remained awake most of the night, his restless brain churning with new thoughts and ideas that caused him to process them at a super fast rate, not wanting to sleep until everything was processed. All the while he gently ran his hands up and down John’s arm, subconsciously watching John all the time. From time to time he was stroke his hand through John’s hair, revealing the rest of his still, beautiful face for Sherlock to process, remember, savor in such a calm state.
He finally fell asleep though, even if it was only for an hour and a half, being woken up by the intensifying of the sun as time went on. But he remained he still, for John’s sake, knowing that the omega needed a lot more sleep than he did, needing at least 6 hours but in a perfect world he required 8.
John began to shift and wake up after around seven hours of sleep. He automatically pressed his face into his pillow (Sherlock) with a small yawn and blink.
"Sherlock...?" He slurred the name slightly, confused about why he was waking up surrounded by his ex-boyfriend's scent. "Wha-" John started to ask before he paused, memories of his nightmare and of Sherlock comforting him coming to the surface. "Oh, right..."
John carefully and gradually pushed himself up - not wanting to flinch away and hurt Sherlock's feelings. That thought almost caused John to since as he also remembered that yesterday Sherlock confessed some very strong feelings to him in the heat of an argument.
"I, uh, um I just, uhh- Sorry." John eventually got the word out after stumbling over his thoughts. "Didn't mean to, um, fall asleep in a position where you couldn't move but, um, thanks for last night. It really helped... calm me down and you were always good at comforting me just by being there and I'm rambling now, aren't I? I should stop. Okay, I'm stopping. Thank you."
Quickly, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Sherlock's cheek before practically bolting from the tent (almost tripping over his own feet) with his cheeks red hot as he gives some pathetic excuse about needing the toilet.
Sherlock groaned, so bloody annoyed that things had to be awkward. They were both adults, consenting adults and its not like they did anything anyway. Hugging didn’t have to mean anything. Everyone needed physical contact with another human being from time to time and that was exactly what they did last night.
Sherlock just hoped that once he bought John at the auction, things would change, things had to be different. He wanted to date him properly. Buy him flowers and take him out to expensive restaurants. Make him feel loved, cared for, special.
Maybe then, John would let him back in his life for good so that he could be a proper father to Alex and an amazing lover.
John went to the toilet, actually needing to go but it had been an excuse to run away from Sherlock. At least it's more believable now...
John sighed and splashed water on his face after relieving himself. He needed to calm down. Stop blushing, for starters, and then just adsorb the situation so he didn't stutter every other word when he saw Sherlock later.
It's no big deal, he tries to tell himself. He had a nightmare and Sherlock comforted him. Cuddling someone who had a nightmare isn't romantic. Friends do that for friends and Sherlock had been John's best friend once a upon a time. Sherlock had experienced John having nightmares first had on numerous occasions. He knew how to comfort John and it made sense that John went to what is familiar in a time of need.
"Right. Pull yourself together, Watson. You're not a pining omega. You had a nightmare, cuddled and fell asleep. Hardly a marriage proposal." John speaks to his reflection and immensely regretted it when he heard a gasp from behind.
"You and Dadlock /fell asleep together/?!" Alex squealed. |
It had been Sherlock's fault, really, and he would never forgive himself for that. Standing by John's bedside at the hospital, staring down at the unconscious doctor, he knew he would spend the rest of his life paying for his mistake. The blonde was far paler than he should have been and it pained Sherlock to see him that way. John was strong and steady, his rock.
It had been several days since the accident, if you could even call it that, and John was still in and out of consciousness. A brace kept him from moving and jarring what they had tried to fix in surgery and he was on enough painkillers that he hadn't yet noticed what was wrong. They were easing off the medication, though, and Sherlock knew it was only a matter of time.
When John awoke, Sherlock would be the one who had to explain to him that the detective had made a horrible miscalculation. He would have to explain how he'd been too caught up in the case, too caught up in catching the suspect. Sherlock would have to explain that he hadn't expected John to follow him across that street, but he should have known better. John always followed him.
The car that had slammed into John had been speeding, and threw the doctor exactly 13.8 meters. The landing had left several lacerations that had required skin grafts, but that wasn't the worst of the trauma. John's body had twisted during the impact and he'd suffered an injury to his L5 vertebrae. There was a 46% chance John Watson would never walk again, and it was Sherlock's fault.
The pain would be excruciating and the physical therapy would go on for years. Even if John were to regain some of his previous motor function, he would never reach the same level of motion. This wasn't some psychosomatic limp Sherlock could just fix by keeping him distracted. It would be grueling and a long-term commitment, not exactly something Sherlock was known for being good with.
This wasn't something he was willing to give up on, though. He would not give up on John. Already, Mycroft was looking into the most advanced treatments available. Money wouldn't be an issue, and neither would access. Sherlock owed John at least that much.
The detective knew that no one expected him to stick around. They expected him to get bored and leave now that John couldn't keep up with him. His mind would run wild and he'd soon be distracted. There'd be a case or something and he would just up and leave. Well, John wouldn't need to follow him anymore because he wasn't going anywhere.
There were a lot of people who believed he didn't appreciate John, didn't appreciate what the doctor did for him, but that couldn't be more untrue. John was the only friend Sherlock had ever had, truly. He made sure the detective ate, rested, paid the bills on time, and performed the basic tasks needed to keep him alive when the brunette was too distracted to care. But none of the things John did for him were so important as simply teaching him to care.
Before John, Sherlock had held a fondness for Mrs. Hudson, but wouldn't have been able to name the emotion, much less express it. He valued Lestrade for his lack of total incompetence, which was more than he could say for the rest of the Yard. Since John had come into his life, though, he'd grown to appreciate both individuals for the roles they played in his routine. Even Molly and Mike Stamford seemed to stand out more in the light John gave off.
And, as much as Sherlock cared for these other individuals, he cared for John all the more. Though he did not brush John aside as unimportant, he did, admittedly, take his presence for granted. He had assumed John would always be there, to have his back.
Well, John had been, at exactly the wrong moment.
The blonde took the news of his affliction surprisingly well, so well that Sherlock kept throwing him suspicious looks. He'd been quiet at first, before taking up his usual mantle of smiles and small talk with his visitors and the hospital staff. He thanked the doctor who showed up to give them more bad news, the corticoid steroids they'd given John for treatment hadn't had any effect. He flirted shamelessly with the nurse who brought his meals and the only question he had asked was where his sister was. (Harriet, upon learning of her brother's accident, had used the excuse to hole up in the nearest pub. Mycroft had people watching her.)
Since their initial talk about what had happened, it had been a constant flow of people in and out of the room. It was hours before the doctor and the detective were alone again. By that time, Sherlock was little more than a bundle of nerves. He felt like crawling out of his skin. How in the world could John act so calm about all this?
The silence stretched between them, not helping Sherlock's twitchiness in the slightest. When John finally did speak, it was in a soft tone of voice.
"You don't have to stay, you know."
"Mycroft has secured me special privileges. I do not have to abide by standard visiting hours."
John smiled sadly.
"I was not talking about the visiting hours…"
It didn't take Sherlock more than a moment to realize what John meant.
"You expect me to leave you…"
John shrugged as best he could with the brace on.
"I'm useless to you now. You don't have to stick around."
Sherlock slowly turned to face him fully.
"John, you know as well as anyone that I am not limited by the expectations of social decorum. I am here because I want to be and you are going to have to do better than that if you want to get rid of me."
He could see the moment his friend realized that the detective planned to see this through to the end, but he also saw the doubt there. Still, John smiled wide enough that it seemed his face would split in half.
"Drat. I was really hoping that would work."
Sherlock cleared out his own bedroom at 221B so that John wouldn't have to deal with the stairs leading up to his room. The detective cleaned up the kitchen, going so far as to get rid of his chemistry equipment. (Or at least moved it upstairs.) He made sure the floor was free of clutter and there was space enough for John's wheelchair to fit between the furniture. When the doctor came home with Mrs. Hudson, everything would be ready for him.
The stairs presented an issue, of course, but Sherlock had seen to that, too. The contractors had been by earlier in the day to install the chair lift along the wall. John would hate it, but it would be necessary. Sherlock was looking forward to the day he would be able to remove it, when John could walk again.
John seemed surprised by the changes to their residence, but took them with the same grace and acceptance that he did everything else. Sherlock didn't miss how his jaw tightened at having to use the lift, but the blonde hid it in an instant with a joke and a smile. He seemed quite amused by Sherlock's pampering.
The pampering didn't go away after that day, though. As it turned out, there were a number of domestic issues that proved quite interesting. The challenge of John's debilitation was enough to keep Sherlock's mind occupied with research and study. Instances where John settled down with a book or to go to sleep for the night would find Sherlock upstairs performing all sorts of experiments. He was determined to find a way to help his friend.
They quickly settled into a routine of sorts, with Sherlock doing most of the cooking and general care for the flat. It was quite a twist of fate, to say the least. John had been home for almost two full weeks by the time Lestrade came barging in to disrupt their little affair. He'd been by to visit, of course, but one look at his face said he meant business this time around.
"Sherlock, we need you. There's been a triple homicide over near Grinitch Pub. We can't make heads or tails of it."
The detective didn't even look up from his computer.
"Sorry, busy."
John gaped at the man from his armchair.
"Busy? You've got nothing on!"
Sherlock shot him a glare.
"Busy."
Lestrade raked a hand through his hair. The man was clearly desperate.
"Please, Sherlock, we need you."
"I simply can't."
The blonde doctor rolled his eyes.
"For the love of God, Sherlock, just go."
The brunette's eyes narrowed.
"I'm not leaving you."
"Well, you need to go on this case. You can't just give up detecting because I'm got two bum legs now, instead of one." His expression became framed. "Please, Sherlock, don't make me someone who holds you back."
For a long moment, the consultant just stared at the other man. He hadn't thought John would see it that way, but he likely should have. Finally, he nodded once.
"Fine, but you have to come with me."
Bringing John with him to crime scenes was easier than Sherlock would have expected, though they did encounter a number of problems, mostly involving stairs. Still, it seemed to bolster John's outlook on things and, for that, Sherlock was grateful. It was good to know that he had not lost another career, even if things were handled a bit differently than they had been before.
Sherlock left more of the actual tracking of the criminals to the Yard. He'd come in to the crime scene, take a look around and maybe talk to a few witnesses if he needed more information. More than he ever had before, Sherlock thought about the danger of what he did. He didn't go places that John couldn't go with him and he made sure to stay out of situations that would get them into more trouble than they could handle. (That being said, his views on what they could handle were still a bit skewed.)
This continued work was probably why it took John a little over three months to have his first breakdown. As it was, the emotional overflow happened during another of his physical therapy sessions. The pain of these sessions were intense and it just went to show how strong John's character was that he hadn't broken down before.
The point of the physical therapy was to stretch him muscles and keep them active. Through the pain, John would try to move his feet or bend his knees, anything to show he might walk again. He'd managed to make some, small motions, but he couldn't stand on his own, even with something to help hold him up. Now, his leg muscles were starting to show serious signs of atrophy from lack of proper use.
John had just tried, once again, to take a step but had ended up falling. He slammed a fist into the ground, tears of frustration and pain leaking down his face. Sherlock would see the shame burning in his eyes at being so helpless, at even now needing someone else to help him up.
"Get up, John. Try again."
Sherlock's voice was gentle, uncharacteristic for the sharp-tongued man, but he'd been doing a lot of uncharacteristic things since his accident. He placed a comforting hand on John's shoulder only to have it shrugged off.
"There isn't much point of that, is there?"
The words sounded foul and bitter. They had no place coming out of John's mouth. Sherlock frowned at his doctor.
"You have to exercise the muscles, John."
The detective said John's name a lot during these sessions, he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was to remind him of who he was, even through all the pain.
"They're dying anyway, Sherlock. All I'm doing is delaying the inevitable and giving myself false hope."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're not going to walk again over night. Let's get you walking, then we can start building up those muscles again."
Despite his words, Sherlock knew how much this had to be taking out of John. He wouldn't have been able to last so long. Chances were good that Sherlock would have turned back to drugs to quiet his mind and ended up ODing. The fact that John showed up day after day to go through the same excruciating motions was rather amazing.
He managed to get John into a sitting position again, back leaned up against the wall, when the blonde grabbed his shoulder and stopped his movements. Blue eyes searched his own.
"Why are you still here, Sherlock? You could be off solving crimes and doing what you love. Why are you here?"
Sherlock took a moment to think about the answer. With John's current state, he would need to be careful.
"You're more important than that, John. I will be wherever you need me. Now, come on. Get up. Try again."
And John did.
It was another three months before John took his first step. He fell immediately afterwards, and there were more tears, but the tears were for a different reason. Sherlock laughed, joining John on the floor and the two spent nearly twenty minutes there, just reveling in what had happened. The Sherlock stood and helped John up, one arm stung over his shoulder and they started all over again.
The pain John felt when standing was intense, like thousands of tiny needles being driven into his legs and feet, but Sherlock watched as he pushed through that to make moves most people took for granted. Sherlock marveled at his strength of character, at his ability to move forward. John truly was the most extraordinary man he'd ever met.
The sheer effort John had to put forth in order to just take one step exhausted him. He couldn't manage more than a couple, maybe three, before he had to sit down and rest. Sometimes, he would be so exhausted that he'd fall asleep in his chair within minutes of sitting down. When that happened, Sherlock would prepare a cup of tea and leave it on the side table for him when he woke up.
Slowly, as time wore on, John was able to take more and more steps and they left him less exhausted than they had before. The smile he'd given Sherlock the first time he'd managed a circuit around their living room, with assistance, had been perhaps the most beautiful thing the detective had ever seen. He filed it away in his mind palace with a promise to never delete it, no matter what else he was trying to store.
As John's strength improved, they moved him from the wheelchair onto crutches, his legs kept in special braces that Sherlock had designed and built to give him extra support. It took him more time to move from place to place, but he at least he was able to do it himself. His new freedom meant that he was able to climb the stairs of 221 on his own. They'd sat by with tea and watched as the contractors came to take down the chair lift. Mrs. Hudson even baked her special scones for the occasion.
John had leaned on Sherlock's shoulder while they sat on the couch, the blonde's body warm against the brunette's. Eventually, he'd fallen asleep there, breath puffing against Sherlock's neck until the taller had moved him to lay across his lap. He absently ran his fingers through the blonde's hair, observing him sleep. It did, after all, sound much less creepy when he called it observing instead of watching.
John's features always relaxed in his sleep, erasing so many lines of stress and pain that plagued him during the day. Sometimes Sherlock was even able to imagine that things were as they had been before, that John hadn't gotten into his accident. For John's sake, he wished that were the case. Yet, selfishly, Sherlock was almost glad it had happened, a feeling which brought him endless guilt. He'd never been closer to John than he was now, and John had never needed him like he did now.
Sherlock had long ago accepted his sentiment when it came to his doctor, a sentiment he'd scorned for so long. John had wormed his way into Sherlock life and made himself at home without the detective even realizing what had happened until it was too late. He'd been afraid for so long that John would find something better and move on, but now he didn't have to. John needed Sherlock just as much as Sherlock needed him.
Two and a half years after the accident that had changed their lives, two and half years of pain and struggle, John was able to walk without his crutches. He walked with a cane, strangely reminiscent of when he'd first met Sherlock. Unlike that cane, though, this one was a custom-made, sleek, black number than molded perfectly to the grip of John's hand. Sherlock had it especially crafted for him by some big-time inventor in America, right down to the .380 pistol concealed in the handle.
He'd presented the gift to John exactly two weeks late for Christmas, a holiday he loudly proclaimed not to celebrate. He'd been nervous about it, there being a 47% chance of John being offended and hating the gift. Instead, John had smiled brilliantly and thanked him, then grinned wider upon discovering the gun in the handle. He didn't ask if it was legal, they both already knew the answer.
Now, with John's birthday rolling around, Sherlock had another present planned that could possibly end disastrously. The possibility of it going well, though, far out-weighed the risks. So many things could go wrong…Sherlock would just have to make sure they didn't.
He'd composed a new song for the occasion, keeping it slow and easy. It wouldn't do to have something that was too fast. It was a waltz, too, which would make things easier. He made sure to get John out of the flat while he worked on it, contacting Lestrade and Mike Stamford for assistance there. It was a shame it would have to be played as a recording.
The day of John's birthday, Sherlock dressed in his finest suit, a silky smooth number tailored perfectly to his frame. He wore the purple shirt John liked so much underneath and was careful to avoid any food splatter as he prepared their breakfast for the day. He'd taken to eating with John, with the exception of when a case was on.
John had raised an eyebrow at the suit, but made no comment. He'd long since grown accustomed to Sherlock's oddities. It wasn't until after breakfast, when the detective coaxed him into the living room, conspicuously cleared of furniture, and turned on his recording that John's brown creased in suspicion.
"Sherlock, what's going on?"
The brunette grinned and slipped on arm under John's shoulder to rest on his back while the other gently removed his cane from his hand and tossed it on the pushed-aside couch. He then took John's free hand and held it out from their bodies.
"I thought, for your birthday, you might enjoy a dance. Forgive me for taking the role of the man, but it seemed prudent that I lead."
Slowly, giving the blonde time to adjust and follow, Sherlock began to guide John through the basic steps of a waltz. It was slow, and a bit clumsy, but the grin on John's face made it all worth it. He kept staring down at their feet to watch where he stepped, though, and that simply wouldn't do.
"Eyes up, John. No professional would be caught dead looking at their feet."
John looked up, amusement in his eyes.
"Yes, well, I'm not exactly a professional, am I?"
Sherlock smirked.
"Clearly not."
He began to rotate them out of the basic box step and in a slow circle while still, mostly, in time with the music. His hand slid surreptitiously to John's wrist, feeling his rapid pulse beneath his fingers, almost as rapid as Sherlock's own. But it could still be from exertion, Sherlock had to be sure. His gaze found John's, grey eyes meeting blue. The blonde's pupils were dilated.
The smirk turned into a grin. He was not alone, then.
They danced for a while more, an easy silence stretching between them. By the end of it, John was leaning against Sherlock's chest, eyes closed and utterly exhausted. Their hearts pounded together and Sherlock was loathe to break their contact. He helped John to bed and got him settled. The doctor was out in moments and the detective smiled down at him before pressing a light kiss to his forehead.
"Happy birthday, John."
Things shifted between them, after their dance. It wasn't much, and would have been imperceptible to most, but it was there. Sherlock noticed it immediately. Their touches lingered just a bit longer than necessary. Their gazes catching and holding. They each knew what was going on, but neither wanted to be the first to acknowledge it.
As usual, though, it was John who proved to be the braver one. Sherlock had just finished solving a rather brilliant crime. A man had committed five separate murders to cover up the fact that he had killed his sister for her share of the inheritance. They'd returned to the flat, Sherlock still going on about the elegance of the crimes when John had dropped his cane, braced his back against the wall, and yanked Sherlock towards him by his lapels.
Their lips met forcefully, their teeth clacking rather painfully. John's lips were chapped and dry and Sherlock's were still trying to get out half-formed words. Yet, somehow, it would remain Sherlock's favorite kiss for many years to come.
His hands fell to John's waist, gripping his hips as they fell into a rhythm. He tilted his head to the side, making the angle less awkward. There was no tongue, nothing fancy, but they both were panting when they separated, and Sherlock's mind was nowhere near the case any longer.
John's eyes were half-lidded, and a grin was painted across his face. His head fell forward onto Sherlock's shoulder, that grin now pressing into the genius's shirt.
"Thank you, Sherlock."
The brunette's gaze was soft, even if John couldn't see him.
"I told you, I would be here for you, every step of the way." |
I groaned. I couldn't help it, I tried to stay silent but the pain was too great. I heard a snigger, then the agony increased. Sweat poured from my brow and I started to hyperventilate.
All I had done was suggest to my wife of thirty years that we spice up our sex life: Try something new, maybe buy some toys or go to a nudist resort. Nothing extreme -- no erotic piercings, swinger clubs or dogging sessions, nothing like that at all. To my amazement Sheena had agreed to it. She hadn't appeared shocked at the suggestion, or screamed and run out of the door. No, she had sat next to me, all nice and happy and we had looked online, choosing a few fun items.
Before we married and found our own place to live there had been no need for catalogues of marital aids. A sideways glance would pass between us and without a word we would walk up into the forestry and find a clearing where we could screw ourselves senseless amongst the bracken, bluebells and bird-song. But inevitably a couple of kids had altered our priorities and from that time onwards things had quietly settled down progressively.
Now our offspring had grown up, flown the nest and our silver wedding anniversary had literally sailed past with a Caribbean cruise (the epitome of middle class, middle income holidaying for middle management -- fuck, that summed up my life). Then the opportunity for the return of the shag-fest of our lost youth had never materialised.
We had now adjusted instead to the boring routine of daytime TV and a car that was an econobox mall-mobile. Retirement loomed on the horizon, an early death from suburbia a realistic prospect. A look at the other houses in our street told a depressing story; a sea of white boxes with white plastic doors and lamps that pretended to be from old stage coaches but were really made in China from white recycled plastic.
When we were married we found a shabby apartment in a crumbling old brick building. Real bricks with real mortar. It would take little encouragement for Sheena to leave her panties behind when we went out, knowing that I would be bursting with hormones and be ripping off the remainder of her clothing as soon as we returned -- or even sooner given half an opportunity. Years further on and we had traded up to this suburban nightmare.
Respectability was now important, anything 'slutty' was out of the question. Her panties had become robust and firmly on, her bed-times earlier and she was normally asleep when I followed her to bed.
She could still dress up in the gear -- if she wanted to. Her body had blossomed with maturity and child-birth; weighty breasts now featured large areolae. Their volume caused them to swing away from the body when she leaned over, which mostly happened nowadays when she was picking something up from the floor, instead of when assuming a doggy position.
Her waist was a little fuller, her ass a little rounder but when wearing a slinky dress her body could still turn heads. A laced-up corset always did it for me, lifting her flesh until it spilled gloriously over the front. Her cups literally runneth over. After an evening wearing my favourite bustier, at least one of her nipples would be guaranteed to have escaped. The trouble was that she rarely wanted to wear anything like that; and even if she did, when it was time for bed she'd disappear into the bathroom to undress, later reappearing wearing fully buttoned Winceyette pyjamas and settle down in front of the TV.
So I was immeasurably excited when against all expectations she had agreed to participate in the spice-up and anticipated a rebirth of the happy times. Days later the anonymous parcels had arrived and we opened them together, though I had to agree to volunteer to try out the products first. I willingly presented my arms and legs to the restraints and my ass for the tube of lube. A modest insertion of a digit, a gentle massage of prostate -- I could live with that.
Now I was on my knees bent over a stool in front of a crackling log fire, blindfolded. Tight ropes and unforgiving handcuffs had been applied so that I couldn't move, a ball-gag in my mouth meant that I was dribbling but that wasn't my main concern. What had my attention was the immense plastic penis that she had shoved into my butt.
It was the first time that she'd shown enthusiasm for sex in a very long time. I couldn't even remember the last time that she'd actually initiated love-making. For a period I'd persisted, then in the face of total disinterest it had petered out altogether. There's a limit to anyone's determination and I had exceeded mine.
This time though she had enthusiastically stripped off and buckled the strap-on onto herself so that it swung out in front of her -- long, thick and black. Grotesque, with heavy fake veins and leather straps, it had the bulge of a scrotum that was held tightly between her thighs and a concealed vibration device that pressed against her clitoris.
The straps reminded me of old jockstraps and I certainly didn't find those very erotic, but it had been her choice and at that point I couldn't argue that I didn't want to be penetrated. I had never been buggered and anal sex held no fantasy for me, however I had been the one to raise the possibility of trying new things so in a word - I was stuffed.
If this was what being fucked felt like, my wife actually had my sympathy. Even lubed up I had had to force myself to relax to allow myself to be invaded by the immense length of plastic, stretching my ass widely as if I was taking a super-sized crap.
First the mask, concentrating my mind on only what I could feel or hear. Then cold lube along the crack of my butt that made me clench, next a slippery touch, an irresistible invasion. A finger slowly entered and there was nothing that I could do about it. There followed a stretching and overwhelming occupation of my innermost private space, an internal churning, a rearrangement of my guts.
There was an unforseen moment when something inside was touched; suddenly there had been an arousal, a feeling of erotic vulnerability mixed with pleasure.
Unexpectedly in the middle of this she had unbuckled the cock, leaving it uncomfortably inside me. She draped a blanket over me and everything had become quiet. I tried expelling it like a huge turd but it was impossible. Eventually I gave up and waited.
At least I was warm under the blanket even if my ass was aching. After a long time I heard the door open and footsteps enter the room. My blanket was removed and my loving wife had sworn loudly at me, calling me a pathetic pervert, a loser, a wanker. Then she had gripped my testicles (mine, not the plastic ones) and twisted until I could take no more. Despite myself I had groaned, and in response had heard an unexpected chortle from a stranger -- and felt another wrench on my most sensitive parts.
My blindfold had then been removed and I slowly, nervously, looked around. The first things I saw were a pair of shiny black boots with heavy silver buckles up the sides.
I knew just by that sight who was there and went cold at the prospect. There was only one person that I knew of who regularly wore boots of that style. Filled with dread my eyes rose to take in faded grey jeans, skin tight over powerful muscular thighs and wide hips. Then a narrow waist with a flat stomach under a lime-green top. Ever upwards, the chest with slight swells with nipples poking through the thin material. Chocolate skinned strong shoulders beneath the thin straps of the top, that led to arms bearing well defined biceps and triceps.
Lastly, final confirmation when I took in the penetrating eyes of our neighbour Tina.
Of all the people in the world who I could have chosen to see my humiliation, she would have been the last. Tall and fit, with striking good looks she had the countenance of an African goddess. She lived directly across the street from us and I had known her for several years. She worked in the police where she rode motorcycles and many times I had seen her straddling a heavy fully faired bike with those thighs clad in black glossy leather.
I could have died with the shame.
~**~
I had married Sheena when we found that she was pregnant. Not that that was a great disaster, both of those things - marriage and kids - would have come eventually in any event. At the time she was slim and small-breasted and loved to be eaten out even more than she loved to eat out; frequently we made arrangements to go to a restaurant but once made up and dressed up, she would catch hold of my head and force it to her pussy for me to apply my tongue. Within moments any thoughts of leaving the bedroom would be forgotten; hours of languid love-making would follow.
It was something to do with the process of bathing, shaving, primping and preening that got her going. Probably all that scented shaving foam being rubbed over her body and a razor carefully scraped across her most sensitive area with her legs opened wide.
For blokes it's normally the classic 'shit, shave, shower & shampoo' routine but ladies seem to enjoy sitting in front of a mirror for hours plucking pubes. Nowadays she still kept herself clean-shaven but she needn't have bothered. It had been a long time since she had allowed my face close to her musky moistness.
Sheena had become friends with Tina at the local gym. I found those places incredibly boring, all that endless pounding at a machine was tedium beyond endurance. How people can tramp on a conveyor belt as if caught in a zombie apocalypse defeats me. But Sheena had always enjoyed maintaining her fitness. She kept herself trim; no body-builder perhaps, but she had a definite firmness to her muscles. I may have had the impression that of late the social side - the coffee bar and gossiping in the sauna had as much attraction as the treadmill, but I didn't really mind. The children had grown up and left home and if she found company there it was fine by me.
Tina on the other hand definitely took keen interest in the weights and had a muscular buffed body that she often showed off with ripped sleeveless T shirts. She lived in an apartment by herself; as far as I could tell she had no romantic involvement, when she wasn't riding or cleaning her police bike she spent her time polishing and pottering with a chromed cruiser of her own.
Effortlessly stunning with her tight curls of black hair, she originated from Somalia on the east of Africa, so didn't have the wide nose of the west coast. For me, she was firmly in the category of 'cute'.
"What do you think of this stupid bloody idiot then?" Sheena was talking to Tina, not me. "Is that sad or what? Sticking that up his ass, getting kicks from being made a fool." She knelt down and wrenched the dildo sideways inside me so that I could feel it moving my entire intestines around.
Then she kicked it so that it was rammed in fully balls-deep and they left the house, leaving me suddenly alone once more.
When Sheena finally returned alone and released me, I was allowed to pull the thing out of my ass but she was straight to bed wearing her winter-weight pyjamas -- a hint that I had no possible chance of romance. I was upset and disillusioned and more interested anyway in getting my gaping ass back to a state of closure. The occasion had besen well and truly ruined.
~**~
Several frosty weeks later Sheena announced that she was going on holiday with Tina. Oh, and by the way did I want to go as well?
This threw me a little; in fact it was the most bizarre thing I'd heard in a while. What did she mean by that? It obviously meant that she was happy to go by herself on a girlie trip and I had little choice about it -- in fact I could please myself. In other words don't bother.
Anyway after some consideration I decided that I did want to go on holiday. Lonely days and nights by myself didn't sound any better than a week in the sun, even if I would probably end up making my own amusements. So my motivation may have been somewhat bloody-minded, but I said that I was definitely joining them. It even amused me somewhat to drag along, like a churlish teenager joining a friend on a date and refusing to get lost.
It turned out that Tina had a 'time-share' on one of those little Spanish islands off the coast of Africa, so off we all went.
We arrived into sweltering heat. After the coolness of the plane and the airport it was like standing in front of an open oven door with a roast turkey cooking. The air conditioning was switched on to the max in the rental car as quickly as possible as Tina drove; it was her place and she knew the way. She was confident and quick as we passed olive groves and goat farms, through the switch-backs of a mountain range and down to a beach resort.
Sheena and Tina clearly had a friendship beyond me. I was feeling on the outside despite Tina's sociability and constant attempts to include me in the conversation. I sat in the rear of the car, struggling to hear what was being said against the whine of the tiny engine as it struggled with the hills.
When we reached the time-share I was quite impressed. It was not an apartment or a chalet on a complex as I had anticipated but was actually a small house with its own pool. High on a hill overlooking the sea, we could see the sun setting against a fiery sky and while we took in the view Tina took her case into her room.
She emerged wearing a thin sarong robe wrapped loosely and tied above her boobs. For the first time ever as far as I can remember, I saw her feet. Without the boots she had strong calf muscles and long toes with nails painted dark blue. The pinky toe on the right foot was fitted with a gold ring; I can't recall ever seeing toes so long that a ring could be placed there.
The sweat of the journey glistened on her dark skin as she led us on a short tour. There was a bathroom and another bedroom which did not have a sea view, but had a double bed and a wardrobe, into which Sheena and I unloaded our cases.
The living area was open plan with a kitchen area and a fridge which was ready stocked with bottles of booze. She had a decent management agency for sure. I was still dressed for the chilly weather back home, so a cold beer was just what the doctor ordered. We all took one and Tina slumped on the sofa, drinking the chilled lager. Her flimsy robe fell aside and her long legs stretched out. From where I was standing, it was I could see that underneath she was naked. Her shaved mound peeped out and her cleavage was visible through a gape in the fabric, showing the undersides of her small firm breasts.
I tried not to stare at this exhibition too obviously and went to our room to change into cooler clothing. This took longer than normal; the image was burned firmly into my mind and I had an erection that needed time to subside. When I finished changing I found the shower room door was open and I could see them both in there.
Now I might be somewhat naïve but until then I had only had a suspicion that Sheena had tastes beyond 'straight'. Suddenly everything became confirmed. The biker cop / gym rat with the short hair was never the type to work in a beauty parlour. My wife was now spending more time in her company than mine, had placed me in a embarrassing position in private, then invited this woman to sneer at my ridiculousness. How could I be so blind?
Sheena was naked and Tina was just removing her sarong to show her sleek black body with perfectly muscled bottom that transfixed me as they embraced and kissed each other tenderly on the lips.
I stood silently for a moment, taking in the scene. Above those amazing legs Tina had a stomach as flat as a board with a hint of a six-pack but her pussy was mostly hidden by Sheena's hand cupped between her thighs. So all this time I had been wasting my time trying to spice up our love life; Sheena was already being spiced elsewhere. All through our relationship she had been scornful of lesbians, now it appeared that it had all been a cover. Protestations to conceal the reality - what a stereotype.
Sheena turned to me, erect nipples on display. "Are you happy now? Do you get it? We're in a relationship. I'm sorry. Now leave us alone for a bit."
I stayed for a few seconds but she made herself clear, "Fuck off," she spat at me.
I did as I was told, slunk off and went to the poolside.
The sun had set quickly and it was now quite dark but for the bathroom light behind me. A warm breeze drifted across the patio, giving a hint of a ripple to the pool surface, so I sat and dangled my feet in the cool water. Deep in the shadows, I was still sweaty from the journey and the shower was in use so slipped off my shorts and shirt. I climbed down the steps into the water and wallowed for a time looking up at the stars in the sky and picking out the constellations. above.
~**~
I went back into the house where the girls were on the sofa chatting. To my relief they were wrapped in towels; I was half-expecting them to be 'in flagrante'. They were discussing what we could do for a meal. Fairly obviously a restaurant sounded a reasonable idea.
The girls dressed, smartening themselves up to go out. Tina put on a 'boob tube' top and a low slung miniskirt showing off her rippling stomach. Her inevitable boots were thigh-high but without buckles. Sheena wore a print blouse and shorts.
Eventually we were good to drive into town. There was a small superb seafood restaurant on the promenade overlooking the harbour where we ate fresh grilled fish caught on the previous tide, with a local speciality of salted baked potatoes. The distant lights of fishing boats reflected in the sea as a lighthouse flashed brightly further along the shore. It really was a romantic setting.
When we were done and had finished off a bottle of red wine and a complementary brandy that came with the bill, we took a stroll. There some steps down to the beach and we kicked off our shoes to walk on the pleasantly cool sand in the dark. Tina struggled with hers and I had to pull her tight boots from her feet for her.
Three sets of footprints trailed behind us, one set larger and heavier, and another with long toes and a groove on the right small toe.
Sheena had now changed her attitude and was now apologetic about the way that she had 'come out'. The wine was getting to her, making her emotional and she insisted on taking me by the arm as we walked. Tina had been very quiet during the meal and I had the feeling that the two women had had words in my absence.
We sauntered arm in arm, Sheena in the middle. When at last we reached the lighthouse we stopped with the beam rotating above us. In the quiet shadows we rested on some rocks and looked back at the twinkling town lights. It was now late and there was no-one else to be seen. I pulled off my T-shirt and let the cool breeze flow over me.
Tina pulled her tube top down to her waist, letting her dark breasts free with an appreciative sigh. I saw that she had inserted gold rings into piercings in both nipples -- which I had not previously noticed. Jewels set into the rings glinted with the regular bright flashes of the lighthouse.
After a few moments Sheena undid the buttons on her top and allowed it to fall open, her soft pale breasts almost concealed in the shadows of her clothing. There was a rock pool for me to dangle my feet in and not much was said as we just felt the cool air in the shadows of the night.
After a while it was time to make a move. Tina had the easy walk of an athlete, wearing her top scrunched around her hips like a belt and her hair blowing in the warm breeze. She was indifferent to her bare chest, her firm boobs giving a tiny hint of bounce as she walked, the bejewelled piercings sparkling to betray their presence.
Sheena knotted her blouse at the waist, and we made our way back to the promenade, by which time I was dry enough to replace my shoes. It was still some distance from the restaurant and due to the lateness of the hour most of the other cars had now left. Tina looked about but as there were no people to be seen she carried on walking to the car topless. She drove us back to the villa, the black seat belt between her breasts, emphasising them.
When we were back Tina stripped off completely, throwing her skirt, panties and the top across the lounge. She seemed unconcerned with total nudity and made coffee for us all, standing in the garden to drink it as the star light defined the rippling muscles of her back and butt. We were all tired and so went to bed. I can't say that I was surprised that Sheena slept with Tina, leaving me solitary in the room without a view. It was the first time that I had slept alone for many years.
~**~
I woke to murmuring noises. It was now daylight so I pulled on some shorts and walked into the lounge. From where I could see that the other bedroom door was open and the girls were on the bed, partially covered by a sheet. Tina was sucking gently on one of Sheena's nipples stretching it out to its fullest length.
I left them to it.
When I returned, they were both sitting on the bed. Tina had put on some shorts, and was brushing her corkscrews of hair which was nice because it made her breasts quiver. It was difficult for me because I was trying not to stare openly at those bullet nipples. "I hate it" she announced. "It's a complete mess and I need to sort it out."
"Do you fancy going into town and finding a stylist?" asked Sheena.
"I fancy having a complete change. Like having it all cut off. And I mean it."
"What? You don't mean all of it" said Sheena, surprised.
"Yes, I've decided, I've been thinking about it for a while. Do me a favour, cut it off for me."
The two discussed it over breakfast but Tina was steadfast. "Get some scissors and get rid of it for me."
Eventually we found some kitchen scissors and Sheena had a go at trimming Tina's locks but it was not enough. "Get rid of it!" insisted Tina, so the cuts continued and eventually the curls were lying across her bare shoulders and on the floor in a pile whilst her head looked like a battlefield. The uneven hacks with the scissors had left little tufts all over her scalp.
She looked in a mirror and considered the scene. "Shave it smooth." she ordered. So I fetched my razor and she removed the shorts to sit on the floor of the shower in the bathroom whilst I covered her head in foam and shaved the rest of the hair from her head, using the spray head to rinse away the waste.
When I was finished she stood and checked the result. The appearance actually suited her very well, her statuesque good looks with her square jawline and small nose looked very sexy. Sheena stroked and kissed the round skull sensuously, then I was told to disappear again.
I spent a few hours lying on a lounger near the pool, pondering the state of my life with Sheena. The breeze was wafting gently and I lay nude in the sun to take full advantage of the secluded location and the heat of the day.
I stood up and wandered into the house. I was feeling hot and sweaty again from the sun and when I checked out the freezer compartment of the refrigerator I found that it had been stocked with ice-creams. I selected one, which I started to eat. The rest of the house was quiet but when I looked inside the bedroom I saw my wife lying on her back apparently asleep on the bed. Her pale breasts were sagging to the sides, nipples flat.
Tina was engrossed with eating her out, kneeling with her well-muscled rump in the air. Sheena had her white legs crossed around Tina's shaved head which gave the incongruous appearance of having a bowling ball in her lap.
Tina's fanny was unashamedly wide open and exposed to my view. Her knees and thighs were spread apart, allowing her crinkled labia to separate and making her clitoris protrude clearly from her hood. Her inner flesh was visible, brightly plum coloured against the dark background. The soles of her feet were towards me, toes scrunched up with the gold ring shining.
I hadn't made much noise compared to their slurping sounds and heavy breathing and it occurred to me that neither were aware of my presence. On a wild impulse, I took my ice-cream and shoved it hard into Tina's unprotected pussy.
There was a pause followed by a shriek and Tina jumped up, swearing. Sheena's legs were locked around Tina's head causing her to be thrown into the air, landing upside down in a naked tangle with a scream. When they had sorted themselves out, they both then started yelling at me. Suddenly I wasn't the favourite person in the house.
Tina checked out between her legs and found herself covered in melting raspberry and vanilla desert, a large lump of which slithered down her thigh and fell to the floor leaving a white smear on her labia.
Without further warning she swung her right hand and slapped me hard on the side of my head, sending me flying across the room. I landed with a crash against the wardrobe, my ear ringing.
"You fucking twat!" she shouted. Her eyes glared at me, her pierced nipples stiff with rage. I stepped swiftly backwards out of the room but she was after me, the gold rings bouncing violently. I fled across the lounge area but she was upon me almost immediately and grabbed hold of one arm.
With a twist and a terrific wrench on my shoulder I found myself somersaulting, landing on my back on the hard tiled floor. She still held my arm which was again tugged hard, turning me over onto my face and then her knee was in my back. I found myself completely immobile with my arm twisted up and locked against her leg.
Tina paused for a moment to get her breath. I realised that she was sitting on me with her bare sticky buttocks against my body. She then shifted and started to raise herself to her feet, pressing a couple of fingers against my chin, lifting it up as she did so. This movement levered all my joints against each other in agony and I had to climb to my feet to relieve the pain.
She was clearly using some cop technique for restraining prisoners on me and I was soon teetering on tiptoes. Then she pushed me over so that I lay on the sofa and she bent over me, her metalwork dangling in my face. My helpless situation suddenly seemed hilarious to me and I started laughing like an idiot, which didn't help as she reacted by starting to swing punches at me with her free hand
I was completely overpowered. Her fitness and strength meant that I was no match. Eventually she stopped bashing me on the head and grabbed my wrists, holding me firm with warm soft flesh pressing against my nose. One nipple ring was resting against my nostril, tickling it and making me want to sneeze.
I saw Sheena standing behind her, laughing. Tina turned to her. "Fuck, I've got fanny-freeze. I could have had a heart attack." She was still angry "This dick-head needs a fucking good lesson." She reached down and grabbed my balls, twisting them and sending arrows of pain through me. I wondered where she had that idea from. "Don't get the wrong idea here," she snarled to me, as we both realised that I had grown a good stiffy.
She smacked it viciously with the palm of her hand. Sheena stepped forwards and interrupted her -- but I noticed that she didn't actually protect me. "I agree, a good lesson is what he needs. First, make him clean you up."
Tina moved me so that her pussy was presented to my face. "Lick it, fuckwit, every drop." I complied and carefully removed all the ice-cream from around her pussy together with the red and white dribbles running down her thighs. Then I licked between her labia, as deep as I could reach. When it was all clean again I paused.
"Who the fuck told you to stop" demanded Tina. She still held me prisoner and I was forced to tongue her again, now concentrating on her clitoris, which was bursting from the hood as she spread her thighs even more widely. Soon the bud was stiffly erect, shining and with a raspberry hue to match the ice-cream.
Then Tina shifted and I could feel her picking something up. I felt my wrists being tied together as I continued with my tongue, then she turned and bound some thicker material over my eyes. It was the boob-tube top and smelled of perspiration.
"Keep going, you bastard." Tina snarled and I realised that I had stopped licking. My tongue was starting to tire but I continued as fast as I could.
After some time she moved me so that I was on my back with her pussy out of my reach. I was left with only her anus available and I stopped for breath. I felt a whack on my penis as she told me to lick harder but my breathing was restricted and I was tiring. Another, much harder strike came and I licked for all I was worth, around in circles and probing the tight sphincter.
The fingers gripping my testicles were tighter than ever giving me motivation to keep going. As I did so, I was able to probe deeper into the opening.
Tina and Sheena then rose and I felt myself being lifted roughly into a standing position with my hands released. However something tight was tied around my testicles and a none-too gentle tug meant that I had to walk blindly across the room, led by the balls.
At least my arms, which had been forcibly positioned above my head were now allowed down in front of me. When I tried to feel whatever had been tied onto me, my balls received a sharp pain and I was told firmly to leave them alone.
I found myself bent over the back of the sofa. My feet were moved well apart leaving me exposed, then there was a sudden strike on my backside. I was totally unprepared and reared upwards. Shit it hurt! The accompanying sound of the impact was followed by me swearing.
"Be quiet, arsehole. You handed it out, now you take it." It was Tina's voice and I was bent over again. This time I was ready and the stinging pain had less effect. I heard the sound of a door opening and rustling noises. Whispers from the other two were followed by fingers being placed on my buttocks which were separated, exposing my most sensitive spot.
A finger was placed against my anus and then slowly inserted, making me squirm. "Stand still!" Tina barked. I then felt something incredibly cold being inserted up inside my butt and I was allowed upright. A chill went right through me, contrasting with the burning pain on my buttocks.
My feet were permitted to return together and the blindfold removed. Blinking in the sudden light, I saw that the item still tied to my testicles was the pair of panties that Tina had worn the night previously. The feeling in my rear was now agony and I strained involuntarily, expelling the object which fell on the floor. I saw that it was an ice cube from the freezer.
Tina and Sheena fell about laughing while I minced around the room with crossed legs .
"Now you know what it feels like, serves you right." Tina towed me with the panties back to the rear of the sofa. She exchanged glances with Sheena, who nodded at her.
Tina leaned herself over the furniture and stood with her legs wide apart, showing me her round backside and labia. "Right you bastard, fuck me now." My stiffy had diminished considerably with the ice cube insertion and showed no sign of enabling me to comply with her demands. "Come on, I'm waiting" she demanded.
She grabbed my cock and rubbed it hard, then when it had only half-way risen, reached underneath herself and pushed it into her vagina. With some effort and easing her vulva lips apart to allow better access, she managed to pull me in close against her buttocks and impaled herself properly. She pushed against me to make sure it was fully in, then started to grind.
Within a few moments the heat of her moist pussy had worked its magic and I felt myself come to full erection. I started to move against her, but she was having none of it. "You can stop that, it's my fuck not yours." She held the panties and pulled me into her, then relaxed the tug so that we partially separated. She repeated the pull, making me move against her and made sure that I kept to her rhythm. "Don't you dare cum, you shit-head. It'll be the last thing you do."
She stilled and then I felt her body tense, squeezing my cock with an awesome grip. Then she pulled me in, against the tightness of her internal contractions. With tears in my eyes from the pain I resisted the temptation to yank myself from her.
Tina kept controlling my movements with the panties until her breath grew short and eventually she orgasmed. She stood still, catching her breath but then continued. "Make me come again or you'll get thrashed properly." She put both hands underneath herself so that one hand pulled me back and fore, the other rubbed her clitoris. This time she orgasmed quickly, continuing to stimulate herself until she slowed and relaxed so that I was permitted to withdraw.
Very slowly she straightened and turned to face me, exhaling deeply. She untied the panties to release me.
She raised her right knee slowly and inspected her pussy. "Right, behave yourself in future. Don't you dare do anything like that ever again. And don't you dare let me catch you having a wank."
~**~
The next day the sun awoke us late, streaming through the curtains. I took a shower, then had a solitary swim in the pool before breakfast. I lay on the sun-lounger to dry in the breeze while Sheena made a pot of coffee and fetched me a mug. "You'd better watch Tina, I reckon. She's still got her eyes on you."
"I thought she'd got over the ice-cream."
"She was really pissed, I don't think she's forgiven you yet."
Tina appeared at the door with a towel wrapped around her hips, her shoulders and breasts wet from the shower. "I fancy going to the beach today, plus we need to get some stuff from the shops."
She slipped on a long yellow dress, tightly clinging around the hips and ass but gaping at the front where it was cut deeply at the cleavage. It was showing an impressive side-boob -- almost to the nipples. Unusually she had flip-flops instead of the ubiquitous boots. Sheena and I put on shorts and T-shirts again.
We piled into the rental car and set off, calling into a supermarket in the nearby town. Tina's shaved head attracted curious glances from other shoppers and the staff and when we had paid for the goods we headed off again. Eventually we drove along a stony track, parking in a rough car park near an impressively long sandy beach.
We found a spot near some rocks and settled down to change into our swimsuits. Tina however didn't bother with a towel to conceal herself and stripped off the yellow dress. Suddenly she was naked, standing openly where people could see her.
I looked around, startled. "You'll get arrested. Everyone can see you."
She was unperturbed. "Haven't you noticed? Most of the people here aren't wearing anything. I don't even own a costume."
I looked around, up and down the beach. Sure enough about half of the people were nude including men and women.
I sat on my towel for a short while and when Sheena removed her clothes as well, I followed suit -- sitting down and shuffling from side to side so that I wouldn't be noticed. I made sure that my knees were kept close together so that people couldn't see my bits. We placed our clothes in a small pile but Tina was still holding the car key and looking around for somewhere secure to leave it. Then with a triumphant grin she clipped the key to her left nipple ring and it dangled down, swinging against the dark flesh.
The feeling of being undressed in the company of other members of the public was disconcerting. Was everyone looking? Were my genitals too big, too small? I've heard people say that the only people you see on a nude beach are the sort that you don't want to see on a nude beach, but I have to say that this was a mixed bunch. Some thin, some fat. Some were old and with wrinkled sagging skin, but others were young with firm bodies that would grace any porn site.
Nearby, a nude woman with a perfect all-over deep mahogany tan was playing ball in the waves with a man who was actually wearing beach shorts. She was slim, about 25 years old and had long black hair, a full bush of dark pubes and pert breasts that barely bounced as she moved. They threw their ball back and fore, occasionally having to swim across the low waves to retrieve it when it was dropped. I wondered if she was enhanced with silicone implants, her breasts having such firmness and shape. I settled down to watch.
After a while the man walked away towards the car park, returning some minutes later in company with an old lady wearing heavy shoes and thick black clothing. She appeared to be his mother and he carried a white plastic chair with his free hand whilst assisting her across the sand. He set down the chair and the lady sat, in solitary splendour overseeing the beach. He opened a bag and took out a blanket and picnic gear.
As he was setting out plates and plastic containers the nude lady approached him and had a conversation with them both, obviously all three quite comfortable with her lack of costume. Some minutes later another couple joined them and it was clear that there was a family lunch party. "That's a bit weird" I commented. "A right mixture of clothed and unclothed."
"That's the way here" said Tina. "It's Sunday and they'll all have lunch together, it's traditional. They've probably been coming to the beach for generations."
Presently the family sat to eat their lunch, the tanned lady remaining naked; the others all wearing clothes or swimwear. Afterwards the lady slipped a short dress on and they packed up and left, so we had that little extra piece of beach to use ourselves.
We snacked on the goodies that we had bought at the supermarket and shortly Tina went off for a swim, zipping through the water leaving a foaming wake. I had no chance of keeping up with her and Sheena certainly didn't, so we left our gear and feeling bold went for a stroll along the water's edge. The feel of the fresh sea breeze across my bare body was most refreshing and the sensation of walking in public in the nude is something that I'll never forget.
Sheena was much more friendly with me now and it seemed that her coming out had relieved a great deal of tension between us. She even took my hand as we strolled, as if we were young lovers once more. I pondered to myself whether I had missed signs that would have warned me. I couldn't think of any; she had been to college which I suppose may have been an opportunity to experiment. Other than that, not much. I wondered at the amount of stress that she must have been under, just to reveal her true self.
The beach was quite long with a high cliff behind. We carried on much further than we had intended; in the end we walked for about a mile. Our clothes were left far behind so we were completely vulnerable. However we were also invisible; it occurred to me that people wearing costumes were actually attracting attention with their bright colours to the areas that they were trying to conceal.
Other people were strolling naked like ourselves, some sitting sunbathing. At one point we passed a group fishing, relaxing unclothed against some rocks as their rods were propped alongside. We continued past a beach bar and restaurant and then an inlet with a hidden hotel in a small valley. This was now a busy area, with sun-loungers and many family groups.
I realised that we were now in an area where nearly everyone else was wearing costumes but Sheena surprised me by continuing straight past without concern for her nudity, however when we then reached the rocky headland the beach ended.
We entered the sea for a brief dip. The cold seawater was a shock on my hot skin but instead of wimping in the shallows like I normally might, I felt obliged to stride out confidently until my testicles were covered and then dive boldly into the waves. Once we were fully under the water it was really refreshing and seemed natural to not have clothes.
We continued back dripping wet, letting the sun and breeze dry us naturally. As we passed the restaurant I heard the sound of motors, then saw two quad bikes trundling along the beach towards us. It was a Police patrol.
I was unsure of our position, walking along without a stitch of clothing between us. I felt suddenly very naked and exposed, however we were stranded in the middle of the beach with nowhere to hide. I managed to avoid holding my hands in front of my crotch, thinking that if I was busted I'd better brazen it out. But the officers looked at us directly before continuing without comment. Their uniforms were crisp and smart, despite the heat of the day. I've often wondered how cops manage that.
I saw them inspect everyone they passed and eventually they disappeared from sight behind us. "Nice work if you can get it", Sheena commented.
"Yup, they heroically volunteered for a particularly dirty job" I replied. We meandered on along the waters' edge, with the ripples washing the sand over our feet making me feel very much as one with nature.
Then I noticed a couple walking towards us. The man was balding and wearing bathing shorts, the woman was topless with large pendulous breasts swinging from side to side. Heavy nipples pointed firmly downwards and wide hips betrayed a sizeable ass with cellulite thighs. Her surprisingly slim waist in comparison permitted her black bikini bottom to fit high and snug over her hips.
I made eye contact with the man, who I immediately recognised as Steve, a manager from where I worked. The lady was his wife Beryl, whom Sheena and I have met on several Christmas parties.
We were completely busted. They both recognised us and way too late, Sheena tried to cover herself with her hands. Instinctively I went to copy her but stopped myself and forced my arms down at my sides.
"Good afternoon, fancy meeting you both here", said Beryl. "Are you here for long, where are you staying?" Her eyes were fixed firmly on my penis, her arms were quickly crossed over her breasts.
I replied as Sheena was too panic stricken to say anything. "We have a house on the other side of the island for a week."
Steve spoke, "Well done, good for you - going native. I would as well but Beryl won't let me, topless is far enough for both of us."
Beryl turned and glared briefly at her husband but slowly moved one of her arms so that just one arm was hiding and supporting her ample chest. "We have an all-inclusive hotel here in the resort, it's fantastic. We're on our way back now for lunch." I saw the tell-tale brightly coloured wristband that they both wore to indicate their entitlements.
I looked at Sheena, who was flushed bright pink with embarrassment and had one of her nipples poking through the crook of her elbow with a hand in front of her pussy. "We've just had lunch, a little picnic on the beach. How are you enjoying the island?"
Beryl looked frosty, "We weren't told it's nudist when we booked, if we'd known we'd have gone somewhere else. It's very unnerving seeing everyone's privates hanging out and what's more, most people should have stayed covered up."
She blushed and waved her hand, allowing a large nipple to escape. "Present company excepted, of course."
I agreed with a conspiratorial wink, "Yes, and those who come to a naturist resort wanting to see beautiful bodies are the sort of people who should be banned from naturist resorts."
Steve laughed, "That's you answered".
With that we parted company. Beryl turned, revealing that her bikini bottom was a thong-back that showed a considerable acreage of lily-white untanned buttock. We continued along the beach, splashing through the shallows.
~**~
We could see Tina in the distance now, distinctive with her bald head and with the key hanging on one nipple. She was looking rather disconcerted.
"Where did you hide the stuff?" she queried when we approached.
"What do you mean?" I couldn't understand what she was on about.
"My dress, your clothes, the towels. The stuff. It's not there any more."
She was right, there it was - gone. Only a bag of trash remained to confirm the location of our lunch spot. "What about all the money."
"That's in the car."
"Lucky I have the car key." She unclipped the key triumphantly from her nipple ring. "Wow, we'd have been in shit creek without that."
We grabbed the trash and made our way to the car. There was a bin at the side of the car park where we dumped the rubbish, but we had no other clothes with us and it was broad daylight. We had few options so we climbed into the little vehicle, roasting hot from the mid-day sun with the seats sticking to our skin. We opened the doors and windows to let the heat out and then Tina drove, hoping that we would not be stopped.
When we were on our way back towards the villa, Tina swore. "Fuck, we've got a problem, we need to get petrol." She pointed at the gauge, it was showing empty and a warning light was blinking on the dash. We were approaching the only fuel station in the area, with several miles still to go. "Right, we've got money -- but who fancies getting out to fill up?"
I considered the situation. "Does anyone know who works at the petrol station?"
Tina knew the place better than us. "It's a quiet place, some Spanish guy runs it. He's usually by himself, always tries to peer down my top."
"He won't have to do that today, it's 'free viewing'. Do you fancy giving him a thrill?" I pondered.
"Not in this lifetime, the dirty little pervert."
"I could do it" Sheena spoke up, smirking. "It'll be fun, see if I can give him a coronary."
Soon we were approaching the garage. Tina released the filler cover flap in readiness and we got the money together. Luckily there were no other cars on the forecourt.
As soon as we pulled to a stop Sheena jumped out, her fair breasts swinging. She grabbed the pump trigger and jammed it into the tank. However, nothing happened. She looked around at the pump but it was not yet switched on by the proprietor, who was sitting on a chair next to the kiosk watching. He was short and thin, balding and holding a tiny coffee cup and saucer.
He stood up and shouted "You drunk, you not steal my gasolina!"
Sheena called back, "We're not drunk, and we have money." She opened the car door and grabbed the cash. Then she strolled deliberately to the kiosk, swivelling her hips. She stood in front of the owner talking to him with her hands on her hips and then returned to the car, where she was now able to pump the fuel. Then she strutted back and collected her change. She turned to us grinning and walked back with her arms outspread, spinning around and showing herself to the world. She got back in and Tina drove off again.
Sheena slumped down in the seat laughing. "Did you see his face? He couldn't speak!" Tears streamed down her cheeks.
~**~
The next day we pottered around the house and pool during the morning. The loss of property, although of minor financial value, had affected the mood of us all.
Tina picked up a pair of tweezers. As we talked she plucked idly at some pubic hairs that were sprouting. "It's relentless, no matter how hard you try they come straight back again" she complained. She raised her feet on the edge of the seat and examined herself with her thighs wide apart, using her fingers to stretch the skin of her labia as she sought more hairs to extract.
"I've been thinking" she said briefly. "How to make things secure on the beach when you have nowhere to put anything."
"I have no idea", I replied.
Tina said, "I reckon I've worked it out."
"So what's your conclusion?" I pondered this enigma.
"Well, you either have to hide your keys or cash on the beach, under a rock or something like that, or you could have something like a hollow butt plug with a lid that you put your stuff inside and wear internally."
"Patent it, you'll make your fortune." I thought about the marketing possibilities. "They could have signs outside the tatty souvenir shops -- 'Storage Plugs Sold Here.' It would be a change from sundials shaped like cocks."
"It's not too different from a normal dildo or a plug, I wear one at work sometimes."
"What? You wear a dildo in work?" I repeated somewhat inanely but incredulously.
"Well not a dildo, a butt plug. And not always, just sometimes when I'm riding the bike on ceremonial duties" she explained. "It's a fantastic feeling, sitting on it, wearing best uniform, everything polished and gleaming when we're escorting VIPs or something like that. It's surprisingly often, even out in the sticks with us some minor royal comes round to open an old folk's home and a local supermarket.
"We're supposed to have a smile on our faces but they never know how we achieve it. It's a hell of a buzz, and once you're out there you're stuck. There's no chance of taking it out, it could be hours before you get the chance. The movement of the bike really drives it in, you bounce up and down on it, you have to make sure it's well lubricated.
"Anyway, it would have to be comfortable to wear for long periods and while you're swimming or walking; the handle bit couldn't be round like normal. It's too visible and sticks out too far. It needs to be a small curved strip that's concealed between your cheeks of your arse, like a section of a thong. Or for women you could have something like one of those 'strapless strap-ons' that stay close fitting but hold themselves in internally. Clipping into both passages, you know the sort of thing."
Actually I didn't particularly know that sort of thing.
"There are similar things about, you see some surfers have them on cords around their necks. You'd only need a little bit of work to adapt the design; smaller maybe or you could have a range of sizes according to what you can put up with.
"I've got another idea to make myself a millionaire. Police whistles." She jumped up and strode back into the house, returning shortly with a silver tubular whistle with a chrome chain attached. "They don't issue these nowadays since someone invented radios, you have to search around in antique shops. Anyway I found this one on top of a cupboard in an old station that was being closed down. I always take it with me, keeps me in shape but takes no space."
I was puzzled. "How are you going to turn a whistle into a profit?"
She chuckled. "It all depends on how you market it. It's an ideal ladies' exercising machine."
She picked up a mug and hooked the handle onto the whistle chain. "This exercises the bits other gyms ignore."
With that she stood with her legs apart and bending over, inserted the whistle into her vagina. Standing up straight, the mug dangled freely between her knees. Then her knees flexed and she slowly squatted and straightened again. "It does wonders for a woman's grip. I could hardly keep it inside at all when I started, now I can lift a pint of water easily."
Now I understood the secret of her vice-like clench during sex.
She withdrew it and scooped the mug into the pool, filling it. Then she re-inserted the whistle and repeated the squats with the mug hanging from her. "It works better with a water bottle, this mug tilts on the chain and ends up half-empty."
Sheena was impressed. "Can I have a go?"
Tina passed the whistle across and Sheena with some difficulty managed to wiggle and push it into her own vagina. However as soon as she let down the weight of the mug, the contraption slid out of her body.
"You have to really tense up, like when you're sneezing," said Tina. "Try with your finger first, see how you move the muscles so that you get pressure."
Eventually Sheena managed to achieve a lift of the empty mug, with much concentration and screwing up of her face.
"You know, I think you have a business plan here; have you thought of going to see the bank manager?"
We discussed plans for world domination in the world of insertable exercise and storage devices for a while until Tina stood, and with a rasping fart announced that she needed to visit the bathroom.
~**~
I peered along the beach. We had returned to where our clothes had been stolen a few days earlier; it was a strange feeling to be where some thieving bastard had been nicking our stuff. However the sun was beating down, my skin was bare and the breeze was refreshing. I angled myself just right; the wind passed between my thighs and circulated around my nether regions...
In the distance I heard the sound of the two police quad bikes, winding between sunbathers and rocks. Behind me, Tina and Sheena were stretched out on towels. Sheena was doing a crossword puzzle in a magazine, Tina had her eyes closed and legs open, concentrating on having the sun's rays on every possible inch of her almost black body.
Soon the quads approached, their engines burbling. Soon they would reach the end of the beach and then return to the hotel and the road. I idly watched as they zig-zagged along, picking out a route. The two officers were wearing their uniform helmets but their chests were visible, covered with curls of dark hair.
They passed us, their tanned thighs and buttocks flexing as the machines bounced over a gap between some larger boulders.
It took a while, but I got there in the end. These Spanish police officers were butt-naked, on duty, on patrol.
I sat down quickly next to Tina. "Quick, take a look at the cops. Their uniform's in the laundry."
She sat up and shielded her eyes from the sun. "Oh yes. I didn't realise, it must be the islands Nude Day. It's an initiative to publicise the naturist-friendly tourist industry. Like how the cops back home wave rainbow flags and march in the Gay and Lesbian Parades, just to pretend that they're not complete homophobes.
"So here they have a day when people on the island, especially the ones that work with tourists are expected to join in to promote it. There's a big street party tonight in town, they take tourism very seriously. The whole island economy would collapse without it. It seems that they've persuaded the cops to patrol naked. I expect there's a photographer somewhere, taking publicity shots.
"Every week something is going on. Next week it's the festival of the local saint when they parade a statue through the streets and the shop assistants all wear national costume. In the evening they have drinking competitions until they pass out. Parts of it are great, they have an amateur open mike thing where people sing or do party tricks, whatever. The kids have a chance to show off, it's really good.
"I'll tell you what will be fun, later we'll go along to one of the beach bars and have a beer. It's one of life's great experiences, drinking beer in the shade of a palm tree with nothing on." As she spoke the cops disappeared in the distance.
Just then I saw a woman walk along the water's edge. She wasn't carrying any cameras, nor was she naked. She was wearing an ankle-length yellow dress that contrasted with her tanned complexion and dark hair. Her hair was long and straggly but the dress was spectacular in the way it fitted her hips and had a deep slash in the front to reveal the sides of her breasts.
As she made her way past a thought occurred to me. I nudged Tina. "Look over there, she's got a dress that looks like yours."
Tina stared, then jumped up. "Fuck, that's my dress!"
With that she took off, running down the dune onto the flat sand. Her dark body flashed past the sunbathers as she vaulted over the boulders and was upon the woman before she knew what was happening.
I ran to catch up as Tina caught hold of the woman who struggled briefly before falling over in the water. A wave broke over them both and for a few seconds both were out of sight, the white foam concealing everything. Then the water receded from the two women grappling.
Tina was holding the dress and the woman wriggled out of it, making to run away. However Tina was easily the match for her and quickly the white woman was lying naked on the sand with the equally undressed black woman sitting on her.
The yellow dress was washed away by a wave that swept over the two women once more. As the water ebbed away I dashed into the sea and retrieved it.
"Fuck off, let me go", the woman was hollering. It occurred to me that wherever you go in the world, during times of stress everyone is suddenly able to speak English.
"You nicked my dress. Stay there", Tina was having none of her shit. She had hold of the woman's wrist which she twisted over her knee. Another wave broke, completely over the woman but Tina's head remained above water. When the sea receded again the woman was coughing and spluttering.
Soon I heard the engines of the quads, now being driven more purposefully. The two cops were riding through the shallow waters, throwing spray high into the air as they returned.
They stopped alongside Tina and jumped off the machines, shouting in Spanish. She replied, in her faltering words. Then the woman was lifted into the air and questioned.
The cop doing most of the talking was tall and muscular. The other was younger, slightly shorter, with a darker complexion. They wore holsters for their side-arms strapped to tanned thighs - muscular but not in the same league as Tina's - next to dark brown penises.
One had a rather thick organ, the other was much more slender. I instinctively nick-named them as Officers Thick and Thin.
After a lengthy conversation and much examining of the sodden yellow dress, the cops produced a set of handcuffs from one of the quads and attached them to the girl. She tossed her wet hair out of her eyes and pushed her breasts out defiantly as she led them along the beach towards the hotel. There was a ripple of applause from the other sunbathers on the beach.
Tina returned. "What do you make of that then? She reckoned she found it on the beach so it must have been abandoned. Together with all the rest of the stuff, of course. Anyway, I'll have to go with them to the police station now to file a full complaint. I'll see you both back at the house later, here's the car keys".
With that she removed the key from her nipple and trotted off, breasts quivering in the sun.
~**~
Later on we were back at the house when Tina arrived, accompanied by Officers Thick and Thin who were now wearing uniform.
"That was daft; I should have grabbed my clothes but I didn't think. Everyone else was dressed of course in the Police Station and there I was, wandering around in the nude. Anyway, it doesn't matter, Pedro and Miguel hardly noticed, I'm sure." She dusted off her shoulders and breasts.
Tina invited the cops in and fetched a fistful of cold beers from the fridge, setting them down by the loungers. Kneeling between them, she drank from a bottle which she was holding with both hands. Then with a wet chilled finger she stroked a bejewelled nipple to make it erect.
Setting down the bottle, she dived into the pool. After swimming a couple of lengths she clambered back out and smoothed her hands over her scalp to sweep the water away. She sat down and waved at the cops to remove their uniforms.
When Pedro (Thick) and Miguel (Thin) had undressed and sat down, it was clear that the sight of her glittering black nipples were affecting them both. She took hold of both men's penises together.
The chilled hands made them both glance down and then relax, allowing her to fondle them. Soon they were fully erect and she bent down to take Pedro, the one with the longer cock into her mouth.
I glanced at Sheena; she caught my eye and led me to the pool. We slid into the water and relaxed, pretending to not take too much notice.
That was difficult as Tina swapped to Miguel, then spread her thighs as she knelt to allow Pedro to enter her from behind as she continued to suck on the fatter and shorter of the two penises. Soon she was taking a full spit-roasting and the two Spanish officers came front & rear into the British cop.
~**~
Night had fallen as swiftly as ever. Thick and Thin had left, drained empty. Tina however was energised by her fucking and ready to go. "Come on, we have the festival to see."
Instinctively I reached for a pair of shorts but she sighed, exasperated. "Where do you think we're going? Trust me, there will be no need for shorts tonight. The only thing we'll need is a shave."
So, after a quick clean-up of the bristly bits we piled into the car and drove down to the town. It was very busy in the pedestrianised centre, with everyone undressed. No-one wearing stupid thongs, or even leather fetish gear. Just bare skin in touch with nature. I did see a couple of ladies dusted with glitter across their shoulders and down their cleavage, but apart from sandals there was no clothing to be seen.
Except from Tina of course, who wore her thigh-high heeled boots.
She carried a small purse, but was annoyed by the inconvenience. "Do you see what I meant about storage containers? If ever I need somewhere to keep my cash and car keys it's here." Eventually she stuffed the thing down into the top of one of her boots.
We walked through the throng, every bar with staff outside handing out fliers and encouraging people to enter. The bar we chose was already packed with music thumping out, not the sort of place that I'd normally choose. The lady on the door took our fliers and some cash. This apparently entitled us to five drinks, in return for accepting an ink stamp on the skin just above the groin.
The bar staff were then obliged to inspect my penis every time I ordered a drink, and Tina had to present herself for examination as the ink was not too clear against her dark skin. Every time we had a drink we had an additional stamp, then when we had the full set we were taken to a stage and sprayed all over with foam, which washed away all the ink.
We then had to make a decision whether to stay for another set of drinks or go elsewhere, so we left to stroll further through the town. There was a great party atmosphere, with naked door staff, undressed shopkeepers in the doorways and of course the nude revellers. All shapes and sizes from pensioners with walking sticks to lithe and muscular beautiful people. There were signs around advertising that photography was prohibited and that sounded reasonable.
In the town square we could hear a Paso Doble being played. When we reached the front of the crowd there were dancers, to the accompaniment of a live band with guitars and trumpets. Men were twirling the ladies around and the crowd were cheering. Then the music changed to an Argentinian Tango, the ladies donning neck-ties and black fedora hats, stretching their raised legs around the bodies of their partners. As we watched I recognised Officer Thick as one of the musicians.
We continued and saw that there were mime artists, body-painting and people selling glo-sticks. A topless lady wearing an ornate ruffled skirt was dancing a flamenco with castanets. In the spirit of the theme, her skirt was open at the front to show her body as it swirled about.
At the end of the street a pretty young lady with wavy dark shoulder-length hair wearing just polished knee-high black leather boots was leaning against a motorbike and Tina went to speak to her. Stupidly it took me a few minutes to realise that she was a nude bike cop, just like Tina. They spent a few minutes in conversation, while Sheena and I waited on the other side of the road. Sheena pulled me into a shaded doorway and I felt her fingers grasp my cock. Soon I was fully erect, watching the two cops talking.
Sheena was watching Tina with a glint in her eye. The sight of the two cops talking was obviously making her jealous. Her breathing slowed and her lips curled back to show her teeth. She turned around and leaned over, presenting her rear to me. I entered her without further ado and as she held onto a railing I screwed her from behind. Alongside us was a window and the reflection showed two boobs swinging violently.
It was the first time for as long as I could remember that she had had sex with me and it had taken the sight of her girlfriend talking to another naked female cop to make her sufficiently jealous. She was beyond bi-curious; she was bi-furious.
She gasped as I came inside her, when at that moment Tina returned. We walked back through the crowds with my subsiding erection leading the way. Sheena's mood immediately lifted and we walked arm in arm. I wondered if we would encounter Beryl and Steve but that was not to happen.
A street fountain provided a convenient facility for people to wash away foam, glitter and various other substances and soon we were riding in a taxi back home.
~**~
All too soon the week was over and it was almost time to go home. The return to work was going to be interesting, not to mention the next office Christmas party - with Beryl and Steve to face.
Tina was at the sink, washing dishes. She had a folded sarong tied around her hips as a miniature apron. The muscles of her back and long neck shone in the heat and her shaved head was just starting to develop a light stubble.
Sheena was folding clothes into a suitcase I had been in the pool, where I had watched Tina work unselfconsciously. She had replaced the nipple-rings with tiny jewelled studs; I was wet, naked and aroused.
Rather recklessly I wandered behind Tina and gently placed my hands on her waist, just above the sarong. She glanced down but continued. Slowly I moved my hands, stroking her belly and up towards her rib-cage. Her arms raised to allow me access as I traced the line of her ribs around and up into her arm-pits.
I stroked under her arms, wondering what her reaction would be -- and Sheena's of course. The two women had spent many hours embracing and cuddling together on the holiday and I was feeling horny.
I stroked the sides of her breasts and then cupped them, supporting the firm flesh and feeling her nipples like bullets in my palms. Although she was tall for a woman, her breasts fitted the palms of my hands perfectly.
She continued with the dishes, slowly as her butt moved backwards, pushing her spine against my erection.
I kept my hands still now, holding her breasts firmly. Her hips wriggled, her legs separating to allow my penis to slide between them. I noticed that Sheena had stopped messing with the case and was watching closely.
Tina's sarong suddenly dropped to the floor; she had loosened the knot. I felt her thighs move, gripping me gently. Then her fingers were on me, pressing me upwards against her body.
With a quick move of a leg, I found that the warmth of her pussy was around my cock and I was inside her. Tina moved against me, then I felt Sheena's hands on my hips. She was standing behind me.
Tina leaned forwards and braced herself against the worktop as I eased into a rhythm.
Sheena moved my hips so that she was controlling the pace. Tina bent over and rested her face on her hands, standing on tip-toe to get the best penetration angle. I could see her bright pink inner labia stretch around me, gripping with every movement.
Sheena's hands left me, then just as I was developing my own rhythm I felt a cold gel between my buttocks. Her hands slid between my thighs to fondle my testicles, then a finger was between the cheeks of my ass, against my butt. The slippery finger pressed and before I knew it, was inside me.
I jumped at the unexpected sensation, causing Tina to stumble off balance briefly.
The finger withdrew and was replaced by a much larger implement. Her tongue was on my ear, kissing and breathing on my neck. Then I was being penetrated, and I realised that Sheena had buckled on the strap-on that I didn't even know that she had brought in the cases.
So I was thrusting into Tina, but every backwards movement caused me to be further impaled by the dildo. Deeper and deeper I was penetrated, stretching my anus.
Tina pulled away and took me away from the dildo. She led me to her bed and pushed me down onto my back. She straddled me and sank onto my penis right to the hilt with a single stroke.
She exhaled deeply and I felt a strange pressure against my penis. The plastic dildo was now inside Tina's ass, pressing against the thin wall of flesh that separated her back passage from her vagina. I looked up to see that her eyes were opened wider than I had ever seen before.
Sheena was squatting over her, now cupping her breasts as she thrusted the dildo into her. I could feel every movement as the hard plastic moved backwards and forwards.
The rubbing on my glans soon brought me to orgasm and I held Tina by the hips to pull her firmly against me as I came.
As I did so, I felt that tremendous grip again as Tina joined me in release.
We collapsed together with Sheena's weight on top of us. Then she slowly withdrew and I saw her unfasten the device. She lifted Tina up and started licking the products of our orgasms away.
As my cock softened and fell to one side I watched the women kiss, exchanging their (and my) bodily fluids.
~**~
We were back home again. Several days had passed since the end of the holiday.
Sheena had been all but silent for the week since we had returned; most days she went to the gym -- or straight to Tina's apartment.
Then one evening she came to me. She was naked except for killer heels, with no sign of her Winceyette pyjamas. It was the first time I had seen her undressed since the holiday. She was holding the strap-on and she looked me straight in the eyes as she gave the device to me.
She told me to strap it on, so I undressed and fastened it. Suddenly I had two stiff dicks, as she stroked my cock and brought me to erection. Then she was standing facing away from me, bent over and holding onto the stool. The same stool that I had been tied to that evening which seemed so long ago.
He feet were wide apart and her lovely brown bottom, still tanned from the holiday was presented to me.
My wife whispered. "I want you to use it. Be gentle, I'm ready."
I stroked her bum, both dicks waving before me. Her thighs were slippery with a lubricant and her bum-hole flexed as her cheeks separated. The plastic penis rested in the groove as I move my hands to the muscles of her back and very slowly massaged her shoulders before scratching my nails millimetre by millimetre down along her spine. She writhed as I passed her ribs, her waist and further down into the cleft between her buttocks.
I gently, ever so slowly, scraped my nails along the sensitive line to her anus, scrunched up with anticipation as my touch approached. Then it flexed wide open as I passed over the top with a light brush. Her entire body shuddered as I continued to her vulva. My finger brushed between her labia to her clitoris, which I slowly circled before returning.
Sheena nudged back, so I placed the tip of the dildo on her opening. Her anus widened and accepted the slippery object.
The fake glans was swallowed by her body which closed around it as it penetrated further. Then her fingers were underneath her pussy, guiding my cock into her pussy alongside the dildo. She grunted heavily as I pushed both lengths together, gradually, little by little into her.
Her feet adjusted their stance to be even further apart and she bent over double, now holding onto a leg of the table. Then she was strong, pushing back against me, encouraging me to thrust deeply. Her breasts were hanging down, swinging loosely back and fore; perspiration shining on her back from the light of the flickering fire.
I could feel the dildo filling her body and pressing against me as I continued thrusting harder and faster to her prompting until I reached fulfilment. I called out to warn her that I was coming; she told me to shoot.
Once I had gathered my breath once more she stood upright again, easing both penises away from her. As I stood with the contraption still attached, she drew a robe across her beautiful toned shoulders and tied it around her. Then she spoke slowly with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry for before, I wanted to give you this time. I meant to tell you so may times but I couldn't find the words.
"When I was in college I had a girl partner. We were very much in love but when we graduated we split up. I wanted children and I did love you, I promise. I still do, but I was torn when I met Tina and I must follow my heart.
"Can you accept her? Can you welcome my lover to our home?"
With that she untied the strap-on and put it to one side. Then she went to the front door and opened it. Tina was waiting silently. I nodded and she entered, removing her coat and boots that protected her from the early autumn chill.
She wore a simple white T shirt. That was it. Her powerful thighs stretched below, her shaved ebony skin glistening with the pink clitoris protruding. Her dark feet with the long toes were freshly painted dark blue, Tina was now home with us, part of the family. I hope that she never leaves.
|
"Chanile Joetta Alexander—Master of Architecture."
"That's my baby girl!" her father shouted as she accepted her diploma.
She heard him all the way up on stage and hollered back, "I love you, Daddy! This is for you and Momma!"
Walter Alexander had always been proud of his little girl, but today his heart was bursting. All those double shifts, all that overtime, all of the sacrifices and...the loss of his wife. The last thing he wanted to do was cry, but when he thought back on the last ten years it was all he could do to hold it together.
He and his late wife, Lucinda, had no idea how they'd pay for it, but they knew they'd find a way because their daughter HAD to go to college. The strain it put on their marriage was oftentimes overwhelming, but neither of them ever complained. Nor did Chanile, who worked part-time while carrying a 3.87GPA throughout her four years as an undergrad before telling them she wanted to pursue a masters degree and become a certified architect. The breather they'd both hoped for turned into an even bigger burden; one they willingly strapped on and carried until Lucinda was suddenly gone.
The stress had taken its toll and Lucinda suffered the brunt of it dying of a stroke at the age of 49. He'd wanted to curl up and die too, but every time he looked at his beautiful daughter, he steeled himself for another double shift and just kept on going. And today, all of it—ALL of it—had been worth it.
Chanile had done her part and worked as hard as any student could while still earning what money she could in the university's work-study program. She bussed tables, washed dishes, mopped floors, and did any job she could to help out. In addition to her superb performance getting her BA, she continued doing the same in her master's program and graduated with a very respectable 3.68GPA.
She knew that might not be enough to work for the most prestigious firms in the greater Seattle area, but that was just fine with her. She had a dream and plan and that didn't require living in a fancy apartment downtown or making six figures her first year out of school. Sure, she wanted to be successful. She just had her own idea of what success would look like.
By any objective standard, Chanile was already a success. She was the first person in her family to graduate from college and she was determined to be the first person to own a home. Her own home. Okay, it was going to be what people called a 'tiny house' but by the grace of God, she was going to own one someday soon.
The idea came to her when her father had left the TV on one day while Chanile was home studying. Her dad had been watching a show on called Tiny House Nation before leaving for his second job. As it ran, he'd made several comments about how wonderful it would be to own his own home, even if it was a tiny little house like the one featured in the show. Chanile hadn't really been paying attention, but something caught her eye and after a few minutes, she closed her books and moved over to the couch and turned up the volume. For less than $50,000 people were having small, custom-built homes made for them. As a future architect, she loved the way people used every square inch of the small space to cram in every convenience they felt was important. Some had full showers, washer-dryers, and all had small kitchens, sleeping areas, and many had lofts with ladders for stairs which could be be neatly tucked away when not in use. She watched three episodes in a row and by the time the third one ended she was so excited she couldn't sit still. Her dad had already left for work so she had no one to share it with, but the seed had been planted and once Chanile made her mind to pursue something, it was only a matter of time until she had it.
Chanile was just weeks away from competing her masters degree and that weekend she began drawing up plans for her own home. As she did, she researched tiny homes in her area to learn who built them, where one could 'park' them, and as much other information as she could find out. She knew her friends she'd grown up with would think she was crazy, but as much as Chanile loved them, she was different from them in so many ways. They listened to hip hop, she loved classical music. They talked in a street dialect and Chanile spoke with perfect diction. They valued partying and fun while Chanile saw education and hard work as her kind of fun. They would view it as living in a jail cell while she saw it as an adventure filled with opportunity. After a few years, she could trade up for a better home and maybe even start a family—her other dream in life.
The one area where her future plans were causing problems was with her boyfriend. She'd been dating Daekwon Lewis off and on since high school and lately he'd been making overtures about settling down and maybe even getting married. Chanile wanted to do both but not necessarily with him because as much as she liked him, she knew she didn't love him.
He'd been her first back in high school and he was a very attentive and very skilled lover. However, he didn't share her biggest dreams of education, owning a home, and raising a family. He'd finished high school and found work at the docks around Puget Sound, but he was intent on staying in Seattle at all costs. Moving anywhere else just wasn't in his plans and the thought of living in a tiny house in a suburan area was something he found ridiculous.
"Where you gonna put that thing? There's no real estate in Seattle to set a trailer down," Daekwon told her when she told him about her idea. She tried telling him it wasn't really a trailer even though it could be moved and that there were other places to live besides downtown Seattle. "Not with me," he'd told her. "Baby, we can get us a nice apartment here in the city and you can get a good job at one these big firms and be livin' large in no time!"
When she told him her first priority was home ownership, he nearly lost it. "So you gonna throw all of this away to live in some shoebox out in Hymietown? Get real, girl. We black and everything we love be right here in the city. Why you wanna move to some place where everyone and everything be white? That don't make no sense!"
Chanile did lose it when she heard what he'd said. "Daekwon, I really like you and I'm willing to consider a life with you, but you know I hate it when you talk like that. People are people. Period. And for the record, there are few if any Jews in the suburbs of Seattle so if you want to use a pejorative term like 'Hymietown' at least learn to use it correctly. No, even that's not okay. You need to just stop it already with that kind of talk."
She thought back on how he strode straight for the door and said, "You gonna have to chose, Chanile. Me or your cracker...box. If you ever come to your senses, give me a call." With that, he was gone and she hadn't heard from him since.
She found herself busy cramming for finals while still working two jobs and constantly tweaking the plans for her new home, while scheduling a couple of job interviews. She laughed when she thought about a social life. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been on a real date let alone slept with someone. 'Dates' with Daekwon meant hanging out out his place or hers and just talking or maybe taking a walk somewhere. "Patience, girl," she kept telling herself. "Good things come to those who wait."
She went to the first interview in the city of Kent, about 15 miles south of Seattle and was offered a job but it just didn't feel right. The pay was good and started at $75,000. Her father practically begged her to take it, but it was what she wanted. "Daddy, I've got time. There'll be other interviews and other jobs. Trust me, okay?"
She had an interview scheduled for 10am clear out in tiny little Enumclaw, which was about 35 miles southeast of Seattle. She'd only been there once before and that was because she and her friend got lost going to a concert when she was 18. It was a quaint little dairy-farming town right at the base of the Chinook Mountains and from what she could tell as she drove back into it, Daekwon had been correct. It looked to be about 99% white. Chanile had been raised to look at people, not skin color, yet she had to admit it was a very different vibe from downtown Seattle with its very eclectic and diverse population. But different didn't necessarily mean good or bad, it just meant—different. And Chanile knew that different could sometimes be fun and exciting—like designing one's own tiny house.
She was interviewing with a family-based business called 'Bennett Enterprises' that was growing rapidly and desperately in need of an architect. From the moment she walked into their office, she was thrilled with how they treated her. The owners, an older couple named Paul and Sarah Bennett, interviewed her as a team. "If we hire you, you'll become part of the family so we always interview potential family members together," they told her.
After asking a series of standard questions, they began probing for details about her character. Clearly, it mattered to them who she was as much as what credentials she had. Satisfied, they asked to see examples of her work. She laid the large, thick, leather portfolio in front of them and began by showing them the blueprints for her tiny house.
"I love those little homes!" Sarah said. "Paul and I have said several times how much fun it would have been to start out in one of those when we were first married."
"If you'd seen our first apartment, you'd know why," he chimed in saying. "Talk about a dump!" His words reminded Sarah of how bad that place had been and she laughed at how he described it.
They looked over her work for several minutes then out of nowhere Sarah said, "Can you start next week, honey?"
She tried not to scream with excitement as she somehow managed to contain her emotions and politely smiled while answering, "Yes. Yes, of course! I'd love to!"
Sarah hugged her and Paul shook her hand and welcomed her to the family. The Bennetts had apologized for only being able to pay her $50,000 to start out, but to Chanile, that was more money than she and her parents had ever seen in a year. But the salary wasn't the reason she'd said 'yes'. She loved the way they made her feel and to her that was worth more than money.
Additionally, they made her another offer they hoped would sweeten the pot. Paul told her they had an old trailer on their property and let her know she could live there rent free so she wouldn't have to commute. "It'll be good practice for living in your own tiny house until you get it built," Sarah told her cheerfully. Chanile was thrilled to accept that offer, as well.
They'd also let her know the reason they needed her right after graduation was because they wanted to accept a job of building a 50-room apartment complex on the east end of town near Mount Peak and that it required an architect. "Over the years, we've thought about bringing an architect on board, but now the time seems right and as it turns out, we can use you immediately," Paul explained. They gave her concept plans for the project and let her know Chanile would have to draw up the blueprints for them as soon as possible to present back to the clients for their approval and then shepherd them through the county and city approval process.
They walked her out to her car and Paul opened the door for her. It was a 2007 Nissan Altima with badly faded paint and 157,000 miles on it. She thanked him once she was seated said, "If this old thing can just hold together for another week..." She knew that she'd be able to buy a new one once she started getting paid as this thing was on its last legs. Okay, maybe not a new car, but a used car that was new to her. Maybe something with less than 50,000 miles on it and some actual paint. Oh, and possibly even a decent stereo system in it. Chanile loved classical music and even more, she loved to turn it up loud and take in the rich sounds of the composers who'd written the music. She'd been marching to the beat of her own drum for as long as she could remember. She liked what she liked and made no apologies for it.
She had just three days left of school and all of her cramming and hard work paid off as she aced her finals before spending the weekend with her dad while also packing up her things. Commencement was Monday and later that evening she said goodbye to him. He held her close and said, "You have no idea how proud I am of you, sweetheart. I know your momma's lookin' down on you with just as much pride as I am."
Chanile had stopped going to church with them in high school and gave up on religion altogether when her mother died. She knew it was the only area of her life where her father wasn't really happy with, but he'd never once mentioned it, and she most definitely wasn't going to start an argument with her father over something so well intentioned.
"I love you, Daddy. You did this. You and momma. Thank you. Thank you so much."
"No. Uh-uh. We did this, baby girl. We did this, Chanile."
She promised she'd come home to visit as often as possible but reminded her father it was only a little over an hour to come visit her. She knew small towns like Enumclaw weren't his cup of tea, but he told her sincerely he'd think about it then gave her one last hug before helping her get into her rust bucket of a car and head toward the mountains.
She arrived about 7pm that same evening and the Bennetts were waiting for her. Mrs. Bennett showed her out to the trailer, gave her the key, and a very quick tour of the inside.
"It's old but comfortable. We put in some new curtains and we had Troy, the young man who does most of our construction work, do a little maintenance to get it all you ready for you, hon. So it isn't much, but until you get that tiny house of yours built, this is home." She extended her arms and Chanile accepted her hug as she told her, "We're so glad to have you in our family."
As Sarah left, Chanile looked around at her modest new home and almost cried again. It was indeed modest to say the least, but it had pretty much everything she'd need to include a small drawing table with a bright lamp this Troy had put in for her. As she sat down for the first time what made the biggest impression on her was the nearly complete lack of sound. It was almost silent. The only things she could hear were the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the sound of her own breathing. No honking, no shouting, no sirens. Just...quiet.
Before she even unpacked, the first thing she did was grab her boom box, plug it in and drop in her favorite CD. She knew she could crank it up without disturbing her neighbors for the first time in her life (because she had no neighbors), but somehow she wanted to preserve most of the peaceful tranquility. She kept it down on '3' and enjoyed the sweet sounds of Bach and Mozart and being on her own as she put her things away and made up the small, twin-sized bed.
Her alarm went off at 6am the following morning and she was up having a cup of coffee several minutes later. Work started at 8 o'clock and she couldn't resist going for a walk around the trailer. The Bennetts lived on ten acres so walking the perimeter was out of the question but a walk through the freshly-mowed grass and the handful of remaining evergreen trees near the trailer was more than doable.
As she started her walk, she was again aware of the sounds of silence as the smells of rural life wafted into her nose. She inhaled deeply trying to take in the entire experience in a single breath. She was so happy she wanted to shout but settled for a smile and the feeling of happiness that flooded over her.
After a long, pleasant walk she went back inside, showered, and got ready for her first day at her new job.
"Good morning, dear!" Sarah said as she came in. "We have your office all set up and ready to go. Let me show it to you, okay?"
She followed the older woman down the hall and into a room that had her name on it, the first of many little surprises. Inside she found anything and everything an architect could want or need. Even so Sarah told her, "If there's something missing, let us know right away, okay?"
She promised she would then told Sarah she should probably get started on the blueprints. As she did, they heard a tap on her door. She looked up as Sarah turned around and standing in the doorway was a very nice-looking young man about her age who flashed a kind of boyish smile at her before opening his arms to hug Sarah who'd already done the same to him.
"Troy! It's so good to see you," Sarah said as they hugged. "How's your dad?"
"He's...the same but thank you for asking."
"Troy? Let me introduce you to our new architect. This is Chanile Alexander. Chanile, this is our construction foreman, Troy Andrews."
He smiled and extended his hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Chanile."
"Likewise," she said returning not only the handshake but the smile. He was cute! Cute enough to cause her to lose focus for a moment as she took all of him in a quick glance. He was just over six feet tall with very dark, very thick hair which reminded her of the guy who played Superman in the original movie. He had bright, blue eyes, and an amazing smile. He was wearing a blue work shirt, jeans, and work boots, but even those ratty-looking clothes couldn't hide the hard body that was underneath them.
"Dear? Did you hear me?" Sarah said.
Chanile was embarrassed at having been so caught up in checking this handsome young man out she hadn't heard a word Sarah had said. "I was asking if you can take a ride with Troy out to the future job site. I think it would be helpful for both of you to discuss the planning as he'll be building whatever you design."
"Oh, sure. Of course, Sarah. I'd be glad to," she said. "Um...as long as we don't have to take my car."
Sarah laughed and said, "Oh, my. I think that might be a good idea. We don't want to have to call a tow truck your first day, do we?"
"Is it really that bad?" Troy asked.
"I'll show it to you on the way out and that'll answer your question," Chanile told him with a bit of a chuckle.
Troy laughed and said, "I can't wait to see it." He waited for Sarah to leave then said, "Just let me know when you're ready and we can head out." He smiled and added, "In my truck."
Sarah laughed and said, "You might not believe this but I've never ridden in a truck before."
He looked at her and said, "You've also never been on a future job site either, have you?" Chanile was wearing some very nice-looking heels along with a skirt and a white blouse and Troy knew the ground was soft making heels a real problem. He was staring at her shoes when she answered.
"Guilty as charged," she said. "From now on I'll keep a pair of flats in here just in case."
"I got you covered," he said. "I've got a pair of rubber boots in the back of the truck. They won't be pretty but they'll keep you clean and dry."
As they drove along Highway 410 Troy asked her if she'd ever been to Crystal Mountain before. "No. What's on Crystal Mountain?"
"Only the best skiing in the Pacific Northwest." He looked over at her and said, "Let me guess. You've never been skiing either, have you?"
Chanile smiled and said, "Why do I feel like I'm from another planet or something?"
Troy laughed politely and said, "If the other women from your world are as beautiful as you, then I'd like to visit sometime."
Chanile was black and when she blushed, most white people couldn't tell. Even so, she was rather light skinned and the change in her cheeks caught his attention.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. That was supposed to be a compliment. I make my living with my hands so sometimes I don't always say the right things."
Chanile glanced at his hands and noticed they were big and couldn't help but think of the old saw about how the size of man's hands were indicative of the size of um...another part of a man's anatomy.
"No, not at all. You didn't offend me. It just...surprised me."
Troy smiled that boyish smile at her and said, "Don't tell me guys don't tell you how attractive you are all the time. That's just not possible."
Guys did flirt with her but she'd been so busy studying and working she rarely had time to flirt back. Besides, she'd been dating Daekwon, and Chanile wasn't the kind to play when it came to a relationship. Even so, she had to admit very few of the guys who flirted with her were as good looking as Troy.
"It's not only possible, I'm sad to say it's true." She looked over at his unshaven face and said, "I haven't had a lot of time for a social life recently." She gave him the down-and-dirty version of her life since high school, the death of her beloved mother, the way her parents sacrificed for her, and the basics of her college education.
"I can tell you're a very intelligent woman, Chanile," he said as he headed out past the County Fairgrounds. "Beyond the obvious—that you're also a very beautiful woman—I can tell you're also elegant and classy." She smiled at him and then he said, "You know, kind of the opposite of me. High school graduate, construction worker, guy who drives a truck and when he drinks tends to make it a Budweiser."
Chanile laughed and said, "Education comes in many forms, Troy. I can design a building, but I couldn't do the construction part to save my life so maybe we'll make a good team."
"I hope so," he said as he turned off the main road to the property they'd be looking at. "Because we're going to be spending a lot of time together."
As he pulled up to the site Chanile said, "Troy? Do you only do commercial property or do you build residential homes, too?"
He parked the truck, shut off the engine and told Chanile, "If it has walls and a roof, I can build it. Why do you ask?"
She smiled at him again and said, "I'd like to discuss something with you when you have some time."
He came around and opened her door and said, "How about Friday night?"
Chanile's heart skipped a beat but for some unknown reason her mouth said, "Excuse me? I barely know you."
She started to get out, but he blocked her way. "Then let me buy you dinner Friday so we can change that." He stepped aside to let her out and added, "And we can discuss whatever's on your mind."
"You don't waste any time, do you?" she said trying to regain control of the situation.
"No, ma'am," he replied closing the door behind her. "Life's too short to waste time." He reached in back and pulled out the tall, green boots and set them in front of her.
She looked down and laughed. "Oh, my heavens! These are HUGE! I could fit both feet in these."
"But then you couldn't walk," he quipped. "Here, put your hand on my shoulder and pull off a shoe then step in."
She looked at him like he was crazy so he said, "You can wear those if you like but you're going to sink into the soil every single step. It's up to you."
She put her hand on his shoulder and pulled off the right shoe and stuck her foot in the boot then turned slightly and did the same with the left. Troy tried not to laugh as he watched her drag the big, heavy boots around with her tiny feet. As clumsy as she felt, Chanile was grateful for them because her heels would have been ruined in short order.
They surveyed the site from end to end and Chanile said, "This was very helpful. Now I have an idea of what we're actually looking at. I can see exactly when and where the sun hits what as well as the kind of ground we're building on."
On the way back to the office Troy finally spoke after a lengthy period of silence. "So how about Friday night?"
Chanile looked over at him and said, "You not only don't waste time, you're very persistent."
"Guilty as charged," he said using her phrase.
"No taverns or redneck bars," she said with a look of seriousness.
"Cross my heart," he said crossing his heart with his hand. He looked over at her and said, "Hmmm. You must not have believed me when I said you were a very classy lady."
Chanile tried to stay serious and said, "You forgot elegant."
Troy thought she was joking until she laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth before he could be sure. Troy laughed too and told her, "Okay. You had me going for a minute there. Now I see how you are."
"Oh, you do, do you?" she teased back.
He looked over at her for a bit longer than necessary and said, "Oh, yes I do and you are...looking really good." They both laughed again then sat quietly the rest of the way.
Chanile thanked him for the ride then went inside and got to work on the blueprints. The concept plans all made sense to her now that she knew the lay of the land as well as what their clients wanted.
She spent 12 hours a day working on the plans each day and stopped around 5pm on Friday only because Troy had stopped by the office and reminded her. Okay, she hadn't been able to get him off her mind since that first meeting, but she was managed to sound like she'd all but forgotten about it and had he not reminded her she might have still been at work.
As cool as she tried to be it didn't make any difference. He just turned it back around on her and said, "I could spread out a tablecloth right over there," pointing to a small table with four chairs. "All we'd need is some Chinese takeout and a bottle of white wine and we'd be all set."
"Okay! You win," she told him. "What time shall I meet you and where?"
"Meet me? Oh, no. That's not how things work in these here parts, young lady," he said with an exaggerated southern drawl. "I'll be pullin' up on my trusty steed around six o'clock and we'll ride off into the sunset together."
Chanile tried not to laugh but couldn't help it. "Fine. You can pick me up." She sat her pen down and said, "Do you know where I live?"
"I do," he told her. "In fact, I used to live in that trailer."
"Seriously?" she asked in disbelief.
"Serious as a heart attack," he replied. "The Bennetts let me live there for six months when I started working for them four years ago." He watched her reaction and told her, "No worries. I had it sprayed for cooties when I moved out."
Unable to stop herself she laughed again. "Cooties? I haven't heard that since I was what? Six years old?"
"It's an oldie but a goodie," he said flashing that smile again.
"So where do you live now, if you don't mind me asking? Did you build your own home or something?"
"Hardly! The price of real estate in King County is outrageous. I'd love to have my own place, but for now I have small-but-comfortable one-bedroom apartment out near the high school."
