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Tsuna could feel his legs beginning to give out as he ran down the street with Lal Mirch chasing behind him. For some odd reason, Colonello was laughing as they sprinted at full speed down the pavement.
He wasn’t even panting.
Tsuna, on the other hand, felt like he was going to faint. It had been five minutes, he was sure of it, of full-out sprinting and the most Tsuna had ever did in class was jog a few hundred meters.
By this time, they’d already made four full rounds of Namimori at impossible speeds, and Tsuna would have given up if not for the threat of an angry Lal Mirch behind them.
“She’s going to kill us!” Tsuna gasped, feeling dizzy as they passed the lake, heading to Namimori Temple. “Absolutely crush us...”
Colonello laughed. “Oh, look, there’re steps ahead!” he said cheerfully, and Tsuna groaned.
Steps?
“I… I can’t…. can’t…” Tsuna finally gave up and collapsed on the long trail of stone stairs leading up to the temple. “I surrender,” he panted, leaning back on the steps. “I… can’t… go…. one step… further…” he admitted.
“Ah, okay then.” To Tsuna’s surprise, Colonello sat down beside him on the steps. He saw Tsuna’s surprised look and said, “A soldier does not abandon his comrade in times of danger!”
Well, this certainly classified as a time of danger, anyways.
“Speaking of Lal, where is she?” Colonello squinted off into the distance. “Have we lost her?”
“Ah… I think so,” Tsuna breathed out a sigh of relief. “We were lucky, then…” He closed his eyes in exhaustion and slumped down, but a few seconds later his intuition screamed at him and Tsuna bolted back upright.
“Tsuna? What is it?” Colonello looked alarmed. He glanced around before seeing something behind Tsuna. “Oh…” His face rapidly paled.
A dark, menacing shadow loomed over Tsuna and he felt himself freeze. He forced himself to turn around and shakily breathed out. “H-Hibari-san…” he muttered in horror.
“You’re crowding.” The one and only carnivore raised his trademark deadly tonfas. “I’ll bite you to death.”
Even after seven years, Hibari would visit Namimori Middle to patrol his halls and scare the living crap out of all the unsuspecting rumors. Even years after he left, rumors still hung around Nami Middle about its infamous Head of the Discipline Committee. New students used to laugh it off, but the situation would soon change when Hibari arrived behind the unfortunate soul and beat him into the floor.
Nami Middle was a dangerous place.
Tsuna debated whether to cower or run—both suggestions seemed equally dangerous. He yelped as a glinting tonfa aimed a jab for his stomach, and was promptly pulled away by Colonello.
“Don’t stand there, hey!” he hissed. “That’s a bad battle strategy! Run!”
“How is that any better?” Tsuna groaned, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins helped him stumble up and sprint as fast as he could for the second time in ten minutes.
His side immediately flared up with pain, still aching from the cramps just a minute ago. Tsuna could barely hear the soft thuds of Hibari’s footsteps on the ground, but something told him that the black-haired (now retired) demon of Namimori Middle was moving extremely quickly and this was a bad situation for him.
(Actually, Hibari was not only the retired demon of Nami Middle. He was also the newly appointed Satan of the whole Namimori, and now strode down the bustling streets of the happy town, sending cold glares at the shoppers that bunched together in groups. Quite terrifying.)
Colonello looked over his shoulder and winced. “A-ah, sorry Tsuna! I gotta go!” and he ran off, leaving Tsuna all alone. What happened to a soldier not abandoning his comrades?
“Why me?” Tsuna wailed, pounding down the stone pavement as quickly as he could, feeling desperately sorry for himself—and his feet.
A cold chill ran down his spine and Tsuna leapt forward onto the rough ground, leaving a few nasty, shallow scratches on his palms as a silver bullet whistled past the space where he had been.
“Idiot! You missed!” a hushed, angry voice whispered from the trees somewhere.
“S-sorry, boss!”
Tsuna nearly screamed. Someone was trying to kill him! Or possibly kidnap him!
“Well, no matter! All together then!” the same angry voice from earlier commanded, and Tsuna went white with shock as ten or so black-clad adults appeared from the trees, all holding sharp weapons and wearing black bandanas around their mouths like one of those ninjas you saw in cartoons.
“Get him!” the leader ordered. Tsuna noticed, from the corner of his eye, that he was wearing a bandana with a blue stripe down its side.
“Herbivores.”
Tsuna had forgotten about Hibari! He prayed that the black haired carnivore wouldn’t mistake him for one of the ninjas, and quickly crawled away, palms stinging, as Hibari began to smash the noses and dent the skulls of the poor assassination squad.
Speaking of assassination squads—who’d just tried to kill him?
Tsuna couldn’t help but think that they couldn’t have been very good assassins, since they were very loud, for one. They were also wearing all black, which couldn’t be much use in the broad daylight.
He shrugged as he scrambled to his feet and dashed down the lane as fast as his aching feet would let him.
Back at the café, Lal was enthusiastically shouting at Colonello and gesturing wildly at the mess that Fon was currently mopping up.
Tsuna tried to shrink into a corner and hide there forever.
Sadly though, he failed and Lal immediately noticed him. “Sawada!” she barked, looking incredibly intimidating as Tsuna backed into a wall and tried to melt into a puddle and disappear.
She advanced dangerously, glowering. “What happened in the kitchen?” she demanded.
“Well,” Tsuna decided that it’d be best to stick to the truth, and blatantly ignored a frantic Colonello behind the blue haired woman. “It was Colonello who slipped on the banana,” he supplied, and trembled as Lal turned around to glare menacingly at the now pale man.
“Really now, Sawada?” she inquired icily. “That’s not what blondie here told me.”
“A-ah, I have a nickname now? H-how kind of you, Lal,” Colonello tried, but even Tsuna knew that it was a hopeless case.
Lal was about to scream at them when the chimes tinkled, and she immediately schooled her features into those of a friendly waitress.
Tsuna marveled at how her angry expression disappeared in an instant to change to the exact opposite. It was a very convincing façade, too—if you hadn’t been there three seconds ago, like Tsuna had, you’d never have guessed that she’d ever been angry.
“Sawada, go help the customer,” she instructed. As she swept past the cowering duo, she hissed, “I’ll deal with you later.”
They shuddered.
Tsuna turned to smile at the customer, but his (admittedly shaky) smile froze when he noticed the Satan figure of Namimori standing at the entrance.
“A-ah, Hibari-san!” he exclaimed faintly. “How n-nice of you to come…” Tsuna hurried over, nearly tripping over his own feet. (He would have tripped over shoelaces, if he had any—the sneakers that had been soaked the previous day were currently drying off in the garden.)
Hibari didn’t wait for Tsuna to lead him to a table. He swept straight in and sat down at a seat near the window.
Tsuna grabbed a menu from the shelf and was hurrying to the table when he really tripped and ended up sprawled across Hibari’s table. The menu was sent flying to the next table, where it skidded straight off the edge and landed with a echoing thud on the floor.
Tsuna removed his scarlet face from where it had been smacked straight into Hibari’s chest, and he apologized rapidly, clutching his bruised nose.
“S-sorry, Hibari-san!” he yelped. “I promise… I promise I won’t do that again!”
Hibari looked oddly surprised and if Tsuna hadn’t turned to hurry to the fallen menu, he would’ve noticed the faintest trace of pale pink on the normally emotionless face.
“You didn’t hurt the customer, did you, Tsuna?” Reborn asked, coming out of the room.
“Oh! Hibari-san,” Tsuna squeaked, as he straightened from where he’d been bent over picking up the menu, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, herbivore,” Hibari said stiffly.
“Ah, that’s good then,” Tsuna closed his eyes and sighed in relief. Then he noticed a strange feeling in his nose, and discovered that his nose was bleeding. “Ack!” Tsuna yelped, setting the menu down on Hibari’s table as he ran off in search of tissues.
“I’m sorry, Hibari-san!” he apologized as he disappeared in the back room. “I’ll be back in a moment!”
The two remaining men sent cold glares at each other, until Reborn exited the café noiselessly and disappeared down the street.
Tsuna reappeared. “Where did Reborn go?” he wondered aloud.
“He went out,” Hibari informed him. “And I would like to order waffles with a side of green tea ice cream. ”
“O-of course, Hibari-san,” Tsuna said, moving to the kitchen window to tell Verde the order.
Instead, it was Fon standing there, a contented smile on his face. “Fon?” Tsuna said in surprise. “I thought it’s Verde’s turn today?”
“It was supposed to be,” Fon said pleasantly. “But Lal yelled at him for being irresponsible and letting mere waiters handle the kitchen, so he’s suspended for today.”
“But personally,” Fon added, looking suspicious, “I think that Lal did him a favor instead. He looked all too pleased to be able to tend to his precious experiments.”
“That does sound like Verde,” Tsuna admitted.
Then Hibari’s sharp voice cut through their small talk and he said, “Quit talking and order, herbivore.”
“I forgot!” Tsuna face palmed and quickly related Hibari’s order to Fon, who set to work preparing.
Tsuna watched Fon whirl through the kitchen, skillfully scooping out the ice cream and pouring the waffle batter into the mold* with ease, and suddenly felt deep respect for the man.
He’d experienced firsthand how hard it was to make something in the kitchen.
In less than five minutes the order was prepared, the ice cream barely melting and the waffle just the right shade of golden-brown.
Tsuna carried the plate over to Hibari. “Hibari-san: one order of waffles with green tea ice cream,” he announced, sliding the plate onto the table.
Hibari just nodded. |
Daenerys IX
T
he port of Sunspear was sunny and full of life. The people around watched her and her fleet with Targaryen banners hoisted proudly up in the sky.
Oberyn was beside her with a big smile on his lips half hidden by his unkept mustache.
He was clearly happy to be back home. Daenerys too had been happy to finally meet her family but now she felt quite nervous about it all.
In the last days of journey Rhaegal had grown increasingly nervous feeling most surely the presence of his rider.
While Drogon had grown still so had do Rhaegal too and he now almost equaled his brother in bigness. Viserion was the only one growing at a more sedate pace. It worried her.
The last dragons before her children had been small and sick barely bigger than a small dog. She worried this maybe her child fate.
"Nervous,
Daenerys
?" Oberyn asked turning around and resting his elbows and back to the railing.
His voice rolled with her name in a combination that never failed to give her shivers down her back.
"A bit" she admitted "Viserys has never been a good example of familial love and devotion. And now I have to meet not one nephew, but a nephew and a niece that have had time to spend together without me."
"You are afraid to feel left out by those two? - he cleared up - I cannot talk for Visenya but Aegon is a good sort. He won't let you feel left out, I promise you."
Daenerys nodded, still unsure, then she felt his hand on her on the railing.
"And then - he added - I am your friend, am I not?" he questioned "You won't feel alone or left out but if you do, come find me. I will remind you, you aren't alone."
She smiled softly and squeezed his hand back watching as Sunspear grew closer.
Her children roared in the sky flying ahead and Dany smiled proudly feeling confident that everything would go well.
Daenerys mounted Silver as her khaleesar camped outside the city. Ser Jorah rode just behind her with Rakharo, Missandei and Irri. Oberyn rode just beside her leading her around the city's road.
The people were looking at her clad in black and red dothraki robes, her blond silver hair bouncing in lucious curls and half braided back the dothraki way, with both awe and suspect.
A roar echoed in the sky and her children flew ahead their wings distended. Drogon screeched and Rhaegal did the same.
Daenerys saw the awe and he fear in the people eyes and ordered clear enough for them all to hear her "
Drōgon, Rhaīgal, Visērion gīda
!" ordering to her children to behave.
They immediately stopped screeching and flapped their wings almost lazily as they found the perfect spot to land.
When the people saw how well she could control them they clapped and started calling "
Targaryen! Targaryen!
"
That made her smile as she was lead to the great keep outside of which stood proudly a procession of people with the banner of House Martell and Targaryen proudly displayed.
Daenerys noticed him immediately. He stood proudly, his chin held high, his blond silver hair held back from his face in a small ponytail at the back of his head the sides of his head shaved clean. He was tall and muscled, perhaps as tall as Drogo had been. He was clad in doublet with the colors of House Targaryen and although he wore no crown at his hand shone a ring with the three headed dragon, a signet.
Prince Doran, recognizable for is doublet of orange and yellow, was seated comfortably on a wheeled chair, something of which Oberyn had already foretold her. Doran shared some features with Oberyn but was more
tired
than his brother. As the king didn't wear a crown he had forgone the coronet. His eyes were kind, if tired and he was a man who had had a glorious past as a handsome man.
She stopped Silver short and issued her order for the small group of Unsullied to stop. Thorgo Nudo who had walked beside Missandei's horse sprinted to her side.
She turned and nodded so both Irri and Missandei dismounted followed by ser Jorah who took hold of her reins. She nodded to prince Oberyn who had dismounted too and then gracefully jumped off Silver landing on her feet in a swirling of her silver hair and dark dothraki robes.
She glanced to her nephew that had set his
tired
but alight amethyst eyes on her face, smiling fondly.
Oberyn took two step in advance and made show of a bow "Your Grace"
Aegon face broke out in a wide smile, a bit lopsided but loveable all the same. He took a step and embraced his uncle with affection and devotion as the prince patted his shoulder and caressed his face fondly, surely reminded of his sister in his nephew's visage.
She cleared dainty her throat and when their eyes turned to her Oberyn smiled.
"Your Grace, brother - he nodded then to the court - esteemed friends, leave me the honor to present you Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, princess of Dragonstone, Mother of dragons, khaleesi of the Great Khaleesar, Queen of the Bay of Dragons."
"Your Grace - he turned to her - may I present you Aegon Targaryen, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your nephew."
Daenerys nodded to the whole court and smiled softly to Aegon who stepped to her. He was so tall he almost towered over her and yet Dany didn't felt suffocated.
"
Sodjisto, sȳrī rhēdan. Nyke daor dīnagon ezīmagon udra skorkydoso biare iksan naejot rhaenagon ao
." he told her in fluent high valyrian bending to kiss her outstretched hand.
Daenerys smiled "
Sȳrī rhēdan, lēkia tresy.
issa indeed iā kirmes occasion naejot rhaenagon rȳ mōrī
."
Aegon gave her a fond smile too and she heard Rhaegal's screech in the distance.
She smiled apologetically "Rhaegal has been quite excited to finally meet you" she explained. His smile broadened.
"Please then, aunt, let's waste no more time. - he smiled softly - I too am excited to meet him."
Daenerys smiled feeling this was something only they shared. She took his hand feeling almost giddy when a young voice interrupted her moment.
"Dragons?" it was whispered in awe. She turned her gaze on the little girl with the long stern face, dark hair and grey eyes, dressed in Stark coloring.
Aegon smiled softly "Aunt, let me present you, my ward, lady Arya of House Stark."
The girl made a courtesy inquiring, again, about her children.
She smiled but it was forced, she gripped his hand so tight her knuckles became white "You have took the daughter of the Usurper Dog as a ward under your wing?" she demanded in a barely suppressed yell "I understand Visenya,
I do
, she is blood. But have you no pride, no wish for vengeance?"
He snatched his hand back observing her with his purple eyes fixed in a suspicious glare.
She held back a breath but did not back down, unrelenting even before the court.
"Was
he
even the Usurper Dog and not a
loyal
bannerman - he seethed - it is common to take as a ward the child of an enemy." he pointed out "but as I understand it you are not
educated
in such matters perhaps you should leave its resolving
to me
, aunt."
He turned and eyed the girl "And I love lady Arya as if she were my own blood. - he added - so you will show her the respect demanded of our esteemed House."
Daenerys bristled before such a dismissive provocation but stilled her tongue as he added "And here in Dorne we do not hold the child responsible for the sin of the father, otherway
you
wouldn't be welcome as the daughter of the Mad King." he pointed out.
And Daenerys paled realizing her grave mistake. She took a step back and bit her lips.
"You are right, of course - she acknowledged the truth of her father madness now clear as ever to have after an illuminating discussion with Oberyn on the way to Sunspear - Please accept my apologies, lady Arya. It seems the journey west has tired me more than I realized, I misspoke."
Lady Arya, a strange kid of almost ten, merely smiled and nodded "No harm done, but can I see your dragons too?" she asked excited.
But Aegon stopped her, he clasped her between the shoulder and the neck and turned her around pointing an accusing finger to her "Not right now,
young lady
- he advised - Visenya has made me promise to watch over you. She's going to have my hide if you as much as scrape a knee."
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her." the girl tried looking terribly as a child pleading with a parent.
Aegon shook his head "It is cute,
zokla
- he said in mock nuisance - that you think she won't know every single thing that happened since she set out."
This caught her attention, she opened her mouth to question it, but he turned around satisfied with the girl grunt and fixed her with a coldness that hadn't be present minutes before. She held her tongue hoping she could
atone
for that one little misstep she had taken.
He followed her silently so after a bit of a walk as she felt her children growing closer she tried to
amend
her mistake.
"You are very good with her" she tried.
He only hummed non-commitantly so she tried again "I am sorry I angered you - she said watching as the people they passed observed them walking - I didn't mean to. I suppose… Viserys had his own
version
of how things went. I… I only recently were made aware about how
misguided
I have been." she justified.
Aegon sighed "I understand this - he nodded - and I also understand that you haven't become queen of the Bay of Dragons holding your tongue, aunt."
Daenerys stayed silent as they were stopped by a woman who bent lowly to courtesy to Aegon whom smiled softly to her and imposed his hand on her forehead with a gentleness Daenerys hadn't often seen.
"But here we are not in Essos. - he reminded her - this is Westeros and here I am Head of House Targaryen if you undermine me every turn in public I will be perceived as
weak-willed
and
woman-manipulated
."
Daenerys was about to protest when he held his hand up silencing her "In private I can assure you, aunt, I have already bent my head and will continue to if I find it to be just. But do not question my decisions in public anymore."
Daenerys could relate, wasn't this the same thing she said to Jorah and Oberyn in Astapor?
She squared her shoulders and nodded gravely "You are right, of course - she said - but I am no weak little girl. I
want
to be able to speak my mind."
Aegon exhaled from his nose and said nothing more.
After a while he turned around "We don't know each other, I suppose - he conceded - I can promise to listen to you if you bring me your thoughts and worries "
"And I promise to try not to undermine you. Is it going to be enough?" she wondered aloud.
He shook his head "I don't know. But I think it's a start. - he said - After all Visenya would have my head if I sent you back scurrying to Essos because
I have no chill whatsoever
." he said interpreting his sister.
That made her smile.
"About Visenya, was she indisposed? I don't think I saw her." she asked.
Despite it all she had been quite excited to meet
both
of them.
Aegon made a grimace but replied courtly "One of the many ways I have bent my head in private. - he told her as they neared her children - I don't know what you know about the goings of Westeros but her Uncle, the man to whom we owe her life, has been imprisoned under false claims of treason for having protected Visenya and has been executed as a traitor because he saved her."
Daenerys felt the bile raise up in her throat.
"And Visenya is nothing if not stubborn. Her cousin, the new Warden of the North, has called all the banners and is moving war to Kings Landing to avenge his father."
Daenerys nodded following him as he leaded her with as much precision as her on
where
her children were, probably because of his forming bond with Rhaegal.
"She sends her excuses but she wanted to be by her kin and our loyal bannermen of the North during this difficult moment."
"And you let her go?" she questioned surprised.
Aegon shrugged "The day I
let
her go is the day it snows in the seventh hell, aunt. - he drawled out - but I let her have this, she deserves it. Lord Eddard was a father for her and now the Usurper has murdered both her fathers she needs to be there."
He would have looked like the affectionate brother had not had that glistening in his eyes.
He loves her
, she realized. She stayed silent as her children finally came into view.
She felt him stop and hold his breath for a moment before Rhaegal screeched with joy and eagerly if a bit clumsy padded to him.
A wide grin opened on his face as he strode purposefully to the green dragon, awed by his presence and outstretched a hand. Rhaegal bumped his snout against his palm and almost purred delighted to finally meet his rider.
Both him and Drogon were big enough to be ridden now. Viserion was another story, the smaller of the three was too small to be ridden and looked on wistfully as Rhaegal met his rider while he remained riderless.
Daenerys advanced trying to comfort him when he turned around and curled in himself closing off from the rest of them.
Her nephew noticed too and he squatted at his height and started caressing the length of his body. Viserion didn't protest nor snapped at him and let Aegon slow murmurings in high valyrian to comfort him.
"What hails him?" he asked her quietly as she came closer.
Daenerys shook her head "He misses his rider. I don't know if he was meant for Rhaenys or Viserys but the riderless is taking a tool to him. He is not growing as the others."
She recounted then his episodes of unbidden rage and explained how he seemed to take it out only on the skies.
Aegon seemed preoccupied but let it go.
They were dining together with Arya Stark who still pouted every time the topic of dragons had been touched.
But Aegon smiled and promised her she would meet the dragons now that he knew them for to any other than a Targaryen they may be dangerous.
Lady Arya was charming in her own way and Daenerys found herself smiling quite a bit.
She didn't even remember the last time she had smiled so much.
When Arya asked how the dragons had come to be and Daenerys recounted her former husband and brother's death she felt her heart plummeting in her stomach. Especially when lady Arya conspiratorially confided her that she found Aegon and Visenya quite disgusting always kissing each other.
When Aegon finally bid the girl goodnight and they were left alone Daenerys exhaled before questioning her nephew.
"So you love her. - she said - I had thought as much this afternoon. Does she love you?"
Aegon fingered the rimmer of his cup before gulping the wine and replying "She does."
Daenerys drank from her cup too.
"We are in love. - he added - since the moment I met her I knew she was mine." he admitted.