Chanile didn't probe any further as to his living arrangements, but she was very aware of something tingling inside her as he looked at her. She picked up her pen again and said, "Okay. Six o'clock it is. May I please get back to work now?"
"You may," he said in that smooth baritone voice of his. He smiled one more time and told her, "See you this evening."
"Bye, Troy," she said forcing herself not to look up at him.
Several minutes passed after he left before she realized she'd been staring into space and had no idea what she was doing or even where she was. She shook her head then got up and got herself a cup of coffee before sitting back down. "Focus, girl," she told herself trying to get the image of that smile and that face out of her mind.
Chanile felt silly for not asking where he planned to take her as she had no idea what to wear. It was mid-June in Western Washington which meant highs around 70 and lows in the mid-50s. She thought about wearing a dress then worried about being overdressed. She picked up a pair of jeans then fretted about being undressed. Finally she settled on a pair of black pants and a white knit top and then wondered whether or not she should wear jewelry and if so, how much.
"Get a grip," she told herself. "It's just dinner."
She put on a silver necklace then added a pair of matching earrings, touched up her makeup, and crossed her fingers. Right at six o'clock she heard the noise of big engine shattering the silence and she felt her heartbeat quicken as she told herself again, "This is just dinner."
He tapped on the rickety screen door and waited for her to open it. "Hi," she said as she looked down the three wooden steps at him. "You clean up rather nicely," she said with a smile. "Do you wanna come in?"
"Nah. Might get cooties," he said flashing that smile of his.
"Okay, let me just grab a my purse and a sweater, okay?"
He knew that meant reaching about four feet inside which took her all of about two seconds. As she locked the door he offered her his hand. She accepted it and thanked him as she descended the three tiny wooden steps. She didn't object when he didn't let go of her hand and led her over to his Ford F-250 and opened the door for her as well as helping her step up to get it.
"I feel like I need an escalator to get in this thing," she teased as he closed her door.
"You'll get used to it," he told as he went around to his side.
When he got in she said, "I will?"
He started the truck and said, "You will what?"
"Get used to getting into your truck."
He backed up and turned around then dropped it into drive before saying, "If all goes according to plan you will." There was that smile again! Chanile couldn't help but smile back then just sat there as he headed toward the paved road.
As they drove along he said, "You look beautiful."
"Oh, thank you. I didn't know what to wear so I hope we're not going to a five-star restaurant or line dancing."
Troy said, "I thought about taking you somewhere in Seattle but knowing you grew up there I decided to take you to the hottest place in Enumclaw, Washington."
"I'm almost afraid to ask where that might be," she teased before saying, "Um, seriously. Where might that be?"
They'd only been driving for 4-5 minutes when he pointed up ahead and said, "Right there. The Kettle."
"The Kettle. Okay. Good to know," she said nodding her head as though he'd pointed out some historic landmark.
"Some of us call it 'the Pot' but it's actually a pretty good place to eat." He pulled in and parked then added, "For Enumclaw anyway."
Chanile smiled and waited for him to open her door.
When they went inside a young girl met them. She smiled at Chanile and said, "Hey, Troy. Nice to see you."
He introduced her to Chanile as his cousin Teresa who told her it was a pleasure and led them to a table. Moments later another young girl introduced herself as Madison and said she'd be their server.
"Do you ever eat breakfast for dinner?" he asked her.
"All the time," she told him. "Although breakfast usually means Cap'n Crunch or toast for me."
He ordered a ham and cheese omelet and Chanile waited for a moment then said, "Did you forget to order for me?"
"Nope," he said with a smile. "You'll see."
Chanile wasn't sure what to think but Troy didn't give her time. "So what was it you wanted to ask me or talk about?"
He was wearing a very nice dark-gray button-down shirt and a pair of black pants and he'd even shaved. Chanile liked his scruffy, three-day beard look, but he looked positively...edible to her and she was starving both physically and...physically.
"Um, well. I want my my own house," she told him.
"Get in line," he replied in good-natured way. "Let me guess. You have blueprints and everything already drawn up."
"Well, as a matter of fact I do," she said proudly.
"Why am I not surprised?" he kidded. "So tell me about it."
She went on to explain how she became interested in tiny houses and the reason she wanted one so badly. "So...I was wondering if you might be able to build it for me and roughly what it would cost."
"I can build anything, remember?" he said still being playful. "It just depends on the materials and what all you want inside but I can't imagine going over $45,000 for 450 square feet."
The way he was looking at her made her say, "What? Why are you looking at me that way?"
"I was just wondering why you don't just buy yourself a shoebox and move in."
She grabbed a pack of sugar and threw at him. Troy threw up his hands and leaned to the side as she did. It bounced harmlessly off the back of the booth.
"You're in big trouble, mister!" she said pretending to be very upset. "What's wrong with a tiny house?" she asked not wanting to admit he'd kind of hurt her feelings.
"Nothing," he said sweetly. "It sounds like a great idea."
He was looking at her again only this time it was different. "What? Do I have something in my teeth? You're looking at me again."
"I like looking at you," he said quietly. Her hand was on the table and he reached out and took it. "You're very easy to look at," he said as he held it.
Chanile's heart was racing and before she could reply, Madison walked up with their order. "Here you go. One omelet and two plates."
She set what looked like a small mountain of food between them and a large plate in front of each of them. "Oh, my word! What is that, Troy?" Chanile asked.
"That, my friend, is their ham and cheese omelet or as we locals call it 'death on a plate'," he announced.
She poked around at it with her fork and said, "Okay. What's all this other stuff?"
"Well, that's melted cheese on top. Underneath that are fried potatoes and under them is some of the best chili you'll ever eat and if you keep searching you'll eventually find an omelet that can feed a family of four somewhere near the bottom." He cut the massive pile in half and said, "Here. Slide your plate over."
She did and he dumped a couple of pounds of grease and carbs on her plate and said, "Dig in."
She tentatively picked up a small bite with her fork and carefully placed it on her tongue before tasting it. She chewed a couple of times and said, "Oh...my...goodness. This is delicious!"
Troy laughed as she chewed and took another bite. "Human beings are evolutionarily predisposed to love grease and fat. You know, so we can survive those harsh winters," he said very authoritatively.
"This is SO good," she said covering her mouth as she chewed and talked.
Forty-five minutes later she'd cleared about half of what he'd put on her plate while he'd managed to eat every single bite of all that was left.
"How do you eat like that and have a body that looks like...that?" she said nodding at his thick chest and narrow waist.
"Um...working construction ten hours a day, six days a week?" he offered with a sheepish grin.
"Can I get you guys dessert?" they heard Madison asked.
"Not unless you wanna see me explode," Chanile told her politely. Troy also declined even though he dearly wanted a slice of apple pie ala mode.
Madison cleared their plates and Troy told Chanile, "I wanna see your plans. Are they done?"
"They are," she told him.
"Can you bring them with you on Monday?"
"I could," she said softly.
"Okay, great. Then I'll take a look at them and we can get a better idea of time and money."
"Or you could come in and look them over tonight," she said. When she saw the look on his face she said, "Well, only if you want to, of course."
He reached out for her hand again which was under the table and she offered it to him. "I'd like that. Very much."
They finished a cup of coffee then headed back to her place.
"So what did you think?" he asked. "It's not exactly Seattle, I know but..."
"It was really nice, Troy," she said cutting him off. "I am from Seattle, but it's not like we had money. I've never really been to the kind of places you're wrongly associating me with."
"Oh, no," he said apologetically. "I wasn't thinking that at all." He looked at his watch and said, "Do you mind if I show you something?"
"No, not at all," she told him truthfully.
He headed out 410 the way they'd gone to the site of the future apartment complex and turned left by what used to be a pickle factory. "It used to stink to high heaven out here when the pickle plant was in full swing," he told her. He drove a couple more miles then turned left twice onto an old gravel road which was a dead end.
There were three very old, very run-down houses at the end and he pointed at the worst of the three and said, "That's where I grew up. Right there in that house."
The small wooden shack was surrounded by vine maple trees on one side and evergreens in the back. The house was pitiful and it looked downright...awful...like it might collapse at any time.
"When we moved in, we didn't have windows. We had plastic. There were holes in the floor and we had no running water. About a hundred yards behind the house, there's a creek and my dad eventually built a pump house on it so my mom wouldn't have to carry in water every day."
"Are you serious?" she said knowing he had to be based on the location and condition of the house.
"Yep. And see right over there? We had an outhouse the first two years we lived here. That was fun. Especially in the winter."
"So your mother had to walk outside and go all the way over there just to..."
"Yes indeed," he said. "So I don't know how you grew up, but you'll be hard pressed to 'out poor' me whatever your story is. Not that I'm competing, mind you."
"Wow," she said. "I always assumed people who lived in the suburbs all had nice homes, nice cars, and nice clothes."
"Not all of us," he told her.
"I feel a little embarrassed," she confessed.
"Why? You didn't grow up in a wooden shack on a gravel road too, did you?"
She smiled but she really did feel bad. "It's just that people like me...black people...we get stereotyped all the time and here I am stereotyping people I don't even know. I'm really sorry, Troy."
"There's no need to be. I love my parents and none of us chooses our circumstances. It's up to us to make our own way and try and do a little better than our moms and dads did, right?"
"Or not," she said kind of absent-mindedly telling him about many of her friends who fell prey to the idea they were victims incapable of doing better. Nothing made her angrier because she saw that attitude as an excuse for giving up and she'd fought against it her whole life just like her mother and father had.
"Been there, too," he said shaking her out of her trance. "The lazy victim thing. My older brother killed himself with an overdose of drugs. He had no interest in working, going to school, or even trying. He blamed my parents for being poor and turned to drugs as an escape from reality. I found work and a better life. He found a needle and an early grave and his death probably killed my mother. So it isn't just the inner cities that eat kids up and spit 'em out. It happens everywhere."
"Oh, my God, Troy. I'm so, so sorry," she said taking his hand this time.
"Me, too," he said. "He was a good guy. He just couldn't see any way out and the worst part is, he created the problem himself by buying into his own crap. Excuse my French."
"We have a lot in common," she told him. "A lot more than I imagined so...shame on me again."
"Don't say that, okay?" he said as he looked over at her. "You're such an amazing person and I really admire you, Chanile. You could have thrown up your hands and quit, too. But here you are an architect and..."
"And?" she asked raising her eyebrows waiting for him to finish.
"And..." he leaned over to kiss her and said, "So smart and so...beautiful." He saw her eyes closed as he moved closer so he went ahead and kissed her softly for the first time.
The sound of car horn behind them scared Chanile so badly she screamed. "What was that?"
Troy looked in the rearview mirror and said, "That would be my dad."
"Hey, move that piece of shit out of the way!" they heard a loud voice call out.
"I didn't mean for you to meet him this way but... Do you mind?"
She looked behind her and saw an overweight man with gray hair smiling at them and said, "No, of course not."
"Sorry if I scared you," his father said roughly as they went inside. "I just couldn't help myself when I saw my boy lean over to kiss you. You kids want a beer?"
"Um, no thanks, Dad," Troy said. "We can't stay long. I just stopped by to show her the house."
"Oh, okay," he said with resignation. "Figures you didn't come over to visit. It ain't much to look at, but it's home," he said to Chanile. "I don't keep up much with the cleanin' since Jean...Troy's mom...passed away."
"It's just fine, Mr. Andrews," she assured him.
"That's kind of you honey, but I know it's a mess. Just one more reason why my boy don't come around much anymore." He grabbed a can of beer from the fridge as soon as he walked in and chugged.
"Dad, please," Troy began.
"Nah, it ain't no secret you're ashamed of this place. And me. And your brother." He crushed the entire first can in two big gulps and then grabbed another beer before sitting down.
"Listen, Dad. We've got some blueprints to take a look at so we need run along, okay?"
"Yeah, sure. Run along. Nice to meet you there, young lady. Don't see many of your kind out here."
"My kind? You mean black people?"
"Nope. Beautiful people," he said exposing a chipped front tooth as he smiled and slammed the second beer.
Chanile smiled and said, "It was nice to meet you too, sir."
"Hey," he said as she got up to leave. Bring me another beer, would ya?" He belched loudly and crushed the aluminum can in his hand before tossing it a pile near his feet.
Outside Troy told her, "My dad quit drinking when my mom made him move out here when my brother and I were little. He was an alcoholic and she threatened to divorce him if he didn't quit. He sold our little house in town and moved out here. He worked all day at the mill then all night here on the house and never took another drink until my mom died."
"It's so sad, Troy," she said sincerely. "I lost my mom, as well, but somehow my dad held it together. I always worried the stress would kill him, too, but he's a tough old guy."
"Mine, too," Troy said. "Just not that tough. Losing a son and then your wife in a three-year period could do most anyone in."
She reached out for his hand and said, "I admire you, too. You talk about not having much education but you did very well in high school and now you're a general contractor and a foreman. That's pretty amazing in my book."
Troy held her hand and said, "It's funny. I was valedictorian. Never had anything but all As from 1st grade through graduation. Everyone knew I was going to college. Everyone but me, that is. We didn't have any money, and...unlike you...I had no desire to work full-time and study full-time so I went to work for a friend's dad who owned a construction company. I started my senior year and within five years I had my GC license and that's when the Bennetts hired me. Salt of the earth folks, as you now know."
"They really are like family, aren't they?"
Troy sighed and said, "The way my dad is now, Paul often seems more like a dad to me than my own father." He turned to her and said, "Speaking of fathers, I'd like to meet yours sometime." He quickly added, "We kind of just met so I'm not making this a 'meet your parents' moment. He just seems like a really good man."
"He is and no worries on meeting him. I have a feeling that'll happen in the not-too-distant future," she said with a coy smile.
Back inside her 'palace' Chanile offered him a cup of tea and as she boiled the water, spread out the blueprints on the table he'd put in the little trailer.
"Doesn't leave much room for anything else, does it?" he said noting how when the table was flipped out and extended it took up more than half the width of the 10 x 30 foot trailer.
He scanned the plans making mental notes and asked, "What kind of materials are you wanting to use once it's framed out?"
She sat down and sipped tea with him as she outlined the details from siding to flooring to all of the amenities she wanted to have.
"Hmmm. If you want a washer-dryer inside and a full shower, you're either gonna have to add another four feet or give something else up."
"I was wondering about that after I finished these. I was thinking maybe I'd live with a smaller loft since I only need to be able to fit one person in there."
He smiled at her. "What? What is it this time?" she asked already knowing what that look meant.
"So you're planning on living in your tiny house...alone...for how long? It's not like you have a guest room or anything so unless your plans include celibacy..."
"Troy Andrews. You are terrible!"
"Me? Terrible? I prefer to think of myself as...pragmatic. I mean, a beautiful young woman like yourself who's basically lived alone her whole life can't possibly expect to live alone for..."
She threw up her hands and said, "Okay. Fine. Point taken. We can add on the four feet." She gave him a look of her own then said, "What's that going to set me back?"
"Well, labor is the biggest expense. In terms of materials, you're not talking about a whole lot more. I'd say maybe $3,000 or so give or take." He folded up the plans and put the table away and asked, "So when are you planning on starting on this project of yours?"
She sighed and said, "As you saw, I desperately need a new car so that's my first priority. I don't have much of a professional wardrobe so that's right up there with a new vehicle. Once those two things are covered, I can get started on this. I've put some money away to get it going, but it's probably only enough to cover the materials and then only if I stick to lower-end stuff. As you said, labor is the bigger expense so let's say in six months to a year from now?"
"Okay. Good to know," he said as they finished their tea.
"I should get going," he told her as he took the last sip from his cup.
"I had a really nice time, Troy. Thank you for dinner and for showing me where you grew up. I know you said I don't need to apologize, but I am sorry for some of the things I assumed."
"It's not a big deal. Honestly," he told her.
"It is to me," she told him. "There was a man in my life that I really liked. He just has all of these preconceived notions about certain people and that's not something I can live with. So any time I see that in myself I put an end to it immediately. I try to live by the Golden Rule and what Dr. King said about judging people by the content of their character. Words matter. So do attitudes and actions."
He stood up and she walked the five feet to the door with him. He turned around and said, "When I said you were classy...and elegant..." He emphasized the word to let her know he hadn't forgotten it this time. "I was so right. Every time I learn something new about you, it just makes me admire you even more. You have such a great perspective on things. To be perfectly honest with you, I'd like the opportunity to get to know you better."
"I'd like that," she said shyly. "I'm not just saying this to return the compliment, but I can tell you're a man of character and each time I find out something new about you, it impresses me even more."
He reached out for her hands and she gave them to him. "We're just a couple of poor kids trying to make our way in the world. Both of us are goal-oriented and not afraid of hard work. So...who knows, right?" he said with a smile as he looked into her eyes.
"Right," she said quietly. "Who knows?"
Troy could tell by the way she was looking at him that she wanted to be kissed as much as he wanted to kiss her so he leaned down and did just that. The kiss was long and soft and slow and...very nice.
"So...good night, then," she said as their lips parted.
He opened the door then swung open the old screen door which went flying all the way to the side of the trailer. They both laughed and Troy told her, "I'm gonna fix this thing for you. It doesn't even latch anymore."
As he got to the bottom step she said, "Troy?"
He turned around and looked up at her and waited.
"If you're not busy tomorrow I'm thinking about going into Seattle to see my dad. If you'd like to come, it would..."
"I'd love to!" he told her. "Just let me know when. Oh, and I'll be happy to drive if you'd like."
"Actually, I was thinking maybe we could do a little bit of looking for a new car, too. If you wouldn't mind riding with me in my car, of course."
"Of course I don't mind. We'll make a day of it then, okay?"
"That sounds really nice. See you tomorrow around noon maybe?"
"I'll be here. Goodnight, Chanile," he said with a smile as he headed to his truck.
As she watched him drive away Chanile couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was going on between them might have legs and that thought stayed with her until she went to bed. For the first time in a very long time, she found herself unable to fall to asleep because of...thoughts about a man. Pleasant, lustful thoughts.
She thought back to the way he'd kissed her and the way he looked at her and...that smile of his as her hand moved slowly toward a small tuft of hair between her legs. She lay there thinking about spending the day with him and possibly even the night as she realized how wet she was. She let her mind wander along with her fingers until she shuddered with pleasure before falling into a very deep and peaceful sleep.
Troy arrived right on time and they got into her rusty old wreck and headed toward the city. "So does your father know I'm coming with you?" he asked as they drov northwest toward Seattle.
"I told him I was bringing a friend," she said with a smile.
"A friend. Oh, I see," is all Troy said in reply.
"It'll be fine. I promise," she told him.
The old car got them there just fine and Chanile managed to find a parking spot within a block which wasn't bad considering it was a Saturday afternoon. They walked upstairs to the second floor apartment and Chanile opened the door and walked in. "Hi, Daddy!" she said as soon as she saw him. She ran to him and threw her arms around him.
At the same time, she was aware of the presence of someone else in the room. She could tell without looking who it was and as she lowered her arms Chanile said, "Daekwon."
"Chanile," he said pronouncing her name tersely.
"I invited Daekwon, baby. He's been asking about you a lot and I thought...I didn't know your friend was gonna be..."
"A man?" she said filling in the blanks before any other word could be used.
Daekwon glared at Troy then at Chanile. "I don't know why I bothered," he said shaking his head with disgust. He looked at Chanile and said, "I don't even know who you are anymore." He looked over at Troy again then back at Chanile and said, "And it looks like you have no idea who you are anymore, either."
"Daekwon," she said as he pushed right by her.
Daekwon raised his hand in a 'don't say another word kind of way' and walked out the door not even looking at Troy.
"I'm so sorry," Chanile said to him.
"No, this is my fault," her father offered. "Please come in and sit down, young man. Any friend of my daughter's is a friend of mine."
Troy thanked him and accepted Walter's handshake as he sat next to Chanile. "Daekwon's never gonna change, Chanile. I thought maybe he might, but he's the same kid he's always been."
"He's not a bad guy, Daddy," she said. "He just has that old-school take on things and I understand. I don't agree with it, but I do understand it."
For the next two hours, they talked, ate lunch, and in spite of the obvious differences, both men parted company with a feeling of mutual respect.
"I like your dad. He's a really great guy," Troy offered on the way out to her car.
"Thank you for saying that," Chanile said. "I kind of think so, too."
"He's been through so much and has stayed so strong. I wish my dad had..."
She took his hand and said, "Don't do that to yourself, Troy. Like us, our parents make choices and they're not our choices. But they're still our parents."
"It's just not fair," he said as he opened her door.
"What's not fair?" she asked.
"How you can be so smart, so insightful, and so beautiful at the same time."
"So am I enough of things to deserve a kiss?" she teased.
"If you keep making me feel like I do about you, I'm not gonna want to do anything but kiss you," he said as he pressed his lips to hers.
"I could live with that," she told him as their lips parted.
When they got inside she said, "But I don't think I can live with this car much longer."
"I know just the place," he told her.
They headed back to Enumclaw and he asked to pull into the Chevrolet dealership. "I went to school with the owner's son and I just did some work for him on his home. Let's see if he'll repay me by offering you a good deal."
An hour later and Chanile was sitting behind the wheel of a brand new, 2015-closeout model of a Chevy Malibu. It didn't have all the bells and whistles, but it did have a great-sounding Bose stereo system in it and Troy's friend got the price down to a point where the monthly payments were very affordable on her budget.
"I LOVE it!" she told him when she sat behind the wheel for the first time as its owner. "Troy, it's beautiful."
He saw her eyes filling with tears and said, "Hey, you won't be able to drive if you start that."
She grabbed a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes. "I'm just so happy. I feel like my dream is coming true and everything in my life just feels so right." She sniffed, made sure her mascara hadn't run then looked over at Troy and said, "Thank you for this. I never dreamed I could afford a brand new car. All I wanted was something new-er and now I have...this."
"You deserve it," he told her. "You should have everything you want in life and more."
They drove the six miles to her house in silence just enjoying the new-car smell and letting her get used to the new controls. Troy saw a couple of classical music CDs in her old car but its stereo system didn't work. He wasn't a fan of Chopin but he got an earful of it on the ride back. As she pulled up next to the trailer she sat there listening to the music at a very loud volume.
"It's so clear!" she hollered over the sound. "I just love it!" she said as she happy danced in her seat. When the piece ended she reluctantly turned the car off and silence filled the air.
"I hope you come inside," she said. "I'll make dinner for us. It won't be fancy, but it'll be home cooked."
"I'd like that," he said accepting her offer.
She was right. It wasn't fancy. She boiled some pasta and set a jar of Ragu on the table along with some bread and butter and a glass of iced tea.
"It might not have been fancy, but it was delicious," he told her as he wiped the last bit of sauce off his plate the last piece of bread.
"It wasn't delicious," she said honestly, "but it was filling and I very much enjoyed the company."
They moved several feet over to the little 'couch' that was built in to the wall and Chanile said, "Can I get you some more iced tea or maybe a glass of wine?"
"If you're having some, I'll take a glass of wine," he told her.
"Coming right up," she said.
Troy tried not to stare as he watched her step into the tiny kitchen area but her ass was just so tight and so perfect. "Just like the rest of her," he thought to himself as she pulled the chilled bottle from the refrigerator.
She handed him a glass and sat next to him. "What shall we drink to?" he asked.
"Well, I have a new car and a new...friend..." she paused and looked into his eyes before continuing, "so how about 'to new things'?"
Troy nodded and said, "That sounds about right. To new things!"
They touched glasses and took a first sip before Chanile sat her glass down and slid over closer to him. "So what do you dream about, Troy?" she asked as she laid her head on his shoulder.
"Other than you?" he said seriously.
She hit him playfully and said, "That's not what I meant and you know it." She took his hand and said, "But I'm still happy you said that. No, what do you want out of life? What's most important to you?"
He put his arm around her and said, "You really are goal-oriented, aren't you?"
"Troy! Be serious," she said in rare moment of poutiness.
"I'd like to own my own construction company someday," he said.
"Okay. Keep going."
"I'd like to eventually have a family."
She looked up at his face and said, "How many kids?"
"One or two, I guess. A boy and a girl."
"Are you planning on adopting them?" she asked trying to get him to state the obvious.
"What other way is there to get kids? Don't you just order them?"
"Tro-oy!" she said again.
"Yes, I'd like to get married."
"Have you been close yet?" she asked him.
"Kind of. Once. I got pretty serious with a girl about three years ago, but it didn't work out."
"Did you love her?" she asked with accusation.
"Maybe. I guess I thought I did. At the time, at least. How about you?"
"Oh, wow. I guess Daekwon is about as close as I've gotten to loving someone so I guess I've never been in love before."
"Yeah, but you hadn't met me before so..."
"Oh, you are just so full of yourself, aren't you!" she teased punching him playfully.
"Yeah, but you know you like me," he said as he fended her off.
Her facial expression changed from laughter to serious as she sat very still and looked into his eyes. "Yes, I do. I like you...a lot." Her eyes raced back and forth as the tension grew between them. She lifted herself up and kissed him then said very softly, "I like you very much, Troy."
"And yet another thing we have in common," he told her as he brushed her long, black hair back from her face and kissed her back. "I like you very much, too."
"Enough to stay with me tonight?" she asked her eyebrows raised in hopeful anticipation.
"Having slept on that poor excuse of a mattress many a night, I have to tell you it would take something very special to get me to spend another night on it." He looked into her eyes and said, "So...yes...I'd love to stay with you."
It was just getting starting to get dark as their bodies entwined with one another on the tiny little couch. Chanile began unbuttoning his shirt as they kissed and stared into each other's eyes. "You are truly a beautiful woman," he said as she pulled his shirt off and over his broad shoulders.
"And you are so handsome my knees go weak every time you smile at me," she said as she pulled his tee-shirt off. She ran her hand over his thick, muscled chest and said, "Mmm. I knew you'd looked good in a shirt, but I could only hope you'd look this good without one."
Her smile was killing him as was the touch of her hand. He put his arms underneath her and picked her up causing her to laugh as he carried her to the bed which meant turning around and laying her down.
She undid her pants and he pulled them off of her revealing her very shapely, milk-chocolate colored legs. He bent over and kissed her as she helped him remove the pair of white panties which she kicked off not caring where they landed.
There wasn't a lot of room to maneuver in, but Troy managed to lay on top of her and as they kissed, Chanile reached for his belt buckle and moments later had his pants and underwear off.
"Oh, thank you, Jesus!" she said as she held his very large, very thick dick in her hand.
Troy laughed quietly at her choice of words then lifted her up enough to get her top off leaving her in a lacy white bra providing an amazingly beautiful contrast with her body. He unhooked it and dropped it on the floor and without hesitation, took one of them in his hand and gently squeezed as his mouth covered the other.
Chanile gasped with pleasure as his lips sucked hard while his thumb and finger rolled the other nipple between them. "Ohhh!" she moaned softly as he took as much of her breast in his mouth as he could and sucked hard while pinching the other with his fingers. He switched sides and Chanile gasped as the nipple play got intense. "My boobs are so sensitive," she moaned as he continued doing what she loved. "I can cum just from having them played with," she told him as he rolled, pinched, and sucked.
Chanile was telling the truth. As he squeezed the entire areola with his hand and did the same with his mouth to the other side, her back arched and she pulled his head against her breast as she cried out, "Oh...sshit!! Oooo...that feels SO good!"
Knowing her nipples were now overly sensitive, he raised up to kiss her as his hand gently slid between her leg. Chanile gladly opened them wider for him and as his middle finger stroked her clit for the first time she hissed loudly saying, "Oh...my God! That feels so nice!"
He slid it inside her and used his thumb on her clit as he offered her his tongue during a very deep kiss. "That feels so good, Troy," he said as he worked his finger in and out of her very wet pussy.
He slid between her legs and she laid them over his shoulder as they worked to find enough room to make things happen. He slid his tongue inside her soft, wide lips and immediately found the large, soft bump at the top of her slit. As he gently lapped it, Chanile's body tensed again, her back arching high and crying out, "Yes!! God, yes!!" as she came a second time.
Troy again offered a finger and then two. Chanile purred with delight as he worked them deep inside her while continuing to use his tongue on her butter bean. She reached behind his head and pulled him in closer saying, "Mmmm. That feels sooo good!"
He was relentless keeping up the pace with his fingers and his tongue until she came a third time even harder than the first two. "Oh, my God!" she cried out. "You are so amazing! I've never cum three times before in my life!"
Chanile wanted a fourth, but she wasn't selfish and she wanted to spread the love around. They managed to change places in the confined space and moments later she was again holding him in her hand only this time he was no longer flaccid but fully erect. She licked from the base of his cock all the way to the tip pressing him flat against his stomach. He was big enough to almost reach his belly button and he was also deliciously thick. "Talk about beautiful," she said using his words as she lowered her mouth onto his shaft.
"Oh...ssshit!" he moaned as she sucked on the head swirling her tongue around it several times before taking him deep. Troy grabbed a pillow so he could watch his beautiful lover pleasuring him. He'd had his share of girlfriends and many of them very attractive women, but he'd never been with anyone as beautiful as Chanile. He didn't want to miss one second of seeing her taking his cock in her mouth as she looked up at him with those gorgeous brown eyes. She slowly took him all the way down and slowly came all the way back up paying careful attention to the glans each time swirling her tongue around it and using her soft lips to drive him crazy. She repeated this amazing thing she was doing until he couldn't take one more repetition.
"I want you so bad!" he told her as he lifted her head off of his rock-hard cock.
He reached for his pants to find the condom he kept in his wallet but Chanile was already on top of him. She was just able to raise up high enough to grab his cock and line it up with her pussy before slowly lowering herself down on it.
"Oh...ssshit!" she cried out. "Oooo, that's...really big," she moaned wincing slightly as he expanded her fully. Once he was deep inside her, she was ready for him and began slowly raising up then slowly lowering herself back down while grinding hard against him before raising up again. She was able to hit her 'boy in the boat' each time and was getting very near another orgasm when he suddenly flipped her over and took her hard.
"Mmmm...yes!" she cried out as he began pounding her pussy. "Just like that, baby!" she moaned as he drilled her. The tiny little trailer was filled with the sounds of sex as his balls slammed against her soft, round ass over and over again.
"Oh...fffuck!" she gasped. "I'm gonna cum again! Oh...fffuck!!" she screamed as he felt her arch again. This time he filled her pussy with cum as he released everything he had while continuing to pound her hard. He held himself all the way inside her as she drained the last of the cum from his balls before collapsing on top of her.
Chanile giggled as she thought about how good she'd always thought Daekwon was not knowing better even existed. "What's so funny?" he panted.
"Nothing is funny," she said as she put her arms around him. "Everything is just so...perfect!"
They made love again a few minutes later and again the next morning. They'd have done so again in the shower had it not been so impossibly small.
After breakfast, Chanile said, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but I need to finally go shopping today. I know guys don't much care for it, but..."
"I'll be happy to go with you," he told her.
"Are you sure? I mean, you don't have to spend all of your time with me."
He pulled her close and said, "But I want to spend all of my time with you."
She smiled and using the same phrase again told him, "Well, there's one more thing we have in common then." She kissed him and said she just needed to get dressed and do her hair and makeup.
Troy sat there waiting when he realized this was the first time he didn't feel put out waiting on a woman to get ready. In the past, he just wanted to show up, find his date ready to go, then head home after they had sex. But not with Chanile. He quickly shook off the feeling when, for the briefest of moments, he thought he might even be in love with her. He had no intention of mentioning it however, because she was way too smart to fall in love with a guy who never even went to college.
As she blow dried her hair, Chanile was thinking how right it felt having Troy sitting there waiting for her. She knew they'd really just met, but for the first time in her life she had the feeling that she might be falling in love with someone. She brushed out her hair, put on some mascara and lip gloss and told herself to give it a rest knowing if she were to voice her feelings she'd come across as one of those crazy chicks who wanted to marry a guy the first time they had sex. She'd end up scaring him off and for now at least, that was the last thing she wanted.
The happy new couple spent the rest of the afternoon knocking around various stores and even a mall as Chanile added a few dresses and some new shoes and a bag or two to her wardrobe. They had dinner together and made love again that evening and made plans to see another as often as possible the following week back at work.
As Chanile worked to finish up the plans for the apartment complex, her relationship with Troy grew stronger as did her unspoken love. The city and county both approved the project and she turned the reigns over to Troy whose crew would build it. She tried to get out to the site as often as possible but after the Bennetts advertised having an in-house architect, Chanile soon had several new homes to design and a possible new commercial building in the works.
The only thing that troubled her was the way Troy began making excuses to avoid spending time with her. The first time or two she shrugged it off but when it happened a third time, she asked them if they were okay. "Sure. Everything's fine," he'd told her.
"Then why is it you keep finding reasons to not to spend time together?" She didn't want to sound needy or clingy, but she'd fallen in love with him and a part of her was dying to hear him say it first. Each time he found a reason to cancel a date or just not come over, a part of her died inside and along with it, a bit of the love she felt was dimming.
"Troy, when two people feel the way we do about each other, they don't look for ways to keep from seeing each other. They find ways. They make time." As much as she hated doing it, she was unable to keep it from happening. Tears began falling and they kept falling even when he held her and told her she had nothing to worry about.
"Then why am I so worried?" she asked with her head buried in his neck.
"I just need a little more time," he said.
"A little more time? Time for what? I want us to be together...now and..." More than anything she wanted to say 'for the rest of our lives.' When it came to love she wasn't the strong, proud, independent woman she thought she was. She needed him to ask. She needed him to tell her, "I love you." She'd thought about saying it first a hundred times, but Troy had said twice before that people show their love. Saying something like 'I love you' was great, but if you really loved the other person, you showed them. So she did her best to show him every day and lately, all she got in return was excuses.
He pulled back and put his hands on her shoulders and said, "Do you trust me?"
She was still crying and hurting badly but she nodded and said, "Yes. Yes, I trust you. I just want us to..."
"Then please, please give me a few more days, okay? I'm working 10-12 hours a day on site and..." He held her close and said, "Just a few more days. Please?"
She nodded again into his shoulder but couldn't speak. She felt hollow and empty and she wanted things to be the way they'd been until this excuse thing started.
"Can you at least stay tonight?" she managed to say.
He stroked her hair and said, "I can't. I have some things I have to take care of. I'm sorry."
Chanile's tears turned to sobs and through them she choked out the words, "If there's someone else, will you please just tell me?"
He pulled back again and said, "What? Someone else? No! There's no one else. I promise. Chanile, I just need a couple more days. Can you give me two more days?"
Her face was distorted from the toll the heavy emotions were taking on her. She wanted to trust him, but was she being played for a fool? He was so good looking and girls flirted with him all the time. She knew she should be more confident as she also got flirted with quite regularly, but she knew she'd never flirt back. Now, she could only hope he wasn't doing more than just flirting back.
"Okay," she said as she slowly slid her arms back around him.
Troy wanted to tell her but he couldn't. He could only hope she'd trust him and that in the end it would all be worth it.
"Thank you. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
Chanile nodded and tried to wipe away her tears but she was going to need a sink and running water to clean up this mess. She watched him leave and felt sick to her stomach. It was all she could do not to follow him and find out if he was telling her the truth, but her rational mind won out knowing she had to trust him. If he was cheating on her, she'd find out. If he wasn't she'd feel like a fool and possibly destroy his trust in her.
She slept fitfully and alone the next two nights. Saturday morning he called her and said, "I finally have everything wrapped up. I'd like to take you somewhere special tonight." There was silence for a few seconds. "Chanile? Can you hear me?"
After nearly two weeks of feeling these kinds of negative feelings and fearing the worst, she was at a kind of tipping point and wasn't sure she wanted to say 'yes.'
"Chanile? Honey? Are you there?"
She'd never heard him call her anything but her name before and she wasn't sure she'd heard it but her heart began to beat again. "Yes. I'm here, Troy."
"I'd like to take you somewhere special tonight. I've been so busy lately and I want to make it up to you."
"Okay," she said quietly almost unable to speak. "That sounds...nice."
"Great!" he said enthusiastically. "I'll pick you up at five o'clock."
That was very early for dinner but she didn't feel like arguing. "Okay. Five o'clock. Should I wear a dress?"
"Whatever," he said nonchalantly. "I guess that would be fine."
Her heart slowed again and that sick feeling returned. "Oh, okay. So...whatever then."
She didn't wait for him to answer. She hung up and just sat there staring into the wall of the trailer. She spent most of the day curled up in a ball wondering if the proverbial other shoe was going to drop. Nice dinner, big setup. All to soften the blow. At four she finally forced herself to get in the shower and she was ready a couple of minutes before five. But she didn't wear a dress. She wore a pair of jeans and knit top and didn't even bother to put on any makeup. Why do that when she'd most likely end up crying and ruining it all anyway?
She heard him drive up, shut off the truck, and watched him bound up the steps carrying a bouquet of red roses. Suddenly her mood lifted slightly and she jumped up to open the door just as he was opening it from the outside.
He stood there with that boyish grin of his and said, "My first peace offering to make up for being AWOL so many times lately." He handed them to her and he saw her eyes well up with tears again.
"Hey, what's wrong? I'm apologizing. I'm trying to make things right."
"They're beautiful," she said looking for something to put them in.
"Come on, I have something I need to show you," he said excitedly.
"I need to put these in some water first," she said without looking at him.
He walked over to her and set the flowers down. He turned her around and said, "The flowers can wait. This can't."
He grabbed her arm and said, "Come on. Let's go!"
"Troy, I need my purse," she said trying to slow him down.
He grabbed it for her and opened the door and said, "I've got your purse. Let's go."
As he put in the truck she said, "What's going on? Why are you acting so strange?"
"No more questions," he said as he fired up the engine.
"Excuse me?" she said. "You've put me off at least six times in the last two weeks. How dare you tell me I can't even ask you a question!"
"Give me ten minutes, okay? Then I'll answer any question you have." He looked over at her and said, "You look beautiful, by the way."
"I'm not even wearing any makeup. I look dead," she replied but she was at least happy to hear him essentially say it didn't matter.
"Then you're the most beautiful zombie I've ever seen," he said playfully. Chanile even laughed.
They drove in silence for a couple more minutes when she said, "May I at least ask where you're taking me?"
"No, you may not," he said matter of factly but not rudely. "Two more minutes and we'll be there."
She saw him turn toward his workshop and said, "You're taking me to your shop on Saturday evening?"
"Uh-huh," he replied as he got close. He looked over at her and said, "Close your eyes."
"What? Why should I close my eyes? I've seen your shop a hundred times."
"Please?" he asked flashing that smile at her.
She tilted her head and cut her eyes at him and heaved a sigh. "Okay, fine." She put her hands over her eyes and said, "They're closed. Are you satisfied?"
He pulled into the parking lot and stopped the truck. "Keep 'em closed!" he said as he ran around to open her door. He opened it and offered her a hand as he said, "No peeking."
She had her eyes shut tight as she slid out of the seat and into his arms. He saw her start to open one eye and said, "Uh-uh! Don't you dare."
He took her hand and led her about twenty paces then stopped her. He went behind her and put his hands over her eyes and said, "Remember when I said people who love someone prove it by showing them?"
"Yes, of course I remember," she said. "But what does any of this have to do with love?"
"Everything," he whispered in her ear. "Are your eyes still closed?" he asked her.
"Yes," she told him.
"Before you open them, I want to tell you something." He closed the space between them and put his arms around her. "Chanile? Since I met you my life hasn't been the same and I knew it never would again. That's because you're the most wonderful, amazing, beautiful woman I've ever known." He put his mouth right next to her ear and said, "I've been unavailable to spend time with you because I wanted to show you how much I love you."
"You still love me?" she said, her voice trembling with emotion.
"More than anything," he said. "And I wanted to show you how much I love you by giving you this." He moved his hands and said, "Okay. Open your eyes."
There was a moment of stunned silence before he heard her say, "Oh...my...gosh. TROY! Is this my..."
"Your tiny house? Yes, it is," he told her.
Chanile squealed so loudly it startled him. She turned around and jumped into his arms. "This is where you've been?"
"It is," he said his smile so wide it was hurting his face. "I had one guy helping me and we'd work on it until two or three in the morning every night."
Tears began falling again and Troy said, "More tears? Don't you like it? Shouldn't you at least see it before you..."
"Stop talking and kiss me and tell me you love me again," she said smiling as broadly as he was.
"I love you, Chanile," he said as he kissed her.
"I love you, too! I love you SO much it hurts!" She kissed him back then got down and grabbed his hand. "I want to see my house! Can I? Please???"
He reached into his pocket and handed her the keys and said, "Let's go take a look."
Chanile took the keys and Troy's hand and just stood there. "I love the siding! It's so much nicer than I expected."
"It's Hardie board."
"But that's really expensive. I couldn't even pay for all the materials even at builder-grade levels let alone something this nice. And speaking of money, how much do I owe you? I'll pay you back every dollar. I promise. But this looks nicer...and bigger than my plans."
"It is," he told her. "We added on the four feet like you wanted and I added another three feet to the width."
"Oh, my goodness! Troy! That's so far over my budget. How could you do that without asking me first?"
"Do you like it?" was his reply.
"Of course I like it. I love it! But I can't afford all this extra stuff."
He didn't address her concerns. He just pulled toward the door and said, "Let's check out the inside. Come on!"
Chanile opened the door to HER new home and the moment the door opened her eyes opened wide in disbelief. "Oh...my...goodness. This is insane!"
The first thing she saw was hardwood on the floor until it met tile in the kitchen which extended into a full shower and a tiny laundry room with a stacked washer & dryer. There was a small quartz countertop with a gorgeous backsplash and an apron sink with a very nice country faucet in the kitchen. The walls weren't done in cheap panel but had been drywalled and painted a soft beige with milk chocolate trim. Troy's thought was it was a kind of metaphor of himself and Chanile
"So?" he said.
Chanile was speechless. "So...I absolutely love it!" She walked it from one end to the other checking out every design detail and innovation then said, "I'll be paying this off for three more years, but it's just...gorgeous!" She turned to him and said, "Oh, Troy. It's so beautiful. Thank you. Thank you so much! But it's also so...expensive. I don't know how I'll pay for all of this."
"Well, I have a couple of surprises. First the Bennetts paid for all of the upgrades as a kind of thank you for all of the new business you've brought in."
"They did what?" she said not sure she heard him correctly.
"You're family, Chanile and family takes care of its own."
"That's incredible," she said still not able to take it all in. "But you said 'surprises'—plural. Don't tell me there's more."
"Just a couple more things," he said smiling warmly at her.
"They're also offering to let you live rent free on their property—after they sell that old trailer."
"I need to sit down," she said shaking her head. "Wow. I love Paul and Sarah so much. They really are my new family." Tears were forming again and Troy sat beside her and put his arm around her.
"And..." he began as she looked over at him. "I built this for you because I love you so much. That means the labor is free because it was a labor of...love."
"What???" she said. "No. I can't let you do that. That's way, WAY too much to do for anyone—especially someone who's just a girlfriend. Troy, I can't accept that. It's the sweetest thing ever, but no, I can't let you do that."
"You remember how I said I made it a little wider, too?"
"Yes, of course I do, but what does that have to do with just giving me your valuable time and hard work?"
He went and laid down in the bed and said, "This way, I can really stretch out and not feel cramped."
"I agree that'll be nice when you stay over, but that's no reason to add on so much extra room—and expense."
He sat up and said, "But what if I was to say...live here with you? Wouldn't that make it worth it?"
"Oh! Oh, no you don't. You are not moving in with me. I may have stopped going to church, but I'm still a very traditional girl when it comes to living with someone. I do love you, but not enough to let you live with me."
He jumped down off the bed and reached into his cargo pocket and pulled something out. He looked into her eyes and knelt in front of her on one knee and said, "I was hoping for something more than just being your boyfriend because I'm so in love with you." He showed her the fuzzy blue box and opened it up revealing a huge diamond on a white gold ring.
Chanile's hands were shaking as the covered her mouth. "Troy! What are you saying?"
"I'm not saying, honey. I'm asking. Chanile Alexander, I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?"
Tears were streaming down her face as her head moved up and down. Slowly at first and then very rapidly. "Yes. YES I will marry you!"
He slipped the ring on her finger as he stood and helped her stand with him. "I love you, Chanile. I'm saying it to you now and I hope everything I've done has shown it. And I'm not actually trying to invite myself into your new home. It's yours and I want you to enjoy it. I do however, want us to spend the rest of our lives together and I don't care where we live. It could be a trailer, a tiny house, an apartment, or a mansion. As long we're together, I'll be very happy."
She looked into his eyes and said, "I love you too, Troy. With all my heart. And I would like nothing more than for you to live here with me—as my husband." She kissed and said, "Well, there is one thing I might like more right this minute anyway. No one else is around and we could um...you know, christen my...our...new home."
Her smile was killing him and he didn't even answer. He just started helping get undressed and moments later they were in their new bed making love like it was the first time. And in a way, it was the first time.
She drove home the next day to tell her father the wonderful news in person then went back to drive him out to the country for her wedding four months later. It was the first time he'd left the city since he enlisted in the Army over thirty years ago. Chanile's Aunt Jaleesa also came as did her favorite niece, Kwaneesha, who was the flower girl.
As time passed, life moved along and five years later Troy's father passed away leaving him the wooden shack and an acre of land. They used the money from the sale of the property and the equity in their tiny house they sold to buy a home Chanile designed and Troy built. The following year they had their first child and two years later their second.
In another five years, the Bennetts fully retired and sold their business to Troy and Chanile who'd decided to stay in Enumclaw and raise their family hoping their children would be grow up to be as happy as they were.
|
“They can’t just end it like that! What happened to the rest of Tokyo?! It didn’t even make se-“
“Jiminie, Jiminie, calm down. It’s artistic representation.”
Jimin scowls from his snug seating position on his best friend’s lap as Taehyung’s arms wrap themselves tighter around his stomach. He’s pretty sure he can feel Taehyung silently chuckling against his back, and Jimin therefore decides to make a point that his anger is not to be taken lightly by jabbing the back of one of his dangling feet into Tae’s calf.
“Ow…! Jimin, Minnie, light of my life, sun to my sky, what was that for?”
“For laughing at me. This is serious! That’s not the ending, right?”
Taehyung lets the pout fall ever so slightly from his face, resting his chin on Jimin’s shoulder to take another look at the TV screen currently rolling the credits of the last episode ‘Neon Genesis Evangelion’. “Well, there’s the film…and the remake films, but they’re not finished yet so we probably shouldn’t bother with those. Oh, and there’s the manga! The manga’s really good, apart from that scene with the cat…”
There he goes again. Jimin suddenly regrets asking his initial question, and he’s starting to forget what it even was. Although he has to admit that seeing Taehyung get so passionate is kind of cute, Jimin doubts he would have even watched the series if Tae hadn’t half guided, half pulled him onto the couch the other evening looking as though he had stars in his eyes when he explained what they were going to watch. So as usual they’ve both ended up sprawled across each other on their old couch, aka. Jimin planting himself on Taehyung’s lap and the pair fidgeting for the next 5 minutes until they settled into a comfortable seating arrangement. Last week they had ended up a tangle of legs laying on top of one another, Jimin’s head resting on Taehyung’s stomach and hands grazing lightly over one another on top of Jimin’s chest.
This week they had remained mostly upright for once, and Jimin noted that this was most likely due to Tae insisting that they needed to sit up in order for Jimin to concentrate. It wasn’t like he always fell asleep during their anime marathons…okay maybe once or twice when the feel of Taehyung’s jumper against his back and the warmth of his body heat had lulled Jimin to sleep. But that was Tae’s fault, not his.
“Earth to Park Jimin? Were you ignoring me? Or were you about to fall asleep on me again? I mean I know I’m like a human radiator and all…”
Jimin puffs out his cheeks in protest, no he was not about to fall asleep again, but his anger quickly loses its edge when he’s met with Tae’s signature box shaped grin. He hops up from his human chair, taking a look at the clock across the room.
“It’s already 10?” He let out a groan. “10pm on a Friday and we’re watching anime in the dark on the couch.”
“In our pyjamas.” Tae cheerfully adds.
“In our pyjamas…why aren’t I out having dinner or going bowling or something?”
Taehyung stands up at that point, placing one arm behind his back and raising his other hand to Jimin’s eye level, waving his index finger in his general direction as he spoke. All this emphasis just to make a point, typical Taehyung. “Because someone, meaning you Park Jimin, refuses to do any of those things with me.”
“It’s not you, Tae, it’s just that those are couple things. I’m not doing them with my best friend; someone will get the wrong idea!”
Jimin swears he can almost hear a whine coming from Taehyung’s puppy dog pout. Great, now he feels bad. “Don’t look at me like that…” Now he can definitely hear a whine. “Okay, Tae, I get it! …I’ll buy you bubble tea tomorrow if that helps, now will you stop?”
A loud cheer destroys any peace that was left in the room. “Score! Thanks, Jiminie.”
“Did you do that just to get something out of me?”
“Maybe.”
In the midst of Jimin’s eye roll he suddenly feels Tae’s hands on his face, smacking at his wrists in protest as Taehyung tugs on Jimin’s cheeks with his fingers. “Kim Taehyung…!”
“In all seriousness though-“
“You’re pinching my cheeks, this is not serious!”
“Shh. In all seriousness by my standards, if you really want someone to go bowling and eat gross fancy food at posh restaurants with why don’t you find someone?”
Jimin eventually manages to peel Tae’s hands from his face, holding them down by his sides with his own. “Then what about you?”
“Just seeing my Jiminie happy is enough for me~” Tae grins again, this time a little more devilish and Jimin thinks he could punch him if he wasn’t so flattered by Taehyung’s selflessness. “…Or I could get a boyfriend too and we could go on double dates together!”
Never mind, scrap the selfless thought. Although Jimin has to admit that he wouldn’t mind the idea; Taehyung and he used to do everything together before college, and only since arriving have they found that it’s suddenly socially unacceptable to do certain things with anyone other than your significant other. So why not hit two birds with one stone by getting a hot boyfriend and being able to do more things with his best friend?
“That does sound kind of fun, but we’ve got to actually find boyfriends first.”
Taehyung takes the moment to step back and do a twirl on the wooden floor in his lion socks, purple tracksuit bottoms and red jumper. “Who wouldn’t want a piece of this?”
Jimin doesn’t manage to stifle a snort when Tae winks in his direction. “Yeah, the lion socks are really turning me on.”
“I’d like to see you get some ass in those glasses, Jiminie~ Actually; I’ve heard the nerd look is hot recently.”
Taehyung makes a grab for the offending thick framed glasses on Jimin’s face, aggressively blinking when he places them on his own. “Woah, I forgot how blind you were.”
Jimin quickly snatches them back before Tae can break them. “These are my evening glasses, they’re comfy. I have contact lenses specifically so I don’t have to wear them out. You never answered my question, Tae.”
He’s answered with a dramatic shrug and Taehyung’s pinky finger in his face. “I don’t know exactly how we’re going to get boyfriends, Minnie, but what I do know is that we should make a game of it. Whoever gets a boyfriend first wins.”
A game, of course, Jimin thinks he should be used to this by now. Taehyung is known for his bets and also known for his elaborate penalties that the loser has to endure. “…What happens to the loser then?” Another question Jimin immediately regrets asking when he sees that sparkle in Tae’s eyes.
“Hm…they have to get the winner’s name tattooed on their butt.”
Jimin can feel his top lip twitching. He almost wants to back down, but Park Jimin has never backed down from a bet before. So with great reluctance he brings his hand up to intertwine his pinky finger with Taehyung’s. No way in hell is he going to lose this one and end up with ‘Kim Taehyung’ tattooed on his ass for his future partner to see.
“Deal.” |
Dull fire roared on the metallic floor as the younger man huddled around it for search of warmth. His father eyed the shivering son curiously as he shivered in the cold, a large tarp draped over his shoulders, trying to remember the chill of cold. “I did not realize how cold this facility could get at night,” Vader stated awkwardly as he faced the faint fire. “My most sincere apologies.”
He had always been cold – when he ended his former self, the summer sands of Anakin Skywalker were buried by an avalanche of snow. The blood in his veins were frozen and preserved, the faint oxygen that escaped his respirator chilled, the machine he had become no longer understood the hazards of the human condition.
“It’s fine,” Luke shivered as he gripped the edge of the tarp and tightened it around his neck. The youth scooted himself closer to the blaze and exhaled a large sigh of relief as his skin began to warm. “Living your entire life on a desert wasteland will make you sensitive to the cold like that, I suppose.”
Desert wasteland: how much time had passed for Vader to forget that trash heap of a planet that tortured him so and claimed the remaining life of his mother? There would have been some point in his life where he experienced this same reaction as his son, though those memories were buried deep and compacted. He had no desire of opening them up either.
“I know desert wastelands all too well,” he spat as he stood up, turning his back against the fumes. “It will do you well to forget that place as much as possible.”
“That’s right; you’re originally from Tatooine too.”
The name of that accursed place stopped Vader’s breathing instantly and fired up the remnants of a blistered heart, one that is still wounded and scorched. Faint memories of grains of sand littering the joints and edges of his armor made the Sith Lord balk in disgust. “That was the tale of a different man with a story long forgotten,” whispered the older man.
Luke stood from his place and let the tarp fall to the ground, walking over to stand by his father. “Anakin Skywalker or Darth Vader,” stated the Jedi as he awkwardly hung his arm around Vader’s back. “They both have the same past and history. They are both the identity of the man that created me. Tell me more about your life – I want to know you.”
The small hand of the boy felt strange as it rubbed the armor of his suit, resembling the pawing of a fragile animal to his master. Many men would have been killed for attempting such intimacy – but not Luke Skywalker. “It isn’t a tale worth telling,” Vader stated in defeat. “Just a stupid boy that risked and lost it all and became the very thing he feared.”
His wounded hand hung low to his side, carefully protected by the long draping of his cape. Luke caught a glimpse of it and lowered his hand from the back and cautiously held the hand with his own remaining one, kneading his fingers over the two stumps.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
The torments of his still heart writhed in agony more than any physical wound – even the sudden shock and pain of losing three limbs at once and being set ablaze didn’t compare to the hissing horrors that compromised his soul; how he wished he could feel that pain once more.
“This hand was lost many years ago thanks to the foolishness of the man I once was. He has been defeated and replaced by a stronger man, one that can withstand any physical might. The powers of the Dark Side have granted me the strength I need to continue – to protect you.”
There was sudden silence between the two men as Luke continued playing with his father’s glove, noticing the drastic difference in size between their two hands. Luke’s hand could only fill Vader’s by about half and had a grip far sturdier.
“Tell me about your mother.”
Vader froze and tightly yanked Luke’s hand with his own, causing the youth to cry out. The Dark Lord remembered so much so suddenly – visions began to flood and drain themselves into his skull. That sweet woman that sacrificed her only world, him, was left to a life of misery and loneliness. He was grateful she found companionship but it didn’t last: that man was weak. The Jedi could have freed her then and there and chose not to – it was their fault that she died a death so undeserving of such a great woman.
“I’m just asking,” Luke wrenched as he tried to pry his hand away from the grip, “because Uncle Owen always talked about how great she was.”
He released his son’s hand and stood still with his back turned, arms folded; the mask that ordinarily disguised his true emotions plainly revealing the hurt etched inside. “She was the greatest individual I ever knew,” Vader replied. “She worked hard and gave her all for her son. He was an ungrateful child for all the efforts she spent to help him all those years – he only realized this as they were disconnected and torn off from each other.”
“In some ways, you remind me of her.”
Luke smiled sheepishly and sat himself down on the floor, absentmindedly rubbing his still-aching hand. The boy hadn’t suffered as she had but the kindness in his eyes twinkled a familiar gaze that reminded him of home… and also reminded him of fear. “Unfortunately, her greatness could not protect her from the actions of scum,” he spat. “She died in the worst possible manner. I – He couldn’t protect his own mother, who had given so much before.”
That last smile of hers throbbed in his heart; the image of a woman who endeared the worst torture could find the strength to smile one last time as she was held in the arms of her son. How he failed her that night; that death changed everything about him.
It still hurt with the intensity of thousands of daggers piercing the skin at once.
“This is enough talk.”
Vader swung back the veil of his cape and revealed a medium-sized pouch clipped to his waist, snapping it off and tossing it right into the hand of his son. “There is still work to be done and the past will remain the past,” said the Sith Lord as he motioned to Luke. “We must focus on the present. Inside, you will find the parts necessary to build a lightsaber. I believe you’ve proven yourself worthy of wielding such a weapon once more.”
His son was eager to open the pouch and hastily began taking the parts out of it.
“Be warned, my son, that this is not an activity that can be done with laziness. You must be attentive and focused as you construct a lightsaber – anything else will lead to your untimely demise. One was granted to you in the past but you weren’t worthy to claim it yet. Understanding the inner workings of the blade will increase your skills as a duelist twofold.”
“This lightsaber will be your life,” Vader said before almost choking on himself as he recalled the last time he heard those words. He grumbled a bit to himself before carrying on. “You’ve grown strong with the Force and have the skills necessary for desperate survival. All that is needed for a graduating student is the weapon he was made to bear.”
Luke dug out the key ingredient towards the foundation of a lightsaber – the crystal. The translucent gem shone a great energy of light that swam amongst his cupped hand. His eyes sparkled as he raised the gem into the air, entranced completely by the purity of the crystal.
“The crystal is the lifeline of a lightsaber,” stated Vader as he lifted the gem out of Luke’s hand and into the air. “It is a beauty to behold but one can never be too careful when dealing with such raw power. Do not assume your own domination against it, no matter how small and yielding it may seem, young one. Practice and come to me when you have succeeded. Failure is not an option.”
The crystal delicately fell back into Luke’s palm and Vader marched forward on his own.
“I can do this,” Luke told himself as he maneuvered the many different objects with his hand and using the Force as a substitute for his missing one. All the parts before him were practically identical to the blade he once kept snug at his waist; it was comforting but also a gruesome reminder of what he had lost and how far he had come.
“Think, Luke, think.”
The lightsaber was always by his side during those years but upon recollection, he never once thought about dismantling the weapon and viewing the constructs within. It was just a relic – an heirloom meant to be held but never to be tinkered with. Now, as he awkwardly and curiously fumbled his way around the parts, he wished he had taken the time to examine it. “These have to go here,” he recalled as he set up the exterior of the lightsaber. The glimmering crystal kept distracting him from his concentration, sat aside to his right, frustrating the young Jedi.
Do or do not, there is no try.
These harsh words from his former master clung to the walls of Luke’s head and bristled their way out into his ears: this was a test that would truly prove his worth as a warrior, as a Jedi. That title had been stripped from him when he lost his previous saber – but he was determined to earn it once more. Even if his father was Darth Vader, the youth was going to make the Jedi that remained inside that armored shell proud. Somewhere, deep down, there was still good in that man even if he was reluctant to show it – there was compassion and love somewhere inside.
“I have to do this.”
Trust in the Force – that was what he was going to have to do; allow it to hone and shape his instincts and lead him into a path of success. Closing his eyes and letting out a deep exhale, Luke extended out his arms and attempted to construct the weapon.
“For my father.”
Those voices from before threw themselves his way as his mind opened: several thanking him for saving their souls, others pleading for salvation, many finally moving on and freeing themselves from this restless chamber. “Calm yourself,” Luke whispered as his eyelids tightened and his brow twisted up in exertion, sweat swimming under his hair and sliding down his cheeks. Those cries soon began to drown out into silence, echoing for several seconds, then two seconds, then one, then silence. They were purged from his head.
His left hand motioned for the hilt to rise as his right arm brought up the connecting pieces. Slowly but surely, the parts began to slide together and connect as one. The first time, the exterior of the blade molded perfectly but the innards zapped and refused to respond.
As he finished his second attempt, the youth sensed a mistake on the outside this time – the emitter was too loose and the activator glued on backwards. Luke grumbled in frustration as he opened his eyes, the lightsaber falling straight to the floor, the pieces unfixed and falling apart once more. “This is getting me nowhere,” he pouted as he tossed himself back and lay still on the ground. Concentrate – listen – feel.
“Do, Luke, don’t try.”
The fledgling Jedi closed his eyes one final time as he submitted himself to the will of the Force, raising his arms into the air and controlling his breathing to be steady. The parts appeared so clearly in his head – he felt them lift into the air and attempted to not think this time. Instead, he allowed the Force to work through him as a conduit, begging it to make the choices this go around.
Inner pieces began snapping into place as he lay motionless on the ground, completely submitting himself to the will of the Force. The parts clicked and the pulsating crystal rose from the air, delicately sliding its way into the core of the blade, as the exterior gathered in formation around it like a protective cocoon. The weapon hovered in the air in stillness as Luke opened his eyes.
It flew gently into his grasp – he sensed his potential success as warm energy coursed from the blade and into the blood and veins in his hand. Gulping in anxiousness, Luke wavered his finger over the activator and pressed the weight of his thumb against it. Cyan light shot out the lightsaber with his touch – the buzzing core rattling in perfect harmony.
“I did this,” Luke smiled in awe and disbelief as he held his weapon high into the air. The lightsaber looked ever so familiar to his previous but with slight modifications; the hilt was smaller and the grip less firm, buttons in different locations than they were before. But this was something Luke would easily adapt and get used to. “This is my very own lightsaber.”
“At last, I can call myself a Jedi Knight with pride.”
Skywalker swung the blade eagerly into the air, beaming at the familiar humming that gave his life purpose. He deactivated the weapon and clipped it at the once-empty clip on his waist, running forth to find his father and reveal his success.
Luke swung his newly constructed sword at his father, dicing up and down with a newfound lightness and ease that he’d never experienced before. “I can’t explain it,” the youth cried out in disbelief as he met his weapon against his father’s scarlet core. The two blades grinded next to each other, jutting out lashing sparks into the distance between them. “It’s like it is weightless.”
“Not so much that is weightless,” stated Vader as he swiped the lightsaber up into the air and lunged forward for his own attack. His son barely parried in time but struck back with enough force to knock him back and create space between the two. “Rather, that old blade you carried was burdened by the weight of the horrors it endured – a burden you longer need to hold.”
The Sith Lord was proud of his son’s skills with the Force – for one with such meager training, he had adapted it and grew in power that matched even some trained Jedi. On the other hand, he wasn’t too thrilled with Luke’s abilities as a swordsman but there was only so much practice that could make up for a decade of wasted time. He kept finding openings and pasted technique that didn’t match his form whenever he went on the offensive; it was frustrating but his son made up for these weaknesses in his defensive form.
“You fight better with your left hand in one day than you did with years with your right.”
Vader brought down his red lightsaber and felt it quickly get caught by Luke’s blue lightsaber. The grinding of the dueling swords filled the air with unpleasant hissing as sparks continued to fly out, scorching the ground beneath them. “Well, I am naturally left handed,” he stated aloud as he pushed back Vader’s weapon. “This is just how I was taught to fight.”
“Though I guess I’m only left-handed now,” joked Luke darkly as he turned his attention to his arm.
His concentration taken off of the duel gave an opening for his father to strike, driving his own blade underneath Luke’s and twisting it out of his hand, sending the saber flying to the other side of the room. Defenseless and completely blind sighted by the move, Luke froze as Vader brought his heel to his stomach and kicked him straight to the floor.
“I make one comment and you use that as an opportunity to knock my ass to the ground,” Luke swore in frustration as he clutched his stomach in a grimace. Though a shirt protected his modesty underneath, it didn’t protect his skin from the bruise that would surely form.
“That wasn’t fair.”
“A lightsaber duel isn’t fair,” spoke Vader as the red lightsaber deactivated in his’s hand. “You must prepare for the unexpected; never let your guard down while your weapon is activated. That sword is the only thing you have to protect yourself from immediate harm – lose it and you have already lost. Anyone or anything can attempt to disarm you and it is your job to protect yourself. I think that is enough training for the evening.”
Vader lowered his hand and invited his son to hold to him for support, with which Luke happily obliged, hoisting him up and walking back to the fire pit. The father couldn’t help but notice the sweet smile on his son’s lips as he sat close to the fire – how proud he must have felt of himself. His mop of hair shagged out as the sweat dried off by the intensity of the flames, reminding himself of the long and free hair that once adorned his good looks.
He was once like this – so proud and sure of himself and his skills, unaware of the how beautiful he must have appeared to those around him. At one point, people truly did love him before he became a monster; a murderous beast that killed and plundered to shield himself from his ravenous conscience.
When he looked to his son, Vader saw more than just an arrogant display of his past self. Qualities of the woman he loved were so plainly evident in him; how pleased she would have been to see her son become so successful and talented. There was another timeline where the two of them would have lived together, becoming the full-time parents they both longed for. Luke would have never had to be stranded in that wasteland desert; he would have been given the best opportunities and the greatest love and adoration a child could receive.
Things were different in the real world – obstacles still needed to be overcome. The two men were bonding but there was never any hope for Luke to truly forgive his past, let alone the things he did to his friends. This was why he embraced villainy and terror; to protect himself from the conscience that eroded his shell and revealed the deplorable character underneath. That was also why he could never tell the youth about what a pathetic figure he truly was.
Darth Vader was strong and firm. Anakin Skywalker was a young fool that was led astray and committed acts based on lies and treachery by a scheming charlatan. It was an embarrassment to admit and it was not one that he was ready to speak of yet.
The child needn’t know the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker – but there was another tale worth telling.
“I wish to tell you about your mother.” |
Saturday morning, Marinette was up early to bribing her parents out of punishment by helping out with the store. But Sabine refused and told her daughter to rest, as she handed her a plate of breakfast.
"Back to bed. That's an order young lady." Sabine acted, sternly, "Or else!"
Marinette feinted a squeak, "Spare me Mama!" As she giggled and kissed her mother on the cheek.
"How is that collection coming along? I haven't got to see it since you started it." Sabine asked.
Marinette tensed, almost forgetting all about it. She even told Alya that was one of the reasons she was staying in aside from being grounded. It's not even possible or worth the risk to go out but SOMEONE insisted on going as her date.
That being Adrien.
But with all due honesty, her collection would be done before New Years if the universe will stop trying to kill her off; as she gingerly touched her side. Thankfully, she was healing up nicely.
"It'll be done by New Years for sure. Do you think I'll win?" Marinette bit the corner of her lip.
Sabine stared at her daughter, befuddled, "Why do you think not?"
"It's Gabriel Agreste...one of the top fashion designers in Paris and along a CEO of his own business. He's going to critique them and...but..." Marinette sighed. "I don't know maybe I should just quit. I don't need to enter..."
"Marinette..." Sabine sighed, sitting next to her daughter. "I know what you're doing."
Marinette froze.
Sabine sighed, "You need to chase your dreams. Didn't you want to go to America?"
Marinette nodded.
"But you want to stay and help with me and Papa and run the bakery." Marinette nodded once at her mother's comment.
And she embraced her child. Marinette held her closer.
"You need to go." Sabine told her, looking at her in the eye.
"But-" Marinette protested.
"Marinette. Papa and I are more than fine handling the bakery without you. Don't give up your dream. Never." Sabine held her face. "Imagine a whole new world in America...New York! Trust me, this is your chance and you need to go."
Marinette nodded, smiling, "Thank you, Mama."
Then Sabine softly pushed her back towards the stairs. "Rest OK? I'll be up shortly to talk to you before I leave."
Marinette nodded as she trudged back upstairs to bed; almost falling asleep.
About fifteen minutes passed before Marinette heard her mom coming upstairs and Tikki was already hiding behind a shelf.
Sabine came up and looked at Marinette, then taking a seat in a chair, crossing her tiny legs.
"Mama, I don't want you guys to worry about me so much...especially even with this." She gestured her wound.
"How can I not? I'm your mother Marinette. I was worried sick and your papa and I wanted to take you to the hospital." Sabine patted her shoulder.
Marinette's eyes widen, "No! It's nothing please." As she sighed. "I got caught in that huge attack while Ladybug and Chat Noir were fighting. And...it's just gets complicated Mama. But I was safe and taken care of by Chat. If it wasn't for him I would've died."
Sabine looked at her daughter, "You seem so fearless and sure about this. I still don't approve of that alley cat swooping off with my little girl at night. Forbid what Tom was ready to say about Chat...thinking he kidnapped you."
Marinette shook her head, "Please Mama."
Sabine laughed, "Chat Noir is a man, and you are a blossoming young lady...a mother dares to think what happens when just the two of you together in a room."
"MOM!" She whined. Sabine chuckled.
"I just want you safe. You're a responsible young lady and I trust you. This doesn't mean you get away with punishment though." Sabine told her.
"Mama..." She gave up. Marinette tried. She was going to text Alta she couldn't get out of punishment and just sit at home working and resting probably.
"It's only one day. You'll live." Sabine smiled. "Just a lesson for you to learn my little artist." As she poked Marinette's nose. "And you need to rest."
Marinette watched her mom get up, "I have to go, but your father will be home early so he may need to speak to you. You know how protective he is..."
"Yes, I'll talk to him. Thanks a lot Mama." Marinette embraced the kiss on her forehead and watch her mother go downstairs and listen to the store front open and close.
Marinette sighed as Tikki floated out, "I tried. But it's better than forever right?"
"Trust me, I been around for thousands of years. I think I have an idea of what forever feels like Marinette!" Tikki smirked.
"Let me text Alya the good news..." Marinette texted Alya.
[Hey, mom won't let me out today. Just today. So you and Nino and Adrien have fun without me :) ] - *Mari❤
Sent.
Marinette waited a few seconds until her phone went off.
[ MARINETTE OMG PLEASE LOOK AT THE BLOG. SOMETHING IS WRONG. SHIT IM CALLING U ] - ѧʟʏѧ
Marinette flinched as her phone vibrated, and she picked it up immediately. She shot a glance at Tikki.
"Alya calm down what is it? What's wrong?" Marinette asked.
"My blog been blowing up! There's a bunch of backlash about the last video I posted. So many people...so mean and angry. This...this never happened before." Alya failed to find words.
"Hang on I'm on the blog." As Marinette jumped on to her computer and opened the blog page. She scrolled to Alya's latest entry and stared at the comments:
'Chat Noir is a villain!'
'F**kin wild animal'
'He just left him to die wtf is wrong with you people supporting journalists like this'
'What a scumbag'
'You stupid f**ks glorify this shit?...'
'This blog is so dumb lol you fantasize over people in latex suits that think they're superheroes gtfo #kinkshaming'
'F**k this blog journalize some real shit like racism and police brutality you f**kin poser!'
Marinette couldn't understand why people were saying this. She saw the video...
No, not entirely. She didn't get to see it because she got injured.
"Alya hang on I'm watching it again." Marinette said watching the video.
Marinette then realized, after she-Ladybug went down there was another side to the video she didn't realize. Her throat tightened and the rambling on the other side of the phone was faded out to her ears.
She did not see Chat Noir use a cataclysm on a human.
She did not.
"MARINETTE. THERE'S A VIDEO SOMEONE RESPONDED TO MY POST. GO TO MY PROFILE." Alya snapped her out of it.
Lost of words, Marinette listened and clicked the first link. A video popped up of Felix Agreste and he spoke. He spoke in a cold, stern manner. His eyes were cold, his jaw was cold, his demeanor was cold, cold, cold.
And then she saw the clip again.
And Felix spoke.
And he spoke in a tone of betrayal. A tone used to express his despise of Chat Noir.
And she closed the window.
"Alya...how long has this been up?" Marinette spoke lowly.
"About a day or two. News people already covering about it, demanding Ladybug and Chat Noir explain themselves. Our teacher is still in the hospital too...this is bad." Alya sighed.
"Wait, the mayor is speaking. I'll call you later. Love you." Marinette hung up as she tuned in live on the broadcast.
"Mayor Bourgeois, what is your say on the justice served by Ladybug and Chat Noir a few days ago when the akuma attacked Paris?" The interviewer spoke.
"The city was saved but I feel like the damage took a toll on many lives. Destruction was left behind, not common by these heroes, and feelings were hurt. As mayor my civilians come first, and seeing what Chat Noir did has made me question my trust in him. Where Ladybug is now? Missing from that day and nothing else. This is equally unfair because there is no explanation of this truly unjustified behavior from these two. If they are watching this, the people of Paris demand a public apology for the trauma they have costs." The mayor said.
Marinette shut her computer as she glared out the window, the snowy sight of Paris riling her up.
"Marinette, we don't know-" Tikki started.
"Tikki. Spots on." She said harshly, transforming and slipping out the rooftop balcony.
It didn't take no more than five minutes for Ladybug to feel her side tear at her again. A few more days and she would be all better hopefully; it was getting annoying.
And it was even more annoying how she couldn't spot a certain black cat in sight.
Ladybug climbed to their favorite spot on top of the Eiffel tower, panting into the cold wind as snowflakes fluttered around her.
And she took a breath.
"CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!" She howled into the white skies of her city, overlooking the lines of cars that look like ants where she stood.
Nothing.
Ladybug breathed once more, her chest heavy and her nose runny. She probably looked red and snotty and gross so she stared to wipe her face when-
"Mew." A cat, probably a year old meowed at her. She looked down and see a kitten with grey and green eyes.
And she picked up the kitten, petting her.
"My lady, I never thought you would seek another kitten." That smooth voice so close to her ear.
Turning around, she faced him. His green eyes merely glowing at her, his black suit sleek and shined with a tint of grey along that mysterious latex-spandex material. Over it he wore along fur shawl that hung down his shoulders and chest.
And he flinched. Because he saw anger in her eyes.
"I saw the video." Her voice didn't feel like hers.
"My lady..." As he was afraid to touch her, and now to look at her. How could he when he tainted their reputation? Left her with someone else and god forbid expose her identity?
Oh wait, him.
"Chat." Ladybug's fists curled tightly.
"I didn't mean to-the akuma-this is all messed up." Chat tried. "All of this is my fault. And what I said in the church...I-"
"Shut up Chat." Ladybug hushed her lover with a harsh peck on her lips. She shrugged in her shawl, taking deep breaths.
"Step back." She ordered him.
That black cat took several steps in her cozy hideout, until his back hit something hard.
"I want to say I'm equally to blame. Us skirting around our identities, it isn't working. And I can't help but to get this over and done with. It's too long and..." She sighed, "I need to know...I need to know so much more."
And then he realized, the way she stood, the way she then smiled at him was all too sweet and pure and loving.
"Tikki, spots off." As she released her transformation, revealing her brown boots with faded polka dot leggings and bundled coat and blue hair and and and-
Marinette's flushed face.
Her flushed face that beamed at Chat Noir because his face was priceless. That big smile and those freckles that were irresistible.
"It's me kitty. It's okay." Marinette Dupain-Cheng said. Her kwani, Tikki giggled.
Chat fell on his bottom.
He fell so hard he thought he was falling through the Eiffel tower, through the earth, through outer space.
"Wh-but-" Chat Noir tried to piece together and suddenly...
It made sense.
Their excellent timed disappearances, her 'cramps', those nights in her room, her signature pigtails, those particular ladybug earrings, her giggly adolescent chuckles as he watched her mature into a young beautiful woman; all so much and so much more...
Her collection.
'A part of me is in this collection.' He remembers.
He remembers it all and hot fucking damn, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug under his nose and he just didn't fucking know.
And he laughed.
He laughed and laughed until he cried. And his lady-princess-Marinette-
She glared, her face beet red and stumbling to find words.
"Haha...I can't...believe it. It was you...all these years. It was you, of all people..." Chat managed to stand up, trying to contain his after giggles.
And Marinette glared, "Me? What you mean just me? Hold on...do you know actually know me?"
And she anticipates Chat would grinned his Cheshire grin, but it was softer and familiar.
And he stood straight and tall, "We knew each other all along. Since we were kids, since high school, you were just a seat away."
And Chat breathed, breaking another grin.
"Plagg, claws in!" And a green light filled their hideout as his transformation released.
And Marinette froze.
She froze because Chat was wearing black shoes with those grey pants with that tweed jacket with that blue special scarf and-
Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste.
This time, Marinette was the one who was trying to mentally piece evidence together and she went on a rambling fit, arms bending and fingers pointing.
And Adrien tilted his head, smiling. Plagg groaned in exhaustion, while stealing a catty look from Tikki.
And it makes sense because Chat Noir is Adrien Agreste. How he took care of her, how he acted so cool and caring around her, how she would remember him sneaking off at nights and how much he reminded her of Chat, and watch him grow into that fine young man.
And Marinette just smiled.
"Hi kitty." Marinette walked up to him with that Ladybug stride and confidence.
"Hello my lady." As Adrien carefully lifted her hand, and planted a kiss on her precious, soft skin.
The two kwani floated face-to-face, rubbing their cheeks against each other.
"Hello again my darling." Plagg snicked, glad to be reunited with his companion.
"Still the same after all these years you silly cat." Tikki.
Then Marinette stared at Tikki, "You knew all along? All these years?"
Tikki giggled, "It was a matter of time, and it had to be natural."
Plagg shrugged in agreement, "But honestly I had forgotten all the times I been stuffing my face with cheese. I think Gouda is my all-time favorite now." As Plagg greedily licked his lips with Tikki rolling her eyes. "Speaking of, time to look for that secret stash."
"Mind a girl join?" Tikki winked as she floated by Plagg excitedly.
Adrien, still stunned by Marinette, was slightly taken back by Plagg's eagerness.
"I can't believe Plagg likes Tikki more than cheese." He chuckled, still holding Marinette's hand.
"I can't believe you're Chat Noir of all people." Marinette said.
"And I can't believe you of all people was Ladybug." Adrien chuckled.
She huffed, "This calls for an afternoon discussing some things..."
Adrien smirked, "And maybe doing a couple of things? Like enjoying your purrrfect treats, that I cannot pawsitively resist."
"Oh my god. Incorrigible." Marinette shoved Adrien, a muffled scream in her gloves as she covered her face. She will never live long enough with the puns he will constantly tease her with. Not from Adrien Noir.
Adrien laughed, holding Marinette.
"Indeed, we have a lot to discuss about my lady. But umm..." Adrien took a moment, pursing his lips.
Marinette finally looked at him. Straight into those sparkling green eyes that was too good and pure to belong to that cunning cat. And then she could see it, and she could see Adrien as Chat Noir again because it was him. This would take some time getting used to. But... not too much she hoped.
"Yes?" She asked.
"Aren't you still grounded?" Adrien asked.
She froze, "Oh no-" Looking at her watch, "Papa will be home soon. I..."
Adrien nodded in understanding. "I'll be swinging by later."
Marinette shook her head, "Please come as yourself... I don't want them seeing you in my room...they already don't approve of you much. And the video your brother did-"
Adrien's face flicked with a twinge of anger, his cute brows scrunching "He's always up to no good. Whatever he's up to...he's dangerous. I won't let him hurt anyone." As he placed a hand on her cheek.
Marinette's eyes pleaded, calling Tikki to her side.
"Be good. We have a lot to talk about." She held his face, planting kisses along his face. He rolled his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a smothering her with a kiss on the lips. She sighed into him, not able to hold back.
"A lot." He agreed, his lips pressed to her hair. "I miss you already." He eased back, her freckles blending in with the redness of her face as he smiled.
"T-Tikki spots on!" Marinette stuttered as she transformed. And there she was; the majestic and beautiful Ladybug before Adrien Agreste. A sly grin later she was a flash of red flying over Paris. He watched on the ledge until he could not see her anymore.
A cat perched on the ledge, rubbing himself against Adrien's arm. Adrien scratched the cat's head as Plagg floated next to him.
"Plagg. Claws out."
|
Hwang felt the eyes on him again. The Korean man in the fitted suit suddenly spun his head in the direction of the penetrating gaze and caught her green eyes staring at his face. She was caught red-handed and now red-faced as Hwang's almond-shaped eyes held her emerald colored eyes in a slightly accusatory gaze. Melissa looked away, but the brief second the Asian locked eyes with her felt longer than it should have felt.
It was now Hwang staring down on her from across the room.
The Korean pursed his lips silently contemplating something. After several reflective beats in deep thought, he got up and walked across the room toward the green-eyed brunette in the pink sweater who he had caught staring at him many times on many different days. Straightening his suit as he closed the distance, he figured he didn't have anything to lose by being so direct. Yes, he decided, direct was the approach he would take with her.
"Is this seat taken?" Hwang asked her when he got to the small table for two the brunette was seated at.
The brunette looked up at Hwang with those green eyes now looking up at the Korean man in the suit up close and directly in front of her, towering respectfully yet imposingly over her.
She let him have the seat, and Hwang took his "in" and sat down across from her, right in front of her. Unbuttoned his suit jacket as he tapped his fingers on the tabletop and asked:
"I just sort of wanted to double check something, but: Were you staring at me just now?"
"Uh... No," said the brunette. Rather matter of factly.
"So you weren't looking directly at me today— or any other day in here? Is that right?"
The brunette blushed but answered, "I really wasn't looking at you."
Hwang nodded, smiled, and said, "Well, then, I guess I must need glasses. Are you wearing contacts, or is that your natural eye color?"
"I'm wearing contacts," she said. "But my eyes really are green."
"They look really alluring," Hwang told her genuinely admiring. "My name is Sun Hwang." It still felt weird and unnatural for him to reverse the cultural order of his name, Hwang Sun-Jo to acquiesce to the Western custom of first name before family name, and his first name was really Sun-Jo, but the Americans couldn't be bothered to remember an extra syllable, so he had to get used to simply being called "Sun" and putting up with their unoriginal solar-based puns on his name.
"I'm Melissa. Nice to meet you," said the brunette. She then added, "But really— I swear I wasn't staring at you all those times."
Hwang smiled again and nodded. He looked down and off to the side. Nodded again, then looked up to catch her green eyes examining his Oriental features. He made sure she saw his smile and hoped it was infectious enough so he could see hers.
"So what department do you work in, Melissa?" he asked her as he looked into her face and her green-glowing eyes. "By the way, your sweater is really very eye-catching."
He saw her blush slightly again, her White skin so fair it instantly crimsoned. She looked pure. He wondered how hot her body would look when flushed from a hard fucking and pounding and the thought of having sweaty sex-drenched passionate fucking with her tight White body made the Korean's dick bulge and strain so hard as he looked at her.
"The pink really brings out your green eyes," the Korean told the brunette as he watched her lick her lips, those pink, pink lips. His thoughts segued into fantasizing of her other set of pink lips, her peachy wet pussy, and his mouth watered and he licked his lips and swallowed. His cock bulged so hard against the tight fabric of his fitted suit pants. Thank god the tabletop shielded his full-mast hard-on from her view. He wished he could tear the White woman's clothes off and fuck her tight wet cunt so pink until he fucked her red hot and sweaty and nasty on this goddamn table. Bend her over, take her ass from behind, fuck her on top, even on the fucking filthy floor, just fuck her White body right now. Forego the talking and introductions.
But Hwang kept talking to her, kept chatting with her, all his thoughts were locked in fantasies of seizing her sweet pussy.
His hard-on was bulging so painfully swelling Hwang couldn't take it anymore. He had to go even more direct as fuck.
"How much time do you have left on your lunch break?" the Korean asked the brunette, the question made her eyes bulge out big and wide— but not as big as his straining hard-on was bulging in his pants hungry for her creamy peach of a pussy.
She checked her iPhone screen. "I still have over forty minutes," she said. Then asked, hesitantly yet also strangely and subtly hopeful: "Why?"
Hwang's thoughts screamed inside him, but he bit his lip and wished he could just literally will the White girl into accepting his desire to run off somewhere for a hard fast fuck.
Hwang thought as he wondered how to plan out his next moves carefully. Be guided by head or heart, or cock?
Fuck it.
Going hard, direct as hell now:
"Melissa," Hwang said, leaning in and looking in her big innocent eyes: "I've seen that look I saw you looking at me with when I caught you staring at me on all those days. Now, I've been with White women before— and I know that look. I want to ask you one more time, because I want you to please tell me the truth, OK, because: I really want
... Have you ever thought about fucking me?"
The brunette almost spit her lemon water out into Hwang's face, shocked at all this. Hwang wondered if she spits and doesn't swallow— then he decided if she ever let him fuck her, that he would make sure she would swallow his Asian cum and tell him how good he tasted to her. Hwang ate pineapples regularly for good reason, after all.
Hwang stared into her round wide eyes willing a powerful hypnotic force to coerce her mind, her heart, her emotions, her pussy— to all give in, give in, yearn to be taken by the Korean in front of her, the one she kept staring at silently from across the room all these days gone by. There must have been some ancient psychic power that grabbed hold and took over her responses, because Melissa found herself compelled as if by some outside force to follow along— submit to the almost overpowering desires manifesting through the ether that this Korean man was pulling her toward him.
As if in a trance, against her normal defenses, guards, and moral judgment she would usually and characteristically be guided by, Melissa found herself nearly possessed and herself become passive. She felt as if observing the next few events that she did as though through an out of body experience, watching herself or rather her body as though she was someone else. Because the Melissa she was would never normally take the hand of the Korean man she just met, just spoke to for the first time, though she had been admiring his Oriental looks for a while now... still, the Melissa she knew she was, she would never usually run off with this Korean man by getting up from the table and leaving the commons. Leaving their work building. Getting in his car. Following him inside the motel. Following his hands as he guided her own, running them down his body, his surprisingly muscular stomach, down his legs, over his raging hot hard cock, cupping his sperm-filled burning balls.
Unbuckling his belt. Pulling down his pants.
Letting the Korean man slide his hot Hanguk cock past her wet pink lips...
Hwang groaned out a low, prolonged moan of intense pleasure that rose in force louder and louder, and full of power in his voice as he force-fed more and more of his Asian dick into the White goddess's honey-wet pink mouth, and forced the White beauty to swallow the thick Korean meat deeper down her tight throat. Hwang pushed himself all the way into her mouth and his hands took the back of her pretty brunette head, that shining sweet-smelling hair she had, and pressed her head into him, forcing her nose into his pelvic groin, shoving as much of his cock into her mouth and down her throat as possible. Melissa felt the Korean's hard cock throbbing and pulsating inside and against the walls of her deep-stuffed esophagus. She felt herself strangely turned on the more she was being used to satisfy him. The pleasure Hwang was feeling and reveling in and savoring was so intense, his mind overloaded as his stretched-out moan of pleasure turned into a full orgasmic shout of ecstasy as he blissfully face-fucked the submissive White woman orally serving his cock on her knees on the filthy motel carpet.
"Oh My FUCKING-GOD!" Hwang panted out of breath and his chest sweaty already as he worked himself into a rhythm grabbing handfuls of long brunette hair as he fucked her mouth. "I swear to fucking god, it's like every White woman is naturally born expert dick-suckers. Fuck, you're so fucking a-maaaazing!" Hwang moaned as sweat rolled down his muscular golden Oriental body as he slid his wet dick in and out of Melissa's pink lips. He loved watching such a beautiful White woman, such a pure looking beauty with such pale skin easily turned crimson with the blood rushing to her face... slobbering and sucking and tasting and worshipping his dirty dark Oriental dick staining and ruining her pure genes, while empowering his own.
The thought was so hot it rocketed Hwang past no return and he couldn't hold back the first orgasm, he knew he was going to cum. He pulled his saliva-coated Korean cock out of Melissa's vigorously blowing mouth and shot his sperm all over the White beauty's delicately angelic face. Her beautiful White skin drenched and glazed with the creamy, milky-white nectarlike thick frosting of his protein-rich Korean cum-strands and sperm-ropes covering her entire Aryan Queen face so pure and angelic... now desecrated and stained in the genetic milk of an Oriental man's nutsack.
Hwang congratulated himself as he squeezed and spilled every drop and trickle of his ancestors' DNA to fall onto the White woman's face, to soak into her skin through her pores, and become forever now a part of her own genetic history, to pass onto her own. Forever tainted and ruined from her ancient Aryan bloodline in an instant lust-filled tryst.
Hwang smiled so huge as he wiped his cock across her smiling lips and cheeks, and smeared his Asian cum all over her face with his dick, playfully slapping her face with his slobber-and-cum-covered cock. He helped her stand up off her knees, and grabbed another fistful of her long shiny brunette hair, and walked her over to the mirror in front of the bed so she could admire her new thickly applied face-mask of the Asian man's potent hot semen.
"You look so fucking beautiful wearing my Asian cum on your angelic face," Hwang whispered into her ear as he pulled her hair while pressing her cum-glazed face closer in front of the mirror.
Melissa couldn't believe this was happening, but it was. Melissa couldn't believe she was looking at herself right now, but she was. Melissa couldn't believe how fucking hot she looked with the Asian's layers of cum plastering her face like it was a glazed cake overfrosted in thick ropes of sperm icing off her as she opened her mouth in a twisted smile. She couldn't believe how much she liked what she was seeing, what she was doing. But she was. And she was about to do so much more and let him do so much worse to her, use her body, use her up.
"Ruin me more," she challenged Hwang, urging him on. "Is that all you got, you pussy? Can't you fuck this White bitch harder, huh?"
Hwang loved her sudden full transformation into full-blown slut.
The Korean's hungry hands pushed her body up against the wall where the mirror hung, and Hwang tore at her pants, tore them down her legs, those long legs, quick to get them off her. He hurriedly pulled down her panties and groped her healthy bubbles-for-ass-cheeks. Slapped them, each one, each cheek, and groped their roundness, squeezing, hungry hungry hands caressing her White flesh. Watching it turn rosy. He got so goddamn hard. He turned her body around and dropped to his knees before her so he could face her holy pink pussy. What a gorgeous juicy fucking peach. Perfect color. Perfect in every way. Especially the taste, the perfect taste of heaven.
The Asian dove his face into her pink pussy and his wet mouth sucked deep and long and hard as he satisfied his thirst by drinking her pussy juices to his fill. He made Melissa moan and quiver, holding her up as her legs momentarily lost their strength as he ate her out so passionately, worshipping her succulent taste.
"Mmmm! You taste so good!" Hwang repeatedly exclaimed as he enthusiastically french-kissed and sucked on her angelically pink pussy in rapturous delight, eating her pussy out and sucking all the taste out of her peach-pink pussy lips.
Hwang made no attempts to tone down his wildly loud slobbering as he feasted on her holy wet peach cunt and sucked so loud with every thirsty slurp raped out of her leaking pussy.
Melissa squealed, then he made her scream, then howl in an insane series of high-pitched vocalized pleasures as he ravenously worshipped her tasty pussy like he would never eat again. The Korean grabbed her thighs as he shoved his dick inside her sucked-out pussy and he thrust up and into her still pressed up against the wall, he wanted to be inside her so badly right now.
Fucking God, she felt like heaven. Her pussy felt like heaven. Her pussy felt better than heaven. Her pussy was better than god. And the Asian was fucking her hard and long.
Grunting and panting, he fucked her White pussy with deep long strokes as he gripped her body tight and their sweat mixed together as the wall shook and they made each other's moans and groans and grunts turn to screaming ecstasies.
Hwang got so turned on by the feel of her pussy, at the thought of being so lucky to fuck and defile such a pure White angelic goddess in such a filthy lust-over-love sportfuck, and he got turned on at the sight and smell of her perfect Aryan beauty model of a face so heavily caked in his still-fresh Asian cum, the cum-globs hanging off her cheeks and chin, glazing across her face and eyes. Her eyes, those intense green eyes glowing so luminescent as she was staring into him, the look in her eyes lost in lust and simultaneously protesting his using her body up, while also begging and challenging him defiantly to give it to her harder.
She made his dick so hard.
As he fucked her up against the wall, gripping her by her thighs as she grinded into his thrusts, he turned her around and pinned her to the wall and fucked her pussy from behind and savagely pumped her as hard as he could fuck her, the sight of her ass absorbing his thrusts turning him on and getting his dick harder.
Hwang licked the beads of sweat running down her naked body. She tasted so fucking good, he told her as he licked and kissed and sucked on her sweaty, cream-colored body as he fucked her from behind. He grabbed fistfuls of her long shiny brunette hair and pulled her head back, making her arch her back as he thrust inside her as he fucked her from behind and up against the wall. She was so wet, her pussy enveloped and milked his cock as she tightened her vaginal walls and her body pushed back to match his thrusts so he can penetrate deeper inside her heavenly body. Hwang loved hearing the angel moan and it turned him on so much to know his cock was making her scream. His dick grew harder and as his pistoning into her tight pink pussy intensified in power and as he felt her pussy juices leaking out and coating his Asian dick ravishing her pink walls, he felt more and more of his milky hot precum bleeding out of his cockhead but he did not want to cum yet. He had to worshipfully fuck this angel's beautiful body some more.
Hwang picked her whole body up, cavemanning her over to the bed and throwing the married White bitch onto the mattress. He was going to pound her pussy raw and right. He tore off her sweater, bringing it up over her head, and inadvertently wiping much of the cum off her face that she was wearing so proudly and that made him so hard at how perversely hot it was. Hwang tore off Melissa's pink sweater and savagely threw it across the fucking room as he tore her bra off and licked her naked White flesh, the sight of her sweaty skin throbbing his already-swollen bulging cock about to burst. The Asian brought his dick up to the White whore's mouth and pushed his meat through her lips and told her suck it good and deep. He fucked her face until she gagged and spit out a long gurgling trail of thick ropes of cock-flavored spit that ran down her chin, jaw, and neck. The wet cum-and-spit that covered her entire beautiful White face only highlighted the color and reflective quality of her big round Western eyes.
Hwang kissed the top of her brunette head in thanks and he slid his wet cock gently at first back inside the warmth of her tight pink pussy again. This time on the bed, having her on her back. He wanted her comfortable and to enjoy him enjoying her.
"Fucking GOD!! Your White pussy feels so goddamn PERFECT!" the Korean screamed out loud as his dick entered her holy pussy again and began to thrust long slow strokes into the submissive White woman. "It feels like I'm fucking an angel, or even GOD," Hwang panted reverently as he thrust his grateful Asian cock deeper and deeper inside her hot wet hairless pussy that turned him on so much even to look at, let alone fuck full-hilt thrust deep inside of her. Fucking an angel. Cumming on an angel— her beautiful Aryan face glazed and frosted in layers and layers of his steaming Korean sperm, his ancestors staining her White genes forever.
Hwang began quickening his thrusts into her beautifully pink, wet pussy and his strokes grew more powerful and commanding as he pounded her harder and with more authority. He stared into her big round eyes that were glowing with light as she watched his face as he worshipfully raped her body with such intense and grateful lust, and it made her pussy wetter, and she let him fuck her body and use her for his pleasure to do to her and take her, ravish her, rape her, however he wished, and for as long as he wanted her. Her Asian lover groped his hands up her body, feeling and squeezing her body, her heavenly skin, up and up her body, until he wrapped his hands around her ivory neck, so sexy, wrapped his fingers around her White neck so slender and delicate— he choked her as he fucked her tight White cunt hard. The bedsprings going crazy as he made her moan louder and louder the harder and faster he fucked her and made her body sweat its filthy sins out of her system. Her pussy felt so amazing the longer he fucked her. Choking her. Staring into her eyes. When her eyes pleaded at their peak for help, tears full of light and begging him, he released his hands from choking her, and she felt herself cumming as the rush of air at the height of her orgasm timed right made her cum harder than she ever felt before. Her pussy quivered and sent waves of pleasure up her body and she rolled briefly, instinctively into the fetus position, bringing her knees up to her chest as if by reflex, her body on orgasmic overload of sensations. But Hwang forcibly spread-eagled her against the mattress on her back again as he got on top of her. He licked the sweat beading and pooling from her White body as he pressed her arms and hands and body down the longer he wanted to fuck her while she tried to push him off of her. He held her down as he fucked wildly into her cunt, enjoying every second inside her holy pussy, making it leak her holy waters, her holy juices, out of that sacred pussy stuffed airtight with his ravaging Oriental cock ravishing her White body like the Mongols of ancient history. History was now repeating itself upon this sweat-soaked mattress as the Oriental man savagely and worshipfully raped her swollen White pussy repeatedly pounding her body into the squeaking bed and forcing orgasms to erupt from deep within her. He fucked her so long and hard he made her squirt and piss another deep orgasm out of her, soaking the mattress and shooting her cum-laced jetstream across the room to splatter the wall and nearby TV set, and Hwang and Melissa laughed like lunatics at what the fuck just happened. Then he turned her over and pressed her face down into the pillow and forced her ass up in the air for him to spank and then slide inside and pump her for what that bubblebutt was worth as he took her asshole for the first time in her life. Not even asking her permission, just going full in, and enjoying how even tighter it was, and Melissa screamed in shock at first, and resisted, but Hwang held her down, and kept fucking her— slowly at first, then took her deeper. Melissa was screaming inside, then gave in to the drunken effect of submission that saw her through to this point so far, feeling like she was out of body and passively observing someone else in her body doing such degrading sexual acts— letting the Mongol motherfucker use her body so ravenously. Melissa seeing her body but not recognizing the wanton spirit that currently possessed it to let herself enjoy being fucked so without shame by the handsome muscular Asian man she had so long admired at work in his fitted suit.
The same Asian monster that was fucking her so filthily in every hole and bathing her body in his sweat as he looked so lost in his worshipful taking of her body as his fuck-toy he was obviously playing way too rough with.
He called her his White slut and whore, and cunt, and bitch, and she strangely found herself turned on even hotter and she willingly, even lovingly, answered "Yes!" in a feverish scream to each insult and racially-charged taunt he called her as his Asian cock pounded into her submissive White pussy.