Dany nodded drumming her fingers along her cup. She had hoped that her nephew might love her as she had once wanted Viserys to, but it seemed she was fated to remain alone for her life.
She supposed that one day she may even be married but that didn't mean she'd find love. Some way she had fallen for the boy before her despite just knowing him by letters and stories. And here she was spurned once again.
With Viserys the throne had surpassed her, with Drogo it was the way of things she just was his wife nothing more than a woman to warm his bed and give him children, with Aegon...she was surpassed by another woman.
She was so deep in though she hadn't heard him coming closer until he had wrapped an arm around her slim waist and pressed a kiss to her temple.
She fought back the tears as he maneuvered her to hold her against his chest.
"And here I thought we should get married" she tried to jest hoping she didn't sound as hurt as she felt.
She felt him ramble before his kind laugh filled her belly with warmth.
"Well it is my duty - he said aloud - and I do love you, aunt. If you wish it I will marry you. But I will also marry Visenya."
She closed her eyes, she knew this was coming.
She felt him kiss her head with so much affection she felt ready to bust.
"And I will always be second best." she muttered as she realized
she
would be the Visenya in this equation.
"Not
second best
- he promised - always a
best
just not in the same way" he told her.
"You would always come before the rest of the world just as Visenya - he swore - but Visenya is another thing from it all."
"And you would be queen - he added - in your own right on the Bay of Dragon and as my consort on the Seven Kingdoms. And I will care for you and love you."
Daenerys nodded "She will get the man. I will get the king" she supposed.
She could live with that, with having a part of him even if not all of him?
Aegon nodded his face serious.
Daenerys nodded to herself. She loved Aegon and in some way he loved her too, perhaps it wasn't
right now
the kind of love she hoped but they could build it stone by stone.
"Very well then. - she nodded - all I ask is that it is one of my children that will inherit the Bay of Dragons even in the evenience that is one of hers that sits on the Iron Throne."
Aegon nodded in reply.
Daenerys smiled softly and offered him her arm to hold as they sealed that pact.
Sodjisto, sȳrī rhēdan. Nyke daor dīnagon ezīmagon udra skorkydoso biare iksan naejot rhaenagon ao
= aunt, well met. I cannot put to words how happy I am to meet you.
Sȳrī rhēdan, lēkia tresy.
issa indeed iā joyful occasion naejot rhaenagon rȳ mōrī=
well met, brother son. It is indeed a joyful occasion to meet one another at last.
|
Chapter 22 – Bede’s Fall
Rei and I rushed towards the sound of the disturbance. I knew there would be trouble so I was applying medicine as we went along to my entire team. It had been stupid of me to not heal my team on Bea’s healing bed before leaving her suite. The path that led towards the sound was a long staircase that overlooked the valley below. All along the path were signs talking about the history of the area and the ancient mural that laid at the top of the path.
Most people were fleeing from the ruckus that was going on at the top and Rei and I crested the peak to see Bede standing next to a massive Copperajah. “Keep going! The Chairman said he wanted more Wishing Stars and I’m sure this mountain is chock full of them!” He yelled over the sound of the elephant cracking a massive hole in the side of the mural.
“Bede! What the hell are you doing? This is a historical landmark?” I yelled as we approached. My hand already on the ball that held Hope.
Bede spun around and looked at me, disgust in eyes. I still had my ring on and could feel the seething hatred for me that poured out of him. How embarrassed he had been by me twice. How much anger was hidden behind that smug façade. “You! Just leave me alone. I’m here on a mission for the Chairman, my sponsor, and I don’t have time to deal with half-wit Trainers like yourselves.” He said then nodded to the Copperajah that lifted its massive trunk to smash the mountain once again.
“Stop now or we will be forced to knock out your Copperajah!” Rei yelled and grabbed the ball that I’m sure held Ruby.
“What? You’re going to stand against me now?” Bede flipped his curly locks out of his eyes and stared down his nose at us. “I am gathering Wishing Stars for the Chairman to achieve his goals. This mountain used to be a major source of them. So I’m taking my own initiative to get as many Stars as I can for the Chairman. Who cares about some dumb old painting versus progress?” He reached down and grabbed his own Pokéball and tossed out his Duosion. “But, if you want to settle this with a fight then so be it! You and me Kassi! One on one.”
I looked to Rei and nodded. She would be in charge of the Cooperajah if it made another move. I tossed out Hope and she materialized with a flourish of her tails. “Hope, IB, left, FT, up FFB” I said, not holding back from Hope using her full force on Bede this time. Hope fired an Ice Beam but the Duosion managed to get up a light screen in time to absorb some of the damage. Hope was already on the move, however, and mid run hit it with a Flamethrower. The heat from the attack washed over the area and the Duosion looked like it got burned, even through its screen. Duosion tried to counter with a Psybeam but its vision had been blocked by the fire and the beam shot over the edge of the platform. Hope leaped into the air and fired her signature move, FrostFire Blast. The beam of swirling energies collided into the Duosion and it was knocked out instantly.
Bede scoffed, then called his Gothorita out next. The Pokémon surprised both Hope and myself by using Rock Tomb on Hope as soon as it appeared. I shouted a warning with my mind to Hope and she dodged most of the attack, but I still saw her get hit by a few of the rocks. “Hope, right, up, IB” She immediately jumped into action and fired a blast at the Gothorita, but the Pokémon seemed to ignore Hope, focusing on me instead. I felt a presence in my mind and a voice speak.
You should not have this power human.
The voice was female and deep, almost a baritone for a woman. But before the Gothorita could say anything more, Hope blasted her with FrostFire Blast and knocked the Pokémon out.
Bede was screaming and howling about the injustice of the situation as he threw out his Hattrem. The Pokémon immediately attacked with a dazzling gleam, but it had little effect on Hope. She countered with an Ice Beam and the Hattrem was instantly frozen solid. Hope didn’t take any pity and before Bede could even reach for medicine in his pack, she blasted the small Pokémon with another FrostFite Blast. Then Hope growled menacingly at Bede as he reached for the ball that held his Ponyta.
“Hope, get back. As a matter of fact, let’s prove who is the stronger Ponyta. Hikari or his new one!” I shouted and reached for Hikari’s ball as Hope padded behind me. As Bede’s Ponyta appeared I saw that same strange yellow aura around it for the briefest second. I felt the power of this Ponyta pressing on my mind, but I shook it off as I threw out Hikari. She appeared with a flash of her mane and tail and I felt her determination as she eyed down the other Ponyta.
“You’re going to use that useless Ponyta against my obviously superior one!?” Bede said with so much smarm I would have punched him then and there if I were close enough. “Well then, this will be quick! Confusion Ponyta.”
“Hikari! Be careful and try to get ahead of the Ponyta!” I yelled, but she just stood there and took the hit, brushing it off like it hadn’t even happened. I felt my mind slip into Hikari’s as she took the damage. I tried to figure out what was wrong with her.
I felt the anger and betrayal of being abandoned by my original trainer. The shame at not having been strong enough. The rage at Bede’s words now about me being useless. Then my face and my smile flashed before my eyes. All the memories of the past few days flashed before my eyes. Kassi being so kind and patient. The other Pokémon of the party taking me in and treating me like a member of the family from the first moment they saw me. My first time bonding with Kassi and how sweet and gentle she had been. The love of my Trainer and her pure heart filled me entirely. My heart swelled and I felt a barrier inside of myself snap.
A bright light brought me back into my own mind. I looked and saw that it was coming from Hikari. She was eveloped in a blindingly bright white light and I watched as her form began to shift. Bede looked in horror and tried to get his Ponyta to attack, but it was useless. The ray of psychic was batted away to fly harmlessly into the sky.
The light faded and where Hikari had been, now stood a beautiful Rapidash now stood. Her hair was long and silky. Hikari’s horn had grown immensely and now stood well proud of her head, even through the dense hair of her mane. But the thing I noticed most, was the overwhelming raw psychic power that was rolling off of her. I saw Rei next buckle a little bit as Hikari’s power rolled over the battlefield. Even Bede seemed to sway a little bit.
“You do not know the true meaning of power Bede.” I heard in Hikari’s voice that was now just a touch more feminine but had power behind it, except I somehow knew Bede was hearing it as well. “The true power of a Pokémon is unlocked when it is partnered with a Trainer that puts as much of themselves into their team as their Pokémon. Someone who loves unconditionally their partner Pokémon and will do anything to make them stronger and happier.” Hikari lifted her head and her mane and horn started to glow with a harsh inner light. “I’m sorry little Ponyta, but your Trainer is a fool that must be taught a lesson.” With that, she brought her head down and a wave of dense psychic energy flew from her horn in a sickle-like shape. The Psycho Cut slammed into the smaller horse and a line of blood immediately stained the chest of the Ponyta. It buckled to its knees and fainted on the spot a pool of blood slowly growing beneath it.
Bede stood there dumbfounded as his Pokémon was slowly bleeding out. “Bede! Call your Ponyta back or it will die!” I screamed and reached into my own bag for a Super Potion. Before I could act Hikari had walked over to the unconscious pony and her horn and mane once again started to glow, this time with a soft inner light. To my amazement the flesh of the Ponyta started to knit itself back together and the bleeding stopped. The Ponyta that just before had been taking labored breaths seemed to now just be sleeping.
“You see Bede. Kassi even cares about your own Pokémon more than you do. You are a disgrace of a Trainer and I could not be happier that you gave me up.” Hikari said with finality, then turned away from the boy to walk back my way.
Bede’s face was first shocked, then angry, then furious. He stomped his foot and his entire body trembled with rage. “No! You’re wrong! I’m a Trainer that has been sponsored by the Chairman himself. I am strong and my Pokémon are some of the strongest in the Competition. Kassi only wins by cheating, not with strategy or training.” He turned his head and looked to the Copperajah who had been watching the match with interest. “Copperajah, use Heavy Slam on Kassi!” He screamed so loud that his voice cracked. The massive elephant bellowed and raised its truck to attack I saw Hope and Ruby both tense to launch their counter-attacks.
“Stop Raji!” I heard a deep masculine voice say behind me. It was cool, calm, and collected. “That’s enough for one day.” I heard the clack of leather soled dress shoes and the click of several pairs of high heels from behind me. The Copperajah immediately lowered its trunk and stood still. Chairman Rose then stepped past me and walked calmly towards Bede. He stopped about halfway and looked around to take in the situation. Several tense seconds ticked by and I could sense emotion after emotion rolling off of Bede.
To my side I saw movement and watched as Rei’s mother stepped towards her along with her assistant. She was a little taller than her daughter, wearing a smart-looking pantsuit and concerned expression on her face. To my other side stood Rose’s personal assistant looking on the situation with a stony expression.
The Chairman let out a long sigh and shook his head, then looked directly at Bede. “Young Bede, I am most disappointed.” He said in a melancholy tone. Bede’s knees buckled and he slumped to the ground next to his still-unconscious Ponyta. “Not only have you used my own Pokémon to damage a National Treasure, you tried to have that same Pokémon of mine attack another Trainer directly.”
“But sir I was just getting you Wishing Stars for your experiments and Kassi cheated so I…” Bede was cut off my Chairman Rose simply raising a hand for silence.
“What you have done is unforgiveable, Young Bede. You know what happens to Trained Pokémon that follow orders to directly attack other trainers.” He paused and I watched the color drain from Bede’s face. “Still, you ask my personal Pokémon to do this?” It was a question that didn’t need an answer.
“He’s attacked Kassi directly twice now. Both times with Psychic attacks that almost killed her.” Rei blurted out.
Everyone’s attention snapped from her, to Bede, to me, then back to Chairman Rose. The Chairman now wore a look of fury on his face. “Is this true, Young Bede?” His voice was low and I didn’t need to read his emotions to feel the fury bubbling beneath the surface.
“Only when she cheated to win!” Bede squeaked. “But sir! I’m only doing what you taught me as a boy to do whatever you have to, to win!”
Chairman Rose walked up closer to Bede as he spoke and slapped him hard across the face with the back of his hand, sending the boy sprawling into the puddle of blood around his Ponyta. He lifted his head slightly and touched the spot where he had been slapped, a look of fear in his eyes.
“From this day forward I disown you, Young Bede. I also rescind my endorsement of you in the Poképhile Championship Competition.” Rose said, his voice flat and emotionless.
Rei’s mother chimed in, “If this is what your philosophy is Rose and what you teach your protégé I’m not sure we need to proceed any further the joint venture you and I were discussing in the stands.” Her face was set with determination and I saw that she had a hand on the shoulder of Rei, her knuckles white from her grip.
Rose looked to her and back to Bede, fury evident on his face. I could now feel the raw emotion rolling off of Rose as he looked down at Bede. “Do you know what you have just done with that Bede? Never show your face in front of me again.” Rose bent down, snapped up the ball for his Copperajah, recalled the Pokémon and walked off. His assistant turned bowed to me while uttering a quick apology and took off after her boss.
Bede started to sob openly, his sorrow carrying across the open space and bouncing off the mountain. He still laid on his side his face now buried in the fur of his unconscious Ponyta. I turned to Rei and her mother and motioned for us to leave.
As I turned to go, I heard a loud crack and rumble. Everyone but Bede turned and looked toward the crack in mural as it quickly spread and popped. Then, with a loud crash and crack the face of the mountain fell away. Hikari had witnessed what was happening and had used her telekinetic powers to shove Bede and his Pokémon out of the way and against the guard rail. Bede’s head clanked against the railing and I saw him get knocked unconscious. I ran over to check on him and didn’t see any blood coming from his head, but that wasn’t the only indication of injury. Rei’s mother ran over and started to check him over alongside me. She stated after a few minutes that he would need internal scanning, but should be ok.
A shocked gasp took my attention away and I looked to see what was going on. My own breath hitched as I took in the sight slowly coming into focus through the settling dust. At the end of the platform, in a cave that had been hidden by rock and the mural now stood four bronze statues. In front were two large wolf-like Pokémon. One bearing a shield and the other brandishing a sword. Behind those two statues stood two men with kingly raiment, each holding a sword and shield as well. The statues were in amazing condition and the detail that had gone into them was breathtaking.
I scrambled to find my phone and mashed the button for Sonia as quickly as I could. It rang a few times and I heard the familiar voice of Sonia pick up, “Hey Slut, what’s going on?”
“Shut yer gob for a minute and listen. How close are you to Stow-on-Side?” I asked, my tone letting it be known that I wasn’t messing around.
“Uh,” Sonia paused and cleared her throat, “Maybe a few hours travel. Why?”
“Get here as soon as you can. The Mural at Stow-on-Side was destroyed and there are some statues that were revealed that look like they pertain to the Darkest Day. You’ll wanna see these immediately.” I heard Sonia gasp when I mentioned the Mural, but then squeal at the news I had given her.
“What?!” She screamed into my ear and I had to pull my phone away due to the volume. “You’re kidding me?” I heard her pull her own phone away and shout to Marnie in the background. “Marnie, put your dress back on, we’ve got to get to Stow-on-Side now! Something big has happened.” She returned the phone to her ear. “Thank you Kassi, we’re on our way fast.” I heard a smack and squeal that could have only been her hand on Marnie’s ass, then the line went dead.
I looked to Elaine and saw a slight curl at the very corner of her mouth as she continued to look over Bede and try to massage a Full Restore down his throat.
“You were very brave, doing what you did. This boy tried to attack you and you didn’t even flinch. I’m glad my daughter has found such an amazing friend to travel with.” She said in her slightly posh dialect, but with a lot of tenderness. After a minute she seemed satisfied with her work on Bede and his Pokémon and stood up to walk over to Rei and Elaine’s personal assistant Janice. “Now then, that boy should be ok but we should be going. Much to do and we still have a flight to Wyndon to make.
We all walked down the stairs back to the front of the stadium and around its perimeter. The mood was tense and no one dared break the silence as we walked to a helicopter that was waiting. I had slipped my ring off, but was still aware of Rei’s tension and nervousness. Elaine and her assistant were ahead of us and I quickly slipped my hand into hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. She needed to know that everything was going to be alright and that I was here to support her.
The helicopter was perched on a landing pad suspended over the edge of the cliff. It was a sleek looking machine painted white with the logo for PokéHealth Industries along the entire height of its sides. The engine was already running and the blades were whirring and starting to kick up a small gust of wind. Making sure all of my Pokémon were stored safely, I got into the cabin and sat myself next to Rei and a window. The interior was separated from the pilot seat by a bulkhead that had a sliding panel of glass in it. The glass was open and the pilot greeted Rei happily.
“G’mornin’ Mistress Rei.” He said with an accent.
“Good morning Jeff. How’s Julie?” Rei said to the man with a smile as she buckled herself into her rich brown leather seat.
“Big as a ‘ouse she is. Expectin’ number 3 soon.” He said was an ear to ear grin.
“Congratulations! I had no idea.” Rei stopped and looked to me and around the cabin. “Where are my manners, I never formally introduced you to anyone. Rei, this is Jeff, our Pilot.” The man gave a slight wave and then turned his attention to the gauges and controls in front of him. “Next, this is Mummy’s personal assistant, Janice. Rei indicated the smartly dressed woman sitting next to Elaine. She looked like she was in her thirties with sleek black hair and clear Kantonian heritage. The woman was also stunningly pretty, but her vivid green eyes showed a powerful intelligence and determination hidden behind some stylish glasses. “Last, but not least, this is my Mummy, Elaine.” She indicated the woman who looked like an older version of daughter.
“Don’t be silly dear. We’ve already met. It’s a pleasure to see you person, however. You’re even more shapely in person than they show you on the telly. I’m a bit jealous.” She paused and looked at me. “Do you model dear?”
My face burned and I could feel the embarrassment from Rei next to me. “N-no Ma’am. I never have. I figured I might have to do some if I become Champion, though.” I said, honestly. For years I had thought about seeing if I was worth being a model. I knew that I was easy on the eyes and curvy, but didn’t know if a rustic girl from the boonies could match up to a slim beauty like Nessa. The Champ, however, was always endorsing different products and modeling for them. If I became the first Female Champion in a generation, I was under no delusions that I wouldn’t be flooded with offers and made to show them off. I had even practiced posing for photoshoots in the mirror for hours back home.
“Well, then we should talk about you modeling for some of our more marketable products. You’re already making enough buzz this year the publicity would be fantastic!” She said excitedly as the helicopter whirred to life and started to lift off from the ground. The noise inside the cabin was shockingly quiet despite the noise of the rotors overhead.
“Mummy, no talking business right now.” Rei said, but smiled devilishly, “But I agree that Kassi would make a great model for the new topical and hair products.”
“That’s my girl.” Elaine smiled back with the same wicked grin.
“Now then, when we get to Wyndon I have a little bit of business that I couldn’t get out of completely, but we’ll meet up for dinner together then bond this evening. You ok with taking Kassi shopping on my dime pumpkin?” I felt an aura of embarrassment at the nickname and a flash of annoyance at her mother having to work, but to Rei’s credit she mastered it all quickly.
“That’s fine Mummy. Sorry you have to work.” She and Elaine then started to chat back and forth. Talking about what Rei had been up to. Our journey so far. Rei introduced her baby Grookey to Elaine who happily snuggled the tiny chimp when he jumped into her lap. I noticed that Rei took great care to tiptoe around the subject of sex or our relationship when talking with her mother. All the while, Janice worked diligently on her tablet. I found this to be a fun time to experiment with my ring and what I could actually do with it.
I slipped the ring onto my finger and felt my consciousness expand to fill the cabin. I felt the warmth of Rei and could now hear her surface thoughts as she spoke to her mother. The emotions of the other occupants of the flying vehicle also started to fill my mind. I could feel the happiness of Elaine as she snuggled the tiny Grookey she and Rei were now working together to name. The small chimp himself was content with being snuggled into the warm human woman. Jeff was focused on work, but I could feel a hint of lust each time he would look back in my direction in the rearview cabin mirror. Finally, there was Janice.
Janice hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words the entire time we had been in her presence. If she did talk it was only when asked a question directly. I felt the determination and concentration first as my mind brushed past hers. Then I pushed a little harder at the invisible shell I felt around the woman’s mind. She was so focused on her work and not what I was doing that I slipped in. I was now looking through a split version of my own eyes and hers. The images laid over each other and made my head spin for a second. I noticed though that when I closed my eyes, I would only see what she was seeing. I turned my head to make it look like I was staring out the window and closed my eyes to focus. Truthfully, I had no idea what I was looking for and my mind started to follow along with the thoughts of the woman.
First, I need to organize the mistress’s emails. Then when we get to Wyndon we’ll need to hustle to Headquarters. Huh, Kassi seems rather quiet and distracted. What a beautiful girl. The mistress is right, she would make for a great spokesmodel. I wonder what she looks like under that dress? No! Stop it Janice. Now is not the time to ogle the pretty girl. You have to focus on work now. Plus, what would your boyfriend think if he knew you were also into women? What would the mistress think?
I pulled my mind back and slid my attention into Rei. Her thoughts were so much more familiar to me and it was like I was putting on my favorite t-shirt when I fell behind her eyes. This time I wanted to see if I could influence her mood without her noticing. I subtly started to pull dirty thoughts from my own mind and made them flash up in front of her eyes. Even and Rei spoke to her mother I could feel her arousal starting to grow and watched through her eyes as her thighs fidgeted and rubbed together to discreetly try to scratch the growing itch in her loins.
Smirking to myself and my new found power I wanted to try and see just how far I could push myself now. I started to dig into Rei a little bit, having her thoughts become increasingly dirty. I wanted to know what one of her deepest fantasies or desires was. She would have told me if I asked, but it was so tantalizing to find out while she tried her best to focus on a polite conversation with her mother. Then I felt something and an image came up that surprised me. It came with a swirl of emotion from Rei from shame, to joy, to embarrassment, to excitement.
Rei was standing in a beautiful white wedding dress atop a hill. Next to her stood her mother and all her partner Pokémon. Her mother wore a look of complete pride and joy that only grew when she turned and looked to her lover. This is where I got really surprised. Staring back at me, was my own face, with an equally beautiful white wedding dress on. Behind me stood my Mum and all of my Pokémon. Our hands slipped into each other’s and I heard a faceless priest start in on his speech.
That’s when my attention was pulled away by Rei’s mother asking me a question directly.
I shook my head and focused on the woman, my head buzzing with activity and barely able to bring its focus back. “I’m sorry Ma’am, I was lost in my own thoughts. Could you repeat that?” I asked innocently.
The woman smiled and repeated, “I said, Rei has yet to tell me how you two met. Care to tell me the story?” She asked with a smile. I could feel the woman’s emotions from my own seat. She was curious and happy. I could also feel a sense of knowing something, but I didn’t want to dive in too deep to discover what.
“Oh! She didn’t tell you?” I said, my own coquettish smile making an appearance, despite my best efforts to hide it. I felt Rei tense up beside me and she turned her head to face me, a look of desperation in her eyes. I could feel her nervousness and pleading through my empathic link to her immediately. “We met on Route 2. She had lost a match to an ambusher and all her money along with it. I saw that she had a Vulpix, so I challenged her to a Vulpix showdown. Hope won and since she couldn’t pay me, I had her travel along with me and keep me company. Pretty quick we found we had a lot in common. Both from single parent homes. Both ambitious and after the same goal. Both of us sharing a lot of the same hobbies and interests. Most important though, was she was one of the few people that I think loves Pokémon as much as I do.” I said, dancing expertly around the bits that might embarrass Rei.
“Hmm…interesting.” Was all she said and I felt the sense of knowing grow deeper. Maybe I hadn’t fooled her as well as I had thought. “Well, it seems like you two make quite the pair. That match today was phenomenal! The teamwork was like nothing I have ever seen!” For the next several minutes we spoke about the match and our teams. Rei relaxed, the further we got away from the conversation about our relationship. Part of me wanted to dive in Elaine’s mind and just find out if she knew about her daughter, but the other part of me wanted that to be Rei’s decision to find out.
Soon, the impressive silhouette of Wyndon came into view. The view of Rose Tower and the Rose Stadium loomed large over the city. We flew to center of town to a tall glass sided office building. While falling far short of the total height of Rose tower the structure was still impressive. “Kassi, this is the Galar HQ for PokéHealth Industries. It’s also our home. We have the top two floors as a suite and guest rooms.” Said Elaine proudly. “It’s not our most impressive building, you should see the world headquarters in Kalos. It’s truly a work of art.”
“Yeah it is!” Rei agreed. We landed and stepped out of the Helicopter onto the pad and made our way into the house. Janice held the door open for all of us and I felt a flash of lust as I passed her and she stared at my ass through the thin cotton of my dress. The flat we were in was immediately breathtaking to me. Everything was white and modern. The finish of the room let in tons of light and art hung on every wall. My immediate thought was of extravagance, but not overindulgence. This place surely cost more than Mum would likely make in her lifetime, but I still felt like it was not the primary home. This was a nice place to stay while working in Galar.
“Pumpkin, show Kassi around town. Here’s my card. You two girls have fun. Be prim and proper for our dinner tonight.” She told us the time and place of the high-end restaurant she was taking us to then bid us adieu as she and Janice stepped out of the suite. Rei led me on a tour of the flat and showed some of the cool features here. We healed our teams on the provided medical beds.
No sooner had Rei showed me to her bedroom then she jumped into my arms and thrust her tongue into my mouth. I pulled myself into her and pulled at her shirt.
“I don’t know how you were doing that, but that was not fair making me so damn horny in front of my Mum. I’m going to punish you for that.” She said and squeezed my ass as hard as she could.
The door swung shut behind us and I pulled off my own shirt. “Oh! You punish me? That sounds like fun. But careful, I bruise easily.” I said coyly in response and then walked over to her bed. I dropped my dress and panties to the floor then got on it on all fours. I stuck my ass high up in the air. With my mind I reached out and stoked Rei’s mind with thoughts of what I wanted her to do to me. The took hold and I felt my girlfriend’s desire light up.
Rei walked over and ran her finger nails across my thighs and ass. I felt my skin break out in gooseflesh at her touch. Then felt the hard sting of her hand as she roughly smacked me on the ass. It was quickly followed by another then another. My cheek was on fire but I leaned into the pain. She would love to have this moment and I would let her enjoy being the top for a change.
A tender kiss descended on the spot were my ass burned and then I felt the lips slowly kiss inward. In just a few gentle pecks Rei then kissed me right on my asshole before letting her tongue explore my eager pucker. I moaned happily as her powerful tongue swirled in and around my ass. She brought one hand up and roughly slapped my other cheek then dug her fingers into my flesh once it landed there. I gasped and with my reaction pushed my face harder into Rei, causing her tongue to dive even deeper into my asshole. It felt amazing and I could help but let out a satisfied moan.
Then Rei brought up her other hand and slid two fingers into my eager pussy. I bit my lip as her dry fingers caught the slightest bit as the entered me, but the pain mixed with the pleasure she was giving my ass and I was in heaven. Her fingers started to move in and out of me as she worked my pussy in to a lather, slowly adding one finger after another. During all of this she never let up her assault on my asshole. Before long, I felt as her knuckles were bumping up against my entrance and I could see in my mind what she wanted to do.
“Babe, get some lube and a dildo. I want you to fist me and fuck my ass with the toy while you do.” I said looking at her, sure my eyes were glazed over with my lust. She got her patented devilish grin and I ached longingly as she pulled out of me. I sat there and wiggled my ass teasingly as she walked over to her pack and started to rummage around in it. Feeling her excitement grow as she came across something, but I was too lost in my desire to really focus on what it was.
Rei slid back in behind me and I felt her reach under me and attach her own nipple clamps to my breasts. The sting and pressure got me even more excited and I couldn’t wait to see what else she was going to do. I could feel her making a plan in her mind, but didn’t bother to look into the details and ruin the surprise. Cold lube was applied liberally to my ass and pussy and Rei worked plenty of it into both my holes with her fingers. Then she pulled my arms behind my back and locked them together with her bindings. “You’re going to take whatever I give you my beautiful slut. You got that?” She said and I felt her dominate thoughts drive me to a peak as her hand pressed against he entrance to my pussy.
“Yes Ma’am” I said and leaned back to help push her deeper into me. I wanted to be filled, wanted my girlfriend to be inside of me. When I felt her knuckles push past my entrance and her hand ball up inside of me I had my first orgasm. The first one was nothing like the several that followed and Rei roughly fisted my pussy and fucked my ass first with her Mudbray dildo then her own hand. I nearly passed out when she got to double fisting me with how strong my orgasms were.
Finally Rei let up and pulled her arms out of me. I laid there panting heavily and satisfied, but still bound. Rei flipped me over and with delight I saw her ass appear over my face and I happily started to return the rimming she had given me earlier. Her ass on top of me made it hard to breath, but I didn’t let up on my assault of her perfect tight butthole. Then I heard a Pokéball open, but couldn’t tell who she had called out.
A splashing sound filled the room for a second, then I felt a cool, wet protrusion rub against my well-stretched holes. I let out a squeak as I realized what was going on. Before I could do anything else, the cool tentacles were stuffing my holes and stretching out to fill me entirely.
Rei pressed her ass down tighter against my mouth so I couldn’t do anything but moan and Mire started to fuck me mercilessly. It was a wonderful feeling as he completely filled every crevice of me with his cool slime then had it pulse and quiver. I was rocked with pleasure and without even really trying I pressed my mind against Rei’s and brought he in to enjoy my peak with me. She came so hard with me that she ended up lifting her ass up and her pussy squirted all over my face for the first time.
“Good boy Mire, now fuck us both. But only one round. We’ve got things to do today.” The Sliggoo happily complied and extended more tentacles towards Rei.
For the next several minutes Rei and I were helplessly and mercilessly fucked by the power slime of Mire. Finally, a pleased sound escaped the Dragon type and I felt a slimy-thin and cool cum being dumped into me from all ends. I didn’t get to taste it since his tentacle in my mouth was well down my throat when he came, but I was extremely pleased with the full feeling he left inside of me. Before Mire could try to fuck us further Rei put him back in his ball and I felt very empty as we was pulled out of my holes by the Pokéball.
“Holy fuck babe. That was intense.” I said with my chest heaving. Rei spun around on top of me and kissed me hungrily.
“Thank you for letting me top you Kassi. I love you.” She said, her blue eyes looking into mine.
“No, thank you for fucking my brains out. I love you too my nymph. Now, shopping?” I said in response.
Rei laughed, “Not until we clean up first. Don’t wanna stain new clothing with Dragon cum do we?” I just hummed with the thought about doing something so naughty and waited for Rei to release me from my bonds.
***Message from DmDrewDragon. Thank you all for checking out GTiG. I never dreamed I would take this story so far and the support and love from all of you and those on the GTIG discord have kept my fire lit and powerful. If you want to join us in fun discussions and maybe collaborate on artistic works please join the GTiG discord at https://discord.gg/F5QdwRk*** See you Soon!
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They come for Will in the middle of the night. He knows to expect it, and leaves the door unlocked so they don't damage the hinges and the frame. They come in a pack of fourteen, and he watches them dispassionately as they throw his glass jars and potions from the shelves, tear out pages from his books and throw them on the fire, and kick viciously at the shelves of herbs and medicines until they scatter and fall to the ground.
"This man bewitched my daughter," one man says. "He turned her stomach so hot with lust she is now with child!"
To which he replies, one brow raised and voice even; "Your daughter fell in love with a man you didn't approve of. I married them, and they begat a son, nothing more."
"The animals know to be afraid of him!" another man cries. "The sheep scream and the horses won't go near him."
"They are afraid of my animal. He has wolf blood in him, same as yours."
Accusations come in fits and starts as he is cuffed and led from his home. He released his wolfhound the night before, knowing he would be taken, and sees no fresh tracks nor hears the animal huffing and howling for him. It is likely they will never cross paths again.
"Burn him," one villager hisses.
"No, he will poison the air! Feed him to the dogs."
"No, he will make them wild, or sick. Best to bury him."
"Drown him!"
"Exile."
Commander Jack Crawford is the guardian of the cluster of villages that sit at the bottom of the mountain. It is with a heavy-set face and a severe scowl that he sentences Will; "You will leave with nothing but the clothes on your back and a small knife to defend yourself. You will take none of your worldly possessions. You will leave, and never return to this country."
Exile, he supposes, is the kindest option, and he resists calling them fools. He has no power to curse them, no magic beyond the medicines he has learned and the trade he knows, the communion with animals he has spent long years perfecting, but they are fools, he wants to say, for letting a 'witch' live to see his revenge.
They give him a knife that is shorter than his forefinger and too thin-bladed to be of any defense, and lead him to the edge of the woods. Under their heavy stares and wary eyes, he walks on, and lets the trees encase him.
There are monsters in these woods. Beasts even he knows he has never seen nor heard of. Great behemoths that were vomited from the skies and the oceans when the world was new – titans, and evil things not even the gods wish to look upon.
There are creatures with too many eyes and too many teeth. Claws and talons and sharp, sharp smiles. Immortal, unchanging, content to rest within the forgotten realms of the world and feast on the heat in the center of the earth. Dumb animals know not to go there.
Will sleeps the first night in the shelter of a giant oak. It is fitful, and restless, for he thinks he can see the shine of large, black, beady eyes watching him just out of reach of the glow of his meagre fire. Every skitter above his head in the tree's boughs, every groan and rustle of leaf in the wind makes him startle, heart racing.
He dares not hunt for meat lest he risk angering a larger creature and threaten it for its meal, but there are berries thick-clustered this time of year, and every plant cradles water in its leaves and stems, and Will drinks his fill from dock leaves and redberry bushes. He suckles on the spines of thorns, licks the rosebuds, feasts on the worms and crickets and beetles he can conjure from the earth's soil.
On the third day of his exile, he finds a nest of susurrating bees, and whispers to them, begging for their honey. The queen herself dances across his fingers and nuzzles his palm, and a soldier stings him at the hollow of his throat, but he is allowed to eat their excess. He thanks them and places large fallen branches in a cover over their nest, so the rains do not bother them when the season comes.
When he reaches the river, he falls to his knees at the edge of it, dipping his hands into the cool running water and bowing down to sate his thirst. There are fish in this river, and little water bugs dance in pools where the water slows and goes still. A frog watches him with a wary eye near her clutch of eggs. Above him, a hawk calls to his mate, and he looks up, smiling when he sees the pair unite, and join for a dive.
He sighs, sitting on his heels. The air is freezing cold, his breath misting and frost touching the edges of the river, but the sun feels nice. His fingers curl, seeking warmth under his own arms, and he shivers. He has no cloak, no means to warm himself aside from whatever fires he can manage, and with the cold and the encroaching rains, it will soon become impossible.
If he walks for two weeks, he will reach the ocean. There are people there, who do not know about the landlocked fear of witches and superstition. They might welcome him, or at the very least, let him work until he has earned a boat, and then he can sail to shores unmarked, and find a place for himself there.
A branch snaps somewhere behind him, and Will jerks in surprise, falling to his ass in the cold river water. He shivers, eyeing the trees, searching for the pelt of a wolf or bear, or something much larger and much more threatening. He grips his knife, searching, searching, but sees nothing.
He stands, and moves on.
When the dawn rises again, he squints his eyes up to the tree that provided him shelter, and catches sight of a beautiful spider, her legs stretched out wide within her web, her body slim and delicate, painted on the body with a bright red hourglass. A widow, he thinks. He watches her nimbly crawl across her web to a captured fly, wrap it in spun silver like a mother might swaddle her young baby. He watches her eat the fly's head, and imagines until that moment it was screaming.
He shivers, and looks away. He has no fear of spiders, of nothing living and mortal, but he moves in deference to her, crawling from beneath her large web that drips with dew, and moves on.
The further into the heart of the woods he goes, the less he sees of squirrels and rabbits and birds, and the more spiders he sees. The trees are thick-clustered, their trunks huge and wide, and between them, in the void of darkness beneath the canopies, he sees their webs. They grow thick, undisturbed by anything as large as he, at the level of his hands and stretching up, up, to paint the branches and leaves white.
He moves carefully, unwilling to be caught on them, navigating what begins to look like a path. The spiders are smart, and know wolves and deer and man will damage their webs if they weave them in certain places. There always exists, somewhere, a pair of trees that have not been barred to him, and he follows the circling route, deeper and deeper into the woods, until he can no longer see the sun, and the frost bites through the thin leather of his boots.
He shivers, breath misting, and looks up with dismay. Without the sun, and without a compass or map, he knows he will quickly become lost. He turns, to try and find a place where the trees are parted, but can find nothing. Panic seizes him, and his heart is racing, and he thinks the spiders are watching him now, with their beading eyes. Some of them hold malice in their hearts, and he thinks he can hear them whispering to each other;
Oh, if you were just a little smaller, or I a little larger, sweet-blooded thing…
He dares not sleep, sure that if he does, he will wake encased in a web, a thousand mandibles gnawing on his fingers and toes, the soft parts of his face and arms, the blood-ripe meat in his stomach. He marches on, sure that if he simply continues in one direction, he will find a break in the trees or a give to the ocean. A river, for his throat is dry with thirst.
He wanders, only aware when it's night because the air becomes too thick with shadows to see. He cannot tell where the webs are, for even the moon cannot penetrate the trees. Hungry, thirsty, and frozen with fear, he must rest, and wait for the sun to rise again.
He feels it on his hands, first; a tentative brush of a long leg around his knuckles. He bats it away, breathing hard. In the darkness he cannot see, but he can hear the spiders watching him, feel the vibrations of their dances in their webs as they creep closer. He feels a tickle in his hair, down the back of his neck, and rises, brushing another orb weaver away. Hears it drop to the ground in a scatter of leaves.
Then, heavy and hollow, he hears another branch snap. Something far too large, and far too close. Panic seizes in his chest, freezes him in place. He holds his breath and tries to listen over the pounding of his heart.
Another creak, like two great trees forced to bow, and a snarl that sends ice into his very bones.
He runs, one hand out to warn him where there's a tree, and feels cobwebs and dead knots of bugs bat against his face. He runs without direction, too afraid, too blind. He stumbles over roots and his own feet, and his shoulder collides with a tree so suddenly and harshly that he falls to his knees.
It is then that the monster chasing him catches him. There are hands, though that means nothing, and warm breath on the back of his neck.
"Hush, little one," a voice says, low and with an accent old and foreign as the gods. "I've caught you."
A sharp pain pierces his spine and Will cries out, and then there's a hand over his mouth, and a warm feeling floods him. The creature's venom, he thinks, as it oozes into his back, drips down his spine and soaks his clothes. Will goes limp, closing his eyes, and the knife falls from his hand, as useless as it has always been.
He is wrapped up in strong arms, and then lifted, and the darkness swallows him whole.
He wakes in a pit, the sun illuminating the edges of it, telling him that it is deep and lined with roots, like a tree once stood here and was ripped out of its moors. He is warm, and shaking, startled at the idea that he is still, somehow, alive. He coughs, rolling onto his hands and knees. Still with the clothes on his back, still with all his limbs. He feels heavy, and his stomach is warm like he has been fed. He presses his hand to it and frowns down at the moist, cool ground beneath his body. The dirt is soft, wet, dug into his nails and painting the lines of his knuckles.
He hears movement, and rolls to his back, gasping as his eyes alight on the creature that caught him.
At first, he sees only the head and torso of a man. The creature's face is fine-featured, sharp-boned, its shoulders broad, hair painted across its chest in a mimic of an older male of Will's species. But then his eyes drag down. The creature wears no clothes, and so he can see that where his belly would naturally dip and narrow to hips, and genitals, there is instead a set of large spider-like fangs, sharply pointed and dripping with venom, or saliva, he cannot tell.
The creature smiles at him, and lowers itself down from its perch. Eight long legs emerge from a hole in the pit, revealing a black, shining body like that of a spider, jutting out behind him. Half man, half spider, as a centaur would be. The creature's second body is huge, large enough that Will could comfortably curl up in the hollow of its carapace. Its legs arch up high from the sides of its body, and there are two more than the eight circled around its hips like a second pair of arms, clawed and settled in rest.
Horror grips Will, staring at the creature. Its legs are large enough to encompass the pit entirely, and as it emerges from its hole, it prowls up to Will, and Will can see, jutting from the back of it, a large, dripping spine. Undoubtedly, he thinks, what penetrated his back and made him lose consciousness.
The creature's human mouth splits in a smile, and Will is shivering with fear, pressed up on the edges of the pit, as far back as he can go, but the spider god is large and quickly towers over him, blocking out the sun.
"Hello, little one," it purrs, undoubtedly masculine, and Will's wide eyes meet his. The creature bows, and takes Will's chin in its human hand, and Will curls up, the second mouth far too close to his legs for comfort. That accent is familiar, and Will is certain, now, that this was the thing that found him in the dark.
The creature's head tilts. "Do you know the language I speak?" it asks. Will swallows, and nods, unable to do anything else. It smiles. "What is your name?"
"Will," Will rasps.
"Will," it repeats. "I am Hannibal." Will gasps, eyes widening further, and Hannibal's smile widens in turn. His teeth do not look precisely human; they look like the teeth of a spider, thick-clustered and sharp-fanged. "I see my reputation precedes me."
Will nods again. The spider god. Trickster, liar, manipulator. A terrifying beast that no one has seen and lived to tell the tale.
Hannibal hums, and his fingers spread out wide around Will's throat. "Why do you tremble?" he asks. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Will replies. He tries to quiet his heart, quell the roll of his stomach. Hannibal's legend is one of hospitality, the same way spiders are hospitable. They may allow another in their web, as a polite host, provided the guest is polite as well and does not do a better job as a meal. "Forgive me; I never dreamed I would ever see someone of your magnificence."
Hannibal's eyes flash, blacken around the edges, before they go back to an iris of dirt and blood. Hannibal smiles, and leans down further, until Will can smell fresh meat on his breath. His hand on Will's throat grows tight. "You are the one who wandered into my land," Hannibal reminds him, voice smooth and soft, not at all like Will imagined a god to speak. "Why did you come, if not to visit me?"
"I was exiled, my lord," Will replies. "Driven from my village because I could speak to the forest, and bless the people. They called me a witch."
"A witch," Hannibal repeats, his mouth twisting in amusement. "So do mortals often refer to things they cannot explain. Magic. Unwanted." He prowls closer, the smaller arms around his second mouth idly brushing over Will's thighs. Will swallows harshly, fighting down the urge to whimper. He does not think Hannibal would delight in his fear. "And so you came here?"
"I had hoped to find the ocean," Will says. "I became lost." Another thought strikes him, and he stiffens, looking up at Hannibal with wide eyes. "Did I harm any of your children? Please, my lord, forgive me if I did. It was not my intention."
"Intention or not," Hannibal replies coolly, "yes, you did. Many were harmed. Squashed under your feet or brashly knocked aside by your hands." His grip tightens around Will's throat, tight enough to draw him to tears, for fear to coil up like a rabid animal in his chest. "You destroyed their homes, ruined their nests. A thousand lives, quashed by your insolent presence."
Will cannot speak, for Hannibal's grip on his throat is too tight. The mouth at Hannibal's hips parts, fangs revealing a row of sharp teeth, a seeking tongue. He closes his eyes as Hannibal leans down, sure that he is about to die.
"I am not without mercy," Hannibal whispers to him, and Will whimpers. "You will repay my kind for the lives you took, little Will. If you are strong enough."