He was in absolute heaven, defiling her genetically perfect White body to his perverse satisfaction and gratifications. Her sweet supple ass felt so fucking tight. Watching his Asian cock raping her White body and her giving her body so willingly and wanting him to do it to her, it turned him on and got his cock perpetually hard and pistoning her holes more determined to make her scream harder, scream louder, to scream bloody SCREAM. He wanted to feel her soul and spirit shake throughout her body as he made this White woman scream, feeling her shake as he had made her legs and pussy quiver by his pillaging cock plowing her to reap his pleasure from her body that gave him such joy to fuck the holy hell out of. Making the White goddess, this White woman before him into his panting whore after experiencing and taking and submitting to his Mongol cock was the ultimate turn-on that excited and aroused him beyond all explanation. It went beyond reason to the purely animalistic and primal... it went back to ancient history to what was already done in DNA. The Mongol horde, the Golden Horde of Genghis Khan already forever changed the European bloodline for eternity. The Asian men's cum was already implanted into the White women's DNA and genetic code for all time, and no matter the attempts made to separate White women from Asian cock, the deep-rooted genetics never fail to bring about the eternal union once again. History repeats itself. The Oriental's cock invaded her White pussy over and over, and over again throughout the long night.
Hwang finally raped her White pussy long enough when he could no longer hold back his leaking precum and he slipped out of her fucked-raw cum-bleeding pussy, and force-fed his musky Korean meat past the White whore's lips and into her warm inviting mouth. So much cum had been churning inside his swollen burning balls and his cock got so hard at the thought of shooting all that cum inside the angel's White body.
Hwang's entire body tensed, his muscles and veins popping out so wild, and he shouted out an animalistic "SHIIIIBAAAAALLLLL!" as he let his Asian dick piss out what felt like gallons worth of hot milky Korean cum inside the White slut's mouth. The force of how much cum the Asian was flooding into her throat gagged Melissa and the Korean's milky sperm quickly overflowed out of the White whore's throat and ran out of her mouth and dripped down her wet chin.
The orgasm Hwang felt throughout his body electrified him so intensely in one of the most painfully pleasurable orgasms Hwang had felt in his life as he continued shooting more of his cum into the angel's beautifully warm mouth, making it grow hot holding mouthfuls of his hot sperm-milk.
Hwang held the married White slut's head and fucked her mouth and throat, forcing his meat into her mouth, over her tongue, bulging out her cheekwalls, and he ordered her:
"Swallow it."
She gagged, choked. He choked her with his hands, her hair sweaty and drenched, in a thick wet clump around his fingers.
"Swallow it all," he commanded her. "
" he begged as he forced the White angelic goddess slut whore bitch to drink his Asian cum and eat his spermsicles that glazed her gorgeous Aryan face.
"Eat all of my cum," Hwang panted in awe as he wiped globs of sperm that collected on her face and then fed it into her mouth to be scooped up by her greedy tongue like a spoon. "Swallow it all," he ordered her and she lovingly obeyed like a good little obedient slut-whore for her master.
"You're the most beautiful goddess I've ever seen," Hwang told Melissa, looking at her beauty in awe and being suddenly so intimidated and humbled by her love. He stroked her lovely head as his cock and balls savored her mouth and tongue, while his hands savored the feel of running themselves down her long shiny angelic hair so feminine and majestically powerful in its femininity. Hwang played with her hair, feeling its texture, running his hands through it, balling it in his fists, pulling her hair as she sucked his Asian dick so lovingly bordering on worship. Hwang threw his head back as she made him cum again by how amazing her dick-sucking felt, her mouth so holy as it slurped every ounce of cum out of his dick, drinking it with reverence like it was holy water for her sensual thirst. Hwang moaned loud, deep, and long, savoring the pleasure of the orgasm her mouth was entranced in giving him. Hwang's fists gripped fistfuls of her hair so tight as his body strained and tensed from the orgasmic waves she caused within him, shooting up and down his spine and sending all the blood rushing to burn into cum in his balls to shoot more out of his cockhead and into her angelic mouth. Hwang felt like the orgasms she squeezed out of him were sending him into an out of body experience, as though his spirit left his physical body, and if it did, he hoped it was to unite forever with this White female angel goddess in the divine realm of the hereafter or beyond.
Hwang continued stroking her brunette head, shaking gently from how good cumming inside her felt, as he caught his breath and his senses returned, calming down. He saw god when she made him cum, and what he saw was a not a male god, but a woman— a goddess most angelic.
He left his cock inside her mouth while looking silently at her beautiful face and body, feeling such joy to be alive and to be with her after fucking her, and watching her worshipfully lick his cum and slurping loudly on his spent, yet still-twitching and sperm-leaking cock. She sucked his Korean cock until it softened and shrank from having every drop and droplet of his Asian sperm delicately and thoroughly sucked out by the White goddess with the angelic face, dark hair, and glowing round emerald green eyes.
When Hwang's senses came to, he opened his eyes like out of a trance, and noticed that the sunlight had turned to night. So much for it being a quickie during their lunch break. Well, they might as well spend the whole night and get their money's worth for the full price of the room.
He looked down at the beautiful White angel sharing the sex-stained bed with him tonight. His Korean dick shot rock hard again as he looked upon her, and he knew as fact what he always felt before to be true, that an Asian man could never grow tired of fucking a White woman's heavenly sexy body.
"Would you let me worship you again as my whore?" Hwang respectfully implored his angel laying beneath him.
Melissa shrugged innocently and smirked with a dark gleam in her green eyes.
"If I don't give you my permission, what will you do instead?" she asked devilishly. Almost screaming out her preferred answer to her Asian conqueror through the look in her eyes, those wild-fire sexpot green eyes.
Hwang read her eyes and message and fantasy and desire. He smiled and nodded. He answered:
"I'm going to have to rape you, my angel." Then he quicky added, just in case: "With your permission, of course...!"
He got back on top of her and began to pin her willing arms down...
"
, is how the Mongols conquered the West..."
—, the Korean thought, —
This—, the Korean determined, bending down his head and kissing her body near her heart before his cock entered her sweet pussy again like a sword returned to its rightful sheath, perfectly fit for each other, —
|
*****
Trace-
After Alpha Dawson's announcement all hell broke loose. I barely had time to catch Avani before her body began its descent to the ground.
I pulled her up into my arms and looked toward her father, "Should I take her back up to her rooms?" I asked enjoying the feel of her body against mine despite the circumstances.
"No, take her to the conference room, the one from earlier. I'll be in momentarily to check on her." Alpha Chambers growled never taking his eyes away from Alpha Dawson and his son who just happened to be boring holes into the side of my head with his intense stare.
I had to keep myself in check not to growl which would cause embarrassment to the pack. Instead I chose to ignore Koda and do as Alpha Chambers requested and carried Avani through the front hall to the conference room kicking the door shut behind me.
I gently laid her down on the love seat in the far corner of the room and took a few steps back wiping my hand across my face.
'When the hell did this situation go from bad to out-fucking- rageous?' I thought to myself trying hard not to start pacing.
The door to the conference room crashed open as Alpha Chambers, followed by my parents and my brother, strode into the room, with Alpha Dawson, his wife, Koda and the beta's not far behind.
One of the omega's brought in a tray with glasses and a pitcher of water before quietly closing the door behind her leaving the eleven of us alone in the tension filled room.
"Alright cut the shit Dawson. What are you trying to do?" My dad questioned breaking the silence that had filled the room.
"I'm not trying to do anything. We came early because my son has been eager to return since our last visit a few months ago. Now I understand why." Alpha Dawson said putting his hands up in defense.
The older man stayed wisely on the far side of the room away from the two angry men on the other side.
"I call bullshit. He would have known if my daughter was his mate beforehand and frankly so would she." Alpha Chambers said plopping down in the closest chair to him.
"Yes sir I knew before but I just didn't say anything. I wanted to be absolutely sure and now I am," Koda spoke for the first time "that's why we came early is to make sure that what my wolf was feeling is correct." He continued.
His tone cause my wolf to growl as he began to beat me to get lose so he could attack the man who was claiming our mate was his own.
"Well it's not," I say without really thinking.
"What?" Koda frowned taking his attention away from the alphas to me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blaze inch his way closer toward me just in case anything happened.
"Your wrong Dawson, Avani isn't your mate. She's mine." I said.
"What?!" was chorused around the room and I'm pretty sure a squeal of delight came from my mother.
My eyes never left Koda as he bared his teeth and growled his body shuddering as he shifted, lunging for me, knocking over the glasses that had been sitting on the table.
The women screamed as the glasses shattered on the floor behind the light gray wolf that now stood growling and snapping in front of me.
Avani-
I could hear voices yelling around me. They sounded thick with frustration and stress.
I was trying to get my mind to concentrate on what the angry voices were saying but I was too tired, too numb.
The voices got louder and then the growling began. I heard someone scream and glass shatter on the floor. I desperately wanted to find out what was going on.
'Later' I thought to myself as I continued into my deep slumber.
Trace-
"I'm not going to fight you Dawson." I said not moving an inch form my spot.
The wolf in front of me growled baring his teeth in my direction.
"He's right Dawson. There is not going to be any fight over my daughter. I've had enough of this kind of disrespect! I invite you into my home to share what is to be considered a joyous time for my pack and you come here and act like untrained animals! Now shift back!" Alpha Chamber's roared from his post across the room next to my father, both looking as if they were going to explode at any minute, his tone leaving Koda no choice but to obey the command and change back.
"I'm sorry Alpha's. I meant no disrespect but for men who have actually been lucky enough to have found your mates in your long life times you should know that the wolf wants to lay claim," he said throwing a look my way. "Any way I didn't mean to show you and Alpha Andretti any disrespect I just wanted him to know that Avani is mine and I will fight for her." Koda continued.
It took everything I head to keep my wolf under control so that I didn't attack the smug little bastard.
"Leave us. We have much to talk about. Trace, neither you nor Koda are allowed to have contact with Avani until we have come up with a solution. Blaze take her up to her rooms and send your mate in there for when she wakes up to explain all of this mess to her. We are to be informed the minute she wakes up. We also are to be informed if Koda or Trace tries to force their way in to the room. Are we all clear?" Alpha Chambers asked looking around the room to see if there was anybody who had anything to say against him.
Koda wisely kept his mouth shut but that didn't stop him from clenching his jaw tightly as he nodded slightly.
"Alright clear out."
I watched as my twin came toward the love seat I was standing in front, sharing a look with him as he scooped her up. Blaze stuck his chin out ever so slightly signaling he understood he had precious cargo in his arms before disappearing out the door.
Koda was already halfway out the door with me right behind him when my father's voice rang out: "Absolutely no fighting you two knuckle heads. That's the last thing we need to have happen now."
We didn't say anything in response but he knew we heard him. My eyes drifted toward the grand staircase that my brother had just disappeared with Avani.
Everything in me called to me to follow just to find out if she was okay or even if she had awakened yet. My feet began moving in the direction of the stairs when my brother's new mate, Tyree, put her slim 5'6 frame in my path blocking me from continuing.
"Alpha's order's Trace. You and Koda are not allowed anywhere near upstairs or Avani until a decision has been made regarding your situation. Please don't make this any harder than it's already going to be." she pleaded with me.
My wolf wanted to howl and attack the woman who was keeping him from his mate but rationally I knew that she was right.
I only acknowledged her words with a small nod before turning on the heel of my foot hoping that a run through the woods would help calm my temper.
Avani-
My mind was beginning to snap back into focus after being stuck in darkness for I don't know how long.
The only thing I heard in the silent room was the sound of my breathing and someone else's too.
Struggling to open my eyes I felt someone shift on the bed next to me. "Ava?" I heard the tiny voice ask and recognized it belonging to Tyree.
The world stopped spinning and I was able to slowly sit up and noticed that we were in my room on my bed.
"What happened Ty?" I asked rubbing my eyes. "I don't remember how I got up here" I continued.
"Blaze carried you up here on your father's orders after you fainted." She said.
I remember being outside and Koda dropping that huge bombshell saying that I was his mate, who caused uproar with the pack.
I also vaguely remember Trace claiming that I was his mate as well in the conference room. My wolf beat at me at the thought of Trace being my mate but she also got excited at the thought of Koda being our mate as well.
"Ty, can you please tell me I'm dreaming and that this whole arranged mating didn't get a whole lot more complicated." I pleaded as I watched her eyes fill with sympathy.
"Sorry babe I wish I could. But on the bright side you get to pick from the two most eligible Alpha's to be your mate. You already know that the others are going to be jealous beyond belief." She said excitedly.
"yeah great just what I need: another reason for the pack to hate me." I mutter stretching my muscles out that had been stuck in the same position for the last few hour.
Before Tyree could respond there was a knock on the door before Blaze poked his head in the door, "Hey Avani glad to see your awake." He said before coming all the way in the room standing next to his mate.
Once again envious feelings ran rampant through my veins as I watched the new couple interact with each other.
I had no idea why I was so jealous of my friends relationship. 'Because you want that for yourself and now your caught in the middle of a big fucking mess.' I thought to myself.
"Your dad needs to see you immediately. They are trying to put together a solution to your... ah... situation." Blaze said pulling me out of my depressing thoughts and back to reality.
I had two men claiming to be my mate and I don't know which one was going to be chosen for me. I slowly threw my legs over the side of the bed trying to make myself stand up so that I wouldn't break my face.
I had no idea how long I had been out and didn't want to chance me falling. Tyree stood up and held my hand as we shuffled toward the door.
"Are you okay to walk? You've been out for a while..." Blaze asked in a concerned tone as we walked out into the hall way.
Tyree closed the door behind us and my legs began to firm up so that I could walk normal. "Yeah I should be fine. Thanks." I said as I speed up toward the stairs.
My wolf caught the scent of earth and man and got excited as I descended the stairs. That could only mean that either Koda or Trace was nearby.
I ignored my wolf's urge to go and track down the owner of the scent and continued to the base of the steps before throwing over my shoulder.
"Are they in the conference room again?"
"Yes."
I walked to the door on the left and opened the door peaking my head in the room full of pack leaders.
They stopped their conversation and the three alphas looked up from their perch in the front of the room.
"Princess you're awake. How are you feeling?" My dad asked standing up walking toward me.
"I'm fine daddy. I was told you guys needed to talk to me about how to deal with this situation?" I say meeting him in the middle of the room before meeting the eyes of the other two alphas and their wives along with the betas.
Pretty much anyone of power between the 3 packs was in that room to help decide my fate.
"Yes princess we came to an agreement about how to proceed with this whole mess and we decided to send you to the city." My dad said leading me to the table so I could sit down in the seat in between him and Alpha Andretti.
"The city? What's in the city that will help with this whole crazy mess?" I asked super confused.
"What your father is trying to say, Avani is that we are going send you, Trace, Koda and a few of the others from the packs to the city for you to make a decision about who you want as your mate on your own." Alpha Andretti said picking up where my father left off.
I let lose an unlady like snort as I answered back sarcastically, "So what am I supposed to do? Date both of them like on those cheesy reality TV shows and pick the one I like best to be stuck with for all of eternity?"
"That's exactly what you need to do. Date them both, get to know them and see which one you connect with and that's who your mate will be." My dad said.
"You guys are kidding right? You seriously expect me to play Bachelorette- werewolves edition? You guys are nuts! That plan would never work." I screech.
"The fact is we need you to make it work. Sure we could force a choice by having them fight it out but in all honesty the 3 of us," my dad said gesturing between himself Alpha Andretti and Alpha Dawson, "Feel this is the best solution. This way nobody can claim that any of us are influencing your decision. This is strictly between you and your wolf as to who you choose" he finished.
Trying to wrap my head around this whole situation was making my head hurt as I tried to sort through it.
"So basically your sending me, Trace and Koda to the city to try and sort this out ourselves? What happens when those two idiots kill each other?" I question skeptically.
"That's why we're sending Tyree, Blaze, Rachel, Amiee, Louis, and a bunch of other pack members with you. That way they can act like buffers to hopefully keeping the fighting between them to a dull roar. Now I need you to go upstairs and get ready to go. You need to take at least two weeks' worth of clothing with you. Claire has already taken care of all the hotel arrangements. While you're doing that, we will be informing the rest of the group of the change of plans and have them start packing as well." My dad responded effectively dismissing me with my packing orders.
I was still skeptical about this whole situation but I nodded anyway and left the room. I didn't get very far before I heard familiar voices in the hall next to the stairs.
Without letting myself be seen I listened...
"Lucky bitch" Sara spat with malice.
"I know. Leave it to the fat midget to not get not only one of the hottest alpha wolves but both of them. And don't even get me started about her little sidekick. In less than 4 hours the top 3 most eligible wolves have been snatched up." Nessa replied sadly.
"Don't remind me. All the luck always goes to least deserving." Sara sniffed.
'Great this is exactly what I didn't need was more grief from them. Their voice started getting closer so as quickly as I could I slipped from my hiding place and jogged up the stairs to my room.
I stared at Trace's door with a look of longing as I walked past it. My wolf was begging for me to go and see if he was inside the room, begging just to be near him but I ignored the urge and went to my room to begin packing.
?????-
Everything about this plan was going right along schedule.
The seeds of doubt have been placed.
Soon they will be so overcome with the issue over the precious pack merging that no one would know what hit them.
I just had to wait it out.
|
Kathy Lee (Nurse from Harborview Medical Center)-
"Good morning dear how are you feeling this morning?" I ask walking into the hospital room.
The patient in the bed doesn't respond. She never has in the last 10 years of her being here in the hospital. Our resident Jane Doe has been in a coma since she arrived. The grime day sits on my mind as if it was just yesterday.
Coming out of my memories from the night I found the woman, I do what I have done for the last 10 years and I spoke to her. "You know, I really wish you would open your eyes. I'm pretty sure you have a family that's missing you. A husband, kids, your parents. Somebodies got to be lost without you. You've been sleeping long enough." I say while checking all her vital signs.
Still great as always. Dr. Remington said that it was normal for people who have been through severe trauma to want to shut down but this was ridiculous and concerning.
I felt for the family who thought that their loved one was dead when in reality she was in a coma in the hospital and couldn't be identified. As I watched the monitor to copy down her blood pressure and heart rate, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to see what or who it was.
The woman on the bed was still lying there but for the first time in 10 years she moved. It only her hand that moved and it wasn't very much but it was something.
"Holy shit!" I said in shock as I watched her fingers twitch followed by her legs moving.
Yanking myself out of the paralyzed state I was in I quickly hit the emergency call button on the wall next to her bed as her eyes popped open.
As if on cue the attending doctor was running through the door seconds later followed by a few more nurses who were all in the same set of shock I was at the twitching woman lying on the bed.
"Somebody call Dr. Remington now!!" I yell before pressing a calming hand to the woman thriving on the bed.
"It's okay darlin' try to stay calm. As soon Dr. Remington gets here we can have the breathing tube removed. Just try and stay calm for me okay?" I say trying to soothe her back into a docile state.
My words seemed to do the trick because her body relaxed and she stilled her struggling movements enough for me to be able to check her vitals again.
The other nurse came back with Dr. Remington in tow and while the surprise was evident on his face he kept his composure which is more than I could say for myself at the moment.
"Good morning ma'am! I'm glad you're finally awake. I hear you would like your breathing tube removed is that correct?" he addressed our mystery patient who merely nodded yes.
"Well before I can do that I have a couple of things I would like to check first considering the amount of time you were in your coma." He said coming closer to the bed.
You could see the confusion swirling in her chocolate colored eyes at the mention of the word coma but we didn't have time to answer her questions at the moment.
Dr. Remington checked her ears, eyes and her reflex before declaring that she had the all clear for her tube to be removed and called for the respiratory specialist to come up. Dr. Chen, a pretty little Asian woman came in the door 10 minutes later.
"I hear we have a patient eager to have their tube removed" she said smiling at the woman as she washed her hands and pulled on gloves. "Now miss I want you to try and make the motions as if you're going to cough to help the tube dislodge from it's place okay? Are you ready?" she asked and the woman nodded.
"Okay on the count of 3. 1... 2... 3... cough" the tube slid free with a pop leaving the woman coughing and gasping for air. "Now don't try to talk for a few hours so that your throat has time to rest and heal properly. I'll be by to check on you later." Dr. Chen said as she striped her gloves off and washed her hands again before walking out.
Dr. Remington moved back to his place beside the woman's bed. "Okay ma'am I'm sure you have a lot of questions for us just like we have a lot of questions for you but for right now I want you to relax and rest. I know you just woke up but sleep will be best for you to avoid talking. Nurse Kathy will administer something for the soreness of your throat and I'll be by to check on you within the hour." the woman nodded before lying back in the bed.
Dr. Remington inclined his head toward the hallway indicating me to follow him. "I'll be right back" I say before following the doctor outside.
"Kathy I'm going to pass your patients along to some of the other nurses and I want you stay in the room with our resident Jane Doe just to monitor her. The extent of her injuries were server as well as the amount of time she was in a coma state could have left lasting effects and I want to monitor her just in case." He said writing down his notes on the woman's chart.
He handed me the vial of pain meds he wanted me to administer and walked off to give his orders. I walked back into the room and added the medication to the protein mixture that has been feeding the woman for the past 10 years.
"This should help ease the pain and allow you to rest. I'll be here in the room with you if you need anything okay?" I say to her as she nods, the medicine already beginning to take affect her eyes drifting closed.
I hope when she wakes up we all would be able to get the answers we had been waiting 10 years to receive.
Avani-
The smell of corn dogs and funnel cakes wafted around us along with the sounds of people screaming on the carnival rides as we walk hand in hand through the fair grounds.
After our sexual escapade along the beach we ended up at this family owned pizzeria not too far from the beach.
Turns out we had a lot more in common than we had originally realized. We both liked the same kind of pizza toppings as well as having the same taste in music to having similar tastes in hunting styles.
We were having a great time in each other's company but one question keeps nagging at the back of my mind, feeding at my insecurities. It wouldn't go away so I forced myself to ask him.
"Can I ask you something?" I ask shyly afraid of what he was going to say to me, before taking a bite of my food.
"Ask away darlin'" Trace said said in a cheesy southern accent causing me to giggle.
"Okay so you seriously loose points for that horrible accent Trace" I say after I stop laughing.
"My accent was not horrible you just don't appreciate fine comedy love" he teased before getting serious again.
I decided to ask before I lost my nerve "Why were you so opposed to mating with me?"
He stopped in mid bite his eyes going wide as the smile slipped from his face. He lowered his pizza slice to his plate and looked at me as he tried to figure out how to answer my question before he adverted his eyes.
"It was never really nothing against you. I wanted to be able to make my own choice as to who my mate would be but instead the choice was taken from me. I wanted to be Blaze so badly in that instant because even if the fates choose who our perfect partner is he still got the choice of going through every other woman to find her. You were picked for me. But the fates had a sense of humor because not only were you picked for me by our parents but also by the gods as well." he smiled running his finger across the top of my hand.
"I can respect that I guess" I say giving him a small side smile as we polished off the last slices of pizza.
We hadn't wanted our night to end just yet after dinner so that's how we ended up here at the carnival.
We had ridden every ride on the grounds and Trace had even managed to win me a little stuffed puppy by filling a balloon with water the fastest. It wasn't until 1 AM that we finally decided to call it a night and head back to the hotel.
We drove back in happy silence, holding hands over the middle console until we made it back to the city. Parking the car neither of us were eager to get out and join the rest of the pack.
"I had a lot of fun tonight Trace. Thanks for rescuing me tonight. Your different when it's just me and you." I say turning toward him.
He sighed before answering me, "I guess when its just me and you I feel like I'm not being forced to be someone I'm not. it goes back to what I said earlier about being forced to choose you. When it's just us I feel like I can just be me. We aren't put into the position where we always have to live up to the expectation of everyone else. We can just be Avani and Trace." He said gripping my hand in his tighter.
"In this moment right now I feel like a normal 21 year old man instead of a werewolf prince. I would..." he started to say before a loud knock interrupted his words.
"Fuck!" he muttered under his breath as we turned and saw Rachel, Aimee, Tyree and Blaze waiting on us outside the truck.
"If you two are done with your lovers get away we need to talk!" Rachel yelled.
"So goes our night" I say softly before opening the car door.
Trace-
Avani and I got out of the car, making sure we grabbed whatever was left behind from our night before facing the small group surrounding us.
"Rachel what is it that you feel we need to talk about?" I ask her folding my arms across my chest.
"How about the fact that you said you were going to make time for me on this trip. How about the fact that you ran off all night with this fat bitch who isn't your girlfriend!" she yelled getting in my face.
Tyree moved to say something the same time that I did but before we could even get words out of our mouths Avani pushed her small body between Rachel and I.
She was standing toe to toe with her which wasn't an easy feat considering the fact that Avani was a good 8 inches shorter than Rachel.
"First off bitch who are you calling fat? Just because I choose not to miss a meal unlike your anorexic ass doesn't mean I'm fat. Second last I checked he wasn't your man anymore. Reality check he never was. All you were was something to keep his dick wet until it was time to fulfill our duty to our packs." Avani said pushing Rachel back out of our space.
Watching her go into alpha bitch mode for the first time had to be one of the biggest turn ons I had ever seen.
Over Rachel's shoulder I saw Tyree and Blaze fighting to hold back their grins and Aimee's indifferent face and had to fight back my own smile.
"Oh please. The only reason he's even paying your short, fat big bootyed ass any kind of attention is because he has to. Its his job to keep you entertained so that you can combine the packs but I'm the one he really wants" Rachel said matter of factly.
"Oh really? Because that's not what he was saying earlier when he had me spread out in the back of the truck eating my pussy like it was his last meal. Isn't he good at that?" she said with a smug side smile.
By this time their argument had attracted more people and a chorus of oooh's and laughs came up from the crowd. Next thing we all knew a loud crack echoed around us as Rachel slapped Avani across the face.
Before any of us could intervene, Avani let out an in human growl and launched herself at Rachel sending them both tumbling to the ground.
Avani-
I had no idea what had come over me. It's like seeing Tyree brought her word from earlier rushing back to me and for the first time ever I decided I was done taking shit from everybody. For the first time I was going to fight back.
When Rachel slapped me it was like a blanket of red draped itself over my mind and my wolf took control, propelling me toward her. We hit the ground and I started swinging landing blow after blow on the woman I had pinned underneath me.
Rachel wasn't even trying to defend herself really she was just trying to protect her face until she realized that her legs were still free.
She pulled her legs up to her chest and planted them full force into my stomach, kicking out sending me back into the SUV that wasn't too far behind us my back hitting it with such force I'm surprised I didn't feel some ribs break.
Standing back up ignoring the pain I felt in both my stomach and my back, I was about to launch myself at Rachel again when somebody grabbed me around my waist. I fought against them trying to get free but their grip on my body was too strong.
"Vonni you need to calm down, it's over, you won look at her. I'm pretty sure you broke her nose." Trace whispered in my ear as his hold tightened some more pulling me to his chest.
That was when I noticed the blood pouring from Rachel's nose. Seeing that I drew blood was enough to get my wolf to settle done and under control.
I sagged against Trace as the last of my fight left me, my body becoming a rag doll finding it hard to stand on my own two feet.
"Tyree can you help me get her to her room please?" I hear him ask but my mind is shutting down becoming a huge blank. I honestly don't remember them walking me into the hotel nor do I remember the elevator ride or even getting into my room.
Tyree gently guided me down on the bed, my muscles screaming in protest as the bed dipped under her weight as well.
"Hey Ty can you stay with her for a little bit?" he asked standing in the door way.
"Yeah she'll be fine go one and do what you have to do. I'll stay with her and help her get to bed. Don't worry." Tyree said.
Trace just nodded, coming to lay a gentle kiss on my forehead before walking out of the room leaving Tyree and I alone.
Tyree-
Avani was the one that broke the silence first. "You know I really want to be mad at you Ty. You hurt my feelings badly. I can take a lot from a lot of people but hearing that stuff from somebody who is supposed to have my back hurt a lot." She said from her position stretched out on the bed.
"Avani I am so sorry. Sorry for how it came out not for what I said. I've known you since we were little kids and I've sat here and watched the others treat you like your less than you are. They treat you like you're not the alphas daughter they have no respect for you and I'm sick of watching you have to go through that and not standing up for yourself. You are an alpha, meant to lead. Don't be comfortable to just stay in your bubble and let everyone else lead you." I say.
She sighed "Ty I forgive you. I understand that you only said what you did to get me to pull my head out of my ass. I do need to start acting like the alpha I am. Its like when I attacked Rachel it snapped something inside of me, some primal desire to be in charge and dominate over her." she said sitting up.
"Girl you were kicking her ass until she decided to bring her feet into the mix. Trace just about had a fit when you hit the truck." I say giggling.
"That may have something to do with how we bonded tonight. I'm m pretty sure it's Trace." She said smiling before grimacing in pain.
"Come one girl. Let's get you soaking in a nice bubble bath to ease the pain. You can tell me all about how he ate your pussy like it was his last meal from there" I say laughing.
'I'm glad I got my best friend back' I thought as I helped her into the bathroom.
Trace-
I caught up to my brother and Rachel outside in the hall way and immediately pinned Rachel against the wall cutting off her air supply.
"Trace man let her..." Blaze started to say before I shot him the look of death over my shoulder.
I thought to him as my grip on Rachel's throat tightened.
Blaze put his hands up in surrender backing away from me as I turned back to the woman against the wall clawing at my hand to get free.
"I'm going to say this once and only once if you touch or even speak to my mate the wrong way again I will kill you before you have a chance to blink. Do you understand me?" I growl squeezing even tighter until she nods before I release her throat, leaving her gasping for air on the hotel floor to ponder my words.
Avani-
A knock on the door is what drew me out of the light sleep I was in. my muscles screamed in protest as I got up off the bed and shuffled slowly to the door, already having a good idea who was on the other side.
"Can I come in?" Trace asked softly when I opened the door.
I moved to the side allowing him access into the room letting him shut the door behind him before I started my painful walk back to the bed.
"Hey champ how are you feeling?" he asked jokingly taking a seat on the floor at my feet.
"I've never been better." I say trying to crack a smile but my facial muscles were aching in pain. "But in all seriousness who knew fighting could be so painful." I say to him as his hand came up to stroke my bruised cheek.
"Avani I am so sorry. I could kill her for doing this to you. Just say the word and I'll end her..." he started to growl his eyes glowing a golden yellow as his wolf threatened to take over.
"Hey! Look at me. I'm going to be fine. I didn't break any bones nor did she draw blood so in my book this is a win. I've already begun to heal. I'm just tired more than anything," I say.
"If you're tired I should go and let you get some rest." He said getting up.
"No wait please... Can you stay with me tonight? I really just want to fall asleep with you... that is if you don't mind." I say softly feeling stupid for needing him around me.
Trace didn't say anything, instead kicked his shoes off and pulled off his shirt before pulling the covers back on the bed allowing me to get in before sliding in after me.
He pulled my body close kissing the top of my head. The last words I heard before I drifted off to sleep were "good night pretty girl. Sweet dreams."
Kathy Lee-
Jane Doe woke back up a few hours later just as Dr. Remington walked back in the room. "How are you feeling now ma'am?" he asked checking her vital signs again before pulling a chair up to the other side of her bed.
"I...I... I'm okay. How did I end up here?" she asked in a soft voice almost too low for us to hear.
"You were found outside the hospital beaten almost to the point of death by Nurse Kathy here. I was and still am your attending Dr. Your injuries consisted of a fractured femur, a broken collar bone, several broken ribs as well as a fractured skull and a severe concussion. You've been in a coma for the last 10 years."
"I don't remember anything leading up to that. The last thing I remember is spending the day with my husband and our daughter. We had taken her with us to go shopping for things we would need for... out of town guests and spent the day together as a family in the city before going home." she explained looking between Dr. Remington and me.
"That's good that you can remember things that happened before your accident. When you were found you didn't have any form of identification on your person and no missing persons claim has been filed for some one that fits your description. Can you give us your name if you remember or your husband's name so that we know where to start looking to find him so we can notify him and your daughter of your where abouts?" I ask her, excited to finally have a name and a story to the woman I had taken care of for so long.
"Of course. My husband's name is Robert Chambers and my name is Trinity Chambers."
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**This story was written for a very special lady. A distance in miles and in years keeps me from knowing her in real life, but that hasn't diminished the respect I feel for her as a person. Suzanne, thanks for being flirty, intelligent, fun, and above all, for sharing your fantasies with me.**
****************************
Suzanne McMillan's anger had given way to nervousness. The school board had been unbending; she was needed to teach the higher grades, due to the toll Covid-19 had taken on teachers there. That was the order. The only alternative was to leave the career she had grown to love. The first-graders were so cute and energetic! She loved being the first adult, other than their parents, most of them ever interacted with. That first impression was so important, growing up. Most of them only had one parent, anyway. Or only grandparents to raise them. It was sad, but being there for them gave her a sense of purpose.
For nineteen years she had fulfilled that purpose, and now she was being asked to teach teenagers in their last year of school! She had no idea how to act towards these students. They were young adults, fully formed both physically and emotionally; complete human beings, with different needs than the first-graders she had loved so much.
"You'll do fine. Just give them enough homework to respect you, not enough to hate you," her peer counselor had told her. Mike Broderick was a veteran of both middle school and high school. His view was mostly sardonic. "They're not going to listen to you anyway," he would say cynically. "Let them know who the boss is, try to impart a little good judgement into them and send them on their way."
Now, on what was to be her first day of class, Suzanne found her hands trembling as she pulled on her thong panties and studied the skirt and blouse she had chosen. Were they too casual for class? Mike had instructed her to have fun and not to be too formal. The students, he said, would judge you on first impressions. Too serious, and you would lose them, he said. "Besides, you've got great legs. You should show them off!"
Suzanne noticed her nipples were hard. Was that nervousness, or knowing she was putting herself on display? At forty-eight years old, she knew she was still attractive. But was she trying too hard? She pulled on the skirt and zipped it up. It was a black A-line, and only came to mid-thigh. Too short? Sighing, she unzipped it and let it fall to the floor. She rifled through her closet. She couldn't find anything she wanted to wear on this first day, so she pulled the black skirt on again and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror.
"My legs do still look nice," she said aloud, but her gaze kept going to her breasts. Her nipples were standing out proudly atop her B-cup breasts. They showed little sag, and as she pushed her shoulders back she thought they looked pretty presentable for her age. She pulled on a beige bra with just a bit of lace atop the cups. Her mind drifted back to early last year as she worked the clasps.
She had been out with some friends, a girl's night out at a club just over the state line. A young black man had flirted with them, and it brought back memories of her college days. There had been an affair back then; another, older black man, who used her as he wished. She kept coming back, discovering she enjoyed being submissive to him. This man was much younger, but used to flirting with white ladies. His charm was not lost on Suzanne. She met him two weeks later at the same club; this time on her own. That night and the next day he fucked her roughly, the way she wanted him to. She loved it. Then the pandemic hit.
She sighed. She had a good marriage to a successful man. Why would she crave something like that? Her sex life was still good, if a little boring. Her husband treated her gently in bed; too gently. If he only knew what thoughts ran through her head!
She put on the blouse, a soft tan number, slightly tight. She liked to inhale and see the strain on the buttons. It made her feel sexy.
Class. The students entered in a rush, seated themselves as she waited. Seniors Lit was written on the chalkboard, but no one looked at the board. They conversed among themselves as Suzanne sat and watched, waiting for the time to get their attention. At last, the second bell rang, and she stood.
"Hello, class. I'm Mrs. McMillan. We'll be reading some classics and discussing them. Does anyone have any favorites they would like to recommend?"
Silence, for 10 seconds. Suzanne waited, until someone blurted out, "Fifty Shades of Grey?"
The class erupted in laughter. Suzanne smiled briefly and told them that 'Fifty Shades' might not be considered classic literature for a long time, if ever. The same voice said, "Yeah, but it's got some great scenes in it!"
The rest of the morning went pretty much like that, and during lunch break Suzanne sought out Mike to vent. "Not to worry, kid," he teased, "in my second period I intercepted a note going around that suggested there was a mass suicide going on in the Home Ec room, and anybody that wanted to join in was welcome."
Suzanne shook her head. "Holy crap," she exclaimed, "what happened?"
"Dunno. I decided I'd rather eat lunch," he said dryly. Then he laughed, a huge gale of laughter that had the other teachers giving him disdainful looks.
"Look, I know it's a lot different than teaching five- and six-year-olds," he told her. "You just have to know when to react and when not to. These kids will try to get under your skin, or with a pretty thing like you, under your skirt, maybe. Just remember, we all have to be here, but at least we're the ones getting paid." With that he left, chewing on a cold piece of chicken he'd filched from someone else's lunch bag.
The afternoon classes brought at least one surprise. One of the kids had been one of her first-graders, years before. James Robinson came up to her just before class and said, "You probly don't remember me, Mrs. McMillan, but you was my teacher back at Melville Elementary," he said.
Suzanne looked closely at the boy. "Oh my god, yes!" she said, "I remember you, James. Your mother..." She stopped. The boy's mother was a drug addict, and his father was not around. Social services had become involved, and the boy was shuttled around from relative to relative. He left school for a while, then returned when his grandmother took him in.
James looked down, frowning at the memory. "Yeah, momma passed on," he said. "That monster gonna eat you eventually, you know?"
Suzanne nodded, then put her hand on James's shoulder. "Well, I'm glad to see you now," she told the boy. "You grew up big and strong, and you've always been a handsome boy."
James grinned. "I never thought I'd see eighteen, but here I am." He looked at the attractive teacher. "And here you are, too!" he said. "You always were the prettiest teacher in the school, and you ain't changed none."
Now Suzanne was blushing. The other students were almost all in their seats, and the bell would be ringing soon. "Better take your seat," she told him.
During class, she was distracted. James sat in the back of class, but she focused on him when talking to the class. He really had turned out to be handsome, she thought. His physical presence was...remarkable.
As the last-period class was filing out, he approached her desk again.
"I just wanted to say..." he began, "...you look really nice in that blouse and skirt." He paused as she thanked him. His eyes seemed to rake up and down her body, and Suzanne was just beginning to feel uncomfortable when he said, "You're just the same as you were then. Like, you haven't even aged."
She thanked him again, profusely, and hugged him briefly before walking out of the room with him. "I'll see you tomorrow," she told him. She was in a good mood; relieved that this first day was over. She was also somewhat conflicted about her former student. She felt the imprint of his body against hers, and scolded herself for hugging him. He was a grown-up, for all intents and purposes, and not that little first-grader with the searching eyes she remembered.
'Well, he certainly did grow up,' she told herself, then blushed inwardly at the connotations of that. She saw his eyes when she shut hers. They still seemed to be searching. But for what?
The rest of the first week went by in a blur. Three of her classes would be reading "Moby Dick" (with the title discussed longer than she would have liked) and the other two classes her favorite, "To Kill a Mockingbird." The racial overtones of the latter were of course very familiar to her, but she found herself somewhat nervous discussing these with her classes. She equated, in particular, James with Tom Robinson, the young black man accused of raping a white woman in the novel. Besides having the same last name, James's eyes bore much the same expression as those of Brock Peters, the actor who played Tom in the movie. It was a combination of sadness and strength, that Suzanne found intriguing.
Each day after class, James stopped to talk briefly with Suzanne. They became more comfortable with each other, and though she didn't touch him again, she found herself wanting to, strangely. She wondered if he thought about that, too.
Friday afternoon came, and James asked her what she liked to do on the weekend.
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Phil and I sometimes take in a movie, but he's out of town right now, so I'll probably just stay in and read."
"Out of town? Where'd he go?" James seemed alarmed for her, as if fearing for her safety.
She explained that he was a construction advisor, and that there was a problem with one of his projects in Philadelphia. He'd been there for a few days, and was probably going to be there for at least another week.
James seemed to consider this for a moment. "Then you don't have anyone to talk to. Don't you get lonely?"
Suzanne rolled her eyes. "I get lonely when he's there," she stated flatly. She had been reminded of a longing that was beginning to rekindle inside her. 'Maybe I ought to get out,' she thought, 'and see what feels right. I'm bored from sitting at home.'
James seemed to read her mind. "I could meet you somewhere, if you just wanted to chat," he said. "You know, have a sandwich or something, talk about this book."
"There's not many places open yet," she said, considering it without thinking. The idea of some company actually sounded nice. "This pandemic, I mean. The town is pretty much shut down."
He said immediately, "I know a place."
They agreed to meet the next day at noon. James had his own car; he told her he'd pick her up at her place, if that was alright. She hesitated, now wondering if this was a good idea after all. Teachers and students interacting outside of school, she thought now, might be considered wrong.
"This place. Is it private? I mean..."
James nodded. "Ain't no one gonna see us, I'm sure," he said. "At least not someone from the school." He put his hand on her arm. "We won't get in any trouble, Mrs. McMillan. I promise."
His hand was warm, and Suzanne could feel the strength in it, though he held her lightly. She took a deep breath. "Okay, James. But you can call me Suzanne when it's just you and I."
That night she took a hot steamy shower. She spent longer than usual washing herself, reveling in the feel of her loofah, soaked with a fragrant soap. It caressed her sensitive nipples like a hand; a warm, strong hand. She was breathing hard by the time she got to her lower body, and when she rubbed the loofah over her pubic mound, her knees went weak. 'Wow,' she thought, 'it's been longer than I thought.' She pulled her razor out and shaved herself smooth, then closed her eyes and indulged herself with her fingers for as long as she could stand. She left the shower with one purpose.
In bed, Suzanne rubbed herself slowly, building to a higher climax as she tried not to think of her student. 'You're hopeless,' she told herself. Finally, unable to stop, she buried two fingers deep inside as she imagined James's eyes looking down at her. When she climaxed, it was gut-wrenching.
She had two glasses of wine before going back to bed, trying to drink herself into forgetfulness, but when she lay down again he entered her thoughts as stealthily as before. Her last orgasm brought forth a cry of pleasure.
That morning she was rattled. 'I should have gotten a cell phone number' she told herself. 'Then I could call him and cancel; tell him I don't feel good.' But she knew she wouldn't have. A sense of forbidden pleasure had her in its grip and wasn't letting go. She had a glass of wine to calm her nerves, even though it was barely ten AM.
He was there at ten minutes past noon. Suzanne waited by the door in the sundress she had decided upon, checking her makeup repeatedly. 'This isn't a date,' she told herself, 'just lunch with an old friend.' But they weren't old friends, were they? She barely knew this boy, other than that he was eighteen and had earned good grades in school. She'd checked up on him, after that first class. He wasn't a model student, but she took pride in thinking that she'd helped form him in some ways, and he was making the best of a rough start.
"Hey! You look great," he told her as she opened the door. "Did I make you wait?"
"No," she lied. "Perfect timing!" She hesitated, looking at his pressed slacks and button shirt. "Not too casual, I hope? This old thing..."
"Are you kidding? You make anything look special!" He reached out and held her at arm's length, looking her up and down - her gorgeous green eyes, plump and perfectly shaped lips, the dress that accentuated her sleek body, and her long legs, complimented by a low pair of heels. Compared to her school attire, she looked completely different, and even more attractive.
Inside, Suzanne's butterflies were in full flight. Having him look at her like that was...arousing! There was no other word for it. It was like he was looking right through her clothing to the real her. His hands on her forearms had the same heat she'd felt before. It was like his body was on fire, in danger of burning her if he held her too long. She took a deep breath.
"You're making me blush," she told him. Her face, she knew, must be red, but it wasn't only from embarrassment. Those butterflies weren't only in her stomach. Below, she was stoking a fire of her own.
When he released her arms she stepped back. "Would you like to come in?" she asked. "Or should we just go? Yeah," she amended quickly, "we should get going. I guess?"
'Get hold of yourself,' she thought, 'you're never this indecisive!'
James didn't seem to notice. "Yeah, we probably should," he said. "I hope you like this place. Their pulled pork is so great! Are you hungry?"
"Famished!" The glass of wine was all she'd had this morning. She couldn't eat before, but she was hungry now, she realized. James made her feel good. If she could only keep her imagination under control!
Ernie's was on a little side street; one she'd never been on before. The neighborhood was predominately black, she noticed. Lots of people lounging on porches, and hip-hop playing loudly from one of the houses nearby. She felt safe with James, and why shouldn't she? This was his world, but she had never been racist, so it all seemed perfectly natural to her.
Inside, though, conversation stopped as soon as they entered. The place was filled with people; not a one of them white. James put his hand on her arm again.
"Don't be nervous," he said to her. "They just not used to seein' beautiful ladies in here. 'Specially with me!" he said, and laughed. Conversation picked back up again by the time they got to the counter to order. They ordered, James introduced her to Ernie, and they sat near the front window to talk while waiting for their food. It was very low-key. You ordered, found a table, and took utensils from a basket on your table to eat with. Or you left, to eat elsewhere.
Suzanne liked Ernie immediately. He complimented her on her dress and made jokes about the food as they ordered.
"I hope you hungry!" he told the pretty brunette. "You look skinny enough, but I got a feelin' you can put it away! And," he said, shaking a finger at them both, "Don't you worry none. I got plenty of napkins, so you don't get nothin' on that pretty dress."
James was true to his word. When her pulled pork sandwich arrived, she couldn't get her hands around it, much less her mouth.
"Eat some with your fork first," James advised her. "Ain't nobody can eat Ernie's sandwich without whittlin' it down first!"
"Oh my gosh," she told him after the first bite, "this is absolutely the most amazing pork I've ever eaten!" She'd papered her lap with napkins, but she tore into the sandwich with gusto, making James grin.
"If you get through that I'll buy you dessert."
She laughed, with her mouth full of pork. "Uhm...yeah, right!" she mumbled. "If I get through this, you'll need a hand truck to get me out of here!"
She ate more than half, surprising herself. The rest, Ernie happily packaged up for her to take. James, she noted, had ordered chicken bites; a generous portion, but manageable for an eighteen-year-old appetite. She couldn't decide if she was more embarrassed, or happy. When they left, James paid, but she gave Ernie a five-dollar tip, and promised to come back again.
"Okay, so we didn't discuss much of TKAM," James joked as they left.
They hadn't. Eating had been a full-time occupation, but Suzanne had her copy in her purse, and was still eager to find out James's viewpoint on the treatment of Tom Robinson.
"Do you want to go back to my house and talk?" she asked.
There was a moment when she didn't feel at all nervous about that question; that passed quickly, and she suddenly regretted sounding like a MILF eager to get a young man into her clutches. "I mean...we can go anywhere you want to."
James smiled. "Your house is fine," he said. He had decided he more than liked his middle-aged teacher. Her body was trim, she was attractive, and he had a feeling she might be just wanting enough to be a tiger in bed. She'd already hinted that her husband didn't satisfy some of her needs. Now he wondered which ones those were. His dick stiffened as he held the door of his car for her, and her dress rode up enough to give him a good view of her thighs. Those lean thighs promised a treasure where they met.
At her house, Suzanne excused herself long enough to put her leftovers away and get them both glasses of iced tea. James situated himself on the sofa. When she returned, she sat opposite him, but while discussing certain passages of the book, she wanted to hear him read. She moved beside him and sat with one leg pulled under her, making herself comfortable.
James was not comfortable. His cock kept wanting to harden. He made every attempt to reposition it without being obvious, but Suzanne caught him pulling at the crotch of his slacks a couple of times. Her attention drawn to it, she began to notice it made for a rather large lump. 'Poor baby' she thought, 'he's certainly grown since the first time I knew him.'
For some reason, she didn't like thinking of him as a first-grader any more. The thoughts she had entertained the night before made her feel like a pervert when she imagined him as he was then. James was a man now; while still a teenager, he was obviously fully formed. 'Fully formed is right,' she mused, watching him pluck at his crotch again out of the corner of her eye. 'He must be bigger than Phil.'
Comparing him with her husband caused a sudden stirring in her groin, a not altogether unpleasant feeling. Her arousal ratcheted up another notch as she imagined the contrast of the two cocks. She wondered what this one would feel like inside her, then tried to push that thought away.
James, for his part, was thinking along those same lines. He was a good four inches taller than her, and outweighed her by forty pounds, he guessed. 'She probly got a tight little unit under that dress,' he thought, and wondered if she would be comfortable with him on top of her. 'She the teacher. She probly would want to be on top,' he fantasized. His dick was almost fully hard now, and it was becoming painful. Her thighs were on view almost up to her crotch, the way she was sitting. He couldn't not look.
"Hey, can I use your bathroom?" he asked.
Suzanne said, "Of course," and stood up to let him cross between her and the coffee table in front of them. "It's down the hall to the right."
As he stood, she glanced at his crotch. It looked bigger still! 'He probably just has to pee,' she told herself, but as he walked away from her she noticed him tugging at his crotch. 'God, I wonder how big that thing is,' she thought, and felt herself dampen in response to that thought.
The air, when he returned, seemed thicker to her; almost alive with pheromones. Her heart rate was up, and when he passed in front of her again and brushed against her front with his arm, a bolt of sexual lightning shot straight from her nipple to her lower belly. When he sat again, his cock was clearly visible running down the length of his thigh. She could definitely feel herself spasm down there.
They talked a little. He read, then passed the book back to her, their hands grazing each other's. Soon, the conversation dwindled down to a few short words, and then stopped, as they both were aware of one another. The sexual tension was palpable.
Suzanne felt it before he turned to her. Her breath hitched in her chest, and when James looked into her eyes, she was ready to surrender anything to him. She leaned slightly forward. He pressed his lips softly to hers. Her last thought was, 'Holy crap!' and then they were locked at the mouth, their hands going to each other as he leaned her back against the sofa. His tongue touched her lips and they opened, taking him in eagerly.
Long minutes of making out only produced more desire. His left hand slid under her arm, grazing along her breast, then returning to it as his right palm cupped her face. Suzanne surrendered to him, her nostrils flaring as her lungs fought for air, and when his hand closed over her dress and her bra-enclosed breast, she moaned.
James pressed her ever downward, until her head was laying on the arm of the sofa and his hand could slide down her side and up under her dress. He felt the smooth silkiness of her skin as he caressed her hips, her waist and then slid up under her bra. She withdrew from his lips and let her head fall back, enjoying the touch she had been craving all along. When he dropped his head to her chest to nuzzle against her breasts, she whispered, "Oh, godddddd."
He wasted little time getting her dress worked upward, so that her thong panties were on view. She reached behind herself and clumsily groped for the zipper. His hand joined hers, found it, and slid it downward smoothly as she lay waiting to be revealed. This was everything she had imagined in that steamy shower! As he slid her panties down over her hips, she hiked her ass upward. Her dress was drawn down, and soon lay discarded below the sofa.
James stared at her. Now wearing only a black bra and her heels, she was every schoolboy's desire: a sexy middle-aged MILF ready to be ravaged. His cock was straining to get out. He stood quickly, grinning as Suzanne took her own bra off, revealing her pert B-cup breasts to him. He dropped his slacks and boxers and let her drink in the sight of his arousal. His dick stood out proudly, waving before him as he slipped his shoes off.
'Fuck, he's huge!' Suzanne stared in rapture at the young man's cock. It was half again as large as Phil's, she noted, and looked as hard and black as iron. She was as wet as she'd ever been in her life! The girth alone would make any man proud, but he was longer than any man she'd been with, including her two previous black lovers. 'I may make a habit of this,' she thought giddily.
James moved over her. She spread her legs compliantly, inviting him to make her his, and he settled onto his knees on the sofa between them. She looked up at him imploringly, and whispered, "Please," just as the head touched her outer lips.
"You want this?" he groaned.
"Yesssss."
"Say it."
"I want it," she sighed, "please, I want it."
That wasn't enough for him. "Tell me exactly what you want," he teased, rubbing his cock head against her slippery entrance.
Suzanne was trembling with need. "I... I want that cock inside me!" she gasped.
Still, James teased her, just dipping the massive head between her labia, then pulling out. "What you want that cock to do?"
Suzanne practically screamed, "I want that cock inside me! Ogod, I want you to own this pussy with that beautiful big cock!"
She drew in a breath as he finally breached her void, filling her with one massive push. She felt his pubic hair against her smoothly shaved skin, and without thinking wrapped her ankles behind his back. "Oh! Fuck me!" she begged, and thrust her pelvis upward, taking him as deeply as she could. She gritted her teeth as he drew back, then slammed his cock inside her again and again, working that pussy like he owned it. "God, YESSSSSSS!" she groaned.
James had never fucked a woman like her. Even those girls in school; they were sloppy compared to this MILF. He thought, 'she needed this for a long time,' as she bucked and writhed beneath him, urging him into pound her.
"Harder, James! HARDER!"
This one was truly submissive, he realized, unlike those high school girls who kept telling him, "No, it hurts," and "Go easy, baby. I'm sore." He felt like he could go forever. He'd jacked off just before leaving the house, fantasizing about her the way she had about him, though he hadn't known that. His dick, throbbing with blood, felt every centimeter of her middle-aged cunt as she gripped him greedily, milking pleasure from him, even as he used her for his own pleasure. Her howls were almost feral; she wanted as much of him as she could get.
'Like fuckin a wildcat,' he grinned, sliding his hand up to grip her throat. If she was truly submissive, she'd get off even more when she started to feel her air being cut off! His other hand gripped her left tit in a death-grip as he mauled it, squeezing her nipple between his fingers. She never slowed her motions beneath him; if anything, she groaned more loudly. He felt her cum.
For Suzanne, it was an out-of-body experience. She inhaled, but she didn't notice that she wasn't taking in any air. Her entire being was focused on what was happening between her legs. The buzzing there had given way to rapid-fire bursts of electricity, like firecrackers going off inside her, one after another. She couldn't even utter a sound, though her mind was screaming in delirium. She felt herself sliding away, lost in a haze of ultimate sensitivity, as if her whole body was on fire.
James felt her sliding away under him, and released his grip on her neck. He still thrust into her relentlessly, her cunt making sloppy sloshing sounds as his cock was bathed in a sea of her squirt. 'Got damn, this bitch comin' like a motherfucker!' he thought deliriously, and at that moment his balls began to give up their load.
"Ungggghhhh!"
He unloaded into his teacher, coating her cervix with his milky first burst. Pulling out quickly, he aimed his cock at her like a rifle. Another jet of jism flew forth, striking her between the breasts, then two more coated her belly. The last couple he deposited on her clit, then thrust back inside her. He smeared his cum over her swollen little nubbin, coating it with slippery sperm and causing her to jerk spasmodically as her eyes suddenly widened. He lay over her, whispering into her neck.
"Yeah, you liked that, didn't you?"
Suzanne groaned, barely comprehending what had happened over the last twenty-five minutes. She only knew she felt happy and safe under James. Her arms went around him, holding him tightly to her sticky chest. She felt his cock again, inside her. It was still hard, and getting harder. "Mmmmm," she uttered hoarsely.
"Again."
It was almost two o'clock in the morning when James hoisted himself off the sleeping teacher. They'd fucked for hours, slept for a couple, and then fucked again. They hadn't spoken, other than words of lust; sometimes whispered, sometimes shouted. He was more tired than he'd ever been, he thought. This MILF wanted dick in the worst way! He located his clothes, put them on and then taken some shots of her with his phone camera. He used the lamp on the side table to illuminate her features, and posed with his cock alongside her lips, as if she'd just sucked him off. He took plenty of shots of her sloppy pussy, making sure her face was in the background.
"Shit, I ain't never gonna have to worry about takin' a test again," he muttered. He stared down at Mrs. McMillan, the very picture of a well-fucked slut, and felt his dick twitch. He could fuck her again...
"Oh hell, no," he said, zipping up. "I ain't never gonna get out of here if I start fuckin' that pussy again!"
His laughter as he went out the door didn't fall on deaf ears, however. In Philadelphia, her husband stared at the image on his laptop. The surveillance camera, put up for her protection, had left him shocked and then aroused, as he watched James man-handle his obliging wife over the last twelve hours.
They were going to have to talk when he got home.
|
The droning, monotone voice of the teacher seemed more and more like a background noise, and I was severely bored. I had paid to take this class, and holy shit! It was beginning to drive me up the wall in boredom. I looked around at the other people in the classroom, seeing that they were as bored as I was.
There was more than a few pretty cute girls, and one really beautiful one. Rosa, this amazing Spanish woman, sat only a few desks to my right, twiddling her flowing, almost black hair, brushing the end of a lock across her full, glossy lips as she stared off into space. She was no older than twenty, but definitely older than eighteen. I took off my hat, brushing my hair back with my hand. Sometimes it was necessary to wear a hat to tame my hair a little. Donning my hat again, my eyes drifted over to where Rosa sat in a pair of thigh-high, white shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank-top. She was still drawing a tress across her lips, but she was no longer staring off into space.
Instead, she was staring at me, and at first, I thought she was looking right through me. Then she smiled as I looked back at her. I smiled slightly, seeing that she wore a slim ring on her ring-finger. Of course, she had to be married; only the hottest ones seemed to be taken.
I tore my eyes off her big, brown doe-eyes with some difficulty, checking the clock on the wall of the classroom. 'Thank God,' I thought to myself. It was time for class to be over.
I grabbed my book bag and stuffed my Sociology textbook into it, following it with my notebook. We all flowed out of the classroom, chased out by the professor's warning of a possible quiz in the next few days. I walked out to my car, a beat-up Corolla, tossed my bag in the bag and started it. I had left the volume up on my radio on the way to class, and after a few seconds, it was suddenly overwhelmingly loud. As I turned it down, a shadow fell across me, and I looked up.
Rosa, her purse slung on her shoulder, looked uncomfortable just standing there, like she was embarrassed.
"Hi," she began, hesitated for a minute, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear.
I nodded, "Hi Rosa, what's up?"
"Um, I need to ask a favor."
I shrugged, "Sure, what do you need?"
"Well, my friend, Carly, was supposed to drive me home, but she has to stay for some thing. I was wondering if you could drive me home."
I agreed, and cleaned off the passenger seat of random items, such as junk mail that usually stayed there after I checked the mail, a pack of gum, and a few c.d.'s. She set her purse down on the floorboard, and got in, giving me a split-second glance at her full, round butt. Her legs were naturally tanned, and appeared to be quite smooth. I rolled the windows down to let some fresh air into the car, knowing it smelled like fast food. I'm one of those people that let crap pile up in my car, and I know it, but I usually procrastinate when it comes to cleaning it out until absolutely necessary. I wished that time had come before class.
"Which way do you live?" I asked, backing out of the parking spot.
"Barrett Heights, the south end," she buckled her seat belt.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I live there with my roommate."
I was taken aback, "Roommate? I figured you were married, or engaged or something like that."
She rolled her eyes, "Well, I was engaged, but that didn't work out."
My eyes left the road and I glanced over at her, "You're still wearing a ring."
She lifted her left hand and twirled the ring around with her right, smiling dryly, "I keep it on to remind me that he left me, you know, just in case he comes crawling back. Apparently, he decided that after only a month of planning a wedding he wasn't really prepared for married life."
I was incredulous, "Why would he propose if he didn't want to get married?"
She laughed every bit as dryly as she had smiled a minute ago, "So he could get laid."
I thought I might have a chance to be her rebound, but I found that I couldn't say anything that would help achieve that. Stupid conscience! Instead I noted aloud, "Seems like a stupid thing to do just for sex."
She glanced over at me, her eyes narrowed slightly, apparently thinking that my criticism was aimed at her.
"I mean for him," I clarified quickly.
"Oh. Yeah, I guess it was. It was my fault as much as his, though. I should've made it clearer that I expected more from him than sex. I was just so happy that someone proposed to me, I let it go."
Before our conversation could go any further, she changed the subject, "I live on the third street on the right, Cheshire Circle." I looked for the street sign, and when I found it, I turned onto the street. She pointed out the little house, a one-story pad, and when I pulled up into the driveway, she picked her purse up, began to get out, and then stopped, looking back at me for a second or two.
"Listen," she seemed unsure, "Since you're here, do you want to come in? I can get you a soda or beer or whatever, if you want."
It's not like I had other plans, so I just pretended to think about it. As if coming to her senses, she quickly added, "You know, nevermind. I'm sure you've got somewhere else you have to be."
"Well," I grinned, "Nothing that can't wait awhile. If, that is, you haven't changed your mind, I could use a soda."
She seemed tense as I followed her through the front door. The living room and kitchen were separated by a counter, both being pretty small. The furniture looked far from new, but was still in decent shape. She had me sit down on the sofa and she went into the kitchen, looking in the fridge for a second. The counter blocked my view of her as she bent down briefly to get a couple cans, but I imagined it was quite a view. When she stood up, she had two cans of Coke.
"Are you sure you don't want a beer?"
I shook my head, joking, "No thanks. Beer makes me think I'm somebody."
She laughed and brought me the can. She opened hers and took a swig. Fascinated, I watched the muscles in her slender throat as she swallowed the soda. Then I hurriedly opened my can and drank from it.
"Do you have any idea of what we were supposed to be learning in class today?" she asked, trying to relieve the awkwardness and tension.
"Huh?" I found myself staring right into her eyes, and looked away, "Oh, not really. The professor droning on about whatever he was talking about almost put me to sleep. It's like having a noisy box fan in the background."
She nodded, "I know what you mean. I only took the class because it's required. I just can't get interested in it."
We talked of trivial things, mostly our majors and how many credits we still needed. However, instead of relieving the tension, it instead built up. She seemed like she wanted to say something, but whatever it was, she continued to talk about other things.
"So," she cleared her throat, "Do you live around here, or are you just here for college?"
"I live about fifteen minutes north of here, in Hereford."
Soon we were running out of things to talk about, and, finally, in an innocent tone, seemingly devoid of any agenda, she asked me, "Was your girlfriend expecting you home soon? If you need to go, it's cool."
I laughed a little, "If I have a girlfriend back at my apartment, somebody needs to inform me about it. No, it's just me."
She smiled, taking a sip of her drink, saying no more about it, but the tension eased slightly.
I took my time with my drink, nervous, yet not really wanting to lose my excuse for being there. She set her can down and stood up, informing me that she'd be back in a second. Then she disappeared into a small half-bathroom near the kitchen. I stood up and looked around the living room. A decent-sized television perched atop a small swiveling stand. In the small glass cabinet within the stand, I could make out the titles of about eleven or twelve DVD's, various genres of movies. On the walls were some cheap prints of painters I'd never heard of. One print had a landscape of a planet that couldn't exist in reality, with three moons, some strange plant life, and a looming storm in the distance. The other prints were similar in topic. Either Rosa or her roommate was interested in science fiction.
As I continued to look around, noticing small things, like a discarded pair of pants that had been left on the floor. 'Well,' I thought to myself, 'At least they're women's pants.' Inside the pair of pants peeked a bit of red, and I toed the waist of the pants, revealing a pair of panties that had apparently been stripped off with the pants. I wondered who these garments belonged to. The pervert in me suggested I pick up the panties and have a sniff, like a recently post-pubescent teenager. I flushed a little at the thought, and left them alone. I went back to looking at the DVD's in the stand when Rosa returned.
"Some interesting movies in here," I didn't bother with trying to sit down before she emerged, instead reading some of the titles aloud.
"About half of those are my roommate's," she explained.
I was almost through with my drink, and had no other excuse for hanging out, so I asked her if she wanted to watch a movie, "We can rent a few, if you'd like. My treat?"
She nodded as if she'd also been looking for an excuse to have me there, "That'd be nice, as long as I can pay for a pizza."
Fifteen minutes later, inside the Video Store, standing side-by-side, Rosa and I scanned the movies, reading them aloud one at a time if they sounded interesting. She picked up a slice-and-dice thriller, read the summary on the back, and suggested that one, so I held it. The next one was a science fiction movie, and the third a comedy.
"That should be plenty," she decided.
I paid for the movies as I had said I would, and we stopped by a pizza place to get a pie. It took another twenty minutes, so we talked about more inconsequential things until it was ready. Once we arrived back at her place, I carried the pizza and movies in, following her and enjoying the view of her hips swaying hypnotically as she walked. I had to force my eyes away from her when she turned, "Just set the pizza on the coffee table while I get some plates and more soda."
This time, as she bent to get two more cans from the fridge, the counter wasn't blocking my examination of her round ass. I had to turn away to hide the erection that had started to form, using the pretense of putting the pizza down where she'd said. She gathered two plates and carried them and the soda to the sofa.
"Which movie first?" she opened the pizza box.
I shrugged, "I guess we can watch the sci-fi first."
I turned the TV on a put the disc into the small player underneath.
As it began, she handed me a plate, and we helped ourselves to the pizza.
She sat down next to me and took a bite of the slice on her plate. At this point, we were only about half a foot apart, but that felt way too far. I could simultaneously feel how close she was and the seemingly endless gulf between us. As far as I knew, this was just two people hanging out, nothing more. I couldn't even be sure that the little things I had thought I noticed earlier were signs of anything more. I never was good at picking up signals like that. We ate and watched the movie, which was probably entertaining. I couldn't concentrate on it. I found myself sneaking looks at her cute, slightly round face, those beautiful Spanish eyes, and her entrancing body.
It was a good thing I was sitting down, since I could better hide my returning erection from her. She slipped off her sandals and tucked her feet under her, but seemed uncomfortable like that. She shifted repeatedly, unable to find a comfortable way to sit.
Finally, I set my plate down, done with the pizza, and gently picked her feet up, setting them in my lap.
"Oh, you don't have to have my dirty feet on you-" she seemed embarrassed, blushing.
"It's quite all right."
"But you were eating..."
"I'm done. I'm serious, it's okay. Comfy?"
She nodded, still slightly embarrassed, and left her feet on my lap. They were dainty little things with cute toes. She'd painted her toenails a brick red. I resisted the urge to touch her feet, but not very easily. I again tried to concentrate on the movie, and managed to succeed for a few minutes. My hands rested on her shins, just above her ankles, the heat of her skin quite noticeable to me. I wanted to stroke her smooth, firm legs, but refrained from doing so, not wanting to ruin it.
I poured all my concentration on the movie, but only about ten minutes later, I could suddenly feel her eyes on me. I looked over, and sure enough, she was looking at me. Then my eyes drifted down to my lap, and saw why she was staring. Somehow without me realizing, my hand had begun moving in short strokes up her shin. I forced my renegade hand to stop, flushing brightly.
"Sorry," I mumbled, unable to think of a single valid excuse for why I could be rubbing her shin.
She smiled shyly, another signal there, but I couldn't trust my judgment as to what it meant.
"I don't mind," she admitted quietly, surprising me.
As if being given permission, my hand began moving, again seemingly of its own accord, and I could feel the goose bumps under my hand. I was immensely enjoying that little bit of contact, but then, unfortunately, the movie was over. I had no idea what happened, since my attention had been on her through the whole thing. She swung her feet down, but didn't get up. She looked at the coffee table, or rather, through it, mulling over something in her mind.
"Do....um, I mean..." she threw her hands up in frustration, "Why can't I ever just say what I need to say?"
I looked at her, curious, "When are we ever able to say what needs to be said?"
Then she kissed me.
It was light, unsure, but all the more electrifying. When she moved away a little, she seemed as surprised as I was. I asked, "Is that what you needed to say?"
"I think so."
"But is that all you needed to say?"
"I don't think it was."
With that, she again pressed her lips to mine, this time more forceful, and her soft lips opened slightly, silently inviting mine to do the same. Her tongue darted out teasingly, flicking snake-quick against my lower lip, and my tongue responded. My hands found their way to her silky hair, smoothing and caressing. Her hands rested on my shoulders.
Reluctantly, she broke the kiss, and her eyes searched mine for something. I could get lost in her wide brown eyes. Despite being 20, those eyes seemed to still be so innocent and naïve.
"I don't know if this is what I want," she sighed.
"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to."
"That's not it, though," she almost seemed to be talking to herself, arguing.
I waited.
"I really like you," she admitted, "And you've treated me so nicely."
"You don't owe me anything for being nice to you, Rosa. I like you, too."
"But what if I... and you start treating me like Alan did. I felt so used..."
"It was so wrong, what he did to you."
"I can't go through that again."
She was so vulnerable that I almost backed off. I continued to stroke her hair with one hand and pulled her gently to me, "And you won't. Whatever happens, you won't."
She kissed me so intensely, so fiercely that it made my head spin.
I've been kissed before. But this was the most arousing kiss I'd ever had. Her hands slid around to my back, and pulled me almost desperately, almost as if she were drowning.
I lifted her and held her in my lap as we continued to kiss. My hands caressed up and down her back for a few minutes, and then she abruptly stood up. She pulled me up as well before leading me to her bedroom.
The only light in her bedroom came from what light snuck in around the dark curtains. My eyes gradually adjusted to the dark, and I could make out the bed, a simple frame, nothing fancy. She pulled me against her, and again we met in another mind-blowing kiss that left us both breathless. She broke briefly to lift my shirt over my head and off. Her lips returned to mine, and then traced soft brushes on my cheek, next to my ear, and then down to my neck. I could feel her body pressing insistently against mine. I pulled her tank-top off, baring her beautiful, slightly upturned breasts. My hands cupped them and slowly kneaded in circles, feeling her nipples harden, drawing soft moans that I could feel on my neck as she kissed there. When she stopped kissing, I moved my face down to her cleavage and planted soft kisses there, moving outward to pull her nipple into my mouth before moving my tongue to stimulate them further.
Her hands held my head against her, and she moved her hips closer, almost grinding against mine with need. I slid my arms around her waist to feel her ass, gripping it as I picked her up, and her firm, toned legs wrapped around me. I carried her to her bed, my mouth still sucking and teasing her nipples. When I joined her on the bed, she was struggling with her shorts, so I tenderly pushed her slender fingers aside and unbuttoned her shorts for her. She lifted her hips up in the air to assist me in pulling them off, but I was just enjoying the feel of her legs. She was only 5'2, so her legs were a little short, but they were still so gorgeously smooth and silky that I ran my hands up one leg, to where the bottom of the shorts began, and then back down, to her cute feet before slowly working my way up her other.
I was almost overwhelmed at how quickly she had totally succumbed to me, completely putting her heart, still raw from such deceit and betrayal from another, into my hands. I had to be careful to take it as slow as she could handle.
She confessed, her voice shaking slightly with desire and a mild fear, "Your hands feel so good on my skin. I love how you touch me."
Delighted to hear that I was having such an effect on her, I moved my head down and traced a path with my lips, the same path that I had just finished with my hands.
As I reached her feet, she giggled nervously as my lips tickled her arch. From there, I kissed her other foot, and continued my way up to her thigh.
"I don't know how much I can take, it just feels so good!" she gasped as my lips grazed her inner thigh.
I finally moved and helped her peel her shorts off, revealing a pair of pink panties with a rose pattern, and I thought, 'How appropriate considering what lies beneath!'
I kissed higher up on her thigh, just below the thin material of her panties, and then worked my way inward. Her legs opened a few inches, and I could just barely make out the outline of her moist opening. Careful not to touch her there just yet, I concentrated on the soft and sensitive part of her inner thighs, kissing lightly, and then moving my questing tongue along that area. She gasped as her nerve endings registered the teasing so close to her center.
Her thighs there tasted slightly salty from the sweat that had dried there recently, probably from when she had been most nervous and apprehensive. It only took another minute before her hips gyrated, indicating her fierce need for me to pleasure her where it would cause the most sensation. I caringly kissed her through the fabric, directly on the center, and she jumped from the brief stimulation.
"You're torturing me!" she exclaimed, hooking her thumbs under the waist of her panties and thrusting them down. I had to stare for a few seconds! Her pubic hair was shaved, except for a small triangle no wider than two of my fingers, and even that small triangle of hair was trimmed down almost to the skin. Honestly, when I ran my fingers over it, it had a texture that was remarkably similar to a piece of felt. I snapped out of it enough to help her shed her panties, which had become more than moist from her heat and need.
After I had slipped the panties off her raised feet, her legs came back down onto the bed, and her outer lips closed, covering most of her entrance, except for where the clitoral hood peeked out somewhat. She was fully nude now, on her back, looking up at me with such a vulnerable gaze from those amazing eyes, the fear and yearning as nakedly displayed as she was. I wondered if the fear was evidence of doubts in her mind, doubts about whether continuing was a good idea.
I couldn't in good conscience go on if these doubts were there. This thought, and the realization of how careful with her emotions I had become, baffled me, as any previous sexual encounters had not been so... tender. I admitted my reluctance, "It wouldn't be fair to you at all for you to feel that what we're doing is wrong. I need to know that you have no doubt in your mind."
"Oh, please, I can't get rid of them," she pleaded, "I know I need you so badly right now, but I've been hurt so badly! What if you hurt me, too?"
There seemed to be no way that I could utter any promise that I would not hurt her, especially when Alan had probably given her that same promise. It would just sound so hollow. Finally, since she was so anxious to hear something from me, a promise, a denial, something, I spoke as carefully as I could, hoping to prove to her my sincerity.
"I would sooner die than hurt you."
She was taken aback by my words, and tears stood shimmering in her eyes. I thought I'd said something horribly wrong. She suddenly pulled my face to hers.
She whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "And that is good enough for me."
So, seeing most, if not all of her fear depart from her eyes, I moved down on the bed, until I was level with her hips. She silently begged for me to please her, her hands were in my hair, and she pulled my face to the junction between her thighs. I breathed in the sweet, musky heat of her desires, and pressed my lips to her outer lips. Her legs spread in response, and with that motion, her inner lips were exposed, and her hooded clitoris along with it. Her fragrance became stronger, I noticed.
I kissed along her inner lips, one and then the other, tasting the source of her aroma, a liquid that excreted the more excited she became. I moved up to the top of her inner lips to that little covered clitoris. At that point, it was the size of a tiny flower bud. I kissed the hood that protected it, sending shivers out from her core. With a finger, I stroked the hood back, baring that little bud of sensations to my lips.
As my lips closed around it, she whimpered, "Oh, I'm already getting close!"
I pinched it softly with my lips, and rubbed the tip of my tongue over it, and then again, slowly, side to side, causing it to swell just a bit.
She gasped, her hips rising off the bed, her back arching, as the pressure at her center ebbed and surged, higher and higher, and then like a roaring wave breaking on the surf, the cataclysmic, mammoth pressure broke, and she was gripped in a deep climax.
Wave after wave of near paralyzing pleasure rolled out from her center, enveloping her in a white glow of climax. Her legs tightened around my head as she rode the wave, and I could feel her clitoris pulse against my lips, growing a bit more swollen than before. When her legs relaxed and fell back to the bed, I let go of the bud and tasted the fluid that now coated her outer lips and on down until it wet the sheet underneath her. Liking the sweet-salty dewy flavor, I extended my tongue to catch the rest as it was released from her. Again and again, my tongue bathed, I swallowed it down greedily before seeking more, until her orgasm receded, and she panted, still whimpering on each exhale, trembling from the frantic energy she had expended.
She touched my shoulder, and when I looked up to see her eyes, which shined wetly from my pleasuring.
"Come to me," she pulled me up to eye-level, and without hesitation at the smell and tang of her fluids around and on my lips, she kissed me deeply, passionately, her tongue frenzied against my own.
When her lips left mine, she whispered harshly in my ear, "I need you, now! Hurry, before it drives me mad!"
With that, I moved atop her, yanking my pants and underwear down and off, and she brought her knees up, her legs parting wider in anticipation. As my erection pulsed almost painfully against her outer lips, she put her fingers around it and guided me in just past the inner lips. I eased myself in, shocked at how tight she felt as her vaginal walls gripped me. I gasped as the uncircumcised skin on my erection was pulled tight from the resistance. To help lubricate her and facilitate me into her, I reached down and lightly caressed the bud that my lips had so recently held. She moaned and arched her back. With her arching and the wetness that ensued, I was held tight within her, all the way in, and she hummed with pleasure. I waited as she relaxed enough for me to move, and then slowly slid a quarter of the way out before pushing back in just as slow. After another minute worth of slow and gentle strokes, the lubricating fluids inside her thwarted the tightness, and my strokes lengthened until the only part of my organ that was inside her was the head.
My thrusts became more pronounced as I rocked back and forth, and her hips stayed with mine, matching me thrust for thrust, urging me deeper, her thighs pressed against my hips, her feet on the backs of my thighs. I took her sensitive nipples in my mouth one at a time, savoring their velvety texture and hardness, as her breasts bounced slightly in response to my thrusts. I pushed deeply, barely drawing out before shoving deeper. Her pants and gasps and moans were uttered during each thrust, a rhythmic slapping sound punctuating each utterance.
I could feel my nuts swelling with my seed, and I resolved to slow down until I regained control over myself, but Rosa's urgent cries of pleasure signaled her own impending climax, and I dared not stop now. As her insides began milking at me, and her cries became almost high-pitched squeals of primal lust, I groaned at that split second between critical pressure and most pleasurable release, and again between each spurt of my seed as it unraveled like a thick thread within her. For each spurt, she released more of her juices, and more again, virtually gushing out. I stayed like this, holding myself up with my fatigued arms, still inside her until my erection faded and slipped grudgingly from her.
Unable to hold myself up any longer, I relaxed one arm and fell most of the way on the bed. I lay against her, still trying to catch my breath, and she also struggled for breath. It was a long time before either of us spoke, since neither of us could formulate a sentence that would do anything but break the tremulous feeling that bound us even after I'd slipped from her. In fact, I'm fairly sure that we both dozed for a good half-hour. When I finally slipped into full consciousness, I opened my eyes to find her gazing at me. I lost myself once again in the depths of her eyes for a few minutes before she broke the silence.
"I have to pee," she blushed.
I smiled, amused by her announcement, and slid off of her side. With what seemed like considerable effort, she slid off the side of the bed and onto her feet, and disappeared into the bathroom next to the bedroom. I heard water running in the sink for a moment, and then silence. I waited for her to return, and the minutes felt like hours. After what was an eternity to me, I too left the bedroom. I stood outside the bathroom, staring at the closed door. I almost didn't hear the weeping, and I was a little worried that if I knocked I would find that her weeping was for her only.
I waited longer, paralyzed with indecision, until I heard her softly sigh, "Are you out there?"
I hesitated before answering softly, my cheek against the cool wood of the door, "I'm here. Is it okay for me to come in?"
Only a beat of silence issued before I heard her speak gently, "Please?"
I eased the door open to find Rosa perched on the toilet, her knees drawn up against her chest, fresh tears beginning to dry on her face.
My breath caught for a second, and then I managed, "I hurt you."
She laughed weakly, "No, I'm not hurt. It's strange. I came in here to clean myself up a little, and then I'm crying. But I'm not hurt... well, maybe a little sore. It's been a few months since, you know, and you were so big inside me. But that's not why I was crying. I've never felt so much...pleasure before. And then you're here and I feel it twice in such a short time. I think I got overwhelmed, that's all."
She took a shuddery breath, and was silent, gazing at me as if unsure if I was even there, as if I were a dream. I waited for a minute or two, and then suggested a shower. She smiled beatifically at me, making my heart skip a beat.
"A shower sounds wonderful," she stood up, swaying, and I put my arms around her to keep her from falling. Her legs seemed unsteady, as if they would spill her to the floor. I thought about the shower, and then rethought it. I thought a bath would work much better for her, so I turned the faucet on, adjusting the water temperature until it was just short of unbearably hot. I twisted the drain plug and it fell onto the drain, sealing it shut. As the tub filled with water, I looked around the bathroom until I found a little basket with what I thought might help. I dropped two bath-oil balls into the running water, and helped her in. She hissed, wincing when her feet touched the hot water, and she had to slowly ease herself into the water. Once she was immersed to her breasts, she relaxed.
As she soaked in the water, sighing with relief, I plucked a washcloth from the towel bar, dipped it in the water, and softly scrubbed her back for her. She yielded to my gentle washing, sitting hunched over her knees to better bare her back for me. I rinsed her back off, then her arms, which she held out for me when I reached for them. She leaned back, stretching prettily when I used to washcloth to wash her breasts, which were all the more attractive when they were wet, the nipples poking out proudly. I washed her breasts slowly, one, then the other, before washing her stomach. From her stomach, I lavished attention on her legs, even taking the time to bathe her feet, which she absolutely loved.
I continued back up her legs, stopping before reaching her center. She looked at me, waiting, saying nothing. She draped one leg over the edge of the tub, and propped the other up on the corner. I slid the washcloth up her thigh, reached her sore sex, and began scrubbing lightly, taking care not to apply too much pressure. She leaned back and willingly acquiesced to my ministrations.
Her eyes closed, and she didn't move for a time, thoroughly comforted by my gentle scrubbing and the lilac-scented, hot water that enveloped her up to her neck. I dipped the washcloth under the water, wringed it out a bit, and folded it in half. I placed it on her forehead, and, with her eyes still closed, she smiled sleepily. While she drowsed, I stroked her hair.
For a time, we stayed like that. I continued to stroke her wet hair, thinking almost amusedly about my sudden change that seemed solely fueled by my overwhelming desire for her to not be hurt anymore. The sunlight that filtered through the window in the living room was steadily turning a red-orange as it moved across the floor. I could see it through the open bathroom door. Gradually, as the light became crimson and slipped up the wall, the water grew colder, and Rosa eventually opened her eyes and removed the washcloth from her head.
Looking up at me, she smiled, "Now that I feel better, how about that shower?"
I half expected that our shower would be erotic, but that wasn't necessarily true. Yes, we kissed for a while under the hot spray, but it was slow, more sensual than passionate, taking and receiving comfort. We stayed in the shower for a while, washing, being washed, holding each other, being held. When we emerged from the shower, we quickly dried off and retreated to the bedroom to dress. As she pulled a fresh shirt on, I pulled my pants and underwear on. She looked so serene as she languidly slid a new pair of shorts up her legs, and then buttoned them.
Dressed, we cuddled on the couch as the second of the three movies played. I leaned back on the couch, with my legs splayed, and Rosa leaned back into me, her head on my chest, her hand stroking my face. I couldn't concentrate on this movie either, though this time for different reasons. I only noticed that she hadn't really been watching when she looked up at me, a new nervousness in her eyes. I returned her gaze, waiting, and she wondered aloud, "I know that what we experienced was something awesome. But, if I tell you my fantasy, I don't know what you will think of me."
I assured her, "You can tell me if you want. I've got a pretty open mind to most things, unless it's anything involving me and another man."
She shook her head, "No, I don't want to share you with anyone else. It's just you and me. Besides that, it's pretty complicated. I'm not even sure I can explain it."
"Just explain it as best as you can."
As she began sharing her fantasy with me, my eyes grew wider and wider. What she explained blew my mind. I had only heard about it from stories about other people, but never firsthand...
|
Sleipnir
and her crew were nearly a week out from Cuba. Anthony spent those days drifting in and out of consciousness with Goldie by his side. The old man left only
to feed the crew each day, being sure to pass Anthony water that would induce sleep. The genius didn't mind so much after being explained what he was
drinking. That first time made him weary of any consumables for several days.
During the days, Anthony managed to stay awake for a few scarce hours. Goldie never approved - he would rather Anthony stay asleep to save his strength.
Forcing himself to keep awake during days of travel wasn't worth the tax on his body. Anthony, for all his fever-induced mindset, found his worries
hilarious and giggled away most of them. Goldie just smiled and sighed, his expression humourous but still tinged with enough worry that Anthony could pick
up on it.
For the few times Goldie was off to feed the crew and Anthony was awake, the inventor pulled down the rag over the porthole and pushed the glass open. He
sat on the upper floor below deck, putting his window well above the deep waters of the ocean. However, the spray still wormed its way in and Anthony
reveled in the coolness against his heated face.
The fresh air did well for his sore lungs, tired from coughing and breathing stale air below deck. With the wind, voices traveled. Crew who routinely
polished the cannons and swivel guns chatted amongst themselves rudimentary topics, the like that greatly interested Anthony. Goldie had done well to
explain minor workings of the ship, but these men had hands on experience.
Anthony listened to which oils to use to polish the guns, how to tie the knots to keep the cannon balls from spilling out across the deck - as well as how
to sabotage those very same knots for when rotation put Gibbs or Grim on that specific duty.
It was during a fever-induced scheme for revenge when Anthony heard his first draw of gossip.
"Aye, Tenny - 'ave a minute?"
"Wot? It better be damned quick - Cap'n 'as been ridin' us hard t' git t' Cuba. 'E dun want no slackin'." Anthony's ears perked. A quick glance showed
Goldie still in the galley. He slid as close to the porthole as possible.
"Aye, aye," the other dismissed. "Doesn't 'e seem a bit...off?"
A pause. "Wot in bloody 'ell are ye prattling on about?"
"The Cap'n!" The other hissed, his voice dropping low.
"Wot about the Cap'n?" Tenny answered, his voice dark.
"E's been spendin' more time on deck."
"Well, he is the Cap'n. 'E goes where 'e damn well pleases." Anthony rolled his eyes at Tenny's blatantly dry tone. The other pirate smacked his
lips.
"Aye, but when does ours go below deck?"
Anthony swallowed, working his perpetually dry throat. To see him. The rest of the pirates' conversation drifted away as Anthony fell into his own
thoughts. That comment reminded him of something he had thought was a dream at the time. Now, he wasn't so sure.
Were his timeline to be correct (as correct as his fevered mind could stand), it was two days after Anthony heard Goldie and Laufey decide to sail for
Cuba. A terrible storm rocked the ship for the majority of the day and well into the night. Anthony had hoped to sleep through most of it, but the shifting
and jostling was too much for his weakened state. Goldie stayed as near as possible with a pail should Anthony need it. The inventor had needed it quite
often.
Anthony had been pleased to see that the bolted down furniture in his alcove didn't move in the slightest; before the worse of the storm hit Goldie had
thrown all loose items into a small blocked off area that looked identical to a pig pin made with long slates of wood. It held quite well - one particular
wave turned Sleipnir nearly on her side. Anthony held to his cot for purchase as Goldie did the same - they watched as Anthony's bag slid to the
opposite side of the hull. It nearly reached before the ship lurched again, this time in the opposite direction, sending the bag back to its previous
location. Goldie strapped it to the leg of the cot with twine.
Those pitches were the worse of the storm - after settling, Anthony shared a small laugh with Goldie and decided that his bag's contents would be better
off inside the locked drawers of the desk. The old man agreed with a nod and said he would fetch the key after the storm passed. Anthony laid back down and
faced the hull of the ship. Deciding to unpack suddenly made his entire situation all the more real. It brought a moment of clarity in his fevered haze
that Anthony would rather not have. The rocking of the ship put him to sleep uneasily.
What had felt like hours later, voices woke him. Stamping of feet as the crew shifted, those soaked from the storm grousing about the pitiful weather,
echoed in the hull as they sent off their replacements. It was too loud for several minutes until it all suddenly ended. Anthony sighed and turned over,
drawing his duvet higher.
"Goldie." Anthony's eyes snapped open. He held his breath, his heart suddenly racing, and laid incredibly still.
Laufey's call was answered with silence. "Goldie."
"Ah - wot, wot?" The old man, Anthony knew, was sitting outside his curtain on his stool. He yawned loudly. "Apologies, Cap'n. Seemed t' 'ave drifted off."
"So it seems," the captain answered, a touch of fondness in his tone. "Get some rest, Goldie. I shall take your place."
"But Cap'n!" Goldie immediately began to protest. "Ye must be outta yer mind! Why, yer soaked t' the bone! Ain't no way 'n hell yer sittin' 'ere
in 'at state."
"Your voice carries, Goldie," the captain answered, his tone still as soft as before. Goldie grumbled for a moment before he huffed.
"Ain't no way I'mma let ye sit 'ere like 'at. Before long, ye'd be worse off 'an Tony."
"Get to sleep, Goldie," Laufey answered. "That is an order."
There was silence - Anthony had imagined Goldie staring down the captain - before the older pirate shuffled around and stood from his stool. "Aye, aye -
but jus' fer a bit!"
"Certainly," Laufey said. Goldie mumbled a bit more before Anthony could hear him no more. After a moment of blessed silence, the curtain shifted aside.
Anthony struggled to keep his breathing even.
"Pardon me a moment - I wish to merely borrow your coat hook," Laufey said softly. Anthony continued to feign sleep as he heard the heavy fabric of the
overcoat slide from Laufey's form, resting on Anthony's hook with a wet squelch. Small drops of water fell to the floor audibly; Goldie hadn't
been lying about the captain's condition.
Anthony had his back to the curtain as the captain moved quietly. He couldn't help but feel the entire situation to be strangely intimate - the thought
brought a rapid heat to his neck and face that he fought with his entire will to cease.
No sooner had it ended did Anthony feel a hand on his shoulder. Even through his duvet it was far too cold. Anthony didn't move as Laufey's hand drifted to
his forehead, the touch comforting against his fever heated skin. It rested there for only a moment; Laufey leaned over Anthony just slightly to keep
balance as the ship rocked from a rogue wave, causing the captain to tsk about poor handling.
"We shall arrive in Cuba soon," the captain whispered, drawing his hand back and stepping away from Anthony. "For now, rest well. I will not be far."
The curtain closed again and Anthony listened as Laufey took Goldie's stool. He was moderately alone with his thoughts and couldn't help but still feel the
captain's soothing hand against his skin. Before long, sleep had claimed him again.
Now, listening to the dregs of shifting conversation through his porthole, Anthony had to begin to wonder himself. It most certainly had not been a dream,
but why did Laufey sit below deck outside of his curtain? Anthony wanted to ask Goldie, nearly certain that he would have an answer, but he
couldn't bring himself to do it. Not that Goldie would answer the question even if he did ask - he was trusted by Laufey for good reason. Hardly
any talk left his mouth, and on more than one occasion Anthony heard him silence the rest of the crew from it.
"If'n it be yer's t' know ye would!"
Anthony couldn't help but grin; Goldie was certainly still surprising.
Anthony shivered and decided that would be enough air for the day. He pushed the porthole glass in and locked it, tying the rag back up to block the sun.
His alcove fell blissfully dark, drawing a yawn from him. In the days since his fever had began, Anthony did little else than sleep and drink. Were he on
land, the inventor had no doubt that his body would have already cured itself. Weeks, now months for Anthony, did odd things to a body's natural immunity.
Anthony held little doubt that his prolonged fever was because of the wetness of the air and his surroundings, but Goldie was trying his best to keep him
well fed. It was working, and with hardly a day left at sea, Anthony felt optimistic about a full recovery.
If only he could stop shivering, then he would feel himself again.
Anthony allowed his thoughts to drift back to Laufey. There was absolutely something odd about the man besides just his outward appearance and obviously
cultured upbringing. Anthony had seen more than he would like of his ruthless side - several of his fevered dreams revolved around Jack's injury - but it
still didn't seem quite right.
Laufey's reputation was full of bloodthirsty tales of murder and mayhem and ruthlessness to make even Blackbeard quiver. Yet, Anthony had seen more
kindnesses than naught from the captain. Stories say he burns all ships, yet the Cavalier is assumed to still be afloat with most of her crew
still living. Anthony refused to believe anything less - that Jack was alive and well and perhaps searching for him were his only options.
Still, Laufey was an enigma. One thing Anthony heard seemed to contradict another; murmurings from the crew that so well respected him shed new light.
Goldie, the oldest of the crew and obviously with Laufey the longest, held fountains of knowledge about the captain but was quite scant with sharing.
As if on cue, Goldie pushed aside Anthony's curtain and smiled. "Good t' see ye awake, mate."
Anthony grinned, feeling his face flush. Goldie always had a knack for appearing the second his thoughts dwelled too long on their captain. "Thanks,
Goldie."
"Nay, no thanks," Goldie answered, kicking his stool closer to Anthony's cot. The genius began to think of that as Goldie's spot, now. "We've been
worried, lad. Seein' ye up an' makin' sense is good!"
Anthony's cheeks darken their flush. "Well, I suppose that's true."
"Aye - for all yer genius, listenin' t' ye prattle on 'bout seagulls gits t' me," Goldie teased, a twinkle in his eye. Anthony dipped his head slightly and
scratched the back of his neck. He felt sheepish; usually he hid quite well, but Goldie was becoming better and better at announcing his shortcomings. He
supposed that was his talent as a pirate. Perhaps that was why Laufey and he were so close - he kept that wonder of a man grounded.
"'Ere, Tony." Anthony looked over to see Goldie holding out a hunk of cheese and salted pork. "Cap'n thinks yer belly can handle 'is, an' I agree."
Anthony nodded and took the provisions, taking a soft nibble of the cheese as Goldie began to eat his own. They were silent, companionable, as they each
ate. Anthony ate much slower than usual, testing his stomach. His diet had consisted of broth and biscuits for the better portion of the week - rightly so,
as with nearly each strong lurch of the ship his stomach's contents went with it.
Nothing wanted to come back immediately, prompting Anthony to finish the cheese and move to the salted pork. Whatever spices had been used to dry the meat
was surprisingly good. Anthony opened his mouth to say so when Goldie began to speak.
"Tony," he said quietly, his food gone and his tone strange. Anthony nodded to show his attention. Goldie stared beyond him - Anthony bet even beyond the
ship - as he began to speak, his voice low.
"Sumthin' ye should know about Cap'n, 'bout why 'e is th' way 'e is." Goldie immediately had Anthony's undivided attention. "We've sailed 'ese waters fer
some time, an' I've seen 'ore 'an my share o' betrayal. Gave some, too." He leaned back, kicking his feet under Anthony's cot and leaning against the desk.
"Cap'n 'as seen it 'imself, too. Aye, 'e wasn't much older 'an ye when it 'appened. Wot exactly, ain't mine t' share - but I will give ye some advice. Ye
do wif it as ye will, but methinks yer not one t' ignore curiosities." Goldie smirked, catching Anthony's eye. Anthony decided then that Goldie must be
some sort of otherworldly being - either that or he wasn't as perfect at concealing himself as he thought.
"Will you tell me how I got back to my cot?" Anthony asked quietly. Goldie nodded, that twinkle back to his eye.
"Aye, Tony; I knew ye was special before ye opened yer mouth, lad," Goldie said. He smiled brightly, his teeth flashing in the poor lighting of the hull.
"An' the Cap'n knew it, too. 'E's been lookin' fer someone like ye awhile, now. Knowledge will come wif time, but fer now, a bit o' advice."
Anthony nodded, his pork sitting forgotten on his knee as he listened to the old man before him. Goldie's smile turned to a grin as he raised his eyebrows.
"Ye'd better eat, lad."
Anthony nodded and snatched his pork back up again, taking a larger-than-necessary bite. Goldie chuckled and ruffled his hair affectionately. "Good; now,
where was I? Aye, aye - the Cap'n 'as 'ad more 'an enough shite luck fer his years. Shite situations, shite outcomes, shite people. I've seen th'
worse o' it. At Cuba, methinks ye'll be graced t' see it yerself. But heed me words - yer diff'rent. I see it, ev'n some o' th' bloody crew sees it. Betrayal makes th' strongest o' men change, 'nary fer th' better. The Cap'n be one o' 'em."
Goldie paused, letting his words sink in. "I suggest ye don't be more regret fer me Cap'n."
Anthony swallowed - hard. "He has not always been this, has he? A pirate, I mean."
Goldie shook his head. "Aye. I be one o' few wot remember."
"I can tell," Anthony answered. "He is far too cultured for this world. I wonder what happened to make this his path." He glanced at Goldie
meaningfully, hoping the old man would take the hint. Instead, he smiled.
"I smell a trap, Tony," Goldie said with a wink. Anthony rolled his eyes and shoved the rest of his meal into his mouth, chewing to stop from answering.
Goldie laughed and rubbed his chin.
"Now, I s'pose I should git t' tellin' ye 'bout th' mast. It was th' Cap'n who freed ye early. I was settin' 'bout brewin' th' mornin' stew when 'e carried
ye down. Said ye passed out - 'e could tell 'cause yer hat flew off an' ye 'nary flinched," Goldie said with a chuckle. Anthony blinked at him, trying to
remember what happened.
"I...remember the hat falling away," he said slowly. "It was cold, but then I was warm."
"Aye, 'is coat. 'E carried ye down wrapped up in 'is coat. Another reason ye be diff'rent - only th' Cap'n wears 'is coat." Heat flared up Anthony's neck.
He tried to tell himself it was from embarrassment, but if he couldn't trick Goldie how could he expect the same of himself?
"I shall have to thank him," he muttered. Goldie nodded.
"Aye, in time." He fell silent after that, resting his chin in his palm again. Anthony knew the old man was thinking, so he remained quiet. Goldie stood up
and pushed his stool back. "'Ow 'bout we hit the deck, Tony? Th' air will do ye some good."
Anthony, grateful for the distraction, nodded. Goldie helped him to his feet after he pulled on his boots and led him towards the stairs. Having the sun on
his face warmed Anthony better than any duvet had below deck. The air was crisp, the sun marking mid afternoon.
Goldie directed them towards the railing, nodding at a few sailors as Anthony pressed his sternum against the smooth wood. He stared out across the water,
clear and deep blue from the storm days before. Wind whipped his hair into his eyes - he knew he needed to shave, but it seemed a trim was in order as
well.
"Careful o' th' edge," Goldie said, dropping a hand to Anthony's shoulder. Anthony nodded, feeling his head suddenly spin. He pushed back and stood closer
to Goldie, not at all ashamed to use the old man as grounding.
Anthony was glad to be above deck, to feel the sun on his face and the wind around him. His porthole was a nice reprieve for what it was, but nothing could
compare to being out on the deck of a ship in the open sea. He shivered slightly when a sharp gust swirled his tunic, freeing it from where he had tucked
it into his breeches. Goldie noticed and mentioned going back below deck when a shrill whistle caught his attention. The old man looked up towards the main
mast and grinned, tossing his arm up in an exaggerated wave. Anthony turned to see who it was and immediately felt dizzy from the height.