Will gasps, as the hand on his throat goes to his hair. Hannibal's legs spread out wide, lowering himself over Will's feet, his second mouth in line with Will's hips, his thighs. Will's eyes widen as the second set of spider arms curl around his clothes, shredding them easily, baring his pale and shivering flesh to the cold earth.
"I can smell your life," Hannibal growls, both human hands in Will's hair, tilting his head up so Will cannot see the fate of his body. Hannibal smiles, purring the words to Will's forehead; "You are young, and potency lingers in your blood. You will give it to me, so I can replace the children you destroyed."
Will doesn't understand, but before he can ask, Hannibal's tongue emerges from his second mouth, and curls thick and wet and burning hot around his flaccid cock. Will cries out in shock, in sudden pleasure, as the second mouth parts its fangs and sucks Will down to the root. He's helpless against the onslaught of pleasure, frozen and stiff as the second mouth suckles at his cock until he's hard. He feels no teeth, just the warm, wet heat of the creature.
Hannibal shushes him when he cries, and lets Will bury his face in the creature's chest, clinging to his hips helplessly as Hannibal sucks on his cock. He cannot resist the way his hips rut up, every muscle in him anxious to chase the pleasure before his inevitable destruction.
Hannibal sighs, a heavy and contented sound, and Will wonders if he will be allowed to live, when the spider god is finished with him.
"Doesn't it feel good, Will?" Hannibal purrs, nuzzling his wild hair, nosing a single leaf from his curls. Will nods, gasping as the tongue tightens around his cock, stroking him like a wet hand, and it's so warm and wet on the inside of Hannibal's second mouth. His mind is aflame, every inch of him trembling under the sudden onslaught of pleasure. "You're so lovely, a beautiful young man."
Hannibal leans down, far more flexible than Will imagined, and bites at the arch of his ear. Licks into the hollow, and the all four of his arms wrap around Will, at his shoulders and his hips. He feels wetness, dripping venom, and then Hannibal's spider arms lift him and Will cries out, clinging helplessly, his heels hooked at the join of Hannibal's human body and his exoskeleton, made to thrust into Hannibal's second mouth as Hannibal holds him at the back of his neck, and kisses him.
Venom, sweet and thick, floods Will's mouth, and he feels that familiar warmth trickle into his stomach, bulging behind his lungs. Hannibal sucks on his tongue and his cock with both his mouths, uses the venom dripping from his spider mouth to coat his second set of arms, and Will feels a claw dip, drag, and pierce between his legs.
He screams, head falling back, blinking up at the sky as he sobs. Hannibal does not penetrate him where the body's natural opening is, but between it and the root of his cock, and blood pours out thick and heavy into Hannibal's second mouth, growing so much more wet, so much warmer.
"Do not fret, dear one," Hannibal purrs. "It will not hurt for long."
Will is panting, sweating and trembling from pain, and Hannibal cups his head and kisses him again, sharp teeth biting through his lower lip and giving him another hot gush of venom. Unbidden, Will's cries turn to a moan, his head feels heavy and light all at once, his heart quickens and his cock pulses in Hannibal's mouth, dripping onto his tongue.
Will comes with a shudder, as Hannibal's talon shoves deep into him, and then through the backside of his belly. Hooked, shredded open, Hannibal lets him drop with enough force that his flesh is forcibly separated, root and all, and Hannibal swallows down every part of it.
Will sobs, still so alight with pleasure he doesn't register it at first. His hands sink down, seeking fullness, pressure, seeking his cock so he can wrap his fingers around it and continue to touch himself. But he finds nothing but a bare, open gash, feverishly leaking blood. He's been split open and devoured from his ass to just below his pubic bone, and still, he shoves his fingers into the wound, gasping as pleasure lights up his spine and blood gushes between his legs, soaking his thighs, his knees, down to his ankles.
Hannibal's growl makes him open his eyes, and he can't stop fingering himself, gasping as Hannibal smiles at him, and his second mouth licks its fangs and swallows his flesh. He sobs, unable to stop, another orgasm making his belly clench, his blood flow thick. He's losing too much, he knows it.
Hannibal smiles, and leans down, one hand cupping his face, wet with tears. His other human hand flattens between Will's legs, over the gashed wound he laid, and Will weeps and shudders as he comes again, gasping, moaning when Hannibal manages to fit four of his fingers in alongside five of Will's.
"You are so very strong," he purrs, and Will closes his eyes when he's kissed. "You will bear our children so wonderfully, little Will, I'm sure of it."
Will nods weakly, and gasps when he feels more tickling on his arms, his feet. He looks down, whimpering at the sight of his own mutilated body, to see more spiders, much larger than mortal breeds, crawling over him. Webs descend from their bodies thickly, and he winces, pulling his fingers up, as Hannibal's children dip their spines into his flesh on either side of the gash, and begin to sew him shut so he doesn't bleed out.
"Rest now," Hannibal whispers, and kisses his forehead. Will's eyelids droop, as though commanded to, and Hannibal slowly pulls Will's fingers out of himself, still shaking with pleasure. The second mouth licks them clean, drooling semen and blood, and Will moans for it. "I will wake you when it's time."
He doesn't understand, but cannot voice his questions. Lethargy and blood loss seize him, and he falls asleep to the feeling of thousands of tiny spines sewing his flesh closed.
Will wakes in agony, a sharp cry to his knuckles as he curls up on himself, feeling with growing horror between his legs. A web has been made there, the skin sewn shut and leaking blood. He looks down at himself, his missing cock, removed testicles. A deep, dark gash spreads from his belly to his ass, and he sobs in horror and disbelief.
But…. He is unable to stop himself touching the wound, gingerly. His fingers spread out on either side of the webbing, and he gasps at the fissures of pleasure that run up his spine at the touch. He wants to press harder, to feel his insides again. He tests the bulge of his organs trying to press against the webbing, to fall out of him. His body is swollen and sore but it feels so good to touch, to press…
Large hands wrap around him, and Will looks up to see Hannibal spread wide across his pit. His spider body is twice the size it was, bulging and shifting like muscle beneath skin. Will gasps, and Hannibal smiles at him, dropping down elegantly to the floor. His hands flatten on Will's, and force him not to touch.
"They are ready, little one," he purrs, and Will swallows. He has no idea what that means, and Hannibal's eyes are hypnotic; he can't look away. Hannibal lifts him again and Will cries out, legs wrapping around his human torso, and he feels the tongue from the spider's mouth licking ravenously between his legs. It feels good, it feels wonderful, and Will whimpers and buries his face in Hannibal's shoulder as he's licked, tongue hard against the webbing, every curl and tease of it sending pleasure sharply up his spine.
Hannibal's second pair of arms wrap tight around a leg each, and pull him wide. Until Will's hips crack, and he cries out as he feels the webbing, slowly, tear. Blood and organs slip out of him.
To make room, voices say, and they sound like the spiders.
Hannibal kisses him to give him more venom, and when Will falls lax, half delirious with pleasure and close to death, he is turned around and placed on his hands and knees, and covered by the body of the spider god.
Hannibal bows down, twisting around to him, and holds his face so Will cannot see. He hears something slick, like the forcible crack and opening of an egg, and then something huge and tentacle-like pressing at the webbing.
"Are you ready, little Will?" Hannibal purrs, and kisses him before he can answer. Will whimpers as, suddenly, the tentacle is forced through the webbing between his legs, tearing it apart, and fills Will's stomach so much he feels his skin stretch for it. He cries out, unable to reconcile the feeling of being so torn open, and Hannibal's venom makes it feel wonderful. His body clenches, stomach and ribs around the tentacle, and he screams and cries, ending the kiss and looking down at himself.
Blood oozes from his wound, dripping webbing down his stomach to his chest. It looks like a man has already come inside him, his seed leaking sticky-wet down Will's thighs.
Hannibal's body has parted to reveal what Will can only call his cock, for he knows no other name to accurately describe it. It's huge, easily the length of Will's spine, thick as his own thigh, and forcibly parts Will's hips until they crack, broken open. His spine juts against his own skin. He can see every rib stuck out in stark relief.
Hannibal's spider arms hold him below his ribs, keeping him still, and Hannibal's legs spread out, bracing themselves on the edges of the pit, and thrust so deep into Will he feels his throat and collarbones bulge and snap from the force and the size. He can no longer scream, his throat is too mangled, and still, somehow, he is alight with pleasure. His body convulses with it, coming again and again around Hannibal's cock.
He can't breathe, can't think. Hannibal takes his head and kisses him as he works his cock deeper into Will, splintering his hips, bulging his stomach. His second mouth licks over Will's shoulders and gnaws at his hair, tongue thick and still smelling of Will's blood sliding around his throat to choke him.
And then, Will feels it. A bulbous knot, harder than Hannibal's cock, slowly eking from Hannibal's body and shoved through the sheath of his cock, into Will's belly. He sobs around Hannibal's tongue, and Hannibal pulls back, soothing him with warm hands and gentle shushing, and Will collapses, weightless, suspended by the tentacle that has replaced his spine, held up by Hannibal's strong arms.
The egg seats itself in Will's stomach, and then a second one comes. He's so full, he's sure his stomach will rip open from the presence of so much inside him. His heart feels like he will vomit it out, shoved so high in his chest.
He feels his liver burst, and bile drips from the gash, stinging him. It leaks from his mouth. His intestines and stomach wither and slide out of him from the acid of his own bile. His blood turns black, and so thin it's like water.
A third egg comes, and Will screams as he feels the first egg burst. Not out of pain, for he feels no pain – panic. He cannot afford to kill Hannibal's children, does not dare end this blood oath with failure. But he feels, in his stomach, another tickling sensation, like he has swallowed live moths.
"My lord," he rasps. "My lord -."
Hannibal smiles, and one of his claws slices Will across the stomach. From the wound, thousands of spiders the size of his palm fall, skittering away, chittering with life. Will weeps to see it, blood and more venom dripping from his open womb, and he presses his hand to the wound once the first litter is free, so that he gives the second more pressure to hatch.
He needn't have worried. Hannibal's eggs come in unending waves, now, the pressure of them like a thick cock everywhere Will is sensitive. They come two, three at a time, larger than both his fists, forced into the opening Hannibal made inside him and Will is weak with relief, with gratitude, that the spider god in all his foresight saw to remake him into something so capable. He would have died, he's certain, if he wasn't this open.
Spiders crawl out of his stomach, out of his gash around their father's cock, up, higher, into Will's heart and lungs. He coughs, and tenderly lets them crawl from his tongue and drop to the floor. Some of them remain, nuzzling his hand, curling around his thighs, ready to web him back together once their father is done with them.
He weeps, staring at his children, and Hannibal cups his face and kisses him when the final egg bursts, and all his children are free. Hannibal's cock licks the inside of his belly, and venom seals the wound closed. Spiders come up and sew over it, so there is a lovely white line across his stomach. Hannibal's cock withdraws, and Will shivers with another orgasm, his body convulsing and leaking blood, organ matter, webbing, egg sacs.
Hannibal lets him go, and Will collapses to the ground, gasping. His legs won't move, his hips so thoroughly cracked he cannot control them. His lungs are battered, half his organs lying in a wet heap on the ground beneath him that he watches his children devour. He watches, delirious and spent, as Hannibal carefully helps his smaller children up out of the pit, so that they can go and grow freely, weaving their webs and marking their territory.
On the verge of death, heart weak, he smiles.
Will wakes, despite everything, to snow covering the ground. He reaches out with a shaking hand, dragging his fingers through the frost. A spider, large as his head, sits nearby, and gives a little chitter of greeting. Will smiles, and reaches out, petting over its hairy face. Four of its eyes are black, and shining, and the rest have the cool blue of his own iris.
A shadow covers him, and he looks up to see Hannibal descending on the pit. The spider chirps, and crawls up to sit on Will's shoulders. Hannibal has a deer carcass in his human hands, webbed and drained, and lays it down. From the holes in the pit, more of Will's larger children emerge, swarming the carcass, and the one on his back climbs down to join its brothers and sisters as they feast.
Hannibal smiles at him, and reaches down to cup his face. Will moans, agonized, unable to move his legs. He feels like he should not be alive, should not be able to breathe. Should not feel his heart beating in his throat.
He coughs, and from his mouth comes one last spider. She spun a web between his parted lips, and shines a beautiful golden color. She is very small, and does not descend with her brothers, but crawls up Will's face to nestle in his hair.
Hannibal kisses him, and his venom soothes Will's aches, though he still cannot move. It frees his tongue. "My lord," he whispers. "Is it now my fate to become your meal?"
Hannibal's eyes flash, and turn black for a moment. "No, my darling," he replies. He curls up over Will, his human body a perfect size to rest against his back. He nuzzles Will's hair, mindful of their daughter within it, until she jumps down and skitters away. Hannibal wraps his arms around Will, so warm, and Will shivers, for he didn't realize how cold he was until Hannibal touched him.
"I will heal you," Hannibal promises. "And you will give me another clutch of children, and another. Your seed will give me several generations." He laughs. "Then, maybe."
Will cannot help laughing as well. "If you heal me, and make me able again, I can give you more."
"That is true," Hannibal replies with a contemplative hum. Will shivers, as Hannibal's spider arms spread his limp legs apart, and the second mouth parts, tongue licking at the thick webbing between his thighs. He moans weakly, utterly without strength, as the tongue weaves its way in past the webbing and strokes him on the inside.
"You have proven more than suitable for me," Hannibal purrs, planting each word with a gentle kiss to Will's ear, his cheek, his mouth. The taste of his venom makes Will feel empty, weak. He flattens a hand to his scarred stomach and moans when he feels the tongue lick on the innards of it. "I think I will keep you, my little witch."
Will smiles, and turns his head, moaning when the spider god kisses him until Will cannot breathe.
"Your debt was paid with this first clutch, dear Will," Hannibal tells him. "Is there something I can do, to urge you into heat, so you will give me another?"
Will blinks. The concept of being urged into anything is foreign to him, and he wonders what that might mean; if he will become so desperate and sick with desire that he will come to the spider god and beg to be filled like that again.
Inside him, Hannibal's tongue licks deep, licks Will to orgasm, and he cries out, clenching around it, and knows Hannibal is tasting his blood.
The pleasure of it all makes Will dizzy, and he cannot think. Knows only the violent hospitality of this god and that every gift must be received graciously, and an opposite offer given. For each generation Hannibal takes from him, he will be compelled to offer something in return. For every day Will is allowed to live, he must give thanks and gratitude.
"The village that exiled me," he whispers, as his orgasm fades from him, clears his mind. Hannibal hums, petting down him with all four arms, lifting his hips so the tongue can lick deeper, tease at the base of his heart. "I think – ah." Another wave of pleasure surges in him, and Will trembles, gasping when Hannibal kisses his neck. "I think I would like to see our children devour them."
Hannibal laughs. "That is a delightful idea, my little witch," he purrs. "But those men will likely kill them in scores. It will be a great loss of my kind, should we do that."
"I'll give you more," Will promises, shaking, every muscle in him liquid and lax as Hannibal licks him on the inside, until his stomach bulges and his lungs break apart. "I'll give you an army."
Hannibal growls, shivering in anticipation, and kisses Will until he is flooded with venom, and then Will is pulled down by the spider's arms, Hannibal's tongue withdraws with one last lick, and Will feels his thick cock pushing at what little webbing remains.
"Well then, my darling Will," Hannibal whispers, and bends down to kiss him as his cock forces Will apart again. "There's no time to waste." |
It started, as most things do, as a normal evening. It was Friday, and Fridays were one of Batman’s favorite evenings. Partly because there was no work in the morning, but mostly because Robin accompanied him on patrol.
Originally, Bruce had been fine with Dick patrolling every night, but Alfred was quick to put his foot down about that. He insisted that Bruce take his responsibility more seriously and actually think about Dick’s wellbeing.
After all, school was the most important thing Dick did, and if Bruce allowed him to stay up most the night on school nights, he would not be at his best for school. So, reluctantly he limited Robin’s nights out to non-school nights.
Summers were the best, honestly, but so far they’d only had one summer together. Dick had been living with Bruce for a little over 18 months. To Bruce, it felt like he’d been there forever. He couldn’t imagine his life without the hyper little brat.
The 11-year-old bounded after Batman as they traversed the city, swinging from building to building, stopping petty and violent crimes all the same.
Robin came alive when helping people, the happy child he was shining through as he flipped around and dished out pun-laden insults. Bruce absolutely could not display his amusement, because that would only encourage the boy and make it worse.
So he remained stony-faced.
Even if he did want to laugh. Sometimes.
The night had been fairly uneventful. As uneventful as Gotham could provide, at least, and Bruce preferred it that way. For Robin’s sake, at least.
But he should have realized something was off about the attempted mugging they stopped down by the docks.
For one, the victim was over-acting.
Sure, some people would scream as loud as this guy did, but not usually on this side of town. And not when they looked as toned and controlled as he did. The way he held himself screamed intensive training, not distressed civilian.
And secondly, the perpetrator gave up far too quickly, all but calling the police himself when Robin approached.
And Robin, of course, had engaged before Batman fully assessed the situation.
Batman stepped closer to Robin, assuring the boy was within reach as he towered over the now-cuffed mugger and the ‘victim.’ His subconscious was trying to tell him something, but he wasn’t certain, what, exactly that was. Robin’s excited babbling to the victim, who hadn’t run off as soon as Robin attacked, wasn’t helping much.
Which, that was strange, too. The victim not running off.
If given another few seconds, Batman was sure he’d have put it together himself. The accents of the men were telling, once he knew what to listen for. They were good at faking American accents, but it was still off. A bit stilted.
But what truly made it click was when Batman heard, “Beloved,” come from the dock behind him.
Talia. Just what he needed.
Bruce resisted the urge to freeze, and instead chose spin around and face her. The two assassins, Bruce had now identified, quickly fell into rank, preventing Bruce from needing to reposition Robin so Bruce’s body was between him and Talia’s men.
It had been over a year and a half since their last meeting, and that night had not gone well. What little affection he had felt for the woman was stripped away the moment she chose to spike his drink.
“Who’re you?” Robin asked, stepping to stand beside Batman as he put his hands on his hips dramatically.
Talia raised an eyebrow and said, “This must be the circus trash you acquired.”
“What?” Robin sputtered, as Bruce growled and stepped forward to stand in front of the boy. Bruce had never mentioned Talia to Dick. Had never let him know that there were people who knew Bruce’s identity, and therefore likely knew his, so it was probably a shock that someone had connected him so easily to Dick Grayson.
Bruce, on the other hand, was pissed Talia called him ‘trash.’
“What do you want, Talia,” he growled, pushing Robin back behind his back as the boy tried to reclaim his spot by Bruce’s side.
“A favor,” she said dismissively, waving her hand in the air, “do you remember our night about 19 months ago?”
Bruce narrowed his eyes, not that she could tell through his cowl. “Vaguely. That tends to be the aftereffects of being drugged.”
“She drugged you?” Robin demanded, sticking his head back around Batman again, “who is she?”
Swatting the air in front of Robin, asking him to be silent and still, Bruce grumbled a short, “later,” to the boy.
“Yes, well. I got what I wanted from the night.” Talia paused and offered a ghost of a grin that sent shivers down Bruce’s back. “However,” she continued, her voice icy cold, “his life is now in danger.”
Then, Bruce did freeze.
She couldn’t be suggesting…
Was she seriously suggesting….?
Is that how she knew the exact number of months since their meeting?
Talia turned to one of her guards and removed a blanket from the backpack he wore. That’s when Bruce realized it wasn’t a backpack at all. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed a baby among the guards before, as Talia wrapped the blanket around the infant she extracted from the carrier.
And more specifically, how did Bruce not know about this baby?
“You can’t be serious,” he finally said, because it was better than accepting that he’d sired a child with Talia Al Ghul.
“I assure you,” Talia said dryly as she slowly approached Bruce, “he is yours. I need you to watch him. There is a power struggle occurring within the League and Damian’s life has been threatened by a traitor hoping to succeed my father. Once the threat has been dealt with, I will return for him.”
Bruce hesitated when the infant was thrust into his arms, but only briefly. Thankfully, he knew how to hold babies. He just didn’t particularly enjoy doing so.
The child didn’t even blink at being handed off to a complete stranger. A complete stranger wearing a mask, at that. “How old is he?” Bruce asked, shifting the infant's weight in his arms, trying to find a comfortable position for them both. Heavily armored arms were likely not very comfortable for the boy.
“Ten months,” she said, turning on her heels and leading her men back to their boat, “I will return as soon as I can. Be good for your father, Damian.”
With that, Talia and her guards boarded the boat and left, without even looking back.
What kind of a mother just dumps her kid off on someone else like that? What kind of child is completely unfazed by it?
“Uh, Batman?” Robin asked, stepping out from where he’d been hidden, “did you know you had a baby?”
“No,” he grunted, looking back down at the baby in his arms. At Damian. He should call the boy by his name. He was a person, after all.
Damian still seemed completely unbothered by the situation. Not happy, though. In fact, he had a bit of a scowl on his face. Bruce wasn’t even aware babies could scowl.
“Let’s go home, Robin,” Batman sighed, pulling his cape up to conceal the ch- Damian.
Damian.
This was not happening.
Reluctantly, Bruce had Dick hold the extremely docile baby during the drive home. It probably wasn’t safe, Damian not being strapped into anything, but Bruce had nothing to remedy the safety lapse. They had to get him back to the cave, and somehow he thought stopping by Walmart to purchase an infant carrier would raise too many questions with the public.
Besides. Once back at the cave, he’d be able to run a DNA test on the boy. He already knew, honestly, just by looking at him that Damian was his. He looked just like Bruce’s baby pictures, but there was always a chance Talia was lying.
If the baby ended up not being his, he could just drop him off with social services and make Talia deal with that. It’s not like the League of Assassins was a good place for a child to grow up, anyway.
Once they arrived in the cave, Bruce parked the car and got out. Alfred, always at the ready with snacks when they arrived home, greeted him with a, "Master Bruce, you are home early. Uneventful night, I presume?"
With a sigh, Bruce rounded the car and opened the passenger door. Show, don’t tell, he figured.
Bruce had explicitly told Robin not to attempt getting out on his own. Dropping a 10-month-old on solid rock was probably not a good thing to do, and despite himself Bruce couldn’t stop seeing all the ways Dick carrying around Damian could go horribly wrong.
“Oh my,” Alfred said, in as close to a gasp as Bruce had ever heard from the man once he hoisted Damian into his arms, “who is this?”
“That’s Bruce’s son,” Dick said, leaping from the car, already freeing himself from his mask and cape. Bruce couldn’t quite place the boy’s tone. Was it jealousy? Anger? Why would Dick be either of those things?
“Oh dear. And who, pray tell, is the young master’s mother?”
“Talia,” Bruce grunted as he passed the infant over to Alfred, who took the child without hesitation, “his name is Damian. I need to change, then I will run a DNA test.”
“Hello, Master Damian,” Bruce heard as he quickly retreated to the showers.
Bruce took longer than strictly necessary in the shower. How could he not? But after 15 minutes, he figured Alfred’s patience for him was probably waring thin.
When he emerged from the showers, Alfred was looking at him pointedly from where he sat at the Batcomputer, Damian in his lap. “Master Bruce, did the child’s mother give you any supplies?”
“No,” Bruce said, frowning, “just handed me the baby and left.”
“Will he be here long?” Alfred asked, standing as Bruce approached.
“I don’t know. Talia said until the power struggle within the league is over, but she didn’t give a timetable.”
“Then,” Alfred said, holding Damian out for Bruce to take, “attend to your son. I will run to the store. We will need food and diapers for the young master if he is to stay longer than ten minutes.”
Bruce rubbed at his face before turning to face the still docile child in his arms. Weren’t babies usually more… something? Vocal? Active? Anything? Damian acted like he was just… there. Completely indifferent to the world.
As soon as Bruce set him down on the examining table and tried to swab his cheek, however, the boy’s indifference disappeared. Suddenly he was angry, scowling at Bruce and fighting against his hand with all his might. Getting him to stay still long enough to pinch his tiny little mouth open was impossible.
At every attempt, Damian would turn his head out of the way and whine. Bruce ended up having to wrap his arm around Damian, pinning the boy to his chest as he forced his head still long enough to open his mouth.
Damian let out a screech of displeasure as Bruce finished the task. He knew he wasn’t harming the boy, knew his actions were not painful. Annoying, perhaps, but not painful. Regardless, Bruce felt the need to apologize and murmured, “Sorry, kid,” as he placed the swab in a plastic bag.
Now that that was done, Bruce just needed to analyze the DNA. Looking around the cave, Bruce considered where he could stick Damian. Holding the kid was a little much. If he could just set him down somewhere... Maybe he could put some blankets on the practice mats and let the baby snuggle up and go to sleep.
His mind immediately reminded him of the many, many drop offs in the cave where Damian could quickly and quietly crawl right over the edge of a cliff and plummet to his death. Bruce would win no points with social services if he killed a baby through neglect. And Bruce knew himself well, knew as soon as he sat down at the computer, he’d get caught up in his work and not check on Damian enough.
No. Bruce shouldn’t set Damian down. With a long, drawn out sigh, Bruce trudged over to the computer and sat down with Damian, resigning himself to keeping the kid in his arms at least until Alfred returned.
Dick came out of the showers while Bruce was still sitting there, little Damian sitting in his lap, chewing on a coaster he’d snatched off the desk. “So,” Dick said cautiously as he leaned against Bruce’s chair, “you didn’t use protection, did you?”
Horror crossed Bruce’s face as he turned and scolded, “Dick,” at the boy. He was eleven, for heaven’s sake. Eleven.
This was not a conversation they should be having.
“What?” Dick asked innocently, with a smile that told Bruce he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Go to bed.”
“Bruce, come on,” Dick pouted, “it’s not even 1.” After a second, he pointed at Damian and said, “And I want to know more about that.”
“We’ll talk more in the morning,” Bruce said, shifting Damian a bit as he continued setting up the program to check paternity, “I have tests to run.”
“Do you only date super villains?” Dick asked, apparently choosing tonight as the night to completely disobey Bruce in every facet, “because first it was Catwoman and now it’s the League of Assassins lady.”
“Dick,” Bruce snapped, causing Damian to jump and drop the coaster to the ground, “Bed. Now.”
“Fine,” Dick huffed, as he stomped all the way to the stairs and then up them. If there had been a door at the top, Bruce is sure Dick would have slammed it.
Kids.
Bruce rubbed at his face again, then looked down at the still infant in his lap. Damian was staring up at him, wide green eyes piercing as he did.
Now he’d gone and scared a baby.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, bouncing his knee, and therefore the kid, a couple times to try and distract him from his apparent fear.
Hopefully Damian didn’t start crying. Bruce wasn’t sure he could handle that. Instead, though, Damian’s expression shifted back to a scowl as his attention turned to pulling at his blanket.
Indifferent or angry. What was wrong with this kid? Weren’t babies supposed to be more… happy? Smile and laugh and make noise in general?
Bruce had no idea what he was doing. He was more than sure Alfred knew what he was doing, though, and hopefully the butler would be back soon so he could take Damian and… do something with him.
Because Bruce had no idea what to do with a baby.
----
It took an hour, but the test finally finished. After double checking the results, Bruce saved it all to a new file he named “Damian Wayne” and sat there for several long moments, staring at the name on the screen.
There was no way this was happening.
He’d wake up in a few minutes and it would have all been a nightmare.
Because Damian was his.
He had a son.
Why was this happening??
Damian yawned pitifully in Bruce’s hold, causing Bruce to look at the time. It was nearing 2am, and if it weren’t good for eleven-year-olds to stay up late, it was probably even worse for infants to do so. Hopefully Alfred was back and would be available for putting Damian down to sleep.
Where did babies sleep? Cribs. They did not own a crib. Maybe that was one of the things Alfred bought.
The infant squirmed in Bruce’s arms once he stood, but eventually settled down, resting his head against Bruce’s shoulder with his little arms tucked under his body. He looked exhausted. Bed was probably the right idea.
When they reached the kitchen, Bruce found Alfred putting away various tiny jars of food in the cabinet, and a pile of things sitting on the island. Clothes. Bottles. Toys.
Cautiously, Bruce picked up the first thing he could reach, which was a set of pacifiers. Binkies, his mother had called them. What a ridiculous word. Did Damian need a binkie?
“Ah, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, drawing Bruce’s attention from the packaging, “I purchased our newest charge some items. We will have to do a more substantial shopping trip when more than just Walmart is open, but for now these things will do.”
Bruce nodded and looked at the massive haul Alfred had purchased and wondered what else a baby could need. Why did babies need so many things?
“Come,” Alfred said, motioning for Bruce to follow after he picked up a bag of still more items, “I’ll set up a diaper changing station in your bathroom so you may prepare the young master for bed.”
“Me?” Bruce asked, startled, only to silenced by a sharp look from Alfred.
“Master Bruce, if you did not want the responsibility of fatherhood, perhaps you should not have done the deed to create said child to begin with.”
Bruce reddened and looked down at the half-asleep infant in his arms, thinking back to numerous, extremely embarrassing lectures from Alfred as a teenager. “I- I didn’t mean…”
Alfred frowned and set a hand on Bruce’s unoccupied shoulder, “Bruce,” he said softly, “regardless of your intentions, this young man is here now and you are his father. The time you spend with an infant is precious. Children grow up too fast, and trust me when I tell you you will regret this in years to come if you don’t spend time with him now.”
Heaving a sigh, Bruce covered his eyes for a moment before looking back down at Damian. Would he regret it? He never wanted to be a dad. Never wanted children. He hadn’t wanted this child. Hadn’t even wanted the encounter that produced this child.
But. He couldn’t just abandon his own kid, either. It wasn’t Damian’s fault Bruce didn’t want him. It was Talia’s, really.
It wasn’t fair of her to bring a child into this. Into their worlds. Into their feud. And wasn't fair of her to dump him off on Bruce.
For now, at least, he could look out for the kid. He was capable of that, right? Maybe? If Alfred seemed to think he was, then he probably was.
“Okay,” he said weakly, finally returning his gaze to Alfred, “yeah. I can- I can do it.” Put him to bed, at least. Hopefully Talia would come get the kid soon enough.
“Excellent, sir. Come now, I will show you how to prepare the young master for bed.”
In the master bathroom, Alfred showed Bruce how to change Damian’s diaper and dressed him in a new set of pajamas. They were cute. They had the Justice League symbol on them. It made Bruce want to smile, but he was too wired to do so. Too nervous and exhausted and antsy.
Damian seemed mildly perturb he’d been awakened to be changed, but did not otherwise react. He still was not making noise, whining or anything, and was merely scowling at Alfred as the butler buttoned up the legs on his one-piece.
There had to be something wrong with the kid.
“There we go, Master Damian,” Alfred said, standing the kid up on the counter to get one last look, “now I believe it’s high time you and Master Bruce got some sleep.”
At Bruce’s baffled expression, Alfred added, “It is important you speak to Master Damian. It is how infants learn the language and form attachments to those around them. If you do not talk to him, it can harm him for years to come.”
“Oh, okay,” Bruce said, slightly bewildered, as he took the baby from Alfred’s hands when prompted, “where do you want him to sleep?”
“I believe your crib is in the attic, however we will need to purchase a new mattress for it before we can allow Master Damian to use it. For now, your bed will be fine, sir. I will assist you in creating a barrier so he does not roll off.”
Bruce nodded numbly as he followed Alfred back out into the bedroom, internally panicking over the prospect of having a baby in bed with him. What if he rolled over and squished the child? Babies were delicate, and Bruce wasn’t a small man.
After Alfred prepared the bed for the two of them to sleep, Bruce laid Damian down in the middle and made sure the blanket and pillows were away from him, per Alfred’s instructions. Then he laid himself down and bid Alfred goodnight.
And he lay there. For what felt like an eternity. Just staring at the baby.
Damian’s scowl had deepened once Bruce laid him on the bed, and remained for as long as Bruce stared at the child. It was like the kid wasn’t even trying to go back to sleep, despite having been nearly there before Alfred changed him.
Bruce was so out of his depth.
He thought he was lost enough looking after an eleven-year-old. This, though. This was completely different. So much worse. Dick could at least tell Bruce what he was doing wrong. Take care of himself, really. Damian though? Damian was completely helpless.
Completely helpless and reliant on Bruce.
He was going to screw up, he just knew it. This was why he never wanted kids. He wouldn’t make a good father. Having someone be so dependent on him was terrifying. Alfred was there to make sure Damian didn’t die, but there were plenty of other ways Bruce could screw this tiny little human up. So far, he’d done nothing but annoy the kid. Scare him. And make him angry, somehow. Like right now, as the baby continued to glare at him.
Why would Talia even trust him with Damian? Couldn’t she have found someone far more qualified to watch him during the power struggle?
Then again, his estate was probably the most secure place in the world. No one would be able to get to Damian here. And if it came down to it, Bruce could easily take the baby up to the Watchtower, and then it would be completely impossible for anyone to get near him.
That’s probably why Talia did it.
Damian eventually closed his eyes, but his brow shifted to something different. Pain? Upset? Something. Bruce wasn’t sure. Then the baby began to emit a very low whine Bruce immediately recognized as the start of crying.
No, no, no, he internally pleaded, don’t do that.
He hesitantly reached out and placed his hand on the baby’s back and began rubbing circles, shushing the child as he did so.
Little by little, the tension in Damian’s features dissipated until he was fast asleep, a peaceful and innocent expression replacing his signature scowl.
So maybe the baby wasn’t broken.
Just. Weird. Angry, maybe? What could cause a baby to be so angry? Was he mad his mother abandoned him? Did he even understand that that’s what had essentially happened? Was he angry at Bruce for being so inept with children? How smart were babies anyway? Bruce had no idea what infants were capable of, he’d never had to deal with them before.
As he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep himself, he began compiling a list of questions to ask Alfred or Google in the morning, starting with infant development. |
Kara was holding Madelyn in her arms as she flipped pancakes for the fourth morning in a row. It was the quickest, easiest breakfast she could offer.
The three months with Eliza had gone by so fast that when they were up, and Lena broached the question of whether Eliza wanted to stay or not at dinner the week prior, Kara had been taken completely off guard. Eliza said that she would indeed be pleased to stay but that she’d like to return to Midvale first. Though having her around was beyond helpful, Kara wasn’t about to tell Eliza she couldn’t go home. They would make do until her return.
The news was playing loudly on the television so Lena could hear it from the bedroom. Ethan was dashing around, giggling, chasing Krypto around the apartment. The dog let out yips at the game. Lena came out of the bedroom, hopping as she tried to pull on a heel. “Lori, why aren’t you dressed?”
“After breakfast.”
“Go,” Lena ordered, and Lori rolled off the couch, grumbling into the bedroom. Lena leaned in to kiss Kara, a kiss that was interrupted by a crash as Krypto slid into the end table, the lamp rocking precariously.
Kara dropped the spatula, hearing it clatter on the counter, but Lori was faster as she sped back into the room, half-dressed, stopping the lamp from crashing to the ground. “What happened?”
Lena pointed to the bedroom. “Go, Lori.”
Kara looked around the mess of an apartment. Their things were scattered everywhere, much different from how their house was kept.
Ethan looked ashamed and scared of getting yelled at. Krypto was trying to hide behind the little boy’s legs. Madelyn wasn’t making any noise at all which Kara was grateful for in the moment. She met Lena’s eyes. “Thank Rao we don’t live here full time.”
They didn’t come all together to stay at Hope Street often, but with Eliza gone, they thought it would be easier to take the commute out of their day. They could manage the tight quarters for a few days. The apartment brought back so many memories for Kara that she couldn’t bear to give it up. And besides, all of their friends were in the city and sometimes it was nice to be closer to them. It had suited them well in the beginning but no longer worked with their large family. Whenever they stayed in National City, they were crammed in. Madelyn’s crib took up most of the empty space in the bedroom, which forced Ethan and Lori into sleeping bags in the living room. The dog had no place to run around and the cat mostly hid, trying to stay away from the ruckus. Every day was hectic.
A blur flew through the CatCo offices sending papers swirling into the air. Kara looked up as she heard the shouts of surprise followed by groans. And as she did so, The Flash became clear in front of her.
She cocked her head to one side, entirely aware that everyone in the office could see through the glass windows of her office. She had not had the foresight to close the blinds; not that Barry Allen ever showed up announced on Earth-38. CatCo had done a bit on him a while back so people were aware of his existence but since then, he hadn’t shown his face in years. No one quite knew what to think of it. That was clear from the wide-eyed stares that were peering into her office without even trying to hide their interest.
“Barry?” After the initial shock of him appearing in front of her wore off, she felt the shock that the man who had been stuck in the speed force, looking unharmed, if not tired. was standing in front of her.
“Kara.” He sounded serious and Barry Allen was never without humor unless there was a crisis on hand.
“What are you doing here?” She could think of a million places Barry should have been after reappearing and none of them included her; they all included Iris and Nora.
“I have to tell you something.”
She gestured behind him, out the window. “Are you sure you should be telling me like this? Why didn’t you ask to meet?”
“Because I’ve been trying to fix it.”
“Fix what exactly?” Kara was now confused. Nothing seemed wrong to her. No one had called her up for help. Earth-1 was well-guarded.
“I messed up.”
Kara stood up, trying to calm him. He was so anxious he was phasing in and out of being. “Okay. I’m sure it’s okay. We can fix it.”
“I really don’t know if I can. Shit.” He wiped his hand down his face. “I swore I wouldn’t do this gain. I swore it and I had to go break my word and now this.”
“Barry, what is going on?” She stopped trying to calm him as she grew more uneasy herself.
“I messed up.”
“What did you mess up?” She as trying to urge him to speak up. His anxiety was contagious.
“You remember how I went back to save my mother and ended up changing Diggle’s life?”
“Sorta.”
“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of searching into the speed force. I wanted to learn more about it. I thought it’d help me understand myself better and the events of the past better. There’s been weird occurrence of dark matter storms popping up out of seemingly nothing.”
“Lena mentioned something with the Legends but that ages ago…”
He nodded. “That’s just been one of many. I thought research would be the best way because it usually is… wait, what do you mean ages ago?”
“Barry you’ve been gone for two years.”
He blanched. “Two years? But Nora… Iris…”
“They’re okay, Barry. But they miss you.”
He looked up at her, his eyes shining with tears. “It was helping. We were getting answers.”
“There’s a ‘but.’” The words fell out of Kara’s mouth.
“But I pushed too far.”
“Is Diggle okay?”
“It wasn’t Diggle this time.” He looked at her with eyes pleading for forgiveness. He didn’t even need to say it. She fell back into her chair, breath racing from her lungs. Her mind went to every worst-case scenario. Lori was gone. Ethan was gone. Madelyn was gone. Lena was gone. Something had happened to Alex or Eliza. She couldn’t lose her friends. “Barry Allen, what have you done to my family?”
The words were full of malice that was new to the ears of Barry Allen. Being a superhero was a dangerous job but the one thing they all did was try to keep their families out of harm’s way. And now, Barry was admitting that something he had consciously chosen to do was going to affect her life and the lives of those she loved. There was no mistaking his look or the tone of his voice; this didn’t feel like a good change. And the anger, the rage she always kept at bay was boiling in her stomach. Any time her family was involved, she didn’t have much control over it.
He was fumbling, hesitating. She had to check herself. She wanted to roar at him, to scream. And she hated him for doing this in her workplace where she couldn’t have a go at him. She could feel all the yes in the office on them. She gritted her teeth. “Tell. Me. Barry.”
“I don’t know what I did. I’m trying to fix it, I swear.” More pleading that she didn’t care for. “I just haven’t yet, and you need to know in the meantime.”
“Barry, please.”
“There’s another Kryptonian.”
“What?” That wasn’t what she had been expecting to hear.
“Your cousin, Clark… he has a sister.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
Barry swallowed hard. “He does now. And she’s on this planet.”
Kara was pacing the bedroom. Moonlight shown through the crack in the curtain, leaving a strip on the floor that highlighted her face whenever she crossed through it. She had been going in circles for a little over fifteen minutes as Lena watched from the bed. “She can’t be. It’s not possible. I’m the last daughter of Krypton. It’s absolutely horrible but that’s how it is. And it took me a long time to accept that. So, maybe she’s not Kryptonian. Maybe there’s a different connection. Maybe Barry was misinformed.”
She stopped and looked at Lena. Her eyes were shining with tears. Her voice cracked. “She can’t be Kryptonian.”
Neither of them had spoken the truth they knew was at the heart of the issue. Taking away Kara’s power had stripped her of her connection with Sam and by doing so, had left them in the dark. Without the yellow sun, they had buried the solution. Trying to protect Kara had in turn, damaged their ability to learn anything about the situation.
Lena knew it was only surprise and denial and was letting Kara unravel the tangled mess of emotions. It didn’t even surprise her when Kara told her. It was like a piece of information that settled perfectly into the puzzle that had been their lives.
The guilt of taking away Kara’s power was not the only guilt gnawing at her. She felt guilty about Sam. This woman that they called their friend had been dealing with something, probably terrifying, definitely unexplainable, entirely alone, for so long. When her friends could’ve helped, they had all hid instead.
She should have known. She should have connected the dots. She should have sat Sam down and gotten answers months ago.
“Has she called you?”
“No.”
“Have you called her?”
Kara shot her a look that was out of character. “Obviously not.”
Lena hugged her knees, the sheet slipping under her arms. “Don’t you think we need to?”
“Lena…” Kara fell onto the edge of the bed with a very heavy sigh. She rubbed at her temples. “I don’t know her. She’s supposed to be my family now, but I have no memories of that. Nothing. She doesn’t exist in my head.”
Lena cocked her head to the side, her gaze drifting to the window. She wished she hadn’t had the forethought to close the curtains before climbing into bed. “That’s not necessarily true.”
“What?”
“Sam hasn’t made sense to you since you met her.”
“What?” Kara turned around to study her wife.
“The first time you met her at my office, the way you looked at her,” Lena remembered the day vividly; how quickly Kara switched from offense to defense, “I thought you were going to heat vision her right on the spot.”
Kara scoffed, “No I wasn’t.”
“And then the other night, you couldn’t put together who she was.” That was a something she knew Kara couldn’t deny and with the way Kara’s lips pursed Lena knew she hadn’t found an adequate rebuke. “I also think your second cousin’s middle name is interesting.”
“Okay, that’s absurd.”
All of this was absurd to Lena. She was currently sharing a bed with a woman from another planet who could fly, a decade after they had saved National City and the planet from an alien invasion. With Kara’s Kryptonian DNA and a whole new flood of technology thought up within the walls of a covert government agency, they had been able to biologically have children. Their rather extensive group of friends shouldn’t conceivably exist, but then again, neither should the multiverse. Scientifically, Lena Luthor’s entire life was inconceivable.
“Does Clark have other family with that name?”
“Yes, his father-in-law. Also, Samuel is a very common name,” Kara explained away.
“Both of you are far too sentimental for that.” But the first part had put a wrench in Lena’s theory; she had forgotten about Samuel Lane mostly because the Lane sisters didn’t have the greatest relationship with the man.