"Ahoy!" Goldie called, still supporting Anthony with one hand and waving the other. Anthony shook his head and looked again to just make out a figure
towards the top.
The main mast had a pulley system rigged on two sides that Anthony had plenty of time to admire during his punishment. He was curious for their use - why
ever would anyone need to haul anything hundreds of feet into the air? - and was pleasently surprised to get to see them in action.
The man waving back to Goldie reached out and snatched at a pulley hook in midair, his weight pulling him down from the highest point to a comfortable
bucket halfway down the mast. He repeated the action on two more pulleys and by the last, Captain Laufey gracefully joined Anthony and Goldie on the deck.
Anthony was surprised to again see the captain without his hat and overcoat, his long black hair pulled back with green silk and tossed over one shoulder.
He found the style becoming, highlighting the deep bone structure that was normally hidden behind hat and hair.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the captain said smoothly, his breathing hardly affected from his bout of activity.
"Aye, Cap'n," Goldie said with a smile, nodding pointedly towards his hair.
Laufey smirked slightly and tilted his chin. "I found your advice worthy."
Anthony felt his brow furrow - surely there was something he was missing? Laufey turned towards him and nodded. "How are you faring?"
"Ah, better, thank you," Anthony answered. Goldie grinned and nudged him.
"Better 'an better! 'E kept down th' pork an' cheese an' 'asn't fallen ov'rboard!" Goldie laughed at the horrified look Anthony threw his
direction but the captain just chuckled.
"I am glad to hear," he said calmly, drawing Anthony's attention away from Goldie's guffaws. The inventor cast a critical eye over the captain, still
smirking at Goldie. His tunic was deep crimson trimmed in gold string at his chest and lace at the cuffs, far too elegant for even the richest of HMS
Captains to own. What brought you here, I wonder?
"'Ow goes th' trip?" Goldie asked, drawing Anthony's attention from the captain to him. In answer, Laufey held out his spyglass and pointed over Anthony's
shoulder to the bow.
"Have a look yourself."
Goldie grinned at Anthony and headed for the bow, leaving him alone with Laufey. He swallowed and bit back his nerves with a smile. "Captain, I wanted to -
"
"Loki, if you would," the captain interrupted, folding his arms over his chest. The sun caught the leather and silver cuffs around his wrists in a shimmer.
"Loki," Anthony agreed, enjoying the click the foreign syllables made against his teeth. "Thank you for ending my punishment early."
"Thanks is hardly needed," Loki answered. "It was meant to be a punishment - it hardly would have worked well were you to perish."
Anthony grinned - despite how dark his words were, there was an undercurrent of humour to the captain's tone. "I suppose you are correct, in that matter."
Loki turned his bright green eyes on him and lifted a thin black eyebrow. "So it seems." He smirked back at Anthony's wide grin.
"Oi, Tony!" Anthony turned to see Goldie beckoning him over. "C'mon an' see!"
Loki was at his side before he even looked back, hand hovering near his elbow. "Watch your step." Anthony didn't mind Loki guiding him, his presence still
uneasy but strong, as they met with Goldie.
The old man was grinning brighter than Anthony had ever seen as he passed over the spyglass. "'Ere, lad. Look."
Anthony swiped his tongue over his teeth and took the spyglass. Loki leaned casually against the railing of his ship, the breeze freeing a few strands of
his hair from the emerald ribbon. Anthony blinked and peered into the glass.
He angled it to where Goldie directed him but saw nothing more than water and sky. Anthony frowned and lowered the glass. "I do not see anything."
"Show 'im, Cap'n," Goldie said eagerly. Loki pushed himself away from the railing and stood behind Anthony.
"Raise the spyglass and breathe slowly," he said, his breath ghosting over Anthony's cheek. He stood directly behind him, but much taller. In fact, Anthony
noticed, he was even taller than Jack. "Hold the glass tightly with your right hand and pull with you left, like so."
Loki's fingers brushed Anthony's wrists as they gripped the spyglass gently. His fingers were cool, exactly as they had been when he checked Anthony's
fever during the storm. His left hand pulled the spyglass until Anthony let it move, and, as if by sheer will, Anthony could suddenly see beyond just the
water and sky.
He was vaguely aware of Loki stepping away as his gaze roamed across trees and cliffs. Ships came into view that blocked his gaze from the land, but he
could make out off-white buildings with pinkish tiles for roofing. They spread for what seemed like miles inland and mingled with tall palm trees. Anthony
lowered the spyglass with a bright smile, feeling his heart racing with the usual feeling of a new discovery. He turned towards his right where Loki was
once again reclining.
"Cuba?" He asked, smiling brightly. Loki smiled back himself, the expression oddly soft on his lips.
"Cuba," the captain answered with a nod. He pushed himself from the railing and walked further onto the deck as Anthony peered back through the glass at
the new land before him. Goldie dropped his palm to his shoulder and squeezed.
"Excited, lad?"
"Aye!" Anthony answered eagerly.
"Ahoy, lads!" Goldie turned at the sound of Loki's voice. Anthony did too, recognizing it as that quiet commanding from the day of his skirmish. It was
odd, how quickly the captain's demeanor shifted to match those around him.
The captain stood atop the railing before the helm of the ship, his hair free of its binds and moving with the breeze. The crew cheered to show he had
their attention, to which he bowed. "We are off the coast of Havana and approaching rapidly. I thank you all for your dedication - we have arrived faster
than planned!" The crew cheered again; Goldie chuckled beside him.
"As I am sure you all remember, Cuba was quite sad to see us go the last time," Loki said with a smirk; the men began to cackle and holler. Anthony didn't
miss Goldie stiffening beside him, and wondered when he would learn the history of Cuba.
"Regrettably, this voyage will be less riotous." Loki reached behind him and held his hand out; one of the men handed him a blue and red bundle. "Which is
why we shall fly under the guise of King George." He held up a wrinkled Union Jack and snapped the fabric until it fully unfurled. "Borrowed from the late Cavalier, of which I believe we shall have more use than she."
Anthony swallowed down his flaring anger as Loki tossed the flag over to Penn. "Mr. Penn, if you would be so kind as to fly this filth for our docking."
"Aye!" Penn saluted Loki and scrambled up the nearest rigging.
"For the rest of you," Loki said, glancing over his men. "Be as calm and courteous as pirates are. Do try to not get yourselves killed."
The crew cheered as Laufey dropped from the railing and took back the helm. Anthony still held his spyglass, knuckles white from how tightly he clenched.
His anger was insurmountable, unyielding - just when he believed these pirates could be any more than that, he was proved wrong. Jack was right to warn
him.
"Tony," Goldie said, dropping his hand over one of his clenched ones. "Let's be gettin' back below deck, now."
Anthony nodded and relaxed his grip. Goldie wasn't like the rest - Goldie he trusted. The older pirate took the spyglass and passed it to another with the
order to take it to Laufey. "Between ye and me, Tony," he began as they opened the trap door. Anthony hummed and looked over. Goldie paused, eyes cast
towards the helm, to Laufey.
"It ain't 'ese men I be worried 'bout gettin' killed," he said softly, voice laced with worry. Anthony blinked, feeling some of his anger whittle away, as
he followed his gaze.
Laufey was calling orders to every available man as he steered the ship, their speed slowing as sails snapped in the wind above them. His hair whipped
around his face but he hardly seemed affected - Tenny produced the captain's hat and passed it over. In the time it took to simply put on a hat, Laufey
looked the dastardly pirate captain he was meant to be.
"What happened in Cuba?" Anthony asked, his eyes transfixed on the emeralds and gold thread that hung from his hat and caught the light of the sun in the
wind.
"Nothin' good, Tony," Goldie answered ominously. "Nothin' good."
|
Over the course of several more weeks, Lena and Kara had made significant progress and Lena was euphoric. She and Kara were going out for walks each day, they’d go and do fun things outside of the house, and Kara stayed on top of her medicine and counseling.
Lena was a bit disheartened that she would only leave the house if someone was with her, but Kara’s mental stability was definitely on the mend. She was a bit perkier and laughed more. She and Alex were also spending time together even on occasion bringing a few of the other Superfriends too (never including Lena, of course) and today… Today was the day Alex finally let Kara see the kids again, and Kara was bouncing with joy.
Lena smiled as she watched Kara wrap up the last present she’d gotten the kids. “They’re going to be so happy to dee you, Kara.”
Kara beamed. “I’m probably going to cry happy tears.”
Lena smiled and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Kara’s neck, and pressing their foreheads together. It was an extremely intimate gesture, it was so close to being something romantic, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was so happy for Kara, and wanted so desperately to kiss her, so this was as far as she’d let herself go. It was the best compromise she could come up with and it didn’t seem that Kara minded. “You do whatever you need to do.” She cooed with a smile as she looked deeply into Kara’s eyes. “You’ve earned this, Kara. All of the work you’ve put in to bettering yourself for them has led you to this moment. You did this. You deserve this.”
Kara gave her a watery smile. “Thank you, Lena.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Darling. I’m just telling you the truth.” Lena rebutted.
Kara shook her head and gently let herself out of Lena’s grasp. “I’m not just thanking you for what you just said. I’m thanking you for everything. You’ve gone above and beyond helping me through this. I don’t think I have a single other friend that would go through this much trouble for me. I mean… Alex hates your guts, Nia isn’t your biggest fan, Brainy isn’t sure if he can trust you, and my moms are… Well, they’re themselves. You’ve had to put up with all of that just to stay by me. Why?”
Lena sighed. She had to dodge the question. “I’m glad you’re feeling more like yourself, Kara. That’s all I’ve wanted from the beginning. The costs be damned.”
Kara looked at her, studying her, and making Lena feel very vulnerable. Lena immediately distracted herself. “Anyway! Alex should be here any minute to pick us up. Do you have everything you need?”
Kara checked her packages and then looked back up at Lena with a bright smile. “Yep! I really hope they love it.”
Lena nodded. “They will. But they’ll be much more excited about seeing you.”
“I hope so. Do you think they’ll even remember me?” Kara said with fear and pain etched all over her face. “It’s been so long Lena. I was down for months.”
Lena took Kara’s hand in hers. “There’s no way in hell anyone could forget you, Kara Danvers. Especially not your own nephew and niece.”
The corner of Kara’s mouth turned upright. “I hope you’re right.”
Lena nodded. “I am.”
Kara engulfed Lena into a huge hug. “You are amazing, Lena Luthor. Have I ever told you that?”
Lena laughed lovingly as they pulled apart. “Maybe a few times.” She teased.
“Not enough.” Kara replied.
Lena gave a bashful wave. “Awe. /rrip/ /non/ /vahdhah/ /gynot/” She said, showing off the little bit of Kryptonese she’d learned from Kara over the past few weeks. ‘It meant ‘You are too kind’. She knew that it was a very basic sentence, but Kara seemed to be elated by it, which melted Lena’s heart.
Kara’s eyes brightened and her smile broadened so much that Lena thought she might go blind due to the shiny white teeth being flashed at her. The look Kara had in her eyes melted her heart and made her yearn for so much more with Kara.
“/iovis/ /non/ /vrrahdh/, Lena!” Kara replied. (That was so good, Lena!)
Lena’s heart flipped. “I do try to impress.”
Kara grinned. “You’re definitely getting better.”
Lena blushed. “I’m glad. Kryptonese is… Very unique.” She teased.
Kara laughed. “Try speaking Martian.. Now THAT is a language like no other.”
They both laughed before the front door opened and Alex walked in. Alex gave a cordial nod to Lena before turning her attention to her sister and smiling.
“You ready, Kar’? The kids are stoked I don’t want to keep them waiting!” She chuckled.
Kara hugged her sister. “Yes! We’re ready!” Kara beamed.
Alex furrowed her brow. “we’re’?” She asked in confusion.
Kara furrowed her brow. “Um… Yeah?”
“Who are you including in this ‘we’re’, Kara?” Alex asked calmly.
Realization hit Lena, and her stomach fell… Alex wanted to reunite her children with their Aunt… But Lena was not welcomed. Her heart broke. She desperately wanted to see Kara’s pure bliss when those rugrats ran to her and jumped into her strong arms. That’s what they’d been working towards for over a month, and now… Now Lena was going to be excluded from that.
“M-me and Lena?” Kara replied, her voice worried.
Alex shook her head. “Kara… What did I say?”
Kara’s face fell. “Lena isn’t allowed around the kids.”
“Exactly.” Alex replied. She placed a tender hand on her sister’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Kara looked at Lena conflictedly, and Lena knew that this was a tipping point. If Lena showed that she was hurt, Kara would still go, but the guilt would eat her up inside and most likely fall back into her depression. She couldn’t afford that.
So, despite how she felt, she forced a smile to her face and nodded, making a ‘shoo’ gesture with her hand. Kara gave her an apologetic smile.
It hurt, it hurt immensely, but she understood. Kara couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. Especially if it were the kids or Alex. The whole time she worked to get herself out of the hole she fell in, she was motivated by her impending reunion with the kids, and Lena was extremely determined to get her to that point, and she was excited to see Kara light up at the sight of them.
It just wasn’t fair. Lena had done all the major lifting. She held Kara through the night as she cried for her lost child and wife. She coaxed her back from the edge of falling back into depression when she got triggered by something in her home that reminded her of Sun. She listened to Kara describe how amazing Sun had been, what a wonderful wife Sun was, what a wonderful mother she would have been. No matter how much it broke her heart to hear about Kara being in love with someone else, Lena listened, and comforted, and supported her through it all.
She listened as Kara tearfully told her the name choices they were still debating on, and she comforted her through it all, and she did it all because she was in love with Kara and wanted the absolute best for her. All Alex and the Superfriends did, was take her out to do things that would distract her from the pain for a few hours…
It hurt that this was how everything was playing out in the, that once again, she was being punished by Alex for something that she’d done over a decade ago; however, she knew that making this about herself would be detrimental to Kara. So, she bit her tongue and held back her tears as she hugged Kara, and then watched her leave with Alex to go to the dinner.
XXX
Lena was wallowing in self pity for about an hour before she decided to not focus on the hurt, she felt because of Alex’s actions. She grabbed out the English to Kryptonese dictionary and sat down at Kara’s kitchen counter.
She was getting fairly good at speaking Kryptonese already… She’d say that in human terms, she would be at a 5th grade level of the language, and she was quite proud of herself for that.
So, she went over phrases and words when she realized that she had never found out what Kara and Alex had said that day on the bed… The day when Lena came in to find Kara a heartbroken, suicidal, hollow shell of herself, and she realized now that she could translate exactly what they had said if she focused hard enough on remembering what had been said that day.
She closed her eyes, focusing on that harrowing day.
She remembered Kara letting out a sob and throwing herself into Alex’s arms. She remembered all three of them crying. Then, finally… The dialogue came back to her.
/nahkluv/ /khap/ /-si/ /:dehriv/ izo khap rrivosi zha khep zhed fis khuhtiv ehrosh vahadah.” Kara had whispered.
Lena furrowed her brow, she knew the first statement was ‘thank you’. She went over the words and slowly but surely, she decoded it.
More or less Kara had said: ‘Thank you. I would die if I couldn’t have her in my life either.’
Lena’s eyes went wide, and her heart hammered in her chest… Kara loved her that much? Did that mean… That couldn’t possibly mean that she was in love with Lena, could it?
Lena thought back to all the nights Kara had cried herself dry over the loss of Sun, and quickly realized that there was no way Kara had the capability of being in love with someone else. She was too devastated.
Quickly she went back over the conversation and tried to recall what Alex had said.
She quickly remembered Alex’s response to Kara’s declaration. “Khap razoh. Khap non udol.”
Those were easy to decode… Alex’s response was. “I know. I was wrong.”
Lena furrowed her brow. If Alex knew that she had been wrong about Lena, then why the hell was she still so hellbent on breaking her heart every chance she got? Perhaps she meant that she was wrong about Kara needing her? Or that she was wrong to wait so long?
It didn’t really matter at this point; because things between she and Alex had greatly improved the more Kara healed. They weren’t friendly, but Alex at least kept it civil. All that mattered was that Kara was getting better.
She sighed at herself though, because if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she was emotionally exhausted. Taking care of Kara was not a burden. Loving Kara was not a burden. They were both honors… But dealing with her friends and family? That was arduous.
Constantly being second guessed, constantly being excluded. Constantly being watched. Constantly being degraded whenever Kara’s back was turned… It was slowly but surely eating away at her, and she just desperately wanted it to stop. She wanted a second chance, and she had no idea how to get one. It felt like they were determined to hate her for the rest of time.
Lena deflated on the couch as she wondered how Kara was doing. She wished so desperately that she was there with her right now. Holding her hand, helping her through this… But life was life, and Alex was Alex, two things which were against her.
She walked around the house, and studied Kara’s paintings, doing whatever she could to keep herself busy. She smiled sadly as she studied Kara’s unfinished painting of her little family. Lena wished more than anything to go back in time and fix all of this. She picked up the canvas and studied it better, admiring the strokes and the talent Kara had at emanating so many feelings into a single canvas.
She traced her fingers along the heart that encased the duo that were smiling down and cradling Sun’s pregnant belly, when she heard the front door open. She looked up and smiled at Kara.
“You’re home earlier than anticipated.” She stated.
Kara looked at the painting in Lena’s hands, and her face turned cold, dropping Lena’s heart. “Put that down! Now!”
Lena gulped and hurriedly did as ordered.
“Why would you touch that? Why would you-,” Tears were welling up in Kara’s eyes, and Lena filled with guilt, remorse, and panic.
“Kara I’m sorry I was just-,”
“YOU DON’T GET TO DO THAT!” Kara cried. “You- you… Why? Lena. Why did you take it off the easel? Why couldn’t you have just left it?”
Lena was terrified, she knew she messed up, she understood Kara was hurt, but she had no idea which action she had taken had upset Kara. “I-I’m sorry, Kara. I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.”
“YOU MOVED HER PAINTING!” Kara cried. “She put that painting there, Lena! She is the one that wanted me to paint it. That canvas was put there by Sun… That painting was for Sun. And it never moved, because I couldn’t finish it after sh-,” Kara cut off, grasping at her chest as she sobbed. “Why, Lena?”
Lena’s entire body ached with remorse. “Kara I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” She took a tentative step towards her. “Please don’t hate me, Kara. I-I had no idea, or I would’ve-,”
Kara just wiped away her tears and shook her head. “I don’t hate you.” She replied.
Lena frowned, she was happy that Kara didn’t hate her again, but it still seemed very much like Kara was hurting. “Well, I am glad to hear that at least.” She replied giving her a nervous chuckle and half smile.
Kara’s eyes were once again devoid of emotion, and her face was blank. “I’m going to bed.”
Lena’s heart sank. She’d messed up. She’d messed up majorly and she didn’t know how to fix this. Kara was falling again. Moving that painting from the easel was clearly a trigger… A huge trigger at that. “Kara, wait… Please don’t go. You haven’t even told me about your day! H-how did it go? Were the kids happy to see you?” She tried, but to no avail. It was as if Kara hadn’t even heard her.
Lena followed her and watched as Kara dropped her jacket and purse on the floor and kick off her shoes before crawling into bed… it was only seven pm.
Lena swallowed anxiously and tried one more time to reach out to her. “K-Kara?”
Nothing.
So, much to her chagrin, Lena left the bedroom and took out her holophone (Kryptonian technology was incredible.)
A few rings later, Alex’s face was in the air above Lena’s wrist. “What?” She asked curtly.
Lena bit back tears. “Sh-she needs you.”
Alex’s face turned to panic, then morphed into one of pure rage. “What the fuck did you do?”
Lena let out a sob. “I moved her painting.”
Alex’s eyes widened. “Not th-,” Alex sighed. “Please tell me it wasn’t the one of her with Pregnant Sun.”
Lena nodded, her lip quivering as tears fell from her eyes. “Yes… It was.”
Alex sighed and shook her head. “Damn it, Luthor!”
Lena hated it when she called her that, but at this point she deserved it. She’d hurt Kara again when she’d promised she wouldn’t. She really was a Luthor… No matter how hard she tried not to be. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Alex rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t just keep your paws off shit that doesn’t belong to you, could you?”
Lena clenched her jaw. “Please just get here. I’m worried. She’s shutting down again, Alex. We can’t afford that.”
Alex growled at her. “I know we can’t. That’s why I’m getting my shoes on. I’ll be there in three minutes.” With that, the hologram of Alex’s face dissipated, and Lena was once again left with a Kara that she hurt.
XXX
Alex had been in Kara’s room for over two hours, and the entire time she was, Lena was anxiously sitting at the dining room table, bouncing her leg up and down, and biting her nails, desperately hoping for any sign of Kara.
Finally, Alex exited the bedroom with a deadly glare thrown Lena’s way. “She wants to see you.”
Lena stood up; her breathing heavy and her stomach churning with anxiety. She nodded and stood up. “Thank you for being there for her.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “I’m her sister. I’ll always be here for her.” She paused and sighed. She shook her head for a moment and then looked Lena in the eyes. "Thank you for calling me."
Lena was shocked; she hadn't expected Alex to thank her... She was preparing herself for a barrage of insults, but... That never came. She nodded. "Of course. Always. Kara comes first. No matter what."
Alex nodded. "Yes. Kara comes first... No matter what."
They shared a look for just a moment and then Alex left, and Lena turned to face the bedroom. She inhaled deeply before she walked in. She was (delightedly) shocked to find Kara sitting against the head board of the bed. She gave Kara a weak smile and halfhearted wave. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Lena croaked out through a throat swollen with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Kara. I should have thought before I acted. It was just so beautiful, and my heart was aching when I saw what you lost and I just wanted t-,”
“LENA!” Kara yelled, stunning them both, but freezing Lena in her place… She knew what was coming. Kara was sending her back to Earth. Alex finally convinced her of it, it wasn’t hard to put the dots together, and she couldn’t help the tears that fell from her eyes.
“S-sorry.” Lena twisted her fingers in anxiety, preparing herself for what was about to happen.
Kara sighed. “I’m not mad at you, Lena.”
Lena cackled. “Yes, I know the drill. ‘I’m not mad, I’m hurt…. and I think it be best if we sent you home’ That about the gist of it?”’
Kara frowned. “What?”
Lena swallowed down her heartache. “Please just tell me what’s going on, Kara.” She pleaded.
Kara nodded. “I wasn’t mad at you I just… I wasn’t ready for it to be moved, and I cracked. I-,” A tear slid down her face. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Lena furrowed her brow. “You’re sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for. All of this was caused by my stupid actions. You aren’t supposed to touch other people’s artworks. I should have been more mindful of that. I am sorry, Kara.”
Kara nodded. “I know you are, Lena.”
Lena swallowed. “Are we… Are you wanting me to go back to Earth?” She asked sadly.
“What? No. Not at all!” Kara replied, sending relief throughout Lena’s entire body. Kara once again did her signature pat to the spot next to her on the bed. “I’m going to have my doctor up my dosage of my anti-depressant. I’m a lot better than I was, but I still need more help.”
Lena slid into the bed. “I do agree with you there. You are much better. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Lena.” Then, she did something that made Lena yearn even more than she already had for the past two decades… She leaned in and pressed a quick chaste kiss to Lena’s cheek. “That means a lot.”
Lena immediately blushed and smiled dreamily.
They fell into an easy conversation for a few more minutes before Lena asked the big question. “How did the dinner go? Were the kids happy to see you?”
And there it was. The exact smile she’d been desperate to see for months; her genuine, whole-hearted, adorable, bright smile that went from ear to ear… All she had to do was mention those two precious kids that were Kara’s whole world.
Lena beamed, her heart overflowing with joy… Now she just had to keep her smiling like that, and refrain from making anymore idiotic choices that could spiral Kara into depression, like moving a precious piece of art that Kara treasured.
Kara began telling how Dominic and Maya ran into her arms squealing with glee as soon as Kara walked through the door with Alex, surprising them. She told her about how she, Brainy, Nia, and the kids played tag for over half an hour. How she got Dominic to eat his veggies that he was refusing to eat. How she ‘accidentally’ started a food fight with cookies.
Lena smiled, utterly happy that Kara had so much fun, but a piece of her wished more than ever that she could’ve been there to enjoy it all with her.
Her heart ached at the realization that it probably would never happen. She sighed, but then pushed that feeling away, so that she could listen to Kara’s adventures of the day…
And if she fell asleep in Kara’s arms again, who could really blame her? She would indulge in Kara as much as she possibly could.
But some day… Some day she was going to ask about what Kara meant when she told Alex: ‘I would die if I could not have her in my life either.’
Because… That was big.
That was huge.
For now though? For now she was going to bask in Kara’s presence, and wake up to Kara’s gorgeous face.
That’s all she really needed out of life. |
After years of terrible war happening to other people far away, Harry Potter was legally dead, which was a weight off Emilio's mind. No one had seen sign of him for seven years. Refugees were fleeing to warmer climes from all over Europe. Even Dumbledore was dead now. By what Emilio could piece together from bars and newspapers, this was the reason for so many more wizards and witches being around the place, begging for places to live and telling everyone local that they were doing things wrong.
Emilio boated them around the place and nodded and smiled and kept his thoughts inside as he always did. Marcos did his share of the work and was very comfortable company if he remembered to turn his face away from the sun when he got close so that his eyes never shone gold. Astaria made sure they were fed and the boat was clean when Emilio visited her portside home, and handed conjured handkerchiefs to crying witches and patted their shoulders if they didn't say the very stupid things a lot of them did say. All of them collected gossip, rumours and news to see where the Second Great Wizarding War was going.
Neville wasn't dead. Emilio never would have guessed that Toad-Boy would become impressive and the Hope of Wizarding Britain. Emilio wished him well, but he wasn't going to help. If someone was going to die for the cause, it wouldn't be Emilio, who had spent his entire life bending magic to his will precisely so he wouldn't give his relatives that satisfaction.
Emilio and Marcos had collected enough savings to get a port-key. He had contacts all over the Caribbean. So he reconciled with Sirio under Maria's watchful eye. There were a lot of hugs that Emilio didn't actually mind, and Sirio put down the bottle again right after Emilio picked it up. He cleaned his teeth and his breath and they practiced together, all of them. Astaria had some eye-watering tricks Emilio was impressed by, and was as good as Sirio, who was scared of her, and better than Marcos, even though Marcos really tried.
Emilio could taste magic at the end of his arms and the weight of a hostile gaze turned in his direction. He could pick up the prickle of another person's fear. He could move like the first stirrings of a breeze in still air, folded entirely within his magic and as remarkable as a grey sky, enfold himself around someone and slip them both through guarding enchantments before anyone could react.
People sent careful notes to relatives who had made it out of the Dark Lord's reach. Emilio collected refugees and debts he could use later. Sirio was glad to collect portkeys and keep watch, to drink and pick up rumour, and had all the nastiest ideas for what they should leave behind for Death Eaters to happen upon if they came looking. The four of them were a gang that caused a lot of trouble, then vanished into nothing.
Emilio avoided vampires. Avoided Wizarding Britain, which had nothing he wanted and too many dead Bones, which was nearly a joke he kept inside his head and threw into the darkness before he turned on those he loved.
Neville seemed to be taking care of that branch of the war, and Emilio had many reasons he could find for staying far away from that particular set of islands.
He'd picked up the knack of bouncing up to people with a smile like Sirio did, full of a cheer he sometimes actually felt, thanks to Astaria's frank words and careful doling out of appreciation afterwards. Susan's memory was still a dagger in his thoughts, but Astaria had a knack for magic and no squeamishness at all about killing someone. Emilio wasn't in love, it hurt too much. She didn't seem to notice, or mind.
If he died or disappeared and they weren't married, Astaria would be left with nothing but condemnation and enemies, Maria pointed out. Astaria deserved the protection of his name. No other wizard would take her, and she wouldn't take any other wizard.
They married. Through the wedding, Emilio somehow ended up collecting friends and relatives, even if some only thought they were Emilio's relatives because Maria had confunded them and been persuasive. Her husband, Aureliano, was polite and did as he was told by Maria, who knew what was what. Emilio, pushed into it by Astaria, admired Maria's clothes and hat, and saw her light up like the sun. He bore with the crushing hug that followed.
Sirio was always up for an adventure, but he had friends of his own now, from his old home. Emilo never met him there. Sirio always arrived alone on his boat to some place picked out with a pin, and they'd sail and fish and not drink too much and set out to commit careful mayhem.
When an entire group of attackers jumped Emilio one time out in rural Hungary, Emilio topped them all like soft-boiled eggs, and didn't know who he'd just killed, because he was gone before the vividly red jets of blood landed on his body. His dreams were just as vivid and gave every possible permutation of people they might have been.
He had another row with Sirio, on the morning after the night when the attackers in his dream had been Susan and her parents offering Emilio a cup of tea.
"I'm not doing it any more," he told Sirio. "It's someone else's war, not mine. If they come to me, fine, but I'm living my own life."
"Harry..."
"Don't use that name. You sound like Dumbledore," Emilio said, and realised that the words that had just come out of his mouth were truer than he liked. He felt dirty and used, and didn't want to kill Sirius, so he left a warning burned into the air itself and folded himself away to a new boat. If Sirio came to him now, Emilio would kill him, and then feel bad afterwards.
Astaria kept out of it, which was exactly how she always was, how Susan had been, and was why they were married and not just having a lot of sex. She helped with packing up and the new boat they called Maria, which was very like a lot of other boats. Marcos did his very best, which was a good best, Emilio thought. They sailed out one evening, off into the sunset, and turned up only when they wanted something for themselves.
It was a good, simple life, studying magic, which was infinitely enthralling, sailing about owing no one a thing, married with no children. Marcos was always around, and never said a word out of place. He seemed happy enough watching Emilio's back and dealing with any posted letters.
Emilio was out shopping for lunch one day, in a street that was full of interesting magical shops and good restaurants, when he found a good-for-nothing child in rags with a wary air and a bruise down his face, stealing food from a barrow.
"Would you like to run away to a new home?" Emilio asked, after he'd rescued the boy and paid off the stallholder with bright new gold. "Work hard and I'll feed you."
"Yes, sir," said the boy. Emilio would have said yes too, in his place. Anywhere but here would be a miracle beyond all of the boy's hopes and dreams. Very suddenly, Emilio felt that he could change the world into a slightly better place, here and now, which was not a feeling he'd had before. He would have to think about that later. For now, he had a problem he could easily fix, and he wanted to.
Ricardo was sick on the boat and very scared. He drank stomach soothers with a flat disbelief that turned to wonderment at something good finally happening. Astaria cried over him, and fed him well, and gave hm the same treatment Emilio remembered getting from Maria. Emilio found a wand, and began teaching Ricardo how to manage for himelf.
Sometimes some very foolish being would try to start up trouble with Emilio, or be even more stupid and go after Ricardo, but never twice.
Emilio was only getting more vicious with time. He started spending more time in those hidden alleys no one 'respectable' ever went to unless they were so rich that consequences didn't matter. He was outwardly beautiful, fast and cruel to anyone who moved against him, and always moving from place to place, collecting friends who liked him as he really was, and followers who wanted to be told what to do and to take care of all of Emilio's small problems for nothing more than a bright smile and a few kind words.
It was everything Dumbledore and the Dursleys and the Order hadn't wanted Harry Potter to have, and it was very, very good indeed. |
Friends. They were friends. That was good. It was great. Everything was great.
Ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that said the opposite, he left Harry’s room and climbed down the stairs to see Ron and Hermione waiting for him on the first landing.
"There you are. Come on, dinner's about to start," Hermione said.
"Yeah, the sooner we finish eating, the sooner the meeting can start," Ron added.
"For the Order?" Draco clarified.
"You know about the Order?"
"Tonks told me about it."
"Figures," Ron crossed his arms. "Of course she'll tell you. Why can't I get a relative like that?"
Draco turned to Hermione for an explanation.
"Mrs Weasley was very much against us sitting in on meetings, especially Harry. She thinks we're too young. Sirius thinks that Harry should be part of it since it's about... You-Know-Who."
"Mum and Sirius have been at each other's throats because of it," Ron added. "Mum's says that Sirius is too irresponsible. Sirius says that he's Harry's legal guardian and therefore can let Harry make his own decisions."
"Ah..." Draco said, unable to think of anything else.
"Dinner!" Mrs Weasley called out. "Hurry up now!"
The entire kitchen was bustling with movement to get everyone seated, bowls of soup being passed down the table.
Mrs Weasley placed a bowl at an empty table setting. "Ah, there you are! Here you go, dears." She gestured to the two empty chairs before her.
"Thank you, Mrs Weasley," Draco nodded.
Hermione took one chair and Ron reached to pull out the chair next to hers.
"Ron, darling," Hermione held out a hand. "Do you think you could sit beside Harry?"
Ron frowned. "Why?"
"I'd like to talk to Draco about something."
Draco and Ron shared a look but Ron shrugged and went around the room to sit next to Harry a few seats down.
"'Darling?'" Draco whispered as he pulled himself towards the table.
Hermione choked on her soup and it dribbled onto her chin. "That was a slip of the tongue."
"So you actually call him that?"
"That's none of your business."
Draco only smirked before tucking into dinner. Low noises of chatter and sounds of slurping filled the kitchen. Draco savoured Mrs Weasley's excellent cooking. Yet he felt himself constantly glancing over at Harry who was smiling brightly while talking with Sirius.
“So," Hermione murmured before she wiped at her mouth. "Are you okay? Did you finally talk with Harry?”
“Yes," Draco replied.
“And?”
“We agreed that we’d be friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yes. Friends.”
Hermione nodded. “Good. That's good. That is good, right?”
Draco looked down the table before to catch Harry laughing. He leaned back at once. "Of course it is. So we don't need to talk about it anymore."
Hermione nodded and attempted to search for another topic. "Oh, Ron and I was chosen as prefects!" she said a touch too loudly.
Ron groaned over a mouthful of soup. "'Mione don't bring that up!"
"Oh, why not?" Fred snickered.
"Is ickle Ronnie not proud to be an ickle prefect?" George simpered. "Like really, did anyone see that coming? Like, did you see it coming, Draco?"
"Not even if I saw it within my own visions," Draco replied.
Ron made face and intimated Draco with mocking noises. "Aren't you funny."
"Fred, George, enough!" Mrs Weasely snapped. "I, for one, am very proud of you, dear," she walked past Ron and patted his cheek.
"Thanks, Mum..." Ron grumbled.
When the bowls reached the bottom and the dishes cleared, the Order started preparing for a meeting.
"There's no reason for Draco to be here as well," Mrs Weasley said as she ushered out a fuming Ginny out of the room. "Hasn't that boy been put through enough already?"
"Why? I've been telling him things about the Order, too," Tonks said.
Mrs Weasley spluttered. "Tonks! Not you too! He shouldn't be hearing these type of things. Snape, tell her!" she turned to the man that was hiding in the corner throughout dinner.
"There's nothing that I can do considering that Nymphadora already told Draco," Snape said but also looked slightly crossed.
"Don't call me that!" Tonks snapped. "Draco's in this just as much as the rest of us so of course I thought he should be kept in the loop."
"Enough," Sirius said. "We have business to attend to."
The meeting was bumpy and full of contradictions. Sirius seemed to attempt to talk about an object that the Order has hidden, but Mrs Weasley would make the conversation cut short. With the vague descriptions of updates and repeating rejections of letting any of the younger people in the room join the Order, Draco found the meeting pointless as Order members began saying closing remarks.
"Draco?" Tonks called as she pulled on her coat. "You ready? We have to get back, Mum's waiting."
"Coming," Draco stood. He looked back at everyone. "I'll see you at Hogwarts."
Tonks and Draco reached the door when footsteps thumped towards them. Harry stopped in the hallway, puffing out a short breath.
"Harry, you need something?" Tonks asked.
Harry gaped for a moment before shaking his head. "No, I just," he scratched his chin as he stepped closer to them. "Didn't say bye."
"Well... bye," Tonks said slowly.
“I’ll see you on the train then, Draco?” Harry asked.
“Of course. I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you.”
The two hesitated, both taking a twitching step forward as if they were going in for a hug before doubling back.
“Bye, then,” Draco blurted before escaping out the door.
There was an archaic feeling of uneasiness as Draco stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, letting Aunt Andromeda smooth his hair.
“Now,” Aunt Andromeda cupped his face. “Have a good year, dear. Be good,” She dropped a kiss into his hair. “Be safe.”
“I will, Aunt.”
“Don’t hesitate to write to us or to Nymphadora, alright?” Andromeda briefly tightened her grip before pulling him into a hug. “I love you.”
“Have a fun year, son,” Ted said, squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t think too terribly hard, alright?
Draco nodded. “Yes, Uncle.”
“Ted, what on earth are you saying?” Aunt Andromeda said as Draco turned away. “He needs to focus on O.W.L.s this year!”
Draco was too far away at that point to hear Uncle Ted’s defence.
With old practice, Draco prowled the compartments and dragged a door open when he saw a familiar face.
“Terry,” Draco said.
“Morning,” Terry returned halfheartedly, body stretched across the compartment seats, pillow under his head. “Don’t expect the others to join us. It’s just going to be you and me now that Anthony’s off to be a prefect. Did you get a letter about that, too?”
“I did. Did yours have a lot of exclamation points?”
“To the point of unnerving.”
“What about Michael? Where is he going?"
“To be with his girlfriend. Where else? Er, did you not know about that?”
“I did..." Ginny did talk about Michael during dinner. "Maybe I just couldn’t believe it either.”
Terry rolled his eyes. “Please, I know that I’m not going to hear the end of it about how I was wrong ‘bout him never finding a girlfriend.”
Both boys were shocked when the compartment door opened to show Harry.
“Mind if I join?” Harry asked.
“Er, what?” Terry sat up. “What are you doing here?”
“Both Ron and Hermione got prefects. So… it’s just me.”
“Oh… good for them. Yeah, you might as well sit with us.” Terry looked over at Draco. “If that’s alright.”
“Of course it is.”
“Really?”
“We talked over the summer,” Harry said. “I said I’m fine with being just friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yes,” Harry said.
Terry opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. “Alright, I stand by your decision. Are you doing okay?”
“Seriously, it’s fine,” Harry insisted as he sat beside Draco. “I’m not going to let something like this get in the way of my friendship with Draco. He means more to me than that.”
“Er… I was talking about the Triwizard Tournament. Didn’t you say You-Know-Who is back?”
“Oh. That. Right. I’m alright. Nothing’s happened after that day. Over the summer they almost wouldn't let me outside, but I’ve been fine.”
Draco almost blanched at the bold lie Harry was telling Terry.
“But he is back? You-Know-Who? How’ll school be like now?” Terry asked.
“Who knows,” Harry said.
“Draco, do you know?”
Draco shook his head. “Not really.”
“Thank you for that confident, reassuring answer,” Terry groaned as he collapsed back into his seat. “How am I even going to be able to have a nap now?”
Terry fell asleep ten minutes into the ride.
Draco turned to Harry. “You really haven’t been having nightmares?”
“I do, but nothing too bad. I’m serious.”
Draco clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. “Please, you’re as bad as me with never saying what’s actually wrong.”
“I tell you.”
Draco turned back to Harry. His stomach turned over as he turned away towards the window. “Well, I’m not exactly the best outlet.”
Harry nodded. “No, you aren’t.”
Draco turned back to punch Harry’s arm. “Oh, shut up you—tosser.”
Harry snorted as he moved away from Draco’s range. “You said it first.”
“You don’t agree!”
“Says who?”
“Says… everything! Especially when I know you can’t be telling me the whole truth."
Harry's grin faded. He wetted his lip as he checked to see if Terry was still asleep.
"I think he haunts me," Harry admitted quietly. "I hear whispering… I think he's in my head. I dream of a long hallway. I'm walking down the hallway. And, And I can tell that he's looking for something. Sirius has told me as much. There’s something at the Ministry that the Order is trying to protect. And they don't think the Ministry is going to be safe anymore. Well, we already know that the Ministry's a broken system."
Draco bit at his lip. “Harry, I need to tell you something. There’s going to be a professor this year sent from the Ministry. She’s going to be more vicious than she looks."
"Who is she?"
"Dolores Umbridge. She works closely with Fudge and lives and breathes for Ministry control. Don’t try to get in trouble with her.”
“Alright, I won’t.”
“I’m serious! Don’t try to aggravate her. It’s not going to end well.”
“I can’t promise that I will. Between the Minister and the Daily Prophet, they both think I’m conspiring against Fudge. Which is--is stupid, " Harry practically spat. "Sirius says it’s starting just as it was last time, that it’s happening again and everyone just doesn’t believe me. They're--Pretending that nothing's coming. All the newspapers did over the summer was keep saying the same thing over and over and not even a word about Voldemort. And it’s getting to me a little bit."
Draco gathered Harry’s hands. “I’m here, Harry. ”
“I know." Harry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "I know."
Draco glanced down at their joined hands and quickly separated them.
“We should talk about something else,” Draco said. “Something that’s not depressing.”
Harry snorted. “Like what? Oh, wait, I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s that Muggle thing you like so much? Sliding doors? What’s with that?”
Draco’s eyes widened. “It’s—That’s nothing!”
“Seriously, why sliding doors?”
“Because, it’s about the, the… I don’t need to explain myself.”
“No, I think you have to.”
“I don’t!”
“What do you feel about escalators then?”
“I’m not answering—Wait. What are es-kah-laters?”
“Alright, I already hate the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” Terry proclaimed, jumping into his four-poster bed later that night. “I mean, can you actually believe she interrupted Dumbledore? I don’t know if she’s bold or plain stupid.”
“I didn’t even think that you could do that,” Michael said.
“You don’t. Everyone knows that.”
“What would I give to have a good professor again,” Anthony said, carefully unpinning his prefect badge to place at his bedside table.
Draco kept silent. Foggy, embarrassing memories of Umbridge patting his head and having tea in her horridly pink classroom.
“That’s likely to never happen,” Michael said as he spread a long banner across his bed. "But we can't let that get to us."
“What are you doing?” Anthony asked.
Michael perked up. “Ginny’s gonna try out for Quidditch,” he answered, bribing out and unscrewing a paint jar. “I gotta be there to support my girlfriend , you know.” He stirred the paint with a paintbrush. “Because that’s what a boyfriend does, you know. As a boyfriend. Look, I’m almost finished with it.”
Anthony looked over the banner. "Where's the 'A' in her last name?”
Michael frowned and checked over the lettering. “Dammit!”
Draco started to giggle.
The three Ravenclaws looked at him. Their faces turned weary at Draco showing an emotion more than unusual for the blond.
“Sorry,” Draco waved a hand. “Just remembering something Harry said about Michael’s spelling habits on the train.”
“What? What’d he say?” Michael asked. “Is it something that Ginny would also know?”
“It’s nothing important.”
“Yeah, right! It’s making you giggle like that!”
“Yeah, what’s so funny?” Terry asked. “You were giggly when we got off the train too. You also kept waking me up with all your laughing throughout the train ride.”
That made Draco pause. “I was? It did? Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“I’d go back to sleep a moment later. So what happened?”
“Nothing. Harry just kept saying these funny things.”
The entire train ride had Draco’s sides hurting as Harry was making him laugh more than he had in forever.
Terry frowned. “Since when was Harry Potter funny?”
“What? Harry’s always been funny. You must’ve not been around him enough to notice.”
If his friends were around Harry enough they could see that Harry had the right kind of humour that could make Draco laugh and see why Draco missed Harry’s company so much.
The four Ravenclaws were in the corner of the library, hoarding two tables to spread out the homework they already amassed with their morning classes.
"They don't mess around with O.W.Ls do they?" Terry swore under his breath. "This... sucks."
A stack of textbooks slammed onto the table, drawing annoyed glances from nearby tables. The four looked up to see a fuming Hermione with Ron and Harry behind her.
"That--That toad!" Hermione hissed.
"You just had Umbridge?" Michael asked.
"Yeah and I wish we didn't," Ron answered. "I see what you mean, Draco, Umbridge is way out of line. She's worse than I thought."
The three Gryffindors pulled seats to their tables (drawing more annoyed looks with the bustle of noise).
“I recognized her,” Harry said when he sat down. “She was at Sirius’ retrial. She was one who tried to oppose the removal of Sirius’ charges.”
Terry scoffed. “We’re not going to learn in her class, are we?”
Ron snorted. “That much is obvious.” He looked over at Harry. “I mean Harry was only trying to tell the truth and she gave him detention!”
That gave Draco pause. “She what?”
“Thanks for keeping that a secret like I asked, Ron,” Harry said.
Ron rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry…”
“Harry, what did I say?” Draco hissed.
“She kept denying that he’s back,” Harry said. “She was calling me a liar. I won’t stand being called a liar especially when it comes to Voldemort.”
Draco heaved a sigh and massaged his temple. “When’s your detention?”
“Tomorrow night.”
And when tomorrow night came, Draco was roused from sleep with a gentle shake on his shoulder.
Draco squinted at the figure above him. “Anthony?” he whispered.
Anthony still looked half-asleep, his eyes not even open. He pointed to the window where a bird silhouette moved. “Owl,” he said. With that, he turned around and crawled back into his bed.
Draco frowned as he got out of bed and opened the window. Hedwig fluttered in, a scratch piece of parchment in her beak. He carefully took and rubbed sleep out of his eyes to see the note.
Can we meet by the Black Lake? - Harry
Draco took some consideration to clean up his appearance and poked around Ravenclaw Tower in search of a lantern. He crept down the tower minutes later and tiptoed around the corridors to reach the school grounds.
The lantern did little to light that way towards the fallen tree trunk that he and Harry have taken to sitting at, but when he neared he saw the rounded glow of an illuminated wand.
“Harry?” He called out when he was close enough.
Harry perked up at the sight of him. “Draco!” His smile faded when Draco stifled a yawn. “Oh. Were you asleep?”
“It’s nothing. The dormitory tends to go to bed early. What’s wrong?”
“I… I just came back from detention with Umbridge. I’m--I’m really angry. She made me so angry. ”
Draco sat on the fallen tree trunk and set down the lantern beside him. “What happened?”
“What happened is that she doesn’t believe me!" Harry exploded. "The Ministry doesn’t believe me! No one believes me! My own housemates think that I making it up! Beacause I don’t have proof, they that I’m conspiring with Dumbledore, that--that I didn’t fight with Voldemort in that graveyard! The papers have been turning me into some attention-seeking tragic hero playing up my fame. Fame I got from Voldemort murdering my parents!"
Draco winced as Harry's voice got steadily louder. He's never seen so much anger coming from the boy.
"She said that I deserved to be punished for trying to spread lies when she’s the one doing so! As if I'm not getting enough of that from the Daily Prophet. And even then I've already had enough of them talking about me like they know me."
“What was your punishment?”
Harry’s demeanour cooled. He uncomfortably shifted in his seat. “Lines. That wasn’t the bad part, it was the principal.”
“Harry,” Draco only said.
Harry’s throat bobbed before he held out his hand.
Draco’s brow furrowed in confusion before he saw it. He took Harry’s hand, pulling it to the light of the lantern to see the scarring skin more clearly .
A fit of anger that Draco never experienced before plagued him at an alarming speed. What did some woman from the Ministry think she was? This was… She knowingly harmed Harry. Fast recollections of Umbridge interrogating Harry, even went as far as to slap him, to use the Crucio all while keeping her voice frighteningly in check.
“Such a vile woman,” Draco mumbled as his thumb stroked the broken skin. Harry hissed and Draco took his thumb away. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s fine. It’s just… fresh.”
“Did she do anything else?”
“No. She thought I got the message with this.”
“This’ll scar.” The words I must not tell lies would stay even after the surface wounds faded.
“I’m already used to scars,” Harry muttered bitterly.
“You really shouldn’t have to be…”
Draco wanted to drop a kiss on Harry’s hand to see if it would remove the pain.
He froze.
Draco dropped Harry’s hand and stood. “I’ll see if I can get some salve for this. We should get back." He gathered his lantern. "Talk to Sirius. Talking to him always makes you feel better. He can probably tell you more about what's happening at the Ministry.”
“Yeah, I think I will. Sorry for dragging you out here. I don’t… I don’t know why I did.”
“It’s nothing, Harry. It makes me happy that you asked for me. Are you coming with me?”
“I’ll stay out here for a little longer. Goodnight, Draco.”
"Goodnight," Draco quickly returned before heading back to the castle.
Kiss Harry’s hand? Saying that he’s happy when Harry asks for him?
Draco’s heart throbbed that had nothing to do with his fast pace.
The Umbridge problem only grew as she started to encroach more authority through the Ministry. Her rule plaques began taking over walls and all the while, Draco was in a constant state of emotional turmoil.
Whenever he would be with Harry, Draco suddenly felt like he's never talked with another person before. When they would study, Draco found himself taking multiple glimpses to see Harry's furrowed brow of concentration. When Harry would ask for him to meet him by the Black Lake, Draco felt jittery. And when Harry would divulge his worries about the Dark Lord and the nightmares he desperately wanted to take it all away. For many nights, Draco's routine was him laying in bed repeating a mantra of Harry is not meant to like you, Harry is not meant to like you, Harry is not meant to like you.
And it felt like romance was all around Draco too.
Cho would hold hands with Cedric in the Ravenclaw Common Room, Michael went to every Gryffindor practice (with his banner that had a tiny 'A' squished between the 'E' and 'S') to cheer Ginny on. Hermione kissing Ron on the cheek when he made the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Keeper. And Draco... felt envy.
"Stupid," Draco muttered.
"Was that move stupid?" Hermione asked him. "I thought it was alright?"
Draco blinked and searched around him as if he briefly forgot where he was. He found himself in a Quidditch stand watching Gryffindor practice.
"No, no, that's not it." Draco shook his head. "I wasn't talking about the practice."
"Then, can I ask your advice on something?"
"What is it?"
"Well," Hermione turned towards Draco. "I've already suggested it to Harry and Ron, but Harry doubts that it would work."
"If what will work?"
Hermione checked around her before she whispered, "I was thinking of making an organization. A secret one. One to teach students how to correctly protect themselves from the Dark Arts."
An old memory connected. The secret organization that Umbridge sent around Draco and the rest of that nauseating Inquisitorial Squad to go find. It was this year? He barely remembered it. Draco also didn't know that it was Hermione who thought of it, but he shouldn't be surprised that it was her.
"It sounds impressive."
"It does, doesn't it?" Hermione preened. "And you know who'd be perfect to lead us?"
"Harry."
"See? I knew you'd see it, too! The problem is that Harry doesn't think he'd be a good leader and shouldn't teach, but you know just as well as me that there's no one better."
"Harry does like to undermine his achievements. Which is him being ridiculous because how can you undermine the incredible things that he's done? Why doesn't he consider that they're rightly impressive and he's done things that full-fledged wizards can only--" Draco cut himself off. How did that come out of his mouth? "Why are you coming with me with this again?"
"Talk some sense into him! Show him that he could do this."
"Shouldn't you do that? He'd listen to the smartest person he knows."
"I've already told him, but he's still not convinced. I was thinking that you could talk to him one-on-one. Tell him that he's good enough to teach us."
To willingly put himself alone in front of Harry and give him thinly veiled compliments?
"He'll come around, Hermione. You don't need me to interfere. Give him time to think about it. Besides... Harry doesn't need me to inspire him to do the right thing."
Draco pulled his scarf tighter around him, scowling at the fall wind already being way too cool.
“What is this again?” Terry asked, fighting with his own scarf.
"It's some meeting Hermione organised," Anthony answered. "She sounded both nervous and excited about it."
"Did she say what it was about?"
"Only that it dealt with Umbridge and her terrible class."
Draco silently freaked. Was he about to go to the first meeting of this organization that he could never find before? One that had him hanging around people like Filch and never could find it on his own? Unbelievable...
The smallness of Hog’s Head gave an illusion that there were many students, but when Draco looked closely, the numbers were much smaller than what Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad assumed. Draco noticed familiar faces like Michael sitting beside Ginny, Cho and Cedric standing by one another, and Luna Lovegood. The three huddled inside and shut the door.
After a few moments, Hermione pulled out a chair and it shrieked against the floor made the chatter cease. Whatever Hermione was planning to do, the chair was abandoned and she pulled her arm away.
Clearing her throat she said, “Thank you all for coming.”
Draco spared a glance for the impassive crowd.
“I’ve called you all here because we need a teacher. A teacher that’ll actually teach us how to defend ourselves.”
“What for?” Seamus Finnegan snapped.
“What do you mean what for Seamus? For You-Know-Who, you tosspot!”
"Ron," Harry cut in. "Let me just..." Harry took Hermione’s spot and looked out into the crowd.
Harry’s gaze landed on him.
Draco’s heart skipped a beat.
“Last year, Moody was being impersonated by a Death Eater right under our noses... And, during the Final Task, I saw Voldemort, I fought him and only barley managed to escape. The Ministry's not going to teach us how to fight these new dark forces. So we have to learn how to fight for ourselves."
"I never heard about the Death Eater thing," Seamus said.
"Yeah, who said that?" A Hufflepuff, Zacharias Smith, asked.
"Dumbledore and an Auror told me," Harry said.
"Like saying Dumbledore is meant to soothe me," Seamus muttered to Dean Thomas sitting beside him.
“Okay, you say that. Just as you say You-Know-Who’s back, but what actual proof do you have?” Zacharias Smith asked.
“I don’t have proof,” Harry said.
“Why would he make up a lie about You-Know-Who returning, Smith?!” Ron exploded.
“We believe you, Harry,” Anthony said with Terry and Micheal agreeing behind him.
“I believe you,” Cho added. “I think it’s obvious, don't you think? I don’t know why we’re saying this isn’t true…”
"Yeah, you're not one to chase glory, Harry," Cedric added. "And any glory you have is because you were only doing the right thing."
Smith puffed up in annoyance. "Fine, but where have we seen Potter having the credentials to teach us?"
"Zach, he fought a dragon," Cedric said.
"And mermaids," Cho added on.
"He's fought over hundreds of Dementors with his Patronus," Ron piped up.
Harry knew how to make a Patronus? Did Draco know that? What did Harry's Patronus look like? What did Harry think of when he conquered it? Did he think of people?
“He saved my life,” Draco said suddenly. “He did it by killing a basilisk. Still one of the most impressive things I’ve seen him do.”
“Hold on," Harry held up his hands. "Okay, this all sounds amazing when you say it like that, but I didn’t know what I was doing most of the time--I had help. Listen, all of you, that's what's different from school and actual life. You don’t always have someone say what to do so you’re left alone whether you’re ready for it or not. There’s real dangers out there and they’re not going to be taught by Umbridge. And that takes away our power. And out there, in the real world, those dangers can get you killed or worse, can get someone you care about killed. If you don’t want to listen to me, that’s fine. But we are the ones that are going to need to fight, not anyone else. And it makes more sense that we’re prepared for it.”
Draco was struck. When did Harry learn to talk like that? How could Harry say things with such conviction when he didn’t know the odds? How can he sound so brave and… breathtaking.
Don’t think too deeply… but he can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.
" You can close your mouth now," Anthony said, elbowing Draco's arm.
Draco jumped and he reached up to his mouth as if he was checking if it was really open. They were still in Hog Head's, but the two were now standing off to the side as they watched people write down their names on a roster for Dumbledore's Army.
“I don’t understand where he learnt to talk like that,” Draco said while still looking at Harry who was looking over names already listed. “How can he sound so…”
“Heroic?” Anthony suggested. “So ‘Boy Who Lived?’”
Draco frowned and rolled his eyes. “Please, he’s more than just the Boy Who Lived.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s kind, and loyal, and caring, and—er, never mind.” Draco cleared his throat and fission of adrenaline phasing through his body.
Heady feelings were still constricting Draco’s chest and stomach as they returned to Ravenclaw Tower. He could feel his heartbeat still beating too quickly. He barely brushed the idea of thinking of Harry like that and copious amount thoughts were forming inside his head that maybe—
Stop, don’t think about that. Don’t you ever think about that? Why do you keep forgetting that?
Dumbledore's Army was... different from what Draco expected.
Each meeting was somewhat organised with Hermione's planning, but it was really just a bunch of students trying out spells in semi-unity. But it showed Draco how well Harry took to the teaching role... and often he found himself looking at Harry helping others when we was supposed to be spotting Terry's aim as he levitated Michael. Cedric being seen at these meetings were always a shock to Draco as if he was still trying to see a ghost in Cedric's place. But Cedric took to teaching others as well and Draco saw Harry and Cedric become closer friends.
Then, they decided to do mock duels on the last D.A. meeting of the term.
Ron promised that he'll go easy on his girlfriend for Hermione to shoot him across the room and Cedric was pleasantly surprised that Cho didn't hesitate to disarm him, and, after much pestering, when Harry called Draco to duel he looked wildly at the blond when he silently blocked his spell and made him stumble and fall with a spell they weren't taught.
At the closing to the meeting, Harry's ears were still red. "Right then, so, this is the last meeting for this term. But--But just practice on your own and meetings will continue after holiday. So, practice and stay safe."
Michael, Terry, and Draco made to leave but Anthony said, "Can one of you wait for me? Couple nights ago, I lost something in here and I want to look for it."
So Draco idled as Anthony scoured the floors. He tried to ignore that Cedric and Harry were still in the room, but he couldn't help but overhear their conversation.
"Brilliant lesson today, Harry," Cedric said. "I think I've been taught things in these meetings than half the time I've been here at Hogwarts."
"Thank you, Cedric. That means a lot."
"I'm serious, I was blown away. Especially today! Like Malfoy. I never realized that he knew to do non-verbal spells. Do you think he'll be able to teach that to us?"
Harry glanced over at Draco and Draco pretended not to see it.
"Er, I'll ask him."
"Excellent! Blimey, it's amazing that we have someone like that around."
Draco couldn't help but preen at that.
"Yeah, it's nice to have a friend like him," Harry said.
The world was white noise for a moment.
Friend. Friend. Friend.
That's right, they were friends.
Because he doesn't like you anymore, a savage voice hissed inside his head. He's gotten over his feelings for you.
"Alright, I can't find it," Anthony said, brushing down his robes. "Let's get out of here."
"Yeah, let's," Draco muttered. He ducked his head down as he followed him out.
"Are you okay?" Anthony whispered as he tried to keep up with Draco's increased pace.
Harry said he was going to get over him. He wouldn't have feelings for Draco anymore.
So Draco... There was no reason for Draco to be feeling what he was feeling.
"I'm fine," Draco said shortly.
They entered their dormitory to find an unusual scene.
Terry was sprawled on his bed, hands smothering his face as he groaned. Michael was standing next to his bed holding a letter. “Nooo. She can’t be serious!”
“What’s wrong?” Draco asked.
“My mother’s lost it, that’s what’s wrong,” Terry said, muffled by his fingers.
“Mrs Boot invited us over for a weekend during the holiday," Michael announced.
"Oh. Sure, why not,” Anthony shrugged.
Terry tore his hands away to gape at Anthony. “What?!”
“Yeah, I know that we've all been busy with D.A., and I’ve been busy with prefect duties, and Umbridge's overrun the place with her idiotic decrees. I don’t know, I guess I miss you.”
“Yeah. Yeah! It sounds nice,” Michael said. “I’d like to go.”
Terry gawked. “You can’t be serious.”
“What’s so bad? This’ll be the first time we’ve ever seen each other outside of school,” Anthony pointed out.
“Not true!” Michael said. “Draco and I went to the Quidditch World Cup!” He grinned and draped his arms around Draco. “Looks I’m better than you two.”
Terry pursed his lips and hesitated. “Fine, I’ll tell her you’re coming.”
Draco looked around the train platform, trying to catch a particular boy getting on the Hogwarts Express. Although he didn't find the boy, he found someone else.
"Hermione!" Draco went up to the girl. "Where's Harry?"
Hermione's brow creased. "He didn't tell you? Harry had a nightmare that Mr Weasley was attacked. Everyone's gone to Grimmauld Place already."
"Oh." He didn't know anything about this.
"Did you need to talk to Harry about something?"
"No. No, I just needed--wanted to say goodbye and, and nothing," Draco forced a smile. "I don't know what I'm thinking."
"Are you also coming to Grimmauld Place?"
"Maybe. I don't know really... We'll see."
"We like to see you there, Draco. I know Harry would."
The knot in Draco's chest twitched. "We'll see," he repeated, giving another tight-lipped smile.
The Hogwarts Express shrilled and Draco told Hermione goodbye as he went to sit with his friends.
The four Ravenclaws stepped off the train, awkwardly bunched in a corner of Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters.
“Where’s your parents?” Anthony asked.
Terry shrugged. “I don’t know. My mum's supposed to be picking us up. She’s probably—“
“Terrence!” A woman’s voice called.
“—Right here.”
A fluttering woman descended upon them and squished Terry into a hug. “Sweetheart, how’s school? Nothing’s bad happened, right?”
“Mum! I’m fine!” Terry pressed against her but she didn’t budge.
“I missed you.”
“Okay, got that, thank you, alright,” Terry said, still struggling.
Mrs Boot released her son and turned to the three of them.
Draco found that Terry’s mother was a very pretty woman who had a wide, infectious smile.
“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you! Terrence always talks about you three!”
Terry gasped. “No, I don’t!”
“Oh, yes, of course, Terrence dear,” Mrs Boot waved her hand. “Whatever you say. Alright, I’ll bet you boys are tired from the long journey. Let’s get out of here.”
She led them to the entrance of King’s Cross. “Wait here and I’ll pull the car around.”
“She seems nice,” Draco said.
Terry rolled his eyes. “This is exactly why I didn't want you to come over.”
“Your name is Terrence?” Michael asked.
Terry’s head shot up and he turned towards the boy. “You didn’t hear such a thing!”
“I think it’s a nice name,” Anthony said. “Why don’t I remember hearing that before? Terrence is—“
Terry shrieked and slammed his hand over Anthony's mouth. “Merlin, don’t! It’s because I made it my mission to never have it said out loud. I absolutely despise my full name! It’s—OH, YOU PRICK!” He tore his hands away to wipe at his licked palm.
The Boot house was in a Muggle suburb like the Tonks’. There was even the same sense of security and normalcy Draco found at the Tonks'. Mr Boot turned out to be an equally sunny person as Mrs Boot that ruffled Terry's hair (much to the boy's annoyance).
They placed their bags down in Terry's room and Terry ushered them back outside and into the outskirts of his neighbourhood. Pavement gave way to dirt paths and soon Terry was leading the three into a large field.
"Where are you taking us?" Michael whined as they began to climb a hill. "We've been at this for forever!"
“Stop whining we're here," Terry said, standing beside a large oak tree. He sat down and laid up against it. "It's one of my favourite spots here at home. To nap mostly, but the view can be nice sometimes."
Draco turned back out to see the sun beginning to set over the seemingly shrunken Muggle neighbourhood.
The three situated themselves to sit at the base of the tree. Michael dug into his pocket and pulled out his miniature Snitch. Its fragile dragonfly wings unfurled and hovered over the boy as he jumped at it with Draco quietly watching. Anthony tipped onto his back and watched the branches sway in the light wind.
The four talked. Complained about classes ("I'm still waiting for Professor Binns to become entertaining), traded new interests they picked up over the summers ("Muggle teen romance novels? Forget sliding doors, I'm never going to let you live this down, Draco."), discovering opinions they have on certain topics ("What did you say about the Weird Sisters?").
There was a sense of peace on top of that hill.
“You know, I sometimes forget that we’re fifth years. I always felt like I was forever going to stay a tiny first year,” Michael said, dropping into the ground as he stuffed his Golden Snitch into his pocket.
“Don’t worry you're still one to me,” Terry said.
“Oh, sod off. I have a girlfriend.”
“Really! I’ve forgotten! Honestly, if she’s all you talk about then I pity Ginny.”
“Well, what about you?!”
“I’ve said it before, dating is the last thing I want to do.” Terry tucked his arms behind his head. “If I think about it, no one at Hogwarts or otherwise has caught my attention.”
Michael changed tactics. “And you Anthony?”
Anthony blew out a long breath. “I think I’m with Terry on this. Dating is something that I’m not thinking of doing anytime soon.”
“Good man, Anthony. Cheers,” Terry held up a fist that Anthony bumped.
Draco waited for Michael to ask him but the boy only groaned, “You all are boring!”
“It’s not our fault that we think farther than ‘girls, girls, girls.’”
“What about me?” Draco asked before he knew what he was doing.
Michael furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?"
“Aren’t you going to ask me about dating?”
“Oh, sorry, it’s just you didn’t like talking about dating in the past so I didn’t think you’d want to talk about it.”
“Right,” Draco cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s right. I don’t know why I asked that. Forget I said anything.”
The four quieted.
The sun was about to set over the horizon.
“You three are like my brothers,” Michael said.
Terry was startled at that. “You don’t drop a heavy thing like that without warning!”
“But it’s true!” Michael cried. “I don’t think I’ll ever have something like this without anyone else. You’re all family to me.”
“You’re family to me too,” Anthony said. “I'd do anything for you three."
Draco smiled at that. “Me too…”
Terry scoffed and stared at the ground. “You’re... You're all important to me too. And I’m… actually happy that you came over. I’d hate for anything to happen to you all.”
Later that night, the four went to sleep in a bundle of blankets and pillows on the floor of Terry's bedroom.
Terry slept soundly even as Michael’s leg and arm got thrown over him during the boy’s slumber.
Draco looked at the scene with a smile on his face before he got up from the pile. He tiptoed around the sleeping boys to get downstairs. He crept into the living room to get on the large window seat Draco noticed on arrival.
He curled himself in the nook, peering up to the sky to see if he could catch stars alongside the moon.
“Do you ever sleep?”
Draco wasn’t even surprised to see Anthony, sleep-rumpled and rubbing his eye.
“Do you?” Draco countered.
“How can I with you around?”
“Light sleeper, I know, I know.”
Anthony grinned and climbed to sit opposite of Draco.
“Are you waiting for me to start talking?”
“I’m fine with just sitting here. Though… I think you should admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That you like Harry.”
Draco's jaw locked. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“It’s not supposed to be true. It’s—“
“Draco," Anthony rubbed a tired eye. "You said so yourself. Nothing is written in stone. You said you can take the future into your own hands. Nothing is telling you to do exactly what it says. Why are you now so insistent that you have to follow whatever you’ve seen?”
“You can’t think that I’m good enough for—“
“Draco, you're my best friend and I’ve just said, not even a few hours ago, that I'd do anything for you, but if you say you can’t be with Harry because you think you’re a bad person or something I will lose my mind.”
“But I am! Just look how I’ve treated you and the others. And my father--”
“You are not your father. What he does is his choice. You didn’t make it for him. Whatever he did for your good wasn't something that you thought would be for yourself. Draco, have you ever stopped to think that maybe you deserve this good thing because you might not be the worst person ever?”
“I’m the not best person, either.”
“No one ever is. I know you’ve had this conversation before. So just say that you like Harry now.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I can’t. ”
“Why not?”
“It’s because, because…”
“Is--Is it because Harry’s a guy--”
“No, it’s because IT’S NOT REAL!” Draco erupted.
The two tensed and Draco slapped his hands over his mouth. They waited a few minutes before relaxing so that no one stepped out into the living room.
“What are you talking about?” Anthony asked.
“It’s--It’s just a matter of circumstances. If I wasn’t in certain situations with Harry and if I wasn’t there where I was--He would have never liked me. I’ve seen it before. He’s meant to go out with someone else.”
“Draco, that’s what liking someone is. It’s about being there where it mattered, consistently giving them support. It was something that happened naturally. Nothing forced Harry into liking you. He did it because he liked you-- ”
“It wasn’t a real me--”
"Now what do you mean not the real you?”
“I… I wasn’t acting like myself. I couldn’t stand him those first few times.”
“Are you saying that you've been pretending this entire time? They you’re not Michael’s best friend, or Terry’s, or mine —“
“No, but—“
Draco, be honest with me. Truly. Why are you trying to… fight this?”
Draco gathered a breath, then another. “I’ve always had something that told me what to do. My visions... they show what’s to happen so then I can prepare and I’m not faced with impossible decisions. But I… I don’t have anything about this. There’s nothing that I know to think about this. To let myself have feelings for someone and for someone to have feelings for me and somehow make that into a relationship. I’ve never seen it before. And, for once, I want someone to tell me how this plays out because it scares me, Anthony. I’m so scared about letting myself jump into this without knowing how it goes.” Draco felt himself wanting to laugh. “Because I don’t want it to end badly because all I’ve seen are bad endings. I don't want to give Harry a bad ending. So, please, tell me, Anthony, what to do because I don’t. I don’t know what to do. I’m tired of bad endings.”
Anthony didn’t speak for a very long time.
“I didn’t know what was going to happen when I spoke to you that first time,” Anthony finally said. “I’d never talked to someone before. Terry and Michael started to talk to me first. I didn’t even know what to start with. I just… decided. I mean…. you’re not supposed to know how it plays out. You can make fantasies, you can have your prophecies or visions, but you can’t prepare yourself for this. It’s... supposed to be scary. I mean, you’re trusting this… vulnerability that can break you if mistreated and giving it to another person. Of course, there’s doubt about whether or not you’re doing a smart thing! But… you’re not doing it alone. It’s just… when you give that vulnerability, that trust, to a person… there’s a hope that you gave it to the right person. And it goes both ways! And together you give yourself hope that you both can make a happy ending. They make you see and feel like you’re doing something right. You get hope. Does Harry give you hope?”
Draco sniffed wetly and rubbed at his eyes. “More than anyone.”
“So, Draco, do you like Harry Potter?”
Draco thought of the times that Harry made him feel. Talking over the summer leading to fourth year, the afternoon spent by the Black Lake in third year, Harry saving his life in second year, their hug in front of the Mirror of Erised during the first year—the first moment that told Draco that Harry Potter was going to mean something to him.
“Yes.” Draco nodded. “I really like Harry Potter.”
“Then you should probably tell him.” Anthony gave him a sideways smile. “Before he realizes how much of an ugly crier you are.”
Draco gave a watery laugh. “Sorry to say, he’s known my crying face for a long time.”
“Wow, he really likes you.”
Draco took a deep breath, his heart hammering at the idea. Then, he shook his head.
“I don’t know about that anymore. He told me that he’d try to get over me. I've heard him call us friends at the last D.A. meeting before holiday."
"Oh, that's why you looked upset! Well, this confession is not only just about him.”
Draco frowned.
“Well, this confession is definitely about him," Anthony explained further, " but it’s also about you no longer trying to deny this part of you you’ve been trying to reject. If you say he’s trying to get over you, then probably nothing will happen when you tell him. But at least you told him.”
“You’re right…”
Anthony grinned. “I always am.” He stood. “Now let’s finally get to bed.”
While trekking back upstairs, Draco paused. “Anthony,” he said.
Anthony stopped to look back. “Yeah?”
“Despite what… I feel for Harry. I think I’ll never have someone like you ever in my life again.”
Anthony snorted. “How embarrassing for you.” |
Clasping your bra, you were reaching for your black lace dress when you heard the shower stop running. Allowing the dress to fall over the black blazer laid over the foot of the bed, you walked into the bathroom to find Seto standing facing away from the door as he dried his hair, a towel wrapped over his lower half.
Walking up behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, biting your lip painted a deep red nervously as you rested your cheek against his back.
His arm dropped to his side, clutching the towel he had been moving against his hair.
“Do it through the judicial process,” you urged, “I’ll do anything for you to do it legally, regardless of how long it may take.”
For a moment he stood perfectly still. Then he sighed deeply. He loosened your hands, turning to face you, your arms now clasped around his back.
“What is that you can give me?” he husked in a whisper, tilting your chin to meet his eyes, fingers tucking your hair behind your ear.
Your gaze fell to the floor.
Your wealth was useless to him, your fame matched, your influence you were starting to learn he surpassed, your affections and body he already had. He knew you wouldn’t leave his side regardless of what he did.
He released a guttural laugh, pulling you flush against his exposed chest. He rested his head over your crown.
“Don’t try to play the hero.”
“You really know how to render someone powerless.”
“As if you didn’t already know,” he returned, his right hand travelling down to rest over the black lace of your underwear, left hand falling over your shoulder blades.
“I meant me of all people.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“Don’t do it,” you implored.
“I only said if the prosecution doesn’t do a good job. Besides, I haven’t even told you what it is I would do.”
“I can imagine. What you would do, I can imagine,” you declared grimly. Pausing, tightening your grip around him. “You said once they were in prison, that they were as good as dead, why go through this?”
“Because I don’t trust the sleaze in the prosecution to apprehend them before they flee the country.”
“Seto…” you begged.
“You’re too soft,” he growled. “You don’t know how to use the power and tools at your disposal. Any other woman in your position would be feared infinitely more, both as my wife and for the empire you’ve built through your own devices. Instead you choose to be the nation’s sweetheart,” he spat.
“There’s nothing wrong with being loved by a nation. Besides, I am feared,” you countered, thoroughly piqued.
“You’re about as terrifying as a bunny rabbit,” he chuckled derisively, raising a hand to stroke your hair.
“This conversation is going nowhere,” you tried to remove yourself from his grasp, “let go,” you demanded when he refused to move.
“I’ll have Roland guard you if you insist on going to work. He’s a trusted advisor and a competent bodyguard.”
“I can form my own security detail.”
“I’m sure you can,” he stated, “Having one of my men affords me some peace of mind, not to say that yours are incapable.”
“Whatever,” you mumbled, finally breaking free of his grasp. “My blush and highlighter smudged because of you,” you grumbled, “now I have to retouch it.”
“Yes, you’re the one with the problem,” he muttered, wiping in irritation at his chest.
You made to walk away before an idea occurred to you. Spinning around, you clasped your arm around his wrist. He looked up at you, irritation still weighing his expression.
“Wait! If you do what I ask, I’ll turn over half my shares of Kodama to you. That’s almost a thirty percent stake,” you offered. It was a reckless move you were aware.
“Don’t tempt me,” he smirked, “I can’t promise I’ll hold up my end of the bargain.”
…
Looking away from the window, you leaned your left elbow against the divider placed at the center of the backseat of the car, your middle and forefingers pressed against your throbbing forehead.
“Your husband isn’t a saint,” you heard Roland abruptly declare from the driver’s seat.
Your beloved husband was Satan reincarnate; you couldn’t be sure what this guy was on about.
Your eyelids lifted open under furrowed brows, eyes flickering to meet his reflection in the rear view mirror, his eyes obscured with dark sunglasses. You waited for him to speak.
“He’s not a saint but he’s a man who inherited a very destructive legacy; a war lord’s empire, and he chose to convert into a gaming corporation. He could have profited infinitely more had he –”
“I don’t recall ever asking for your opinion,” you coldly countered. You didn’t appreciate the feeling that he was reading your mind. Your husband did it plenty.
“Mrs. Kai-”
“That’s not my name,” you harshly interrupted. “I have a name, call me by my name.”
Clad in a black lace dress, a black blazer draped over your shoulders, a Chanel bag sitting by your crossed over legs and in a pair of pointed, nude Louboutin stilettos, you hoped any depiction of childlikeness your appearance portrayed was masked.
“Of course, Miss,” he complied, addressing you by your maiden name, albeit uncertainly. “I didn’t mean to step out of line. I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation you were having with Mr. Kaiba as he helped you into the car.”
“Your point?”
“I’ve watched over him since before he was in high school.”
“That’s an unfortunately long time to know the man.”
He laughed to mask his hesitation.
“As I was saying, he may not appear that way, but he does champion justice, fairness and he is very charitable.”
“Yes,” you declared sarcastically, “he’s the frontrunner for world peace.”
“Your words are a disservice,” he defended.
“Roland,” you sighed, a chilling composure to your tone, “you’re an advisor to my husband, is that right?”
“I occasionally advice Mr. Kaiba on select matters,” he agreed, slightly unnerved, if you had indeed read his tone correctly.
“What do you know of his plans to apprehend the current threat?” you inquired vaguely.
“Wakamura Tetsuo?” he clarified. You merely nodded. “Why he has ordered for the prosecution to – ”
“The truth, Roland,” you drawled.
“As far as I’m concerned Mrs. Kaiba –” he faltered, quickly rephrasing his words with your maiden name, “he has no intention of pursuing Wakamura through his personal task force, I assure you.”
“I never mentioned anything about a task force,” you inquired.
You hadn’t even been aware of the existence of such a unit.
The man immediately froze, whatever words he had planned dying on his tongue.
“Roland, I like you, and you’ve been working for the Kaiba family far too long for Seto to just fire you. I won’t tell him, so tell me everything you know about what my husband is planning to do.”
“He only has your best interests in mind,” he began.
“Cut to the chase.”
“He really does plan to indict them legally. Mr. Kaiba has no intentions of differing from this unless compilations arise.”
“Complications?” You cocked an eyebrow.
“As in if all those involved are not apprehended, if they attack again, or should any of them attempt to jump the border.”
“And if they do?” you demanded to know.
“I imagine those men will disappear as they planned – ”
“I’m assuming though not to a destination they had initially intended.”
“Precisely.”
“He wouldn’t get blood on his hands.” It was a question.
“He wouldn’t.”
You closed your eyes again, burying your face in your palm.
…
“That modulation was odd, that whole part was… it didn’t even cadence, it just modulated, I don’t know how I feel about that,” you advised the composer as you listened to the new track he was proposing, sitting on the armrest of his chair.
“I thought it would sound overdone otherwise,” the young composer began to defend his work when a knock sounded from behind the glass door.
“Fancy seeing you in a studio,” you greeted your legal director as you motioned him to enter.
Offering a polite bow, he inquired if you could spare a moment to speak.
“Keep what you did,” you threw at the young man over your shoulder as you stood up from his chair, gesturing to the director to exit the studio with you. “Have a copy of the finished version sent my way.”
“The Japan Fair Trade Commission is imposing reforms on all ‘artists – agency’ contracts,” your legal director informed you.
“Do we have any contracts that fall outside of the revised requirements?” you questioned as you walked with him.
“Yes and no, some of our contracts nearing expirations should probably be looked at,” he began to say, “along with a few trainee –”
He was interrupted by your phone ringing in your hand.
Dread pulsing through you out of habit as you failed to recognize the number; you held the phone to your ear, attempting your best to appear composed.
“You should be needing the antidote by now,” you heard a weathered voice sound through the line. “How is it that the prosecutor’s office is calling for a press conference?”
A chill shot through your spine. You froze in your spot.
“I told you my husband was a difficult man to convince,” you responded monotonously, colour draining from your face as yesterday’s memories came rushing back. The memory of how vulnerable you had been in that moment when Wakamura walked in to your hospital room horrifying you.
“I suppose your husband doesn’t hold you in as high a regard,” he declared, an irritation underlining tone.
“You’re right, I’m a poor bargaining chip,” you agreed, disconnecting the line.
Sooner rather than later, they would come to realize that you weren’t poisoned, but for now they wouldn’t be tempted to use you as leverage to manipulate Seto, or at least you hoped.
“Sorry,” you turned to your legal director at the conclusion of the conversation, a cold sweat breaking across your back. He wore an extremely perplexed expression at what he had heard of your exchange. “Something came up; let’s discuss the contract revision at a later time. In the meanwhile have a hearing arranged for director Uchida for tomorrow, nine sharp. I’m sure the internal auditing department has been in contact with you.”
He nodded and you promptly excused yourself.
“Take me to Seto,” you ordered, meeting Roland at the end of the hallway.
The whole drive to Kaiba Corp. was spent in trepidation, your heart palpitating erratically. Your palms were sweating. You couldn’t be sure why hearing that man’s voice had broken your composure so thoroughly.
“Is Seto in?” you inquired from the receptionist sitting across from his office.
“Mr. Kaiba is currently in a meeting,” she informed. “Would you like me to notify him that you’re here?”
“You don’t need to, I’ll wait,” you advised, walking to take a seat against the wall.
You were forced to sit in wait for the next twenty something minutes. It didn’t feel like wasted time as you couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought that would allow you to be productive anyway.
Another few minutes idled by before Seto stormed out of his own office, trailed by a few men who seemed utterly demoralized.
He walked past you briskly, before pausing a few feet down the hallway and spinning on his heels to cast his gaze towards you, his eyes narrowed, almost as if he was doubting what he had seen.
“I didn’t know you were here,” he called to you from where he stood. “What are you doing waiting there?”
“I didn’t want to disturb - ”
“Walk with me,” he ordered.
Standing up slowly, you walked to join his side.
“Where are we going?” you inquired, as the men who had been following him entered the elevator behind the two of you, filtering to the back quietly.
“The animations department.”
“Why do I need to come?”
“You look off,” he declared in English, “I didn’t feel easy leaving you there.”
He was perceptive.
You reserved yourself to silence.
You wouldn’t realize that what he had made known to you was half his reasoning. The other half was in the fact that he was particularly fond of your appearance that morning.
The reaction Seto inspired walking into a department was infinitely more severe and to an onlooker such as yourself was a great deal more humorous than what you inspired when you visited one of yours.
The temperature quite literally dropped a few Celsius.
The entire floor scrambled like rats in a sewer being intruded by a predator to fall into whatever acceptable formation your husband apparently expected. Chatter died to a nought, the department assuming an eerie silence, only to be punctuated by the occasional click of a mouse and fingers against keys. Anyone who had previously been standing ducked into their cubicle or other work station. Not one individual willing to make eye contact with Seto at the fear of being petrified by the menacing scowl plastered to his features. It was obvious as you scanned the space though, that productivity had also died with his entrance, everyone’s thoughts too acutely concentrated on holding themselves perfectly still, perhaps pretending to work if their distraught states allowed, in a desperate attempt to survive their boss’s visit without being fired – or brutally insulted.
At times such as this, you wondered how you get away with as much as you did with the man. You were certain that not one person in this space would dare allow a word to fall out of place in the presence of your husband, let along raise their voice and scream at him the way you did.
In a way, it helped alleviate to a certain degree your current state of anxiety.
The men who had been trailing behind the two of you also mirrored their fellow employees, at least attempted to as they motioned to scamper back to their seats.
“I don’t recall dismissing you,” Seto snapped harshly, and everyone instinctively, visibly flinched at the tone. You almost did also, your hand wrapping discreetly around the little finger of his hand. He didn’t acknowledge the motion.
A middle aged gentleman came bounding out of his glorified cubicle which you were sure he dubbed an office, greeting Seto with a false pretense of enthusiasm under which it was obvious he was sweating bullets.
“I didn’t realize we would have the pleasure of receiving the president of Kodama this morning,” he addressed Seto, vaguely cowering.
This question piqued the interest of everyone who up until that moment had been avoiding looking anywhere in your general direction as it risked accidentally making eye contact with your husband. Hushed whispers began to float around the cubicles.
“Why?” Seto questioned roughly, “Are you conducting yourselves in a manner which would be an embarrassment to my corporation in the presence of a visitor?”
His undertone conveyed the question more harshly than it needed to be. This threw a dagger right through the whispers, silencing them promptly.
Seto then carried out a rather impressive onslaught against the entire department about how the animations for the upcoming virtual reality release looked like a third rate artist with fourth rate qualifications had drawn them and how he wouldn’t hesitate firing the whole lot as he had his logistics department if they were not redesigned by next week.
As you had assumed, your presence had no functionality besides perhaps being another star in his belt, only serving the purpose of inspiring awe. That or he was showing off to you, you couldn’t be certain. Though, you were too preoccupied in that moment to be angry was it indeed the former.
Leaving the department, once you were away from prying eyes, you cautiously slipped your arm around his, pulling yourself against him, your other arm slid down to lace your fingers through the hand you were already holding.
He peered down at you calculatingly.
“What’s with you?” he began to ask when the two of you turned a corner and you were met with a group of employees, chattering loudly amongst themselves.
They all froze, scared stiff, their eyes were all that were moving, as they drifted first towards Seto, then at you, before they fell towards your arm you had fastened on to him. Their eyes fell to the ground after that, shoulders wilting as if bracing for the incoming.
You motioned to separate yourself from your husband for the sake of professionalism, to be held firmly as he often did.
“Get back to work!” he bellowed at the cowering employees before him, and within a fraction of a second, they had dispersed as if dried seeds on a dandelion stem.
“You have a way with people don’t you,” you laughed lightly, looking up at him as he led you away to his personal elevator.
Returning to his office, you stood perfectly still, mind drifting back towards the events of earlier that morning, your skin prickling more severely than the cold air of the elevator would cause.
“Do you mind if I just stay here for a while?” you asked him uncertainly as you exited the elevator behind him, making your way towards the sofa. His blue eyes followed you intently in silence as he sat at his desk.
“Come here,” he finally called, “you definitely seem…off.”
“I’m alright,” you assured shakily, “I just need a moment.”
“You came to my company because you needed a moment to breathe? What happened?” he demanded to know. You drew in a deep breath; your exhale sounded you more laboured than you had anticipated. “Come here,” he ordered again more sternly.
You considered his request for a moment longer before walking up to him. He pulled you into his lap.
“Tell me what happened, you look like a deer in headlights,” he husked in your ear. Perhaps by now he was aware of exactly what effect that tone of voice had on you.
For whatever reason, your first reaction was to turn around and crush your lips against his. He didn’t object despite the surprise you likely caught him with, gently placing a hand against your back as he pulled you closer. He kissed you for a moment longer before pulling away.
“I won’t ask a third time,” he informed you harshly.
“Wakamura called.”
“I see. What did he say?” he asked, his usual composure returning to him.
“Asked me why the prosecutor’s office was calling a press conference, asked if I didn’t need the antidote and if you didn’t hold me a high enough regard to care for my life,” you summarised.
He scoffed.
“And?”
“I told him I clearly wasn’t a useful bargaining chip.”
He released what resembled a grunt.
“That could backfire. They could just kill you if they think you aren’t useful in manipulating me,” he berated. “You should have been more careful.”
You hadn’t considered that.
“This is why I said –”
“Seto, please just stick with the law, I’m begging you.”
His eyes narrowed, brows knitting together.
“I’m not sure where you got the impression that I was going to murder these people,” he declared feigning ignorance, or what you assumed was ignorance.
He lifted his arm, pushing back his suit sleeve as he regarded the time on his wrist watch. Reaching for his drawer he retrieved a remote, spinning his chair to face the wall opposite the elevator, he pointed the remote at the far blank wall. At the press of a button, a portion of the wall slid over, revealing a massive flat screen TV.
The screen flickered to life, and Seto changed the channel. It changed to display the twelve o’clock news, conveniently just as the news anchor was introducing the next news story.
“A press conference was held earlier today by the Domino prosecutor’s office publicizing an open investigation on Wakamura Tetsuo and the executive directors of Wakaetsu Industries for the charges of high treason and collusion with foreign governments with the intent of illegal weapon dealing. A warrant has been issued for the search and seizure of Wakaetsu Industries along with all its affiliates. The prosecution has also revealed that they have in their possession a conclusive list of all those involved with this conspiracy, with the list extending to some former members of the board of directors from Kodama Corporation, including its former director of research and development Egusa Sotatsu…”
“Why are you showing me this?” you questioned.
“….Arrest warrants have been issued and they have been summoned by the prosecution… The full list of names disclosed is available…”
He switched the TV off.
“This is foolish,” Seto asserted, “I’m doing this for your sake, but don’t foolishly believe that Kodama won’t receive at least some damage with the former board involved in this. My way would have been discreet. There’s only so much I can do to manipulate how the truth is conveyed to the public.”
That explained why your corporation’s AI wasn’t mentioned anywhere in that report. You also noticed Uchida, who was still due to be dismissed and Harada was not included in the list of names the news anchor read out.
“You don’t sound like a man who has given up his ways,” you remarked, looking away.
“How perceptive,” he spoke in a spine chilling whisper. Your eyes darted up to meet his. “Don’t look at me like that,” he growled, “a backup plan is necessary.”
“And you promise that’s all that it will be?”
“Don’t try to bind me with words.”
“Seto!” you exclaimed, “You told me you wouldn’t do anything that was against my wishes.”
“I also said I would only do it if it was in your best interest.”
“Who decides what is and is not in my best interest?” you demanded to know.
“Me.”
“Right, because that makes sense,” you drawled sarcastically.
“Here,” he abruptly declared, leaning against you as he reached into a drawer and produced a white envelope with the insignia of the prosecutor’s office stamped on the edge.
You picked up the envelope off the table, wrestling the papers out, as you spared a questioning glance at your husband.
“Your father wasn’t on the list,” he extended blandly.
“And they just let you take it? Seto, removing evidence involved like this in an investigation from the prosecution is illegal.”
“It’s a copy. And you still don’t know how I operate, do you?”
“So, is this your edited copy?” you inquired with a hint of animosity to your tone, sighing at his earlier remark as you sifted through the pages.
“No, his name was never on the list. Wakamura was bluffing, as I expected.”
“That’s a relief,” you mumbled under your breath, intending the comment mostly to yourself.
He snatched the papers out of your hands, tossing it on the desk. His hands wrapped around you, pulling you against him.
“I have work,” you resisted.
He released a growl from low in his throat, seemingly conveying his denial to your request.
“So do I,” he added a moment later, tightening his grip.
You took a deep breath against him; perhaps it really was just that obvious that you desperately needed this.
…
Seto had sauntered into your office around late six demanding that he take you home for the day. The ensuing negotiation hadn’t been a negotiation at all, with him storming up to your desk, forcefully closing your laptop and declaring that you were leaving.
Returning to the mansion, a maid handed you a collection of envelopes explaining how it was the mail for the day.
“The invitations for the Imperial Ball are here,” you informed Seto as you ascended the stairs after him, looking over the white, gold trimmed envelopes.
The Imperial Ball was the most formal and high profile affair of spring for the Japanese elite. The event was traditionally held by the Imperial family, though the occasion had evolved to be more a symbol of status and the royal family was almost never present and was now arranged by the ministry of arts and culture.
It was customary for unmarried women to wear white to the ball, while married women wore colour, typically the colour associated most closely with their family, though any colour was acceptable.
Had your marriage been public knowledge, you would have most likely worn light blue.
“I see they sent two separate invites,” he noted with discontentment, looking over his shoulder.
“The council doesn’t know we’re married,” you reminded him, “of course they’re going to send two separate ones. I’m surprised this was forwarded here from my address.”
“Seeing you last year, I had thought it would the last time you would be wearing white,” he remarked as you both entered the bedroom.
This found you with confusion at first.
“Seeing me last year?” you repeated bemused, as he threw his suit jacket over the bed, beginning to unbutton his shirt.
“At the Imperial Ball last year,” he explained flatly.
A chill raised the hair on your arms.
If this didn’t confirm what his younger brother had said about Seto watching over you for the past three years, you weren’t sure what did.
“I didn’t realize you were there,” you mumbled.
“That’s an idiotic thing to not realize.”
It also made you more acutely conscious of how if the man was adamant enough in accomplishing or possessing something, there wasn’t a force to impede him, even you. This awareness in the context of his intentions regarding Wakamura only stood to worsen your foreboding.
Shedding your blazer, unzipping your dress, you allowed it to pool around your feet.
Walking up to your husband again from behind, you wrapped your arms around him as he discarded his dress shirt.
“Tell me what you want from me,” you purred against his back. You knew he was well aware of what you were referring to.
“This didn’t work for you in the morning,” he stated roughly, “what makes you think it will be any differently this time around?”
“I’m asking you what you want from me this time.”
“What I want is for you to not do this every time you see me,” declared firmly, “you might not like what you get.”
You couldn’t be sure how to interpret those words.
“Seto,” you cooed.
“Don’t try to seduce me; you’re not very good at it.”
“I may not be good at it,” you spoke with hesitance weighing your tone, apprehensive of the man you were embracing, “but I still get you every time.”
‘Wow you really suck at this,’ you told yourself, cringing at how bland the words you had meant to sound sultry produced themselves.
“Thus my earlier words.” He paused before continuing, “You won’t dissuade me from my intentions like this.”
You heaved a sigh before detaching yourself from him, shuffling your feet to the bathroom as he disappeared into the closet.
…
Hyobe Uchida was dismissed the following day. It was a much more dramatic debacle than you had wanted, with security needing to be called to have the director removed from the premise.
Roland continued to be your personal body guard, though you took it upon yourself to form a new, personal security detail.
Over the course of the following weeks, Wakamura’s accomplices were apprehended by the police one after another, and transferred to the prosecutor’s office for interrogation. It wouldn’t be much of an investigation you knew, considering there was conclusive evidence against each one of them and your husband obviously had an iron grip on the prosecution as if they were puppets on a string.
While Wakamura remained at large, you grew to suspect the degree of your husband’s personal involvement with the actual process of arresting the traitors.
There were many nights and early hours of the morning where you had rolled over to your husband’s side of the bed, reaching for him, only to discover the bed empty. You would find yourself waking up next to him however, as if he had never been absent.
At first you had believed he was working in his study or wandering the mansion for whatever reason. However, having been roused one morning two nights prior, returning from somewhere unknown to you fully dressed, you had just about confirmed your suppositions.
Asking him directly would leave you nowhere, and staying up all night would make him stay.
You noticed he maintained his distance at night in bed these days. If he ever held you, his embrace was so cautious that it felt almost calculated. There were suddenly too many secrets, conversations you weren’t allowed to hear. He would come home early but the door of his study was closed to you. He would only kiss you to deter you from your relentless probing.
You grew restless for answers.
In a stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, the opportunity afforded itself late that night.
The two of you were so hopelessly tangled that you were woken by your husband leaning over you towards the opposite nightstand, reaching for his phone. You couldn’t be sure how you had ended up again on his side of the bed.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you heard him growl under his breath at someone on the opposite end, “Didn’t I order that you block off all air and seaports to prevent exactly this?” You lay as still as you possibly could, breathing as quietly as you could. Your legs were woven with his, your head against his neck, your hand reached over his chest. “Domino peer? I’ll be there; you better not let him get away if you know what’s good for you.”
He very gently moved your head off his outstretched arm, laying you on the pillow, carefully lifting your arm and folding it over you, before untangling his legs from yours under the sheets, clearly unaware that you were awake.
You watched him slip into the closet, and then swiftly slip out, having changing into a pair of black pants. He pulled a black shirt over his head as he reached the bedroom door.
You pretended to be asleep when he turned to look back over at you on the bed. The moment the lock clicked behind him, you flew out of bed.
You only hesitated for a moment in your pursuit of him as you idled in front of the closet after slipping into a pair of black, kitten heeled sling back sandals, as you debated whether or not you had the time to change out of your black, lace trimmed, slip nightgown. Not bothering to buckle the ankle strap, cursing at yourself for being unable to find a pair of flats which required no fastening, you tore a long grey cardigan from its hanger to cover up as you raced down the hallways of the mansion, fingers tightly gripping your fully loaded gun, keys fisted into your other hand.
Tripping a number of times as your feet slipped out of your undone sandals, you fell into the car, careful not to be noticed as your husband sped out in a black car similar to yours, past you.
Driving down the driveway, you noticed the gates remained closed.
“Open the gates,” you demanded of the two guards.
“My apologies but Mr. Kaiba has given us special orders to keep you from leaving,” one man notified you.
“Open the gate or I swear I won’t hesitate blowing your brains out,” you warned, cocking the barrel of the gun against the one guard’s forehead. Your eyes darted towards the other, fumbling with his phone, “Make that phone call and I will give you a hole on your pretty little forehead to match.”
“Mrs. Kaiba!”
“Do I look like I’m playing?” you growled through gritted teeth, flipping the safety off.
A moment passed where all three of you remained extremely still. Then they very hesitantly complied, drawing the wrought iron gates open.
Following after Seto, you tore down the deserted streets of Domino, navigating towards the peer. Your BMW couldn’t possibly maintain the speed he was burning the rubber at, or perhaps your husband’s cars were better suited for the race tracks, because you had lost sight him within seconds. Not that it mattered, you were fairly certain of your final destination, and not trailing him so closely was likely a better alternative as it would otherwise be near impossible to not be noticed by him considering you were possibly the only people on the streets at this time of the morning.
Your security team wouldn’t be reporting for duty until the next morning, as you had no real use for them when you were inside the mansion. You were certain however, that the mansion’s security team would be on your trail like blood hounds within the next few minutes.
…
The night air was icy and crisp, your skin under your black nightie prickling as the wind grazed past your bare shoulder the grey cardigan had exposed, slipping to the crook of your elbow. Your undone ankle straps dragging against the ragged cement of the peer with each reluctant step, the cold barrel of the gun kissing your temple, you wondered where things had gone wrong.
Perhaps the answer was obvious and it was a stupid thing to wonder.
Standing feet away from your husband, seeing his blue eyes harden to stone; you knew that if you were fortunate enough to survive, he would kill you twice. |
-------------------
The first conundrum of the swap day comes in the shower.
Hanzo stares down the razor, resting innocuously on the caddy hanging on
the shower-neck.
Since you’re so adamant, I generously grant you permission to shave my
goatee. My other hair is fair game too if you want to give it a trim -
just make sure I look pretty, okay Han? I trust ya. But if you screw
up, that gives me permission to cut yours
. ;)
The very idea sends shivers down Hanzo’s spine. The other would no doubt
cut the hair like a butcher, taking a knife to a ponytail or something like
a rebellious fantasy princess.
He squirts some of the shaving cream onto his fingers, massages it over his
face. Water from the shower is still spraying down in a lukewarm tap tap tap against the stall. He takes a deep breath, then
reaches for the razor.