Kara waved her hand in vague circles. “Okay, so let’s say Samuel Lane didn’t exist. How would that even be possible? That was long before Barry messed with the speed force. Clark couldn’t have named him Samuel because of a relative when at that point, there was no relative.”
Lena had consigned herself to the fact that she was never going to be able to figure out to what extent the speed force worked. Barry Allen could keep convincing himself he would find answers if it made him feel better, but none of them were going to find the answers. It was a paradox as was how time worked; the Legends had made that apparent. Yes, timelines could be messed up as had been shown more times than made Lena comfortable, but time didn’t exist linearly, and it wasn’t connected nearly as much as humans believed it to be. So, it was possible that somewhere in the great cosmos, the universe knew things they did not. Therefore, Clark choosing Samuel could’ve stemmed from something in his subconscious.
Even so, she had to acknowledge that the theory was falling apart and that logically, Samuel Lane was the reason for Jonathan Kent’s middle name; it felt like a strange coincidence all the same.
“And nothing has changed for you?”
Kara shook her head. “In all my memories of Krypton, Sam doesn’t exist. And if Kal all of a sudden had new memories, I would hope he’d call.”
“Maybe you don’t know.”
“What?”
“Maybe he wouldn’t think they were new memories. Maybe his history would change but he wouldn’t be the wiser.”
Kara gave an involuntary shudder. Lena had to agree that was not a pleasant thought. It was the age-old adage of whether it was better to live with your trauma because it made you who you are or if you would be better off if you went back and changed your past. The actual consequences for the greater world were unfathomable, but on a personal level, that was for each person to decide. Lena wouldn’t, but then again, she had never been directly presented with the opportunity and she wasn’t about to spend her time seeking it out for herself. She had done too much work coming to terms with her life; it would be a waste to throw it away. But then again it would never have existed if she… it was a never-ending loop, and she refused to get stuck in it.
A hand on her face brought her back to the present and Kara’s small, sweet smile made her heart flutter. There was no point in going back if it wouldn’t bring her to this.
“Maybe I try recharging again?”
Lena took Kara’s hand from her face and kissed it. “Maybe that is exactly what you do.”
One minute.
Two minutes.
Five minutes.
Fifteen minutes.
Thirty-five minutes and Kara was still fully conscience, her cells irradiating with the yellow sun.
Alex was trying to keep her smile under wrap, but Kara could see her lips starting to turn up and her own cheeks were starting to hurt by the smile she couldn’t control. Alex looked at her from just beyond the glass partition, her voice crackling mechanically through the speakers. “I’ve missed you.”
Kara turned her head to the side, her cheek falling against the table that was becoming less cold to the touch with every second that passed.
“I’ve missed seeing you smile like that.”
She’d have to lie under the sunlamp for at least two hours and then have daily checkups in fifteen-minute increments until her cells grew accustomed once more to the energy they had been deprived of for two years.
A little fist knocked against the glass and her gaze shifted to Ethan, propped up on a table and waving at her. “Can I go in there with, Jeju?”
Alex’s brows furrowed. Kara guessed her concern. Her children had never been subjected to such a concentrated amount of yellow sun rays.
“It’ll be fine, Alex.” J’onn strode into the room and nodded at Ethan. “Go ahead.”
Her little nugget jumped off the table, landing, knees bent. If it weren’t so wobbly and his hands didn’t have to press against the floor to keep himself up right, it would’ve been reminiscent of the stance she fell into upon landing. Then he cried, “Thank you!” and dashed into the room.
He wasn’t tall enough to reach the table. Kara pushed herself up, ducking her head to avoid hitting it upon the contraption above her and leaned over when Alex’s voice sounded once more in warning. “Kara.”
“I feel great, Alex.”
“You need more time.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Kara said, reaching down and pulling Ethan into her lap. She almost laughed at how light he felt. She was still technically sitting under the sun lamp and had no plans to get up before her two hours of time was done but if she had learned one thing over the past two years, sometimes there were more important things.
“How are you really feeling?” J’onn said in a calm and gentle voice.
Kara flexed her fingers, curling them into fists and straightening them again. It felt like her blood was singing in her veins, her entire body pulsing. “Like I’m me again.”
“Good,” was all he replied and walked away, leaving Alex to supervise.
She sat across from Ethan on the flat metal bed that wasn’t designed for comfort, both of them cross-legged. They played I Spy and made up a clapping game that mostly ended with Ethan telling her she was doing it wrong and grabbing her hands to correct her.
Winn checked in a few times, the first time he said, “Maybe we should hook -”
And before he could even finish his sentence, Kara glared at him. He put his hands up in defense. “I thought you’d be a little more receptive since it’d be good to know.”
“Can I have one day where you aren’t trying to hook my kid up to a machine?”
“One tiny little patch,” Winn retorted. “What if it kick starts all the powers he doesn’t have yet?”
“Or maybe he’s perfect without them all.”
Winn narrowed his eyes but knew better than to argue.
A hour and half in, Kara had laid down again, Ethan splayed across her chest where he was drooling onto her shirt.
“Uh, Kara?”
Her eyes were shut against the light and she didn’t like the hesitancy in Alex’s tone. It sounded like her day was about to be ruined. She swallowed and sighed. “What, Alex?”
“Um…he’s glowing.”
Kara slowly opened her eyes, not entirely sure what that meant.
“He’s glowing!?” Kara heard Winn’s voice shout as she realized her super hearing was coming back.
But sure enough, that was the only way to describe it. Light was radiating out from Ethan. It wasn’t hot or cold, just light.
Hands slammed into glass as Winn arrived. Ethan jarred awake from the noise. Winn winced. “Sorry, buddy.”
He was like a beacon, not so bright that she had to squint to look at him but bright enough that it was obviously something out of the ordinary.
As she sat up, Ethan did as well, crawling off of her. He didn’t seem to have noticed yet, or otherwise, didn’t care.
“Now can I hook him up to a machine?”
Ignoring Winn, she said, “I think you got enough of this sun, nugget,” and picked him up under the arms, placing him on the floor.
“You’ve got about thirty more minutes, Kara,” Alex informed her.
She looked at her sister and then pointed at Ethan, deadpanning. “My son is glowing, Alex.”
Alex pursed her lips but then acquiesced, “Fair point.”
But for some reason she wasn’t alarmed and after a moment’s consideration, she laid back down. Winn took that as her agreeing and he rushed in, sweeping the little boy up in his arms with much less ease than she had. “Let’s go find out what this is all about.”
She trusted Winn; despite his zealousness, there was no danger.
“How am I doing Alex?”
“You’re absorbing at the rate I expected. I can’t promise that your cells won’t try to rid themselves of the radiation once you’re out from under there, but we’ll keep monitoring it.”
“You don’t need to keep watching me.”
Alex huffed and didn’t move from her post. “How’s mom?”
“She should be back in a few weeks.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea –?”
“Alex,” Kara warned. They had had this conversation three times. First when Eliza came to stay, then when she left, then when Kara informed Alex that she was coming back. The third time had been the worst; the discussion turning into an argument, which then ended up with Alex yelling, “She shouldn’t have to give up her life for you,” before storming out of Kara’s house.
They had made up since, Alex apologizing and Kara understanding. She had been furious for two whole seconds until the door slammed shut behind her sister and the anger left her, replaced by an understanding. There were cracks, so deep from so long ago, that they were unfixable. They had been patched and worked on and pushed to the background, but that didn’t mean they didn’t come to light sometimes. Alex’s concern might have had something to do with Eliza, but it had more to do with her own life and what she had given up. Kara could never hold that against her.
“You’re right,” Alex responded. “Sorry.”
“Siobhan is helping too.”
“I know.” A moment passed and then Alex changed course. “Anything about Sam?”
“Not yet.” She felt stronger but she knew she wasn’t back to full strength. They had hoped the yellow sun, if it didn’t send her spiraling, would jog her memories. It was clear now that whatever Barry had been doing in the speed force, playing with time, jostling her past, had been what caused the blackouts. But she still didn’t recall Sam existing on Krypton. Even with Barry’s certainty, it was hard to believe him without memories of her own.
“What if Sam needs this too?” Kara pondered, looking directly at the yellow sun lamp.
“We don’t even know if she’s Kryptonian.”
Kara had to remember. Without those memories, Sam felt like an imposter. It wasn’t something she had mentioned to anyone, not even Lena. She wasn’t trying to keep a secret, but she needed to work out her own troubling and convoluted thoughts on the situation before trying to speak them aloud. Being the last daughter of Krypton had only brought her grief and guilt, but she had been that for so long that a part of herself was securely tied to it. How far would she unravel if the one thing that had formed her entire life was stripped from her? Did she want more family, more connections to Krypton? Of course. But would remembering change her reality? Her entire philosophy was built around love and hope because she had been able to live through and overcome extraordinary amounts of pain.
She hoped her wife was right. Lena thought the only thing that would change would be Sam’s genetic makeup and history before her life on Earth. Their lives had not crossed over enough for this revelation to change the structure of time itself. But Kara felt a lingering worry. Time was never that easy.
“Kara. Kara. KARA.”
She shook herself out of her reverie.
“You went silent on me.”
“Just thinking.”
“That’s obvious. Time’s up by the way.”
Kara sat up on the table, looking at her sister through the glass partition. “Alex?”
“Yeah?” Alex asked offhandedly as she typed something into the computer in front of her.
“Whatever happens,” Kara chewed on the inside of her cheek, “you’re with me, right?”
Alex stopped working, her eyes flickered up to Kara’s, holding her gaze. “Every step of the way.” |
Peter taps his fingers against the solid floor of the travel-duct.
Unable to stand up completely in the cramped space, he blows a hard, impatient breath through his nose as he waits for an attending lab tech to open the small metal door in front of him. With how hurried they seemed to get him showered and back in the room, he’s surprised that they’ve left him to shiver away in the cold duct for as long as they have.
Annoyed, he debates going back through where he came from, but when he peeks back over his shoulder, the small door to the washroom is equally, and firmly, shut.
In that moment he hears the familiar sound of the door sliding open, allowing the bright white of the room to spill into the travel-duct, and Peter hurries through before he can be trapped again. He attaches himself to the wall and swings over to a ledge to properly dry off his mop of hair with one of the few blankets there.
“Don’t get all our stuff wet, Pete.”
Peter pokes his head over the ledge and chucks the wet blanket at the boy relaxing under the radiating warmth of the heat lamp below. It misses, landing next to the boy with a muffled splat instead of onto its intended, smirking target.
“It’s not my fault they cut my shower short,” Peter whines, “They practically yanked me out of there!”
Peter crawls underneath the ledge to cling to its underside, mindful to avoid the hot bulbs that powered the large heat lamp, his standard black shirt falling to his chin. He lowers his voice to a whisper, “It was the same as breakfast, Kaine, they’re either rushing around or forgetting about us. The head nurse didn’t even take my dailies.”
Kaine props himself up on his hands, meeting his smaller brother’s worried stare. “I’m sure its nothing,” he dismisses. “...Maybe Dr. Connors lost his temper again, and they’re trying to help him before us.”
Dr. Connors. By far Peter’s favorite Doctor in the facility, though that wasn’t saying much if your only competition was Dr. Warren. Connors never poked or prodded at them without warning, or eyed them like prized livestock, and his mere presence didn’t cause an involuntary chill to go up his spine. Connors was also the one person who could truly understand the spiders' situation, being a product of mutation himself, even if any conversation with the Doctor devolved into droning sessions about how dangerous it was for them to leave the facility until properly prepared and trained.
Peter also thought it was pretty cool that he could turn into a big reptile.
Peter hums, satisfied with Kaine’s suggestion. “Well, I hope that whatever’s happening isn’t going to make dinner late too.”
Peter leaps away from the heat lamp, using a few ropes strewn about the room to reach one of the hideboxes in the middle of the space. Each are filled with plenty of blankets and pillows, and the entrances are high enough off the ground that it would take a ladder for any normal person to reach them. They feel protected, safe.
He settles on the flat top of their favorite one, swinging his legs over the edge while he scans the room for his other brother.
He spots Ben down on the floor, idly playing tug-of-war with an off-duty nurse behind the glass, the thick rope passing through a reinforced hole in the barrier. The nurse is struggling, the strain evident on his face as he fights for the rope against his teenage opponent.
Dr. Warren had said that this sort of interaction was ‘enriching to both employee and Subject’, and despite the doctor’s phrasing, Peter can’t deny it. He often finds himself enjoying watching the nurses and lab techs fall flat on their asses after he suddenly lets go of the rope, or playing tic-tac-toe on the glass with those who are just passing by their room.
Peter lets himself fall back on the roof of the hidebox, content to just rest his eyes until he hears the metallic, grating slide of the long dinner tray emerging from its own hidden door. He lets his mind drift, listening to the low hum of the walls, muffled conversations of nurses passing by the glass, and Ben and Kaine’s steady heartbeats.
“Ohh, c'mon...” Ben quietly whines from the floor, snapping Peter back from his near-slumber.
Peering over the side, Peter sees that the nurse has stopped playing and is being frantically ushered away by another group of employees. Ben huffs as he watches them leave, jostling the rope in irritation.
But it isn’t just the lost playmate. Almost immediately there are all sorts of employees rushing back and forth in front of the glass wall. Some carry stacks of papers, some lug computer towers or carry trashcans. A few are running, but most simply hustle from one side to the other, heading into unknown parts of the lab. Ben smooshes his face up against the glass in a vain attempt to see what all the commotion is about, even knocking a little at the thick glass to grab someone's attention, but abruptly straightens up and scoots away as something else makes their way down the corridor.
Peter feels it too, the hairs on his forearms standing on end in anticipation. Kaine, trained to hone in on when his brothers’ react this way, goes stock still as well, watching as the mechs start to file down the corridor.
Huh. These mechs look like actual people, a welcome change to the powerful, ruthless ones in colorful costumes that the spiders are always pitted against, but they nonetheless make Peter's Sense buzz in the way that it does when he's near hot metal. Dangerous if you get too close.
All three spiders watch them march down the corridor, their blank, calm faces contrasting eerily with the stressed expressions on the frenzied employees. A passing lab tech smashes a button on their room's side-panel outside, and the mechs and rush of people alike gradually disappear behind their room’s security doors before they're finally sealed into darkness.
For a while it is just the three of them breathing in the space, unsure of what to do. Is this a test? Is this something else? Dr. Connors sometimes told stories of how he was chased here, underground, for his mutations. That people outside liked to hunt mutants because they were afraid of their power, their abilities. Did those people finally find them?
Instinctively they group up. Peter and Ben huddle protectively on either side of Kaine on one of the ledges in the room. Kaine's lack of Sense leaves him vulnerable, so he depends on them to warn him of danger. The proximity to his brothers also calms Peter’s nerves a bit, and he leans into Kaine’s warm side as he focuses his hearing.
The silence carries on for what Peter thinks is close to an hour at most, with nothing but the persistent hum of machinery in the walls filtering through. The three spiders have taken to crowding almost on top of one another in one of the higher, safer hideboxes, the space almost too small to comfortably house all three spiders like it used to.
Suddenly, something shakes the walls of the building -- the loud, reverberating boom coming from somewhere outside the spiders’ room. It’s followed by threatening footsteps, powerful enough to be heard past the soundproof security doors.
He goes rigid against Kaine as the security doors slowly rumble open and the red, flashing lights of the corridor start to filter into the darkened room.
A figure stands outside the glass -- a mech, Peter sees. But not just any mech, it's one they’re extremely familiar with. The memories of countless bruises and concussions race through Peter’s mind all in an instant. The flashing emergency lights reflect menacingly off the red-and-gold armor, and its hands cup its mechanical face as it presses up against the glass, glowing eyes piercing into the room's darkness.
He can hear his heartbeat pound in his ears as much as he can feel the ones of his brothers around him. The mech holds out its arm against the glass, the palm of its hand alighting with a blue, glowering eye.
This has to be a test, right? This has to be! But the funny-looking themed mechs never left the training rooms! What is this?
The whine reaches a fever-pitch.
And the glass wall of their home shatters.
|
Hye-Jin sighed dropping her head onto her desk for the umpteenth time that night.
They’d been going at it for hours.
She closed her eyes in both frustration and defeat as she heard Byung-Ho chuckle from the desk across from hers.
“Still alive over there, Detective?”
Hye-Jin groaned in response but waved her hand so he could see that she was in fact, still alive. Whether that development was for better or for worse, she still wasn’t sure.
“Well I’m glad to hear it, because I have some good news. I might have just figured out how to crack this code.”
Hye-Jin fell out of her chair, completely caught off guard, cursing deeply at her own clumsiness.
Yikes, she really needed some coffee.
Pulling herself together enough to get off the floor, Hye-Jin made her way toward Byung-Ho’s desk in a sluggish strut. Unfortunately, she didn’t miss his amused eyes glancing accusingly toward her as she sat beside him.
Deciding it better to be the butt of the joke now rather than later Hye-Jin muttered a little “Laugh it up Byung-Ho,” as he quaked with laughter.
She soon found herself smiling as well.
-
After chuckles escalated into full belly laughs and the two had jabbed playfully at each other with elbows, much like in their rookie days, they both settled themselves and got back to business.
“Okay, so while you were doing the manual research I decided to see if I could make an algorithm that would cross check the code for us. It might not always be spot on, but it should give us enough keywords that we can make out the rest.” Byung-Ho concluded pointing at different tools and windows on his screen.
Hye-Jin couldn’t understand a lick of it, there were black boxes with green writing - quite literally like something out of the matrix - littering Byung-Ho’s screen. She was beyond impressed. Sure, they’d been working for hours, but this? This was incredible. She’d barely cracked two words in eight hours and Byung-Ho had just made a bloody code translator to do it for them?
She could downright kiss him right now.
And for some reason as soon as the thought came into her head… she blushed.
She eyed him subtly with an unfamiliar mix of adoration and embarrassment, unsure which one was winning out in her head.
Byung-Ho caught on to her expression and flushed equally, clearly mistaking Hye-Jin’s blush as exasperation.
“I’m sorry Detective. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s all I could do with the time we have.”
Hye-Jin snapped out of her daze, chuckling and running a hand down her face, flushing even more at the misunderstanding, but equally thanking all the gods he hadn’t figured her out.
Byung-Ho was the most oblivious genius she had ever met.
“No, no. This is fantastic Byung-Ho. What would I do without you?” she asked with a tenderness that surprised even herself.
The praise made Byung-Ho brighten immediately and he beamed at her with a smile that she had seen a million times.
The only difference was, this time it made her heart pound.
Hye-Jin felt warmth spread in her chest. Warmth that was so foreign to Hye-Jin that she was nearly certain someone had spiked her sesame snaps from earlier.
Oh boy.
She really needed coffee.
-
Hoseok’s heart warmed as he watched Tae embrace Jimin. It was the first time his heart rate had slowed to resting since they had been thrust into this situation. Hoseok could hardly believe it. He thought they would all be prepared for the real thing ever since they had been ‘fake kidnapped’ for television.
And that ordeal on its own was traumatic enough.
Hoseok recalled how he clung to Namjoon with such a ferocity that he was surprised Namjoon still had it attached. He remembered how they had all laughed it off after it had come out as a prank, and remembered even clearer how he had berated himself for acting so cowardly.
Not only had he cowered behind his hyungs, but his younger brothers too, who were actually the ones giving him comfort through it all.
Hoseok had told himself in that moment that he would work hard to be the courageous and dependable big brother next time.
Not that he really expected there would be a next time.
But there was, and Hoseok’s heart dropped lower into his stomach as he recited the events of this ordeal.
He had been equally, if not more useless this time around. Not only that, but this time two of his younger brothers had now suffered because he refused to take action when it had mattered most. One was scarred emotionally and the other…he shuddered to think. Hoseok refused to believe Jungkook was dead. He was probably one of their most valuable members, and if the rest of them were alive, Hoseok told himself, Jungkook had be as well. He had to be right?
But why, then, did they separate them? For what reason?
It’s not like any of them knew more than the other. What could Jungkook possibly give the bastards that the rest of them couldn’t?
Unfortunately, he was about to find out the answer.
-
The elevator doors opened with a ferocity and six gunmen entered alongside their filthy double-crossing manager, Seung-Gi.
Six gunmen. A gunman for each member in the room.
Oh boy this wasn’t looking good.
-
There were faces, new and old. In particular, Jimin’s attacker was still very much present. Hoseok watched as his eyes narrowed immediately as he saw Jimin in the arms of Taehyung.
Seung-Gi gave the most sinister smile Hoseok thought he had ever seen as he raised a phone in his hand, shaking it slightly as if it had some level of importance.
“Oh boys,” he sang, gaining their collective attention.
“I have a wonderful little game for you all today.”
Hoseok felt all rational thought in his mind replaced by the burn of terror. Adrenaline followed soon after, lightning striking his veins.
Out of the fight, flight or freeze, Hoseok was certain, now, he was the latter.
-
“I’ve been waiting for your company to send me the details of the ransom. I mean, that’s why you are all quite obviously unhurt. I would have thought certainly your lives meant more to them than this. But alas, I am getting tired of waiting.” He tapped his watch for added effect before laughing shrilly, sending chills down Hoseok’s spine.
“So I figured we would give them a little incentive to speed things up.”
The gunmen strode over to each member, grabbing onto their arms and pulling them all a reasonable distance from each other. Hoseok’s heart clenched painfully as he saw Jimin and Tae pulled from each other, both of them wailing in desperation.
Seung-Gi continued, “As you know our sweet little Jungkookie surprised us all with a V-Live the other night. Well…let’s just say it gave me an even better idea than the one I was planning.”
Seung-Gi’s smile deepened, cruelly.