---=---
His newly smooth face is slightly pink in the bathroom mirror. Without the scruff and the soul patch, he looks almost…
His reflection pinks further. Hanzo drops his hands from his cheeks as well
as he dropped his eyes to the bathroom tile. It’s not the same as when it’s
his own hands, his own body.
Jesse’s hair could also do with a bit of a trim, but he didn’t trust his
ability to cut it himself. He’ll have to ask Ana or Angela to clean that
part up. He guesses that Jack or Gabriel would just hold him down and shave him clean bald
if he asked them.
He’s quick to towel off, and extra quick in pulling on a pair of pants.
Even after all this time, he averts his gaze from McCree’s body as he
dresses, and avoids again his body-swapped gaze in the mirror.
To feel this way… he’s taking advantage. It isn’t right
.
Hanzo walks on autopilot to the kitchen, scratching at his newly shaved
face. There’s arguing he can hear even down the hall, not unusual. When he
enters he sees the short Swede and the giant German standing near a beeping
coffee machine. Fareeha is already eating a pile of pancakes at the table,
face sticky from syrup. Ana is sitting next to her daughter, drinking from
a cup of hot tea. The blonde medic isn’t here yet, neither is the other
blonde man. Gabriel however is holding two plates, over by the counter
taking bits of everything.
Breakfast is already laid out on the countertops buffet style. Their supplies had been generously restocked since the New Year. Piles of
eggs, a foot-high stack of pancakes, slices of crisped ham. Open pats of
jam and butter. On mornings Reinhardt cooked he preferred toast to
pancakes, but it seemed they were out at the moment, leaving only the
pancake mix that never tasted out of date, despite the tiny numbers on the
front that clearly signify it had years ago.
“Sorry Jesse, only tea today. Coffee machine is broken.” Ana gestures for
him to take a seat.
“Tea is fine, thank you.”
Ana walks over with the kettle and fills up his cup. She taps at his cheek,
squeezing where his scruff used to be before pouring his mug full.
“Oh! You look very smart today. Very neat. Any particular reason?” Ana
winks at him. The attention of all the rooms occupants immediately jump to
him, even Rein and Torb halt their arguing to peer over at his freshly shorn face. Hanzo feels
himself fidget.
“…Ah… just wanting a change.” He stares down at his tea, turns the mug
between his hands. Everyone eventually loses interest and returns back to
what they were doing, too busy with breakfast to bother picking at him too
much.
“ -What do you mean you can’t fix it? You’re an engineer! With four different
master’s degrees!” Reinhardt booms.
“Ja, but this is a cheap machine! I only vork with high quality
parts. This thing is so far beneath me, s’beyond me!” Torbjörn
taps at his head with an oil-stained, long-nailed finger, accent thick as he shouts back.
“So in other words, you don’t know how.” Gabe snarks over his tea-mug. Then
ducks to avoid the wrench that’s thrown at his head. Somehow he doesn’t
spill anything on the papers he’s peering over.
“- Fine! I’ll make us a new kaffe machine. Out of spare ship parts!!!
You’ll all see!!”
Torbjörn storms out of the kitchen, grumbling under his breath.
“What’s wrong with the coffee machine?” Hanzo asks, semi-cautiously, just
as Angela enters the room.
Evidently hearing his words, she briefly peers over at it. Then frowns darkly
like the thing had personally offended her.
“We aren’t sure.” Ana says. “The error message comes up in Japanese, and we
can’t find the instruction print out in any language we know.”
“I even tried turning it off and then turning it on again!” Fareeha chirps.
Hanzo sips his tea one final time, then stands and makes his way to the
machine. It’s a long-outdated Keurig-of-sorts, with a built-in grinder for
beans, water boiler, and percolator. At its age, he’s surprised it even
still works. The small LED screen blinks with Kanji in a typical error
message.
Water line under pressure
. Please clean funnel.
Hanzo reads the error, then presses a few of the buttons on the side, pops
open the top of the machine. Rinses the needle, closes the lid, and the
machine successfully restarts.
“Now put some more hot water in it. It should be fine.” He says.
Dumbfounded gazes of five others meet him, and he shrinks away, quickly
shoving a slice of toast into his mouth and absconding out of the room.
Angela places her mug back onto the table and sweeps after him, the rest of
the team staring incredulously after them both.
-=-=-=-
“You’re incredible Jesse!!”
Angela paces after him, light footfalls hurrying up the white tiled
hallway. Hanzo twitches, keeps his quick stride.
“It is nothing, really. A lucky guess.”
“No need to be humble. Even Liao took time to learn Kanji, but you’ve only
been studying for a few months, right? You’re amazing.” She shakes her
head, wavy blond hair falling slightly out of its bun. “I really misjudged
you.”
“Ms. Angela – “
“ – Please, call me Angie.”
“Ms. Angie, I need to talk to you about something important for a moment.
Can we go somewhere private?”
The medic’s face pinks slightly, but after a second she nods sharply.
“Y-yes. Jack’s still in the med-bay, but we can go to the library.”
The library is as compact as a records room on a secret military base would
be expected to be. There is not much of use for books on a battlefield, he
supposes. Most of the entertaining or useful literature had been moved to the smaller
bookshelf in the common area, leaving the outdated tomes here to gather
dust.
There’s faded encyclopedias on the top shelf. He’s sure he hasn’t heard of
paper encyclopedias being used since the early twenty-first century. All
the bookcases in the small room were dusty and a bit out-of-use, most of
the base preferring to use the intranet and the printer for all their
information. There was a small computer in this room too, hooked up to a
printer just as most of the others were. Hanzo still does not know the
username or password to access any of the accounts, though he’s sure by now
that Jesse would write it down for him if he asked.
Though that is not an easy solution either. He assumes that his account
activity is being monitored, so even if he did have access he’d still have
to be careful with what he tried to research using the base computers.
Something about it feels dirty. There’s something here he should treat with
caution. To ask Angela anything obvious would signal something was not
right, and he can’t risk bringing more trouble down onto Jesse. His own
dragons had been stubbornly silent on this matter even though he had been
asking about it for months. Though he’s certain they know more than they
are letting on.
It had been easy enough to ignore during the daily chaos of breakfast here
at the base, but the fogginess of waking early-swap was fading, and he
finds his thoughts fleeing frequently to Hanamura.
His luck has truly been against him lately. As feared, they had swapped the
day of the sacred burial ceremony, the private traditions held only to
their bloodline.
Granny Mao, Genji and McCree were no doubt already finished the
ceremony
… he morosely notes. If he is currently in America as was his current
hypothesis, that would mean Japan would be at least around twelve hours
ahead of him. If he were to call Genji’s cell right now, then it is likely
they were already done the customs and were back at home, about to enjoy a
lavish supper.
Thinking about the whole situation made his head hurt.
His and Angela’s pre-Christmas trip to that town, to raid the pharmacy and
find drop supplies… it had been useless in helping him determine his
location. He had briefly gotten to study the labels of the food supplies
that had not been weather-ruined, but there had been multiple languages
printed on the wrappers and all of them had been languages of the west. It
had been no use to him.
It itches at him constantly, like a termite burrowing into the back of his skull. He
is basically trapped here, hiding in some bunker while some civil
insurrection is going on. Was this a well-hidden secret in America right
now? How was this being kept hidden from the rest of the world? Japan
thought itself fairly isolated from world drama, but it was not blind to
world events or hints of strife.
It is clear that this is an official para-military group; though some of
the crew were younger, they were also diverse in qualifications and
knowledge. Well trained and smooth with execution. They undergo daily
training and drills, receive quasi-regular supply drops, and have the same
strange grey-and-orange peace-sign-like logo stamped on much of the crates,
the machinery, their gear. If he were to guess, Jesse is either part of a
secret government hit team, or an original member of some underground
rebellion. He had tried doing research on it when he was back in his own
body in Hanamura, but he does not know the name for this group – only the
logo – and asking anyone here the name of their group would be a dead
give-away of his dubiousness.
In the end his web searches back home only resulted with conspiracy
theories, and he saw no group within the collective Shimada intel with an exact
replica of their emblem.
He is the young Oyabun of one of the biggest criminal families on
earth. This had been bothering him for a long time, and though each week it
got clearer and clearer he had not wanted to admit it to himself.
Jesse likely does not realise it yet
- he always thinks that with great relief, before it quickly sours to
sorrow - but he is certain that he and Jesse are meant to be enemies.
This could be why they are having the swaps: his dragons are trying to
alert him to the next organisation that will attempt to raid them.
Hanzo is familiar with other ‘families’ and gangs over the world;
the ones they do business with, the ones that are rivals or
stock-competitors, the ones he is to shoot on sight. Similarly, he is
familiar with the ‘daytime business’; the legal loopholes, the
jobs created to try to take them down or enforce regulations. He is aware
of the groups that send spies that try to infiltrate them, as well as which
regional leaders can be bribed, and which are trying to crack down on
organised crime.
Jesse now has infinite, invaluable access to sensitive Shimada family
information. Even with shaky knowledge of Japanese, he could easily spill
info to anybody here – Reyes, Morrison, or Amari – and if this place’s
purpose is what he thinks it is, then it could cause the arrests and
dismantling of his entire family.
He’s been having too much fun, enjoying the release, the break from a
rigorous life. He has been idle, not attempting to solve these swaps so
much as endure them. No – a voice whispers at the back of his
head. Admit it. You enjoy them.
Angela is twisting her fingers together, watching him expectantly in the
silence of the base’s small library. Maybe he has acted too rashly in
asking her presence here.
“ – I know that there are no telecommunications here. No ethernet, wifi, or
even basic phone-lines.” Hanzo says. It is too late to turn back now. He has to involve the young medic
. “But… I desperately need to contact someone. A friend.”
Today of all swap days, Genji would need his support. Genji was
unpredictable the best of times, and the dragons only knew what he would do
after something as monumental as participating in their father’s final
journey. He just needed to check up on him, just to be sure.
“Oh.” She seems disappointed, for some unknown reason. “… Is this the ‘ brother’ you mentioned back at the pharmacy?”
He nods quickly. That had been almost three weeks ago. He shifts where he
stands; tries to sound casual.
“Exactly. I’m surprised you remembered.”
She smiles – it somewhat settles his tense stomach.
“Of course. It’s not every day you talk about your past.” Her face falls
slightly. “Most of us don’t, really. Too many sad stories led us here.”
Hanzo forces an earnest smile, trying to milk her sympathy.
“It has been so long. I wanted to know if you could help me contact him.”
“Jesse…” Her jaw clenches, but she gives him a pained half-smile. “You know
why we can’t. I know it’s hard. We’re all isolated here without a way to
contact our loved ones.” She is quiet a moment, looking over at a bookshelf
before turning back to him.
“…Have you talked to Commander Reyes about this?” Her voice is soft. “He’s
the only one here that can give you access. Maybe if the area scans are
safe, you can make a quick call?”
Hanzo shakes his head. The call needed to be made now, as soon as possible.
Not whenever he’d be ‘allowed’ to. In fact, he is certain asking outright would simply get him a firm 'no' and then a lengthy interrogation. He is not sure why there are
such strict anti-communication sentiment, outside of their existence having
some reason to be top-secret. He had been hoping the medic had some access,
but it seemed it would not be that easy.
Maybe some of the conspiracy theories he had read were right.
Angela lightly touches his arm.
“I’m sorry Jesse. I really am.” She takes a step back. “I can’t help you.”
“Thank you anyway.” He has to stop himself from reflexively bowing and ends
up awkwardly trying to turn the half movement into a stretch.
Another pause. Angela tucks a lock of platinum blonde hair behind her ear;
Hanzo sees three black-steel bobby pins tucked onto the side of her head,
barely succeeding in holding back rogue locks of wavy hair that were too
short to fit into her ponytail.
She clears her throat.
“Well, I must get to work. Check on Captain Morrison. Commander Reyes must be shoving food down his throat by now.” She gets to the door
before looking back over her shoulder. “…Hang in there Jesse. Who knows,
maybe in March…” She shrugs. “This could be all over by then. Then we can
call whoever we like!” She doesn’t seem like she believes it herself, but
Hanzo forces himself to smile, to wave a hand as if the whole thing had
been foolish, just a passing fancy.
He tries to look busy, picks up a random book and pretends to stare at it
until finally she walks away, footsteps fading along the hall. Hanzo sighs,
puts the O encyclopedia back in its rightful place on the shelf.
Standing alone amongst the quiet hum of the computers, he wonders if he’s
just made a big mistake.
-_-_-_-_-
It had been months since his original gambit to access the secured
phone-line. The last time he had tried he had been foiled by simple
mechanical locks, and had been forced to retreat when he could find no way
to pick them.
Jesse’s return note to him had told him not to try to access Reyes’ phone
again, and when the swaps had revealed to be somewhat harmless he had
respected Jesse’s wishes. They had both become embroiled in learning the
other’s schedule and becoming accustomed to the oddities and the new
routine.
The phone plan had fallen by the way-side in lieu of trying to keep status
quo and blending in. The journal entries to each other had been
more than enough for communication.
But today was a special circumstance. No matter what, Hanzo needed to call
home today.
Hanzo twirls the two bobby-pins about his fingers. He only needed one
minute on the phone with Genji. Just enough for the solid ultimate proof,
the link that these swaps were truly real and not some shared madness, some
strange dream. Enough that he knows that even across the world in another’s
body, he was still thinking of him and their family. Enough to know that Genji is okay.
Always, no matter what. Everything he’s done has been for the good of his
family.
The bobby-pins had been an easy enough find in Angela’s bedroom – her
quarters had been surprisingly messy, but he had spotted them straight away
on the top of a chest of drawers next to a rounded brush. He slid two into
his hair at the nape of his neck, and the second two into his pocket, and
left immediately after, walking quickly and silently up the hall, hoping
none had seen his loitering.
Gabriel Reyes’ office is just like it was the last time he had entered it.
The door was unlocked, and he entered without issue.
He takes the pins out of his pocket, bends one into an L shape, the other
he straightens into a tiny stick, but bends the end into a hook. The filing
cabinet and the desk drawer were the only locked places. Out of the two,
Hanzo bets his better luck would be with the desk, and starts there.
The lock clicks open after only two minutes of fiddling. He tears open the
drawer; winces as it squeaks.
There is a satellite phone sitting in the drawer, its charger neatly coiled
up, its antenna retracted fully into the device. Hanzo feels like an
adventurer discovering a chest full of gold.
His hand shakes as he picks up the phone; hyperaware of each sound that
echoes down the hallway. He quickens his pace.
A red button on the top powers up the phone. The device is clunky and
brick-like, but he supposes that’s how one knew it was reliable for use in
the middle of nowhere. He holds his breath, waiting for the tiny square of
the backlit screen to finish turning on.
It flashes a brand name for a moment, then it clears away to show a plain
dark grey screen. The top left corner shows zero bars.
Hanzo frowns, turns the phone over in his hands. A black button on the side
of the phone has a satellite symbol printed on it in white. He presses it,
and a small green LED flickers on. Hanzo sees four bars blink onto the
screen and smirks.
Easy
.
He glances again at the office door, then once out the window. If his
assumptions are right, then Reyes was visiting Morrison in the med bay this
morning to bring the injured man’s breakfast to him, as he had the previous
swap days since the accident in India. There is likely still time, but not much.
The satellite phone has no text keyboard, though he assumes he could text
using the number pad the old-fashioned way if he had to. Or he could simply voice-call, and risk somebody hearing his conversation in the
office.
Texting took longer and was more traceable. The last thing he wanted was
for the people here to track down Genji in Hanamura and interrogate him, asking as
to why his cell number is in the call-history of a super-secret phone in a
super-secret American Military Base.
If he does this right, then nobody will ever know. This is worth the risk. Genji needs him.
Like tearing off a bandage; Hanzo uses both thumbs and dials Genji’s cell
number quickly, pressing the call button before he can convince himself
otherwise. According to the time on his watch, it is seven-forty in the
morning. If his guesses were right, then it would be at least eight in the
evening in Japan. Genji would surely be awake.
The phone beeps in his ear. A pre-recorded message plays at him in a
foreign language, then repeats again in accented English a few seconds
later;
We’re sorry, but your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check
the number and try again
.
Hanzo checks the number on the screen; it is correct as far as he can tell.
Unless Genji had spur-of-the-moment decided to change his sim card, or swap
to a burner phone.
Had something happened
?
He hangs up and tries again, then a third time. The call would not go
through. He tries one of the previous phone numbers for Genji, and also
gets nothing. Lastly he tries his own number, and unsurprisingly receives
the same message.
The satellite phone must not be working
. Hanzo scowls down at the out-dated brick, feels the urge to just toss it
through the window and be done with it. All of this risk had been for nothing.
Reason won once again, and he carefully collapses its antenna, clicks the
connection button and then powers down the device, returning it and it’s
charging console back to the drawer. He clicks the lock back on the desk,
and does a final fourth check around the room before slipping back quickly
into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Perhaps his family are still in the mountains, were staying extra late with
the ceremonials. It would not be the first time it had happened. Phone
service was still notoriously patchy there, even with service towers being
erected in an attempt to fix the issue. This was not inherently unusual.
Then why did it feel so wrong? Hanzo feels like he is standing
somewhere high, a rope slowly tightening about his neck.
Hanzo walks back to his - no, Jesse’s - quarters, his chest hollow
as he further garbs in preparation for the morning’s standard
drills.
No matter what he, or Jesse, or even Genji wished, this
arrangement can’t continue forever. He thinks of a room full of tight,
squared shoulders, jaws set with disapproval, then of light grey eyes dull
as a caged bird’s.
Hanzo grits his teeth.
It would have to be up to him to take action.
|
5 weeks ago
It had taken far longer than Lan Wangji had expected to travel from Yiling to Gusu. In fact, it had taken twice as long and twice as much spiritual energy as he had anticipated. When he and Wen Qing had established this plan, he had not considered the physical toll it may take on his body. But, still, he pushed on with grated teeth and two lives to save. As if there was ever going to be any other option.
The exhaustion that built throughout the difficult energy was not helped by the small fact that he was carrying not only an unconscious fully grown man, but he a sick and delirious toddler all the way. With one arm around Wei Wuxian, the other held A-Yuan close to his chest as he struggled to maintain balance and speed.
The note had read:
Wen Yuan is in Granny’s house. I gave him a very weak sedative, he should not wake before you arrive but may on your journey. Good luck and thank you, Second Young Master Lan.
But, when he had raced to the small shack, the young boy was drenched in a thin sheen of sweat. He had a death grip on a small butterfly toy in his hand and he burnt to the touch. If Lan Wangji had to hazard a guess, it would be that whilst being in this poorly constructed home alone for a few days, no one had been there to regulate the temperature and he had fallen ill. He was already small and, arguably, malnourished thanks to the unvaried diet at the Burial Mounds. He needed to get them both back to Gusu as fast as he could. He doubted he would even get any form of rest on the way now that he was not only trying to get them to safety but he was racing the clock against Wen Yuan's health. A very impolite string of words he had heard the likes of Wei Wuxian use before crossed his mind.
With a deep breath, he transferred a small amount of spiritual energy to the sleeping toddler before scooping him up to his arms and returning to attend to Wei Wuxian. He could only hope he himself would be able to make the journey with his current strength level. There was no way he could have known that today was the day, he felt completely overwhelmed and unprepared. If anyone else had seen him in the cave, hands shaking as he pulled out the needle from Wei Wuxian's head they would think that Lan Wangji had lost his nerve. In that moment, he was far from the perfect image of Hanguang-Jun so many admired.
As they reached the outskirts of Gusu, Lan Wangji felt the deep strain in his muscles. To make things that much worse, Wen Yuan had began to stir in his sleep.
“Gege…” he grumbled, grubby face rubbing against Lan Wangji’s neck. He could still feel the fever radiating from the young boy and felt another twang of panic. He was getting worse, and he was not sure how much the child could handle once he woke up.
We will arrive shortly, he told himself, I can send him straight to the infirmary.
But Wen Yuan had started to wail shortly before their arrival. So much for the plan of sneaking them both in silently.
In a last minute and barely thought out plan, Lan Wangji made a quick detour.
“I am sorry,” Lan Wangji whispered as he propped an unconscious Wei Wuxian against a tree in a part of the forest surrounded by dark shrubs. If he was not only quick but incredibly lucky, he would be able to get back on time. He placed a warming talisman on the sleeping man's chest to protect him against the chill, and then he was off. For the first time in who knew how long, he ran.
He ran into the Cloud Recesses carrying the screaming, fever ridden child at full speed. Heads turned as he dashed in, all thinking that something had gone terribly wrong. Lan Wangji did not break rules, he would never run inside the Cloud Recesses.
“Hanguang Jun is—“ a startled disciple stood by the entrance had started to exclaim, but he was running too fast that he did not hear the rest of the sentence.
Once in the infirmary a young nurse took A-Yuan from his arms, sitting him on a bed and examining him as another medic began to remove the tattered clothing. Lan Wangji was panting to catch his breath, his body teetering on the edge of fully collapsing to the floor, but he picked himself up after hearing the loud echoing footsteps getting closer and closer. He had grown used to the intimidating sound since a young age, it was a natural reaction to remove any sign of emotion from his face and stand as straight and poised as possible. As if he were nothing but a well trained, emotionless disciple. There was no trace of family love as his uncle stormed in, disdain plastered across his face.
His face was red in fury as he yelled that Lan Wangji had been seen breaking various rules and all the disciples were in uproar but he froze once he noticed A-Yuan on the bed.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. "What is this, this— Whose is this child?"
Lan Wangji must not have looked in his best condition either. He had not been able to adequately bathe in days, and once A-Yuan had woken he had spent too much time using Lan Wangji’s robes as a napkin. Still, he needed to be firm in his choice of words. A-Yuan's safety depended on it.
“Mine,” said Lan Wangji. “He is mine.”
A-Yuan’s sharp cry as a medic tried to pry the toy from his hands to clean them tore through the room.
“Lan Wangji!” Lan Qiren scolded. "Do not be ridiculous."
"He is a child that I know very well and his family was killed."
Lan Qiren looked as though he was about to scold him further, face twisting in disgust.
"That boy is a Wen? He cannot be here!"
Lan Wangji bowed politely.
“I will take responsibility," he said, pushing through the aches in his body. He just needed to do a little more, he was almost done. "I claim him as my own. If any trouble arises you may punish me as harshly as you require."
Medics watched the pair in quiet amazement, at the perfect disciple begging for punishment for an unknown child. But what could Lan Qiren do, send a sick child back out to die? A man who relied on saving face to build his power would never, and Lan Wangji had counted on it.
Lan Qiren huffed, and stalked back out of the door, his personal servants following closely behind and snubbing his nephew who remained in a deep bow.
Once the Cloud Recesses was in uproar, too distracted by the new young arrival, Lan Wangji had managed to fly Wei Wuxian over the back wall.
He watched Wei Wuxian sob as he curled up on the floorboards and a pang of guilt hit him in his gut. Should he have told him earlier, when Wei Wuxian was on a suicide mission to get out? Would Wei Wuxian have believed him had he had no physical proof? Did he still not trust him now?
But, all Wei Wuxian said was, “Thank you. Thank you, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji gave a curt nod and went to set the food he had prepared over onto the table before going back to help the other man up from where he remained on the floor. The balance they had struck remained an unanswered question on the tip of his tongue, but he repressed that back down as he had done with everything else.
They had once said that they were soulmates, destined to keep finding each other. Would Wei Wuxian understand that although Lan Wangji had done this for him, he would have saved A-Yuan regardless? They both knew what it was to like parent-less, born into chaos and emotional hardships. How could he send a child he had grown so fond of into a similar fate?
As Wei Wuxian ate, Lan Wangji explained that A-Yuan, now Lan Yuan, had made a full recovery and Lan Wangji had finally been able to see him today. After all these weeks, A-Yuan had emerged from the living quarters and wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji's thigh, yelling about how his new clothes smelt like flowers and he had made a friend named Jingyi. Something in Lan Wangji clicked into place after seeing the boy thriving, healthy and safe from the cruelty of this world. It was something he did not know was there before, and it sent emotional waves through him as he tried to remain composed at the sight. He was far different to the boy he had first met in Yiling, all skin and bones and nerves, but his bright personality was only getting stronger. After Lan Wangji had helped him learn some of the sect rules his uncle was insisting he begin to learn straight away, to commit the child to the sect completely as quickly as possible to cut down a potential transition period, he was suddenly thrusting his beloved butterfly into Lan Wangji's lap.
"Gege take," he said, big eyes staring up at him. "Gege need sleep. I sleep with toy."
He had given Lan Wangji the toy because he had looked tired. For whatever reason, A-Yuan insisted that Lan Wangji needed to sleep, that his gege's face was tired. Probably from the week of constant energy transfer. Most likely.
Wei Wuxian shook his head at that part of the story, saying that Lan Wangji still looked unnaturally flawless. Lan Wangji didn’t let it show that the offhand comment made something in his chest flutter. He went onto explain that A-Yuan was to live with the other children and be raised as a member of the sect. It was the best security they could offer him when he had no parents and was still young enough for the majority of the sect to agree that he posed no threat.
“Can I see him?” Wei Wuxian’s question came as he finished off the food. Lan Wangji had given up telling him to not speak during meals. He only listened for half a second then started a brand new conversation topic with a mouth of half chewed food.
“Unsafe,” Lan Wangji answered, hesitantly. He didn't know if Wei Wuxian would agree to his terms, after all. He had been upset enough about Lan Wangji's ways of protection before. “If he speaks of you to others…”
Wei Wuxian seemed upset, but too overjoyed by the prospect of A-Yuan being alive that he accepted it without much fuss. He just nodded politely and gulped down the remainder of his water.
"Okay," he mumbled. "I will accept that that is true, for now. But don't ruin my hopes forever okay? And you need to make sure you tell me how he's doing. And play with him, please? Don't turn him into such a bore like the rest of you."
“I will update you,” Lan Wangji promised, not taking the insult personally. “And teach him well.”
“I trust you. If you say that then I know you will. Who else could do a better job than you?”
After their discussion, there was a stretch of awkward silence. Usually, this was the time that they would have prepared to sleep. But now, Wei Wuxian had healed enough that he no longer needed Lan Wangji’s services. Now, Lan Wangji was just hindering him from getting rest. Despite having not seen each other the whole day, he couldn't help but feel that the air was different now that everything was out in the open. He thought of how he had helped Wei Wuxian get ready for bed just a few nights ago, his fingertips brushing his bare shoulder as he guided his arm—
"Goodnight, Wei Ying." He didn't look at Wei Wuxian's expression as he made to leave.
Lan Wangji would return to the empty Jingshi and things would return to how to be. Wei Wuxian would be safe, and Lan Wangji would carry out his duties.
|
A hero. Izuku was going to be a hero.
He hadn't felt this happy since before he had been diagnosed as quirkless. He had always hated the way that was phrased, him being “diagnosed” as quirkless as if it were some disease or illness, but questioning the morality of the term was currently not one of the many things on the young boy’s mind.
He wondered how exactly this sort of thing would work. Of course, he knew it would be figured out, as Nedzu was some sort of animal super genius, but there really weren't many options on how this would play out in his head.
Option one, he would be introduced to the class as a deceased, quirkless kid, and would have to explain the whole “passing on” thing.
Option two, he would be introduced as someone with a strange undead quirk, and the bleeding would just be considered an unfortunate mutation.
Option three, he would be given a different schedule than his peers but would still end up with his hero licence at the end. This option, to him, didn't exactly seem like the principal's style though, so he decided to rule that one out.
Of course, there were the in-betweens, such as leaving certain things unanswered or classified, but that would leave him with far too many options to comprehend.
One obstacle that was not considered by Nedzu or Aizawa was the boy named Katsuki Bakugou, or as he deemed him, “Kacchan”. Aizawa knew about the bullying from the jumbled up story he had told him a day prior, and he likely relayed that information to the principal; however, Katsuki was sure to make it into U.A., and was sure to recognize him. He wondered if he should tell the teachers beforehand, regardless of how he was to be introduced.
“...-id…. Kid.. Oi!”
Izuku snapped out of his trance, blood flicking across the classroom as his head quickly turned to face the direction of the voice. It was Aizawa-sensei, who had a rather irritated look in his eyes after a busy day of expelling the rest of his current students. Or perhaps that irritation was aimed towards him for painting his classroom red.
“Is something on your mind? If you're worried about enrollment and introductions, Nedzu and the rest of the staff will handle it.” Did the hero have a secret mind reading quirk that he didn't know about? The teenager narrowed his eyes suspiciously, causing the other man to raise an eyebrow in return.
“What? If you're not busy, go clean my classroom. We need to figure out that blood thing before it becomes a disruption.” Oh, so it was aimed at him. It wasn't his fault that he was eternally bleeding from the head. Or, maybe it was. Either way, Izuku stood up with a groan and left to go grab a washcloth, only to return with no washcloth and a hesitant question on his lips.
“Spit it out, problem child.”
Izuku fidgeted nervously with his hands, before blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “What if I'm recognized?” Aizawa deadpanned at the boy’s vague question, prompting him to elaborate. “I mean, one of my ch-childhood f-friends was planning on applying to U.A. and I'm sure he'll make it in. He thinks that I've killed myself, well, I did, but it'll just make things complicated.”
Aizawa simply gave him a blank stare before letting out an exasperated sigh. “I told you, Nedzu will take care of it. I didn't know you had friends.” How rude. “W-Well, we drifted apart…”
The teacher let out another sigh, although this one much more dramatic and exaggerated than the last. “I’m messing with you, don't worry about it. Go clean up your mess and grab an extra towel while you're out there. I want to try something.”
Shouta hummed mindlessly to himself as he dragged a hand through his disheveled hair, exhaustion seeping through him. What had he done to deserve this sort of stress? He supposed, in its own right, it would be called “heroics”, but even then, that definition seemed a bit open. Didn't a hero tell Izuku that the quirkless couldn't become heroes? He wished that he knew which hero said those words to a kid on a rooftop so that he could give him a nice punch to the nose. He debated on asking Izuku himself; however, given what he knew about the boy’s personality so far, he doubted he would get a conclusive answer.
Perhaps he just felt bad for the boy, after all, who wouldn't? No one should have to feel like suicide is the only way out, especially a what- twelve year old junior high kid? Maybe he'd ask Nedzu for a raise. Yeah, that sounded nice.
“Sensei, I'm back!”
Shouta watched as the undead teenager power-walked back into the classroom, two towels in hand.
“Bring them here, I might just be a genius.” The kid looked confused momentarily, but obeyed his directions regardless, walking at a much slower pace than before towards his desk. The man gingerly took one of the towels from Izuku’s hands, before carefully wrapping it around the spot where the blood seemingly came from. “Hold that in place, I'm going to wrap it with medical tape.”
His creation looked… interesting… but there was no longer blood decorating his already less than organized classroom, so he decided to call that a win.
“Perfect. Shuz- Recovery Girl would be rightly horrified at my wound care, but I'd say it works out, yeah?”
Shouta felt a bit of pride (pride?) as he received a small but actually genuine sounding giggle from the boy, allowing what could be considered a smirk to appear on his own scruffy face.
“Do you think it'll stay when I go incorporeal?”
The pro-hero rested his chin on his hand, his tired eyes watching Izuku in curiosity. “Try it, it couldn't hurt.” He suggested, his fingers mindlessly playing with the end of the tape roll. “If it disappears I'll have to throw you to the wolves though. Sorry.”
He shook his head at the brief moment of panic that shone on the boy’s face, giving him a semi reassuring and partially emotionless expression. It was an expression that was one of a kind, truly, he believed that he was the only one who could create such a thing.
“I meant Power Loader and his students. The support course somehow always gets the crazy ones, I generally try to keep my distance as much as I can.” The hero explained, giving a nod as Izuku seemed to relax a bit.
“A-Alright then, I’m going to disappear now.”
That sentence alone sounded ominous, but he really didn't have the willpower to pay any attention to that as his future student’s partial mummy costume flopped limply on the floor, the sound that it made shattering his poor, broken heart. Maybe a little overdramatic, but he could definitely feel a headache coming on.
“We'll… Just have to figure this out later. For now, I'll put it back on, just please retain a physical body until we get you situated.” He groaned, watching the boy seemingly reappear out of nowhere.
“I hate cleaning.”
|
==>Be Rose Lalonde
It's early morning for you, and your guests are still asleep. You are somewhat envious of their dormancy but they had remained awake far past your own hours and it was only natural for them to rest now in turn. You wish you could oversleep, yourself; between the nightmares and the lingering fight-or-flight instincts the game instilled into you, the four or five hours of respite you are managing simply have to be enough.
Your computer wakes from its own slumber at the touch of your hand. The moment your status changes from offline to available, your chum window flashes. It's Dave: the hour does not surprise you much. You doubt his in-game experiences have cured his pre-game insomnia.
TG: lalonde i hope you youre ready for thisTG: your whole life youve been waiting for this moment i knowTG: so get your little clicky pen and your fucking notebookTG: i need your adviceTG: shit rose im serious hereTG: dont leave me hanging
TT: I'm not, I assure you. It's just that this is quite the occasion and I almost feel inadequately prepared. I'm afraid I'm completely out of clicky pens.
TG: im already regretting this
TT: Please Dave, you have my full attention.
TG: lookTG: ok first off keep the trolls away from candy and sugar and crapTG: i just spent four hours watching terezi pray to the porcelain god and there isn't much more disturbing than teal coloured puke let me tell youTG: chocolate cherry liqueurs did her in worse than a fratboy on initiation night
TT: I will take that notice under advisement. I don't foresee much of an issue considering the absolute lack of candy in the household. Mother has an emergency chocolate supply I'm not supposed to know about; it’s easy enough to leave alone.TT: I’ll admit that doesn't sound like the reason you pestered me. Considering how rarely you admit to needing any outside assistance at all, I am both curious to the cause and intent in rendering what assistance I can.TT: Are you wondering about gifts for Terezi? Or has that stage of your relationship already been passed? Were your eyes to her liking?
TG: dammit lalonde could you stop for a minute this is seriousTT: I'm sorry DaveTT: I worried that if I simply asked you to explain what was wrong outright you wouldn't believe it was me. I would hate to waste time assuring you I was not some sort of pod person.
TG: ok you have a point
TT: Please explain the issue and I will do my best to keep the cynicism to a minimum.
TG: its eridan
TT: Well I suppose I am only somewhat surprised.TT: Honestly Dave there is nothing strange or wrong about being attracted to someone who presents as the same gender as you. We have had this discussion before, although I had honestly believed your feelings for John would be what pushed this to the forefront
TG: holy shit on a stick lalonde projecting much?TG: i mean i know youre repressing the biggest fucking crush since king king discovered girlsTG: but just because you're not getting any is no fucking reason to assume thats the case for the rest of usTG: im not interested in amporaTG: this is notTG: in factTG: about any sort of fucking romanceTG: except maybe avoiding one and even then that's more the cherry on top of this shit sundae lalondeTG: i am asking for help because fiahboy is the most pathetic walking example of classic depression ive ever seenTG: fuck he ever dresses the part
Typos are not a common thing with Dave and that forces you to pause: it’s another moment to dissect what he’s said, carefully ignoring any insinuations that you might have jumped to conclusions due to your own feelings. Dave has been repressing his sexuality for the last year at least, you're certain of it. You had been steadily working on it as a sort of pet project, maybe to write a paper on it "developing sexuality in a teen male raised by an older brother obsessed with puppet porn." The title needed work but you thought you had something...
You focus on red text and think on what you know about Eridan Ampora. It isn't a lot - Kanaya had sketched a rough outline of everyone for you and his had been quite thin. Highblooded which meant he was prone to extreme aggression, with genocidal tendencies; something of your counterpart in that he'd developed a sort of white magic that might have been science based. He'd tried to kill Sollux and Kanaya and had succeeded in killing Feferi. He was responsible for Kanaya's transition to Rainbow Drinker meaning he had killed her, technically; it just hadn't stuck. Kanaya had killed him in retribution and to prevent him from running to Jack Noir and dooming everyone.
TT: All right. Assuming you're correct and Eridan is indeed suffering from depression, what exactly are you asking for?
TG: fuck i don't even knowTG: just... advice i guessTG: the kid is fucked up lalonde and i dont mean in the usual troll wayTG: and dont even get me started on how screwed up trolls areTG: hes got a deathwish i mean terezi was about to kill him in our kitchen she had him sliced and was ready to dice and he just let herTG: if i hadn't walked in wed be down one trollTG: which would be great for the grocery bill but i can just hear you nowTG: 'strider can't even keep one shitty troll alive'TG: ‘i bet he thinks troll sushi is ironic’TG: fuckTG: i'm pretty sure he was cutting himselfTG: his arms are a messTG: and his eyes are messed up like they look like he's just a corpse or somethingTG: its fucking creepy
TT: Dave if you are not already doing so, I am going to remind you to breathe.
TG: fuck you lalonde im not a hyperventilating geek oh let me get my inhalerTG: i am reacting appropriately to the attempted fucking murder in my apartment
TT: Secondly I'm going to suggest you try to keep sharp objects away from Eridan. It won't stop him if he's dedicated to hurting himself but it helps to not have the temptation in plain sight.
TG: oh fuck me sideways the god dammed troll has to end up in the house full of shitty swordsTG: you do realize i couldn't put them all away if i tried?TG: all right what else?
TT: I don't know. It depends on the cause of his depression. If it’s situational, perhaps he'll feel better once you're all here together.
TG: i doubt itTG: terezi is planning on killing him at your place nowTG: i'd be worried about him making a break for it but he seriously can't be botheredTG: and not in an ironic wayTG: so be prepared for a trial and probably smuppets
TT: What?
TG: terezi really loves the damn thingsTG: don't ask me why
TT: I’ll be happy to refrain for the moment. Could you please elaborate on the trial, Dave?
TG: god yeah can we have some human veto power or something?TG: terezi and gillschick are up and ready to put eridan on the chopping block for whatever he didTG: killing people i guessTG: and terezis planning on it for makara and sekret tooTG: though its pretty hypocritical if you ask meTG: we've got a budding judge judy hereTG: except its more like judge judy had a kid with vlad the impaler
TT: That is quite the mental image I must admit
TG: god i can't wait till this shit is sorted out.
The conversation moves on, as all of your conversations with Dave - your brother, still so strange a thought - always do. He's frustrated that you don't have a simple solution to his problem but the reality is for all of your books and facts and papers and even the occasional discussion... you have no experience in dealing with anyone presenting the sort of symptoms Dave has outlined. You're very curious of course, and there is a large part of you that is now interested to meet Ampora because it would certainly be something to learn from, enticing enough to make you forget that Eridan is a person in his own right and probably should not be viewed as an experiment. Then again, he killed Kanaya. You feel some small grudge would be healthy for your natural development.
The best advice you can give Dave is to keep an eye on the troll and perhaps distract him from whatever is eating at him. It's a temporary fix but better advice than nothing and you certainly can't suggest taking him to a clinic. It will simply have to be enough for the next day and a half, until you can meet the subject in question and speak with him yourself.
Eventually neither of you have additional questions or insults to trade and Dave’s trolls are awakening so you sign off. Jade has already left with her companions and they and the others will arrive tomorrow. Between now and then you have work to do: You've been slowly getting the house ready, because even with the space you have going from two people to five had required some rearranging. From five to twenty is going to be.... interesting.
At least you have Kanaya to assist. Without her help you would have been tempted to just convert the oversized dining room into a communal sleeping area for the trolls and split up the humans into the spare rooms. It had been somewhat of a discovery to have the exact nature of troll sleep without sedatives explained and as complicated as it made things you understand why she insists that space is made for every troll to retreat to for safety - their own and everyone else's.
The only exceptions made are for Equius and Nepeta, who are content to share a space if it eases the stress on the situation, and Tavros and Gamzee. Tavros had actually had contacted you and asked that they be kept together; Kanaya had looked a little relieved at that, and you took the cue from her that someone to look after Gamzee was a good thing. She didn't explain how the pairs would tolerate each other's presence better than other trolls would and you decided not to ask. Curiosity was one thing but there was such a thing as decorum.
What to do with the humans had actually been another struggle - keep the guardians with their children? You didn't have enough space to give each adult their own room and you weren't sure how they'd take to sharing beds or sleeping on a couch. You'd almost given up, the badly sketched floorplan of your house a mess of names and crossouts in front of you when your mother had leaned over your shoulder and pointed with a perfectly manicured red nail "Put Harley and Bro in the main guest room, put the boys in the smaller room and Jade can stay with you. Mr Egbert will stay with me."
You start to protest - Grandpa Harley and Bro were the big worries - but the idea of your mother with Mr Egbert makes your mind skip and scratch like a needle on a record. "What?"
"Oh we're old friends, darling. Don't worry, it will all work out. Trust your mother."
You don't know what's worse - when she doesn't even bother to be sarcastic or when she thinks she's being witty. Still, if Grandpa and Bro met in the game they'd at least know each other, and (ignoring the idea of your mother having a sex life) she and Mr Egbert together would solve the biggest issues of space.
You pencil it in and decide not to dwell on it and move on.
The sound of broken glass makes you jump and your mother rolls her eyes at you as you stand and don't even hesitate to grab the from the closet. You honestly don't know why you bother putting it away, really.
"I'll add plastic tumblers to the shopping list. I suppose I should buy a whole set, before we have to dip onto the good glassware."
She sighs dramatically and you feign ignorance as you step past her and into the kitchen, where Equius and Nepeta are standing around a mess of broken glass and milk, the taller troll blushing deep blue and looking chagrined.
"My apologies! I was being careless. These glasses are not strong enough! Please inform me of what repayment I can make -"
You cut him off by pushing the broom into his hands, glad your mother hasn’t had a chance to take advantage of him. "By learning to clean it up."
You pointedly ignore the way he sweats when you correct what he's doing and he's focused enough he doesn't snap the broom handle in half, which is an unexpected bonus. You have to take it away and kick him out when he starts to get carried away and attempts to clean the kitchen with it, momentary confidence in handling a stick with some bristles attached making him think he might be capable of more fine work, like dusting and putting the dishes away.
That's all right, your mother is quick to assure you in the tone that always sets your teeth on edge. She hated that plate anyway.
==>Be Nepeta
You’re outside, and it is the very best thing. Right now it is even better than your shipping wall – which you miss – but you know shipping is forever and eventually being outside will just be a normal fun thing again instead of being really really special the way it is right now.
You can hear Equius fretting beneath you; he is being very silly. You call down assurances that you're fine, sheesh! And go back to what you're doing, which is watch the smallest winged beast you have ever seen feed its young - which are even smaller. It is the most adorable thing you can ever remember seeing. If Rose had not already told you not to bring any pets home you'd be tempted to put one of the tiny things in your pocket and see how long you can keep it alive. Sadly Equius is being a spoilsport and is making you keep all of your promises, even the ones you hadn't really meant.
"Nepeta, please come down this instant. That tree is no place for you to be and you should leave those creatures alone. They are not even a mouthful to you. Come down this instant. I-I insist."
You pout and sigh but you clamber down the tree with ease, shooting your moirail a look that another troll might call black, but is really just annoyed disappointment. Equius has been insisting an awful lot since you came back to life and you're getting terribly tired of it.
"I don't know why they fascinate you! They're too young to chase or hunt and too small to eat. And that tree was not strong enough to hold your weight."
You roll your eyes and give Equius a smack that you know doesn't hurt. "Beclaws they were cute! And that tree was bigger around than I was, I was purrrrfectly safe!"
Equius has turned into a worrywort; he doesn't even give you a speech about your cat puns and how you should be more mature now, which is a sure sign of how distracted he is. You stifle an annoyed yowl and grab his hand, dragging him through the woods until you find something new to distract you both with.
You like this world a lot so far - there is a lot of neat stuff to look at and play with for sure! Of course by now the more brave local wildlife have learned to leave you and Equius alone, but there is still lots to see! The one beast you meet (coyote, probably. Rose gave you a book full of great pictures to help you identify everything) turns tail and runs when it spots you, and you're not in the mood to chase - mostly because it would mean leaving Equius behind and he'd complain.
You follow the sound of water and ignore your companion's complaints about hurting you and slowing down and humans finding you and you only stop when you find the river. Its pretty, bubbling and with a quick current that you wouldn't try to swim even if it wouldn't be way too cold to anyway. You're only comfortable because Rose gave you and Equius extra clothing. Your green jacket still blends in with the world around you the way it should but you're wearing it over thick pants, warm socks and a thing called a hoodie that's just a thick god tier shirt. It's pink, but you decided after a day of running in the woods that pink was better than cold.
Equius at least has blue to wear, his own hoodie proudly saying Toronto Maple Leafs across the front. Rose assured you both it was a well respected sports team and that they would not be offended at Equius donning their badge, which made Equius happy (and sweaty, but that wasn't ever hard) and you tried not to smile because you were pretty sure Rose was making sure not to laugh. It was all in the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, you'd decided.
Anyway, you aren’t cold and you aren’t going to do something silly like get wet and freeze, but the river means there will be lots of animals nearby and it would be nice just to listen to the water for a while. After spending so long in the veil it is wonderful to be able to feel the wind and smell the grass get dirty with real dirt again. Dream bubble dirt did not count!
"Come on Equius! Let's go see what's on the other side. I bet we can find more deer!" You could see the animal trails from here, and the skittish creatures were fun to watch. They moved in interesting ways and you liked how light the little ones looked when they ran, like they were made out of air.
"Nepeta...."
He's already using his warning voice and you stop, standing at the water's edge and eyeing the rocks you'd need to hop to cross, looking back to him and sigh, exasperated. "What?"
He at least looks a little sorry and you feel bad for being annoyed, but he's been nipping at your ankles like a grub since you got here. "I simply think it would be best if you were more careful."
"Eeeequius!" You know he hates to hear you whine even more than your most pawful puns, but you can't help yourself. "Do you really think I'm just a wiggler? It's just some water! Why are you acting like a bad lusus instead of like my Equius?" You really miss your Equius. This Equius isn't as much fun.
"I don't think that at all!" He's blushing which means he's lying, because Equius believes that lying to your moirail is one of the worst things you can do. He's much better at lying to other people (when he's not sweating). But the fact that he's lying you is really worrying.
Sometimes Equius has his moods you can't quite read because he's still figuring out what he thinks himself. He likes to take his time to decide things and while he's deciding there's no way to tell what way he'll decide. You had thought this was one of those Equius moments but that can't be true. Not if he's lying.
You stare up at him, his cracked glasses reflecting you back in bits and pieces. "Equius?"
"Y-yes Nepeta?"
"We are going to have a feelings jam right now."
+++++++++++++++
It actually isn't instant, since any good jam needs a pile and you don't have one readymade yourself. Thankfully the forest is full of things you can pile on so it's just a matter of getting a collection big enough for you both. You add the two greatcat skin rugs that had come with you and the castoff leaves and needles and branches are already much more comfortable than any pile of robot parts.
Equius does not want to have a feelings jam, but he knows you very well and some things he can't run away from or you'll just pounce on him. Feelings jams are definitely one of those matters. You have rules between you both, of course: When Equius insists you promise to listen to him even if you really don't want to. When you insist, he does the same. It works because neither of you insist unless it's really important. It also works because you noticed that the other person was almost always right. So you insist on the feelings jam, and Equius settles down with you.
Equius is still blushing and not sweating, so you're pretty sure this isn't about one of his crushes. Besides, neither of you have really bothered with trolling anyone since coming back to life. You had spent forever in the veil and then all anyone had wanted to do was sit on the husktops and no one really wanted to roleplay and the dream bubble had been nice but it had taken a while to find Equius and even when you did it hadn't been real. Not the way this world is.
Equius squirms in the pile. You don't think he's really talked to the others because he's been more interested in staying with you and exploring, so you really can't think of what might be bothering him. "I don't think we should be doing this out in the open Nepeta. What if a human were to see us?"
You give him your best pout and cross your arms over your chest. "Do you really think I'd let a human sneak up on us? What kind of great hunter do you think I am? Now stop trying to wiggle out of this! What's wrong Equius? If you can't tell me, who can you tell?"
He sits silently for a moment, but you know he's thinking and making decisions by the way his fingers tap together, not in any sort of pattern but distractedly. Everyone has ways that tell you what or how they're thinking, and you know Equius the very best. You can tell the exact moment he decides to stop lying and hiding and tell you the truth and you reward him with a big smile and a hug.
"It is not anything that I should be troubling you with Nepeta. I am sorry..." You give him another look and he continues. "I worry for you. I do not want you to be hurt again. The human Rose believes death here would be expressly permanent."
You stare at him for a moment, confused. "But Equius, that's silly! We already talked about that when we were dead. We can just make sure we're careful and we're being careful!" You shift over to him and lean against his side, curling some of the fur around you both. "No one is going to send you to kill Gamzee again. He has his pies! Tavros said so. Dying was just an accident. It isn't going to happen again."
You'd talked about it a lot in your bubble. You had really thought Equius understood - it wasn't anyone's fault except maybe Gamzee's and that was because he was crazy. He wasn't crazy now, so it was all right - wasn't it?
Equius tugs on his hair in frustration but finally sets an arm behind you. It's the closest he lets himself get to a hug, but you don't mind because you have enough hugs for the both of you.
There’s in his voice as he speaks and it makes your whole chest feel heavy, your bloodgusher tight and hurting in your chest. His voice cracks as he asks "How can you say it was an accident?" and you've never heard your moirail like this before. You thought he'd understood, but now... maybe not. "How could you want a moirail who's so weak he can't even protect you when it matters most!"
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "Oh Equius..."
"I let him kill me! I could have stopped him. I did not. I was too weak. Too l-lewd. I disgust myself, Nepeta Lejion, and I do not know how you can still think I am worthy of you."
You climb into his lap and Equius sits stock still but that's okay because it's how he always sits when you do this. You wrap your arms around his neck and settle against his chest and only when you're still does he relax. He can't bear to bring his arms around you, but he relaxes all the same and you know he would hold you if he trusted himself to.
"I failed, Nepeta. And in death I could face it but we are alive again and so are the others and how can I face them knowing it?" He's crying, and he never ever cries. Thin lines of blue are snaking out from behind his cracked glasses and you push the lenses away and wipe at his cheeks with the clean(est) edge of your sleeve. "What if it happens again? I can't forgive myself already. How can I protect you now when I already know I'll fail?"
Oh Equius, your wonderful, foolish Equius. You curl against his chest and pretend to purr. The sound is so ridiculous it makes him snort in the briefest laugh, but that was exactly the point. "You're being very silly you know." You point this out with a smile you know he can hear even if he can't see.
"So speaks the girl who wishes she were a cat."
"Hey!" You giggle and feel his vascular system start to relax under your ear at the sound, so you giggle a little longer. "I mean I forgive you! And there really isn't anything to forgive anyway, really. It isn't your fault and no one is going to blame you, Equius. You're the only one silly enough to blame you when you tried even though sending you was a very bad idea."
You poke a finger at his chest, nails sharp enough to sting even him. "Besides, moirails are about being the very best of companions and knowing all the bad things about you and wanting to like you anyway. It's about pitying the big strong troll boy who always wants to do gentle things and never can. It's about reminding you to keep your temper before you break someone and feelings jams when you feel silly for just being yourself."
His breathing is slowing down now too, which is good to hear. You run a hand down his arm, trying to put all the faith you have in him into that touch. "You're my moirail. If I don't know you, who would? I know you'll always protect me from everything you can, but that doesn't mean you have to! I'm purrrty strong, remember. I'll purrrtect you too." You turn your head to look up at him, and it means the whole wide world to you that he's smiling. "Next time, if we have to fight Gamzee, we'll fight him together. We're pawfully strong together Equius!"
His face freezes for a moment but then he laughs and shakes his head at your terrible puns. Which only makes you pout because you'd left almost all of them out to keep things serious, really! And then you're pelting him with dry leaves and it becomes a leaf fight, which you win when you trip him and pounce on his chest and cover his whole head in an armful of crunchy, spiky brown.
You end up lying on your backs, his head to yours and legs splayed out in opposite directions, staring at the late evening light through the trees. The sun is too bright, but in the woods it's always cooler and dark enough not to hurt too much and right now it's almost like the duskbreak of Alternia. It's just way more blue yellow than purple red.
"Everyone will be here tomorrow!"
"Yes. Nitram, Captor and Makara are already on their way with their humans. Their travel time is to be the longest."
"Wow. I can't believe they live so far apart...." you try to imagine it, on Alternia. It would have been horrible. How would you have met Equius if he'd lived days and days and days and days away? "We should do something nice for everyone. As a present for coming."
Equius turns his head to you. There are still needle leaves in his hair and it makes you smile. "Of course they would come. Why would they need a gift?"
"Beclaws it's fun! Beclaws it would be the mice thing to do!"
Equius sighs but reaches out with his hand to set it near yours, so you can cover his fist with your fingers. It's like a hug, without breaking anything.
"Do you have an idea of what our companions would like?"
Your grin is all teeth, and they're very sharp teeth indeed. "Pawwwsibly..."
==>Be Kanaya Maryam
It's evening, and you are seated on the padded reclining deck known as a couch. The television is off; instead of current media Rose is sharing with you human music, much of which had been written several hundred years before she was hatched. You are absolutely enthralled by the sound playing device she has in this main room, the way it sounds like you are surrounded by the musicians, the rise and fall of it flooding through you and rattling in your chest. It's completely unlike listening to the small speakers on your husktop and an incredibly heady feeling. It’s also providing a distraction from the unease both you and Rose are experiencing after the evening’s memo, something you suspect you’re both grateful for.
John's information on the trolls and the reactions of his neighbours as well as his lusus’ strange predicament has left everyone confused as to the state of matters. None of you can quite decide what might be happening but it is worrisome nonetheless. There is no one here for you to meet, no one for you to test how you might be perceived, to check yourselves against the status of the world – which is why everyone is traveling to Rose’s hive in the first place, but is somewhat inconvenient at the moment. Rose promises to send Ms Lalonde to visit her laboratory to gather further information but it will have to wait until tomorrow for reasons you don’t quite understand and yet sense should not inquire about.
No one has any idea what might be happening. The best Rose can surmise at the moment is that when you were brought to Earth (or it was recreated, the actual mechanics are unknown) it inherently sought to protect you and the others by ‘warping perceived reality’ around you. It was certainly convenient if that were the case, though you're curious as to the effects and scope and scale that it would work in. Rose is quick to point out it doesn't explain Mr Egbert's work or the 'Zombie Goths' Bro had dealt with, and the mystery clearly eats at her.
You’re glad she’s chosen to focus on something else for the moment, even if it had been somewhat at your insistence. She moves her right hand in the smallest movement in time to the music, back and forth with elegance; even that tiny motion is incredibly expressive for her, you think.
"This one of my favourite pieces by Mozart, though not his most popular. I suppose it isn’t as accessible but I find the counterpoint between the strings to be rather compelling.”
"It is wonderful."
"Kanaya, I am going to suspect I have left you speechless. That's the same thing you have said about the last three pieces."
You can feel the blush that tints your cheeks even as you try to remain composed. Rose has a way of sounding like she is scolding, even with a smile on her face. You wish you could tell if it was intentional.
"I am sorry, Rose, it is just that wonderful seems to be the most appropriate word I could use. I will attempt to be more descriptive in the future, but you are right that I am somewhat... without words. Music like this... I have never heard anything similar.”
That surprises Rose, and you wonder why. You had already explained to her how little art was allowed on Alternia once one reached adulthood. It certainly wasn't a profession one undertook, and that included music. Of course you had heard the great Alternian themes and anthems but they were played though your husktop or the television, not a large set of speakers that wrapped the sound around you.
"But music... I suppose I am making assumptions again, but surely there would be more popular music? Folk songs perhaps, things that are carried through oral tradition?"
You attempt to translate that, and fail. "What kind of tradition is that?"
"Oral. Things that are retold verbally and carried through the collective... oh. Of course. I am being silly again - you haven't yet met your elders so there would not be much chance for that to happen. I suppose you aren't taught that sort of thing when you are schooled, either. Isn't there music in your movies and television shows? And that begs the question of actors. Here they’re considered artists of a type, would I be wrong in assuming it’s different for you?”
Usually Rose is better at only asking one question at a time but these do flow one into the other, so you suppose you can manage it. Composing your face into what Rose has begun to call your ‘serious contemplation and explanation of Alternian history’ expression, you fold your hands into your lap and consider where best to start.
"I was schooled to recognize music and the main anthems for the Alternian fleet, the Empress and her court. Royalty and the inner circle have their own music, themes that would be played when they were introduced. Otherwise music falls under the domain of the subjugglators. It was a part of their teachings, which I was not interested in pursuing. I would say that Gamzee is the expert or our group but I think it would be best not to mention it to him. Of course, all Alternians are welcome to pursue music as a hobby, but it would be... something kept private. Shared with your quadrants, perhaps. Not placed for all to see without official sanction."
These discussions are always interesting, because it allows you and Rose to explore the many differences between your cultures without the discomfort of misunderstandings first.
"Actors are usually part of exploration crews. In fact, movies were only created after the Exodus of our people to colonize and conquer the greater reaches of space. Exploration crews have great spans of time in which not much is happening: they film their movies then, and share them with other crews. The best films are given sanction and shared with the entire fleet.” You consider for a moment and then add, embarrassed "I am afraid I don't know how exactly they come by their music. I would guess they write it themselves and create it digitally, but Karkat is the expert in such matters. You might want to direct that question to him."
Rose nods, matching your own gravity with a look of interest and the faint curl of her lips and eyes that you have concluded is a sign of happiness. You think it's happiness, at least. Rose does not express herself through body language particularly often (or well).
"Well, I won't compare your system to our own, though I can't help wonder if actors wouldn't be better off the way Alternians ran things. It's not a subject I have a great deal of knowledge on myself. John would be our resident movie expert; his knowledge of the medium is vast, even if his taste is infamously poor."
That's an opening, and you decide to risk taking it. "I would be interested in watching a film you considered good, Rose. I hope that there is such a thing?" You are quite certain you are not blushing, and that you ensured such a request was phrased in an appropriately bland manner. You are greatly enjoying Rose's company, and might even be a bit sad that your rather exclusive contact would soon be cut short. Of course, that was an absolute necessity, especially considering the rather worrying information that John and Dave had already shared. That said, knowing that you needed the others here and actually giving up the almost privacy this hive afforded is somewhat hard.
"I do have a few movies..." Rose is contemplative for a moment, then slides off the couch with quiet grace. (You had complimented her rather economical movements and she had explained that her mother had forced her to learn to dance for several years. It had not sounded pleasant, so you had not inquired further. )
"If you feel you could be interested in the heroic tale of twelve heroes, several of whom are not warriors, sent on a quest to travel an extensive and dangerous land to destroy an object of power that belongs to a near-god of immense evil power, featuring - oh forget it." Rose shook her head, looking bemused at her attempt at trollish naming structure. You almost tell her it had been a good start when she shuts off the music and the sudden silence is a strange void in the air between you. She reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a box that's thicker than you would have expected.
"It's a fantasy and a very good story. We'd only manage part one tonight, but there will be time for the others later." When she looks at you there is no mistaking the happiness in her facial features, alien as they are. "How about a movie, Miss Maryam?"
Your bloodgusher has been far quieter in your chest since your death and rebirth as a rainbow drinker, but those words set it pulsing, felt through your whole body. You give Rose a matching smile and small nod, giving you time to school your voice to the correct tone of pleased amusement. "That sounds lovely, Miss Lalonde."
There is the faintest touch of colour on her cheeks and you wonder if Rose is blushing.
You hope so.
++++++++++++
You have been enjoying the movie immensely. Rose is seated close enough to you that you can feel her body heat without actually touching. Once in a while you ask her a question about the narrative or she turns to explain the context of a statement, but the film is quite accessible even lacking your knowledge of humanity. Rose suggests it is because the film isn't really about humanity per se, and as such must explain its context to the audience. You suspect she is right.
It never ceases to amaze you how eloquent she can be. Even when half distracted she speaks in the tones of your most idealistic novel and yet she takes the words that would seem ancient and clumsy in anyone else's mouth and makes them real, makes them sound alive and vibrant all over again. You are certain if you tried it would be a miserable failure. It makes you appreciate listening to her even more.
Her words are a shield. It's a skill you have seen other trolls attempt but none have ever managed. It's a skill you have attempted yourself, to limited success. Rose is a master. She hides behind them, pushing herself as far away as she can until she is nearly invisible in the distance. It’s impressive. You wonder how she possibly learned to do it so well.
It is hard not to pity her. You should know better, but you're doing a terrible job of controlling your emotions. You aren't entirely certain you want to control them. You have not discovered Rose's own thoughts, to see if she has similar feelings for you. You suspect that it will take time to learn - for the both of you. You find you don't mind the wait; too many romances in your life have gone wrong. You aren't interested in rushing and ruining another. (Assuming, of course, there is a romance to have. You suspect a moirallegiance at the least, but might be waxing red yourself.)
Your attention returns to the movie and it holds you until the next interruption, this time in the form of Ms Lalonde standing in the doorway between the food preparation block and this room. She is silhouetted against the light in the other room and there is a glass in her hand. You can feel Rose tense beside you but when you look at her she looks no different than usual.
"Good evening mother."
"Evening, Rose, it is good. In fact, I came to make sure the two of you were enjoying yourselves. I know how worried you are about your dear mother interfering with your personal life."
You can hear Rose's bloodgusher – her heart. That is a new sensation and takes a moment to identify. You suspect it is beating harder than it should be but you do not have anything to compare or measure it against. You watch the skin around her mouth go tense and there is the smallest twitch - once, twice - and then she is smiling brittle and sharp and completely unlike the Rose you have known until now.
"I am certain you will endeavour to do whatever pleases you, mother, content in the knowledge it's for my own good, despite any argument or documentation to the opposite."
The movie is forgotten. "Why Rose, one would think you didn't approve of my motherly concern! I simply want to meet my future alien daughter in law. Or were you hoping to avoid the embarrassment of me paying for the wedding by eloping somewhere obtuse? You know I would never forgive myself."
Rose's teeth clench minutely. You wonder if her mother can see from her perspective, it's such a small motion. Her heart’s beat gets louder too and her cheeks flush, clear even in the low light. You are rather uncertain about what exactly is going on, but you can see a fight with words as plainly as one with fists, and currently Ms Lalonde is winning.
The alien comment had clearly been in regards to yourself. You question in the next pause as an attempt to lighten the tension "and what, exactly, would a daughter in law be? Or a wedding? I'm afraid my education in human traditions hasn't included those terms."
Ms Lalonde gestures with her glass, and doesn't seem to notice when some of the contents spill. Rose certainly does, another muscle tic on her otherwise composed face. "A marriage. It's rather traditional to get married before you take your wife to bed, after all. Of course I don't doubt Rose would be able to tell me all the ways such a tradition only reinforces the hurtful stereotypes and weakens women in society. She should - I bought her the books on the topic."
The woman walks into the room towards you both. Her heart is suddenly audible to you and it sounds too fast for her words, almost as if it was skipping. You're not certain if that's a result of being an adult or the current conversation.
"The question of the moment is who wears the pants in the relationship. I'm going to have to set unreasonable expectations of one of you. Of course, Rose is already well prepared."
"Mother!
You haven't heard Rose's voice take that tone before. It's both angry and pleading, and she sounds almost like a troll with it. It's distractingly attractive, but you focus instead on her hovering lusus who smells of something rotten. You are rather confused as to why your clothing is important. "I'm afraid I am not often in pants. I prefer skirts or dresses whenever possible."
The lusus makes an unpleasant facial contortion. "I should have known Rose would be the man, though I rather expected she'd find someone quicker on the uptake. Well! I'll make sure I have an ample stock of preventatives. I suppose birth control won't be an issue-
"Mother!"
"Unless you're more biologically compatible than I assumed. Rose, I'll make an appointment with Doctor Gershwin for you tomorrow, and you and Kana-
"Mother, enough!" Rose is standing, her face as bright a red as flows through her veins. It's surprisingly beautiful, though now is not the time. You expect her voice to continue in anger but Rose simply clenches her fists for a moment and then breathes out, hands settling loose by her sides. It's rather believable, except you can see her trembling, hear her heart’s beat. You suspect her mother cannot.
She continues in a voice that is almost surprisingly soft. "Enough, Mother. I am not interested in your head games and I am done proving myself to you. You are drunk, Mother. You are embarrassing me and yourself. Go to bed or back to your parlour. Leave my friends and I alone, please."
You think she did an admirable job, right up until that last please. It was a bit too young for her, a bit too weak against the greater opponent. You'd seen similar things between Vriska and Tavros. (You probably could have advised the Taurus, if you'd been inclined. You weren't.)
Ms Lalonde reels back and you can see this is going to end in strife. Rose must come to the same conclusion because she tenses -
And then, terrifyingly, her heart stops.
You gasp and rise, completely uncertain what to do but she cannot die, you will not allow it, not after coming so far. You stare at her suddenly white face and your stomach churns in panic but she doesn't collapse.
Tha-thump.
Her heart. The beat is slow, so slow and you wonder how that is even possible even as her hands raise and power sparks along her fingertips and her skin is not white it's grey, deepening into something sallow and sick, her eyes are black and the words she speaks are not English but their meaning is impossible to miss as a spear of lightning jumps wildly from her hands and strikes the wall only inches from her lusus. It leaves a black mark half the size of the adult in height and nearly as wide, acrid smoke in the air. Ms Lalonde is staring - the hair on her head standing nearly on end.
Rose is trembling, black and purple lightning crawling over her skin. Despite all you had spoken on since you had arrived here, one topic Rose avoided completely was her Grimdark possession. In many ways that told you more than you suspected she wanted you to know about her experience.
You reach out and set a hand on her bare arm. You aren't afraid of the lightning; not afraid of dying, really. Rainbow Drinkers are incredibly difficult to kill after all. You are still capable of fear, of course. Right now you are afraid for Rose - not of her.
The lightning burns for a moment and then simply tickles before it slowly disappears. "Rose?"
She's still trembling, but slowly the colour returns to her face and her eyes fill in, awareness dawning as the light returns. She licks her lips and tries to speak but nothing but a croak emerges. You reach for her glass of tea but her eyes fall on the blackened burn on the wall and the broken glass at her mother's feet and the sound from her throat is a wounded keen.
A moment later she's gone, before you can say a word or offer any comfort, absconded up the stairs and from the sound of it being ill in the load gaper.
"Well!" Ms Lalonde stays still for a moment and then shrugs and tries to flatten her hair. "You're certainly having an effect. She's never been this excitable."
You stare at the adult, momentarily uncomprehending. "Ms Lalonde, I do not believe I was responsible for that emotional outburst. You were the one who hurt Rose, not I."
"Nonsense!" Her voice is high and uncomfortable on your ears. "Rose and I were simply joking. It's a human thing. Something we've done for years. She'll return with a barbed line for me soon enough."
You look up the stairs where Rose had disappeared into. It's now completely silent. "I don't believe this will be the case. Rose has discovered that losing her temper is a potential outlet for the Grimdark powers she had been possessed by. She nearly killed you."
Ms Lalonde looks at you as if you are incredibly stupid. It's disconcerting to say the least as she has been a gracious host until this event. "She didn't kill me. That means I am going to keep testing her temper until she can control herself again. She's forgotten, clearly."
The woman looks down her slender nose at you and for a moment Vriska's face is superimposed over her pale features. It suddenly makes as much sense as anything else in this world. "You are making her stronger." It isn’t a question.
"Someone has to. Someone has to prepare her. Someone has to protect her."
You stand, dusting your clothing until it falls properly from your frame. The adult is tall but so are you and at the moment you feel bigger. "The game is over, Ms Lalonde. We won. Your... daughter won. Are you still trying to make her strong, when she survived and you did not? What are you preparing her for now? What are you protecting her from?"
"Who are you to tell me how to raise my daughter?"
"I am Rose's friend. One of many. And I have seen what happens when someone who means well forces their ideal of strength onto someone else. As have all of our companions. We won't appreciate that you think it is responsible to make your charge cry. For trolls, that would make you a terrible guardian."
"She's my Rose. You can't take her from me!" You are surprised because the adult's voice cracks and her eyes are overbright. Again, she reminds you so much of Vriska. You wonder if she remembers how to cry. Vriska had forgotten.
You meet her eyes with your own and you do not flinch. She does. "I can. I will, if I feel it is necessary for Rose's happiness. You would not be able to stop me."
You rather expect anger - you don't know why you are arguing with this lusus, except that you hope it will learn and treat Rose better, as she deserves to be treated. Respect. You realize this lusus does not respect her charge, and it makes you incredibly sad.
Ms Lalonde does not escalate the conversation. She looks at you and you can't tell in this light if she is actually crying, and she absconds before you can move to check.
Well. That was... unexpected.
You spend a moment conflicted, because you want to go to Rose but at the same time the broken glass lies forgotten on the floor. You end up compromising by dragging a small table overtop of the mess. It will keep Nepeta and Equius from injuring themselves when they return from their outing, and you can deal with it yourself if necessary tomorrow.
You climb the stairs to find Rose, because you do not want her to remain alone after the day's events. At some point you will have to have a conversation about her magic; there is no avoiding it now.
You think perhaps you understand another piece of the strange puzzle that is Rose Lalonde. Yet there are still so many holes in the picture you do not yet know what the final image will be. The mystery is exciting.
And sad.
==>Be Ms Lalonde.
Your name is Amber Lalonde, but your first name is known by only your bank, your gynaecologist, and the government. To everyone else you are Ms or Doctor and you approve of the distance it creates.
You are not, despite your daughter's accusations to the contrary, drunk. At the most you might allow the label of 'tipsy' but even that feels like an over exaggeration.
You are not ineb- iner- intoxicated. You have certainly had a few drinks, but you are more in control of your faculties than out of them. In conclusion: not drunk. You can't afford the luxury of being drunk.
Your hands shake as you pour yourself a fresh martini from your personal bar, but that's from emotion, not alcohol. The fact that you can't tell if you're furious or sad or scared is the alcohol through and through - which is exactly the job it was supposed to do.
You skip the olive.
You've made Rose upset. You doubt you made her cry, as it's hard to believe your beautiful, resilient daughter could be shedding a tear over words. At least not now, anyway. You had taught her to be better than that. You weren't going to raise a princess who needed saving - no. You were saving the world with her. You were raising a young woman who would be able to make the tough decisions and could save herself. You certainly succeeded.
You're here, living proof of her skill at beating the game.
You sip at your drink. You are numb, but you remember. You always remember: the trick is not to feel.
Out of everyone it seemed you remembered the most. Not that it meant much; you never had answers, only more questions. Only irresistible urges that forced you to do the strangest things, like dropping everything to get on a plane and fly to Washington where you walked blindly through the city in the blistering heat and ended up in a cafe with three random strangers: Mrs Egbert, Harley and Broderick.
You had actually felt bad for the Strider boy. He was rail thin and admitted he'd hitchhiked to get there, not that he understood why. None of you had understood why, why you were there or how you knew one another's names. You'd spoken for hours, moving from the cafe to a park, from the park to your hotel. One of you mentioned dreams almost hesitantly and the hours stretched on - fragments between you all pieced together either a deal with the devil or the world's most elaborate psychological experiment. You are inclined to believe the former - you can't think of a government with this kind of imagination nor a madman with that kind of budget.
The point wasn't that you had the dreams, besides; it was what they meant. And really, deducing that was simple: if given the chance to save the world, you'd do whatever was necessary.
You'd promised to keep in touch. That felt important. You'd all fallen asleep in your suite, and it hadn't felt strange at all to have a woman old enough to be your mother curl next to you on the king sized bed, or for Bro (not Broderick) and Harley to collapse on the pull out and sleep like they had known each other for years, nevermind hours.
When you woke you weren't surprised to see Bro gone: the kid was tough, that was abundantly clear. You hoped he'd find the fifties you'd tucked into his backpack that probably contained all he owned. You hoped he'd remember you were serious when you told him to call you if he needed help.
You thought that was it. You'd gone home, back to your lab and back to your work (up and coming young scientist your ass, your sponsors were dragging their feet). You expected... well, you hadn't expected. That was the problem.
You hadn't expected the flashes of memories that weren't yours. You hadn't expected the pain, not really physical but remembered anguish. You hadn't expected to wake up with tears on your face, to cry at the colour blue.
You'd called the others. Of course you had. Ms Egbert had no suggestions, her own dreams far less frequent and more coherent than your own. Harley had given his sympathies but the best he could offer was that he felt you shouldn't be suffering so, that it was wrong. Not morally of course - but that somehow the rules you didn't understand you were playing by had been broken inexplicably. In the end you just felt relieved you'd gotten a hold of him at all, his travels taking him far and wide. Bro suffered from the dreams the least but his solution for them had thankfully given you some idea for dealing with your own.
"I get high." He sounded older already, voice with a rough edge and almost defensive, as if you were going to be scandalized by his choices, as though you had some right to be chastising him instead of being a woman living ten hours away from him who knew him from her dreams.
You thank him instead. You're a scientist, and lighting up was not only technically illegal but frowned upon in your circle of peers and impossible to hide from the random mandatory drug tests. But it was an idea - and alcohol seemed to do a reasonable job as an alternative.
It had drowned out all but the strongest dreams but more importantly it stopped the pain. It let you pass through the days without embarrassing emotional attacks, let you sleep without gritting your teeth until your mouth bled. It got you through labs where you understood more than the supervisor who asked you to get him a coffee, sweetheart, and the months of unemployment that resulted from his second degree burns (and who kept their coffee that hot, anyway?).
Your glass is empty. You consider another drink, and something close to guilt makes you stop and reconsider. Did you need to be drowning that feeling as well? Something to do with Rose...
Rose, your beautiful girl, who had fallen from the sky and landed at your feet. Who had your face but Bro's smile and who had fallen asleep in your arms the moment you'd picked her up. Who you had no idea how to raise and yet you knew to your very bones that you were going to prepare for her something great. Something terrible. Same difference, wasn’t it?
You had taken her to your apartment, wrapped her in a blanket and laid her on your bed, surrounded by pillows because you certainly didn't have anything appropriate for her to sleep in. When you'd fallen asleep next to her you couldn't help the smile on your face or the warm feeling in your chest and you didn't care that you couldn't tell if it was your own emotion or more psychological conditioning from the powers that seemed to control you.
You'd had such screaming nightmares you'd woken up to blood on your pillow and your little girl - Rose, your Rose like the flower she was, beautiful and full of thorns - screaming beside you. Her tears were easy to soothe. Your own lasted hours; the migraine days. Your left eardrum never healed but the vessels in your eyes cleared eventually and at least there was no doubt from your lab that you needed 'personal time'. You were never sure if the nightmare was somehow intentional; some otherworldly way of making sure you took care of the child and bonded with her in those important formative months.
You don't care and never did. She was and is and will always be your little girl and you loved her the minute you laid eyes on her.
You hadn't been surprised to hear from Bro the next day, panicking because he didn't have the first idea of how to raise a child and actually had the gall to think you did. You both shared a laugh about that: he'd even had dreams to warn him and hadn't really believed them, the fool. Neither of you are shocked to hear Harley (always Harley) found his little girl. You all wait for Ms Egbert, but her mystery meteor child doesn't arrive when any of you expect him.
She knows he's coming with just enough time to write you all notes asking you to help her son, who will be raising her little John in her stead. And that she's sorry she won't see you again. She signs the letter with hugs and kisses, x's and o's in a line. You read her obituary in the paper and feel empty when you don't cry, but you think you ran out of tears in your dreams.
You keep a laminated copy of the newspaper clipping with the letter in an envelope in the middle of a box of tax returns from 1996. You can't bear to throw it out but you don't dare let Rose find it. (She was snooping by the age of six. You rewarded her by leaving carefully crafted, nearly chastising notes, often with money or trinkets inside, reminding her if she wanted something she simply had to ask. It embarrasses her until she learns to be more sneaky, more subtle, more careful, until some days you can't tell where she's been at all.)
How long have you been standing here, leaning against the counter with your fingers around an empty glass, one foot kicked up like you're flirting with the invisible patrons of your imaginary and likely unhealthy bar, the ghosts of dead romances and one night stands that never, ever became more because you had a life to lead that was not your own? They're old ghosts, now. You don't remember their faces, if you even ever knew them. You stopped being Amber when you became Mom, and frivolities were rejected in favour of the young lady you needed to raise.
You raised her well. You raised her to succeed and to need no one and to know herself, with psychology magazines and private tutors and a house in the woods where she could never be the princess because she would never meet a prince in amidst the trees, only wolves and deer and coyotes and none of those would turn out to be enchanted heirs, only predators. You surrounded her with the wild so that she’d be protected, so that you could keep her as much as you were raising her. You loved her and you taught her the world was a dangerous place and that she’d need her wits to survive.
She survived. You wonder if it’s ironic or just sad that you didn’t. It was probably fate.
She survived.
You set the glass on the counter carefully, not wanting to misjudge. Perhaps that last martini had been in error but it is certainly too late to regret it now. Rose had survived, she’d won, and she’d done everything you’d raised her to do and now what? That alien girl had asked you what you were preparing her for now. The truth is you don’t know. You stare around you at your too-large house and at the metaphorical world outside and there are no instructions, no ghosts or whispers or urges or ideas to tell you what you need to do now. You never planned to get this far and you realize in a foggy sort of way that you never expected Rose to win.
==>Be Rose
You've forgotten how to knit.
That isn't entirely true - you are still perfectly aware of the mechanics of the art, even of the pattern you are attempting to recreate. Perhaps it is better instead to say that you have forgotten how to knit while emotionally compromised. It's all the more frustrating because it has been one of your best methods of dispelling unpleasant feelings (almost all of which stem from your mother) and finding something else to focus on.
Right now you are unpicking another row, more stitches dropped than kept due to your shaking hands and you are beginning to suspect you will have to give up this project entirely for the moment. You can't calm your racing heart, can't steady your jittering fingers (perhaps picking up your needles had been a bad idea, but it was pure habit that had you reaching for them and they were plastic and weightless and harmless in your hand). Seeing yourself fail time and again is doing absolutely nothing to improve your mood.
The knock at your door startles you: Kanaya's voice slips through the cracks and wraps around you, subtly soothing. The knitting you leave to the wayside, forgotten in your haste to admit the other girl to your space. You shut the door instantly behind her and fight not to blush because as uncouth and impolite as your mother had been there was a grain of truth to her words (as there usually was). You are very fond of Kanaya Maryam. You just are not sure how you want to act on that fact. Having it nearly forced out with all the inelegance of a drunkard is NOT on the list of acceptable options.
"Rose."
You manage a smile for Kanaya that almost feels natural, and gesture to the breadth of your room. "Please, have a seat. I apologize for my mother's abhorrent behaviour: I'm afraid she's like this any time she overindulges." Which was to say most of the time - she'd been so sober for the last three days you'd actually wondered if the game had convinced her to stop. Apparently not.
Kanaya takes a seat on the edge of your bed, her skirts falling over her legs like a waterfall of silk and you are quietly both jealous and enamoured with her poise and grace. "It is nothing for you to apologize for." She folds her hands in her lap, skin luminescent in the dusk of your room. "I am not worried about implied insults by a lusus under the influence of fermented fruit. I am much more concerned about your own well being. That was magic, Rose."
You freeze and are shaking your head before you even realize it, the negation instinct-deep. "No. I don't wish to talk about it. Not now, Kanaya." Not ever.
Kanaya reaches for your hand. Her fingers are cool; her grasp incredibly strong. She pulls you onto the bed and does not release your hand and it's strangely more comforting than entrapping. "Rose, the others will be arriving tomorrow and I believe that the combined chaos of us all will keep us from having much time to ourselves. It needs to be discussed. It needs to be now." She looks at you with sympathy in her gold-flecked eyes and you know you are undone, but you don't know how to give in without a fight.
"Kanaya, I assure you, there is nothing to be discussed."
"You almost killed your lusus with your powers. You lost your temper and there is now a hole in the wall downstairs. If that is nothing, what will you have to do to consider it worth discussion? I would prefer to avoid unnecessary deaths or the destruction of your hive if possible."
You swallow the lump in your throat and try to block out the image of the smouldering wall. You've always been good at controlling your emotions but this is far more difficult than a forgotten birthday or bruised ego. You'd tried to kill your own mother. Worse, you had wanted to.
"I understand your discomfort, Rose, and if I did not think it unwise, I would wait until you were ready. But the Grimdark controlled you once and I do not want that to happen again."
She is as even toned as any therapist could aspire to be; her voice full of concern and not censure, her hand slowly warming in yours. You take a breath to make one last attempt, one deflection to take things far far away from this, but she beats you to it, voice suddenly so soft you have to strain to hear it. "Magic destroyed Eridan in the Veil. I do not wish to see it destroy you."
You succumb to the inevitable, shaking your head even as you sag. You don't realize how much tension Kanaya is carrying in her frame until she likewise relaxes, the two of you leaning shoulder to shoulder at the foot of your bed.
"What do you want me to say? It appears my original assumption of my magic remaining was correct. And despite the complete lack of eldritch workings or horrorterrors or voices in my head to act as warning, apparently my abilities remain Grimdark in nature. I don't understand it Kanaya, so I do not know what to tell you."
Kanaya is still holding your hand, and her fingers rub against your knuckles, her thumb drawing lazy circles around the base of your own. It is a distraction and a comfort all at once, and her smile is comforting for all that her fangs (and in all good conscience you can't call them canines) glint in the light. "Then tell me what you do not understand, Rose. Tell me, and even if we both do not understand, we will not be alone in your ignorance."
It is not exactly the strongest argument someone could make to you - and had it been anyone else, had it been any other predicament, you would have deflected. You would have rooted out the marrow of their suspicious concern and found a way to turn it back on them, would have warped and manipulated the truth so it was a mirror you were holding to the inquisitor's own self, a reflection infinitely unto them and rendering you opaque. You would have. You want to.
But you know Kanaya. You know her well, even if mainly through text-based communication, and you feel you understand her. This concern for you is genuine. This fear for your well-being has been a founding part of your friendship with her, and while you cannot say she lacks any selfish motivation at all, her reasons are almost always altruistic. If there is any person you could open up to, here and now, it is her.
Now you just have to convince yourself of this fact.
You sigh and gather yourself like you would gather the folds of a well worn cloak and you sometimes you imagine your psyche as exactly that - a cloak or shroud made out of patchwork and determination, gathered under your hands to protect and hide the core of yourself, that part of you that you sometimes hate because it is still a little girl and she still stomps her feet and demands for life to be fair.
Now you are just being silly, distracting yourself to buy time you do not have. Kanaya has remained silent, her thumb still tracing over your skin, and it's only her silence and her patience that allows you to speak. You're embarrassed at how your voice shakes, at how you have to fight to raise it above a whisper (and fail to) and at the stuttering stops you fall into, each time having to pull yourself together to start again.
You can't just speak of this time, and you and Kanaya are both aware of that fact. It hasn't been a fight to get you to acknowledge this slip, but to acknowledge your fall in the first place, and so now you have to remember what happened when they reached into your mind and took you away from yourself. They'd turned off your humanity but left your rage, fuelled it and fired it and made you a puppet wind-up doll, the darkness clawing and consuming and the part of you that was still aware split into two equal halves, one howling in despair and the other shrieking in fear, and they'd even turned that against you.
You remembered begging, pleading for them to let you go. You remember offering anything, anything for them to give you back to yourself. You remember what a relief it had been to die, because it was over. You remember swearing to yourself as your life returned that you would never let it happen again.
You're not sure when Kanaya moves, not sure when holding your hand becomes holding you, but her arms are around your shoulders and you're leaning against her chest, eyes dry but feeling like you've cried for hours, thick tongued and tension headache blossoming across your temples. Her hands are soft, her nails a sharp but not painful contrast as she cards them through your hair and almost without your own intent you find yourself calming.
"Thank you."
They should be your words, but they're hers: she bends down and presses a kiss to your forehead that is nothing but chaste and tender and her eyes may not be human but they smile in the same way, the corners turning ever so faintly and you can't help but offer a shaky but honest smile in return.
"I should be saying that, Kanaya. I shouldn't have done that." You know better than to lay things at other people's feet and despite your certainty that this needed to happen before you began, you regret it almost the instant you have finished. Not because you don't feel better but because you do feel better and it came from wasting someone else's time. You'd had to share it because you couldn't handle it yourself and that was the sort of thing the weak, the inconsiderate did. You want to be neither.
"You trusted me." Kanaya says simply, and those three words take the wind from the sails of your ship of self-loathing and doubt and guide you back to safe harbour. "I know such a thing does not come easily to you. It means a great deal to me - not only that you could do so, but that you would allow me to help you." Her arms tighten around you and it is a feeling more like home than you have ever experienced.
You raise your arms tentatively, settling your hands on Kanaya's elbows and squeezing, returning the hug as best as you can from this angle. It's worth the effort for the smile that lights across her face.
You don't admit anything so gauche as fear to her, even though you're aware she knows. She does you the respect in turn of not mentioning it. Instead she purses her lips and considers the room around you with some thought.
"I think our first goal should be to make sure you keep your temper under control. I do not believe you will find that nearly so much a struggle as some of my companions." She smiles to let you in on a small private joke and you realize she wasn't simply being honest, she was attempting irony and that tiny note of normalcy in this insane world makes you feel a lifetime better.
Sadly, it is difficult to create an action plan to prevent your (hopefully please God or what(ever?) higher power can hear this not inevitable) slide into the dark waters of the Grimdark, but Kanaya has ideas and they're good ones. It might amount to nothing but action is far, far better than inaction and you are willing to try anything to keep the darkness out.
It's very late when she suggests you sleep, but you shake your head and claim insomnia and the rainbow drinker does not argue with you: instead she fetches your knitting and sets it back in your hands and commands, voice light and lilting, to please teach her, if that would be all right.
You knit until you can't see straight, until the false dawn glow of morning is visible through your unshuttered window, and you doubt Kanaya has understood any of the near gibberish you have said but that isn't the point. It's a focus and it allows you to relax and when your head nods one last time you don't resist as the plastic needles and warm wool are tugged gently from your fingers. Kanaya settles you in your bed and tucks pink blankets around your shoulders and instead of leaving she settles next to you, sitting on the comforter up against the headboard with one of your books in her pale hand.
"I'll wake you if you begin to dream."
You can't keep your eyes open to stare at her a moment longer and you have no energy to speak. You slip one hand out of the recesses of your comforter and set it on her knee, the first thing in reach, and you barely manage to squeeze it in thanks before you fall prey to your exhaustion and finally sleep, but it's enough.
It might be one of the kindest things someone has ever done for you and for once you can't begin to calculate how to pay her back through sarcasm and wit.
For the first time since you first woke up back home, you sleep without the nightmares.
==>Be Rose (later)
It's morning, nearing afternoon, and you wake up warm and comfortable and well rested for the first time in what feels like years (though it's only been just under two weeks). You're alone in your room but you remember Kanaya's presence and the book she was reading sits on your bedside table, bookmark halfway through the yellowed pages.
You feel... good. It's a poor adjective choice and yet there is no better. You feel balanced as you strip out of yesterday's clothes and step under the spray of the shower. You don't feel the need to scrub and scrub and scrub like you had in the veil, as if that would have cleansed the grey from your skin. You just wash to be clean; right now it's enough.
Fresh clothing and bubblegum aftertaste (you never grew to like mint toothpaste and your mother abuses it by buying children's formulas but you don't really mind) later you make your way downstairs where Kanaya is preparing breakfast. It isn't an elaborate affair but out of all the trolls she is the only one to have grasped the basics of appliances. Equius was (rightly) too afraid to touch anything for fear of breaking it and Nepeta had no idea how anything worked and even less interest.
You'd asked, in passing curiosity, how they fed themselves when they'd lived on Alternia. Somehow the idea that Equius had a butler cow centaur was less disturbing then the idea that Nepeta hunted for her own food and ate it raw. The fact that Kanaya's lusus had been too large to run her hive and therefore the girl had to become at least somewhat competent seemed perfectly normal in comparison.
Toast appears in front of you as you sit, almost like magic, and you spread one half with peanut butter and the other with honey and you don't care one whit that it makes a mess. You're giddy, the usual tension in your chest nearly banished and you give Kanaya a smile and thank her as she sits beside you. You mean for more than just the breakfast, but you suspect she knows.
There’s a note on the table, folded into a white envelope that’s been sprayed with perfume. Mother even sealed it with wax, how thoughtful.
You mull over that passive aggressive underline and exclamation point and masticate your breakfast with perhaps more force than actually necessary. You suppose it’s a small blessing that she will be gone for the majority of the day. You don’t want to have to face her so early in the morning and you can only hope that the attraction of new guests will mean she’ll attempt sobriety when she returns. It’s a faint hope admittedly but you have lived your life on such things. It's really a shame you don't have time to respond in kind: you've been waiting for an excuse to use the local singing telegram service you discovered last month.
Kanaya waits until you're finished both the note and your breakfast to speak, choosing her words with her usual grace and precision, like a ballerina with a rifle. "I am afraid I have two pieces of information, both of which are troublesome. One is in regards to our companions. The other I may be wrong in my judgement of its importance, but felt should be mentioned nonetheless."
The tension in your chest teases you, clenching like a fist before letting go, as if it were trying to warn you of what it was capable of (as if you could ever forget). You forget your mother entirely to focus on the luminescent troll before you. "By all means Kanaya, speak now. You didn't have to wait until I was finished."
"I wanted to ensure that you were properly fuelled. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."
You can tell she's quoting that from memory because she's trying to sound like Tony the Tiger without quite realizing it. You’re too worried to even twitch a smile; you raise an eyebrow and motion for her to continue, forcing yourself to appear calm so that maybe you can convince yourself.
"The first point is that Equius and Nepeta did not return last night. Their piles are not slept in. I looked to find sign of them outside your hive, but saw nothing."
Yes, that is worrying. You can't exactly mount a search party and you'd warned them not to stray too far. Your area didn't allow hunting and it was the wrong season for it entirely, buy you’re still concerned that perhaps a less-than-savoury hunter injured one of them. You hope fervently that it isn't the case, that they’re not hurt somewhere or lost or any number of increasingly improbable but terrible outcomes.
"All right. We can take a look through the woods and see if we can find them ourselves if they don't check in soon. What's the second point?"
Kanaya hesitates, looking embarrassed, but whatever it is that leaves her uncertain she decides to ignore. "Is it normal for your newscasts to repeat themselves?"
You consider that: you've never been particularly interested in the news, sensationalized and Euro-centric as it is, but you have occasionally watched broadcasts if nothing else than to research how mental illnesses were framed in the public eye and media. "Yes? I suppose so, if it was a particularly important or gripping story, or as developments changed. Why?"
"Because the broadcast has been the same today as it was yesterday as it was the day before that. They are occasionally speaking in-between stories but.... perhaps you should investigate yourself? I may be jumping to conclusions."
You dust your fingers off and follow her back into the living room. The hair on the back of your neck raises to see the black burn on the wall but you turn away and ignore it, forcing yourself to focus on your breathing and the television and Kanaya and not the physical proof that you'd lost control last night.
The television is turned to your local news broadcast because you only received a handful of channels and the national was always run with static. A woman with too much makeup and perfectly styled hair and frighteningly straight teeth spoke about a citizen being rescued after falling into the lake and of the talk to add casinos to banks to encourage people to save while they gamble. That sounds utterly ridiculous and exactly like the news, and you turn to Kanaya - you hadn't actually watched last night's broadcast to compare - when she holds her hand up for silence.
The camera cuts away to footage of a teen flailing in the water and a man jumping into the water to drag him out. The voice over is the same report you heard five minutes ago. "Maybe they wanted a chance to use the footage? If it just came in, I suppose they'd be willing to-"
"I have seen this same report of the youth in cold water and heroic rescue six times including this instance. It was first played last night while you were making the evening meal. It was repeated a second time during that broadcast. This is the fourth time I have seen it today."
"That.... is highly unusual."
"I thought so. I did not think humanity required this sort of repetition. Not only that but the event is hardly noteworthy: neither human seem to be of importance and neither died."
You can't help but shake your head at that good-naturedly and Kanaya frowns because she recognizes the look on your face. "Have I said something wrong? Please explain."
"No, no," you assure her. "I suppose the idea of human interest stories would seem strange to you. To make a complicated empathic phenomenon simple: humans enjoy hearing when things go well and when something tragic occurs but it all works out in the end. Our world is not a kind place even if it pales in comparison to Alternia, and we naturally gravitate towards stories that allow us to believe it is not as terrible as we know it to be. It’s a sort of defence mechanism, if you will. So the identity of the people in the story does not directly matter - in fact, it is even more poignant because they are apparently normal people. If the boy had been rescued by someone specifically trained to do so I doubt we would have heard about it at all."
"Humanity is very strange," Kanaya observes, looking thoughtfully at the television screen. This is her usual response to your more esoteric explanations so you're not offended in the least. And anyway, she’s quite right.
You smile instead. "Yes. We really are."
There's a part of you that wants to reach for her hand and make a ridiculous promise of explaining it all to her, showing her the world as if she were a cloistered princess and you her prince charming on a white horse, opening up doors and spreading out the landscape of the world before you both.
You reach for the remote instead. You don't know how to ride a horse and your knowledge of the world extends roughly one mile around the perimeter of your home. Your experience with romance comes from fantasy novels where you usually rewrite the relationships in your head so that the good-hearted paladin ends up with his best friend of years, the witty bard, instead of the lady knight. You've lived your life until now in psychology papers and fantasy, fanfiction and forums, Tolkein and Dante, Atwood and Nietzsche and right now you would trade it all in for a pink book with sparkles on the cover that gave you suggestions about how to talk to girls at parties.
What you want to say is thank you or maybe I think I like you or even do you think you could explain quadrants again, Miss Maryam, because I feel that I may wish to pursue one with you. Instead you say "Let's go look for Nepeta and Equius. We can research the news after we find them, while we wait for the others to arrive. With any luck it will be the result of a new director, or perhaps the editing team being sick."
It isn't a great hope and you recall what John and Dave have already shared about the strangeness of this reborn Earth and you fully suspect this is another symptom of a far greater problem. The issue, of course, is that none of the symptoms so far make any sense, and you have no idea what the problem might be.
Worse, you wonder if you'll have the power to fix it. |
Black Friday is by far the worst time to actually venture out and shop -- crazy. A few of her favorite stores are having a sale. Go figure. Tonya braves the morning, the rude people and their eccentricities just so she could take advantage of this 'stretch the American dollar day'. She just hopes her husband Ryan, their daughters' and his sons love their Christmas presents.
Tonya walks into their home, shopping bags in one hand, balancing her big gulp in the other. She drops the shopping bags on the floor and purse on the chair by the front door and bends down to remove her heels. 'Dr. Scholls, a working woman's best friend.' She thought to herself.
Tonya stands in the foyer, filled with a warm, joyful feeling as she says hello to their home. They were new homeowners; with Ryan, two grown sons spending the weekends, and their three girls, a two-bedroom apartment was not much room and left very little for privacy. Ryan owns an auto body shop; with shops both in Las Vegas and California. She is the assistant to the CEO of a well know internet security company so they were able to work something out. With the need for more space they made the decision to not renew their apartment lease and went house hunting.
She remembers the day after finding and meeting their realtor. The realty office was quiet when they walked in that day and it wasn't because they're an interracial couple but because of Ryan. The women of the office kept fidgeting with their jewelry, or clearing throats, giggling and blushing every time Ryan would ask a question. Tonya teased Ryan over his rugged good looks, he did not have to try hard really, always well dress, well spoken, his dark brown hair always in place even messy it was nice. Chisel jaw line. Clean shaven or five o clock shadow it never matter, it works well with all that sex appeal. His hazel eyes are her favorite; depending on shirt he wore the color intensifies to a bright blue sometimes even green. It was no surprise to Tonya the charm he never knew he had were working on the ladies at the office.
They gave their realtor the specifics of the kind of home they wanted and she miraculously pulled through for them after six months of careful looking. It was the last house in a cul de sac, in a quiet neighborhood, which had a skateboard and water park, fairly close to both of their children's schools, and far from his ex-wife's house, just the way she likes it. She wasn't much of a pro on architectural design, but it's a typical four bedroom/two baths Las Vegas house; very contemporary with an open floor plan, hardwood floors from the entryway leading to carpet in the family room, and then hardwood floors throughout the living and dining area and tile in the upgrade kitchen. The house came with a huge master bedroom and a closet any woman would love. The cost itself was a bit pricey, however, but Tonya was the queen of deals and could tell that the owner was desperate to get out, and managed to get it lower with escrow being easy and painless.
With heels and drink in hand Tonya makes her way to the kitchen. For some reason everyone congregates to the kitchen and she's surprised to find the place empty and quiet. She takes a sip from her cup and places it on the spotless counter top next to the open note she left her husband that morning and calls out to him. Aside from the empty Monster can in the sink, the kitchen was spotless.
'Ryan cleaned up! What a wonderful surprise.' Tonya thought with a smile. She did tell him that she would clean once she returns from the store. Ryan doesn't do the cleaning much, he's rather hire someone first. Tonya doesn't mind it at all, as it was very therapeutic for her it calm her down especially the laundry, folding the clothes and see the pile neatly organize however putting the clothes away, Ryan takes care of that.
Last night dinner was delicious. It was their first official Thanksgiving meal together and it made them truly appreciate the word family, sitting around the table with their daughters, her parents and their dearest and closes friends. Last night made her appreciate the company. The previous year they had decided not to cook and instead spent the weekend at a hotel by the lake and the year before that was spent apart. That was a hard time for them; she was pregnant again, with unplanned baby girl number three. Tonya had even went so far as accusing Ryan in sabotaging her birth control pills, he denies it but at the time with her hormones so high he could say and do all the right things and it was never enough or it was a lie. Also his ex wife tried to form a wedge between them, once calling to tell him that she was getting her 'hood' pierce, something she should be telling her boyfriend and not with Ryan. Those contribute and put a wedge in their marriage but alas they were to work past it and now stronger than ever.
She walks past the boys' rooms as they were out of town spending Thanksgiving with their mom and her family in Michigan and past the caddy corner to the girls' room. The door is open but they're not in their room. Tonya calls out to Ryan again with no answer. As she enters the bedroom she shares with her husband she glances over to Ryan's side of the dresser and notices both his phone and wallet are missing. She pulls out her phone and quickly keys in her unlocking code and notices several text messages and two missed calls. Her cell goes off in her hand; the familiar melody from Christina Aguilera 'Oh Mother'-- she lets the call go to voicemail and quickly scrolls through her text messages from Ryan, her cell goes off again and Tonya knew if she ignores it her mother will just call her again, so she slides the accept button and places the phone to her ear.
"Hi mom." Tonya sings cheerfully into the phone.
"Hi Tonya. How's shopping going for you?"
"Great, and crazy, and no I am done. I just walked in looking for the cherubs and Ry."
"I can imagine. Well Ryan was here a little while ago. Listen, can you let him know that he forgot to pack the girls pajamas so I had your father run out for some?"
She removes the cell from her ear and presses the speaker button, "Mom I have you on speaker so I can get out of these clothes."
"No, that's okay. I just wanted to let you know that the girls are here. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Love you."
"Love you too mom, bye."
Dropping the phone on the bed the mirror catches Tonya attention and stands back to eye herself. Her brown skin is aglow and she smiles back at herself. Tonya is no skinny bitch. .She has nothing against skinny bitches. As a matter of fact her sisters are both skinny, Tonya is a thick chick, and like a thick chick they too have insecurities but no insecurities for Tonya. Well not today, she felt insatiable, tantalizing and loved. Tonya enjoys working out with Ryan but not to the point she lost all her curves. Call her lush, thick, or fat, that is her and she has no problem showing it off.
Like today she'd kept her jewelry minimal: earrings, bracelet, and wedding ring, hair in a wavy shoulder length cut and her green and black top was fitted and cut low exposing very ample and full cleavage stopping at her waist. Her jeans hug the right places, curvy waist, round ass.
She gives her breasts in her fitted top a squeeze and looks at them in amazement and awe. Three children did ruin them, but after she got them done the end result was damn near perfection and she was happy. She could go out with or without a bra and they would still be pert and round with nipples usually on alert.
Working her breasts she gives both nipples a gentle pinch and they stiffen. Sliding her hands all over her body she blows herself a kiss and then slowly removes her fitted top and welcomes the sight of her heavy breast in a very pink and lacy bra that she reaches around and unhooks. She removes the straps from her shoulders and with care lets it drop to the floor. Her breast bounce freely from the constraints and Tonya moans.
Through the mirror she watches her hands as they caress her top portion of her very soft and supple skin. She gently massages her neck and shoulders as her head rolls and another moan escapes her lips. She then moves her hands back to her sides and then her stomach and back up again stopping at the part that need her attention with just her fingertips she gently touch and massage her breast. She fondles them again watching as her nipples grow taut. They were begging to be played, sucked. Tonya bit her bottom lip while she watch herself play with her breasts in the mirror. With legs apart she watches as he fingers trail it way to her vagina and pass her middle finger over the hood of her clit.
She thinks about her husband Ryan, his lips his mouth kissing all her body. She dips her finger inside and could feel how wet she was, in and out her finger went using her juices to massage the hood of her clit. She removes her finger and makes her way to their bed, lying back and her knees bent and spread apart she place her finger inside of her again, using her other hand to fondle her breasts tugging at her nipples, moaning loudly all the while thinking of her husband going down on her in an open field on a bed of grass.
She move her finger inside her wet pussy back and forth, pulling it out and smear her wet finger around her clit, rubbing and petting her clit slowly. She was close and she quickens the pace of her finger on her clit and around her labia. Her orgasm happens so quickly, it even surprises her as she succumbs to the pleasure Tonya moaning loudly.
She slowly came back from her climactic high and sighs softly. Removing her finger from between her legs, she gets up from their bed and slips on a brightly colored maxi dress and makes her way back to the living room.
The front door opens and closes. Ryan is home.
Tonya saunters up to him and plants a lingering kiss on his lip, as her fingers glide up his back, "Hey Babe, thanks for cleaning the kitchen, you know I was going to do it the minute I got home."
Tonya steps back and watches him remove his Nikes, he has on a U of M baseball cap, a brown t-shirt and jeans. Casual wear and she knew he got those "oh he is yummy" stares. Neither shirt nor pants were baggy. There was just enough room to show a fit and well taken care of frame. Ryan takes off his cap and places it on top of her shopping bags. Although cut really low his hair is sticking up in a few places but Tonya doesn't bother to fix it since he looks even sexier that way.
Ryan shrugged, "The girls helped too. By the time we were done your mom called about having some time with the grandbabies. I DID NOT refuse but Christ, driving there alone was a battle Tonya; it was a fucking nightmare, crazy. I must have censored myself several times on our way to your parents' house."
She nods her head in agreement, "Yeah, I know, it is bad out there."
Ryan had a small silver and brown bag in his hand to which Tonya notices she reaches for it but Ryan pulls it back from her and shakes his head.
"Nothing can ever get past you?" Ryan laughs as he shifts the bag to his other hand.
Tonya reaches for the bag again, "Is it my Christmas present?"
Ryan at first ignores her question, "I am so glad to be home where it's quiet and I can finally relax." Ryan says as he stares into her beautiful brown eyes with his hazel eyes. Tonya follows Ryan to the kitchen and watches him remove a bottle of water from the fridge opens it and takes a drink from it.
While she watches him, he watches her. Ryan wonders if the little bag would make it to Christmas and laughs as he moves the bag away from her reach again as he takes another drink from his bottle.
Ryan raises the small bag over his head, "I can say yes, it's your Christmas present and then you'll want a hint and I'll give you the hint and you'll get it wrong and then you'll want another hint." "That is very true but you can't say no to me." Tonya reaches for the bag again only to be block once again by Ryan.
In this position, with her hands both above her head trying to reach for the bag, Ryan caught an eyeful of her cleavage, he then notice the outfit she had on, a bright pink and red dress, it had no straps. It appears loose and free flowing and yet it cling to Tonya and enhance all the parts he love, which was everything. Ryan reach out and caress her bare shoulders and stops where the dress began, just slightly about her cleavage.
"Is that dress new?"
Taking a step back Tonya eyes gleam as she does a half turn for him, "No, it's not new, just something I slip on, do you like it?" She asks as she does another turn.
He place the small bag on the counter and reach out to her, she takes his hand and allow him to pull her back to him Tonya chuckle and wrap her arms around him waist.
"It's a very nice dress. Leave very little for the imagination."
"And I wonder what your imagination is thinking right now."
Tonya did not have to wait long, Ryan leans forward and gently kiss her lips.
How can you tell if he loves you so, it's in his kiss yes, Tonya thinks of this very song every time Ryankisses her, which is often, and it always feels like she's being kissed for the first time. Very soft and gentle at first but then comes the hunger, the urgency, and her knees get weak. She feels him getting hard across her stomach as he pull her tightly to him and the silver and brown bag quickly forgotten.
"I missed you this morning." He says as he leads her towards the couch.
Tonya raises her brow and smile mischievously, "Oh I doubt that -- well, not as much as I missed you." She then lifts the fingers she had used early to please herself with and lets them come to rest under his nose. She watches as the expression on his face changes first confusion, then to surprise, and then lust.
Maintaining eye contact with him Tonya smirk while she pull her dress down, lets it slip past her waist down her legs and slowly stepping out from it and then she sit comfortably on the couch, she spreads her legs, exposing her clean shaven snatch, placing both hands over her labia she spreads them apart so he can see how wet she is again.
Ryan watches, his cock growing. , "Oh, you dirty girl with no panties on."
Tonya watches in anticipation as Ryan kneels before her, "Isn't it great the girls are at their grandparents for the weekend -- no distraction, just you and me."
Ryan began to caress her thighs watching her, waiting for her to ask, to beg for him to eat it. She bites her bottom lip and squeals as he reaches for her breast begging to be touched and touched they were, first with a gentle caress and then teased He gently rubs them then pinch each nipple.
She moans loudly, "Oh yes, harder."
She leans back on the couch with her eyes closed and relishes the moment of ecstasy as Ryan squeezes each nipple between his fingers, twisting them, then out of pure joy as his warm mouth gives them new life and a rush throughout her body. Ryan wraps one arm around her, holding her still since she was reeling like a cat in heat, and for not one second did he break the connection between his mouth and her breasts. Ryan looked up at her with all this sexual greed. Tonya leaned forward and kissed him, speaking into his mouth through their ravenous lips, she tells him to touch her.
The moment his fingers touched her clit she cries out in pleasure, Ryan rubs each side with a playful touch. Teasing the entry of her wet snatch with his finger, he slowly enters her, just enough to tease her, give just a taste then pulls out. At this point Tonya is wild with lust, a pool of sweat trickles down her breasts and she pants hungrily. Ryan wants her to beg for it and god damn she did. She begs him to stop fucking teasing her.
He smiles as he thrusts three fingers in. She wraps her legs around Ryan she fucks his fingers. She knows what he was aiming for and she doesn't stop him. She holds on to him and moans into his neck. She bites down on his neck, tasting a bit of him and his cologne.
She begs him to go deeper and harder and Ryan obliges her request. She stares into his hazel eyes and then leans forward to kiss him longingly and passionately until they break the kiss and their foreheads touch. His fingers work the walls of her snatch, in and out as it matches the movement of her hips. His fingers are wet with her juices, the sound sloppy as her hips move back and forth as she grunts and moan to his strokes. Her legs wrap even tighter around him as she locks the walls of her pussy even tighter on his fingers.
Like a dirty talking life coach Ryan encourages her to cum as his finger stroke the walls of her pussy. Tonya felt the first wave of her orgasm as her walls clench on his fingers. She bucks her hips and squirts, followed by the second and she gushes. Tonya moans the word fuck over and over as that wave takes control of her. Ryan pulls his fingers out and slowly sucks the juices off one finger at a time. Breathing heavily and deeply Tonya watches him with a relaxed smile on her face and he leans forward for another kiss. Tonya removes her legs from around his waist and leans comfortably into the couch; her legs still open, her pussy swollen and glistening. With eyes closed and a silly smile on her face Ryan sits back on the floor and watches his wife lovingly.
Ryan remembered the first time he found her G-spot; not by accident but on purpose and with determination. They were in bed, she was reading, and he was looking at some papers for work when she burst out laughing. He had then asked her what was so funny and she read a line from the book she had between her legs, it was the heroine making a mess when her lover found her g-spot. Ryan was confused. He didn't find it funny and Tonya explained, going into great detail on what the G-spot was a myth.
They had a heavy debate, and Ryan pulled the laptop out for further research. He believes its real so he and Tonya wager a bet that he couldn't find it, which he gladly accepted. Propping a few pillows behind her Ryan got comfortable between his wife's legs and pulls her panties down. He sniffs the garment and then discards it to the floor before he lifts her knees up. He didn't have to do much as she was excited and ready for him. He spread her knees out exposing all of her and began to fondle her clit, playing with her just the way she likes it, first with the folds of her labia and just enough of a tease to get her juices going before placing his mouth over her. He loves the way she tastes. Sensing she's about to come Ryan stops and gets the loudest groan of protest from his wife.
"Remember this is about your g-stop baby," he smiles as he remembers saying this to her.
He isn't sure what he's doing as he gets comfortable between her legs and places one finger in, his focus and attention on this 'elusive bump.' Working her pussy to insert two, then three fingers her moans were louder and her breathing deep. He moves his fingers, stroking her spot, and he dips his head and slowly licks her folds and suckle on her clit.
The pleasure was getting intense for Tonya so she tries to crawl away from whatever it was he was doing inside of her, it was amazing and intense she could feel something deep from within. By doing this, distracting Ryan briefly, but he wraps his arm around her and locks her in place. Reaching further into the folds of heaven, something happens. They both say shit at the same time when her pussy forms a suction around his fingers as her legs began to shake and he felt 'it.' Tonya arches her back and moans loudly. First it was a dribble but Ryan kept going. He knew there would be more and he was right. She came as though a dam broke, a river, it was all over is fingers. He pulls out and Tonya keeps gushing. She tries to close her legs but Ryan kept them open as he watches in awe. When it's over he releases her legs. Tonya breathes deeply, lying there in the soaked side of the bed, spent she looks at Ryan, 'Well fuck...' Not very romantic but perfect and he laughs.
Tonya opens her eyes to see Ryan watching her.
"What are you thinking about?" She crosses her legs as she got comfortable on the couch.
Ryan shakes his head, "No, don't cross your legs, leave them open."She obliges his request opening her legs wider, he just sat there looking, watching her, getting him even more excited, he wants inside the warmth of her. Giving his cock a squeeze as he adjusts himself Ryan gets up from the floor and removes his shirt. His tone abs were a welcome site, the belted jeans hung just right on his cut. Tonya slides her naked body off the couch and help unzip his pants and pulls down his boxer briefs.
Tonya wraps her fingers around him and gives his balls a lick. She does this on all sides before taking him all in her mouth. She services his cock as she gently tugs on his balls. With the roll of her tongue she slowly glides up and down his shaft all to the enjoyment of Ryan moans. She removes her mouth from his cock and stands up; taking a hold of his hand she leads them both to their bedroom. Climbing on the bed with her back towards him and her ass high in the air she slightly looks back at him and motions him over with the tilt of her head and a seductive smile on her face. Ryan penetrates her nice and slow; he wants to enjoy that feeling of entry, she was ready for him.
For every thrust he gave Tonya she was right there returning it. He felt the walls of her pussy lock so tightly around him and he moans. She whispers his name as she takes hold of the bed sheets. She can feel his finger rubbing at her clit as he continues to thrust deeper into her.
"Oh yes, please," She pleads as she continues to work her hips; she was so close, so very close.
Drenched in sweat, Ryan pulls out quickly, to Tonya's surprise, he then turns her onto her back and she wrap her legs around his waist, every stroke was a slow tease Ryan would pull out just enough before sliding his cock back in. He loves when she pleads for him but she was onto him as she tightens the walls of her vagina on his cock and smirks. Ryan pauses as he closes his eyes and groans loudly.
"Not fair" He says to her after opening his eyes again, you know I can't hold out when you do that."
Tonya smiles as she rolls her hips, "Oh, you like that Ry?"
Ryan grunted a yes; he lifts her up and wraps his arms around her as he thrust deeply into her.
Tonya could not hold out much longer and she let him know that she was about to come. Ryan moans loudly as he arches his back his cock pulses inside her as she herself let go and enjoys the orgasm as it hits her. Both breathing hard and deeply Ryan breaks the breathy silence by pulling out. His cock, still hard glistering with their cum, and lies back on the bed as he watches her get up to go clean up.
Walking out the bathroom and with the aroma of their sex in the air she gets back in bed. Ryan lies comfortably on his back with a silly smile on his face and pulls her toward him. He leans over and gives her a kiss, tasting herself on him Tonya exhausted, happy and well spent place her head on his chest and closes her eyes.
"Ryan?"
"Hmm..."
"What's in the bag?"
Ryan smiles as he thinks to himself, 'this is going to be a long weekend.'
****END***
|
Marinette screamed. She clutched Manon to her chest protectively as she squeezed her eyes shut. Icy cold blasted through her thin autumn jacket, raising bumps on her arms. Then everything fell still. The ripping wind that had nearly blown her ears off suddenly deadened. The cold remained. Very tentatively Marinette opened her eyes. Immediately she wished she hadn't.
"It's all icy." whispered Marinette in a kind of awed yet horrified voice.
A thick dome of ice encased the entire merry-go-round. It rose way over their heads and was one single sheet with no default or chinks that Marinette could see. Little points had formed on the top of the merry-go-round. What was worse was she could literally see them growing bigger and bigger as she looked them. A lump formed in her throat. She tore her eyes away from the growing stalactites so that Manon didn't notice it too.
Outside a girl dressed in purple flitted away. The akuma that had probably trapped them. The world on the other side of the ice was blurry so Marinette felt rather than actually saw the smug look on her face. Please let everyone else be okay, she thought and tried to keep the nausea at bay.
"What are gonna do?" Manon asked. Her little frame shook against Marinette's side. Cold or fear? She wasn't sure. Probably a little, or a lot, of both.
Marinette smiled down at her brightly as if there was nothing wrong. "It will be alright. I'm sure Ladybug and Cat Noir are already on the job!"
She was painfully aware of the way her breath clouded in front of her. Manon gave another powerful shake and Marinette pressed her closer to her body to share warmth. The thought to pull out the scarf she'd made for Adrien ran through her mind. It would help keep them warm… that was if she hadn't left it in her backpack right outside the merry-go-round. Why had she done that? It didn't make sense in hindsight! Marinette rubbed Manon's shoulders instead. Ladybug and Cat Noir would be there soon. They would get them out.
Something shifted above them and Marinette's heart dropped into her stomach. The small stalactites weren't so small anymore. They stretched down, closer to their heads now and wickedly sharp. Their weight made them shake and clink together ominously. Manon's hands curled deeper into her jacket. "I hope they get here soon."
Crack!
Marinette looked up and gasped. Crashing sounds rang through the frozen space. Her eyes went wide as she saw a crack grow and and spread on one stalactite a hair's breadth away. Without thinking, she pulled Manon into her arms and scrambled backwards. Ice shards smashed to the bottom of the merry-go-round's raised platform. Some pieces raked across the tops of her unprotected feet where her shoes didn't cover. Marinette felt the scratches bleeding. Manon sobbed in terror. The ice above them kept shaking as more and more of the stalactites fell to the ground. She dove for one of the carriage seats that was close, slipping on ice as she pressed Manon underneath one of them for cover. There wasn't any room for her though, so she covered her head with her arms.
Then everything went still again.
Marinette raised her head slowly, wary of any ice that hadn't fallen. The puffs of her visible breath matched the tempo of her racing heart. The fallen ice had refrozen where ever it had landed. A thin sheet layered the platform, the tops of the carriage seats, and across the horses' saddle indentations. It had built up about an inch or two around the base of the poles. That wasn't the only thing though. More ice stalactites had taken the place of the ones that had fallen. Little points but quickly growing. The thing that struck the most fear into her though was the fact that ice ceiling now hung even lower and closer to their heads. Marinette's throat closed up. "It's freezing solid!" She wasn't able to stop the words from coming nor could she keep the horror out of her voice.
"Is it safe to come out now?"
"Um… stay there for now okay."
Thunk!
Marinette ducked as something hit the outside of the dome. Ice shook and clattered overhead. The same thing on the outside hit again. And again. And again. Small pieces fell with each plow but she easily protected herself with just a raised arm. "Are Ladybug and Cat Noir here?" Manon said, voice full of hope.
"I think…" Marinette's voice trailed away. She fully expected to see red and black spots or total black on the other side of the dome. However, she saw brilliant white instead. "Chat Blanc!"
"Marinette?" he yelled, much clearer than what she should've been able to hear. That's when she caught sight of the thin strip of silver alongside the white. His sword! The hits against the outside! He was…
"Here!" she called out to him. She crouched down to look at Manon. "It's much too cold in here. Let's get out of here."
Manon grabbed her offered hand and Marinette hauled her up out of her hiding place. By the time she'd slipped her way over to the blurry outline of Chat Blanc, he'd managed to chip away a decent sized hole. He sighed in relief when she slid in front of it. His concern for her was rather sweet. She smiled weakly at him. Then he ruined it in the next breath. "Marinette! Ice to see you're okay."
"Don't start!" she told him, jabbing her finger through the hole at him.
Chat Blanc grinned. "How's the kid with you?"
"She's fine. We're both okay."
"Take this." Chat Blanc said as he turned his sword over and pushed the handle through the hole. "We'll tag team it. You with my sword and me with my claws."
A shock seemed to go through Marinette's arm as she wrapped her hand around it. This was an akuma's sword. She could almost feel it's power. "Be careful of the tip. It's sharp. The middle part isn't though so you can hold it there. I'll work on the top. You chip away on the bottom."
The ice shifted above her. "Be careful. The ice is really sharp and it's already fallen once on top of us. It won't be long until it falls again and everything is freezing solid." she said quietly so that Manon didn't hear her. She hated the way her tongue felt heavy and thick as she spoke.
A flash of darkness passed over his face. "We'll hurry."
He raised his claws and unbidden her mind raced back to the memory of the times he grabbed her. He'd never used them to harm her but it had been hard to ignore how sharp they were when they'd dug through her clothes. Now Marinette got a first hand look at just how dangerous they were as they tore through the ice like it was nothing. Marinette swallowed and pressed the tip of the sword into the ice.
Her hands went numb. Tiny chips fell away and landed like thick snow on her feet. She did her best to ignore the dull ache in her toes as the amount of ice around them built up. Blow by blow and swipe by swipe, the hole in the ice got bigger and bigger. Another crack echoed over her head. Marinette stopped dead in her tracks, Chat Blanc's sword still poised for another strike. "Marinette…" Manon whispered, tugging on her jacket.
"Time's up!" Marinette said. She shoved Chat Blanc's sword back through the foot and a half wide hole. Chat Blanc jolted and just barely caught it before it dropped on the ground.
"The hole, is it…" His voice trailed away as he ran his hand over the opening. It was still so tiny. Marinette shoved the knee jerk thought to the back of her mind. Manon would fit through without a hitch. Marinette on the other hand…
Nope! She couldn't go there!
"It will have to be," she said as she steeled herself. She scooped Manon into her arms. "C'mon Manon! Up you go! Grab her Chat."
"Got her!" Chat Blanc cried as Manon slipped easily through the hole. Then again, Manon's size hadn't been the issue.
Marinette scrambled to find a place to put her feet on the sheet of ice. An involuntary shiver coursed through her body as she latched on to the hole. The first pieces of ice rained down behind her. Marinette paused just long enough to turn and stare back at it with wide eyes. "Hurry!" Manon screamed.
Chat Blanc cursed. Needles of pain tore through her numb arms as he grabbed on to them. Marinette jumped. Chat Blanc pulled. They fell to the ground on the other side of the dome as a stalactite hit the ground right where she'd been standing. "Marinette!"
Manon dove in between the two of them and buried herself in Marinette's neck. "I hate the merry-go-round! I never want to ride it again!"
She laughed weakly. "Yeah that definitely wasn't very fun this time around was it?"
"Can we go have cake now?"
"I think you're going to have to take a rain check on that cake kid." Chat Blanc said as he pulled himself up. His face was as white as his suit as he stared over at the picnic table. Marinette went pale too. The girl in purple that she'd seen hovered over it. All of her friends were in the process of fleeing as Cat Noir dodged back and forth between flying decorations and debris in hurricane force winds. Welp. That was the end of Adrien's party she guessed. So much for making time to give Adrien his present personally. He'd probably run for cover with everyone else. Apparently it didn't matter whether or not she had the courage to give it to him. The akuma took care of that pretty well. "Get inside and undercover." he told her firmly. "Wait for everything to blow over."
Marinette ignored the little wink he gave her. "What about you? What are you going to… Chat Blanc! Wait!"
Too late. Chat Blanc was already sprinting off to go help Cat Noir. Marinette groaned, smacking her forehead with a hand. "Stupid cat."
Manon looked up at her curiously. "Do you know him?"
"Me? What? K… know him? Of course not. Don't be silly Manon. Me, friends with Chat Blanc."
She just stared at Marinette blankly. For an awkwardly long time. Marinette laughed nervously and rubbed the back of her neck. "Ladybug is still cooler." Manon finally said.
"Oh most definitely." she agreed. "Let's get out of here."
She took Manon's hand and started for one of the park's entrance gates. Several news crews had already formed outside. Police cruisers had already pulled up to the side of the road and were attempting to set up a barrier between the citizens and the public. Most of her classmates huddled around the opposite side of the street to watch the fight. Someone yelled out in excitement as Ladybug came swooping through the air and over the park's fence.
"Mama?" Manon said suddenly and loudly. Nadia Chamack spun about, eyes wide as she looked for her daughter. The moment she found her she shot straight for them. Marinette let go of Manon's hand so that she could meet her mother half way.
"Manon! Thank goodness you're alright. Stormy Weather burst through the Kidz+ studio doors on a warpath and I knew she was going to head to the park for the photoshoot and knew you two were here for a birthday party I just…" Mme. Chamack said. She broke off before finishing the thought and shook her head.
"We're okay. We got trapped in the merry-go-round but we're fine." Marinette assured her. She plastered a smile on her face like it really hadn't been as terrifying or as close of a call as it really had been.
Mme. Chamack picked Manon up. "Come on mon ange. Let's get away from here. Marinette let me take you home so your mother doesn't worry about you."
"Don't you have to report on the akuma?" asked Manon as she twisted to look over her shoulder at the fight that was going on.
"No sweetie. There are other reporters that can cover the story. Come on Marinette. I parked over on the other street."
"Thanks Mme. Chamack. That would be fan…" she started. However, as Marinette went to wrap her hand around the strap of her backpack she only touched the shoulder of her jacket. "My backpack!" she all but screamed.
It, along with her gift for Adrien, was still sitting next to the merry-go-round. Mme. Chamack said something to her. It probably had something to do with her just leaving her backpack and coming back for it at another time. She couldn't do that though. All that time and work. The very thought of leaving it behind killed her soul. "You don't understand! I have to go back and get it."
"Marinette, it isn't worth it. It's too dangerous!"
"Ladybug and Cat Noir are here. They've got the akuma under control. It will take me, like, a minute to grab my backpack. I'll be right back!"
"Marinette!" called Mme. Chamack. Marinette was already running though.
Her backpack was right where she'd left it. Lying safely in the grass though the wind seemed to be doing a good job of pulling at the straps and charms on it. Marinette guessed that the fairly weighty wrapped present inside kept it from going the same way that leaves, paper, and twigs went. Through the air. Marinette bent to pick it up and no sooner had she dropped to her knees did a deafening roar blast through the air.
Marinette cried out as she fell to the ground. The sound got lost in the ripping wind. She doubted that anyone actually heard her. Her pigtails came loose. Her clothes flapped against her. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. It was just a scarf after all. Adrien most likely had tons of them. The direction of the wind shifted.
A loud yowl went through the air. Chat Blanc. Or at least that's where her mind went immediately. It wasn't Chat Blanc though. It was Cat Noir. He went sailing through the air in the opposite direction of her with Ladybug careening gracelessly closely behind him. So much for keeping the akuma occupied. Then she heard a very dignified yelp. "That's Chat Blanc." she muttered as she looked up.
She followed Chat Blanc's arc with her eyes… and realized that he was heading straight for her. Marinette snatched her backpack and rolled out of his way right in the nick of time.
Chat Blanc landed, sprawled out feet away from her in the dirt. "Ow…" he whined.
"I thought cats were supposed to land on their feet." Marinette said as she poked him on the shoulder.
He lifted his head and gave her a sour look. Of course it was marred by the fact that he had a leaf stuck to his forehead. "You try being tossed through the air like a ragdoll and see what happens."
"What did you do to her?" Marinette climbed to her feet and grabbed him under the arm to help him up.
"Called her Elsa the snow queen."
Marinette rolled her eyes. "Good job."
"Apparently her name is Stormy Weather."
"That's what Mme. Chamack says. She also says that she came out the Kidz+ studio ready to tear through the city like a tornado."
Chat Blanc whipped about, eyes bulging out underneath his mask. "What are you still doing here?"
"I had to get my backpack." she answered simply. She slung it on to her shoulders. Chat Blanc gaped at her.
"I told you to get to cover."
Stormy Weather cackled. Chat Blanc jumped to cover Marinette, arms splaying wide. It didn't matter though because the akuma shot into the air and away from the park. Outside the park, the police cars and news vans went flying into the air. Metal hit metal as everything collided in one heaping pile. "Predict this Mireille!" laughed Stormy Weather before zipping off to wreak havoc on another part of the city.
"I guess it doesn't really matter anymore." murmured Chat Blanc. "Seriously, get out of here. I'm going to go see if I can separate her from her possessed item. I'll come find you later on tonight."
"Do you have a plan?" asked Marinette.
He waved his hand through the air dismissively. "Get her umbrella. That's where the akuma's at."
The umbrella, as in the thing she was flailing around like a madwoman. As in the thing that she'd used to encase the merry-go-round in gradually freezing solid ice. The thing that had rocketed two very experienced heroes and Chat Blanc fifteen feet into the air. His grand plan… to just grab it? Like it was a random stick on the ground. He didn't honestly believe that was going to work did he?
He patted her shoulder and started forward. Marinette did a double take. He was leaving? Seriously? Chat Blanc was leaving. So he could attempt to grab an umbrella? Her hands moved on their own. Chat Blanc squawked as he was jerked back to Marinette's side by his belt tail. "Hey!"
"Are you insane!" demanded Marinette, hands tightening around his tail. She smacked him with it. "That's not a plan! That's an final move."
"I don't…" he started.
Marinette cut him off. "Understand? Listen Chat Blanc. I don't know exactly why you're on this crusade. I'm assuming that you have some sort of noble intention otherwise I would've pushed you out my window and screamed for my dad that first night you came to my house. Now you're about to rushing off like an idiot. You're going to get killed!"
Somewhere along the way she'd let go of his belt. Currently he was holding it and staring at her with an incredibly mystified, open mouthed, stupid fish look! "I'm not letting you go out there and risk your life to play hero without some semblance of a plan!"
"Wh… what do you suggest my lady?" he stammered still staring at her.
She pulled back. Oh boy. She had no idea where that had come from. What did she suggest? Her gaze fell to the general direction that Ladybug and Cat Noir had fallen. The vague thread of an idea wove its way into her brain. "What's the one thing that every akuma goes after?"
"Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous." he answered immediately.
"Right which means that Stormy Weather is probably no different. Give her enough time and she'll be after them too."
"And it will be sooner rather than later knowing Papillon. He's incredibly impatient." muttered Chat Blanc. Marinette raised an eyebrow but he chose not to elaborate. She wanted to press him but it didn't seem like a very good time to do that. "The akuma looks familiar. If we could figure out who she is that might give us some insight as to where she might go."
"Mme. Chamack said that she came out of the Kidz+ studio." Marinette told him.
"She was also yelling about Mireille. Sounded like she was royally ticked off with her."
They both paused. Then at the same exact time they gasped, "Aurore!"
"She lost the competition and now she's angry." Chat Blanc said.
"I didn't catch the results but I'll take your word for it. She's definitely trying to prove something. She's looking for an audience. The bigger the better."
"Where would she reach the most people?"
"How much do you wanna bet that she'll make her way back to the studio at some point?"
"You think so?"
"I bet you could follow her path of destruction right back there. There's still the question about how to get that umbrella from her." Marinette tapped her chin and let the thought roll over in her mind. "Did Ladybug and Cat Noir have any ideas?"
"I doubt they would tell me even if they did. I'm not exactly high on their list of allies y'know. Being a former akuma and all that."
"Doesn't change the fact that they will still have to track down Stormy Weather and cleanse her…"
Marinette stopped talking as the idea began to take root in her brain.
"What?" questioned Chat Blanc. "You got an idea?"
"Is it wrong come up with a plan that solely revolves around Ladybug and Cat Noir doing all the work?"
A grin spread across his face. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not a lazy sort of cat but I wouldn't object to letting them handle relieving Stormy Weather of her umbrella. I kinda let them do that with Open Book."
"Well you're going to do it again. Get to wherever Stormy Weather is, wait for Ladybug and Cat Noir to show up, and make sure you have that umbrella when one of them breaks it."
"Once I have it, I get the heck out of dodge."
"Exactly! The problem is that eventually the pair of them are going to get wise to that particular plan and they aren't going to let a possessed item out of their grip." Marinette said quietly. She scrunched up her nose. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there then."
"Yeah, I guess we will." he smirked. Marinette narrowed her eyes at him.
"What's that look for exactly?"
He wiped the smirk off his face with impressive quickness. "Nothing! Nothing at all my lady. Now please get home. I'll come see you tonight."
"Be careful." she told him.
"Who do you think I am?" Chat Blanc laughed, spreading his arms out wide and throwing a wink at her. Marinette fought back a cringe as she watched him bound away.
"Marinette!" yelled Mme. Chamack.
"I'm coming!" she called back. She pulled her backpack higher on to her shoulders and raced back to her side.
Mme. Chamack's face was stern. "Don't do that to me again. What would your mother say?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Marinette followed Mme. Chamack back to where her car was parked. As they fought their way through the crowd it suddenly dawned on Marinette why Chat Blanc had been smirking at her. She'd just willingly become his accomplice and admitted it. A headache, the kind with sharp and shooting pain, formed behind her temples. Terrific!
X X X
"Any sign of her?" Ladybug called to Cat Noir. She turned a small circle as she looked over the abandoned studio. Mentally, she kicked herself. She was a journalist. Her entire life happened to be cameras and filming. Cameras did more than just broadcast things. They recorded too. It irritated her to no end that Stormy Weather had set them up with a hack rate recording passed off as live.
"No, she's just…" The lights cut out as Cat Noir spoke. "Gone. Well that's not good."
Unabating wind filled the studio along with the excruciatingly annoying high pitched laugh of Stormy Weather. Ladybug's braid slapped her in the face and Cat Noir's hood nearly blew off his head. "Don't know about you but I'm really not feeling getting thrown through the air for a third time today." Ladybug told him.
"At least there are no buses coming at our heads this time around. We've got to get that stupid umbrella away from her." he replied. There was a metallic groan that couldn't be missed. Spoke too soon! Cat Noir leapt sideways, ready to pull Ladybug away from a threat she couldn't see in the dark. Then he saw what had made the groan. "Oh you've got to be kidding me." he groaned.
"What is it? What do you see? Is it Stormy Weather?" Ladybug asked in one single breath. Cat Noir watched Chat Blanc give him a little wave and salute as he disappeared through the now open emergency exit door.
"Chat Blanc followed us."
"Great! Just what we needed." hissed Ladybug.
"At least he found us a way out." he said, grabbing her hand. "Come on!"
Ladybug grimaced as he about yanked her arm out of socket with the first pull towards the stairs. "I don't need you to hold my hand! My eyes are adjusting. I can see just fi…"
Cat Noir definitely saw the fire extinguisher flying at their head way before Ladybug did. It hit the railing inches from where her nose had been before Cat Noir threw them to the opposite side of the stairs. "You know what! On second thought, lead on Kit Cat."
The door to the roof banged open as Chat Blanc obviously got there before them. They burst through it seconds after him. The pitch black of the stairwell turned into the grayish-green darkness of a looming storm. Chat Blanc was no where in sight but Stormy Weather hovered by one of the metal exhaust vents for the building's air conditioner. "Look who finally showed up." she sneered.
"Sore loser much Aurore?" Ladybug called up to her, striding past Cat Noir and throwing her hands wide. "Your temper tantrum has Paris at a standstill."
"Not very good sportsmanship if you ask me dude." Cat Noir agreed.
"I'm not Aurore anymore!" she shrieked. Ladybug and Cat Noir's eyes bugged out of their skulls as they saw the massive sphere of white ice that bloomed on the end of her umbrella. "It's Stormy Weather!"
She thrust the umbrella out. Ladybug and Cat Noir dove away from each other for cover. However the ice went wide, shooting benignly over the tops of their heads. Ice crystals grew up towards the top of the Kidz+ billboard. Stormy Weather growled viciously as she spun in the air to face the person that had knocked her shot off course. Ladybug's jaw dropped and Cat Noir audibly smacked his head against the metal pipe he'd taken cover behind.
"And you wondered why I called you Elsa the snow queen." Chat Blanc said cheekily, bouncing what looked like a huge lump of hail in his open hand. Several more lumps lay scattered at his feet. He stood perched on the corner of the building on top of the giant electrical housing unit that supplied power to the entire studio.
"How on earth did he sneak up there without her seeing him?" grumbled Ladybug. She looked over at Cat Noir for an answer. They were best friends as their alteregos. Cat Noir still happened to be beating his hand against his skull. He'd be no help.
"Seems pretty fitting to me."
"What are you doing here Chat Blanc?" Cat Noir snapped, finally abandoning his attempt to give himself a concussion.
Chat Blanc threw them a wide, cheshire grin. "Oh y'know… I didn't want to get left out in the cold on this stormy event."
"You should be helping me." Stormy Weather said. Her voice dripped with caustic anger that was uniquely different than the shrill anger that had seemed more natural. Ladybug shivered. It was as though the words weren't quite Stormy Weather's.
If Chat Blanc picked up on it, it didn't show. He shrugged his shoulders. "Is that what he told you? Hmm, interesting. I guess I could if I really wanted to buuut I don't so I won't." he explained.
Stormy Weather clenched her jaw together. She whipped her umbrella around. "How are you even still possible?"
He pressed a finger to his lip and winked. "Shh! It's a secret."
Cat Noir snorted. He quickly pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress his laughter.
"Stay out of this." Stormy Weather let out a mild burst of wind in threat. It did nothing more than pull at his hair and tail. Definitely didn't phase him at all. Instead, he just sat down on the electrical unit and let his feet dangle.
"Sure, not a problem. Nice umbrella by the way. Very sleek. Adds a touch of magic to the entire villainous get up. I preferred my foil but to each their own."
Chat Blanc made point blank eye contact with Ladybug. His chin lifted ever so slightly in Stormy Weather's direction. She blinked in surprise. Was he… was he helping them? That seemed a lot like telling them where he thought the akuma was. Ladybug nodded and Chat Blanc nodded back. There would be a time to question this little development but first they needed to deal with Stormy Weather.
"Let's go Kit Cat! Lucky Charm!" Ladybug tossed her yo-yo into the air.
"Give us something good!" Cat Noir practically begged. A length of red and black spotted cloth fell into Ladybug's hand. "Um… Any useful ideas?"
"Give me a moment." snapped Ladybug right about the same time that Stormy Weather's high pitched laugh cut through the air. Fat, white snowflakes pummelled them, twisting in the gale force winds. They made it hard to see the ice that Stormy Weather lobbed at them. Cat Noir jumped in close to her, raised his staff over his head, and spun it as fast as he could to keep the ice off of them. They'd both seen Mireille frozen solid on the way up to the studio's news floor.
"Hurry because my arms are going to get tired."
Ladybug ran down the list of things she had to work with. "Um, okay… We've got lots of piping. A half-frozen billboard. Frigid cold. Wind. What else? An obnoxious pun making already cleansed akuma that keeps coming back for some reason."
"You've also got an electrical unit and exhaust vents." Cat Noir added. "Though unless you can think of a way to get Stormy Weather down on our level there's no way we're going to be able to grab her umbrella."
An idea clicked into place. "I have a yo-yo with infinite string and a piece of cloth. Let's see if we can catch her off guard with her own wind."
"What do you need me to do?"
"Get her to stop trying to blow us off the roof and freeze us solid."
"Ah! Distractions! My favorite. I think I can handle that."
"Not the billboard. I need it."
"One distraction without destroying the billboard coming up!"
They gave each other a quick nod and then split. Ladybug zig-zagged as ice came after her. Behind, Cat Noir raced to get behind Stormy Weather and into her blind spot. "Cataclysm!" he called out, leaping on to one of the exhaust vents.
The metal grate melted under concentrated bad luck. The fan spun erratically as it tried to keep up with the speed of the wind influencing it. Cat Noir jammed his staff into the vent. His heightened hearing picked up almost every single ear grating sound the contact create. However, just like he'd hoped, the fan stopped dead. "And into the air you go!" he grunted, throwing his entire body weight down on to his staff.
The fan jerked loose and Cat Noir fell to the roof with an 'oof.' It was more than heavy enough to fly even in the strong wind. Not quite heavy enough to cut a very accurate path through the air though. Even still, Stormy Weather screeched and immediately manipulated the air around her so that the fan went way wide instead of just slightly wide. Cat Noir loved knee jerk reactions paired with depth-perception issues. Other people's bad luck was his good luck.
Stormy Weather had absolutely no time to recover. Ladybug didn't give her a chance to. That red and black spotted piece of cloth dropped out of the sky above and thanks to Stormy Weather's sudden change of wind direction, it struck her straight in the face and wrapped around her. The wind and ice stopped as she struggled to untangle herself. Ladybug gave a whoop as she zipped from off the top of studio billboard, angling in a sharp downward arc on her yo-yo. "No!" yelled Stormy Weather.
"Yes!" Ladybug cheered, ripping the umbrella from her grasp. "Don't you know it's dangerous to use umbrellas in a storm!"
She snapped it in half awkwardly in midair. Satisfying music to her ears. However, she had to let the pieces drop to the ground since there was no good way to hang on to them. Stormy Weather screamed as she plummeted out of the air without her source of power. Cat Noir sprinted to catch her. "Gotcha! I gotcha!" he told her before setting her on the ground gently.
As soon as Ladybug hit a solid surface, she spun her yo-yo over her head. Familiar power and white light glowed from it as she released it at the fleeing black butterfly. "And I've got the akuma!"
Light flared brightly and her yo-yo popped open to let the snow white, purified butterfly flit into the sky above. Ladybug wrapped her yo-yo around the cloth piece that Cat Noir had unwrapped from Stormy Weather's face in the next pass. "Let's just wrap this all up now. Miraculous Ladybug!"
Dazed and disoriented, Aurore looked up at Cat Noir in confusion. He gave her a reassuring smile and a thumbs up. "You all good now?"
She nodded. "Wh… what happened? Where's my umbrella? It's supposed to be a good luck charm."
"It's right over…" Cat Noir started to point out where Ladybug had dropped it. Only it was glaringly missing. "Um, Ladybug?"
"Yeah?" she called back as she dropped back on to the main level of the roof.
"Where's the umbrella?"
"It's right…"
Ladybug stopped midsentence. She had her hand raised to point at the spot where it should have been. That's when she realized that not only was the umbrella missing but so was Chat Blanc. "You have got to be kidding me!" she spat, raking her hands through her scalp.
She hadn't even gotten a chance to search through Adrien's house for Amice's test before Stormy Weather appeared. Now he had a second akumatized object too! So much for 'good luck' powers. |
Peter was always a bright eyed and curious teenager, but this time it did not rule in his favour. Not when you bring him to a place of mystical and dangerous magic.
“Kamar-Taj?” Peter asks, “Like where Mr. Strange got his magical powers?”
Tony barely looks at him as he rushes to get things in order for their mission, but that doesn’t stop Peter from continually trailing him as he pesters Tony with more questions.
“Yes, Peter, where he got his magical powers. Are you done suiting up? We leave in five”. Tony was about to put duct tape over this kid’s mouth to stop him from asking any more questions but, he really needed to pack things up. “Look if you have any more questions regarding Kamar-Taj just ask Fri or ask me another time”
“Can I ask one more question?” He asks with bigger puppy eyes than usual. Peter was really bad at reading the room sometimes, he failed to feel Tony’s frustration lingering off him.
“No” Tony replies without missing a beat. They were about to leave and he needed to find a way to get Peter onto the Quinjet as soon as he could. He doesn’t know how much longer Kamar-Taj could hold off the Gryndans; who seeked only to consume masters of the mystic arts (weird I know).
“What even is the mystic arts like are they born with the powers-”
“Alright get into the Quinjet with everyone else we’re done here. Go.” Tony shoos him off and they get ready to leave. Another day, another mission, another adventure fighting intergalactic species that threaten the human race.
**
“Mr-Mr Stark,” Peter wheezes while he lays on the ground, “Did we win? Are they gone?” He peeks open one eye to evaluate the situation. He sees Tony crouching over him, hair messy as ever, a few scratches, a little bit of blood; it was a rough fight. Peter can feel pain all over his body, stabbing at his skin. He’s not even sure where the pain is mostly coming from, he just knows he hurts all over.
“You’re alright, kid. We won. Come on, let’s go home now” Tony chuckles. He offers a hand out to Peter and pulls him off the ground. He gives him a quick pat on the back while also examining to make sure there aren’t any major injuries. May would kill him if Peter lost an arm or a leg, hell, it’s already difficult with Peter as Spiderman.
Peter looks around him, the temple at Kamar-Taj, and sees an abundance of damage. Tables broken, windows obliterated, limping Avengers, books ripped apart, and disgusting Gryndan goo all over the place. As he turns his attention back to Tony, he realizes that he’s already walked off and reconvened with the rest of the Avengers. Damn you short attention span.
Peter sees them conversing on the other side of the room. He makes his way over through the broken pieces of Kamar-Taj on the ground, but not before something catches his eye.
He notices a strange looking bottle with greenish looking liquid. And of course due to his curious nature he picks it up, opens it, and to make it worse he also brings it up to his face and sniffs it. It smells kind of weird but it intrigued him.
“Hey Mr. Strange what is this? Ooo is it some sort of alien space juice they left behind?” He yells from across the room. Stephen doesn’t fully comprehend what he asks him at first and he thought Peter is just being some dumb kid like usual. And also he was offended that he didn’t call him doctor. He didn’t fast track all his medical studies just to be called “mister”.
“First of all, it’s DOCTOR Stephen Strange to you. Second of all-” he clarifies as he turns around. He sees what Peter is holding up to his face and his eyes almost pops out of its sockets.
What Peter is holding in his hands is an ancient magical potion that the grand masters concocted right before the Gryndans attacked, which somehow survived the fight. They didn’t know it’s full effects, only that it supposedly harnessed unimaginable powers. Which also means it could be fatal.
But what Stephen does know is that Peter should not have it that close to his face, uncapped.
He immediately makes his way over to Peter as fast as he can and tries to knock it out of his hands. But Peter is too caught up trying to identify the green substance that he doesn’t see Stephen charging at him, the rest of the Avengers watching in confusion. Unaware of his surroundings Peter takes a step forward, which ultimately causes him to trip over a piece of broken table left over from the fight.
As Peter falls to the ground with the potion in his hand, he hits his head on another piece of debris which knocks him unconscious. As he falls the potion spills all over him.
All of it.
Stephen and the rest of the Avengers watch in horror as the potion starts glowing all over him. And then it suddenly disappears and fades away, absorbing into Peter’s body. No one knows how to react. They all stand completely still, trying to digest what just happened in the span of three seconds. They exchange looks to see who would make the first move.
Stephen breaks the silence, “Well, that’s not good”
“Doctor, what was in that bottle?” Tony asks from behind. He just prays it wasn’t anything deadly or May would have his head on a stick. Now he’s really getting antsy about what that potion was.
“Ha, you know that’s the funny part. I actually don’t know? Me and the Grand Masters made it thinking it might be super powerful and were waiting to test it out but you know, Gryndans.” Stephen tries to laugh off. He honestly had no idea what affect it would have on Peter, especially since the entire bottle spilled on him. But what he does know is that Peter is unconscious on the broken and messy grounds of Kamar-Taj.
And that is not good. For anyone.
Tony lets out a nervous sigh and focuses his stare at the unconscious teenager on the floor. “We need to get him back to the compound. Now. I don’t like where this is going-” He turns back to Stephen, “How do you not know what it is?! I thought you wizards were crazy smart and all knowing or something,” he exasperates. He runs a hand through his hair and jogs lightly over to Peter to make sure he’s okay. Crouching down and examining him visually, checking his pulse. Thank god he has a pulse.
He’s alive and breathing, that’s promising.
Tony props Peter’s head up with his hand and stares at him with worry in his eyes.
“Yeah, I don’t like this either we should really get back to the lab back at the compound. We need to run some tests and make sure he’s okay” Bruce chimes in from the rest of the group. They all nod in agreement and get moving. Everyone else except Tony leaves for the Quinjet and Stephen walks through a portal (like always).
He carefully and slowly starts to pick Peter up in his arms, one arm underneath his knees and one arm around his shoulders. With racing thoughts of the horrors that might result in the potion’s effects and short breaths, he carries him to the Quinjet and drops him off; leaving him in the care of the rest of the Avengers as he flies off in his suit. He asks them to take care of him while he flies back to the compound by himself.
God he hopes this kid is okay.
**
It’s been four hours since their departure from Kamar-Taj and safe arrival to the compound. Everyone leaves to deal with different things, leaving Steve, Tony and Stephen waiting in the living room for Bruce to finish performing tests on Peter.
“Well, what’s the news? How’s the kid?” Steve asks Bruce as he comes out of the lab. Bruce takes off his glasses and chuckles dryly, “It’s actually kind of funny”
“Great that’s what the wizard said too,” Tony interjects from the couch, shooting a glare over to Stephen who is meditating on the floor. “Come on Bruce don’t be vague just tell us”
“Actually, it’s better if you guys come see for yourself.” Bruce suggests and signals them to follow him. They all follow Bruce to the lab anxiously. They honestly had no idea what to expect.
Did he turn into an actual spider? Turn into an old man? Become a Gryndan who is about to eat Stephen?
When they enter the lab and see the medical table all they see is a lump with a blanket over it. They all look at each other in confusion. Not sure what to make of the lump covered by a pale blue blanket.
“...Where’s the kid?” Tony inquires.
“Funny you should say kid...” Bruce points over to the lump under the blanket. Tony raises an eyebrow at him and rolls his eyes. Is he serious? This is taking forever. He uncovers it to reveal what lies underneath and he gasps. Everyone gasps.
Underneath the blanket is a sleeping brown eyed little boy with locks of curly chestnut hair and the cutest cheeks.
It can’t be.
“Is that…? It can’t be.” Steve falters. Everyone is in shock, well everyone except Stephen who’s stifling a laugh at the sudden revelation.
The exposure to the bright lab lights stirs him awake. He starts to open his eyes after what was presumably a nap and rubs his eyes.
“Hey guys what’s up?” the tired little boy yawns as he reaches up to stretch his arms. He immediately slaps a hand over his mouth.
That’s when Stephen immediately starts laughing.
He can’t believe Peter turned into a seven year old boy.
“Why do I sound like this? WHY ARE MY HANDS SO TINY” Peter exclaims, now fully awake. The three of them continue to stand there, stunned. Tony lifts an exasperated Peter off the table and helps him reach the ground, and Peter is not sure why Tony is able to lift him with such ease.
He is significantly shorter. Like at least a few feet shorter. Peter has to tilt his head up almost all the way to look up at Tony.
“Mr Stark, why are you so tall? Why are all of you so tall now? What happened to me?” Peter perplexes. None of them want to say anything, afraid they might upset the poor boy.
They all look at each other in anticipation.
Peter continues, “Why aren’t you guys saying anything? What’s going on-” And then, he sees his reflection in the shiny glass walls. He almost loses his balance at the sight of the horrifying revelation that he’s become a child. A seven year old child. What used to be a seventeen year old teenager is now a four feet tall, seven year old child.
He starts to breathe erratically.
Tony immediately stoops down to Peter’s eye level and holds him gently by the shoulder. Forcing Peter to look him in the eyes in an effort to calm him down. “Listen kid, it’s gonna be alright we’re gonna figure out what happened to you. We’re gonna find a cure and it’s gonna be okay.”
Tony motions for the rest of the company to leave the room fearing that their presence might be too overwhelming for Peter; someone who’s life was just turned upside down after less than 12 hours. How could this have happened? How could Tony let this happen? He had one job, which was to save the world but also to protect this kid. He’s only seventeen after all.
Well, more like seven now.
“Mr Stark, why am I so small?” Peter asks with tears pooling at his eyes. He sniffles a little bit.
“We don’t know Pete, I’m sorry” Tony apologizes. He rubs Peter’s arms up and down to try to soothe the crying child. “It seems like the potion made you revert back to a younger version of yourself, well physically. I don’t think it affected you as much mentally so that’s good. You still have the brain of the genius kid I picked up in Queens” he reckons at Peter.
He offers him a comforting smile and wipes his tears away as he cradles Peter’s tiny face in his hands. The realization that he’s still mentally seventeen is reassuring and Peter starts to cheer up.
Tony has a way with consolation for some reason, he’s actually quite sympathetic and compassionate.
Peter returns the smile through tears and a runny nose. “Thanks Mr. Stark,” he sniffles, “Can we go get some water now I’m kind of thirsty”
Tony chuckles. He stands up and looks down at Peter, reaching his hand out for Peter to hold.
“Yeah come on let’s go to the kitchen and get you a cup” he suggests as he nods his head towards the lab exit.
Peter puts his significantly smaller hand into Tony’s and he pulls the little child away from the lab and into the communal area. There, Peter sees the rest of the Avengers scattered across the living room and kitchen, resting and re-energizing themselves after a long fight.
Bruce must have told them what happened because as soon as they step into the communal area they all look over to Peter with astonishment and shock. But Sam laughs.
“Hey half pint how ya’ doing?” Sam yells from the living room. Peter snaps his head around to frown at him. He lets go of Tony’s hand and crosses his arms. Tony leaves him to go fetch him a cup of water from the kitchen.
“Aw come on now, look at him you made the child upset” Rhodey snickers, “Actually, he’s even cuter now that he’s upset”
“I am not cute! This isn’t funny guys!” Peter retaliates as he stomps his foot. The Avengers laugh at his attempt at being angry. It’s not as effective now that he’s four feet tall and sounds like a cartoon character from Disney. Not when he’s oh so adorable.
Tony returns to Peter with a cup of water in his hands and holds it in front of the angry child who’s practically fuming. Peter furiously takes the cup of water from Tony with two hands (because he’s too tiny to use one) and chugs the water down. When he’s finished, he turns to Stephen. Making one last attempt to get answers for this crazy occurrence.
“Mr. Strange, do you have another potion that can fix me?” Peter pleads. Stephen shakes his head.
“Sorry kid, I don’t even know what the potion was but I’m sure we’ll find a cure” Stephen replies. He honestly feels kind of guilty, but Peter shouldn’t have touched foreign substances in the first places.
Peter resumes his frustration.
Great. Not even the wizard knows how to fix him. Now what? Peter doesn’t feel angry anymore he just wants to curse.
So he does. “For fuc-”
“Language!” all the Avengers scolded in unison.
This, was going to be difficult. |
Tony’s a man of follow-through.
So when SHIELD arrives right after the last body falls, he helps clean up the mess. When they search the charred remains of the mansion for intel and survivors, he’s also there too, picking up broken and melted rubble. And, when they need help breaking into the last remaining computer system, he does it, saving himself a little backup on the side.
Well. His suits do it.
Tony himself takes Bucky to the Quinjet and wraps him in an orange blanket and sits with him until his eyes fall closed in his lap, cradling a bottle of water. He slides a hand through his hair a few times and Bucky makes a soft noise, and he holds him until he falls asleep.
Natasha boards after what could have been an hour, a portion of her hair burned off, and does a highly uncharacteristic double take at the sight of Bucky in his lap.
Tony glares at her. “I get I’m not the most lovey-dovey in the world, but that reaction seems to be pretty drastic.”
Natasha collects herself. “Hidden depths,” she says as Clint follows her in, limping and singed, toting a first aid kit behind him.
After that Steve and then Rhodey arrive, and Rhodey grins as he catches sight of them, clapping him once on Tony’s shoulder.
They take off, Tony suits in a line behind them, and everyone, luckily, leaves Tony alone with his thoughts.
And as they fly back to the tower in the night, Tony’s thoughts all say the same thing:
This is my fault.
Bucky wakes up from a nightmare he can’t remember in a room he doesn’t recognize, gasping at the ceiling. He struggles to sit up, fighting with his sheets as he scoots up on the bed, and for one terrifying moment he’s unable to recall who he is.
A hand laid gently on his shoulder brings him down to earth, and Bucky turns to look in the worried eyes of Steve. “Bucky. It’s alright.” Steve says from his chair. “You’re in a room on the Avenger’s floor of Stark tower in New York. You’re safe.”
Bucky has a thousand things he wants to say, but he only manages to choke out the word: “Tony…?” Before he cuts himself off. He doesn’t know what question he wants to ask, and so he tries to push them all into that one word.
“He’s alright.” Steve says. “He’s…” His hesitation is telling. “In the tower. He’s going to be alright.”
“Well which one is it? He’s alright or he’s going to be?” Bucky snaps like a weak rope, the two torn edges unravelling. He immediately regrets his shortness when Steve’s expression shutters, and takes a deep breath and backtracks.
“I’m sorry.” Bucky says, and then, considering his research professor is actually in leagues with a supervillain and his entire reality has turned out to be false, as well as the fact his sister isn’t actually alive and he’s a hundred year old sleeper cell that can create fire when he’s stressed, and he’s in a rather unsteady BDSM relationship with a billionaire sugar daddy, he adds: “I’ve got a lot going on.”
Steve holds his gaze for a moment before sighing, slumping uncharacteristically low in his chair. “To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure where he is. All I know is after he got off the jet, he just disappeared somewhere, and JARVIS won’t tell us where.”
Bucky bites his lip then tries to regain some footing. He manages to takes stock of himself, noticing he’s wearing soft pants and a shirt.
“Did someone dress me?” Bucky changes the subject abruptly.
“I did.” Steve says. Bucky gives him a grin and a playful, suggestive look.
“Don’t get cocky, Bucky.” Steve says with a straight face, and Bucky barks out a laugh.
He rips the sheets off his body and goes to stand. “Well, you want to get something to eat? I’m sure someone has leftovers. Or we can order something?” It would be nice to establish some normalcy after the last couple of days.
“We can order.” Steve says, standing as well. “But…” he sighs, “you can’t leave the room.”
Bucky frowns. “What do you mean I can’t leave?”
Steve’s face pinches.
Bucky frowns and takes two steps towards the door. Steve takes four in response, cutting off Bucky’s path towards the exit.
All of Bucky’s earlier traces of levity vanish. “What the hell is this Steve?”
“It’s not my idea, Bucky.”
“But it’s happening, isn’t it?” Bucky crosses his arms. “Who’s keeping me on lockdown?”
Steve sighs.
“It wasn’t you, so it’s…it’s not…” Bucky has a terrible thought. “It’s not Tony, is it?” Bucky says, voice suddenly small. Had misread how Tony felt about him? Or was it the fire thing? And, fuck, how is he even going to begin explaining anything else to him if this—”
“It’s not Tony.” Steve says quickly. “Absolutely not. In fact, I think Tony would absolutely hate this.”
Bucky drops his arms. “Then who?”
“It’s SHIELD.” Steve says with growing contempt, not for him, in his voice. “They think you’re dangerous. I told them you’re not,” he assures quickly, but Bucky’s heart starts to sink. “They want to bring you in. To DC. To make sure everything’s… okay” Steve finishes lamely.
Bucky deflates. “Well, fuck.” He says, because he’s pretty sure that’s the easy way of Steve telling him he’s being surrendered to the mercy of the US government. Probably the only reason he’s not there now is because Tony took him back first.
But he gets it, because, well. They’re right. According to SHIELD, he’s a big fat unknown. How did he survive the fire—was it Extremis? Or did they think Killian gave it to him when he was kidnapped? And why would they keep him alive anyways, but not use him as leverage?
“Fuck.” He says again, because it dawns on Bucky the severity of his actions, that he probably killed people in that mansion. How many innocent people died because of the explosion at his apartment, and how many other lives were lost that he didn’t even know about? He should be surprised that they hadn’t brought him in quicker.
Bucky bites his lip and looks down at the floor. He just has to tell the truth, right? Tony would make sure nothing happened to him… right? If Tony ever looks at him again after this, that is. Hell, if Tony decides he’s not a complete and total menace, Tony’s going to think Bucky’s been coerced the entire time they were together, and the implications of that? Of Tony who lives and breathes consent, even with his one night stands?
Bucky goes to sit on the edge of the bed, and Steve follows a gentle distance away, looking worried.
Another part of him wonders what would happen if SHIELD heard his story and thought he was too dangerous to see the light of day again.
“Hey.” Steve shakes Bucky out of his thought process. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re innocent in all this,” Steve says, “and SHIELD is a good organization, founded on good ideals.” Steve gives him a steady look, not once wavering. “And I know your character, and that’s what matters. You’re not the kind of person who would hurt anyone.”
Steve places a hand on his shoulder, and Bucky looks up at him, absorbing the resolve in his stance and the earnest expression, the sheer desire to do the right thing displayed clearly and openly on his face. Bucky breathes a shaky breath, fears not disappearing, but beginning to absolve.
“You’re a good man, Steve.” Bucky says, and then, to his dismay, he starts to cry.
Steve’s eyes go wide and he sits next to him, and for one moment between sobs Bucky sees him flounder, before he gently lays an arm across Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky doesn’t turn into the embrace, yet appreciates the steady hand anyways as he cries for what feels like hours, everything coming up all at once. The hatred at what he is, the fear for his future, the destruction he caused, fuck, he killed a man, and for Tony, who isn’t here, and Bucky doesn’t want to think about why.
Steve holds him gently, rubbing his back until it all comes out, until Bucky’s left empty and withdrawn and cold and lonely.
He mumbles into Steve’s shoulder and escapes to the bathroom, leaving the door open so Steve can watch him as he splashes water on his face, as he stares into the reflection of a man he doesn’t know.
He comes back a few minutes later, ignoring Steve calling for him and curls up on the couch, quietly asking for JARVIS to turn on the news, please.
Food is delivered to the room at some point, a large breakfast of eggs and sausage and of course, orange juice, but Bucky doesn’t touch any of it. He just sits and stares, overwhelmed to the point of nothing, one too many things having happened to him. Sitting and waiting as his brand-new free will is snuffed out like a candle.
Tony said he has a choice, right? That he always has a choice. Then how come he feels like he’s being exchanged from one master to another?
Hours later, there’s a knock on the door. Steve goes to open it, making a show of putting his back to Bucky, as if to say to Bucky ‘look: I trust you.’
Behind the door are two people. One is a doctor, who specializes in cases like his, cases of ‘extranormal powers earned under unusual circumstances.’ Bucky thinks that it’s fucked up they need to have doctors like that. The second is from the agency SHIELD, who says, firmly, that he is going to be moved to DC, until such a time they deem him not a threat to society. Bucky thinks that it’s fucked up she didn’t phrase it as a question.
Bucky doesn’t even have things to pack. Everything burned in the fire. He’d been wearing old clothes that Steve had lent him. He knows he has no power here—he has no identity.
He’s got one last chance.
He asks for a moment with Steve and they acquiesce.
“What’s going to happen to me, Steve?” Bucky says from the sitting room chair.
Steve looks worn-out. “You’ll go with SHIELD and they’ll hopefully be able to help you. Prove to everyone you’re not a threat.”
“What if they can’t?”
Steve silence says it all.
“Do you trust them?” Bucky asks.
“They’re a spy agency. They manipulate and keep secrets, but they do it for the greater good.” Steve says tiredly.
“So, no.”
Steve says nothing.
Bucky digests that. “I wanted to get my PhD.” He says quietly. “I wanted to change the world. Make a prosthetic arm. Understand the brain a little more. That’s all I ever wanted.
“And Tony.” Bucky brushes a hand through his hair, which Bucky guesses is fireproof now. “I love Tony.” And that’s true. The only thing that’s true. The only lifeline he has left. “Maybe… maybe things moved fast, but I don’t think there’s anyway I could be wrong about this. The way I feel, it’s…” Bucky stops short. He starts over. “When I first met him, I wanted him because of who he made himself to be. Considered it a challenge to break down his walls, just to see if I could. But the further down I got, the more I realized that I wanted to help him. He’s in pain, Steve, but he’s a good man. And by God if I can make him see it, then I would have done the best thing I could ever do on this planet.
“I don’t want to go Steve.” Bucky says firmly. “And I don’t think it’s right that their making me. And I know you don’t think so, either. Hell, my desires are innocent enough, aren’t they? I don’t want to fight anyone, I don’t want to hurt people. I just want…” Bucky looks up at the ceiling, wondering if he focuses really hard, he could see Tony through the concrete. “I just want to go home.”
Steve gazes at him for a long, long time.
Tony fixes things, but he can’t stop them from breaking in the first place, which is why, on the Quinjet, Tony decides to leave Bucky.
He leaves him after he laid him down in a spare bedroom, kissing him on the forehead gently. He took the elevator down to the basement workshop, locked the door, and told JARVIS to enact the “Don’t Bother Me Unless the World Is Ending” Protocol, which was one of his less creatively named protocols, but most strict.
Of all things Tony could be doing, he’s actually sleeping for once, exhaustion hitting him so hard he can barely strip out of his clothes before he falls into his camp bed downstairs. He wakes hours later, groggy and disoriented, before taking a long shower and dressing himself, killing a DUM-E smoothie as he lifts the protocol.
JARVIS, of course, politely tells him he has about thirty messages when he does, but Tony politely ignores them and lets Rhodey into the shop, knowing he’d be behind that door the second JARVIS tells him that the protocol is over.
And it’s a testament to how well Rhodey knows him that he takes one look at Tony’s face and guesses right.
“You’re gonna leave him, aren’t you.” Rhodey says as he walks in, stepping away from the cars lined up on the right, gathering dust.
“You don’t think I should?” Tony’s sitting at his desk on the other side of the room, trying to figure out how to mass produce the cure without giving it directly to SHIELD.
“I think I just watched you get third degree burns just to hug a naked man.”
“Kinky.” Boy does he miss Bruce. He was much better at biology, plus, he’d been meaning to talk to him about one of his ideas…
Rhodey rolls his eyes. “Man, I’ve given up on trying to tell you what to do, but I will say this. On the jet ride over, when he fell asleep on your lap? I have never, ever seen you with a look like that on your face.”
Tony wonders if Bruce will ever come back. He’s got such low self-esteem, he needs someone to—
“So you’re gonna do like you did when you left Pepper, huh? Gave her the company and the entire west coast, what are you gonna give him?”
Pepper. “Pepper was diff—”
“I know, Pepper was different. She’s not into…whatever you’re into.” Rhodey waves his hand. “But you still never gave her the choice. And you’re taking that choice away from Bucky, too.”
“Because he’s going to choose wrong Rhodey. And I don’t know if I can stand another failure right now.” Tony says quietly.
Rhodey approaches Tony’s chair, and Tony gives up on working, leaning back in his seat.
“You’re going to kill yourself going on like this Tony.”
“Better me than him.” Tony says, ignoring the way Rhodey’s eyes crease with worry. “It’s better this way, sweetheart. Hungry? There’s more smoothie. Not half bad this time.” He deflects.
“Yeah, it’s all bad. Grab the elevator, JARVIS, take us to the penthouse.” Rhodey says, and he kills the conversation there.
And that’s the best part about Rhodey, Tony thinks as they step into the elevator. He knows when to push and when not too.
He steps into the penthouse, nodding over to Natasha and Clint, who were using the table as an impromptu barber shop. Clint is currently cutting Natasha’ hair super-short, which she somehow manages to rock just as hard, if not harder, than her long bob. He’ll have to send a picture to Pepper to give her ideas.
He and Rhodey head to the bar immediately, and it’s almost normal for a moment, like Bucky was just at home and Tony was waiting for him to arrive, a well-planned night in front of them. Clint tries to get Tony to order a pizza, not knowing that most pizza places were typically closed at eight in the morning, while Natasha gripes at him to pay attention to her hair. Someone’s put frozen waffles in the freezer, and Rhodey sticks two in the toaster as he goes searching for the peanut butter. Tony crinkles his nose, and orders a real breakfast, not whatever atrocity Rhodey is trying to make, which gets delivered right as Clint puts the final touches on Natasha’s pixie cut.
Tony pours Rhodey and him tequila sunrises, a drink Rhodey will never, ever admit to liking, and makes a game about counting the band aids on Clint’s body as he eats his eggs.
The illusion shatters abruptly when the elevator arrives and Steve walks in, still dirty and in half uniform, deep in argument with the Deputy Director of SHIELD.
“Steve, he’s dangerous.” Maria Hill says with crossed arms.
“Bucky wouldn’t hurt us.” Steve says back.
Tony’s eyes snap up at his name.
“How can you know?” She implores. “Something suspicious is going on. Romanoff said so herself. We need him to be separated from the world. Protected.”
Tony taps his burnt fingers mindlessly against his glass, frowning at Natasha from the bar seat. She has the blankest of her blank faces. What did he miss?
“You want him contained.” Clint speaks up after a moment, chair leaning precariously on two feet. “You’re gonna figure out what he can do, and you’re gonna use him.”
“And he just told me he didn’t want to fight, or hurt people. He said he wants to help people, to do his research.” Steve says, before rounding on Tony. “To be with you.”
Tony manages not to flinch, partially because he’s halfway to drunk again. Tequila this time, so it hurt. “He’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.” Tony says. He's already got his phone out, and he manages to text JARVIS to text his PA to get people to look into apartments in Manhattan. He tries to remember the name of his old contact at Columbia that can help Bucky jump start his research. If not Columbia, Tony’s sure Bucky would appreciate the upgrade to MIT.
“We’ll set up times with him to meet with the doctor. We’ll figure out his capabilities. We will debrief him, and let you know of any and all new information.” Steve says firmly. “But he doesn’t belong in this life.”
“He’s a threat.” Hill implores.
“We all are. Difference is, he’s a civilian, and we know him.” Clint says, shrugging. “Also, just want it to be known that I never got this treatment after I was brainwashed. I was just hit in the head real hard, given a pat on the shoulder, and told to press on. We should be treating civilians better than me at least.”
“Is that what you really think, Agent?” Hill turns her eyes towards Clint, and Clint’s chair drops down the ground with a thud.
The emphasis doesn’t go unnoticed, and Tony suddenly feels like he’s in a custody battle. The room turns to assess the two SHIELD employees; Clint’s eyes are calculating, but Natasha, oddly, looks miles away.
Then, Clint turns his eyes to Hill and says: “That’s what I really think, ma’am.”
Tony pauses in his next sip from his glass. “Really?”
Clint looks at Tony. “I think he’ll be in good hands, here.”
Feeling caught out, Tony moves the glass away from his lips.
“You have to understand, SHIELD can’t just release someone with an unknown amount of power to a civilian life.” Hill sighs.
“You did it with Thor.” Steve says.
“And where is he?” Hill says
“Actually, yeah. Where is he? We could have used him.” Tony says.
“You think you can control that guy?” Hill says.
“Oh, so it is a control thing.” Steve counters.
Hill pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “What do you think, Agent Romanoff?”
Tony holds his breath, because of all the Avengers here, she’s the only one who hasn’t let her opinion be heard yet.
“I think… he’s dangerous.” Natasha says, and Tony’s heart drops to the floor. “A lot of things don’t add up. So I think he should go to SHIELD, with one of us as an escort, to get checked out and debriefed.”
He tone sounds off when she speaks, and her words are careful, like each took effort to think about, place, and say. Tony frowns, and is about to say something when she continues.
“But after, if everything turns out okay, he has the right to go wherever he wants to go. He’s not a fighter.” She finishes, and Tony sighs in relief at that.
“Great. Someone escorts him to DC, and by the time he comes back, everything will be as close to normal as possible.” Tony concludes.
“That was not what was—” Hill starts.
“Or Stark Industries can pull all of its contracts from SHIELD.” Tony says casually. “How about that?”
There was a pause as the threat settles.
“You don’t want to make enemies out of us, Stark.” Hill says lowly.
“Ditto.”
“It doesn’t have to come to that.” Steve says, looking between the two wearily. “Tony already has a way to stabilize, and SHIELD just needs a statement, right?”
There is another pause, this one with more tension, then Hill cedes. “If Mr. Barnes is cleared by our people, then I expect check-ins from both of you,” she points at Natasha and Clint, “every week.”
“Good.” Steve decides. “Tony, you’ll escort him?” Steve asks.
“Actually, no.” Tony says. “I can’t.” He struggles to come up with a lie.
Steve frowns. “Why?”
“I’m… getting surgery.” Tony says. He’s not. Well, not yet. He’s been putting it off for some time, but he guesses now is as good as ever.
Tony pokes his chest, and the metal of the arc reactor rings back. “Consultation. Can’t miss it.” Next to him, Rhodey mutters ‘dumbass’ into his drink.
Steve’s expression smooths out somewhat, but he still looks mildly troubled. “I’ll go then.” He says.
“Great.” Tony says, walking towards the elevator. “Anything else? I’m just gonna…”
“Bucky’s awake if you want to go see him.” Steve offers kindly.
“Okay. Good.” Tony says, as he steps into the elevator.
Many times Tony finds that his brain has solved a problem without being consciously aware of it, which is why he so often talks as he works, in an effort to get it out of his head. He was a chatterbox until Howard beat it out of him; then he would only speak when he was sure he was alone. But when he was alone, he was free, free to build things and fix things and put funny things under the microscope Aunt Peggy bought him for his 4th birthday.
Unfortunately, his overactive subconscious didn’t limit itself to math and science and engineering, it also extended to a complicated array of emotions that began to grow with his awareness as he aged. His childhood became a swirl of fear and anger and hate at a displeased Howard, resentment and worry for his (mentally) absent mother, bitterness at the isolation given by having Stark as a last name. It built up inside of him until he was choking on it, until Jarvis would come into his room and tell him to breathe, Tony, in, two, three…
Then Jarvis died, and then his parents died too, and Tony was alone. And after two, then three, then seven nights waking up, still drunk from the night before, alone on the ground in his shiny new Boston apartment, he learned the unfortunate fact that he can’t survive living alone.
Luckily, Tony knows how to make things. He built himself some friends, left bugs in their code and called it personality, gave them simple tasks like cleaning and cooking microwave meals (DUM-E had been downgraded to the blender after the fire of ‘04) so that Tony could have time to work on ‘just a rather very intelligent system’ that was designed to remind him to breathe.
Of course he met Rhodey, and Tony started to act slightly more like a person again, his unwavering loyalty still throwing him for a loop to this day.
Then he had Pepper, who he was the only PA who stayed, and who could call him on his shit, but she wasn’t built for what he needed, and was too gentle to stay.
It didn’t matter, because by then had already fixed the problem of his anxiety. He had figured out how to catch himself when he fell, feel like he was taking care of something. He had already decided he was content with loneliness, the occasional itch to take someone down drawing him to dungeons that couldn’t give two shits who he was. He fell into his role as Tony Stark™ and became the man everyone expected him to be, and coasted by, chasing vice after vice, building thing after thing, and remembering to breathe.
And then Afghanistan.
And then New York.
And then Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.
He thought it was a lovely Bucky enjoyed submission, was for hire, and was really as attractive as he was, and he certainly should have known better. But he attached anyway, thinking that just maybe he could have just one living breathing person. Just one.
And then he nearly got him killed. He had actually killed a whole block of people. And that slap in the face was much too much this time.
But he’s an addict, and he knows that, left to his own devices, with Bucky so close to him, he’ll seek him out on his own. Already in the elevator he’s hesitating, wanting so much to see him again, hold him close and swear to him he’ll protect him. But he can't protect him—he’s proven that already—so he steels his resolve and tells JARVIS to take him to his office. There, he strides to his desk and digs out a rarely opened orange bottle labelled Xanax and a half full bottle of his “I fucked up” scotch.
He takes one pill and swallows down a shot of the whiskey, then sits down next to a bamboo plant and stares out the window, waiting for the haze to envelop him.
It’s Steve who finds him, maybe a half hour later.
Privately, Tony can’t believe he’s not passed out yet.
“Tony.” Steve says his name like it’s an entire sentence, looking at him with the worst kind of pity, and Tony knows Rhodey told him.
“Did you know, a week ago, was the anniversary of my parent’s death?” Ah yes. That. Looks like Tony’s brain has one last thing to say before Tony shuts off. It’s running faster than his drug addled consciousness can keep up. Tony wonders if people with an IQ below 200 have the same problem.
Steve walks to him carefully. “I’m sorry.” He says after a moment, clearly not sure what to do with that information.
Tony waves him off. “I made my peace with it.” He says.
Steve nods towards the bottle of scotch. “Have you?”
“That’s not why I’m drinking. Had years to deal with it. Dad was gone all the time, Mom was checked out, really wasn’t that much of a difference.” Addiction runs in families. Mom preferred Klonopin over Xanax though.
“That’s a little cold, isn’t it?” Steve says, frowning, expression tightening.
Tony shrugs. “You haven’t dealt with it.” He says, avoiding the question.
Steve shifts in his stance and looks out the window, as if he could see what phantom Tony was looking at. “It’s sad, but I honestly didn’t know Howard very well.”
“But you know the Commandos, right? Haven’t been to any of their graves, I’m sure of that.” Tony turns looks Steve right in the eye as his gaze snaps back to him. “How about Peggy?” Tony’s filter free and mentally disassociated enough that he’s again latching on to the giant problem of Steve, trying to fix something he’s not qualified to fix.
Tony pours another finger, toeing his drink limits, as Steve closes up immediately.
“When did this become about me?” Steve says. “This is about you giving up on yourself, about how you’re currently running away from Bucky. Leaving him. Failing him.”
I’m failing Bucky by being with him. “You need closure Steve.” Tony says, ignoring everything Steve’s saying.
“You don’t know anything about me, Tony.” Steve grits out. “Stops trying to change the subject.”
“Oh, but I do understand. I get what it’s like to have everything and nothing. To have no one to look out for you, no one to trust. Been there. Hated it.” Tony says. “Bucky’s great, isn’t he? Reliable, and eager, and kind. Bit of a romantic. Maybe it could have become something, who knows? That kind of loyalty is rare to find. You have someone like that, you become a different man.”
Steve crosses his arms. From the angle Tony’s sitting, it should make him look big and scary, but it actually makes him look defensive and young. What is he, twenty five?
“Don’t talk about Bucky like he’s in the past. You’re taking the coward’s ways out.”
Tony shakes his head at the thought of Bucky. “I’m doing what needs to be done. He was just a hired helper.” He says, “and for his safety, he should—"
“He is much more than that and you know it. I know it, everyone knows it.”
Tony grits his teeth before struggling to his feet, careful not to splash any of his drink on the ground. “You know you’re not okay. I know it, everyone knows it. You’re not doing anything about it, are you?” He taunts back. “I mean, I’m fucked up too, but at least I’m functioning. At least I’m working out a system. You? You’re spinning your wheels. We’re trying to drag you into the future, but you’re still staying the in the past.”
“Because I don’t want to be here!” Steve says, then thinly veiled anger surfacing like a fish jumping at a line. “Alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? I want to go home.”
“But you can’t go home Steve. You have to figure out how to make a new one.”
Steve shakes his head. “Oh, like you did? Dropping everyone who cares about you?”
“Talk about dropping people, I can’t believe you still haven’t gone to see Peggy. I though you loved her—”
“Enough!” Steve says, pushing forward. Tony takes a staggering step back and gets caught by the bamboo plant. He spills his drink, yet doesn’t drop it, as he rights himself with the wall, the plant crashing loudly into the ground.
“She talked about you all the time, Steve.” Tony says, and emotion begins to bleed into his voice like a wound. “She told me about an angry man from Brooklyn who refused to let the world fuck him over. She told me about the man who made Captain America. Where is he now?”
“Dammit—I don’t have to explain myself to you! To any of you! And—God, I don’t understand!” He shouts. “Why are you investing so much time and effort into me, why are any of you? It’s not like someone else can throw the shield, if the symbol of Captain America is so important. Why won’t you let me just go?” Steve’s words are frustrated and hard. Jagged.
“Because if Captain America can’t do it, no one can.” Howard’s words fall from Tony’s mouth.
Steve sets his jaw. “I’m not ‘Captain America’, I’m just a kid from—”
“Kid from Brooklyn, heard it a thousand times, Steve. Don’t you see that that’s what important?” Tony implores. “You stand for something. For everything!” He shouts the word so hard he wobbles.
Steve’s mouth is shut, and Tony’s presses his advantage, emotions gripping him suddenly and completely as they fight through the ever increasing haze.
“If anyone else took up that mantle, if anyone else got that super soldier serum, Captain America would not exist. Plain and simple. You think those dime a dozen soldiers that signed up looking to fight would have picked up a shield instead of a gun? Any of those soldiers disobey an order and save the entirety of the 107th? Hell, I doubt any of those men would have signed up for the music tour because they were too prideful, just wasted the serum lifting things in a factory like a parlor trick. Yet you did all that, because you wanted to do the right thing so badly Steve.”
Steve’s staring at Tony with a jaw shut with cement, expression hard, eyes shining, like these words physically hurt him to hear.
Tony continues. “Howard would tell all these stories of you like the sun shone out of your ass.” He says with slight bitterness. “It was all about the flawless soldier, the ideal man, all this ‘perfection’ garbage. You want to know where my favorite stories of you came from? Peggy.” Tony closes his eyes for a moment. Alzheimer’s is a bitch.
Steve inhales sharply at her name, then exhales, a desperate, shuddering thing. He looks so exhausted, so alone. Steve doesn’t know how to build himself some friends, not like Tony does.
“She spoke of the man that would stop at nothing to beat up bullies, who believed in the future, who would do anything and everything he could until every last Nazi sonofabitch was in the ground. That man who she spoke of, who gave me hope—”
God. God. Tony reel it back.
He shoots his whiskey to cover himself, but it’s too late. Steve’s face had gone soft, and he understands now.
Tony schools his face. Lowers his tone. “Captain America may have become a symbol, but that symbol was created by you, and is you, and forever will be you, no matter who might take up the mantle after you. Captain America is Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers is Captain America. And right now? The world severely needs a Steve Rogers.” He finishes.
I need a Steve Rogers. Tony thinks. Don’t you see?
Steve nods, slowly and gently, eyes soft and sad and resigned again, Steve reaching the other end of the teeter totter of anger and sadness he’s been riding for probably much longer than he lets on. “It’s not fair.” He says quietly. “To put that on me.” He looks like a man that wants to give up on everything, but can’t.
Tony turns away.
“There’s only person on this team allowed to be this mentally fucked, okay?” Tony says, “And I’ll be damned if I let it be you.” He sinks to the floor, last emotion spent, left with nothing but a cool pit to pour his scotch into.
“Okay, Tony.” Steve says, and Tony doesn’t know if he’s managed to convince him of anything at all, doesn’t care to think about it, not now. “Okay.” He says again, and he turns, and he leaves, and Tony’s last thought before he succumbs is simple: he really, really wishes that Bucky were here. |
Original had 5094 words, this one has 7361 words.
Enjoy and review.
***HP
With a rare, true smile on his face, Severus embraced his old friend. He hadn’t seen or heard from Carlisle Cullen since he left home for his last year at Hogwarts. His father had been an abusive drunk so after graduating he never returned home. He held no love for his father whatsoever so once he turned seventeen that had been it, he never even looked back. Instead, he had foolishly joined the Dark Lord and became one of his most trusted Death Eaters. If he had been smart he would have returned home, not to his father, but to Carlisle and Esme who had offered him a home and a family with them.
Carlisle and Esme never knew it, but he had figured out that they were vampires in his second year at Hogwarts after learning all about muggle vampires in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He had met Carlisle and Esme shortly after they had moved into a home a block away from his in Spinners End. Carlisle had found him broken and bloody in the park after his father had taken a belt to his back in a drunken rage. He had only been ten at the time so it hadn’t taken much for Carlisle to talk him into returning home with him where he patched up his back and Esme fed him his first real meal in ages.
After that first encounter he had regularly visited the Cullens and had quickly fallen in love with the couple. Many times he had went to bed cold, hungry, and lonely wishing that they were his parents. He knew that they had a couple of kids, but they were away at college, except for Edward who Carlisle said was having some control issues and had taken off. He had first thought that Carlisle meant anger issues, but after he learned that they were vegetarian vampires, he figured that Edward was off killing and consuming human blood.
He had often thought about Carlisle and Esme after he graduated and joined the Death Eaters, but there was a war going on and he couldn’t risk visiting them. It wasn’t until after the death of Lily that he returned to Spinners End only to find that Carlisle and Esme had moved away. He had been devastated, but it had been his fault for never visiting or even writing to them.
“Well, it takes one to know one, Carlisle,” Severus said, chuckling at the shocked look on the man’s face. “I was bitten and turned when I was twenty, but I have known about you and Esme since I was twelve.”
Still reeling with shock, Carlisle pointed down the hall. “This story I need to hear, but this isn’t the place. Why don’t you come to my office?” Remembering the young boy with the baby, his eyes widened worried that the child had overheard him.
“Don’t worry about Potter, he’s with me and knows what I am. The boy also knows how to keep a secret, despite being a pain in my ass. Potter is a good kid.”
“Thank you for the compliment, sir,” Harry smirked, “but it takes a pain in the ass to know a pain in the ass.” He said, repeating the man’s earlier words. Giggling, Harry ducked his professor’s playful swing at his head.
“Cheek, Potter,” Severus warned, though he was happy and relieved to see that Harry was doing much better today. Last night’s episode had been very bad and he prayed that they wouldn’t get any worse.
Carlisle smiled at the pair, he could tell that Severus cared a great deal for the frail boy. “So I take it that you are his guardian? Should have known, the boy is as stubborn as you. I have been trying to get him to let me look at that eye of his for the past thirty minutes, but he has refused without his guardian.”
Harry lowered his head in embarrassment, his face turning red. “I-I didn’t want to go without you, Professor.”
Severus gently placed his hand on his charge’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Dr. Cullen is a very good doctor, Harry, I have known him for a very long time. If it makes you feel more comfortable though, I will sit with you while he takes a look at your eyes.
“Please,” Harry pleaded as stood up on wobbly legs, clutching at the stroller for support. Everyday he was improving, but he still had a long way to go.
Carlisle showed them to his office and motioned for Harry to take a seat on the exam table. He didn't see too many patients in his office, especially seeing as he mostly worked the emergency department, but the table had been left behind by the previous doctor and he never got around to removing it.
Carlisle chuckled when the boy awkwardly climbed up on the table, his baby daughter still clutched safely in his arms. “Severus, can you please take the little one so I can see to her daddy?”
Harry’s head snapped up from where he had been gazing at his daughter, all the color draining from his face. “No, please don’t take her,” he cried desperately. “Please, Sev, I need her.”
The boy’s reaction shocked Carlisle. Turning to his old friend, he gave him a concerned look. He needed to see to the boy, but he couldn’t do that with the baby in the way. The boy’s reaction wasn’t normal, it wasn’t as though he was asking Severus to leave the room with the newborn. Did the boy not trust Severus with his daughter? He didn’t think that Severus was abusing the boy, that he was the one who gave the boy his scars, but sometimes abused kids grew up to be abusers themselves. He didn’t know what he would do if that was the case, he loved Severus like a son.
Harry clung desperately to his daughter, not willing to give her up. He didn’t need her because he was terrified to have his eye looked at, which he was, he needed her because he needed grounding. A hospital was the worst place to be for an empath with everyone’s emotions at their highest. There were sick and injured people here, as well dying and grieving people, there were just too many emotions for him to handle. He knew that he would quickly become overwhelmed if he didn’t have Leora to ground him. The last thing he wanted to do was pass out in the middle of the hospital.
Running a hand over his tired face, Severus sighed. “Carlisle, I have a lot of explaining to do, but Harry can’t lose contact with his daughter. He is an extremely sensitive empath and his daughter is a grounder. As long as he is in physical contact with her his empathic abilities are blocked. If he were to lose that contact, he would quickly become overwhelmed and pass out, possibly even suffer a seizure.” Harry had yet to suffer a full blown seizure, but he had noticed at times when he was getting overwhelmed that he would start involuntary twitching.
Carlisle looked between the pair, his eyes wide with shock. He knew that there were humans who claimed to be empaths, but he had never met any. Jasper was an empath, but he was also a vampire. He had never heard of a grounder before but he was very much interested in learning more. Jasper struggled everyday with his gift, a grounder would be amazing.
Seeing how the boy was clinging to his daughter and looking at him in fear and desperation, Carlisle inclined his head. “Relax, child, I understand your suffering. My son Jasper is also an empath and I know how incredibly hard his gift is on him. I have never heard of a grounder before, I would love to learn more.”
Severus raised a single, curious eyebrow at hearing that Carlisle’s son was also an empath. Meeting and talking with another empath could possibly help Harry with his gift, especially if Carlisle’s son was a vampire with decades of experience and knowledge. Harry had never met another empath before. “I take it your son is a vampire too?”
Carlisle smiled when he saw the relief in the boys eyes. He could tell that this kid had been through hell and back and didn't trust easily. “You never got to meet my children, Severus, they were away at college when we lived near you. Yes, Jasper is a vampire, he was turned in 1863 when he was only nineteen years old. I also have two other sons and two daughters. All adopted of course.”
“So Rosalie is a vampire too?” Harry asked shyly. “I knew that she couldn’t be completely human, no human is as pretty as her, but I wasn’t sure what she was.”“All my children are vampires, but we do not consume human blood,” Carlisle explained, not wanting the boy to be frightened of them. He knew that Rose was desperately looking forward to seeing both the boy and the baby again.
“Not to be rude, but I can sense that you’re not completely human either.” Carlisle said gently.
“What!” Harry cried, looking to his professor with wide eyes. “What does he mean that I’m not completely human? I’m human, I’m very human. Aren’t I?” He added in a small and unsure voice.
Closing his eyes, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Merlin, give me strength,” he muttered under his breath. “Potter, Carlisle can sense your magic. You are human, but you’re also a wizard, you daft boy.”
“Oh!” Harry gave his guardian a sheepish grin. “But I’m still human, right?”
“Yes,” Severus sighed. “You are a completely, idiotic human who was put on this earth to be a thorn in my side.”
Harry giggled nervously. “Right, I knew that. Sorry about my little freak out.”
“Wizards are real?” Carlisle asked, his mind completely blown. He had heard of witches and wizards of course, but he didn’t know that they were real. He wondered if Severus was a wizard too, the boy had always smelled different to him. Severus did have the same electricity scent to him like Harry, but Harry’s scent was much more powerful. He wondered if that meant that Harry was more powerful than Severus, or if maybe it was just because he was young and still maturing.
Despite Severus’ sternness with Harry and his name calling, he could tell that Severus cared a great deal for the boy. He felt guilty that he had briefly doubted his friend, Severus wasn’t the one who had hurt this child. No, Severus was taking care of him, both him and his daughter.
Carlisle gave Severus a meaningful look. He had so many questions, but right now wasn’t the time. Right now he had to see to Harry, to see if there was anything that he could do for his eye. “We have a lot to discuss, Severus, is it alright if myself, along with my family, come over to your house this evening. I know Esme will be thrilled to see you.”
Severus gave his friend a rare, true smile. “I would love to see Esme again. Does six o'clock sound good to you?"
“We will be there.” Carlisle turned to Harry. “Rose mentioned that you were craving pizza but got too sick to buy some yesterday. She would like to bring some over for you to enjoy.”
Harry gave Carlisle a blinding smile. “Really? Oh my god, I can’t believe she’s going to bring pizza. I have always wanted to try pizza, the smell is amazing, but they would never allow me to have any.”
Carlisle pursed his lips. He couldn’t wait to learn more about this boy and his daughter. He could easily see why his daughter had been immediately taken with the boy. Rosalie was wary of everyone, but there was just something about Harry that drew you in.
“Harry grew up in a worse home than I did,” Severus explained sadly. “I still don’t know all the details myself, but it’s amazing that Harry has turned out as kind and as compassionate as he is.”
Carlisle balled his fists up, he hated hearing that. Tobias Snape had been a mean bastard who liked to beat on his wife and child and didn’t care if they had food in their bellies, he couldn’t imagine Harry being raised in a worse environment. He hated abusers with a passion.
***HP
Sitting at the table with a notebook and colored pencils, Harry tapped the paper with the purple pencil as he tried to imagine the perfect bedroom for his little daughter. He wasn’t having much luck designing her room, the proof was in the numerous balls of discarded paper at his feet.
Looking at the clock, he grinned excitedly when he saw that it was almost six o’clock. Dr. Cullen seemed nice enough and he was anxious to meet his family, a family of vampires, but what he was most excited for was the pizza.
He was glad that he had met Dr. Cullen in the hospital. He hadn’t asked too many questions about how he injured his eye, but the man was hopeful that with a cornea transplant he would regain some vision in his blind eye. He had an appointment in three days with a trusted friend of Carlisle’s, a doctor who specializes in hopeless eye cases.
With a frustrated growl, Harry ripped another piece of paper out of his notebook then tossed it onto the floor. He just wanted to design the perfect room for Leora, but all his designs so far have been stupid.
“Harry, Leora will love whatever you design for her,” George said gently as he wrapped his arms around Harry from behind.
Harry gave a startled jump, but then relaxed into his brother’s protective embrace. “I know, but I just can’t help it. I never had a bedroom, I just want hers to be special. When I was little I use to lay in my small and dirty cupboard and imagine that I was in a nice big room with blue walls and a real bed with a warm comforter. I dreamt that I had shelves full of toys and stuffed animals like my cousin Dudley. But then reality would always come crashing back and instead of a bedroom, I had a broom cupboard, and instead of a warm comforter, I had an old dirty towel with holes in it.
Harry snuffed wetly as he looked down at the empty notebook, “I always wanted a stuffed animal. One time I found one of Dudley’s old stuffed bears in the trash, and even though I knew it was wrong, I rescued him and hid him in my cupboard. The bear was a lot like me, beaten and unloved, but despite the fact the Mr. Grr was missing an ear, an eye, and his head hung limply, his little beating heart still beat softly and made a whooshing sound whenever I pressed on his chest. He was one of those bears that was supposed to soothe babies and make them think it was their mother’s heart they could hear beating.”
“God, that bear was such a hot, ugly mess, he even smelled funny, but I loved that ratty bear. For one amazing week I had someone to snuggle with and talk to when I was scared, lonely or hurt. Mr. Grr didn’t care that I was an ugly freak that no one wanted or loved, Mr. Grr had been my best friend...my first and only friend.”
George swallowed the lump he could feel forming in his throat. He had a horrible feeling that this story wasn’t going to end happy. “What happened to Mr. Grr?”
Wiping at his wet eyes, Harry smiled sadly down at his daughter who was sleeping in her transfigured bassinet. Harry wanted to reach out and touch her, to reassure himself that she was actually here, but he didn’t want George to see how badly his hands were trembling. “My Aunt Petunia had been in a bad mood all day and refused to let me out of my cupboard to do my chores. She said that she couldn’t deal with me and that my ugly face was making her physically sick. She knew that if I didn’t get my chores finished before my uncle got home that he would punish me, but she didn’t care. When Uncle Vernon got home that night he had been in an extremely bad mood, some deal that he had needed fell through. When he saw that I hadn’t even started on my chores he grabbed me from my cupboard by my hair and yanked me out. I had been cuddling Mr. Grr in fear and he fell from my arms when my uncle grabbed me.”
“I can still see the sick, satisfied look my uncle got on his face when he picked up Mr. Grr then drug me down to his special room in the basement. I was screaming and crying, begging him not to hurt my only friend, but like every other time in my life, my pleas were ignored.”
“Uncle Vernon handed me a knife and ordered me to cut Mr. Grr’s ear off, and when I refused, he gave my back ten lashes with the whip. He told me that he would give me ten lashes every time I refused, I lasted for thirty lashes before I finally couldn’t take it anymore and gave in. I cut off Mr. Grr’s ear. Of course my uncle didn’t stop there. I ended up with seventy lashes to my back, bum, and back of my legs, for refusing to continue cutting my only friend, but eventually I had cut off all his limbs and stabbed him in his stomach three times.”
Harry took a couple deep breaths, he was openly crying now. “My uncle then ordered me to cut out Mr. Grr’s beating and swooshing heart. At first I stubbornly refused, I didn't care that Mr Grrr was all cut up and had no ears or limbs, his heart was still beating so he was alive.” Harry chuckled somewhat madly. “I was only six at the time so to me Mr. Grr was real and alive. My uncle tried to lash me more, but because of his large size, he was too tired and out of breath, so instead he took the knife that I had used to disfigure Mr. Grr and started cutting into my chest, right above my heart. He said that he was going to go deeper and deeper until I put the knife in Mr. Grr’s heart. I only lasted three carvings before I gave in and killed my only friend.”
Shaking, Harry hung his head. “My uncle said that it was a lesson. He said that anyone or anything that I love will eventually end up getting hurt or killed. He said that I was a monster and that monsters weren’t allowed to love or be loved.”
Harry looked up at George, his eyes bloodshot and defeated. “My uncle was right.” He choked out brokenly.
George too was crying, Harry’s story was making him feel sick to his stomach. He couldn’t believe that someone could be that demented and twisted. How could an adult hurt a child in such a manner, especially their own nephew? “No, Harry, that’s not true. You are so very loved.”
Harry stared at George, not truly believing him. Shaking his head, he lowered his eyes to look at his daughter. “George, I want to buy Leora a teddy bear.”
“Isn’t Mad Eye enough of a big teddy bear?” George asked jokingly. It hurt that Harry wouldn’t admit that he was was wrong, that his brother truly believed that he was unlovable and that he blamed himself for the death of his parents and Cedric. He wished that there was more that he could do for him to make him see that none of those deaths were his fault and that both Fred and himself loved him. Hell, they loved him more then they did Ron. To be honest though, they really didn’t like Ron at all.
Harry jumped when he heard someone clearing their throat. Looking towards the entrance of the dining room, he saw Rosalie standing there holding a fluffy brown teddy bear wearing a pink tutu with a matching bow between its ears.