“If your company won’t pay me the ransom… I’ll make your fans do it instead.”
He wiggled the phone once again, and realisation dawned on Hoseok like the sharp burn of an iron.
Hoseok realised Seung-Gi had Jungkook’s phone.
And just like that, Hoseok was brought back to the age old question.
Where was Jungkook?
Hoseok’s breath hitched as he caught a glimpse of dried blood on Jungkook’s white phone case.
Or at least…it use to be white.
Whatever the answer was, it wasn’t looking good.
-
Hoseok looked around the room, gauging the reactions of the other members. Namjoon’s eyes were narrowed, sweat beading on his forehead, a deep frown set over his features. Hoseok was sure Namjoon had foreseen this from the minute Seung-Gi had entered the room. Their leader didn’t miss a beat.
Yoongi appeared uninterested as always, but Hoseok could tell by the way his jaw was clenched that he was taking in every word Seung-Gi spat at them. Yoongi only clenched his jaw when we was serious concentrating, like when he was writing songs or mixing a track. Hoseok assumed he was searching for clues and loopholes, any way to help out Namjoon in planning an escape strategy. Yoongi was actually a lot smarter than any of them gave him credit for. But he usually let Namjoon take the spotlight in that regard, preferring to avoid bringing unnecessary attention to himself.
Hoseok’s eyes then moved to Jin who was shaking uncontrollably, Hoseok couldn’t tell if it was from rage or fear. But Hoseok felt a wave of respect flush through him at how well he was maintaining his composure.
Tae was pulling fruitlessly at his allocated gunman’s elbow, which looked to be a little too snug around his windpipe, and Jimin wasn’t even looking up anymore, he was whimpering softly to himself - chin to chest - trying to keep as much distance as possible between him and his attacker.
Rage replaced the fear and concern in Hoseok’s chest for a split second and he stepped forward, simultaneously cutting off Seung-Gi mid-sentence.
“What have you done with Jungkook?!” Hoseok shouted, voice hoarse from misuse. “Please, just let my brothers go. Just take me, I will do whatever you want!”
As quickly as he had stepped out was as quickly as he had come to the realisation of what he had just done. Hoseok immediately cowered, as surprised and terrified at his own outburst as the rest of the members appeared to be.
Seung-Gi’s grin morphed into a snarl in a second flat. He clicked his fingers, and the gunman holding Hoseok immediately slammed him in the temple with the butt of his gun.
Hoseok didn’t even cry out as he crumpled to the ground. The gunman in charge of him kicked at his unconscious body half-heartedly to make sure he stayed down.
The rest of the members cried out in concern for their fallen brother. None of them could believe their eyes.
Seung-Gi clucked his tongue irritatedly.
“A pity… I had hoped to keep violence to a minimum until after this conversation. But alas, I cannot stand being interrupted. It is perhaps my biggest pet peeve outside of insubordination.” Seung-Gi sighed deeply, feigning sympathy. And then, as if like clockwork, his sadistic grin returned with a vengeance.
“The young Hoseok did have a point though. If he had been more patient, perhaps I would have answered his question without violence.” Seung-Gi stepped closer to the boys, revelling in how their faces paled with every step.
“Alas, despite how it looks, your precious Jungkook is, in fact, still alive. You won’t be seeing him for the moment, but I can assure you he is closer than you think.” His eyes twinkled, clearly mesmerised by his own charm and wit.
“However, I cannot assure his safety if you decide not to cooperate.”
Namjoon swallowed thickly, dreading what was to come. For not only himself but his brothers as well.
“Ah, alrighty then. Shall we get started? I’m sure your fans are dying to see you by now, boys.”
Seung-Gi grinned wickedly as he accessed the V-Live on Jungkook’s phone.
My men have set up a superchat network where donations from the fans will be deposited directly into our account. If we do not receive the amount we are happy with, best case, we will resort to less humane means. Worst case, you can kiss your little maknae goodbye.” Seung-Gi paused looking directly into the camera.
“Do you hear that BTS fans? You want to do something for your beloved idols? Start paying up.”
Seung-Gi eyed Namjoon’s defensiveness shifting as he mentioned Jungkook.
“Oh and Namjoon? If you refuse to do as I ask, I will kill young Jungkook as well. And to be frank with you all, he really hasn’t got a whole lot left in him.”
Seung-Gi placed Jungkook’s phone on a stand so that the stream was focused directly on the boys, before turning on his heel toward the elevators. Then he spoke in an eerie sing-song tone as he stepped inside.
“I’ll be back soon to play, but remember boys, his life is in your hands.”
He winked as the doors closed and Namjoon waited for all hell to break loose.
-
After Hye-Jin and Byung-Ho had finally decoded all of the emails, they came to the realisation their mystery pen pal was, well… good. She appeared to be working with Big-Hit agency and stated she knew many things that could not be discussed over email, even despite how bullet proof the coding was. She had set up a meeting place and time for 11am at the notorious “meeting place”.
Whatever that meant.
Hye-Jin checked her watch. They had a little over an hour. As for the “meeting place”, Hye-Jin hoped she was indicating the address provided in her username. Or that was what Hye-Jin was counting on.
Anxiety bloomed through Hye-Jin’s chest, suddenly afraid they’d misread something or that they would miss this opportunity. What if they didn’t reach out again after this? This one-sided communication was certainly getting old.
They also currently had no others leads, so if this fell through… Hye-Jin swallowed knowingly.
They would have no grounds to continue the investigation.
And if that happened… Hye-Jin clenched her jaw not wanting to think about the outcome of that particular timeline.
-
Hye-Jin and Byung-Ho suited up lightly with their guns, vests and GPS equipment, just enough to be safe but not so much as to cause suspicion. Hye-Jin had almost opted against it, but there was still a chance their anonymous coder could turn out to be their enemy by surprise.
In all honestly, it wouldn’t be the first time.
By the time they were heading out, the precinct was filled with staff members and other officers who eyed Hye-Jin and Byung-Ho accusingly - some with a look of disgust - others with adoration and respect. Obviously the whole precinct knew they were in the same clothes as yesterday.
Or maybe it was because they looked like crap.
A mirror on the way out of the precinct confirmed Hye-Jin’s theory with flying colours.
Yikes. She really needed a coffee and a shower stat.
-
Hye-Jin and Byung-Ho arrived twenty minutes early to their destination. It was a small white cottage house, with the white paint peeling on the sides that received the most sun. The windows were dusty and dark with what seemed to be old mahogany coloured curtains and the grass inside the white picket fence was severely unkempt.
At first glance the cottage looked abandoned, but by this stage they both knew better than that. Hye-Jin noted a white van parked outside the cottage. It seemed a little too expensive to be parked in front of the shabby white cottage. A small observation, but a valid one.
All of the windows in the van appeared to be tinted, but it was difficult to tell from their vantage point in the patrol car.
Hye-Jin searched for any sign of life in the street, searching for signs of ambush.
Come on, there had to be something…
That’s when it caught her eye.
The window of the van was lowering and a woman with dark red sunglasses could be seen in the van’s side rear vision mirror. Byung-Ho gripped the steering wheel, probably thinking exactly what Hye-Jin was. That any second the white side of the panel van would slide open revealing ninjas with guns and nunchucks beating their car down while slamming a note on the windshield reading “I told you so, suckers!”
Okay, so maybe that was a little farfetched, but the van sure seemed a little much for one person who had a hidden identity and who wrote messages in the form of word searches. Hye-Jin was expecting more a Toyota Camry than a Mercedes.
After an uncomfortable amount of time had passed with the van lady making ridiculously long eye contact with them - or so Hye-Jin assumed seeing as the woman’s sunglasses were still firmly planted over her eyes - the van door opened and a young looking girl emerged. She looked like a college student. Band tee, black jeans, and thick black hair that reached past her shoulders. She leaned against the van after closing the door and for a moment Hye-Jin thought she was going to light up a smoke or something. The girl’s relaxed posture seemed almost out of character considering the circumstances, but Hye-Jin supposed she didn’t know her all that well considering.
Seeing the woman nod her head toward them in a ‘come on over’ sort of fashion. The woman did appear to be on her own, so the two of them decided to risk it. It was now or never.
Hye-Jin got out first, stepping toward the woman cautiously, but was immediately pulled back by her wrist. She yelped a little - caught completely off guard - and flushed as Byung-Ho gently pulled her behind him in a protective sort of fashion.
The woman turned toward them as they approached, smiling. She pulled the van door open and waited patiently even as Hye-Jin and Byung-Ho slowed their steps considerably. Even though she seemed lovely, it did look pretty suss. She couldn’t really blame them.
Once they were considerably closer, the girl disappeared into the back of the van and yelled out a slightly muffled, “Come on you two. Time is money!”
Byung-Ho and Hye-Jin eyed each other wearily, both still half convinced they were a walking statistic, but stepped in anyway.
-
Byung-Ho went in first, Hye-Jin following close behind.
The van was like a gigantic computer system. Hye-Jin couldn’t believe her eyes. There were terminals in every direction you could see, each screen filled with that weird code that Byung-Ho had been showing her earlier.
Hye-Jin eyed Byung-Ho as his mouth dropped in amazement. She guessed this was what his personal paradise looked like.
The voice of the woman pulled them both out of their reverie.
“Come and sit down guys, we have loads to discuss.”
She had now taken her sunglasses off and appeared to be even younger than Hye-Jin had initially presumed. She had light blue eyes - possibly contacts - and a kind sort of vibe to her. Hye-Jin had met a lot of criminals in her time, and she was pretty sure this girl wasn’t one of them.
The girl started boiling a cup of tea on a small desk that was covered in piles of notes, old muesli bar wrappers, keyboards and mouses.
“Tea, anyone?” She asked as if they were old friends over for a visit.
“Uh, no thank you.” Hye-Jin answered, politely, but still slightly caught off guard. “Can you tell us who you really are then?”
“My name is Ivy. I’m guessing you already know that or you wouldn’t be here.” she answered, just as politely, sipping at her steaming mug of tea.
“I’m surprised you guys figured it out so quickly! I thought for sure I’d have to dumb the code down a little and contact you again.”
Ivy lowered placed her cup of tea onto the cluttered desk.
“So who is the genius then? You, Detective? Or is it your handsome partner over here?” She asked winking at Byung-Ho and clasping her hands into her lap playfully.
“Byung-Ho here is our genius. He created an algorithm to decode it in seconds.” Hye-Jin answered quickly, slightly miffed at Ivy’s explicit flirting and not exactly wanting to give her a chance to converse with him herself.
“Oh really? I’ve never had someone crack it quite so quickly. Very impressive you two. You really are the right people for the job.”
Ivy stood, rifling through loose papers until she found two large manilla envelopes - envelopes that actually seemed neat and organised compared to the bombshell of a desk they had just been extracted from.
“I’ve made files for the both of you. Unfortunately you won’t be able to take them with you when you go, so I ask that you do your best to memorise them while you’re here with me,” Ivy took another sip from her steaming mug before continuing, “So, if you check out the first page you’ll see we got our hands on the blueprints of the hotel. With these, we can confirm that yes - like I’m sure you’ve already observed yourselves - the boys are likely being held in a section of the building that is inaccessible by the main elevators. Well, inaccessible to those who don’t know how to operate them. Page two shows us the public access chart, which says the top level is 40, right? However, there seems to be a mechanism within the elevator that allows it to run further - you know higher or lower.” Ivy’s face dropped a little, “The only problem is we currently don’t know exactly how or what that mechanism is. But we can rule out everything else, there are no other elevators listed in the prints, so it has to be these two.”
Byung-Ho and Hye-Jin looked over the documents in awe. Hye-Jin had no clue how she had gotten all of this information - or worse yet, if it was legal - but at this point she didn’t care.
This was exactly what they needed.
This was the clue they were counting on.
“Oh also, you guys can’t speak of this to anyone else at your precinct. I’ve got reason to believe there’s a spy working close to the two of you. I don’t know who yet, but I’m almost certain it’s someone working for them.” Ivy swept her papers back together into the manilla envelope, resting her hand lightly on the top. “They’re making it hell on earth to try and find this kind of info. That’s why it’s taken me so long to reach out and why I had to make that ridiculous code.” Ivy said, brightening slightly as she looked up from the folder. “You know, it is hard work despite the warm living quarters.” She said, snorting as she addressed her camper van.
Byung-Ho and Hye-Jin smiled back kindly, both impressed and grateful. The points were aligning in Hye-Jin’s head. Ivy was a hacker. The code, the anonymity and…well… the sheer number of computers all finally made sense.
“Is there anything else you can tell us aside from the blueprints?” Byung-Ho asked, finally chipping in to the conversation for the first time since they’d arrived.
“Yes. There actually is. I just discovered this when you both arrived. There is an active stream currently coming from Jungkook’s phone. BigHit have given me permission to access the coordinates, and I can confirm they are definitely in the building. The only bummer is, I can’t hack into the kidnapper’s operating system unless, either, someone goes in and does it manually, or if they create a direct line to the web that is obvious enough that I can see it. The only way we’ll get that is either through communication with BigHit, or through a transaction that is consistent and large enough that it makes tracks.”
It was a little over Hye-Jin’s head, but when Byung-Ho nodded along confidently, Hye-Jin assumed at the very least it was a solid plan.
“So say one of us gets in there and finds a way to connect your network to the Seung-Gi’s, then what?” Hye-Jin asked, uncertainty colouring her tone.
“Once we do that, I’ll have full control over everything in the building. These wise guys think they’re pretty smart, but they’re not as smart as me. If I can get an in, bob’s our uncle.” Ivy chuckled awkwardly, noting how both Hye-Jin and Byung-Ho completely missed her joke, “Or you know, so to speak.”
Suddenly, one of the many screens started beeping furiously at them. Ivy straightened immediately, all traces of humour gone. She tapped on a few keys, completely focused and concentrating so painfully that Hye-Jin thought she’d become a human statue.
After several minutes of bated breath, Ivy turned around a grin adorning her features and her fists raised in victory.
“Hoo boy, I think I just found us our in.” |
“Stevie, you okay?”
“Yeah, Buck, I’m good. I swear.”
“I’m having a hard time believing that. We just had some really amazing sex and you look depressed. Kinda gives a guy performance issues, y’know?”
Steve sighed. “I’m sorry Bucky. The sex was great, it always is. You know that.”
“Then why don’t you look happy?”
Steve dropped his eyes, unable to look Bucky in the face.
“Sometimes it isn’t...enough. Back before everything, when I was smaller than you, sometimes when you were drunk you’d come home and just...overpower me, and it was the best. You’d stop worrying about hurting me and just use me, and it made me feel so good, and I’d come so hard, knowing that I was taking care of you that way, and I’d feel like I was repaying you for all the times you’d had to take care of me when I was sick...” His rambling trailed off as he lost his nerve, afraid to connect his disjointed thoughts and say what he really wanted from Bucky. Afraid that Bucky would freak out, not want to do it, be mad at Steve for wanting that.
“So I’m being too sweet on you? Is that it?” Bucky teased.
“No! And yes. I don’t fucking know! I love you. I love our life together. I love fucking you and you fucking me and not being scared that someone would find out and we’d go to jail. I don’t want any of that to change.”
“But you just said that I ain’t fucking you right. So tell me true, Steve. What do you want me to do?”
“You won’t like it,” Steve whispers.
“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky barks, all softness is gone from his body and his voice, and it makes Steve shiver, cock twitching at the tone of threat.
“I want...” He licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “I want you to use me. Take me. By force. Claim me. Treat me like...like a mission. No regard for my pleasure. Only yours. Make me submit to you.”
Bucky is silent for a few moments, and Steve thinks this is it, he’s gone too far, he’s found the one line Bucky won’t cross.
“So what you’re really asking is for me to rape you.”
Steve flinches.
“The term is ‘consensual non-consent,’ technically,” he whispers.
“Why do you want that, Steve?”
“I...want to feel small again. Want to feel helpless. Want to feel you...feel you overpower me.”
Bucky blows out a heavy breath.
“That’s a lot to ask for, Steve.”
Steve turns and buries his face in the pillow, his shame finally getting the best of him. Bucky’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder and he tries to pull away, but Bucky isn’t having it. His grip tightens, and he presses a kiss to Steve’s bicep.
“You gotta let me think about it, okay?”
*****
Steve was washing dishes after dinner one night when Bucky came and stood next to him, leaning back against the counter. He had his arms folded over his chest and a pensive look on his face. He’d been engrossed in something on his laptop all day, reading intently. Steve hadn’t wanted to bother him, so he’d simply set a plate of food next to him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head at the distracted ‘thanks, Stevie’ that Bucky had mumbled.
“I have a few questions,” Bucky said.
“I kinda gathered,” Steve smirked. “I know how you are when you’re researching something. What’s up?”
“Well, neither of us are normal. We have absurd endurance and pain tolerance levels. Not to mention the refractory period. So do we want to set a limit? How long you want me to draw it out? Or you really want to leave it up to me, til I think it’s been enough? I want to make sure you get what you need from it.”
The glass in Steve’s hand shatters as it hits the sink, falling from his grasp.
“Jesus, Buck, you coulda warned me that’s what you’re on about today!” Steve’s heart is tripping over itself in his chest, and he’d swear he was sixteen again if he didn’t know any better with the way his body flushed at just the mere mention of sex.
“I wasn’t exactly hiding it, Stevie.”
“Well, I’m not gonna snoop on whatever you’re doing!”
Bucky turned the water off and wrapped Steve’s hands in the towel, drying them and pulling Steve over to the table.
“Here, sit.” He pulled his chair over next to Steve’s and sat facing him, continuing to hold his hands. “You had to know I’d be looking it up, learning all about it, right?” Steve nodded.
“I figured you would,” he said, face heating.
“Steve, this is nothing to be embarrassed about.” Bucky moved one hand to cup Steve’s cheek. “I get it. You’re right, our sex life has changed dramatically since the thirties and forties. I ain’t complaining, mind you. But I can understand where you’re coming from. Because I like it when you get so worked up that you get a bit rough with me and just take what you want. So I can see a bit what you mean. And you, you’ve got two different experiences to draw from—from when you were little, and now that you’re big.”
“I don’t miss being small. Not really. Not all the health issues and shit. But sometimes I miss us, the way we used to be. The way I fit in your arms when you held me at night, how I’d feel so secure and protected and...precious there.”
“You’re not too big that I can’t hold you, babydoll. And you’ll always be precious to me, you know that right?”
The sentiment is so incongruous to the main topic of their discussion that Steve wants to laugh, but he just gives Bucky a small smile and a nod of his head.
“So. Things for you to think about: how do we decide when it’s done, considering how long we are capable of going? Next is, do you want to know this is happening? Meaning, are we establishing a date and a time for us to—”
“No,” Steve says, shaking his head before Bucky can finish speaking. “No, that was part of the thrill of it for me. I never knew when you’d be that way, when you’d be so overwhelmed by need that you’d let go of your restraint.”
“Okay. Okay I can work with that.”
Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand.
“Last thing. And this one is non-negotiable, Steve. If you don’t agree to it, I’m not going to consider any of this any further. We need a safeword. Because, if I understand what you want correctly, if you say no or stop, you want me to keep going, is that right?”
“Yes,” Steve whispers.
“Do you want me to be so rough that you feel the need to fight back, until I finally overpower you completely?”
Steve sucks in a ragged breath and closes his eyes briefly.
“Yes,” he exhales.
Bucky swallows hard.
“Okay. So, safeword. If you don’t agree to using one, I’m calling this off.”
“Okay, Bucky. I will. I’ll come up with one.”
Bucky lifts Steve’s hands to his lips and kisses the knuckles on each.
“Bucky...thank you. For even thinking about it. I know it’s not normal to want this. Even if it never happens, having you just acknowledge it and consider it means so much to me.”
“I love you, Stevie. I’ll always do my best to take care of you.”
*****
The following weeks passed in a kind of delicious torture for Steve. Bucky would ask him questions at random, sometimes not even caring if there was anyone else within earshot. Steve never had to guess what he was talking about, either, because there was a certain look that came over Bucky’s face when the thought occurred to him, and then the question would just pop out out of his mouth, usually leaving a very flustered Steve in response.
~~~
“In my tac gear?”
Steve shuddered.
“That’s a yes, then.” Bucky smirked as he walked away, leaving a very confused Clint to stare at Steve.
~~~
“Drugs? Sedatives?”
Steve stared at Bucky, jaw on the floor.
“No?” Bucky looked confused, sounded hesitant, as if he’d been sure of the answer.
“Yes,” Steve immediately answered, head nodding enthusiastically.
“Okay,” Bucky said, and wandered off towards Bruce’s lab with a grin on his face.
~~~
“Full restraint?” Bucky asked, slamming his hips forward as he held Steve roughly by the back of the neck, shoving Steve’s face into the mattress as his metal hand held Steve’s arms pinned together against his lower back.
“Fuck!” Steve cried as the thought alone nearly made him come.
Bucky grunted as he came again, flooding Steve, making him a sloppy mess as it ran out of him.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky crooned in his ear, his voice low and dangerous and fucking sexy. “The things I’m going to do you.” He bit down hard on the top of Steve’s shoulder and Steve screamed, vision going white as Bucky dragged his cock against Steve’s prostate and he came hard.
~~~
“Hey, I thought of one.”
Bucky looked up from his coffee, a single eyebrow raised.
Steve squirmed, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope at the intense gaze.
“Well, sweetheart, you gonna tell me or just keep me guessing?”
Heat rose in Steve’s cheeks as he blushed, casting a sidelong glance at Sam, who sat at the other end of the long table, ostensibly minding his own business.
“Bronx,” he said sheepishly.
Bucky sat back, laughing.
“I like it. Okay, baby, Bronx it is.”