Rosalie awkwardly bit her lip, her heart bleeding for the poor boy. She had heard his story about Mr. Grr and it was taking everything in her not to hunt Harry’s uncle down and kill him. How could someone be so cruel? How could he force a six year old little boy to butcher and kill his only friend? Someday she would have the monster’s head.
“I-I hope you don’t mind Harry, but I saw this teddy in the store while I was waiting for the pizza to be ready and I thought of Leora.”
All the color drained from Harry’s face and his limbs went numb. “Rosalie, how long have you been standing there?” He would be mortified if she heard his story about Mr. Grr. Not only her, but the rest of her family would have heard too. He wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
“I am so sorry, Harry,” Rosalie said sincerely, her eyes wide and pleading. “I didn’t mean to hear, honestly.” She knew if it had been her she would have been upset if someone who was still pretty much a stranger had walked in on her talking about her rape and turning.
Harry could easily sense how truly upset Rosalie felt for accidentally overhearing his tragic retelling of Mr. Grr. Rosalie wasn’t just upset, she felt tremendous guilt, sadness, shock, anger, and understanding. Her emotions were so strong that he didn’t realize that his nose was bleeding until he felt blood drip onto his top lip.
“Oh my god, Harry, are you okay?” Rosalie cried. “Your nose is bleeding bad.”
George quickly jumped up, napkin in hand, and pressed it to Harry’s nose while his other hand gently massaged his brother’s neck, partially grounding him. Harry’s nose bleeds we’re getting more frequent and it was starting to greatly concern him.
Grimacing, Harry tried smiling at the beautiful blonde. “Sorry about the blood, it’s nothing to worry about. I know it looks bad, but nosebleeds are unfortunately common for me.”
Severus led the rest of the Cullens into the room feeling horribly guilty that he had let them in seconds before Harry started his story. He was also feeling guilty because Lily had been his best friend whom he had dearly loved and he had made a vow to her to protect her son before she died, and he had failed the first person who had ever showed him kindness. Not only had he failed Lily by not making sure that her son was happy and healthy, making sure that Petunia was treating him right, but he had also been mean to Harry from the second he entered Hogwarts. He was an adult, yet he had picked on, belittled, and bullied an eleven year old child, an eleven year old child that he had vowed to protect.
He couldn’t make excuses for his behavior, as far as he was concerned his actions were unforgivable, and yet Harry had not only forgiven him, but let him into his and his daughter’s life with open arms.
He had asked about Harry once when the boy would have been around four years old, but Dumbledore had reassured him the he was keeping a close eye on him and that Petunia and her husband doted on him as if he was one of their own. He should have known that the old bastard had been lying, he knew from first hand experience how mean and spiteful Petunia was.
“Harry?” Severus questioned when he spotted Harry standing with George with a look of panic on his face while blood dripped from the cloth that George was using in attempt to stop the bleeding.
“It’s okay! I’m okay! Harry tried to reassure refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. He felt like shit that everyone heard his pathetic story and now here he was bleeding all over the damn place. He was such a disgraceful mess. “I’m so sorry.”
Even though George was grounding him, he could feel positive, soothing feelings being pushed on him. Looking at everyone in the room, his eyes landed on a tall, good looking vampire with honey blonde hair. This must be the other empath, Carlisle’s son. Inclining his head in thanks, he gave the vampire a shy smile. He was actually looking forward to talking to and getting to know him. It would be kind of cool being friends with someone who can understand what he’s suffering through.
All eyes looked to the bassinet near Harry when Leora started fussing. Seeing that Harry was still bleeding and being helped by a tall red head, Rosalie took a tentative step forward. “Harry, do you mind if I get her?” She asked hopefully.
Harry could see the desperate longing in Rosalie’s eyes. He should be leery seeing as he really didn’t know her, not to mention that she was a vampire, but his magic felt settled and welcoming around her. Seeing that she was still clutching the teddy bear, Harry nodded his head. “You can pick her up, but you have to stay within three feet of me. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but we have a very complicated bond and if we’re more than three feet apart it causes us both great pain.”
Rosalie looked horrified, just the thought of either one them hurting upset her. “I’ll stay close,” She reassured as she approached the bassinet, her eyes softening when she saw the little one. Grinning from ear to ear, she placed the stuffed bear down then very slowly and gently lifted the tiny baby. As much as she adored babies, she didn’t have much experience with them. She always knew that she wanted to be a mother, but she had been turned when she was just a teen herself.
“Why don’t we all have a seat around the table?” Severus suggested as he kept one eye on Harry and the other on the young woman holding Leora. He trusted Carlisle and Esme with his life, but he didn’t know their children.
After everyone was seated, Rosalie next to Harry happily feeding the newborn her bottle, Carlisle cleared his throat. “Severus, you have heard many stories about them, but I would like to finally introduce you to my children.”
Grinning happily, Esme reached across the table and took Severus’ hand. She had been shocked when her mate came home from work late and informed her Severus had moved to their small town. Over the years she thought a lot about Severus wondering how he was and what kind of man he had grown up to be. She had loved Severus every bit as much as she loved her own children. They had even stuck around Spinners End longer than they had planned hoping to see him again before they left, but Severus never returned home after his last year of school.
Carlisle looked around the table, his keen eyes searching the faces of those he didn’t know. Other than Harry, there were a pair of identical ginger haired twins that were keeping themselves close to Harry in a defensive position as if they were protecting the young boy, another ginger haired man who had to be the twins brother who was sitting awfully close to Severus and whom he could smell Severus on, and a horribly scarred man with a crazy whirling eye that was looking back at him, analyzing him.
Carlisle pointed to his wife. “This is my mate Esme, my daughters Rosalie and Alice, and two of my sons, Jasper and Emmett. My third son, Edward sends his apologies for not being able to attend, but he has a human mate whom he doesn’t like to be away from. I didn’t think it a good idea to invite Bella without your permission seeing as she only has knowledge of vampires and shapeshifters and I figured we would be discussing topics of a sensitive nature.” It was bad enough that Bella knew the truth about them, she didn’t need to know more before she was turned. It was up to Severus or Harry, if they wanted Bella, a human, to learn about magic and wizards. Something as major as that wasn’t up for him to decide.
“Thank you,” Severus said. “There are laws that our kind must follow when it comes to non-magicals learning of our existence.” After that, Severus introduced his family to the Cullens and was relieved to see that everyone was getting along.
“Harry, I have something for you,” Rosalie said as she winked at the shy boy.
Harry looked eagerly at the beautiful blonde hoping that she was referring to the pizza that Carlisle said that Rose wanted to bring him. He thought could smell something coming from the kitchen, but because of his nosebleed his nose was tender so he didn’t want to risk inhaling deeply. There was a delicious smell that he could just make out coming from the kitchen, and knowing that he was the only one who could pretty much cook, it had to be the pizza.
Rosalie couldn't help but laugh at the excited, hopeful look that Harry was giving her. “I didn’t forget your pizza, Harry. I bought five large pizzas from what I’m told is the best pizzeria in Forks. Not that I would know first hand seeing as we don’t eat food, but all the teens at school rave about the pizza from there.”
“Really!” Harry cried, literally bouncing in his seat. “You really bought me pizza? I finally get to try pizza?”
Esme didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or hunt down the humans that abused and starved the poor boy. With a soft smile on her face, she stood up. “You stay in your seat, dear, let me get everything.”
“Are you sure?” Harry asked, making to stand up.
Esme held her hand up, stopping the teen. “I’m sure, Harry.” Esme felt her heart melt when the boy smiled up at her. She could already feel herself wanting to mother the dear boy. She didn’t know all the details, but she knew that he suffered a horrible childhood and has never known the love of a mother. The fact that the Harry smelled like her son wasn’t helping her motherly instincts any. Harry smelled so much like Edward that it was confusing her. What did it mean?
Harry could no longer contain his excitement when Esme came walking out of the kitchen carrying the pizzas then placing them in front of him. He moaned sinfully when Esme lifted the tops and he saw that each pizza had a different topping and all five had extra cheese. The smell was so mouthwatering that he had a hard time not rudely snatching his slice and stuffing it into his mouth before someone could take it from him.
Jasper could sense Harry’s feelings, his anxiety, fear, desperation and longing. “It’s okay, Harry, the food is for you and your family, no one is going to take it away from you.”
Taking a shaky breath, Harry took a slice of the plane cheese pizza. Bringing it to his nose, his stomach rumbled loudly, hopeful that it was going to be filled with the delicious smelling food. Taking a small, tentative bite, he moaned as the flavors burst in his mouth. Closing his eyes, he savored the taste of the cheese, the tomato sauce, and the warm dough. It was even better than he imagined.
“Oh, Merlin, Rosalie,” Harry said, covering his mouth so his guests couldn’t see the food in it. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I know it’s just food, but it’s so much more to me. Thank you so, so much.”
Rosalie smiled at the boy she was growing more and more fond of by the minute. “I’m glad it was everything you dreamed of.”
After watching Harry’s reaction to the pizza, the rest of the Wizards helped themselves to the food. Being the only one raised in the muggle world, Severus had eaten pizza before and it was something he thoroughly enjoyed.
“Holy shi...shitennoodle!” Fred quickly corrected, not wanting to feel one of Snape’s hexes to his backside for cursing. “This is amazing!” He cried as he dove in for a second slice.
“What in the hellennoodle is a shitennoodle?” Emmett asked, howling with laughter.
Forty five minutes later there were only a few slices of pizza remaining, the wizards, especially Harry, thoroughly enjoyed their meal and company. “Thank you,” Harry said sincerely, truly meaning it.
“Anytime, Harry,” Rosalie said. Noticing a notebook next to Harry with sketching in it, she tried to peek at what it was, but she couldn’t quite make out the details. She thought about pulling it closer to her, but it was rude to do so without permission, and both her hands were currently occupied with the most beautiful little girl in the world. “Harry, what are you sketching?” She finally asked.
Harry grimaced as he looked down at his sketchbook. “I’m trying to design the most perfect nursery for Leora, but I’m completely clueless. I don’t know what little girls like or what’s supposed to go in a bedroom.”
“Oh, you’ve done it now,” Emmett joked. “The woman in this family are obsessed with decorating and shopping. Esme is an architect, there’s nothing she can’t design.”
Harry looked at Esme with wide, hopeful eyes. “Do you think you’d be willing to help me design and decorate a room for Leora? I have nothing for her yet, everything she has has been transfigured for her, except some clothes and formula. I’ll pay you, money isn’t an issue. I just really want her to have her own special place.
“We would love to help, dear,” Esme gushed excitedly. “And I’ll accept no money from you.” Standing up, she walked over to her daughter Rosalie and peered down at the baby in her arms. She couldn’t get over how much Leora looked like Edward...both Edward and Harry. She’d love to hold her, her arms were aching to feel a baby in them, but she knew how much her daughter craved a child and she didn’t have the heart to take her from her so instead she picked up the sketchbook.
“I-I don’t mind paying you,” Harry said unsurely, not use to people helping him for nothing.
Smiling, Esme shook her head no. Tapping the pencil on the pad, she thought about what a baby needed. “How about we make a list of everything we can think of that the little princess will need? Tomorrow, if you’re up to it, we can do some shopping.”
While Harry and the girls planned their shopping trip, Emmett was getting to know the twins better. Just a few short minutes into their conversation and he could tell that they were kindred spirits. Bill and Jasper also were hitting it off, Jasper in awe of their library and all the books about the wizarding world. He was especially interested in the books about the wizarding wars, as well as magical creatures. If wizards, vampires and shifter were real, what else was hiding in the world?
Carlisle was pleased to see that the two families were getting along. “Severus, is there somewhere where we can talk privately?” He had so many questions, hopefully Severus would be willing to answer some of them.
Inclining his head, Severus led Carlisle into his warded office. “Alright, Carlisle, fire away.” He knew that his old friend’s head must be close to exploding with all the questions he had.
“One thing I always loved and respected about you, Severus, was your no nonsense, straight to the point attitude. First question, how the hell did you become a vampire?”
Severus winced, he hated talking about his past and all the mistakes he made. Mistakes that cost people their lives. Taking a seat behind his desk, he started off by telling him what happened after he left for his last year of school. He explained how he joined the Dark Lord after graduating and and how he had fought in the war, knowing that he was wrong but unable to do anything about it.
“I’m really sorry, Severus,” Carlisle said sincerely, easily seeing regret in the man’s eyes.
Severus sighed. “The Dark Lord was obsessed with immortality, not only his own, but also those of his loyal followers. I was invaluable to him, both for my potion making skills and my fighting abilities. I’m also a licensed healer even though I don’t actively practice. Wizards and witches, up until recently, couldn’t become vampires, they wouldn’t survive the bite. Our magic and vampire venom aren't compatible, magic will fight it until it eventually destroys the human body, killing the person. The Dark Lord ordered me to create a potion that would keep a wizards magic dormant long enough for the venom to do its job and then an antidote that would restore their magic once the newborn woke.”
“It wasn’t an easy potion to creat, and it took me damn near a year, but in the end I was successful. The potion isn’t pleasant, especially the antidote. For the first hour after the antidote is given, the witch or wizard will feel pain greater than that of their turning as their magic rebuilds itself around its new vampire body. As a reward for my hard work and success, the Dark Lord ordered me to take the bite. I was the guinea pig for my own creation, but as you can see it worked.”
“Jesus,” Carlisle mumbled, wanting to hug the man he once hoped would be another son to him.
Severus shrugged his shoulders. “I survived, as I always have. Fortunately not long after my success the Dark Lord became obsessed with a prophecy and then was destroyed before him or anyone else could be turned. Not wanting anyone else to get their hands on such a dangerous potion, I hid the formula.”
“You’re not like us though, are you? You were eating the pizza.”
“I am a full vampire with all the same supernatural enhanced abilities as you, but I can eat human food and I only need blood once a month or so...unless I get injured or use a lot of magic, then I’ll require more.”
“Your tale is stunning and heartbreaking, Severus,” Carlisle said, feeling bad that someone he cared so much for suffered so greatly and lost so much. He had only met Lily a few times, but he knew that Severus loved her dearly. He couldn’t believe that Harry was her son.
“Severus, what happened to Harry? I have been around long enough to know that there’s more to his story than child abuse.”
Severus retold what he could about Harry life, both his home life and his life at Hogwarts and Azkaban. He didn’t tell him everything though, he didn’t bring up Harry’s and Cedric’s special relationship or the fact that Harry birthed Leora himself. He trusted Carlisle, but he wasn’t sure how he would handle the knowledge that a male carried and birthed a baby.
“That’s absolutely horrible, I can’t believe what the poor boy has been through. How could his close friends and godfathers betray him like that? I just don’t understand, I’m speechless. And your ministry! What the hell, Severus? How could they condemn a fourteen year old boy to such a horrible place like that and allow the grieving father of the victim to torture and rape a child? What kind of crazy and backwards world were you a part of?”
“That’s why as soon as I got custody of Harry we left. We will never go back there and I will never allow anyone to hurt that boy again.”
A slow smile spread across Carlisle’s face. “You love him?”
“I do,” Severus admitted. “I have come to see him as a son, a son I never thought I’d get and never really wanted. I can’t imagine my life without him or that little girl. Just don’t tell the brat.”
Carlisle chuckled. “Severus, I think Harry would love to hear how you feel about him and I think it will help him heal. Harry has never known the love of a father, and I can tell by the way he looks at you that he already sees you as one.”
Severus knew that Carlisle was right, but he just wasn’t ready to say anything yet. Like Harry, he has never known love, so he was terrified of opening his heart up.
“Alright, Severus, don’t think I didn't miss how you left out Leora’s parentage. My medical training tells me that men can’t have babies, but my nose is telling me that Harry is Leora’s mother. Harry carried and birthed that little girl, didn’t he?”
After a few minutes of contemplation, Severus told Carlisle everything, this time not leaving anything out. He told him about Harry and Cedric all the way up to discovering the tiny baby a seriously sick Harry birthed all alone hidden in his filthy prison robes.
“I-I don’t know what to say,” Carlisle said, his voice choking up. “I just can’t believe what that child has survived through. And he’s such a kind and loving soul still? Will Harry survive without his soul mate?” Vampires had destined mates, it would be painful to live without them if something happened to them, but they wouldn’t die without them.
“Honestly, Carlisle, I’m scared to death for Harry. I don’t know if he’ll survive without Cedric. We don’t know what spell the Dark Lord used, but Cedric’s body was never found. We know he died, the Diggory family tapestry, which updates itself, has listed him as deceased, and family magic like that doesn’t make mistakes. Harry is getting worse, he has episodes where his magic lashes out searching for Cedric. Last night he had a particularly violent episode, screaming and crying , he was in real physical pain. It was terrifying to witness.”
Carlisle sat deep in thought, his mind racing frantically. Things were slowly starting to add up, but they didn’t make a damn bit of sense. He didn’t see how what he was thinking could be possible, it was too inconceivable and impossible. “Severus, last night, what time was Harry’s episode?”
“Around Severn thirty, I guess.”
Carlisle eyes drifted to the window, that was the same time Edward had his episode. Edward had sworn that he heard a voice calling out to someone by the name of Cedric. Then there was the baby, the baby that not only looked like Edward, but also smelled like him. And Harry, Harry who smelled like Edward’s bonded mate. As crazy and far fetched as it seemed, everything was adding up to Edward being Cedric.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Carlisle looked back to Severus. “Would you happen to have a picture of this Cedric Diggory?” He needed confirmation before saying anything. He didn’t want to get Severus’ hopes up.
Not sure why Carlisle wanted to see a picture of Cedric, Severus pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet that he had saved. On the front page was a picture of the four Tri-Wizard contestants, Harry and Cedric standing side by side, their shoulders touching.
Carlisle accepted the paper, afraid to look. Steeling himself, he looked down, all the air leaving his lungs when his eyes landed on a picture of his son Edward with a younger and healthier looking Harry. He was shocked to find that the picture was moving, every few seconds the boys looking at each other out of the corner of their eyes, Harry with an adorable smirk on his face.
Watching the different emotions play across his friend’s face, Severus grew concerned. “Carlisle, what is it? What has you looking like you have just seen a ghost?”
“Can...can wizards time travel?” Carlisle asked shakily.
Taken aback, Severus warily nodded his head. “We have devises called Time Turners that allow us to travel back a few hours, but the ministry strictly monitors their use.”
Carlisle shook his head. “No, I’m talking more along the lines of traveling back a century or more?”
Severus raised a curious eyebrow. “There is no way that I’m aware of. Why do you ask?”
With a trembling hand, Carlisle dug a picture out of his wallet. Taking a deep breath, he passed it to Severus, picture side down. “This is a picture of my son Edward.”
Severus about fell out of his chair when he flipped the picture over. How...how was this possible? “I...” snapping his mouth shut, he continued to stare at the impossible picture. Edward was Cedric! Cedric was Edward! How? How was this possible? Time travel? The Dark Lord was powerful, but powerful enough to send someone so far back in time? Unheard of!
“How? I...”
Carlisle grimly shook his head no. “My words exactly, Severus. I don’t how this can be true, but your Cedric and my Edward sure as hell looks like the same person. And technically Edward is dead, I bit and turned him when he was dying from the Spanish Influenza.”
“Well shit!” Severus mumbled numbly. |
Tokyo Tour
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form an expert on Japan, Japanese culture, or its language. I just had this sexy fantasy the other day and wanted to share it.
A few optional notes before you start I've used a few romanized Japanese phrases/words along with some Japanese honorifics. This is just a quick summary of what they mean for those who are interested. Overall, I feel the story has enough context clues to figure it out, but this is for people that enjoy more concrete answers. Hai = Yes |Ohayō = Good morning |Yamato nadeshiko = Is the idea of the perfect Japanese woman | Gomen =Sorry | Domo = thanks | Mata ne = See you soon.
The honorifics are a little harder to explain but "-san" is more or less the polite one that's correct pretty much anywhere. "-chan" is a more cutesy suffix normally used with young children or for young women. "-sama" is showing great deference or respect to the person. "-kun" for the purposes of this story you can think of it as masculine "chan" but there's more to it than that, but for this story that's a working definition. If someone doesn't use an honorific or gives them a nickname it shows that they're close. If you're more curious about them, there are plenty of people who are more educated than I that have written articles about them online.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I shift from one foot to the next as I nervously wait for my "escort." He was very highly rated, but it's the first time I've ever done something like this. I'm getting a little nervous. My mouth is starting to feel drier and drier as I'm standing here watching as the sun starts to creep over the horizon. I chew on my bottom lip and consider running away...
This was a mistake I have no business being here... But all my girlfriends talked about how much fun it was, and their pictures of the "date" were just unnnghh...
"Ohayō! Are you Alice-chan?"
"Eeep!"
I blush furiously as the absolute dreamboat I hired catches me by surprise. He looks just like his photos! The twenty-something with just the right amount of musculature and he is at least four to five inches taller than myself. He's wearing a nice black jacket opened to show off his form-hugging undershirt leading down to his stylish brown pants which a quick glance down only increases my blush as there's just a hint of what he's hiding. He's clean-shaven, with a strong jaw and deep brown eyes, and a messy haircut that took him hours to perfect. At least I think so.
"T-Takahashi-san?"
I nervously stutter out. Oh, he's going to think I'm such a stupid little girl...
"Hai. You're looking very cute this morning."
He steps towards me, runs his fingers through my hair, and fills my nostril with his cologne. So manly...
"I can tell you're a little nervous. but don't worry your little blonde head and let me make all the decisions today."
I nod at him and he pats my head. I rub my head into his strong hand as I stare up at him. I feel like screaming or maybe fainting this is sooo much...but nnnggghhh so good...
"Now when I tell you something, the appropriate response is "Hai Takahashi-sama". Do you understand me?"
"Hai Takahashi-sama"
I feel my legs get weak, and I can feel my nipples start to stand at attention as my core and I do as I'm ordered. Such a strong man telling me what to do...
"Good girl."
He gives me a radiant smile, and I feel myself just melting...
"Now did you bring what I told you to?"
I nod then my eyes go wide as I realize I was none verbally communicating again, "H-hai Takahashi-sama!"
I dig into my purse and pull out my credit card along with the collar and leash. It's a cute little pink collar, and the leash gives me about five feet of slack from where he'll hold it. I hold it out to him, and I'm favored with another smile that makes my slutty pussy drool. He takes them both from me and chuckles as he looks at the collar.
"Does my little puppy want to show off how cute she is today?"
D-did I make the wrong choice? Oh no...
"H-hai Takahashi-sama! Sorry..."
He gives me a confused look before he pats my head again while chuckling.
"Don't worry your pretty little head. I like cute white girls like you."
"T-thank you..."
He opens up the collar and gestures toward me.
"Now come here and get in your collar!"
I look up at him as he smiles at me.
"Come on!"
He cheers me on like I'm a pet dog...Hnnnggggghhhh I'm such a slut, why am I so turned on by this...
I walk forward, raising my head towards the cloudless sky, looking at the skyscrapers as I reach out my neck towards the collar in his hand. I can feel my chest pushing into his as he makes me walk into him before he actually moves his hands and actually puts the collar around my neck and tightens it into place. He brings the leash up and clicks it into place before he pats my head again.
"There doesn't that feel better You safely have your collar and leash on. Ready for a trip today, Alice-chan?"
"Hai Takahashi-sama!"
"Good girl! Now we need to finish getting you properly dressed, then we'll be ready for our date."
"Hai Takahashi-sama I'm looking forward to getting to wear a yukata..."
"Ohh does Alice-chan dream of being a Yamato nadeshiko?"
I blush again as he asks me the question as he starts to walk down the street, tugging on the leash as he does.
"I-i know I can never be a proper one, but ummm the idea is appealing..."
"I don't know, but I think that many Japanese men would love the chance to train you into a proper one."
"Y-you're just saying that..."
He laughs again as he keeps leading me through the city towards the shop that should have the yukata prepared for me. I sent them my measurements weeks ago. Although I wasn't allowed to see what the final result would be until today, I'm super excited! And not just because a sexy Japanese man is leading me through Tokyo on a leash! Although mostly that...
"Eep!"
I feel a tug on my collar as I get lost in my own little world.
"Pay attention, Alice-chan. I don't want to lose you."
"H-hai Takahashi-sama...Sorry..."
Soon enough, he led me to a clothing store with a sign I can't read but has a cute little bunny mascot. When we walk in Takahashi yells something in Japanese and soon enough, a Japanese woman in her early thirties comes out and greets the two of us with a bow. He bows, and I, crudely, I'm sure, copy them while they start to discuss things before she turns toward me.
"Alice-chan?"
"Yes! Hello! Nice to meet you!"
I try to be cheerful, and she blesses me with a kind smile before reaching out a hand. Takahashi pulls me close and unclips my leash before patting my butt and pushing me toward the pretty woman.
"Be a good girl for her!"
"You may call me Kobayashi-san. Come with me and let's get you dressed."
I nod at her and take her hand, walking with her into the back where the changing rooms are. She pulls me into one and is soon slipping me out of my sky-blue dress and out of my underwear with rapid efficiency. She's really good at undressing women!
"You know, when I got your measurements, I assumed I was going to have another girl exaggerating, but you don't seem to be lying!"
Kobayashi-san grabs both my breasts as she says the last part and massages them both.
"Ahhhh"
"Sensitive Alice-chan?"
"Yes!"
"Good" She keeps playing with my above-average chest and leans towards me. I can feel her own more modest bosom pushing into my back and the breath coming out of her mouth as she whispers into my ear.
"Takahashi-kun will love playing with them."
Hnnngghhh I let out a little moan as she stopped just as suddenly as she had started, leaving me even more aroused.
"Now I got a little used to you western women inflating your numbers, so I might have tailored your yukata with that in mind, so it might be a little shorter than we normally do, but I'm sure you won't mind."
I gulp as she gets out what I'll be wearing for the rest of the day. The cloth is a pretty pink color with a cute little white flower pattern and a black border around the edge of the cloth. It looks so good, and I'm really excited that I'll get to keep it at the end of today! Not that I can see myself wearing this back home...
She starts to wrap the silken kimono around me, tucking my boobs in and pinching the cloth where it needs to be as she puts the right side on first, then starts securing it with the left and wrapping the obi around my waist.
"Hey, wait didn't we forget my... underclothes?"
"Oh, sweetie! Didn't you know? You don't wear underwear with a yukata!"
The thin fabric is very brief, covering only the top half of my thighs and threatening to show everyone my pantiless state, while the top shows off a lot of my cleavage and gives very easy access to anyone who wants to cop a feel. It's almost worse than being naked, but also somehow adorable. Kobayashi pulls out a pair of white knee-high socks, and I put them on as she slips on a pair of nice sandals with a flower on the top and secures them in place.
"There! Alice-chan, you're looking very cute! I'll just help you with your make-up and your hair, and we can give you back to Takahashi-kun!"
"Arigatō Kobayashi-san!"
She sits me down in a chair and gets out her kit. She's masterful, and soon enough, my hair is brushed out and gorgeous, and I look simply dazzling.
"You're amazing, Kobayashi-san!"
"I'm just doing my job. "Now, be a good little girl for Takahashi-kun the rest of the day."
"Thank you I will!"
I give her a hug, and she pushes me back out to the front of the store where Takahashi-sama is playing on his phone. He looks up when we come into view, and he gives me a predatory look that has me squirming in place. He licks his lips as he walks over to me.
"You look just good enough to eat~"
I nervously gulp as I lick my lips and rub my thighs together.
"Arigatō Takahashi-sama it's all thanks to Kobayashi-san she's a miracle worker...."
He pulls me close and he has one hand underneath the yukata on my naked butt groping it as he reattaches my leash.
"I had such pretty clay you made my job easy Alice-chan."
"Such beautiful moldable clay..."
He keeps playing with my butt while his other hand goes into my yukata and plays with my naked breast. I whimper as he pinches my erect nipple. He's...he's really good at this.
A polite cough shakes us out of our trance.I fix up my clothes so I'm relatively decent while he gives Kobayashi-san a wink and pulls me out of the store.
"Thank you again!"
The following hour goes by in a blur as he takes me from tourist spot to tourist spot showing me the sights and generally being a wonderful host. I skip along after him and obediently come to his side when he wants to talk or simply feel up my butt. As time went by I almost forgot how lewdly I was dressed, but Takahashi-sama always would remind me with a quick grope or pinch of my nipple keeping me constantly aroused.
"Alice-chan. I think you deserve a reward for being such a good girl."
"R-really?! What sort of reward?"
"That's a secret~"
He leans in close, showing off his handsome face, and whispers the last part before he kisses my cheek and pulls me along again.
"I've just been thinking you've been such a good, obedient white girl. Eager to listen, you're just like a little puppy desperate to please her owner. That maybe you should look the part a little bit more."
He leads me down a packed street and pulls me close, making me feel warm and protected as his strong arms shield me from the jostling people around us. He leads us down a back alley into a shop that I'm pretty certain is a sex store. It's certainly a sex store, as we walk in and are greeted with a wall of dildos...
He leads me down one aisle after another, looking for something. Maybe a better collar? The one I picked is probably dumb or bad or something...
He soon enough finds what he's looking for, grabbing a tail and a pair of ears that look somewhat like my hair, along with a bottle of lube. Ohhhhh.....
He pays for them with my credit card and talks with the clerk in Japanese and we're soon led to a small room. Takahashi-sama rips the ears and tail out of their packaging, showing me the latter's large plug that will, ummm anchor it in place...
"Well, Alice-chan do you like your puppy ears and tail? Are you excited to look like the proper blonde puppy dog that you are?"
I swallow my spit and bite my lower lip before I look him in the eye. "Hai Takahashi-sama..."
"Good girl. Now lay across my lap while I make sure my puppy's tail is placed properly."
He said I'm his puppy...
I lay across his lap and feel his hands sink into my butt as he starts to knead and massage my posterior. "A little on the small side, but still quite the nice butt my puppy has."
I can't help but smile under his praise before, "Ohhh!" The cool lubricant is suddenly poured over me.
"Don't worry Alice-chan I'll be gentle."
He works a lube covered finger into my butt slowly while his other hand pets my head.
"Such a good girl for me aren't you Alice-chan?"
"Hai Takahashi-sama! Ahhh~"
He continues to finger me for a little while longer before he's apparently satisfied with the state I'm in and slowly inserts my tail.
"Nnnnnggghhh"
I let out a moan as it pops into place. He rubs at my butt for a moment before he suddenly slaps me pretty hard, making a loud noise.
"No time to be laying around Alice-chan! We have a lot more to see!"
"Hai Takahashi-sama!"
I get off of his lap and we stand up, but before we leave, he pulls me close and puts the ears on top of my head.
"There we go. Now my cute little puppy really looks the part. Will Alice-chan bark for me?"
"Woof woof?"
He shakes his head. "No, Alice-chan you're my puppy, so you're a Japanese dog. So you go "wan wan.". Now Alice-chan. Speak!"
"Wan wan!"
"Good girl!" He rubs my head before he tilts my chin up and kisses me! I melt into his embrace. I can feel my thighs getting wet before he suddenly pulls away.
"Come on Alice-chan we still have much to see!"
"Hai Takahashi-sama!"
He tugs my collar and I walk behind him. The tail is a novel experience. Every step I take seems to make it rub against me, distracting me. Nnngghh I lightly moan as I keep walking when I walk straight into Takahashi's back! He stopped at a street crossing, and I didn't notice.
"Gomen Takahashi-sama!"
I profusely apologize as I look up at him. He laughs as he turns around and pulls me towards him, hugging me close to him.
"Was my little puppy distracted by her new tail?"
"Hai Takahashi-sama. Sorry."
He strokes my hair, and a hand comes down and starts to tug on my new tail. My butt feels weird, but good as I stare up at him. He's so handsome, and he's smiling down at me. I'm distracted by staring at his face when I suddenly feel a sharp pain on my behind as he gives me a little pinch.
"Come on Alice-chan it's safe to walk."
"Hai Takahashi-sama sorry!"
He leads me to a few more shrines, a castle, and a museum, and then we have some street food for lunch on the way. The entire day he never stops tugging on my tail, grabbing my butt, or boobs, leaving me on edge the entire day. I know that my nipples are showing through the thin yukata, but he doesn't seem to mind, or rather, he to seems to like it...
"Yoh! Taka!"
A couple of men about Takahashi-sama's age walk toward the two of us. I dutifully stop as Takahashi starts to converse with the two of them in Japanese. They're both handsome as well, and in very good shape, but Takahashi-sama is dressed way better. Suddenly he yanks on my leash pulling me forward and into his grasp. I stumble against him, and he holds me in place while still talking to his friends.
"So Taka this one of your clients?"
"Yes! This is Alice-chan. Why don't you say hello to my friends?"
I give a short bow forward and when I come up Takahashi-sama slips his hand inside of my yukata and starts playing with my breast! I start to moan and bite my lip to hold it back and swallow before looking at the two handsome men in front of me.
"N-nice to meet you!"
I can feel my brains leaking out of my pussy as the men continue to talk while I'm casually being played with I lose track of the conversation until I hear my name being said again.
"No Alice-chan is a really good girl! Very obedient for a white girl. Right Alice-chan?"
"Hai Takahashi-sama!"
"Good girl! Oh, I even taught her a trick! Alice-chan speak!"
I feel mortified, but so so turned on. I stifle a moan as Takahasi-sama decides to pinch my hard nipple as he gives my command.
"Wan wan!"
"Good girl!"
The other men echo him in praising me and I feel myself shifting from side to side embarrassed but also happy.
"Aww look at the puppy shaking her tail! So kawaii!"
I bury my face into Takahashi-sama broad and muscular chest as I just can't take it anymore. I hear them laugh and talk a bit more before I hear them start to trade farewells. I pull my face out of his chest and wave at them as they leave.
"Bye bye!"
"Mata ne Taka! Have fun with your white girl! You're always lucky with the ones you pull!"
"They're right you know. You're such a good little puppy."
"Domo Takahashi-sam..."
He laughs a leads me away tugging on my leash. The day is wrapping up as he takes me to the last few places on tour. Still teasing me all the while. I'm...really looking forward to the end of this. He's kept me on edge all day, and unnngghhh my girlfriends they told me how good they here...
We eat dinner at a Okonomiyaki place and Takahashi-sama has me feed him. It was a lot of fun and the food is great! His hand constantly playing with my thighs the entire time made it very very distracting. I'm not sure if I can ever find that restaurant again...
The night is just about over. He's leading me toward our hotel. I'm nervously biting on my lower lip as he checks us in and walks us to our room. My thighs are rubbing together because even if I'm worried my body is more than ready for whatever he chooses to bless me with...
"How many days since your cycle began?"
"12"
"And you're not on birth control correct?"
"No, Takahashi-sama."
He reaches over and pulls me into a hug with his hands over my stomach.
"Alice-chan are you sure you want me to put my strong Japanese sperm into your fertile white womb?"
"Hai Takahashi-sama...I really want your baby..."
"Good girl~"
He pets the top of my head as he walks us toward the bed. I feel tight and hot and worried and excited and...
"Hnnnggg"
I moan into his kiss as he spins me around and his tongue starts to plunder my mouth. He pushes me down onto the bed as he continues to dominate my mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck while he pulls my yukata open showing off my boobs to the open air as he starts to massage and play with them. My hips start to rock as my needy pussy is desperate for his touch, but he continues to refrain and keeps playing with my sensitive breasts. He continues to make out with me while playing with my breasts for a few minutes driving me a fever pitch before my breasts suddenly are exposed to the cool air as his hands move away and I hear the sound of his belt coming off and a zipper going down.
This...this is about to really happen...hnnnngghhh~
"Alice-chan~"
He breaks the kiss and whispers into my ear. His chest is filling my vision and his cologne is driving me wild.
"Hai?"
"Speak!"
"Wan wan!"
"Good girl!"
"Eeep!"
He suddenly pulls back and flips me over and hauls my hips close to him as my face plants itself in the bedding.
WHACK!
"Nice fertile hips. Such a good girl~"
Whack!
He spanks my butt a few times while playing with my tail and I can feel my pussy drooling with unmet need as the fluid drips down my thighs...
"P-please!'
WHACK!
"Please what Alice-chan?"
"I-I can't take it!"
Whack!
"Ahhhh~ Takahashi-sama! Please!"
"I won't understand if you won't tell me Alice-chan. What do you want?"
My butt stings and the warmth from my ass seems to spreading everywhere within me. He just keeps spanking me, playing with my butt, or my tail totally ignoring my pussy.
"P-please make love to me!"
Whack!
"But aren't I showing you my love right now Alice-chan? I won't give every girl a chance to be my loyal doggy~"
"Hnnnngghh~ Pleaaase!"
"What can Alice-chan be wanting me to do..."
He starts rubbing his cock against my soaking wet slit as he said that.
"Please! Takahashi-sama! Take your huge asian cock and fuck my white pussy!"
"Good girl!"
UNNNGHHH!
"AHHHH!"
He enters and I nearly black out. He's kept me on a hair trigger so long I can't help but climax the second he enters me. The next few moments are a blur as he starts to use me. I vividly remember the sound of bed springs creaking and the sound of flesh but that fades away and he's laying over top of me as I come back from la la land at the sound of his voice.
"Alice-chan~"
"H-hai?"
"Good girl I was afraid I might have teased you a little too much~"
"Hmmpf...."
He laughs at me pouting all the while he's keeping his rock hard cock in my love canal. He slowly starts to rock forward little by little forcing out little moans from me with his mastery of the art.
"Alice-chan~"
"Nnngh?"
"Are you ready?"
"Y-yes Takahashi-sama. I mean hai!"
"Good girl. Now speak!"
"Wa-WANNNN!"
He increases his tempo again right as I start to speak and he doesn't seem to mind my poor performance as his cock ravages me. The sound of flesh striking flesh feels the room as his hips pound into mine. I do my best to meet his thrusts but I'm totally overwhelmed by his sexual ability. He's playing me like a fiddle and I love it...
"Speak!"
"Wan wan!"
He's found a new game of ordering me to speak as he tugs and pulls at my tail. It's driving me wild as the double stimulation of my two holes is quickly forcing me toward my second orgasm of the night.
"T-takahashi-sama!"
"Alice-chan!"
We're both screaming each other's name as I cum on his cock the second time. This is more manageable this time and I don't white out, but the pleasure is completely overwhelming I'm screaming into the bed as my legs spasm behind me. If he wasn't holding me up by my hips I'm sure I was have collapsed onto the bed shaking like I am. I'm getting a little worried that I won't even be able to make him cum at this rate...
"Good girl! Such a good girl! Cumming for me like that! Go on! Cum harder! Lose yourself in pleasure puppy-chan!"
I feel a bit better with his encouragement and he doesn't sound upset that I keep cumming before him. His pace slows down and he bends over to play with the rest of my body as he tries to lead me through my orgasm. His hand feels electric as he glides over my stomach.
"Nggghhh so good!"
He flips me over to my side spooning me with his cock still firmly nestled in my fertile pussy. He's gently playing with my boobs as I finish riding out my orgasm. Once I stop shaking he pulls a hand up and forces my head to turn and meets my mouth with a sizzling hot kiss. I moan into him as he starts to speed up his thrusts again.
"Alice-chan, Alice-chan, Alice-chan!"
He's panting my name into my ear as starts to pick up his pace again. His hands grasp at my tits as he starts to lose himself in his own pleasure. I feel so warm and happy. I'm actually making him feel good now! I try meet his thrusts with my own hips, but he's fully controlling me now. His large arms effortlessly keep me against him while his legs lock me in place. I feel safe and owned and comfy in my surrender.
"Speak!"
"WAN WAN!"
"Good girl!"
He suddenly decides that we're changing positions again and he lays me down and gets over top of me. He almost looks scary standing above me with his hair wild and his deep breathing. His eyes look dilated and his smile looks predatory... I feel a surge of arousal come from my womb as I stare into his face and eyes.
"Alice-chan. I'm not stopping this time. You'll be knocked up after this. Don't pass out on me. You know you want to be awake for your first breeding~"
"Hai Takahashi-sama!"
He leans over and starts kissing me again while he starts to jackhammer away at my sensitive pussy. I wrap my arms around him as he starts going faster and faster. He's losing control. I have to be making him feel good! Pride and pleasure feel me in equal measure as his sweat drips down onto me. The sensations are starting to overwhelm me again as I feel myself starting to near my peak again. I moan into his mouth before he breaks the kiss and straightens up as he grabs both my hips and starts to slam away at me.
"Ahhh! Ahhhh!"
I scream in pleasure as he uses me like a glorified fleshlight. I feel my breasts moving back and forth on my chest as he rapidly and harshly pounds into me.
"Ta-takahashi-sama! I-I'm cumming again!!"
He screams something in Japanese as his pace only increases as I climax for the third time on his wonderful cock then I feel it. He thrusts himself as deep inside me as he can and I feel him shudder and shake as he holds himself there as my pussy milks his cock of his precious seed desperate to be impregnated by such a superior asian man. He collapses on top of me and the two of us pant as we regain our strength.
"Wow..."
He nuzzles into the crook of my neck as he snuggles against me.
"You're cute when you cum Alice-chan~"
"Moouu..."
He laughs at me and gets behind me and turns me into the little spoon again. I feel so snug in his arms. He's just gently stroking me and he holds me like that for a few minutes before I feel something rising in between my legs again.
"Ready for round two?"
R-round two?!!
The End.
Author's Note:
I'd like to extend a sincere thank you to everyone that made it to the end of the story. I really appreciate it and I'd love if you would tell me what you thought of it!
This is the first piece of erotic fiction I've ever written and posted in a public format. I've done some erotic text based role play with people before, but a story like this is a first. I did show this to a few people and they had some questions that I didn't really want to answer in the story.
Thank you.
And a special thanks to everyone that helped me find the typos and grammar mistakes!
FAQ:
"What on earth is going on?! What sort of sex tourism is this?!"
I don't know it's just sexy to me. Someone I was talking to the other day told me about the renting a boy/girlfriend thing in japan. And well this idea spiraled out from there
"Why did the public not react you your heroine's appearance?"
In this universe, this sort of sex tourism is common enough that it's not notable. Also, I don't really enjoy that part of exhibitionism I want to wear slutty clothes for one person not a group. So I ignored that mostly.
|
For some reason, Sophie had always been drawn to Asian men. Growing up in a small town, there were none around, but that didn't stop her from fantasizing. Spending hours watching K-dramas and Japanese anime, she grew to love Asia even more. When college finally rolled around, she decided she wanted to go to a university in Tokyo.
Needless to say, her parents weren't thrilled with her packing up and moving around the world. A college in the US was what they wanted, but nothing could stop her. She had the grades and got a scholarship that covered most of the cost. Her parents decided that if that was what she wanted to do, so be it, but they weren't going to help her out financially when she figured out that it was a mistake.
Arriving in Tokyo was a bit of culture shock for Sophie. She knew what it would be like from years of TV, but being in the heart of japan was different than seeing it on a screen. Her blond hair stood out amongst the sea of black even if she was only 5'4". People stared at her, not in a rude way, but she felt like a fish in a bowl.
University was exactly what she wanted. She took courses in English, but the topics were all Japanese. Being one of the only white girls on a campus full of horny Japanese boys was also a dream come true. It didn't take long for her to find a boyfriend. Within a month she had hooked up with Akihiro, a 20 year old premed student with his own apartment just off campus.
Since she was paying for school herself, her savings were depleting quickly. Akihiro suggested she move in with him, she practically lived there anyway. Until now, she only returned to her dorm occasionally when she needed extra clothes or a book for school. Living with Akihiro seemed like a great idea and she gave up the lease on her tiny dorm room and moved into the spacious 4 bedroom apartment his family had bought for him.
She lived with him for 2 years. Working quickly, she finished her degree in just 3 years and had a tough decision to make. She no longer had an excuse to stay in Japan. Akihiro was getting busier with med school and was rarely home. She felt him drifting away as he became buried in classes and labs. A month after she graduated, they broke up. She found herself with little money to stay, and not enough to make her way back home. She needed to find a job.
Being in Japan for 3 years, she had often heard of hostess bars where men would go to find company. Women would be paid to drink and sing with slightly drunken company men. Foreign women were desired there, and one who could speak Japanese would be highly prized. She spent a night or two at a couple of the clubs, but it wasn't for her. She didn't like having to call men the next day and beg them to bring her out on a date.
She decided to make one last try at a club, one recommended by a friend of hers. He said it was a bit...different. Located on the fourth floor of an exclusive building in an expensive district, she wondered what it would be like. The gold elevator with mirrors was dripping with wealth, the polished marble floors only confirmed it was a place solely for people with money.
The owner met her at the door and led her down a plushly carpeted hallway to her office. Being in her mid forties, she was past her prime, but she was still attractive.
"So, what brought you here?"
"I was thinking about working in a hostess club, but it wasn't the right place for me. My friend said this place was a little bit different."
"Your friend is right. This place is different. It isn't a hostess club, not everyone can come in here. This is an exclusive place for the relaxation of some of the wealthiest men in Japan."
Sophie's eyebrows rose. "Really?" No wonder the place practically dripped money.
"We provide our clients with a more personal experience than you would get in a smokey hostess club." The woman got up and walked around the room. "Have you ever heard of a soapland before?"
Sophie shook her head. The term sounded familiar, but she couldn't remember why.
"A soapland is where men go to get a massage and a bath from a beautiful naked girl. We cater to only the wealthiest men, so we offer only the best girls. Understandably, more than a massage and bath happens occasionally, but we look the other way..." She trailed off, her meaning clear.
"But isn't that illegal?" Sophie asked. Though she tried to deny it, she was getting a bit excited and curious about how the establishment ran.
"No. Men pay for the massage and bath. If the client and girl happen to fall in love or become horny, they have consensual sex. We encourage our girls to fall in love quickly and often, that is all."
Sophie could read between the lines. She would bathe and massage men before having sex with them. She felt a tingle between her legs. Her sex drive was incredibly high, Akihiro had always said she was insatiable. The prospect of being with all those men was turning her on. Looking around her and guessing the costs for a single massage, she imagined the people who could afford them were likely a lot older than her. Sophie had a thing for older men.
"What type of clients do you get here?" She enquired.
"Businessmen mostly. Most are married, 40s and 50s, but we get some older and younger as well. Discretion is guaranteed here so they feel safe visiting us. Most of our clients are regulars, so you would almost have a schedule of who you would be meeting. Does this sound agreeable to you?"
Sophie thought about it for a moment. When would she ever get a chance like this again? Her dirty little secret desires would be fulfilled in the most spectacular way. She nodded her head.
"Yes. I'll do it. When do I start.?"
Two days later, fully groomed and ready for her debut, Sophie took the elevator back to the fourth floor. She wasn't sure how it would go tonight, or how long she would want to work in a soapland, but she would try to enjoy it while she could. Once she earned enough money for a plane ticket home she would again have to decide what she wanted to do.
Sophie was given a lavish room complete with a marble tiled bathroom and a king sized canopied bed. She was dressed in only a white lace bra and panties. The owner had supplied her with a wardrobe after she supplied her measurements. From experience she knew that finding a bra in Japan that fit her C breasts was difficult, Sophie gave the owner her respect for that small miracle. She also advised her to keep a small triangle of pubic hair. Men tended to like a bit of pubic hair in Japan, and blond hair would be a huge draw for her.
Her first client was a bit of a surprise. He was probably the same age as her, 21. He seemed nervous and couldn't meet her eyes as he sat in the plush chair in front of her. He was exceedingly polite to her, but she felt this could have been his first time being with a woman, let alone a foreigner.
Helping him to stand, she started to remove his clothes. The front on his pants pushed out towards her, but she didn't draw attention to it. When she finally got him nude, he covered his groin with his hands, still unable to look at her. She found it endearing.
Sophie slipped her bra off as she pulled him towards the bathroom. She heard him take a sharp breath and though he still wouldn't look at her eyes, he was looking at her bare breasts.
She had him sit down on the special stool that was provided for customers. Unlike normal stools, this stool had the middle part of the seat cut out so that there was free access to clean between a man's legs as he sat down. As he sat down, his balls hung freely below him while he still struggled to cover his cock.
Sophie could feel his shy gaze as she slowly removed her underwear and stood naked in front of him. She tried to make small talk with him, but he was painfully shy. She began to lather his back with soap, using her hands to rub up and down his skin. She leaned closer to him and her breasts rubbed against his back. She pressed herself against him and used her nipples to draw circular patterns in the soap. She heard his breathing become a bit more ragged.
Moving around in front of him, she started to soap his shoulders, then his chest, slowly making her way down to the part of him he was protecting. He reluctantly moved his hands aside as she started to soap his lower stomach.
His cock was standing straight up against his abdomen. It wasn't the largest cock, just over 5 inches, but it was incredibly hard. She massaged it with her soapy hand, making sure to pull back the foreskin and clean every part of it. She reached between his legs and cupped his hanging balls, rolling them against eachother in their hair roughened sack.
The young man closed his eyes as she massaged him. Through the soap she could see precum leaking from his dick. He reached down to jerk it and find some relief, but she gently but determinedly pushed his hand back down to his side.
She generously spread soap on her breasts and moved in between his spread legs. She leaned down and wrapped his cock between her breasts. He moaned as she encircled him with her flesh, moving up and down so that just the tip would emerge from between their silky embrace. When his stiff flesh was close enough, she licked it, toying with him before moving and having it disappear in her cleavage again.
He started to move his hips and thrust his erection up and down her soapy flesh. He gripped her shoulders and pulled her closer as he thrust faster. With little warning, he started to shoot sticky ropes of his cum across her chest. She kept fucking him with her breasts until the last shudder left his body. Her breasts were covered in the sheen of his milky cum and he massaged it into her flesh.
Sophie used the hand-held shower to wash him clean of the soap and cum before turning it on herself. Despite not actually having sex with him, she was very wet between her legs. She was beginning to like this job already.
Her first client made his way out of her room, bowing and cheerful. He promised he would come back, and judging by the satisfied smile he had, he would be back soon.
Sophie cleaned up and changed to get ready for her next client. Unlike the young man, her next client had booked a full service with her. She would be busy with him for the rest of the night. She didn't know much about him except that he held a high position in one of the most powerful companies in Japan. He was also likely much older than her.
A knock came at the door and when Sophie opened it, she found herself face to face with an attractive man in his early 50s. His black hair had streaks of grey in it and he was at least 6 inches taller than her. As he walked past her she could feel her body's primal reaction to him and a shiver went down her spine.
"Hi. I'm Sophie."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Ryu. I hear you're new here. It's the first time they're had a foreigner here." He sat down on a chair and she knelt in front of him.
"Tonight is my first night here."
"And how are you liking it?" Ryu's dark eyes met her blue ones.
"It's exciting." She decided to be honest. "I get to experience all of my desires with no consequences."
"And what desires would those be?" He leaned towards her.
"Well..." Sophie trailed a finger up his calf and rested her hand on his knee. "I've always been attracted to older men." She locked eyes with him.
He smiled, "Like me?" She nodded. "How old are you?"
"21."
With a rueful laugh, Ryu shook his head. "I am much older than you." He leaned back in the chair and she trailed her fingers from his knee up his thigh. She moved them across her groin until she found his shaft stirring beneath her warm hand. Finding the outline of his cock she began to trace it through his expensive silk trousers, stroking him from base to tip.
Ryu shrugged out of his suit jacket and lay back in the chair, relaxing under her touch. As his erection grew, she could see he was hiding a pretty good package under that expensive suit. Deep inside her, between her legs, she felt her body starting to react.
When she stopped massaging him, he opened his eyes and watched her. She pulled on the knotted belt of her robe. The patterned silk slipped off her shoulders and revealed her red bra and panties. The bra lifted her C cup breasts high and her cleavage was inviting. The cleverly designed bra even had slits in the lace that allowed her nipples to peak through at him. Her panties were a tiny piece of fabric, just enough to cover her small blond triangle of hair before disappearing as a thread between her legs.
His eyes grew wide and flooded with desire as he took in her outfit. "Red is my favorite color." He reached out and cupped her breast in his palm. "They're natural!" He was surprised. In a land of A cups, anything larger was almost certainly attained with a surgeon's help.
"Every part of me is natural," she responded with a wink. He looked at her long blond hair then his gaze dropped to her skimpy red underwear. He raised an eyebrow in question and she nodded.
Ryu got a little more eager to get unclothed after her revelation and began unbuttoning his shirt. She helped him slip it off and then unbuckled his belt. Sliding his pants off his hips, he was left only in his black underwear. He stood up and pulled her against him.
"I think you're a little overdressed." He ran a finger along her bra strap.
She pulled held his hand and brought him to a blow up mattress on the floor. He removed his underwear and lay down on his stomach. He propped his head up so he could watch her undress. Sophie slowly removed her bra and slipped her red lace panties off her generous hips. Ryu's eyes widened when he saw the small blond patch of pubic hair, it was clear he had never seen a natural blond pussy in real life before.
Sophie prepared the bowl of massage oil. She spread the warm liquid on his back, legs and arms before she applied is all down her front. Climbing on top of him, she lay down on his back. Sliding up and down his back using the oil as a lubricant, she used her body to massage every inch of him.
Her breasts and pussy became her best tools. Sophie straddled each of his legs and slid up and down, her snatch rubbing the oil into his skin. He groaned as he felt he move on top of him.
He turned onto his back, his front ready to receive the same treatment. Laying on his back, he revealed a full and hard erection. It proudly stood saluting her, curving towards his belly. 7 inches of hot cock with a large mushroom shaped head was waiting for her attention.
She covered him with more oil, using her hands to spread it before straddling his legs again. As she slid up and down him, his cock trembled. He was resisting the urge to touch her, but his member gave his desire away. Precum dripped from the tip and collected in a small pool on his stomach. Watching him producing precum for her turned her on, and her pussy was drenched with more than just massage oil.
Moving further up his body, she straddled his hips. Rather than slipping his rock hard cock inside her, something she was aching to do, she tucked it between her legs. She slid his cock along her slit, every time his mushroom head got to her clit, it snagged on her hard nub and a shiver went through her body. She was as turned on as him.
Ryu couldn't hold off any more, he started running his hands up and down her body. He massaged her perky breasts and slid his fingers through the small blond triangle of hair between her legs. She humped his cock faster and she felt his long fingers find her clit and circle it over and over. He grabbed his cock and positioned it so that on her next backward stroke she impaled herself on it.
Sophie felt the thick head force its way into her pink pussy. The oil and her own juice making its entry into her easier, she still struggled as her tiny hole had to stretch around his swollen head. She could feel it as it tunnelled inside of her, molding her young flesh around itself. She had never felt that full before. With Ryu pushing his hips up into her, she soon had accepted all of his 7 inches inside her. He pulled her hips down onto his and she settled down with her bottom resting on his balls.
Their slick flesh moved against eachother as she ground her hips down on his over and over. Her young white pussy was stuffed with this old Japanese man's cock. He was holding her breasts and pulling at her nipples as he thrust into her tight canal. She saw the glint of a wedding ring on his finger. The thought of having a married man's cock inside her brought her to the brink. It added a forbidden element to their already illicit encounter.
Ryu leveraged his body and managed to flip her on the mattress. Beneath him, her legs open, he settled between them. She felt him line himself up with her swollen pussy and push inside her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer. The oil on their skin amplified the slapping of their flesh and the sound echoed through the room, mingling with her moans.
Sophie was driven over the edge and her pussy clamped down on Ryu's hard shaft. She could feel exactly where he was inside of her. Her body spasmed around him and brought him to orgasm too. Pushing deep inside her, he began to pump her full of his seed.
Feeling his cum fill her, Sophie remembered she was supposed to make clients wear a condom. It was too late now, she reasoned in her pleasure addled state, besides, raw always felt better. She loved the feeling of his liquid warmth filling her, and when she had accepted all the cum she could, she felt it begin to slide out of her and down to the mattress.
Sophie hugged Ryu as he lay collapsed on top of her, his cock still sending shots of semen into her. For some reason Sophie didn't think a 50 year old man would have so much sperm built up, but Ryu just kept flooding her. When his balls finally stopped jerking against her, he rolled over to the side. Breathing heavily, a grin spread over his face.
Sophie quietly got up and began to prepare a bath as Ryu recuperated on the mattress. She didn't want him to strain himself, they had all night together, there was no need for him to rush. When the bath was filled with warm perfumed water, she helped him stand and make his way across the room.
He slipped into the warm water with a sigh. He cock was limp now and retracted against his body. It's pale head barely peaking out from the thick thatch of wiry black hair. He settled back in the tub and motioned for her to join him.
Slowly, Sophie lowered herself into the tub, kneeling between his open legs. The water felt deliciously warm and soothing. Ryu watched her as her body disappeared below the water line. When her groin slipped under the water, he could see a cloud of his milky seed appear between her legs. His cum kept leaking out of her at an amazing rate. He had pumped a lot into her, but there would be more to replace what was being lost.
Sophie soaped Ryu's chest and back, slowly removing all the oil from his skin. She could see his regaining his excitement as she rubbed him, her hands sliding under the water to clean his abdomen. His organ began to wake up and stretch, reaching for her touch as it swelled. It didn't take long before its head rose above the water and demanded her attention.
She covered her hand in soap before reaching for him. Her hand closed around him and stroked up and down, his hips unconsciously rising and falling, sliding his hardening shaft through her fingers. He slid his own fingers between her legs and felt his way inside her slippery pussy. She felt them hook into her and expertly find her G spot. Her head fell back as pleasure coursed through her, this is why older men are better lovers, she thought.
Ryu stood up in the tub, his cock pointing straight away from his body, trembling with each step he took towards the bed, She lay on her back and opened her legs submissively for him, her wet pussy on full display. His fingers found her clit and massaged it before his head ducked down to give it a quick kiss.
He shifted so he was kneeling between her legs and held his cock in one hand. He used the swollen tip to slap her clit a few times, making her to jump in pleasure. Anticipating his penetration, juices began flooding out of her hole. Lining his swollen mushroom head up with her, he pushed at her puffy pussy lips until they allowed him inside.
Sophie moaned as she felt his head tunnel inside her. She could feel her tunnel expanding around him as he pushed deeper into her belly. She felt him reach all the way inside her, claiming her pussy. He started moving in and out, massaging her insides. She was so tight she could feel the veins on his shaft as he slid inside her.
She kissed him passionately, lost in lust for him. Her hips moved up to meet his, grinding her pelvis against him and not stopping until his balls were resting against her backside. Having cum once already, he was not going to cum as quickly this time. He seemed to be savouring being inside her, soaking in her juice. He was mesmerized by watching his cock split her delicate pink folds and her body swallowing him up.
Sophie surrendered to the orgasm that Ryu coaxed out of her body. Even while her body was trembling beneath him, he kept thrusting into her pussy, She could feel herself clenching around him even as he pulled in and out. His thrusts became more frenzied and his grip on her hips tightened. With a final push he pushed until his tip hit her cervix and it was there that she felt the first blast of his semen.
He released shot after shot inside of her pussy which seemed to eat it up, it disappeared deep inside her. When he was just about out of sperm to release inside her, he pulled out and rubbed his bulbous head against her blond curls, coating her pubic hair in his semen.
"I don't need to ask if you enjoyed that." He puffed, his face still reddened with exertion. He rolled beside her on the bed, relaxed. His cock slowly deflating and resting against his inner thigh, she could see it covered with their mixed cum. She scooted down so she could clean it with her mouth, licking the entire shaft clean and paying particular attention to the head that brought her so much pleasure.
Ryu was silent for a moment. "Do you really enjoy working here? Having men fucking you every day?"
Sophie thought about it. "This is my first experience. If every day was like this, I would never want to leave." She continued to suckle his cock.
"You must have started working here for a reason. What do you need the money for?"
"I needed money for a ticket home. When I make enough, I'll have to decide if I stay or if I go back to the States." Sophie lay beside him and he put his arm around her, hugging her naked body against his.
"Dear, I don't think you know how exclusive this establishment is. With what I've paid tonight you can more than buy your ticket home. You have to make a decision to stay or leave right now."
With his revelation, Sophie looked at him. Did she want to stay here? To offer 'massages' for men? Sure, she enjoyed having sex with them, but would she always enjoy it?
She looked down, suddenly shy. "If it is with you, I will stay."
He ran his hands through her hair, playing with the ends. "I take a red eye from Kyoto twice a week. Rather than getting a hotel, I could stay here with you." He lifted her chin so he could look in her eyes. "Would that make you happy?"
She nodded. The thought of endless nights of pleasure with Ryu made her aroused.
"You don't mind that I'm older than you? That I'm married?"
"I like older men, and if your wife doesn't know, she's not going to be hurt."
"We were married by arrangement, basically a joining of companies. We had a few kids to ensure someone would take over the business, but we rarely have anything to do with eachother. I'm free to spend my time as I wish...and right now, I want to spend it with you."
Ryu and Sophie slept for a few hours, he held her against him, occasionally cupping her breast in his sleep, or running his hand down between her legs. Hours later she still felt his sticky cum on her thighs and once in a while feel a great glob of it work its way out of her well fucked pussy.
Just before dawn she awoke, knowing Ryu would have to wake up soon. She pulled back the covers and noticed that he had an erection. Careful to not wake him up, she began to suck his cock, easily bringing it to full attention. He woke up just as she sat down on his cock, his first feeling this morning was of being enveloped in her tight wet pussy.
Within a minute he was pouring his cum into her, he didn't even have a chance to delay his pleasure. He surrendered himself to her and felt her warmth milking out his last bit of seed.
"That was the best wake up I've had in a long time."
Sophie smiled a devilish smile, "I didn't want to waste that wonderful morning hard-on you had."
"I have to get to the office soon. Is it alright if I book another appointment with you before I leave?"
"I would love that."
"I might even tell a few of my colleagues about you. You'd like them. They're a bit reserved, but I know you would liven them up. They could offer you company when I'm not here. A few more middle aged Japanese men to fill you up with their married cocks and sperm."
Sophie's body involuntarily shivered at the thought of having sex with more men. She was definitely staying at the soapland until she no longer wanted to have sex...and that seemed a long way away.
*****
|
The sun had set by the time they reached the inn. They had managed to slip onto the plateau of the viewing platform easily enough and from there they caught the last cable car down of the day, trudging wearily to the inn, knowing they would have to eat at some point but for now they just wanted to rest.
Marinette began shrugging out of her clothes the moment the door was closed, pausing only to get the kwami’s something to eat from the fridge, and Adrien watched her deliberate movements as he removed the backpack. She was in pain, he could see that, but he wasn’t sure which injury it might be from, or if it was both. He went to her as she tried to pull her t-shirt off, catching her wrists and holding them above her head before raising it himself carefully. She gave a small groan as it brushed over her skin before a shuddering tremble ran through her. He dropped the t-shirt on the bed and glanced her over, seeing a purple bruise covering her front right shoulder where the dragon had hit her and he carefully turned her by her shoulders so he could check her back. Bruising marked the exit wound and from it in a diagonal line across to her opposite ribs laid a scorch mark, blackened skin with blistered edges where the beam had struck her under the temple.
‘It’s not pretty.’ He remarked before unhooking her bra oh so carefully so as not to cause her any more pain but the skin had part stuck to it and he had to coax it off so as not to do any more damage. She closed her eyes against the tears of pain that welled up in her eyes and sucked in a breath as he did so before slipping the bra from her arms and moving onto her jeans. ‘It’s not like a regular burn though.’
‘It was magical.’ She said, her voice low.
‘This is weird though.’ His fingers played lightly over the bruising. ‘It’s like a normal bruise but then it spiderwebs outwards, almost like veins.’
She looked down at herself for confirmation and saw he was exactly right. Purple spanned out from the dark centre almost like lightning, trailing across her chest and arm. ‘It doesn’t really hurt. Just a dull ache.’ She touched it hesitantly and found it was no worse than the bruises she got from banging herself around all the time.
‘Just…don’t do that again, like, ever.’ He said as she shimmied out of her jeans and underwear as one.
‘What?’ She glanced at him over her shoulder.
‘Don’t put me before you.’
She rolled her eyes and grabbed a towel from the shelves behind her, wrapping it around her body before taking another for her hair. ‘Why not? You’ve done it for me countless times.’
‘That’s different.’ He argued.
‘It’s really not.’ She shook her head as she walked towards the bathroom.
‘It’s very different!’ He caught her arm and she turned back to him, looking at him in surprise. ‘I’m dispensable, you’re not!’
‘No.’ She said firmly, anger bubbling in her that he would devalue his own worth like that. ‘There are no akumas to purify, there is nothing for only me to put right, just a partnership between us where everything is equal!’
‘It’s not equal! The world needs Ladybug!’ He snapped as glared at her.
‘And it needs Chat Noir!’ She yelled as she wrenched her hand from his grip. ‘I died a little every time you took a hit for me, every time I had to fight you, every damn time I felt like I lost you, and I won’t risk losing you, not even once! Don’t you ever think you’re not worth as much as me! You’re worth that and so much more, you just need to get it through your thick skull that I need you as much as you need me and no stupid century year old spell is going to stop me protecting you!’ She spun and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her while Adrien quietly seethed.
Marinette turned on the water to heat before throwing her towels onto the rail on the wall and going to the mirror to look at her reflection. Her shoulder really was an ugly mess and definitely looked worse than it felt. Maybe it would hurt tomorrow but for now she was more concerned with the fact that Adrien still didn’t see them as equals. She hated him getting hurt, she always had, even before she knew who he was behind the mask, and he had no right to take the same choice from her, to protect the man she loved.
She wrenched her hair out of its pigtails and threw the bands on the sink before checking the water with her hand. It didn’t feel too bad and was warming up nicely but as she stepped into the stream it hit her skin and a sharp pain ran through her back, making her gasp. She persevered, the water gradually taking the pain away and leaving only a dull roar in its place, the flow soothing her in spite of it. She closed her eyes and tilted back her head, soaking her hair through as she sighed, hoping the water would wash away more than just the dirt of the day.
‘Do you know what I’d do if I lost you?’ Adrien’s voice made her jump so hard she threw her shampoo bottle at him with a squeal, but he caught it easily.
‘Jesus, Adrien, you scared me!’ She scowled at him as she took in the fact he had completely stripped before following her. She couldn’t help but swallow, her eyes fighting to maintain contact with his, but she was still mad and now her heart was racing to add to it.
‘Did you hear me?’ He asked as he passed her the bottle, his face serious.
‘No, I was too busy trying to work out what to kill the intruder with!’
‘I asked if you knew what I’d do if I lost you.’
‘Not now.’ She turned her back on him but he stepped up behind her and took the shampoo bottle from her hand, putting it on the shelf.
‘Do you know what I’d do?’ He murmured as his hands touched her shoulders in the faintest of touches. ‘Because I don’t. I can’t imagine trying to live without you.’
She closed her eyes and listened to the angst in his voice, the pain he was feeling, and while she felt bad for making him feel this way she wouldn’t let this go easily. ‘I couldn’t let you get hurt.’
‘I’ve protected you for years.’ He bowed his head and pressed his lips to her hair. ‘You don’t know…’
‘No.’ She said firmly and turned, poking at his chest. ‘Neither of us want anything to happen to the other, I get that! But you’re asking me not to protect you! You don’t know what you’d do without me? I know exactly what I’d do without you! I’d go to pieces! I’d have a half life which is worse than no life at all! I’d have to live without you beside me when that’s all I’ve wanted since the day I met you, so don’t tell me I don’t know!’ She shoved him back against the tiled wall and pulled his lips down to hers, kissing him fiercely with all the anger she felt, with all the pain she had, with all the fear she had carried every time he had taken a shot for her, every time he had been affected by an akuma. She kissed him so hard he could feel her teeth and just moments later she nipped at his lip none too gently and he opened his mouth to her, her tongue plunging into its warm depths as she continued to control the kiss.
**********************************
Adrien’s hands curved over her hips to pull her against him, his body suddenly on high alert at the slickness of her skin sliding against his. The kiss was angry and hot and he soon had to break it to come up for air, it was that or pass out, but her lips simply blazed a trail down his jawline and to his throat, biting, nipping, and sucking as she went. He was a groaning mess by the time she reached his collarbone, her nails trailing down his chest with just enough pressure to make him twitch. He bent his knees and scooped her up, tucking her legs around his torso he took two steps to the opposite wall as his lips again met hers, pressing her into the tiles, but she jerked away with a gasp of pain.
‘Ow.’ She said indignantly, still giving him an angry look.
‘Sorry.’ He brushed her lips with his and he saw her get a wicked look in her eyes.
‘Prove it.’
It was a challenge, he knew it was, and it was all he could do not to slam into her there and then, but he couldn’t ignore the pain she was in. He moved his arm as he drew her away from the wall, angling it up her back diagonally in the opposite direction of the burn, his fingers hooking over her shoulder to hold her still. ‘Better?’
‘If you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to finish this by myself.’ She threatened.
‘Fuck.’ He groaned at the thought as he settled at her entrance, nudging cautiously as she had had no preparation and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her more.
He was going too slow for her, she needed hard, she needed him and she needed him now. She rocked her hips into his as he moved his own towards her, meaning he went deeper than he meant to and he stilled. The moan that came from Marinette vibrated through her chest and into his, making him realise how much she was enjoying herself despite the rate at which things were progressing.
She wove her fingers into his hair and pulled hard enough to make him gasp. ‘Move, matou.’ She commanded and he wasn’t going to deny her.
‘Anything for you, my lady.’ He breathed before leaning in to kiss her as he drew out of her, only to thrust back inside again an instant later, his pace slow and measured, hitting her hard and deep as his hands clenched her flesh. The wall against his arm gave him some purchase as her hips joined his in their rhythm.
They ate at one another’s mouths hungrily as the pace continued to grow more frantic and Marinette brought one of her hands from his hair to touch herself and give the friction she was missing. ‘Harder.’ She growled into his mouth and he was only too happy to oblige, the thought of what her fingers were doing to herself bringing him closer to his release.
A slow burn started deep within Marinette, caused by both her fingers and his body striking hers in just the right place. Their foreheads pressed together as their breathing became as erratic as their pace and Adrien opened his eyes to find Marinette staring at him as though she was waiting for his to meet hers, and the intensity in her gaze finished him off. He drove himself into her as his hips stuttered at his release, her fingers trapped between them but the motion his body gave pushed her to her own edge. Her head fell back as she gave a throaty moan, her fingers clenching in his hair as they rode out their orgasms together.
After moments of joint bliss their individual throes of ecstasy began to subside and Adrien carefully raised her enough that he could slip free and she released her legs so he could lower her to the floor. Their bodies were trembling with both adrenaline and exertion, and Adrien leant heavily on the wall either side of her as her head came to rest on his chest.
‘I think we have to agree to disagree on this one, mon chevalier.’ She said quietly before turning her face up to his. ‘Neither of us want to lose the other but we will always put each other first. The best thing we can do is try and work together and hope we’re not put in this situation too often.’
‘I guess it’s all we can do.’ He agreed as he pushed the hair back from her face. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
She shook her head. ‘No more than I was already.’
‘Good. Let’s clean up and get some dinner?’ He suggested.
‘I’d like that.’ She offered him a small smile, knowing that everything would be okay, that the worry came with their love, and she wouldn’t trade that for anything.
|
“The open house is tomorrow,” Jason said, walking backwards towards the house, facing his brothers. “So please do not break anything.”
Tim giggled, as Damian said, “He’s means you two.” Tim elbowed him, and Damian scowled at him- in that playful sort of almost loving way he always did, to the family. Jason excused it, chalked it up to him still being a teenager.
Jason turned again, unlocked the front door and stepped in, turning the light on. He stepped aside, let his brothers in, before he closed the door again.
“Wow, this looks nothing like the original pictures you showed us,” Tim said, walking into the living room. Dick followed, smiling as he looked over the subtle changes, finishing touches, made since his last visit.
“Looks even better than last time, Jay,” Dick said. Damian hummed, moving past them and into the kitchen, running his fingers along the counter top of the island.
“It is actually quite nice,” he admitted, “You could have chosen some art to liven up the walls a bit.”
“Well, maybe if you want to help with the next house, that’ll happen.” Jason was smiling though- he couldn’t deny it felt good to have his brothers think he’d done a good job.
“Next house, huh?” Tim asked, moving into the kitchen too. “So you’re doing this again?”
“Well, as long as this sells fairly quickly and Bruce doesn’t decide to be a dick and tell me no and freeze my accounts.” Jason shoved his hands in his pockets. “It was fun. Stressful, but fun.”
“I think you’ve got a knack for it,” Dick said, tossing his arm around Jason’s shoulders. “Now, c’mon, we wanna see the whole house.”
Once the walk through was complete, came the ever fun discussion of where they all wanted to go for dinner. It wasn’t often they were all together like this, and Jason had to stand in the yard, sighing as Damian fought for, of course, his favorite vegetarian restaurant, and Tim glared at him and told him their cocktails were too bland and he wouldn’t sit through dinner with a bad cocktail.
Dick, of course, just wanted to go find a diner where he could eat a burger most likely the size of his face.
Jason sighed, glanced at the road- and recognized a very familiar red truck as it pulled up to the house. He felt a smile creeping up on his face as the doors opened, and he saw Roy stepped out of the driver side-
And a moment later, Lian hopping out of her side, catching sight of him and screaming Jayjay! She ran full force at him, and Jason bent down, caught her when she reached him and hoisted her up to rest against his waist and chest, grinning as she hugged him tightly.
“Well hello princess,” he said, “What are you doing here?”
“Daddy said I could see the house!”
“Did he now?” Jason glanced up, caught Roy shutting Lian’s door, before walking over. “Are you taking her on a tour?”
“She wanted to see the pretty house before someone buys it,” he admitted. “I hope we’re not interrupting?”
“Oh, we were just,” Jason turned back to his brothers- and found three sets of eyes staring at him. “Uh, leaving.” Jason licked his lips, glanced back at Roy. “Roy, these are my brothers,” he began gesturing with his free hand, his other arm still curled around a content Lian. “Damian, my youngest brother. Tim- you almost met before. And you know Dick. Guys, this is Roy.”
Tim flashed a smile, the kind that lit up his lined eyes. “So you’re the one who whisked Jason away the other night.” He stepped closer, extended his hand, and Roy shook it. “I hope he behaved.” Roy chuckled, glanced over at Dick, who gave him a wave-
Damian seemed too busy brushing the longer bits of his undercut from his face to be bothered. Again, as far as Jason was concerned, moody teenage phase. Coming to an end, soon.
Lian squirmed, and Jason chuckled then. “Oh! And most importantly, this little princess is Lian.” Lian smiled, waved at the group, and got a resounding number of waves back. Damian at least curled his fingers towards her.
Jason set her down, and she moved away from him and Roy, around Tim- and right towards Damian, looking up at him with her big dark eyes.
“Are you happy with the house?” Roy asked, glancing at Jason, then at his brothers. Dick and Tim gave nods while Jason grinned.
“Honestly, you’ve blown me away. You did so much.”
“Just what you planned,” Roy said. “You’re the genius here.”
Jason’s cheeks tinged a little, and Dick and Tim exchanged glances, before Tim stepped closer. “We were trying to figure out where to go to dinner,” he said, “maybe you’d like to come with us?”
Jason glanced at Tim, and Roy shoved his hands into the pockets of his well worn jeans. “Uh, that’s… really nice of you. But I don’t think my munchkin would like anything you’d want to eat.” He smiled, before glancing around the group, and suddenly exclaiming, “Lian!”
Jason turned, found Lian clinging happily to Damian’s leg, babbling up at him. His youngest brother looked completely lost and a little distressed- and honestly, Jason found it quite funny.
“Daddy I’m talking,” Lian said, not even looking at her father. Roy huffed, moving towards her and scooping her up.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Damian, who only nodded, as Roy carried Lian away. Jason excused himself, following Roy towards the house, as Roy pulled his copy of the key from his pocket, unlocking the door-
And then turning, pressing it into Jason’s palm.
“I guess this is good timing,” Roy said, “I had to give you that back anyway. Lian and I will be quick, and I’ll lock up after.”
Jason nodded, and Roy extended his hand.
“You really do have a knack for this,” he said, as Jason shook his hand- and it felt strange, considering the fact that not a few nights ago, Jason had had his arm around Roy at all hours of the night, hugging him. “If you ever do it again, I’d love to get to be a part of it.”
Jason nodded, licked his lips. “Maybe I can call you sometime,” he offered, “You know… just…” he trailed off, and Roy smiled- lazy and charming and sweet and in that perfect way that had Jason’s stomach knotting up.
“Maybe we can have a repeat of the other night,” Roy offered. “I’d like that. Now,” he turned to Lian, who seemed distracted by the ornate door. “Lian sweetie, say bye to Jason.”
“Bye Jayjay!” she said, turning back quickly. She leaned over, and Jason gave her a hug.
“You be good,” he said, and Lian grinned. Jason gave Roy another nod, and then, “So, I’ll call you?”
“Please do.” Jason swallowed thickly, made himself turn away from them and head back towards his brothers- before he made a fool of himself, before he asked for more.
*
“Okay, okay, so,” Tim started, looking blatantly at Jason next to him, “You mean to tell me this guy picked you up at fucking midnight from the damn charity event because he knew you were bored, you took him to dinner, he’s basically been your partner in this whole renovation thing since we all suck majorly- and you haven’t freaking kissed him yet?”
Jason sucked at his straw, whatever fruity thing Tim had ordered him shockingly good, and he didn’t want to think about the alcohol content. Because he couldn’t taste it- and that was always dangerous.
“I was wondering where you disappeared to the other night,” Dick said, grinning. “What, did he whisk you away into the night?”
Damian huffed, rolling his eyes and reaching over, taking Tim’s drink from right in front of him and taking a sip. “You are all the worst, you know. Todd disappears, Grayson gets to go home with that husband of his- and Drake is too drunk and sore from marathon sex to relieve me of the horrid duty of breakfast with father and his company.”
Tim grinned, and Jason choked on his drink, having to push it away, while Dick laughed.
“It was bad then?”
“Dreadful,” Damian said, taking another sip before Tim stole his drink back.
“Careful sweetheart, let’s save the underage drinking for dad’s parties, and not dinner.” Damian rolled his eyes, and Tim and Dick turned back to Jason.
“You’re crazy,” Dick added, “And you need to make a move before it’s too late.”
“We’re just friends,” Jason said, even as he flipped his phone over to glance at it- making sure Roy hadn’t texted him. And then- because he too easily blurted out things in the company of his brothers- “His kid drew us all together.”
“No freaking way,” Dick said, and Jason unlocked his phone, opening the image and passing it to Dick. The phone traveled around the table, until Tim was passing it back-
And this time, Damian was speaking up. “I cannot believe I am agreeing with Grayson and Drake,” he said, “But you are an idiot Todd. Besides, he was blatantly attracted to you.”
“You don’t know that,” Jason said, taking his phone back- and yes, giving it another glance.
“He stared at you. And his… child is obviously quite fond of you. Is that not a huge part of the whole courtship thing?” Damian waved his hand. “Just do something so we do not have to hear you complain about it.”
Jason opened his mouth to say something- but promptly closed it, when dinner arrived. He shoved his phone into his pocket, and told himself he wouldn’t look at it, that he’d find some other topic of discussion for the rest of dinner.
That he didn’t have to think of Roy every damned second.
*
“Lian, honey, are you picking up your room?” Roy called it from the bottom of the steps. “It’s almost bedtime,” he added, and got a shouted,
“I know daddy!”
He shook his head, smiling to himself, before he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He fished it out, unlocking it and answering, “Hello?”
“Uh, hey. Hi.” Roy’s smile grew at the familiar voice.
“Well hello yourself, Jason.” He leaned against the wall, by the foot of the steps. “What’re you doing, calling me? Shouldn’t you be selling a house?”
Jason chuckled- and it was almost nervous. “I’ve got someone doing that and you know it.” Roy smiled, this kind that was too big, too real, made his chest felt tight. “Listen, I want to see you.”
And tightness turned to sheer fluttering butterflies.
“Yeah?” Roy asked, his free hand tugging at the hem of his tshirt, beginning to twist it.
“Yeah. Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe you’d like to come over? You did say you’d come up another time.”
Roy nodded. “Yeah. Or-” he paused, licked his lips. “Maybe you wanna get out of the city for a bit? My place is a half hour out, and trust me, it’s a different world out here.” After a moment, he added, “Jade’s taking Lian tomorrow- why don’t you come over whenever your day is done?”
Jason paused- but when he spoke, Roy swore he could hear the smile in his voice, could picture it on his handsome face. “If you’re sure. I promises to sit in on a meeting to help translate, but maybe after?”
“Just shoot me a text, I’ll make sure the place isn’t in disarray. I’ll text you my address.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. G’night, Jason.”
“Goodnight.”
Roy ended the call, shoved his phone into his pocket, before he bounded up the stairs. He was grinning when he reached Lian’s room, found her putting away the last of her coloring books.
“Everything all tucked away?” Roy asked, and Lian nodded. “Hmmm, I think something isn’t yet.” He reached down, scooped her up, and carried her, giggling, to her bed. “Looks like my pumpkin is still out.”
“Daaaaddyyyyy,” she whined, and Roy laughed as he settled her in her bed.
“I know, I know, you’re not a pumpkin.” He tugged her blanket up. “You ready to spend a whole weekend with mommy?” Lian nodded excitedly. “Good. I’m going to miss you.”
“You’ll call me and say goodnight every night, right?”
“Of course,” Roy said, tussling her hair. He reached for the book he had accidentally left on her nightstand the night before. “Ready for a bedtime story?”
Lian sat back up, reaching for the book and closing it, shaking her head. “Not from this,” she said, before she reached out, got her little hands on Roy’s arm. Her fingers pushed at the marks that raced along his inner forearm, hidden from quick glances by tattoos-
But, despite being young, Lian’s glances were never quick.
“Tell me the one about the boy,” she started, “and the map and the treasure at the end.”
Roy glanced down, felt an aching hollowness in his ribs at the mere sight of his track marks, of the old needle scars he worked so hard to hide. But when you had a curious four-year-old, it was impossible to keep secrets for long.
“You’ve heard that one a lot,” Roy said, reaching over to rub his arm when Lian let go. “And we’re almost done with this book.” Lian shook her head though, and Roy sighed, setting the book aside. “Alright, alright. The one about the boy who got lost inside his own head.”
And despite the silly images Roy pulled in, despite the fact that he was talking in flowery images of a boy lost in his head who let bad things put a map into his arm, it wasn’t all a lie. That boy who looked at it like he could see the world in the map- and in the end, had to burn it, to find the treasure waiting at the other end-
That boy was too close to home. But there was no other way to explain to his daughter about the shame he harbored over who he had been, once.
And there was no way for him to speak of it to the world, when Roy knew no one understood- when he was sure that no one would be interested in really getting to know the current him, and not just his past mistakes. |
(I'm asleep.)
(But I can hear something.)
(It's...Komaru. Her heartbeat.)
(It's not me that's listening, but I can still hear it.)
(I've never been so lucid before...what is she planning to do with Komaru?)
(I can only think of one other time I've felt awake like this, and it was Komaru's words that had reached me then, too.)
(I know she's here. I can hear her heartbeat making my bones rumble, mine syncing with hers.)
(Following her lead comes so naturally-my body follows her pace without question. I don't have to choose, and it's not because I can't.)
(But maybe, with Komaru...even that would be fine.)
(Is Komaru stealing me away from somewhere?)
(Is that why I'm awake?)
(Am I supposed to fight?)
(Do I even want to?)
(I can hear voices, like my head is deep underwater.)
"---, go inside?"
"---, we're disgusting! --- need to ---"
(Back and forth. Like a dewdrop down the veins of a heavy leaf overlooking still water, her voice fills me slowly, beading at its zenith and falling, rippling through me like the waves made at the point of contact, a bright and clear sound-)
"A...A bath? Together?"
(My heart is crashing against my sternum painfully as Syo's excitement courses through me and bleeds into mine. My body is warm where I'm touching Komaru, where she is touching Komaru.)
(For a moment I see Komaru's face, looking back over her shoulder. We're standing in front of the hotel, so why are my arms still around her, why am I pulling her so damn close-?)
(-because I don't want to let go-)
(-Her lips move-)
(-I want to kiss them-)
"I...I don't mind."
(I'm sinking deeper.)
(She can't see me. Please, god, someone-don't let her see what you've done, what I've done-)
(I can see her eyes watching as my fingers tread the fabric covering my hideous scars, fabric stained with dried food and soiled by sweat, the last and only line of defense.)
(Could she look upon me without being repulsed? My fingers are shaking. She can't see under my clothes because-)
(-she wouldn't have me if she knew-)
(-a coward's wounds and tallies of blood spilled for my countless humiliations would stay forever in her mind as a story I'd never written, had never wanted to share but upon pages, not upon my skin, where every truth was etched and could not be dressed in paper and made beautiful.)
(But part of me wants to know.)
(If all of me were to feel the cold air against my skin, and know I'm out of time with nowhere to hide...)
(...Would Komaru keep me safe?)
(Would she touch my scars, with her hands, and then her lips?)
(Each and every one of them-would she pour her love into the cracks, not to make me whole, but to heal where heartache had eroded them?)
(I want to know so badly. I can't stand being caught between her and Master, suspended in the interim like I'm almost drowned an inch below the air. Wasn't Master the entire sea to me, all-encompassing and capable of suffocating the parts of me that I hated, molding even my sorry existence into something acceptable?)
(If he's the sea, then Komaru is the air but an inch from my lips, that I'm watching with envy from below the surface like it's glass instead of water.)
(I want to take a breath. I've been holding it my whole life, but-)
(When I do, when my lungs fill with what's beyond this water that's dark, that in spite of it being so has become something I could at least rely upon to be painful-)
(If I take the hand that Komaru has extended to me, if it bears her love as well as her friendship, when everything of mine is here in the dark, it'll be the end.)
(It'd be the same as saying that it'd truly been completely absent in my life. That it's true, that I'd never been offered that hand, the warmth of that kindness ever before. But that's nothing new, that I had no one. The only thing that's changed is Komaru. From a girl to a crybaby to a friend, and-)
(---...)
(I can't. I can't change her into something different again. She's my first and only friend and much too precious to lose if I mess it up.)
(But when I think of sharing breath with her, and surfacing from-)
(-No-)
(I shouldn't even be thinking this far. I can't idealize her into a fantasy. Not when she's always been so painfully real.)
(I'd use her. I'd hurt her. Worst of all, I'd do it slowly, day by day, without even knowing. At least with Master, I couldn't possibly-)
(-matter?)
(-hurt him in the least.)
(I hear something.)
(Can I stop screaming long enough to listen?)
(Komaru's breathing so hard that I can't think of anything else.)
(Her back is against the wall, hands in mine, fingers entwined.)
(I want my body on hers.)
(To kiss those lips.)
"Come here, Dekomaru, let's have some of that sweet, sweet sugar-!"
(Her throat is bare and the rise of her chest stutters as it meets the resistance mine provides.)
(I want to breathe like that with her, straight out of her lungs, barely breathing at all, lost together like that.)
(Komaru's pulse jumps under my teeth, and the weight of her body sags down the wall, hands immobilized above her with mine. Her knees almost give completely.)
(Did I hurt her? Is she scared-)
(I search her expression and find silence, while her dizzied eyes alone find light, pupils blown. A plum-colored bruise blooms and ripens on her neck. Her scent is tamped into my lips.)
(Her taste soaks my synapses, weights my tongue. I lick my lips, tasting perspiration-)
(Copper.)
(I taste copper.)
(It's very faint, but I know it immediately.)
(My heart pounds so hard that my ribs embed patterns into it. Her image before me flickers fuzzily, like the focus of a camera's lens, until-)
"...Touko?"
"H-Hh...uh...?"
Like a blow to the chest, I inhale, stunned, and look around wildly.
"Wh-Where are we, Komaru...?" The details that had been so peripheral before are rushing my senses. I can hear running water, like a fountain, or a shower, splattering on stone. There are rows of empty cubbies along one wall and another row containing a few pairs of slippers. I stare absently at her mouth as she explains.
"Well, we're...downstairs from our usual hotel room. We explored a little and found out that there's actually a pretty nice onsen in here, and...we...were kinda thinking about taking a bath, together..."
It's the kind of explanation that makes it obvious that there's a ton that's being left out. I've been hanging off the front of her shoulders since coming back into my right mind, and she's holding me up under my elbows.
This is always my most despised part of this ordeal: trying to piece together what was said and what was done and how I'm going to clean up after it.
Komaru's involvement complicates things: I can remember things, if they're about her. Even then, it's only some of them. I'm lost for context with most of what little I do remember, and most of what I do remember of that are just feelings that I can't act on anyway.
The continual sound of the running water in our otherwise quiet environment is easy on the ears, and the warm steam furling out from the next room over is...inviting.
"If you'd rather not, I understand. O-Or we could wear towels, or go one at a time, if that's better-"
I do want a bath. And I do want to take it with Komaru.
But-
"...It's fine. I just...need to go upstairs first. I need to put my glasses away, and-I just need a moment to get ready." I'm usually better of a liar, but Komaru trusts me too much to question it. And boy, doesn't that little barb of guilt feel just great. I draw back from her and fidget with the collar of my uniform, considering it a little more before nodding to myself. "If...if you can find towels...we can go t-together..."
She'd see my arms. There was no way around that.
But I'm just so tired.
Komaru looks elated, and I know with all my heart that she's going to put every effort into finding us towels, which makes doing what I need to do in the meantime a little easier, gives me a little more time. She sets off with an innocent smile while I return upstairs to our room, hastily barricading the door and tearing through the stack of books we'd found the other day, finding my empty notebooks and some pens. I bring everything to the bathroom, pulling the door closed and jamming some towels into the corner of it, even though I know full well it's mostly futile.
If she wants to get out, it'll take more than this to stop her.
I won't let her. I'll just have to be more. I have things I need to know, one last task to complete before I can be close to Komaru-
I open the notebook to the first blank page and write like I'm attacking the page and the ink isn't ink at all, but blood, and I'm not afraid.
What did you do to Komaru? Tell me everything.
I remove the stun gun from its holster, point it to my head, take a deep breath-
-and pull the trigger. |
Mischa greeted them in the morning as Will had predicted, shaking Hannibal and climbing onto his back.
“She’s here! She’s here! The lady who knew Mommy and Daddy is here!”
Hannibal groaned, looking at the clock that was on their wall.
It was six a.m.
“That woman is a monster,” Will groaned, rolling in closer to him, “It’s barely daylight.”
Hannibal sighed, “She will be waiting, Tobulas. We must dress.”
Will whined and got up rather reluctantly though he hugged Mischa before he stood.
“Good morning, Baby.”
“Good morning, Will! We’re having fluffy clouds for breakfast today, I asked for them!”
Will frowned. “Clouds?”
Hannibal laughed as he dressed.
“Rolfo is making traditional breakfast. Think of them as overly large pancakes.”
Will smirked.
“Fluffy pancakes sound good after the workout I got last night,” he walked across the room to kiss Hannibal, “How about you?”
Hannibal smiled, caressing his cheek.
“I am very,” he looked at Will’s exposed chest, “Hungry.”
“Yay! I’ll tell her you’re awake!” Mischa squealed.
She took off running and Will pulled Hannibal in by his tie, pressing himself close as he crushed their mouths together.
Will’s breathless, “This is gonna be awful,” kissing his mouth quick again, “All day school.”
Hannibal smiled, pulling back to start buttoning up Will’s shirt.
“Think of the end result, Tobulas. No one will ever say you do not know how to properly stand by my side. Though I already know there is no one who could do it better.”
Will smiled as Hannibal grabbed a tie from the rack behind them, putting it around Will’s neck.
“I love you.”
Hannibal finished his knot, pulling it taut as he kissed Will again.
“I love you more.”
They walked hand and hand down the stairs, turning the corner only to see Alana already at the table. Her gaze roamed from head to toe, taking in their appearance and lingered on their joined hands.
“Good morning. Mischa said you were still asleep,” she grinned at Hannibal, “I remember when you used to wake up with the sun.”
Hannibal frowned. “Things change.”
He sat at the head of the table and Will beside him, trying not to take his hand again in case Alana noticed. Rolfo and the other staff began setting out breakfast and Will let them serve him like he knew he was supposed to despite usually serving himself every other day before now.
Hannibal frowned, noticing his discomfort but didn’t say a word until they began eating and Alana said it for him.
“You don’t usually let them serve you.”
Will looked at her. “I…”
She smiled. “I’m not here to judge you, Will, I’m here to help. But I could see the way it bothered you by your facial expressions. It’s okay to do those things at home, but at big dinners it’s not something you can do. I would suggest you try to curb your instinct more at home to get used to it.”
She went back to eating, Will feeling better and worse at the same time but he tried not to let it bother him as much as it did.
“You like your breakfast, Mazasis?” Alana asked, making Will drop his fork at hearing the endearment towards Mischa from anyone but Hannibal.
Mischa frowned.
“Yes. Rolfo knows I do.”
Alana smiled.
“You remind me of your Mother, you know. You have her eyes,” she looked at Hannibal, “And your brother’s nose.”
Mischa’s eyes lit up at the mention of her mother and Will had to keep himself from feeling slighted by it. “You remember my Mommy?”
“Of course,” Alana said, “I used to come here a lot when I was little like you. Hannibal and I were…”
“Good friends,” Hannibal finished, setting down his utensils, “I feel I have lost my appetite.”
He stood up and Will could see the upset in his features, standing and following without excusing himself.
Hannibal went into the parlor and the doors shut behind Will as he went inside. When Hannibal sat down on the couch with a thunk Will put an arm around him as he joined him.
“You okay?”
“No. She should not be speaking so freely with Mischa of our mother.” Will said nothing and Hannibal frowned at him, “What?”
“As much as it hurts me to say this, Mischa has so few people who would even talk about your parents with her. One person isn’t going to be terrible, is it?”
Hannibal leaned on him and sighed loudly, “It upsets me to hear of them.”
He ran his hand over Hannibal’s head.
“I know. You don’t talk about them.”
Hannibal nuzzled his neck.
“I would tell you anything you asked, you know that to be true.”
Will smiled. “Maybe I just don’t want to upset my Prince.”
Hannibal kissed his neck, “Ask me.”
“Tell me about the night Mischa was born.”
Hannibal tensed against him. “My mother did not give birth to her.”
“I know that, but you were there when she held your sister for the first time. When you all did.”
“Will…”
“Tell me.”
“It was one of the most important days of my entire existence. She was so small, so dependent on everyone else for protection, that I knew I would level cities to keep her safe.”
Will kissed his forehead, his eyes teary.
“Keep thinking that, but let it expand out to every single one of the people not just Mischa and me. That’s what it means to be a ruler. I…I’m not one, but because I need to be here I will become one. For you both. I would have died for Mischa in that small room and even now, I’d do it all over again.”
Hannibal’s hand came to Will’s and squeezed.
“Will, do not speak of such things.”
Will stood up.
“We have to remember the past to make no mistakes in the future. We can’t do this alone and as much as it hurts me to say it, Alana could be a close confidant to Mischa and you. You missed her.”
Hannibal frowned.
“She has been gone a long time.”
“You trusted her then and can attempt to trust her now.”
Hannibal took Will’s hand and nuzzled it against his cheek.
“You were born for this, Tobulas. Do not let anyone tell you differently,” he kissed Will’s hand before standing.
“Ready to apologize?”
Hannibal sighed. “If I must.”
When they got back into the dining room Alana and Mischa had been talking but both stopped the moment of their appearance.
Hannibal gestured towards them.
“Carry on.”
Alana frowned.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped, sire. I didn’t mean to.”
Will held Hannibal’s hand under the table, not giving a care for appearances and getting a squeeze in return before Hannibal spoke.
“There is no need to apologize, it was my wrong doing. Mischa needs to hear of our parents and you are a link to them. A link I trust.”
Alana’s smile was radiant and Will felt much better, listening avidly as Alana started to tell a story about Hannibal’s mother attempting to coax her into a marriage contract that never came to pass.
“She was very adamant that your brother and I would be a perfect match.” She smiled at Hannibal and Will both, “She was wrong, obviously, as we are both now happily married.”
Will smiled back at her, putting their joined hands up on the table. “Very happily.”
“You are married?” Hannibal asked.
Alana nodded, “For about three years now. Margot and I actually have a little boy his name is Michael.”
Will didn’t understand the relief he felt at her words and the last shred of worry for someone to take Hannibal fell away.
“I’m sure Mischa would love to meet him, she doesn’t get to have friends,” he smiled at Hannibal, “Someone is overprotective.”
Hannibal frowned.
“She is not the only one I am overly protective of.”
“Can I? Can I meet him, Hanni?” Mischa asked, her eyes wide, “Can I?”
Hannibal nodded. “I do not see a reason why not.”
Mischa up out of her seat and ran to hug her brother, Hannibal leaning down and kissing her hair as they spoke rapidly in Lithuanian while Will shared a look with Alana.
“I guess we should get on with it.”
Alana smirked.
“Don’t think of it as a punishment, Will. You’ll be learning a lot more about Hannibal’s heritage that even he might not remember.”
Will nodded and interrupted the conversation beside him. “Alana and I are going to go into the parlor.”
Hannibal frowned. “I will go with you.”
Will leaned over and kissed him.
“I don’t think so.”
Hannibal looked upset at leaving them alone but didn’t say a word, nodding as Mischa and he started to speak again. He said something to the guards at his back and Will saw Sam break off to follow them.
The parlor was empty except for the three of them, Sam standing guard at the only door while Will sat beside Alana on the couch watching her put a bag down on the floor.
“So what exactly is it that they want me to learn?”
Alana leaned over and took his hand.
“What do you know?”
Will laughed.
“Not much? I know about Hannibal’s parents but barely, and I know that there is a very lax policy on same sex marriage here? I don’t know if there’s ever been a king with a…”
“There hasn’t,” Alana cut him off, “Not in the two hundred years of the monarchy. It caused a bit of disruption but not much. I know most are in favor of you both but there have been some defectors.”
Will frowned, paling.
“Hannibal didn’t tell me that.”
Alana smiled slightly.
“He worries for you, or at least from what I saw he does. I’ve…read the whole story about how you met and other things.”
Will blushed. “That I ran off.”
“Yes. I know how difficult it must’ve been to try to be a small fish in such a larger than life pond.”
Will nodded. “Yeah. It’s still pretty intimidating.”
Alana squeezed his hand.
“You can’t let them scare you off, Consort. Not this time.”
Will stared at her. “They won’t.”
Alana relaxed, letting go of his hand as she took a large book out of her bag, handing it to him. It was written in Lithuanian, obviously, and she saw his confusion.
“This is all you need to know in time for the coronation and the coronation ball.
Will stared at it, his worry suddenly spiking. “It’s gotta be seven hundred pages at least.”
She laughed, “Yes.”
Will flipped through it, his eyes scanning the pages and then looking up at her again.
“I don’t know how to read this.”
“Lucky for you, Will, I do,” she put the book down, “Let’s begin.”
They went through the basics for the next few hours: general policies, the line of succession, and basic table manners which Will was kind of annoyed with since he was perfectly mannered but Alana had to remind him.
“Not this type of mannered, Consort. Not this type.”
The manners part took up the bulk of it, though Will kept forgetting which fork to use and how to do the special bows for each head of state.
“No, lean forward and then sway.”
“I am!” he yelled, finally sighing and flopping down on the couch.
“Will…”
“They’re gonna all laugh behind my back,” he mumbled, “We both know that.”
Alana put her hand on his shoulder.
“You can’t let them see you sweat. It’s what they want. If they had their way, it would be Bedelia sitting here. Would you want that to happen?”
Will bared his teeth, turning his head at her. “No.”
“She knows all of this, Will. She grew up into it, was groomed for it. I’m only trying to give you the weapons you need to keep their mouths shut.”
After that Will was much more cooperative.
They broke for lunch, Alana promising that was it for the day as they headed in together towards the dining room.
Hannibal was already waiting, Mischa nearly jumped out of her seat at the sight of them but her brother held her back from running. Will patted her head and sat down on the other side of her away from his husband who looked interested in the interactions he was having with Alana.
“Lessons go well?”
Will nodded, smiling, “I’m learning a lot.”
“Can I come see?” Mischa asked, grabbing her juice off the table to drink, “I wanna see.”
Alana shook her head, smiling, “This is a private lesson, Mazasis. Not for little ones.”
Mischa frowned.
“Only Hanni calls me that, not you. I don’t like it.”
Alana frowned. “I apologize, Princess.”
Mischa looked at Will who seemed to have relaxed at her words, feeling the closest thing to a daughter he had lean over and hug his arm.
“I missed you. Winston and Honey are outside playing with the ball. After lunch can we go play too?”
Will kissed her forehead. “Of course, Baby. I think lessons are over for the day?”
Alana nodded. “I think I need to get home after lunch.”
“I would speak to you, if I may,” Hannibal said interrupting them.
Alana looked surprised. “Of course.”
The rest of their lunch was uneventful, though Hannibal seemed strangely subdued and quiet throughout which was hard not to notice. Will watched him go off with Alana after lunch and Mischa noticed his worry, putting her head on his arm while taking his hand.
“Hanni missed you.”
Will looked down at her, “He did?”
She nodded, “He was sad when the door closed and we talked about Mommy and Daddy. I asked to show you pictures cuz Hanni keeps the pictures away and he said we could later.”
Will remembered the family portrait in the parlor, the formidable King and Queen who didn’t seem like warm parents at all to him.
“I’d like that, Baby.”
They went outside and threw balls with the dogs, Will laughing and running after Mischa though their winter coats made it easy to fall in the snow which only made it more fun. They were making snow angels when he looked up to see Hannibal watching from far off, his arms crossed and not smiling.
“Baby, I’ll be right back,” he told Mischa as the guards they had with them surrounded her closer.
One followed Will as he made way to his husband.
“Alana gone?”
“Yes,” Hannibal said, taking Will’s hand in his and removing the glove.
His fingers glossed over the top and Will shivered from more than just the cold.
“You gonna tell me what you talked about without me?”
Hannibal swallowed before he answered.
“The past, present, and future. Mostly about you,” he let out a sigh as he brought Will’s hand to his cheek, “She likes you.”
Will smiled.
“I like her, she’s nice. Not at all what I imagined when we first saw her. She wants to help.”
“Yes,” Hannibal whispered, kissing Will’s palm, “I will admit I spoke rather harshly to her because I believed that you do not need a teacher but she reminded me of the council’s arrogance and that I needed to support your decisions at times over my own.”
Will came in close and kissed him, the touch of his warm lips thawing out any coldness Will had accumulated in the short time outside.
He pressed his forehead to Hannibal’s and whispered, “Thank you.”
Hannibal touched his cheek again, “I do not like having to divide your attentions.”
Will laughed.
“That’s gonna be even harder soon when you have to share me with the masses.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“HANNI! WILL! LOOK!”
Both of them turned to see Mischa had attempted a rather small snowman, coming up to barely to her chin.
Will smiled. “Good job, Baby!”
She grinned, hurrying to continue as Hannibal’s hand came to Will’s neck to softly touch.
“I will speak to her tonight about her troubles, I know you have been worried.”
“She slept good last night, maybe the worst is over?”
Hannibal kissed his cheek. “I will still attempt it.”
Winston ran up to Will and he wrestled the tennis ball from his mouth, throwing it away and watching with a sigh.
He was happy.
They played until sundown; Mischa exhausting herself enough that Hannibal carried her back in his arms laying their little one down in the parlor while they headed for the stairs to take their alone time.
“Sire,” Sam said from behind them, making both men turn.
He held out a pile of letters, at least ten in total, to Will.
Will looked at them and his eyes widened, swallowing.
“Bev. God, I forgot to call Bev.”
Hannibal’s hand came to his back.
“You can remedy that mistake now, Tobulas. It should still be mid afternoon in the states.”
Will kissed him quick.
“Yeah, I think I will,” he sighed, “Raincheck?”
Hannibal kissed him back. “Always.”
Will went into Hannibal’s office and used the landline, not even sure where his cell was at this point and probably wouldn’t have a charge if he found it.
She answered on the first ring.
“Oh, so he can answer phone calls. Nice to know you’re alive.”
Will sighed, “Bev, I’m…”
“I was going out of my mind, Graham! Lecter! Graham Lecter! I don’t…fuck it. You scared me, Will. I kept calling and finally just sent all this mail which again I got no response to.”
“I just got them today, I don’t know what…”
Bev sighed again, “You’re okay then? And Mischa?”
“Yeah,” he leaned back in Hannibal’s chair, “We’re okay. It was touch and go there for a while but we’re okay.”
“How’s the hubby?”
“Worried still, but he’s getting there. I started husband lessons today, so he’s kind of worried about that too.”
Bev laughed, “Husband lessons?”
Will smiled, “A consort’s work is never done, Katz. You know that.”
“Still, I can’t imagine. The big crowning is happening soon then?”
“A few weeks,” he explained, “I thought I sent you the invite?”
Bev scoffed.
“You don’t think I’d forget that if one came? I didn’t get a single letter or invite from you.”
Will frowned.
“Well, you’re coming. I know I told them you were.”
Bev was quiet.
“Maybe they ignored you.”
Will’s eyes narrowed, “They’d better not. You’re the only one I have to invite, I need you there.”
“You okay, Will?”
Will let out a breath.
”I’m getting there. I’m happy, that’s good right? Just worried.”
“I can be there sooner if you want? I’d love to stay a couple days. Meet the fam a bit better.”
Will felt his eyes water a bit.
”You don’t have to, it probably wouldn’t look good if I had…”
“Fuck ‘em, baby. You tell me to come and I’ll come.”
Will smiled.
“Come. I’d love to see you.”
Bev scoffed again.
”Who wouldn’t? I’ll be on the first flight I can get out, and I’ll be there to cheer on your husband lessons and make Hannibal worry I’ll snatch you off to run away from all the bullshit.”
Will laughed.
“I love you, Bev.”
“Love you too, Graham.”
He hung up the phone and wiped at his eyes, closing them as he let out another long breath.
“Will, are you all right?”
Will nodded but didn’t turn towards Hannibal, feeling a hand on his head and leaning back into it.
“I’m fine. I just didn’t realize how much I missed her.”
“She is coming for a visit.”
“Soon. Like probably tomorrow.”
Hannibal kissed Will’s temple.
”I am glad you will have someone here besides myself to lean on for moral support.”
Will stood up and wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck.
“All I need is you, you know? You and Mischa. I miss Bev but…”
Hannibal leaned in and kissed him, his nose nuzzling against Will’s own as they moved and tongue tasting against Will’s before they parted.
“I would love to keep you dependent on me, Tobulas, but I should not.”
Will lay his head against Hannibal’s chest, closing his eyes.
“I’m not dependent, I’m just attached.”
Hannibal hugged him tightly.
“Very, very attached,” his breath teased Will’s ear, “As am I.”
They stood like that for several minutes before there was a knock at the door, neither moving for the interruption though Hannibal called out, “Come in.”
“The Princess is awake, and asking for you both,” Sam said, frowning, “You all right?”
Will nodded, letting go of Hannibal and walking ahead of him out the door.
“Better than.” |
Bucky rolls over and curled up. The bed was soft and warm and he was not moving for anything. He was in that place between dreaming and awake where everything was a pink and blue haze. The kind you feel on a winter morning by the wood stove. There was a sound interruptimg the haze though and he realized who the noise belonged to. He heard Steve grumbling under his breath pacing away.
He thought to himself ‘So much for slipping back to sleep” and huffed fully awake wondering what happened to piss off Steve now. But instead of his eyes meeting his bedroom he shared with his sisters with the busted dresser drawer and chipped paint he saw white walls and a pacing Steven Grant Rogers.
Bucky’s heart raced and he sat up fast “Steve, why are we at the hospital?”
Steve stopped and turned around “Bucky thank God your awake, we gotta get the hell outta here!” Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm and pulled him hard.
Bucky didn’t budge grabbing onto Steve’s hand, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the other. ”Woah wait a minute what’s goin’ on? Come on pal talk to me.”
Steve stopped pulling and turned to him fully, his eyes were wide and panicked like Bucky hadn’t seen since Steve’s ma had passed on wondering what was going to happen to him now she was gone. “Bucky there was a doctor who I have never seen before and two men and one of them had my face! My face Bucky! Then there is a guy talkin in the ceiling and he ratted me out, I was tryin to find you so we can get outta here. We gotta leave Buck, I think we were taken or somethin’ from your house!”
Bucky took a deep breath his eyes wide as saucers “Someone had your face?”
Steve nodded his blonde bangs falling into his eyes “Older fella, same face like mine. Same nose and everything. He was built like a house Buck. A huge fella! Bigger than the guys that work at the docks.”
Bucky stood and put on his shoes tight and stood tall nerves in the pit of his stomach terrified by what Steve said. “We need to get outta of here. We find a phone and we can call for my ma. I’ll get us outta here Steve. Don’t worry.”
A man spoke from where above Bucky’s head making him jump out of his skin. “Gentlemen please remain calm. I can assure you that no harm will come to you here. Please do not do anything drastic.”
”What the hell?” Bucky exclaimed grabbing onto Steve.
”I told you there’s was a man in the ceiling!” Steve yelled.
”Mister Rogers I am not a man in the ceiling, I am a artificial intelligence or AI for short. I am not a man in the physical sense. I am a highly sophisticated computer program built by Anthony Stark. If you both will please calm down and wait for a moment. Ms. Romanov will be in shortly to explain.”
Bucky leaned closer to Steve’s good ear “Steve I don’t think we can leave. Not if that guy can hear and see everything we do. We’re gonna have to play it cool and see where this goes then get out when the times right. We gotta play it smart.”
Steve had his ‘I think this a mistake but this once I’ll listen’ look on his face and nodded. “We don’t let them separate us though, right?”
Bucky messed up his hair “Course not pal, I won’t let you leave me behind. We stick together.”
Steve started to blush and shoved Bucky lightly “Jerk.”
Bucky shoved back lightly “Punk. Come on, let’s sit.”
They sat on the bed side by side waiting for whoever Ms. Romanov was. Buckys heart was still going a mile a minute just like his mind. ‘Where are we? Where is ma and pa? Where’s the girls? I hope they’re okay...’
The door opened jumping Bucky from his thoughts and at the threshold was the most beautiful woman he ever saw. His jaw dropped and his heart rocketed clear out of his chest. She was beautiful with fiery red hair in soft waves, eyes that’s were sharp and cunning more than a cats, and the figure of a pin-up model he saw in a car garage once. She stood at attention commanding the room. She was terrifying and beautiful.
She smiled small and walked up to Bucky. He looked up at her his jaw still dropped. She chuckled softly to herself and took her index finger lifting Buckys jaw shutting his mouth. “You guys hungry? We have Mac and cheese for dinner slash breakfast.”
Steve recovered faster and cleared his throat. “Um... Yes ma’am, I could eat. How about you Buck?”
Bucky nodded quickly his eyes still on the beautiful woman in front of him.
“I’m Natasha Romanov, Rogers I hear you attempted to escape. Good job for getting as far as you did. I’m hard to impress and you succeeded. Congrats. You won me $10 bucks.”
That snapped Bucky out of his stupor “Holy crap that’s a holy load of money lady!”
She nodded turning towards the door. “It was yeah, in your time. Inflation is a bitch kiddo.”
Steven and Bucky stood hurrying after her. The hallway was the same white and they headed down to a lift elevator. It opened with a chime and they climbed in together silent for a few moments. Bucky looked around ‘everything is so shiny and new.’ Bucky frowned for a moment catching onto her words “Wait... you said our time. What did ya mean by that?”
”I mean that your not in your time anymore. You took a trip, to the future. Your not in Brooklyn anymore.” She said calmly and looked at them both.
Steve and Bucky looked at each other then her incredulous. ”You mean to tell me ma’am that we time travel?” Bucky asked.
Natasha nodded still calm and collected but very serious. ”Yes, you two aren’t the only ones. We have seven time travelers on premises including you two. Tony wants to get everyone together to explain because honestly it will be easier to do this all at once rather than multiple times.”
The elevator opened before Bucky could ask his next question. The room ahead of them was huge with a giant couch that could fit his entire family to sleep on much less sit on. Sat on the couch were two people, a man and a boy around his and Steve’s age playing darts getting the center every throw. They both weren’t talking just quietly playing with the dart board. There was a large window that was covered by a huge curtain. Bucky frowned and followed Ms Romanov to the kitchen with Steve. The kitchen was huge, everything was shiny and clean and looking like something out of a sci-if comic.
At the large table sat two men, a boy, and a girl. One man was Blonde and built heavy, he had a hammer on the table in front of him while he ate and conversed with the boy who looked very much like him laughing and animated. The girl at the end of the table had short red hair and sharp eyes like Ms Romanov’s but Bucky saw more to those eyes, they were sad and untrusting like a stray who had been kicked before like the cats and dogs in the ally by school. She was small and too thin and he knew thin from living in the height of the depression walking by Hooverville. He wanted to instantly help her in some way, to help get rid of that sad expression even for a minute.
Then his eyes fell to the man beside her. He hard dark hair in a bun like Becka wore sometimes to school. His left arm was completely metal and he was muscular and had a small smile on his face. His eyes were so blue they were practically grey, just like- ‘my god.’ Bucky thought looking at the face closely ‘that’s my face, he has my face!’ Bucky gripped Steve’s arm tighter ‘my face he has my face!’ Bucky thought in a panic.
“Ow Buck your pinching me.” Steve whispered and looked where he was and paled that’s he got red with anger “Hey! What’s the deal with stealing my friends face! Can’t find one of your own or somethin?”
The man startled paling slightly and took a deep breath “Well I’ve always had this face Stevie. Don’t know what you want me to do about it.” The mans voice was deep. Bucky felt sick. Steve was shocked. Natasha was amused.
Bucky took a step forward his legs shaking as he faced this person with his face, “time travel?”
He, no this man, this man who happened to look like him nodded “time travel... just eat some pasta and try not to think too hard about it.”
Steve and Bucky looked at each other and sat down at the farthest end of the table. Ms Romanov placed two bowls in front of them and sat beside the lookalike. “Thank you ma’am” Steve and Bucky murmured and chowed down talking the mans advice.
Bucky tried not to look at the man across from him but couldn’t help it. He had to know. He had so many questions bursting just at the tip of his tongue. “Why do you look like me?”
The man huffed with amusement, “take a guess as to why. You time traveled and now you see someone that looks like you. Why would that be?”
Bucky leaned forward heart pounding ”You are me? How? How is that possible? If you are me then why do I have a metal arm?” Then he asked quieter afraid of the answer “What happened to me?”
The man sat up straighter and spoke with a cold truth that sent shivers up Bucky’s spine. “It’s possible thanks to Tony’s meddling and Doctor Doom’s idiocy. I am you and have a metal arm because it’s a prosthetic. You don’t want to know how I got it or whats going to happen to you. I don’t think I can even tell you what will happen to be honest I still have patches I don’t remember even now. So for both of our sakes let’s just focus on the facts. You are alive, somehow you are alive. You are free and you are your own person and that’s all that matters now. Take solace where you can.”
Bucky felt Steve squeeze his elbow in support. Bucky’s head was reeling. He sat back and nodded slow taking in what the man, what he had said. He watched and looked down at the pasta infront of him not wanting to ask any more questions the hunger he had felt had left him. He felt sick to his stomach. He still had questions but now he knew, he didn’t want to know the answer yet. |
The world could be ending. The sky could be falling, people could be coming back to life, Father could climb out of the Central Headquarters basement to kill everyone in Amestris.
And Edward Elric would not have cared one bit, because he was bored out of his fucking mind.
He’d fixed everything there was to fix in the office, from the bullet holes in the walls all the way to the scuffmarks on Jean Havoc’s pair shoes. He’d even casually touched Fuery’s radio—“What the—Sir! Don’t do that! I swear, your alchemy . . .”
Swear. Swear was such an innocent word, from such an innocent mouth. He then decided to dedicate himself to trying to get Fuery to say fuck. Or even just damn. He tried for half an hour, to no avail. The soldier’s personality was just as damnably innocent as his looks. How boring.
But when there was no word from Mustang in two hours—not that he was counting—he really was starting to wonder what was going on. He wasn’t worried, obviously; that bastard knew exactly what he was doing. But he was morbidly curious about it all. No explosions, no fires, no gunshots pealing out across the air. He was dying to know. Like, who the hell didn’t check in with everyone who was waiting? He could’ve at least called.
Three hours after they left, he slumped down into an office chair and rubbed distractedly at his aching shoulder. He no longer wore the flaming red coat everyone had come to associate him with; it had been flashy and obnoxious and no longer fit him. Well, no, because he was still just as obnoxious as ever (it was an occupation). But the purpose of wearing it no longer existed. So now he wore a thick sweater to account for the quickly-chilling weather of late autumn. He might have worn a jacket too, but it was a royal pain in the ass to get one empty sleeve inside of another empty sleeve. Besides, his shoulder ached badly at the port and he couldn’t well do anything to help it if he was wearing too many layers.
“Does it hurt?”
He jerked his hand away like lightning and grinned over at Fuery. “Naw,” he drawled casually, lying through the skin of his teeth. “Just a habit.”
If any of them knew he was hurting, word would definitely get back to that Bastard, and he wouldn’t let him do anything.
He needed something to do desperately, was the thing. Resembool was . . . dead. Nothing ever happened there anymore. And Winry . . . Winry had tried to get him to propose at least three times in the past month, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t bring himself to like her as more than a sister, but he also just . . . couldn’t do that sort of thing to her. He couldn’t make a commitment like that without knowing if he was going to be around to see it through. Besides, he was probably the most unreliable guy around. He wouldn’t even deny it. That wasn’t fair to anyone, whether he wanted to be with them or not. So he had to get away from that, from Winry and Granny. At least until his nerves were healed enough to reapply his automail arm. And he had to find something to do before he went crazy waiting for the Gate to make its move.
“AaaaarrrghhHHHH!” he groaned loudly into the room, banging the back of his head against the wall. Fuery jumped in alarm, eyes wide behind his glasses. “S-Sir?”
“Fuckin’ bastard’s getting all the action. Where’d they go? I’m gonna go find them and bust his fucking head in for leaving me he—”
The phone rang shrilly, and Ed jumped up from his seat, scrabbling for the phone before Fuery had any chance to pick it up. Finally.
“Listen,” he stated without preamble, “it’s fucking sweet you care about my health or whatever, but it’s not like shit’s gonna happen with you being all snap happy anyway, so just let me come along next time, you got that? Fuery’s hella boring—”
“Sir!”
“—and you haven’t even added any new damn books to your office library. Like, what kind of alchemist are you? Don’t you do any fucking research?”
Silence greeted him, and he scowled into the phone like its recipient could see straight through to him.
“What, General Bastard, cat got your tongue?”
“. . . Brother?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not Roy. Not fucking Mustang. Or Hawkeye. Or . . . Fuck.
Al.
He slammed the phone down on the receiver and quickly backed away, expecting a suit of armor to climb out of the mouthpiece. Al wasn’t a suit of armor anymore, of course. But the fact remained that he didn’t want . . . no, correction, couldn’t have Al here. If he knew the Gate had been keeping him alive, and if the Gate took him back whenever he’d done his duty or whatever. If Al knew, he would never stop trying to bring Ed back. It would become and endless circle of the forbidden. That wasn’t the sort of life he wanted for anyone, including himself. He was tired of trying to fix their mistakes. Of trying to correct them without any reprimand. Whatever happened, they had to stop playing God.
Before it consumed them.
But now Al . . . Al knew, because no one else would dare call Mustang a Bastard. He prayed Al would just think he was hallucinating. Having flashbacks. Whatever.
But fate wasn’t on Ed’s side; it never was. Because the phone rang again.
This time Fuery picked it up, eying Ed with nothing less than concern. And damn Ed’s good hearing, because even from across the room, he could hear the tinny sound of Al’s voice through the phone. He was tempted to cover his ears with his arms except—oh yeah—he only had one arm right now. It wouldn’t help the problem at all.
“What’s going on?” the younger Elric asked, clearly distressed. “Were you playing a recording? D-Did he get in trouble for how he treated the General? I mean . . . I . . . and why . . . why now—”
“I . . .” Fuery started, having no idea how to handle the situation. He looked at Ed, who resolutely stared down at his feet and sat back down. No one wanted to keep lying, to keep telling him that Ed was dead when he was living and breathing twenty feet away. But with Ed clearly not wanting him to know . . .
Fucking damn it. He couldn’t hide it. Try as he might, he couldn’t lie to his little brother. He loved him too much, and hearing Al in such distress just because of his voice was really grating on his nerves. He drew in a soft breath of resignation and glanced up again.
“We wondered if you would ever call to let us know how you were doing,” Fuery was saying, trying to pretend nothing was amiss. The alarm in his eyes said otherwise. “The General is out investigating a call, so you missed him for now. Would you like to give us a number to reach you at once he returns?”
“That . . . that is why I called, but . . .”
“Let me get a pen.”
Ed stood again, wincing when he leaned on his automail leg at the wrong angle (apparently not wearing the prosthesis for three years made his nerves lazy, of all things). He needed to talk to Al. No, he realized as he listened to that familiar trembling voice on the line . . .
He needed his brother.
“What’s going on? I know you’re avoiding an answer, I’m not stupid. Please, I just . . .”
Ed swept in, leaning over Fuery’s desk to smoothly pluck the phone from the Lieutenant’s hand.
“Alphonse.”
“. . . Is this some kind of joke?”
He didn’t believe it could possibly be him, and for good reason, but it still hurt quite a bit. Because now he felt incredibly guilty for not trying to reach him before this. And maybe a little guilty for supposedly dying in the first place. Damn his conscience.
He drew in a sharp breath and then dug in. “Not a fuckin’ joke, Al. Remember that door you always used to talk about? The one where you used to wait for Mom to magically come through, all not dead and shit? This . . . This is me, walking through the door. Or the Gate. Or a huge fucking prison. Y’know, whatever you want to call it.”
Silence met him on the other end of the line, but it was the kind of silence where the caller was too busy sobbing their guts out to actually say anything.
“Al?” he heard faintly in the background. “Al, what’s wrong? What happened?” Ed instantly recognized the voice as May Chang, which meant Al had found that new life he was after. Thank the fucking skies his little brother hadn’t been miserable for the last year.
“It’s Ed,” he choked out finally. “Ed’s on the phone. The Ga . . . Br-Brother, the Gate didn’t kill you? You never . . . all we found was what was left of your automail. So how . . .”
“Honestly, you should just never assume I’m down for the count until you find my body. Maybe not even then. I’m hard to kill, you should know that.”
“Obviously,” Al laughed through his tears. “I just . . . oh my God, and I left. I came here instead of waiting. I’m such an—”
“No! No, Al, I’m glad you did.” Ed slid around to sit on Fuery’s desk, twisting the phone cord around his body. “Fuck knows I don’t want your brilliant ass moping around after you finally got your body back. We did it so you could live a normal life, not cry all the damn time.”
They were both such idiots, Ed thought wryly. Everyone said they were prodigies; that their minds moved too quickly for anyone else to keep up with them. But they were just idiots. Idiots who didn’t know how to take care of themselves, who made more mistakes than they knew how to get out of.
But they were still alive. Somehow, in spite of the rather gargantuan odds, they were still here and still breathing at the end of the day.
“Are you okay?” Al asked suddenly and very pointedly. He could hear the tears in his voice but they were overshadowed by Al’s brotherly concern which . . . if Ed was being honest, was terrifying sometimes. “How did you get out? What happened? And why are you in the General’s office? Why aren’t you with Winry and Granny in Resembool?”
“Why did you call Mustang but not Winry?” he countered, dodging every single one of those questions.
“How would you know?”
“Winry would’ve told you I was alive.”
“. . . Touché.” He heard the other clear his throat. “You first.”
“Look, honestly, we’ll have time for that later if you . . . I mean, if you want. It’s kinda hard to explain over the phone.”
In other words, the phone was probably (definitely) tapped. That, and there were some things he just really didn’t want to tell Alphonse. For all he knew, Ed had regained his right arm. To know that the Gate had taken it again . . . it was fucking cruel, and unfair. It was in no way equivalent exchange. Really, none of this was. The Gate keeping him alive and miserable like that for three years was proof enough of that.
“But I’m fine, okay? I promise.” Because he was. Now, anyway. Since he’d talked to Al. He smiled into the mouthpiece. “Call me later, just not here. I swear I’ll tell you what happened. And stay there, you got that? Don’t you dare fucking decide to cross and entire desert just because your sorry-ass brother is back. Stay with May. We’ll see each other . . . soon.”
He refused to get Alphonse mixed up in whatever mess the Gate had waiting for him this time.
“You know I never listen to anything you say, right?”
“Just this once, Al, okay? Please.”
“. . . Okay,” Al finally muttered. “But only if you tell me why you don’t want me there. You only say please when you’re desperate.”
“Traitor,” he grumbled, but if that was what it took to get him to stay put, then he’d have to just go ahead and tell him what the problem was. Maybe then he would listen to him. Well. Doubtful. But it was worth a try.
“Promise?”
“Yeah.”
“And you promise you’re really fine?”
“Duh. Don’t be such a worry-wart.” He shook his head into the phone and decided to attempt to press his own questions again. “So. Please tell me you’re actually in Xing? I can hear May back there so you must have gone at some point.”
“Yeah.” He could hear the warmth in Al’s voice and knew that he was smiling now, although he was sure it was probably still shaky. After all, he was talking to someone he thought he’d lost forever. And that was what was going to make Alphonse scary. He wouldn’t want to let that happen ever again. “It took me a month, and then I think I almost got killed like three times passing through territories. Then May’s clan must have found out because the next thing I knew, I was getting an escort.”
“Oh wow, that’s neat. Is that where you are now?”
“Nope.” He could practically feel the sunbeams radiating off of Al’s body. “We’re in the imperial palace. Ling made some stupid excuse about needing an alkahestrist and demanded May’s presence. Then he added that if she happened to know of any Amestrian’s around, he could use a translator and to pass the word. He got it too. Brother, are you sure he’s not still Greed in disguise?”
“Ling was already a greedy bastard,” Ed answered truthfully, just in time to glance at the office door as it swung open. Roy’s team trudged through silently, faces haggard. Mustang himself stepped inside behind the others, looking like he’d seen some sort of a ghost. Probably his own reflection. Or not. What the hell . . . “Listen, Al, General Bastard just got back from that call they got; looks like they had a shit ton of fun. You have his personal number, right? To his house? I’ll crash over there tonight or something, so call me there. We can talk then.”
“Be careful, Brother,” Al warned.
“Yeah, Yeah. You sound more like the older brother than I do, jeez. Hey . . . Love you.”
It was almost torture to close the line, especially because he knew Al. And he knew that Al was probably going to go cry some more. But it wasn’t like they could actually talk on a military line without half of the upper echelon trying to listen in and one-up Mustang. He wiggled his way out of the cord tangled around him and hung up the phone before he turned back around and stared at the team more blatantly. “You don’t look particularly beat up for what your faces are telling me.”
“Edward,” Roy said slowly, his eyes burning black holes into Ed’s skin, “are you absolutely certain that you have been alive this entire time? That the Gate hasn’t been just toying with you or lying to you?”
Ed eloquently raised an eyebrow at the question. “I’m pretty damn sure my body wouldn’t have come back bloody and half-assed if I rose from the dead. ‘Sides, I told you. The Gate was telling me I needed to be back on Amestris or some shit like that. Like, it literally sounded afraid. I dunno. What the hell, old man, why are you asking me this all of a sudden?”
“Because there is something going on that I don’t understand,” he answered faintly. “Sit down.”
He planted his ass back on the edge of Fuery’s desk. He would’ve crossed his arms over his chest if he had both of them. Just one made him look stupid.
Good thing, too, because Mustang didn’t say anything else. He just handed him a photo. A photo that Ed glanced down at with a frown.
A photo that took him several minutes to even process.
The photo was slightly blurry, like someone’s hand had been shaking as they took it. But it didn’t need to be clear for Ed to see what was depicted in it. Elicia, gleefully braiding another girl’s hair back into two long pleated pigtails. The other girl looked just like . . .
Nina Tucker.
And then it all clicked for Ed. What the Gate needed him for. Because Edward knew something that no one else in the world did. The Gate had let it slip. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not. But this was why the damned thing had been so willing to ship him back.
Someone else had figured out how to bring the dead back to life.
“Impossible,” he whispered, clenching the photo tightly between his fingers until it creased. Who else could have possibly figured it out? But . . . no. No, it didn’t make sense. Because Nina had not just died. She was a special case.
“Ed,” Mustang said slowly, firmly. “What do you know?”
He glanced up sharply in alarm, then at the rest of the team. And then up at the ceiling, where there were already three bugs planted in plain sight. “Not here,” he choked out. “And not everyone can hear. It’s too . . .”
“Is it alchemy?”
“Yes.”
“Then they can hear. Because they won’t understand how it works. No one will except for me.”
“Not here,” he insisted, then glanced upwards again pointedly.
And at last, Mustang seemed to understand the reasoning behind it, because all of a sudden he stretched and very loudly stated, “It’s been quite the long day, hasn’t it? What do you say we go out and get some drinks to wind down? At least, assuming I don’t have any paperwork left to do.”
“Trust me, Sir,” Hawkeye stated unblinkingly, “you always have more paperwork to do. But I will let you off the hook this evening. It is rather late, and you’ve had a rather trying day dealing with that issue downtown.”
“Ah yes,” he stated, still loud, “that insufferable Tringham boy was trying to start a rally again. Good thing we stopped it before it got out of hand.”
. . . Okay, that was actually not too bad of an excuse, Ed decided distantly.
==“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning over the counter with a frown.”
“Packing,” Alphonse Elric stated pointedly.
“But he told you not to go after him.”
“I know. Which means something is happening and he’s trying to shoulder it all himself, like usual. That’s what got him dead in the first place. Or . . . not dead. Imprisoned. I don’t know.”
“And you don’t care?” May asked quietly, tilting her head to the side. Twin black braids clacked dully against the edge of the counter as she did. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But you don’t care that he wants you to stay out of it? You don’t care that he’s trying to protect you?”
“I know my brother,” Al answered determinedly, tucking a folded shirt into his suitcase, “and I know that he needs protecting more than I do. Because he’s the one that likes to get himself into situations he can’t get out of. He can’t think rationally. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I could tell, just from that phone call. He’s going to make the same mistakes. And someone has to be there to talk some sense into him.”
“What about us?”
He paused, turning around, to look at the girl who had become so attached to him in the year leading up to the Promised Day. And then beyond. He cracked a weak smile. “I was rather hoping you would come with me.”
“Ling’s going to kill us,” she laughed.
“Once Ling finds out Ed’s alive, I think he’ll let us off the hook this once.” He gestured to the second suitcase nearby him. “Anyway, if you’re going to come, there’s a suitcase. We’ll leave after I call him tonight. It’s going to take us a couple weeks to get there.”
May stepped around the counter to lean up and kiss him on the cheek. “Of course I’ll come. Ed’s not the charming guy I hoped he was once, but I still like him enough to want to help him.”
Al laughed. “Don’t tell him that to his face.”
==
The bar was packed, but packed with the sort of people who wouldn’t eavesdrop. It was to Roy’s best interest that they acquiesce at his mother’s bar. Chris Mustang was their safest bet in making sure whatever Ed had to say would remain private. Ed was inclined to agree; most of the people who glanced at them as they entered the room almost immediately turned away again. Mustang was a frequenter of the bar, and probably his team as well.
Convenient.
He hadn’t let go of the photo since Mustang pressed it to his hands. It was impossible, except he knew it wasn’t. But Nina . . . Nina was someone he had always regretted not being able to save, because the signs all should have been there. They had been, in retrospect. If he’d been any older, he would have realized what Shou Tucker was up to. But he wasn’t. And Nina had suffered for it. He just . . . he was a little afraid now, of what might happen. Because the Gate didn’t just let people use that sort of power. No, it had found many, many ways to thwart that power, to hide it from those that dared to attempt to perform human transmutation. And that meant someone was able to get past the Gate itself.
What Ed wouldn’t give for that person to be him. To thwart that fucking Gate and set it right, set it to where the exchange was actually equivalent. Or, somehow, to simply stop that sort of power from even being feasible.
But if the Gate had let Ed back out. If the Gate was being thwarted in any way . . .
Then it must have sensed it was in danger. It must have needed to find a way to save itself. And it thought Ed was just the man for the job.
Well, fuck the Gate. He was done with that shit.
“Hey,” he said roughly, and Mustang looked over at him, the edge of a smile pulling at his lips when Ed tried—and failed—to climb up onto one of the bar stools. He glared and hopped up on it this time, wincing as his automail port jerked a little. “What are you going to do with her? Does she know anything about what happened? Where’s she gonna stay?”
“Gracia Hughes is going to look after her for now. She’s the one that found her. We . . . have not told her about her father being dead. And she has no recollection of being transmuted. Otherwise there seems to be nothing wrong with her memory so . . .”
“The timeframe of her coming back was before she was transmuted. To preserve her body,” Ed surmised. Neither of them knew for certain, but that was probably the most likely scenario.
Which meant the alchemist in charge of this whole thing knew what he was doing. Damn.
He glanced up inquisitively. “So the reason you asked me if I was sure I’d been alive was because you thought maybe it was too close to be a coincidence?”
“Yes,” Mustang agreed, and the look on his face was one of almost torture. Ed couldn’t even begin to guess the reason why. Perhaps Mustang actually cared what happened to him? . . . Nah. He was a Bastard. “It’s only been a month or two since you quite literally dropped out of the sky, and then suddenly there’s a four-year-old child on the streets of Central asking about her father. If it is a coincidence, it’s extremely strange.”
“Hate to say it, but it’s definitely a coincidence. Well, it isn’t, but for a different reason entirely.”
He looked around in the bar again, and then leaned in against the counter. The rest of Mustang’s team did as well, so they could hear. He swallowed thickly, not sure he was really ready to admit it, but this was the only chance he had. He could include Mustang. He could trust them, he always had been able to trust them.
“Human transmutation is possible,” he finally admitted.
It didn’t matter if you weren’t an alchemist. Everyone knew what it was. Everyone close to Ed knew what he and Al had done, multiple times, to atone for their mistakes. And Ed had vowed, fully certain, that it wasn’t possible. Except it was. He heard them all draw in sharp gasps, saw Mustang’s face tighten imperceptibly although his casual stance on the chair didn’t change.
“I’m not going to say how,” he quickly stated, just in case they asked. “The last thing we need is for someone to hear about it and stupidly try it themselves. I . . . I trust you, but I just don’t want to risk it. Hell, I don’t even trust myself half of the time.” He glanced down at the photo one more time, at Nina’s face. “But it can be done, if you’re willing to give something up for it. If you’re willing to give up more than blood or alchemy or even your life. But the one thing I will say . . . is that it has to be done within the Gate.”
“So you . . .”
“You have to already be in the Gate to try it,” he confirmed, knowing what Mustang was about to ask. “The Gate pushed me out and deliberately took my arm again. I think maybe it knew I needed the time to heal, and it was buying time.” He scowled. “It needs my help. Otherwise it wouldn’t have let me go. If there’s someone inside of the Gate, utilizing its power, then that means I could have been killed if I was there when they showed up.”
“It wants you alive,” Havoc mused.
“Yeah.” Ed reached out, blindly accepting the cup that the woman behind the counter slid to him. He hadn’t asked for a drink, but she was giving everyone orders like they had . . . to avoid suspicion? He looked up at the woman, at her graying hair and jewelry and relaxed expression. She winked. No wonder Mustang was such a flirt.
“That’s not all, though, is it?” Hawkeye questioned, leaning back on the barstool.
Ed looked at her inquisitively, knowing she’d already figured it out.
“Nina,” she answered. “Why Nina specifically? You can bring anyone in the world back to life with that sort of power. So why did they specifically choose a four-year-old little girl who has been dead for years?”
“This person has something to do with Edward and Alphonse,” Mustang stated softly.
Ed nodded and took a long drink of whatever was in his mug. It was alcoholic and strong, and he expected he rather needed it after all of this. “Any of us, really. They are trying to rile us up. An explanation could be that the Gate pushed me out knowing that whoever was coming would recognize me. It knows everything. It is knowledge. So it was defending itself before anything could happen.”
“It was defending you too.”
“Why the hell would it want to do that?” he snorted derisively. “It’s been keeping me like a fucking plaything for three years. It doesn’t want to defend me. It’s just keeping its prize for when it needs it. I’m the only person with the Gate long enough to know how to stop this person. Theoretically speaking, anyway, since I can’t just snap my fingers and have it done.”
“What would you need to do?”
“Not sure. Don’t care, either.”
“You don’t care?” Fuery asked quietly, eyes wide behind his glasses.
“The Gate wants my help. The Gate unfairly took me instead of taking my alchemy like it should have. It kept me from my brother. If it thinks I’m going to help it after everything, well. Fuck that.” He took another long drink. “It can go fuck itself. As long as I don’t try any more human transmutation, I don’t have to go back there. And I plan on staying here this time around. Someone else can get caught up trying to do it.”
“But Nina?” Hawkeye prompted. “Will she be okay?”
“I don’t know.” He shifted awkwardly. “All I know is bringing someone back to life is possible. But what the cost of it is . . . what that person who is brought back to life has to go through . . . I think they pay part of the price without even realizing it. I think. I’m not sure. Either way. I figure she’s safe enough for now.”
The drink was gone far too quickly, and the bar was getting more crowded by the minute as the late night gatherers started to appear. It was time to go. Besides, he was going to wait on a call from Al.
“Hey, General Bastard,” he stated with no preamble, “Let me crash at your place tonight.”
“What?!” Mustang sputtered into his drink, looking up in alarm.
“It’s not like I have any money or housing or shit. Just for the night. ‘Sides, I told Al to call me there.”
“Alphonse called?” and suddenly the entire team—sans Fuery—was looking at him in excitement.
“Ah . . . yeah. Think he wanted to talk to Mustang.” He shrugged. “Probably checking up. He sounded fine.” And he’d stay fine too, so long as he didn’t get himself mixed up in this mess. Especially now that he knew what was going on. Fuck. “Anyway, put me up for one night. Your house is fucking huge, and you live there by yourself. You have room for one extra person.”
“Of course he’ll put you up,” Chris Mustang stated demurely, leaning her rather large bosom against the other side of the counter. Roy’s aunt was an interesting character, to say the least on the matter. “Edward Elric, right? I’ve heard more about you than I probably want to. Glad to see you’re still kicking after all.”
“Aunt Chris,” Mustang sighed.
“You hush. Take him home.” She waved a wrist that jangled with practically a dozen bracelets. Ed was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open as he stared at her, but he didn’t feel assed to check. He was still trying to figure out how the two of them had cohabitated to form the personality the Bastard carried around now.
“Can’t you stay at—”
“Sorry, Sir, I just realized, Black Hayate needs to be let out!” Riza stood and saluted sharply before making a break for it.
“Oh man, forgot I need to get groceries.”
“I have a date.”
“My house is a pigsty.”
“Yeah. No.”
And so, Mustang and Ed were the only ones left. Ed grinned triumphantly and hopped down from the bar stool. “Party at General Bastard’s tonight!”
“My own team,” Roy moaned, his face in his hands.
Ed decided a sympathetic clap on the back would secure his victory before they left. |
"There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after."― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
Long before he walked through the gates of Erebor, Bilbo Baggins had concluded that the dwarves were a most peculiar race. Despite having traveled weeks accompanied by two very dwarfish dwarves, walked down into the belly of mountains and through large gaping halls of their northern kingdoms, Bilbo could not seem to figure them out. It wasn't as if he had never been exposed to dwarves before his forced exile, there had been a few merchants who had made their way to Hobbiton to sell their wares. He knew them to be strong bodied and hardworking individuals with little tact in their words and actions. From the stories he had been told, they were very proud and stubborn to a fault, but had little to do with the flowery words of the elves and the political manipulations of the humans.
They were a simpler folk, Bilbo assumed, perhaps just as close they were close in height to hobbits there were similarities in habits and temperaments.
Never had Bilbo been so wrong.
Their notorious pride came from the possessions they acquired, shining jewels mined from deep caverns of their cold mountains, metals and ores and currency was how they spoke. Dwarves took pride in his flowing beards, braids, and adornments, the ink tattooed into their skin and the scars of battles that they displayed as if it spoke of their character and worth. Their violence was brutal and horrifying to behold, for there was no mercy if one infringed on another's possession. Fights broke out quick and loud over the simplest of slights, and even more terrifying by how crowds cheered and shouted at such barbarity in their incomprehensive harsh language.
Balin and his hulking brother Dwalin had attempted to explain a few customs to him during their travels, however Bilbo had felt closed off to his companions, anger twisting in his heart with nothing to direct it except his escorts. He understood that they were merely the hands that did the bidding of their king, yet they were the image in his head whenever he allowed himself to think of his predicament.
That is, until he met his husband, Thorin son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain.
And Thorin son of Thrain was truly the epitome of a dwarf. Their brief yet disastrous introduction showed his character, immediately ready to possess Bilbo with little care to his comfort, wanting to already strip him of his identity to be an addition to his wealth of treasures.
Bilbo resented him. This dwarf who was the one who ordered his acquisition, who by his word stripped Bilbo of everything he cared and loved, kidnapped him to this lonely mountain so far from home.
"How is the fit, Master Bilbo?"
Bilbo blinked at the dwarf named Dori, who was kneeling before him and pulling the hem of the dark blue robe he had brought in preparations of the ceremony. They stood out in a large hallway before two gold encrusted doors that would lead to whichever room the marriage ceremony would be held in. Four fierce looking dwarf guards armed with both spear and ax stood in attention, but other than their unfathomable watching eyes both hobbit an fussy dwarf were alone.
Bilbo moved his arms, testing the tightness at his shoulders and finding them satisfactory. Thorin's colors were black and a deep blue as fit his royalty. Fur trimmed the inside and at the hem, warm and amazingly soft, with silver stitching that somehow made Bilbo think of a full moon amid a dark night sky.
Dori stood, looking far too smug for Bilbo's liking. To distract himself he took a moment to study the dwarf's braided hair, how it had been pulled intricately around his head in a fashionable style. How long did Dori take each morning to prepare, combing through both beard and hair's thickness, planning the design and then actually braiding the hair? Bilbo knew quite a few hobbit females who would love to have Dori over for tea to talk about different hair styles.
Something sharp twisted in Bilbo's heart at the stray thought.
"Ah," exclaimed Dori, pulling Bilbo away from thoughts of hair and home. "Here come the princes. You have not met them, have you, Master Bilbo?"
"Princes?" Bilbo gaped from his companion to the two young looking dwarves approaching them.
They were a handsome sort, at least in Bilbo's standards. They looked to have come from the king's line, with clean features, and simple braids on both sides coming down their temples. They were in blue as fit the royal colors, with fur and silver.
One, with blond hair announced loudly, "Fili."
"And Kili," stated the second – this one had more of King Thorin's coloring.
"At your service," they said in unison, both bowing deep from their waists.
Bilbo stammered an, "At yours…" before turning bewildered eyes at Dori. "Sons? Thorin has already been wed?"
Dori in turned gave the hobbit an equally bewildered look. "My dear Master Bilbo, where on earth did you hear a thing? Though Prince Fili is heir-apparent, they are his majesty's nephews!" He then frowned, "Did Balin not explain anything to you?"
Had Balin even attempted to say anything on the subject after their terse conversation shortly after leaving Hobbiton, Bilbo knew he would have rebuffed him. The old dwarf was a master with words and Bilbo could not trust anything that came from the tactician.
All Dwalin cared to speak about was meat, battle and Erebor.
So Bilbo had chosen silence and ignorance as a way to cope. It would keep him objective, he had thought, to not allow himself to be showered by lies about his husband and new home. He was no simpleton, he was not soft. He was a Baggins and Baggins were not easily swayed nor taken advantage of – even if forced into unwanted marriage contracts.
Before he could think of anything in retort, there was a sudden flurry of action as the guards stamped their booted feet and the hall was suddenly filled with dwarfs announcing, "Here comes the King! The King is here!"
But it was not King Thorin who came, flanked at all sides by guards and servants and noble dwarfs alike. No, it was a different dwarf with the same baring of authority, but older with white peppering his long dark beard. A large crown lay cradled on the dwarf's head, glimmering with diamonds and other stones that Bilbo could not name. He was horrifically scarred over one eye, the flesh caved in to cover where the missing organ once sat. This dwarf was scowling horribly, dark brows low, skin drooping down, and a snarl at his tight lips.
Bilbo was suddenly afraid as a single blue eye narrowed onto where he stood beside Dori and the prince-nephews. He wanted to step back, to seek refuge behind his companion, to be removed from the sights of this imposing scarred monstrosity.
"So," this new king cast a shadow over Bilbo, "this is the hobbit. I heard great things about you, yet I see nothing more than a small grocer."
Humiliated heat flushed Bilbo's cheeks at the insult; he bit his tongue in a way to curb any sharp reply.
The lone eye studied him for a brief moment and stopped when gazing at Bilbo's head. A large thick hand reached up and tangled into Bilbo's hair, causing the hobbit to gasp in shock and then pain as ringed fingers curled into his locks and gripped him in a firm hold.
"Hey!" Bilbo cried, his hands reaching up to pry the fingers off him. "Let go!"
"Dori," the king's voice boomed, the sound echoing horribly down the halls and through Bilbo's teeth. "I tasked you to see that the hobbit was attired appropriately, yet my son's emblem is not adorned in this creature's hair. Surely you had some available, yes?"
Dori was beside them; hands clasped and sweat beading at his brow. "Yes…yes, my lord Thrain, there were clasps made ready for Master Bilbo for this occasion."
"And yet I see none to show my son's claim."
"His claim?!" Sputtered Bilbo.
"Your majesty," Dori begged in a trembling voice, "Please, if you give me a moment to explain…"
"Quiet," King Thrain was not looking at the other dwarf, but down as he slowly applied pressure to Bilbo's skull, forcing the hobbit to his knees with a strained grunt. "Tell me with your own little voice, hobbit, why do you not wear your husband's clasps in your hair? Why such disobedience? I can see it in your eyes, your defiance."
From his position with knees pressed into the cold hard floor and hands above him trying to get loose, Bilbo shouted, "What I do or do not do is between my husband and I! What right do you have to handle me so?"
Bilbo heard horrified gasps right before the dwarf pulled harshly, forcing Bilbo's head back and extending his back into a painful arc. The dwarf king leaned over him like a stalking animal over his prey, mad rage simmering barely controlled in his eye. When he spoke, his voice was low and venomous, "I am Thrain son of Thror, King of Erebor. I have right to your obedience."
"Thorin," snapped Bilbo loudly, "is the king whom I signed my contract with. Thorin is my husband. Not Thrain."
Thrain pulled closer so Bilbo could feel his breath on his face and see the spittle on his lips. "You tempt me, little grocer."
"Father!"
The world seemed to freeze in that moment, and slowly Bilbo managed to turn his head slightly to see, standing tall beyond the hulking troll holding him, was King Thorin. Prince Fili, pale and pensive stood with hand one had on his uncle's arm. Balin, who in all the time Bilbo knew him never broke his façade of calm, looked downright frightened from his position behind his lord.
Two kings. TWO kings.
Bilbo wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. What would any kingdom need two kings for?
What HAVE you gotten yourself into, Bilbo Baggins?
He was abruptly released, and would have fallen had not Prince Kili materialized beside him, helping him silently to his feet while keeping large eyes trained on his grandfather and uncle.
"You have a disobedient spouse at your hands, Thorin," King Thrain said, walking regally to his son and clapping him heartily on the shoulder. "Hobbits are usually timid and docile creatures. Yours seems quite defective."
Thorin in turn gave his father's shoulder a squeeze before detangling himself and approaching Bilbo, eyes dark as he took the hobbit in from his shaking knees to abused hair. "I am not displeased by my decision. Quite the opposite." He too then reached up and ran his fingers through Bilbo's hair.
Instinctively, Bilbo wanted nothing more than to slap the offending touch away; however he noted the gentleness of the touch and the gleaming look in Thrain's eye – watching their interaction closely. Swallowing hard at this, knowing that however he reacted could spur something out of his control, Bilbo stayed himself and allowed Thorin's careful exploration.
"You do not wear my clasps," Thorin noticed.
"They were heavy," Bilbo replied immediately before anyone could jump in. "Every time Mister Dori tried to attach them they would come loose and fall."
Dori came forward, "That was what I was trying to explain to his majesty before this unfortunate misunderstanding." He said with evident relief. "Master Bilbo's hair is too short just yet to apply any of the heavier clasps, and there were none that were made small enough to stay."
Thorin took a moment to consider this before lifting both hands on one clasp at his temple and undoing it. Bilbo kept his eyes at the links of chainmail at Thorin's chest as the dwarf king gently gathered a bit of his hair and pinned the small clasp securely just above the hobbit's right ear.
"Does it stay?" Thorin asked, both hands hovering on either side of Bilbo's head.
Bilbo obligingly tilted his head side to side to test its hold, then said, "It holds, your Majesty."
"Let us get this over with then," Thorin said with a deep breath.
And Bilbo found himself holding his when the dwarf king reached down and took his hand in his as drums began to sound and the golden doors opened.
Now.
Bilbo was married to King Thorin in a language he did not understand, surrounded by a race not his own, without a single friend nor family member standing beside him or witnessing the activities. His hand stayed firmly in the dwarf king's, even when both their joined palms were showered in stone and sand – what significance, Bilbo cared not to wonder. He kept his eyes away from King Thrain, who married them off loudly and with words that seemed more for battle than marriage.
They exchanged blood. Both thumbs pierced and three drops from each fell into a goblet of red wine from which they both drank from. Bilbo had to keep himself from sucking at the sore appendage.
Such an odd people were these dwarves.
Bilbo followed along with whatever he was instructed to do, playing the obedient little hobbit as he stepped forward and back, sat and stood, greeted and waved. Not once throughout these proceedings did King Thorin lean over and whisper anything to him, nor did Bilbo ask anything from any of the dwarves.
By the time all ceremonies were complete, and feasts consumed, and visitors properly intoxicated with ale, Bilbo was ready to collapse from pure exhaustion. He did not protest when Balin took him by the arm and escorted him away from the festivities, stating that his presence was no longer required.
He was escorted not to the rooms he had slept in the previous night, but further down another corridor – the dwarves did love their corridors – through guarded doors to what Bilbo realized were the royal suites.
"Princes Fili and Kili's rooms are across from King Thorin's rooms, which you of course will be sharing," said Balin, indicated each door. "King Thrain maintains the rooms furthest to the right, beside yours, and finally Princess Dis beside her sons' on the left – though she prefers to stay in the Iron Hills and is hardly here for more than a few days at a time."
So there was a princess in the midst of this mad rabble of dwarf royalty. How many more would come out of the woodwork in the next couple of days? Perhaps there was a third king hiding beneath the mattress?
King Thorin's room was not as large as Bilbo feared it would be. The bed, which could easily fit eight hobbits comfortably, was carved from the stone of the mountain itself and lined with crystals twinkling in the lamplight. There were windows, and a door made of stained glass, and through them Bilbo could see the dark night sky with stars shining like nature's gemstones.
There was a passageway to a private bathing room, with mirrors, tapestries and weapons adorning all the walls. There was a large fireplace with sitting chairs and a desk to one side. A large wardrobe stood in a corner, and Bilbo immediately saw his bag and small chest resting there. The only hobbit presence in such a dwarfish room.
"My lord Thorin will be here shortly," Balin said. "Not too long I hope, but ample time for you to look around yourself and get comfortable. You two will not be disturbed till morning, so no need to worry about any interruption."
Bilbo swallowed hard, not liking the insinuation. Clearing his throat, he stepped forward and looked to the old dwarf. "The contract. I was never given a chance in Hobbiton to look it over properly. When can I look it over?"
Balin seemed taken aback by his question. "I carried it with me all this time, yet only now you ask when it is no longer in my possession. Your timing, Master Bilbo, is quite unfortunate."
Clasping his hands behind him, Bilbo forced the steel in his voice. "If you no longer have it, then who might I ask?"
"Why, your lord husband I would say."
Bilbo turned away, not wanting the other to see the turmoil that was surely evident on his face. "Very well then. I will ask him when he comes."
The dwarf's voice was condescendingly gentle when he said, "I highly doubt my lord will be in much of a talking mood when he arrives. Perhaps tomorrow once things have…settled."
"Mister Balin," Bilbo snapped. "I do not appreciate your implications!"
Balin sounded anything but contrite when he replied, "I thought you appreciated frankness over what you construe as wordy guile."
"It is your crude insinuation that I take offense to, not your candor."
"Then forgive me, Master Bilbo, for I meant no offense."
He was smiling. The damn old dwarf was smiling, making light of Bilbo's outrage as if he were a child out of sorts that needed to be put to bed.
Except this bed would be shared with King Thorin, and sleeping was not on the agenda tonight…at least not at first…
Bilbo did not want to think of it, not yet. Giving Balin a dirty look he stalked to the bathing room without a word. Once thoroughly cleansed, he found a soft dressing gown and robe about his size and dressed, happy to find that the offensive old dwarf was gone…
…and then appalled to find King Thorin in his place.
He was mostly undressed, in cut-off breeches and white shirt with ties undone to reveal his neck and a bit of his hairy chest. He sat reclined, barefoot, in a sitting chair beside the fireplace. It irked Bilbo to find that even in such a relaxed state, King Thorin looked every bit of a king.
Sure that his voice would break, or croak, or do something equally humiliating, Bilbo opted to keep quiet. He walked past the fireplace to the opposite corner, reaching down to his bag and opening the wardrobe to put it out of the way. The chest followed, and once Bilbo shut the wardrobe doors he turned and nearly jumped out of his skin to find King Thorin standing right behind him.
"What do you think you're doing?" Bilbo exclaimed, turning back to the wardrobe so that he did not have to look at the other. "Creeping around like a burglar! You scared the life out of me."
"You seemed quite intent on ignoring my presence," said the dwarf, and Bilbo shifted in discomfort at the truth in his words.
He huffed. "Do you blame me? You have done nothing to endear me to you, nor your cause – whatever that might be. You own father accosted me this morning and I am still weary from my journey here." At the silence, Bilbo continued, but this time with a bit of hesitancy, "I did not know your father still held title of king. I assumed he had died and you had taken the throne. Is this normal among you dwarves? To be ruled by more than one king?"
There was a chuckle behind him, a low warm rumbling. "No, this is not our custom, at least not under the same mountain. At times both my father and I do not know where we stand with each other?"
Bilbo wrapped his arms around himself. "And where do I stand in all of this?"
"Beside me," this was whispered into his ear, making Bilbo flinch slightly at the suddenness of it. "You fall under my protection and rule as I am your husband and king. Though like any living in these halls, you obey my father, King Thrain, but only as long as it does not contradict my direct orders to you."
"I do not want him to touch me again," Bilbo said, finally turning his body to face the other. Forcing his chin up, he lifted his eyes and met the blues of the king. "Can you do that?"
"I can order my staff to intervene if something like that happens again." He smiled and brought his hands to Bilbo's arms, not gripping them but running them up and down. "Balin said that you were not a creature of questions."
Bilbo allowed the touch, studying the dwarf's face. "Mister Balin has a tendency of telling lies by speaking truths. Why would I ask him anything and expect an honest reply?"
"He is loyal to me, and as we are bound together, he would lay down his life for me and mine."
"And that is what I am? Yours?"
"Yes." The hands were no longer petting, but traveled up to the top of his robe and firmly pulled it down to expose the top of Bilbo's sleeping gown, giving easier access to the hobbit's skin. "You are covered by too many layers," King Thorin murmured before leaning down and burying his nose in Bilbo's hair, inhaling.
Bilbo ducked and tried to side step, but arms took him by the waist and he was lifted. Before he had a chance to protest he was divested onto the bed with the robe being pulled from him and sleeping gown riding up.
"Wait!" he cried out in panic, hands grasping a pillow and shoving it between him and dwarf king.
King Thorin immediately pulled back, allowing Bilbo to shift into a seated position with the pillow clutched in his arms. The hobbit gulped loudly at the heated look on the dwarf's face and the obvious need pressing against the trousers. He was aroused. How in the world could a dwarf be aroused by him?
Bilbo tried to keep the quaver from his voice, but failed when he asked, "Do we have to do this tonight? Or is this just because you desire it?"
"Both," was the immediate response. "The contract is not complete until we consummate. It is merely coincidental that I find you comely and wish to bed you." He leaned forward so that he was on both hands and knees. "What of me? Do you find nothing desirable about me?"
"I do not know you!"
"This is not about familiarity. It is about necessity." The dwarf reached for one of Bilbo's ankles, running the back of his hand over the hair on top of his foot. "And through this necessity I find myself attracted to your body. Tonight I do not need to know anything other than you are Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, my husband, and that I wish to touch you." The hand traveled up, shifting the gown to expose more of Bilbo's legs. "Will you fight me in this, Bilbo?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Bilbo even as his hand explored the soft flesh of the hobbit's thigh. "Will you allow me to try to make this pleasurable for the both of us? Despite everything that you think I do not wish you harm."
Bilbo tucked his leg back and turned on his knees, burying his face into the pillow. "You've already done harm by bringing me here. What more could you do?"
The dwarf king pressed himself into Bilbo's back, hands once again pulling his gown up and traveling between his legs.
At Bilbo's gasp, King Thorin nuzzled the side of the hobbit's neck and asked, "Will you resist me, Bilbo?"
Shuddering, Bilbo shook his head, biting his lip as strong hands found what they were seeking and began to stroke. He kept his face in the pillow even when pressed forward with the dwarf's hands keeping his hips up and knees positioned wide so that he was exposed. Bilbo kept down and allowed himself to be breached by oiled fingers, stretched and prepared. Even though frightened, he allowed the dwarf king to stroke him till completion, milking him dry with clever and far more experienced hands. He did not struggle when finally the dwarf deemed him prepared to be mounted, driving his large organ into him to the point that Bilbo thought him torn in half.
He did not weep, though Bilbo could not stop the pained tears of the initial penetration. He allowed King Thorin to hold him steady as he thrust into him carefully, patiently letting the dwarf reach his own ecstasy through his rutting.
King Thorin did not leave him once done; rather he cleansed the two of them thoroughly with a warm wet cloth. The moist warmth caused Bilbo to stir, which amused his husband greatly. Pressing Bilbo flat onto his back, he aligned their penises together in one hand and stroked. Bilbo's hands sought purchase on the king's shoulders, and as heat coiled in his loins he found himself thrusting up with as much enthusiasm as the other.
Once again it was Bilbo who lost control first followed shortly by the king. This time both barely had enough energy to wipe themselves clean before falling into oblivion.
Bilbo's last thought was of Thorin's hand on his hip, hot like molten lava branding him deep through skin, muscle and bones.
|
“Tim? You ready?” Bruce asked as Tim walked down the stairs. Bruce was fixing his tie in the mirror in the entryway. He tossed a glance up, but focused on the tie.
“Yeah.” Tim smoothed down his nice new suit. It had been a while since he was in formal wear, it was a little uncomfortable, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “Is Dick here yet?” Tim looked around the entryway. Alfred had done as promised forcing Dick into attending the gala, but the man was currently absent. Tim hoped that the fight didn’t change his mind.
“No, I believe his plan was to arrive fashionably late.” Bruce answered. “He always likes to make an entrance.” Tim rolled his eyes, of course he did.
Alfred appeared in the doorway and gestured for Tim to come closer. Tim stood a second, letting Alfred look him over for anything out of place. Like clockwork, Alfred reached out to adjust his tie and his suit jacket. Alfred pulled cufflinks out of his pocket and Tim let him put them on. Once Alfred was satisfied, he went over to repeat the whole affair with Bruce. Tim looked down at the cufflinks, immediately recognizing the Wayne crest. He looked up sharply at Alfred, but he was already gone and paying attention to Bruce. Tim looked back at the cufflinks and smiled, if Alfred gave them to him, it must be okay.
“Now, Tim, you remember the plan?” Bruce looked nervous.
“Yes, stand with you to be introduced, otherwise hold pleasant conversations with people, avoid mentioning the Drakes or any personal details, once Dick arrives, follow him around instead, hang around for a bit after your speech then leave around 10:30.” Apparently Tim was too young to be around the festivities that late at night.
“Perfect.” Bruce clapped him on the shoulder, “And if you need to leave let me know or find Alfred or Dick so they can let me know.”
Tim rolled his eyes, “Yes, Dad.” Tim’s eyes widened in shock, he hadn’t meant- he didn’t mean to say that.
Bruce just laughed, then patted him on the head. “Call me whatever you want to, kiddo, as long as you’re comfortable I’m happy.”
Tim fidgeted with his cufflinks, “Anyway!” He changed the topic, “How long until people start arriving?” He purposefully did not look at Bruce.
“Soon.” Bruce said absentmindedly, then he perked up, “Oh right, I almost forgot!” He grabbed Tim again and started rubbing the inside of his wrists all over Tim’s head and neck.
“Ah! Bruce! Stop!” Tim squirmed, he was laughing though. Bruce was smiling. Tim peaked over and Alfred was too.
“You said keep going?” Bruce joked and didn’t let Tim escape. He was making sure that Tim was covered in his protective omega scent.
“No! I literally just took a shower!” Tim complained, still trying to push Bruce’s arms off of him. Bruce finally let go and Tim immediately started fussing over his hair again. Bruce had gotten it all out of shape. “Was that really necessary?”
“Yes. And it’s tradition.” Bruce said.
“He did this to Dick and Jason too, didn’t he.” Tim turned towards Alfred.
“Undoubtedly, Master Tim.” Alfred responded.
Tim groaned, still trying to fix his hair. “Really Bruce? You couldn’t have done that before I did my hair?” Tim’s complaining couldn’t hide his scent though, the happy pup scent that told everyone around that they had a doting parent that just showered them in affection. Bruce’s scent was similar: proud and happy.
“You look fine.” Bruce waved away Tim’s concerns. “Besides, the guests appear to be arriving, Alfred, if you will?”
“Certainly.” Alfred flung open the doors to the manor. “Welcome to Wayne Manor.” He greeted the first of the guests. Tim shifted closer to Bruce. The two of them were meant to be welcoming guests as they arrived and suddenly Tim was nervous. The first guests were through the door, so Bruce only had a moment to shoot a look down at Tim, reassuring him with a glance.
“Ah, hello, so glad you could make it.” Bruce began the welcoming scripts, the brief introductions and pleasantries before the guests were shepherded towards the ballroom. Tim was mostly on standby, there to be introduced, shown off, but little else. So Tim mostly zoned out. He went through the motions, smiled and said hello to various guests, but if they ignored him, he ignored them right back.
At a lull in arrivals, Bruce turned to Tim, checking in on him. Tim just smiled. He was used to this. This is what his parents trained him to do, it was easy. He didn’t like it very much, but it wasn’t so bad. And he was having fun trying to do detective work on the various high society people walking through the door, though he didn’t tell Bruce that. He was almost certain that a pair that walked in a few minutes prior had just discovered that the husband was having an affair based on the guilty look on the husband’s face and the determined viper-like look on the wife’s.
The lull in arrivals came to an end, and five minutes later Tim recognized the next guests on scent alone. It had been a few months, but the scents of his parents were distinct. Tim was most familiar with their stale scent, he’d depended on it so much in his life, but in person their scents were much stronger. Bruce didn’t have the advantage of a small warning, so at the appearance of Jack and Janet Drake in front of him, Bruce visibly startled.
“I’m afraid you are not on the list.” Alfred, ever polite, tried to halt them in their tracks. Bruce grabbed Tim’s shoulder and pushed him behind him, trying to move Tim out of the way of his parents. Tim still leaned around Bruce to see what was happening. Everyone else in the vicinity stopped everything to watch, well aware of exactly what was going on.
Janet had her polite smile plastered on her face. “A mild oversight, we are neighbors after all.” She slid her eyes right over Alfred to make eye contact with Bruce. She didn’t even look down at Tim. Not one brief glance. Tim jerked back, grabbed onto Bruce’s sleeve to ground himself. She didn’t care about Tim, just the bad press when he was taken away.
Bruce brushed off the shock and hardened his expression. “Janet, Jack, you are in violation of a court order. You need to leave the premises now.” Bruce almost growled and the whole room shifted. Jack was a beta and he seemed somewhat threatened by Bruce’s anger, but Janet just smiled, ever the overconfident alpha.
“What are you talking about Bruce? I’m here to see my son.” She finally flicked her glance down at Tim. She must have found something in Tim’s expression lacking for the way her lips turned down in distaste, not that anyone other than Tim would notice.
“I will call the police.” Bruce threatened. Tim tightened his hold on Bruce’s sleeve. He had no doubt that anxious pup scent was filling the entire room. He was going to ruin the entire night, he tried to clamp down on his scent, but he couldn’t get a handle on it, it just further spiraled out of control. He could see the rest of the guests in the vicinity shifting their feet, obviously uncomfortable.
Janet laughed. “Please, Brucie.” Her expression changed in a second, instantly hardening into a growl, the threat of an alpha, “It’s my son.” Tim flinched. Bruce tugged him closer behind him and Tim hid his face in Bruce’s jacket. Bruce’s protective omega scent was now warring with Janet’s aggressive alpha scent and it was overpowering the entire room.
“Get out.
Now
.” Bruce commanded. Janet brushed off the command, laughing lightly.
“I have every right to be here.” Janet advanced a step and Bruce backed up once to maintain distance, Janet took it as a success though.
“Excuse me.” A hand appeared on Janet’s shoulder, a new strong and powerful alpha scent entering the fray, Tim perked up in recognition. “Detective Grayson, BPD.” Dick pulled his badge out of his waistcoat pocket, flashing it around. “You both need to leave the premises.” His voice didn’t leave any room for disagreement.
Janet scanned Dick up and down before scoffing and pushing Dick’s hand off her shoulder.
“If you refuse to leave, I will remove you.” Dick warned. Turning a look towards Bruce taking stock of both his pack leader and Tim. Dick’s posture was tight as a spring and his eyes promised violence to anyone that hurt his pack.
It was clear what Janet’s opinion of Dick was. She thought he’d bought his position in the police force, no training or skill. She didn’t feel threatened by him. “You have no power here, circus brat.” She spat.
A dark look came over Dick’s face, then he grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around and slamming her into the wall, grabbing her arm with his other hand. He didn’t hold back at all, Janet was going to be sporting a bruise on her face for days. He let go of her shoulder, her face frozen in shock, reaching into his pocket for a pair of handcuffs. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” Dick cuffed her hands together, everyone in the room in shock, he leaned close to her ear and growled, “Do you understand?”
Janet didn’t respond, she was too shocked. Dick roughly pulled her up off the wall and marched her out the front door. He gestured for Jack to follow and he had the foresight to go without complaint.
Tim bounced up on his heels at that, looking after Dick as he pushed his parents out of the door. Then he looked up at Bruce and smiled. “Dick made them leave!” Tim exclaimed. Bruce looked down at Tim, almost stunned, mostly likely because of Tim’s quick change of demeanor. But Tim was happy, he barely ever noticed his bonds with Bruce and Dick except when the two were fighting, but right now his bonds with both of them were singing. Sure, if Tim thought about it more he might be angry at them being protective, but at the moment he was almost giddy with how both of them stood up to his parents.
Then Bruce laughed, and reached out, ruffling over Tim’s head and hair again, spreading another layer of protective omega scent all over him. The tension bled out of the room, everyone seeming to take a breath at once. “That he did.” Bruce smiled as he agreed with Tim.
---
Dick reappeared thirty minutes later and Tim happily went over to stay by his side for the rest of the night, according to the plan. Tim’s presence helped to fight off some of the suitors who approached Dick, but not all of them. Dick had plenty of fun flirting with them all either way. They snuck off to the hors d'oeuvres table a little while later and Dick filled Tim in on what happened.
“I swear my boss yelled at me for almost 5 minutes straight about proper procedure and all that. I spent the whole time trying not to laugh with how ironic it was.” Dick joked.
“Bruce was so shocked when you showed up and just marched them out of there like some kind of deus ex machina.”
“Learning a lot in english class, I see.”
“Shut up.” Tim shoved another hors d'oeuvre in his mouth.
“Listen, I’m sorry all that happened tonight, and that you had to see it.” Dick suddenly turned serious.
“What are you talking about? It was amazing!” Tim covered his mouth, but it was still obvious that he was talking with his mouth full.
Dick blinked. “That is… not the reaction I was expecting.”
“I mean, you burst in, say ‘detective Grayson, BPD’ and slam her against the wall.” Tim tried to replicate Dick’s voice and he mimed out the action with his hands, putting all his excitement into it. Dick just watched him, eyes wide. “And you just pull her out of there. She looked so surprised she didn’t even fight back. I’ve never seen her just give up like that. It was amazing!”
“Uh-huh.”
“And Dad didn’t even try and stand up to you or Bruce, he just walked out and left. He’s never like that! And everything always goes their way, so it was great seeing both of their faces when suddenly they couldn’t get away with whatever they wanted!” Tim was beaming by the end.
“I’m not sure if you’re processing this extremely well or extremely horribly.”
“Look, Dick, I never won an argument against my parents. Never. No one else ever did either. This was like retribution for the past… who knows how long! They deserved it. Plus, it felt really good seeing it all go down.” Tim was almost breathless with how excited he was reliving the whole experience.
“I’ll take your word for it.” Dick still looked a mix of slightly shocked and confused, but he just ruffled Tim’s hair and they moved back into the throng of people. Tim tried to brush down his hair again, Dick and Bruce kept messing it up trying to cover him in their scents.
---
A little past 10:30 and Dick left the party with Tim, using walking Tim up to his room as an excuse to get away. They walked in silence until they got to the second floor and the sounds of the gala had almost all faded away.
“So, Tim, me and Bruce, we, uh, we talked.” Dick rubbed the back of his neck. Tim looked up at him as they walked, a flicker of fear in his chest right near where he could feel his bonds. He hadn’t forgotten about their fight, but with everything that happened tonight it had slipped his mind. “And I guess, we’re going to sort it all out.”
“What?”
“Our differences I mean, just because we disagree doesn’t mean we should pull you into it.”
“Okay…”
“I guess, we’re both still dealing with losing Jason and we’re reacting differently.” Dick paused in the middle of the hallway, making sure that he could make eye contact with Tim.
“Dick. I’m here because of what happened to Jason. I… Batman needs a Robin. Bruce needs someone to keep him out of the dark.”
“No, Tim, you can’t be obligated to be here for Bruce-”
“Let me finish.” Tim cut him off. “You,” He said pointedly, “weren’t cutting it. You fell into the dark with Bruce. You’re both too obsessed with it all. You need a life outside of the mask and crime. And that’s what a Robin does. Robin is hope and life and everything. You two needed something outside of the mask to give you a reason and a purpose.”
“And you put this all together way back when you first approached me?” Dick sounded skeptical.
“Nope. I learned on the job. Bruce got better once he was training me, but he didn’t really start to get better until after I moved it.”
“Still, Tim, you can’t feel like you’re obligated to fix Bruce and I. It’s not your job.”
“No. It’s not. Which is what I realized after I ran into the two of you in Bruce’s office.” Dick looked guilty at that. “But, by being here I am having an effect. You and Bruce talk now. You work together. And Bruce isn’t going all dark. You two can figure out your own shit, you guys know it hurts people. So fix it. It hurts you and him the most anyway.” Tim shrugged.
“Tim…” Dick seemed to struggle for words, then he gave up and pulled Tim into a hug. “You have no right to be this smart. And I promise you that Bruce and I are going to fix it, if not for our own sake, then for yours. You’re too good for this world, Timmy.” Dick squeezed Tim one last time then let go. “I should get back to the party.”
“Yeah. Go keep flirting with all those rich ladies and gents.”
“They haven’t seen the worst of me yet!” Dick winked with a smile then turned around and headed back to the gala, leaving Tim to go to bed feeling the warmth of his bonds deep in his chest.
|
Sirio did not die by going over to Wizarding Britain and dying stupidly by fighting while drunk, which was his Fate that he'd promised Emilio to not go and meet.
He didn't die in a drunken fight in Wizarding Europe, which was how anyone sensible who knew him thought that he would go, sneaking there alone behind Emilio's back and lying about what he'd done.
Sirio was killed in a drunken over a debt. Emilio got the news by owl from Maria, which meant that Marcos handed over the black-edged envelope that Sirio had put together just in case.
He left Emilio a vicious house-elf, no gold, a mound of empty bottles and a clean house full of motorcycle parts. This house was one that Emilio had to sell to settle the estate, after some instructive weeks of helping Ricardo clear a lot of surprises Sirio had set in place to entertain intruders.
Ricardo learned a lot about magical healing and about following instructions and reading what he was told to read, and about practicing a spell properly and not just lying and saying that he had. Emilio always rescued him before permanent damage was done. Marcos and Astaria were more reliable, which Ricardo didn't like. Over seventy long days, Ricardo gained and lost and gained Emilio's trust, finally buckling down to his schoolwork every morning like he was supposed to. That was more difficult on a boat.
Then there were all the followers, who were causing trouble Emilio got blamed for, fixing problems Emilio had not asked them to fix, because he was out of sight and they made their own guesses when they couldn't find him. After the third dead body and the third time plucking a faithful follower out of some Ministry prison, Emilio thought that he should probably get a nice big house people could come and find him in and put to good use all the spells Sirio had passed on to him and perhaps shut Kreacher up too.
Emilio knew what to do. He didn't like it, but it was the only good path in the end.
Emilio settled in magical Bogotá as the most powerful wizard there, after six difficult weeks of crushing every effort at resistance.
He still did not attack people first, but he did finish any fight anyone started.
He had a trick no one else did, of exploding an attacker into a red spray as soon as their curse hit him. All their magic bounced back and at the same time formed a path that Emilio's magic followed, past any sort of shield. Powerful slicing and disentegrating spells doubled every time they hit a new cell. It was Emilio's own curse and he was very proud of it. He usually didn't even see them die.
Then, too, he tore the secrets from the minds of vampires who tried their magic on him and exploded them into grey spray at the same time. The third time was the charm. No vampires existed in the city and perhaps in the entire country, because they were all very busy somewhere else.
Even the Killing Curse bounced, because it wasn't hitting skin. Emilio had spent a long, long time learning to wrap himself in magic. The more people attacked him, the stronger he got, although right now that wasn't a problem, because these days people in Wizarding Colombia who didn't learn quickly died young.
He was the law, and the law was 'leave Emilio Farero Gomez the fuck alone if he doesn't want to be bothered', which was a nice simple easy law to remember. He wasn't chatty. He was polite to servers and a good tipper. He did not countenance any sort of fighting inside places people ate, picking the loudest person up and throwing them out of the door, without looking up from his book, or going near any sort of magical implement.
And then, if someone raised a hand to a child, he picked them up and gave them a hard shake and a slap to the face before they'd completed the action. His people hunted down children and checked that they were fed, clothed and that their terrified parents were kind. He had ways of finding out when nobody was around to see. The birds themselves told him, so the rumour went.
His people paid taxes, not bribes, because the place was a shithole, so if someone was doing a job, they had better do just that job. Certainly they did, so much as any Emilio loyalists could discover. He was the new Dark Lord, albeit a confusing one, and his faction was growing.
He wanted peace, quiet and people doing the jobs they were paid for. Anything else went, whether it was selling smuggled goods, or kidnap for ransom, murder or arson, but by God, if you went to Calle Oro to eat, you could have your meal in peace.
Ricardo went off to Chile to go to school, Emilio and a lot of friends going with him, and being entirely respectful of the local magical laws. Emilio wasn't an outlaw. Each summer, they came back, just walked as though they had seven league boots, and Ricardo's real education began, until he was up to his E.D.B.As, and Voldemort, busy over in Europe, was finding out that it's one thing to take land, it's another to hold it. Insurrections grew like wildfire, and mass slaughters only made the resistance more determined.
Eventually he was gone again. Neville Longbottom was dead, burned while slaughtering Voldemort's snake while actually on fire, which was an impressive way to go, and Voldemort had exploded while trying to kill Hannah Abbott, a very ordinary witch who was even better at not-dying than Toad Boy. Luna told the Quibbler all about it, and announced her intention to go hunting Crumple-horned Snorcacks at long last with some wizard Harry had never heard of.
Europe was free.
Emilio had nothing to go back for, just the satisfaction of knowing that he hadn't been needed.
Then, one very ordinary day, Snape came and hunted him out.
Emilio had read about him in the Daily Prophet. Snape had fled when Britain liberated itself, which was, Emilio thought, very sensible.
He'd managed to secure an audience with Emilio, and knelt before him. He had something with him, a precious object he was guarding with his life. "My lord," he said. "We need to talk." He spoke in English, and wore no disguise. He was being polite. He looked just the same as he always had, only older.
Emilio flicked a finger. Snape could go on.
Snape was eloquent, his voice demanding attention as he laid out a tale of a prophecy, and showed proof of his true allegiance to the Light. His faded Dark Mark as proof of his connection to the Dark. "It was like this before. The Dark Lord is not dead, and can return. Only you can kill him if he does," he said, swallowing his hatred into cold depths. "The Wizarding World needs you." His tone was pleading. He wanted, sincerely, to put it all in Emilio's lap.
A coward seeking a powerful master, and he'd killed his last one and Emilio wasn't stupid. Snape vanished in a pretty red spray, because Emilio owed him nothing, nothing at all, and he was not about to martyr himself to false stories and a bucket of memories and a stone bowl.
He destroyed the memories sitting in vials like preserved lifesucking worms, and kept the bowl, and that was the last time Emilio Farero Gomez ever worried about anything much, in what turned out to be a very, very long, very happy life. |
There was an argument, but it was short lived.
Very short lived.
"You can't" Jon said, eyes wide with worry then, breaking him out of his resolute state, only his worry for her could do that.
"I can and I will" Sansa insisted, and she knew she needed to do that, anything outside of total commitment would lead to doubt, and she couldn't afford doubt, not now, not in the future, and especially not down South.
Did she want to go South? Absolutely not. The very thought made her stomach roll, and her hands almost shake, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. But she knew despite her own fears, despite her own promises to herself that she would never return, she didn't have a choice; Jon was going, and so she had to.
"It's too dangerous" Jon insisted, to which Sansa narrowed her eyes; got it.
Littlefinger had taught her many things, manipulative things she shouldn't want to carry on, shouldn't use, and yet they had their uses, too many uses. She thought of Father and Robb then, both still adjusting to their returns, she loved them, was so happy they were back, but she knew they wouldn't employ the tactics she would, Jon would to an extent but not enough.
The Stark family needed a spymaster, that was the truth of it, and though she wasn't willing to be Littlefinger, she was willing to be a version of him, not quite as cut-throat but certainly willing to be for her family.
And so her mind worked that way now, it unpicked conversations, found openings, found opportunities and so as Jon spoke, she thought of something Littlefinger had told her;
'If you see an opening you must take it, but you must be smart; there's no place for brave fools in the game, but there's also no place for hesitant cowards'
There was an opening, and yet she could see in this instance, she had to take it.
"It it's too dangerous then you can't go either" She said, raising her gaze to his. She would never openly question Jon in public, would never erode his authority like that, just as he would never do to her, but in private? Damn right she'd push him, press him, just as he did her, they needed one another for that, how else would they know they were making the right moves?
"Sansa" Jon said, exasperated then, but he took her hands, his gaze meeting hers, insistent, clear, as was hers, though perhaps a bit murkier, "I have to go"
"Then I do too" Her tone had dropped to a whisper, and there were no playing games in that, just what she needed. The thought of Jon leaving, going South alone … she'd brave the South a thousand times before she let that happen.
"Someone needs to be here, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell" He said and she nodded, that she wouldn't disagree with.
"Thankfully we've got plenty now" She said, and with that she could see Jon deflate a touch. Arguments wise they were usually even on who won them, Sansa perhaps had a lead, one she was increasing with this, she just needed to tip it over the edge.
"Father can rule here" She said, "It would be good for our people to see us as united, Father and Robb have named you King, but they need places too" She said, though she knew Jon planned for Robb to have the Dreadfort, they also needed to show the Stark family was a unit, one dedicated to ruling the North together; Jon may be the crown, but he was not alone.
"Sansa…" Jon said, whispering now too, "I don't want you to have to do this" He lifted his hand to cup her face then and she leaned into it without hesitation.
She managed a smile at that, a weak one, but a smile all the same, she lifted her hand to close around Jon's wrist holding her face, tightly, she'd need his strength it was true, but she could do it; she'd have to do it.
"Maybe I need to do this for me" She offered, lie, she didn't, but she did for Jon. "For you, for our people" She said, truth, and nodded, "I won't let you do this alone"
"I…" Jon stopped then, cutting himself off, and nodded, a great gasp of relief left her lips, and she felt that crushing weight of it too, she could go with Jon, she could keep him safe, they would not be parted.
She also felt a rush of crippling fear at the idea of going South, but if that was the price … she'd pay it.
"I'll keep you safe" Jon promised then, and Sansa nodded then too, she'd always believe Jon in that, and as he bundled her into his arms, she pulled him close too, the two of them holding onto one another, before the trials to come.
Things sprung into action quickly from there, though there were more arguments to be had.
"Why do you have to go?" Lady Stark had thrown at Sansa, ignoring him completely, clearly, she didn't care that he was risking his life.
Jon wasn't stupid, he knew Lady Stark still despised him, possibly more for seemingly taking the seat she believed belonged to her husband or eldest son, it was difficult for Jon, as he still felt that way a touch.
"I'm not letting Jon go alone" Sansa said as though it were obvious and in a tone that brokered no argument.
"Let your Father go" Lady Stark said, though she offered her husband a nervous smile, clearly, she didn't want anyone to go South, but would protect her children first, one of Lady Stark's redeeming qualities.
"We can't" Jon said with a shake of his head, and as Lady Stark glared, he just looked away, he wouldn't cower anymore, but he didn't need a fight, "The South should not know you all live"
Lord Stark nodded at that, "He's right Cat, better we keep our presence here hidden for as long as possible"
Sansa nodded then too, and Jon offered her a smile, missing the look Robb gave them.
"We will go South" He winced, he hadn't wanted to take Sansa, not able to stand the thought he was putting her in danger, but she had insisted, and he could see her wisdom in wanting to go.
And he couldn't say no, not when she'd looked at him the way she had; with fear, with worry, and with intensity. "Lord Stark, you'll rule in my stead" He said it formally, though he hated to do so he had to, and thankfully his Uncle nodded in return.
"I will protect the North with my life" He said, and then unexpectedly pulled his nephew into a hug. Jon went in willingly, wishing sometimes he wasn't in charge, the responsibilities that came with it sometimes crushing, sometimes it would have been easier to be a boy again.
But no, he was no longer a boy, and he would not let anyone be at risk, not ever again.
He was a King now, and the risk was his.
It would have been his alone if not for Sansa.
Yet he could see and understand her reasoning, he wouldn't let her go alone, and so why should she him? They were a team, had been ever since they'd reunited and he'd been foolish to discard that, even out of a place of wanting to keep Sansa safe.
They'd go South together.
"Brother" Robb said pulling him to one side as Sansa chatted rapidly to Lord Stark about provisions.
"Yes?" He asked, it warmed him Robb still called him that, brothers in all but blood indeed, how he'd missed him.
"How do you know you'll be safe?" He asked, looking nervous and Jon understood, all but him had, had poor experiences South, he understood their anxieties, but he saw no other option, the Gods had sent him the riddle he'd deciphered.
What defeated ice?
The answer had been clear.
"I'll take guards" He said, as Arya joined their trio, Rickon too, though he was still young he was growing. Only Bran was absent, in the Godswood, as he always was these days.
Much had changed for all of them since they'd last seen one another.
He knew he was much changed, brooding still but with the Kingship now, a responsibility he took seriously, had fought for and would die for.
Robb had lost his innocence; he too had a responsibility but also a guilt behind his eyes that wouldn't budge.
Sansa had probably changed the most, from sweet girl to a protégée of some of the most dangerous people in Westeros and armed with their skills.
Bran was barely even Bran anymore, always eyes closed, focused on things they couldn't see or comprehend.
Arya had changed too, though the cheeky girl still remained, under layers of deadliness.
Rickon was growing now, but had been thankfully immune to a lot of the trauma the others had suffered, though he had not been apart from it completely.
Lord and Lady Stark hid their changes well, but he could see Lord Stark felt he'd failed them, his guilt heavier than Robb's, and now he was immediately ready to support Jon but not supplant him, Lady Stark was the opposite but her gaze lingered on her children always, this time she'd protect them as she'd tried to last time.
So much changed, so much different.
"Will guards be enough?" Robb asked, "Who is going?" There was Robb the tactician, still there just subdued, Jon knew he'd need it in the battles to come.
"Us, Davos too, 30 guards" Jon said, he knew it sounded paltry "We were invited"
"Initially" Robb said, he had been bought up to speed, as had Lord Stark one night thoroughly on the last year, both keen to know what had been going on in the North recently, much Northern ale had been drank, "But didn't you not respond?"
"Yes" Jon said, "But now we are"
"She'll expect you to bend the knee" Lord Stark said then, stepping in, no doubt overhearing their conversation, Jon smiled at his Uncle, so happy to have him back.
It was different though, Jon knew he couldn't rely on his Uncle, not anymore, he was King now, and could not be weak, but he could turn to his Uncle for guidance, from his infinite experience, and planned to, many a time. The same with Robb.
"I won't" Jon said with a shake of his head, turning to glance at Sansa, chatting away to her Mother and Arya (and from what he could hear Arya was trying to insist she could come South too), "Not for anything"
"Not even for whatever it is you seek from her?" Robb asked. Jon hadn't quite shared his revelation, he would when he returned, if he was successful.
He paused then, would he bend the knee for her dragons? To save his people? His initial answer was yes.
But then he thought about it deeper, as Sansa would often instruct him to do, thought about the consequences beyond the initial decision. He'd gotten good at that, particularly as Lord Commander, what did he do beyond the first choice? Here, he knew that if he bent the knee to save his people, he may damn them to be ruled by a Mad Queen, by a tyrant, and how was that saving them?
"No" He said, he wouldn't, he knew without dragons their prospects against the dead were bleak, but he wasn't about to save his people from one enemy only to hand them to another.
Sure, he could be wrong, perhaps Daenerys Targaryen was kind, was fair, and yet the tone of her letter, and Sansa's inferences to it, he didn't think so.
Besides, the North was independent, it was theres, and they had taken it back, they weren't about to give it away.
"Will you tell her about your parentage?" His Uncle asked then with a wince, Jon imagined having kept it secret for so long, saying it out loud now felt strange.
"If I have to" Jon said, he had thought about, and thought that might work as a way to sway her to his side … or she might see him as a rival for the throne and kill him.
He knew this meeting would be dangerous, could go one of many ways, but it was the chance he had to take.
Once again, he glanced over at Sansa, he didn't want to take any chances with her, but he understood why she'd insisted on coming with him, and he'd do the same in her position. He'd also been reminded of something she'd said to him one night after they'd retaken Winterfell, early on.
"Jon"
"Yes Sansa?"
She had a drink in hand, he one in his, celebrating perhaps, or drowning their sorrows from the losses of battle; either or.
"Promise me when you rule"
"When we rule" He insisted, glad that coaxed a smile out of her; he may be King but he didn't intend to do it alone.
"Promise me you won't treat me like glass" Sansa looked across at him, blue eyes burning fiercely, clearly, determinedly.
"Like glass?"
"Fragile, breakable, don't do things to defend me that shut me out, even if you think its for the best"
"I'll never shut you out" He wouldn't.
"Promise me" Insistent this time, more than he'd seen her before.
"I promise"
He needed to keep that promise, and he would, in taking her South. Every instinct in him screamed to leave her here, safe and behind the walls of Winterfell, but he remembered that promise and would honour it.
"We'll leave on the morrow" Jon said, "With forty guards" His brother and Uncle nodded at that.
"In your absence" His Uncle spoke then, "Do I have your permission to sure up food stores? Get some projects going, answer requests?"
"You have the North in my absence" It felt so strange to speak to his Uncle like that, but less so now, now time had passed, so much time, and so much pain; he was the King now, Sansa had been right. "And all the responsibility that goes with that"
"My King" His Uncle said then bowing his head again, and Jon couldn't help himself.
"Gods that's strange" Laughter followed from the three of them, and once again he glanced at Sansa, smiling as she looked over at them, and he smiled back.
As much as he wished to keep her safe at home, wrapped in wool and safe, he couldn't deny he'd be glad to have her with him.
They ruled together, King and the Lady of Winterfell, Queen in all but name, and he intended to keep it that way.
Preparations to leave were underway immediately.
This was Sansa's area, and she hurried around the Castle, cloak billowing behind her, getting supplies ready for the journey. The armour the men would wear was shined, fresh castle forged steel was put in their hands and shields with the Direwolf of Winterfell were gleamed. Food was packed, Northern hearty food, and clothes, freshly stitched with their family symbol were readied.
They would show their best down South, show the Southerners what House Stark was made of. Would show the Northern teeth.
"Make sure you pack double the amount of Northern ale for the men, Southern spirits are too weak" She ordered one of the cooks and he nodded, hurrying off, Sansa smiled to herself, how far she'd come.
She'd always known she'd run a household one day, had been trained for it, but had been trained to be a wife, to run her husbands keep as he ruled, she supposed that was what she was doing here, but as the Lady of Winterfell to Jon's King in the North, it was perfect.
Sansa had no intention of marrying, none, she would never let herself be at the mercy of a man again.
This was enough.
"Make sure to pack lemon cakes" She told a second cook blushing a little as he laughed and nodded, she had good comradery with servants, something her Mother had taught her, to respect them, and they would follow her orders without question.
"Barking orders?" She whirled and gasped as Robb came up sneakily behind her, and smacked him on the arm with a laugh for scaring her, he just grinned cheekily.
Oh how she'd missed Robb; they'd always been close as the eldest Stark children, and she looped her arm through his as they crossed the courtyard, happy to see him here with her.
It was beyond what her and Jon could have ever hoped for, and only just now seemed real, settling into it.
"How are you?" She asked him then as they trudged through the snow, Sansa glancing over at the blacksmiths, she knew Jon was overseeing which men would attend and the journeys route, her role was here, in supplies. It was almost like a battle, Jon would oversee the troops and the tactics, she would see the men were fed and warm.
Jon the sword, leading the charge, her the shield ensuring the men had what they needed to take that charge.
"Well" Robb said with, a nod, "Adjusting, but it's easier every day"
Sansa nodded, she couldn't imagine it, returning as if no time had passed, "It must all look different"
"Eh" Robb said with a shrug, "The North is the same, it's the people"
"We lost many" Sansa said solemnly, and Robb nodded sadly.
"Yes, but also who's left, you and Jon, I can't believe how different you are"
Sansa smiled then, taking it as a compliment, she wasn't that silly little girl anymore, and never would be again.
"Jon seems wearier" Robb noted, and Sansa nodded too, Robb had a keen eye, always had.
"And me?" Sansa asked then, raising an eyebrow and Robb laughed again.
"Scarier" Again she thumped him and they laughed, but then Robb's face turned concerned.
"Are you sure you'll be safe in the South?" He asked, and Sansa nodded without hesitation, even if she didn't quite believe it.
She knew Jon would keep her safe, but she was worried about her own actions, it would take everything in her not to fall apart when they went South, but she would do it.
For Jon.
"You know" Robb hesitated then, seeming to pick his words out before stopping all together, pain crossing his face.
"What?" She asked.
"I would have traded you for Jaime Lannister in an instant" Robb lifted his gaze to meet hers then, and she softened, smiled, as his Tully blue eyes mirrored hers, she'd missed looking at them, "I just didn't think they'd really do it"
"I know" Sansa said, "But you'd have been a fool to do so"
Robb's eyebrows raised then, shocked, evidently, he hadn't expected that, "What?"
"Jaime was a valuable hostage, trading him for me would have been a poor move in war"
"Your family" Robb said, and Sansa nodded.
"Doesn't change that" It didn't. Sansa was loyal to her family, always, everything she did now protected them, but she'd learned much from many people, and she was no fool anymore.
Robb still held foolish notions of honour, Jon sometimes too, thankfully Sansa saw through all of that.
'Honour' She laughed, 'Honour falls away in the face of what actually works'
That had been Cersei, full of wine, but no less wrong.
"Perhaps you will be alright in the South" Robb said, looking a touch wary then.
"I'll make sure of it" Sansa said, and moved the conversation on, which Robb jumped on, though he continued to look at her a little different; perhaps just now he was seeing how different she had become.
The next day they were ready to move.
The men had been readied, the supplies packed, the route set (down to White Harbour, onto a ship down to Dragonstone), and he and Sansa were dressed in their Stark best, though Jon had refused a crown, he was no prancing Prince.
"You should wear a crown" Sansa had tried to insist, "It's about the station"
"I'm not a King who sits at the back so his crown doesn't fall off" He'd insisted back and Sansa had dropped it (before hurrying off), though by the glint in her eyes he could see she hadn't quite let it go.
"Are we ready?" Jon asked his Hand, Ser Davos then who nodded, and saddled up, leaving Jon and Sansa to say their goodbyes.
The hugs were long, hands clasped, Arya hung onto Jon (and promised Needle at her side to defend Winterfell), Bran offered a cryptic message about staying together, and Rickon made Sansa promise to return, both Ghost and Lady nuzzled them, the two inseparable now. Lady Catelyn fussed over Sansa's cloak, and then he turned to Robb and Lord Stark.
"Be careful" Robb offered before they hugged, patting one another on the back, almost like when he'd left for the Wall, he could see from Robb's face he thought the same.
"I'll be back this time" Jon said with a nod, and Robb nodded too.
"Make sure you are" His Uncle said before clasping him tightly, "Make sure you return and with Sansa"
"On my honour" He offered, before he turned to Sansa, her hugs with Robb and her Father were twice as long, none liked that she was going, but Jon had spoken.
It was strange, to be commanded without question, he couldn't pretend he didn't like it, but it was still odd.
They turned away then, Jon helping Sansa onto her horse before he pulled himself onto his own.
He turned back once to wave, as did Sansa, until the gates were behind them, their family too, distant specks on the horizon soon, as they headed South.
"We'll return" Jon offered in reassurance as he looked across at Sansa, and she nodded.
"I know" She said with a sad smile, "Thank you for letting me come"
"Always" He said, "I need you by my side"
Her smile widened at that and Jon mirrored it, as they both turned frontways and took off, to the South, to the hopeful salvation of their people, side by side. |
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