*****
It was a rare thing indeed for the tower to be empty. Yet somehow, that’s exactly what happened, everyone taking a well-deserved break after a particularly rough fight against one of the last Hydra strongholds. Clint and Natasha had gone to the farm. Tony and Pepper were on a tropical beach somewhere. Bruce and Thor were visiting Dr. Selvig and Jane for some sort of seminar. Sam didn’t live there full time anyway, but he was off visiting family and licking his wounds.
Steve had considered going somewhere with Bucky, but the truth was, he just wanted to spend the next few days in as much physical contact as possible with him. That wasn’t an option once the press and the paparazzi recognized them and hounded Steve for statements about being gay (because they never listened when he finally shot back “I’m bi!”) and after everything that had happened, the fact that Bucky nearly died, would have if he didn’t have the accelerated healing and if Tony hadn’t been in the right spot to catch him at the last possible second...so yeah, he was being selfish, but he wasn’t sharing Bucky with anyone this weekend.
It was with these thoughts and more that Steve stepped out of the elevator with the bottle of scotch and the takeout they’d ordered.
“Hey, Buck, food’s here!” he called out, setting the large box on the kitchen counter. “What did you want first? And did you pick a movie yet?”
Silence greeted him.
“Bucky?”
He headed for the living room, where he’d left Bucky to prepare for a night of just hanging out on the couch. Steve knew that Bucky could hear him, hell, he’d have been able to hear him getting off the elevator.
He stepped into the room and was surprised by a strong hand on the back of his neck, spinning him and smashing his head into the wall. He was instantly on alert, in fight mode, and pushed off the wall, swinging blindly as he turned to his attacker, only to have his fist captured by a metal hand.
Steve instantly stilled as his brain registered who his attacker was, and his eyes caught up with the rest of his body.
He was staring into the cold, flat eyes of the Winter Soldier.
“Bucky?” Steve asked hesitantly. Fuck fuck fuck fuck I knew we shouldn’t have brought him on the Hydra base mission goddamn it he’s been triggered somehow fuck how do I pull him out of this without hurting him? Steve’s eyes flicked down, taking in the black vest, heavy pants, and boots. They kept very few weapons in their rooms, so he only wore a single gun, but Steve knew there would be a handful of knives there as well, hidden in any number of places on Bucky’s gear. Bucky wore similar gear when they were on missions, but Steve thought the original Winter Soldier gear had been disposed of after being copied and modified. He shuddered as his gaze traced the edge of the mask covering the lower half of Bucky’s face, something he’d been vehemently opposed to ever wearing again.
Bucky’s right hand came around, catching him staring and clocking him squarely on the jaw. Steve’s head rocked to the side.
“Bucky, please, don’t do this! Let me help you!”
“Shut up,” Bucky growled, cupping him by the jaw, fingers digging painfully into the spot he’d just punched. His other hand came around and caught Steve in the gut, knocking the wind out of him and he fell to his knees, gasping and wheezing. Bucky didn’t give him a chance to recover, however, as his boot connected firmly with Steve’s side, knocking him to his back.
Steve kicked out, trying to connect with Bucky’s kneecap but only catching him in the thigh. Bucky caught his leg and brought his weight down on it, one of Bucky’s knees pressing firmly into each of Steve’s thighs, metal hand tight around his throat.
“Stop fighting,” Bucky hissed. His right hand went to Steve’s crotch and grabbed him, squeezing to the point that Steve saw stars.
“Stop! Please!” Steve gasped. “Bucky, don’t do this!”
“You know you want this. I’ve seen how you look at me.” And for just a moment, Bucky held Steve’s gaze, and Steve watched as Bucky’s eyes changed from the empty, flat stare of the Winter Soldier to the dark, stormy grey they turned when the two of them were going at it hot and heavy, and then back to the dispassionate glare.
Steve exhaled heavily. Adrenaline flooded his system and he swung his arm, catching Bucky on the side of the head and knocking the face mask loose.
“That was a mistake,” Bucky ground out through clenched teeth, reaching behind his back. He brought out a long piece of jointed metal and Steve’s heart seized as he recognized the cuff Bucky slammed against Steve’s wrist. The sound of the metal clinking together jolted him into action.
“No!” Steve cried, trying to grab at it with his other hand. Bucky removed his hand from Steve’s throat as he grabbed at Steve’s arm, slapped another bracelet over that wrist, and slammed Steve’s hands together above his head.
“No no no!” Steve thrashed, trying to pull the magnetic cuffs apart, but they were stronger than he remembered—had Bucky gotten new ones? How? Where? When? He bucked his hips and threw Bucky off balance, rising up and headbutting him right in the nose. Blood began pouring out almost immediately.
“Motherfucker!” Bucky cursed and backhanded Steve. It was his metal hand—of course it was the metal hand—and Steve cried out in shock and pain when he felt the cracking of bone. Bucky paused and watched Steve carefully, as if waiting to see if he’d gone too far.
Steve gathered a mouthful of blood from where Bucky’s strike had split his lip and spat it at him, hitting just low of his aim and landing on Bucky’s throat instead of his face.
“Fuck you,” Steve hissed.
Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he landed another solid punch to Steve’s gut before he shifted his weight and flipped him onto his stomach. Steve cursed when his face smashed mercilessly into the floor. He felt a cold hand wrap around a bare foot—he hadn’t bothered putting shoes on to retrieve the food delivery—and slap another band around his left ankle. Steve tried to get his right leg underneath him to throw his body up and back at Bucky, but Bucky folded his left leg up so his heel was against his ass and put all his weight on it as he grabbed Steve’s sweatpants to haul his right foot up in much the same manner and snapped the cuffs together.
Steve moved to pull his arms down and under his chest and Bucky slugged him in the armpit of all places and holy fuck that hurt and his arm went numb as Bucky reached up, did something to release the cuffs from each other, and then wrenched his arms together behind his back. He reconnected the wrist cuffs and when he lifted his weight from Steve’s legs, he was surprised to discover he’d essentially been hogtied together with the cuffs and what felt like a solid metal bar between his wrists and his ankles.
A hand fisted in his hair and yanked his head up. Steve gasped when he felt the needle prick in the side of his neck.
“I’m not the one getting fucked here tonight, Captain,” Bucky growled menacingly in his ear before he grabbed one of Steve’s arms and began dragging him through the room.
(art credit to 야묘 ✨@yamyo_ on twitter )
|
"You think that you're going to stop us? We're the best huntsmen in Atlas."
"You were — then you trained us."
They were also friends but that was before the Ace-ops decided to stand in their way as enemies.
If the Ace-ops want to start a fight then Team RWBY would finish it.
Ruby takes the lead and bursts through locked doors. Quick tempered and quick footed, Harriet chases after her. Ruby rematerializes in the wide area by the elevators; Harriet skids to a stop right in front of her. Think fast. Anticipating the runner's attack, Ruby slashes, but misses by a hair's width as Harriet dashes through. Too slow. Ruby only just manages to block Harriet's kick with Crescent Rose—
But the strength behind the kick is too strong, and Ruby's feet lift off the ground as she shoots across the room until her back hits the elevator door, metal bending and her aura depleting upon impact. Despite this, she stands her ground.
"Come on, Harriet! We're playing right into Salem's hands! You know that we need to be working together!" Ruby shouts and pleads at the same time.
But Harriet's resolve does not waver nor does every step she takes on her warpath. "Oh, don't give me that crap. I had you kids pegged right from the start."
When Harriet charges at her again, Ruby knows that at this point words are useless and all that is left is action.
Meanwhile, in the room where the battle started, another ensues.
Weiss dashes and prances on glyphs, landing swift swipes at Marrow who blocks each attack with only the slightest hint of reluctance. Marrow throws Fetch at her but Weiss parries it with Myrtenaster. Now to counterattack.
Weiss covers the floor underneath him in thin ice and then creates a wave of fire over; Marrow leaps to dodge the worst of it, only the tip of his tail is singed. Then just like that, the room is filled with mist— Weiss' success at recreating freezerburn on her own.
"I know you Schnees are used to getting what you want but it's time to let this one go!" Marrow attempts to negotiate with her.
Weiss answers with a barrage of icicles. "This is my home. And I'm not giving it up without a fight."
When the mist clears, so does Weiss' resolve in Marrow's eyes.
From just outside, Ruby gets kicked into the room. The original two occupants are too busy fighting to pay her any mind. Marrow throws fetch at Weiss who raises Myrtenaster only a moment too slow — but just gets saved in the nick of time by Crescent Rose.
It's only then that Marrow remembers that he is not just fighting against Weiss, but also against her ever reliable partner, Ruby.
The two partners lock eyes for a moment after that. At just that glance, they communicate to each other everything they need the other to know. A silent thanks. A morale boost. An agreement to end this together. A promise to find the other after.
In their eyes, their disjoint opponents have already lost against their partnership.
"Marrow! Cut the crap, will you!"
"I'm trying to arrest her not kill her, Hare. You're being excessive."
A giant sword cleaves, just missing the two arguing Ace-ops as they duck out of the way.
"It's not excessive if it's necessary."
Before they could get to that argument's conclusion, Ruby is already out of the room. With a frustrated groan, Harriet chases after her again.
The fights rage on. Team RWBY versus Ace-ops. Allies against former allies. The noises are different per room, per fight. Explosions fill the air as Blake and Yang tag team against Elm and Vine. The sharp noise of ice breaking echoes in the room where Weiss clashes with Marrow. The dull thuds of blows between Ruby and Harriet reverberate from another room. Wherever there is a fight, so too does the telltale sounds of battle follow.
Then all of a sudden, Vine gets slammed down. Then silence.
All the chaos from the other ongoing fights still as if in observance of the monumental shift in the tides of battle. A moment of silence for the fallen.
And so marks the huntsmen of Atlas as hunted.
Armas Gigas slashes down; even though distracted, Marrow dodges just at the last second. But that's just the start. A terrain of icicles cover one wall, Weiss summons a larger glyph on the other side, Marrow in between. As soon as the singular glyph activates, air bursts from it and blows Marrow right towards the spiky wall. He hits the wall, only barely managing to miss any spikes with some effort and flexibility. He lets out a relieved breath — only to pick up his breathing again at the short-lived relief.
Unrelenting, the Armas Gigas slashes at him again and again, following him as he dodges and jumps along the icicle spiked terrain. With his reflexes, none of his bones gets crushed, only ice. When he reaches the last icicle, he throws Fetch at Weiss. Predictably, it gets parried and boomerangs back into his hand.
With his other hand, he snaps and orders Weiss, "Stay!"
But of course, Weiss has always been the defiant one.
Marrow soon realizes this when he sees the relentlessness in Weiss' eyes. And he finds out why in the form of the Armas Gigas sliding towards him. He leaps out of the way and lands on a crouch, out of breath. The summoned knight feels no exhaustion however and holds its blade high above.
With another snap, he orders the summon, "Stay!"
The sword swings down— and stops just above Marrow's head, his head which falls heavy from exhaustion. Too bad for him, Weiss won't let him rest just yet.
Four glyphs, four fireballs, four direct hits on Marrow. He goes down. At the flash of his aura, Weiss knows that he is going to stay down.
Now for the other opponent who is still going strong in another room.
Harriet zips from corner to corner, taking swipes at Ruby who stands in the center. Ruby tries to follow her movement but the runner is just too fast and all she sees is the trail of lightning after. Ruby knows she won't ever be quick enough against a speed semblance. The moment that Harriet completely disappears from her line of sight, Ruby is still too slow to have anticipated an attack from above.
With the power of momentum, Harriet slams Ruby down on the floor. She puts Ruby's hands behind her back, rough and forceful, and ready to tie them. And this is where Harriet forgets that Ruby does not have a speed semblance nor does Ruby need one to beat Harriet.
Ruby transforms into a whirlwind of petals and escapes from Harriet's grasp. She follows it up by tying up Harriet instead, and then slamming her down on the floor — a taste of her own treatment.
Even though Harriet could no longer use her arms, she is not down for the count just yet. She slams the back of her head against Ruby and escapes right after. In the back of Ruby's mind, she contemplates if she should have tied Harriet's legs instead.
With crazed determination, Harriet zips across the room and leaps for Ruby, her legs wrapping around Ruby's neck in a hold, and then she takes Ruby down with her. They both are quick to get back up on their feet. Harriet goes after her, aiming for another attack, but Ruby puts some distance between them in another burst of petals.
By this point, both of their endurances have taken a toll from the long running fight. However, neither of them are anywhere near giving up.
Harriet's eyes flash yellow with single-minded focus on her target, with impatience and rage, with the charge of her semblance sparking. She charges up, electricity crackling from the soles of her feet up to her whole body, then she charges forward—
Only to hit a wall of ice at full speed.
For no matter how quick footed Harriet may be, she is also quick to forget that Ruby has the most quick witted partner, Weiss.
The hit is so strong that if any lesser huntress were to suffer from it, they would have been knocked out instantly. But this was no ordinary huntress, this was Harriet who has adrenaline and spite running through her veins. Despite the staggering blow to herself, she manages to pull herself together to stand again.
At that show of sheer willpower, both Ruby and Weiss brace themselves for Harriet's counterattack. With shaky legs and even shakier breaths, Harriet looks just about to collapse. Until finally, her legs give out.
And with that, every last hunstmen of Ace-ops is hunted down.
Once the dust settles, they at least do a little cleanup.
Ruby goes around the wall of ice and crouches beside Harriet, hefting the knocked out huntress by the arm and across her shoulders. Upon seeing this, Weiss leaves the room to where Ruby assumes her partner would do the same with Marrow.
They cross each other's paths again by the hallway.
Unlike Ruby who lifts Harriet with only some effort on her part, Weiss seems to be having trouble with her unconscious cargo. Despite Marrow being literally dragged by his feet, Ruby is actually more concerned for Weiss who is breaking a sweat over this.
If Weiss' scrunched up face is anything to go by, she might actually break her back at this rate. And Ruby would rather have her partner's back not broken.
"You need help with that?" Ruby tentatively asks.
"I can—" Weiss grunts. "Handle this." Another grunt. "Myself." She grunts again and tugs harder. "Thank you very much."
That would have been convincing if she weren't so out of breath.
"You sure you don't need my help?" Ruby insists, and misses the jealous glare sent her way because of the ease in which she carried Harriet.
That's right, Ruby could actually carry twice her weight and here is Weiss who is struggling just to drag her literal share of responsibility. Weiss knows for a fact that Ruby naturally has more upper body strength from hefting Crescent Rose all around. And sure, she could have used a summon to easily help her with this chore. But still, a small prideful part of her refuses to do this the easy way.
"You've already helped me plenty enough earlier. I can handle a little bit of heavy lifting." If Weiss' hands weren't preoccupied, she would have waved dismissively, but her out of breath words should suffice.
"Well you helped me out too so that makes us even," Ruby points out, equal parts proud and grateful. "Now I can help you out some more!"
"So that you can take the lead on who's helped who more? No thanks." Despite her antagonistic words, a smile tugs on her lips just at the end. Weiss blames it on her muscle control protesting against her.
"Hey! Now you're just teasing." Ruby pouts at her. "Can't you tone it down with the pretend haughty attitude — I know you're pretending, don't scoff! — and just accept your partner's thanks?"
What a roundabout way of expressing gratitude from Ruby and an even more circular way of accepting it from Weiss.
"Don't thank me just yet."
"I know. I'll just thank you later."
After this is all over.
They both seem to finish the sentence in their heads.
For they may have won this fight but the war is still far from over; there is still so much more to do. They have to stop General Ironwood from abandoning Mantle and there is also that serious problem that Jaune mentioned but they didn't hear what exactly it was. They are also sure that there are more underlying problems that they just are not yet aware of but would have to eventually deal with too.
It's not going to be easy but with friends like these, they just might be able to pull it off.
And with a partner like this, Ruby knows for sure that she would see Weiss after. |
When Toshinori met the green-haired young man in front of UA, seemingly by a strange twist of fate, he didn't know what to think.
How do you interact with a young, impressionable boy whose dreams you had mercilessly crushed? Toshinori didn't regret saying the things he said, not at all-- despite them being a tad hypocritical (especially since he himself was quirkless before he got One for All), they held an important truth to them. Becoming a pro hero without a proper quirk or power may not be completely impossible, but it was suicide. Toshinori did not wish ill upon such a bright-eyed child. Villains like All for One would exist, and continue to exist, as long as quirks continue to be so widespread in the current society. And with the way things were going, quirks would not be leaving their reality anytime soon.
Truth be told, Toshinori feared what would become of this young man. Back there in the rooftop, he looked devastated, as if Toshinori had pulled the entire world from under his feet. He looked confused, unsure what to do-- and Toshinori felt for him. That was why he decided to offer further words of comfort. Now, months later, he didn't know if his words had been good enough to save this young man from bitterness. He dearly wished they had helped, if only a little.
"All might...?" the young man whispered. He looked out of breath, which was not surprising-- he was running when he bumped into Toshinori. Toshinori had just come back from the hero course testing grounds and was just about to get back inside the school. Nezu was going to have a meeting with the faculty and discuss the results of the exam today. For a moment he was concerned that the young man had pushed through and still tried to pursue his dreams of heroism regardless of Toshinori's advice. But then he realized he had not seen him at all in either testing grounds today, which was a relief. Besides, it's not like the hero course was the only curriculum having an entrance exam today. I wonder...
"Young man. It's been a while. How are you doing?" he asked with the confidence that his muscle form usually provided, despite having all the misgivings inside.
The young man looked tongue-tied. Not unlike months ago, he looked starstruck, as if he couldn't believe he was seeing All might himself in front of him right at that moment. It was interesting to see that despite everything, despite the harsh advice Toshinori had given him, the admiration he felt for All might-- his hero-- didn't dwindle.
"Tha... Tha..." he stuttered. Toshinori tilted his head, confused.
"Tha?"
"THANK YOU VERY MUCH, ALL MIGHT!" The young man yelled with a very deep bow, looking like he was tempted to kneel on the floor just to express his gratitude. Toshinori was shocked. He expected discomfort and unease-- reactions that were warranted especially after that first meeting they had-- but gratitude, that was something else. The boy continued. "Thank you for looking out for me! Thank you for your advice! I have taken it to heart and considered it thoughtfully!"
"C-Considered...?"
When the young man looked up, Toshinori could see the hesitation in his eyes. The conflict. The disappointment of not being able to be like All might, like his hero. But there was something else there too-- a spark of newfound determination. He no longer looked like the broken, devastated, quirkless boy he was back in that rooftop. Something came out of that despair and built itself back up. The young man gave him a wobbly smile as he clenched his fist in front of him.
"I-I... I'll be the best hero I could be. Even though being a pro hero is impossible for me." He hesitated. "I-I've decided to pursue the support course, sir! Please wish me the best!"
The enthusiasm made Toshinori a little bit uncomfortable, but he patted the young man's shoulder encouragingly. "A-Ahh... I see. A very fine path to choose, young man." What was he supposed to say here? He fumbled for words, trying to think of something. But then he remembered an old friend, and he smiled at the boy. "Support, huh? One of my closest friends is a support technician. At one point, I too have tried support items. I have a lot of respect to people who make them."
The boy blinked, evidently confused. "Support items? But since you debuted, you've always just worn a simple suit..."
"Ah, but that is another story for another time. This isn't public knowledge yet, but I'm actually going to be a teacher here in UA starting this year. Perhaps if you passed your entrance exam, we could talk about it over tea." Toshinori didn't know why he was offering this, as his schedule was already packed. Between hero work and classes and looking for a worthy successor, he had little free time. But for some reason, he felt invested in this boy's future.
Perhaps it was because he was slightly responsible for altering his path. He didn't know how the boy would have turned out if he didn't crush his hopes, but too many villains and vigilantes had sprouted out of shattered dreams. He shuddered to imagine this boy becoming one of them. Throughout their small encounters, Toshinori found himself becoming fond of him.
The boy gasped, his eyes gleaming in excitement. "Really? That's amazing! I would love to, All might! But--" The excitement seeped out of him as he started to mumble. "Ah, but I'm not really sure if I'll pass, I probably wouldn't... My design has a lot of errors and if Hatsume-san pointed it out I'm sure the rest of the teachers could see it... Even so, I plan to apply to Shiketsu High and Ketsubutsu High too if I could... their support course is not as renowned as UA's, but they are also very fine schools... I'm sure if I improve my design according to Hatsume-san's advice I could get in least one of them... Seki-kun promised me he'd help me if I need to, even though he seems to think I'll pass as well... The competition here is tough though, it really is, fifteen students out of fifty, and I'm sure a lot of applicants have been studying engineering for longer than I'd have... I have to improve and work harder if I wanted to catch up to everyone..."
"Ahh... even if you don't pass, I'd still like to hear more from you." It will ease my mind, he didn't add. He rumagged through his pockets and handed the boy a small card. "Here, it's my calling card. Feel free to message me, just... don't spam my mail," he had a feeling with the boy's mumbling, he was likely to do that regardless.
The young man stared at the calling card as if it came from god himself. "Yes! Thank you very much!"
"Now that I think about it, I never got your name."
"Ah, it's Midoriya Izuku, sir! Pleasure to make your aquaintance!" The young man, Midoriya, said as he bowed several times, making Toshinori chuckle. He patted young Midoriya's shoulder again, feeling a bit better now that he saw he's doing well.
"Well I have to go now or I will be late for our staff meeting. Off you go now, young Midoriya."
"Yes, sir!" Young Midoriya was just about to leave, but then he stopped himself. He hesitated as if a thought popped into his head, and he took out his phone from his pocket. He looked a little embarassed, but he pressed on. "All might, uh... can I just ask for a small favor, please sir?"
Toshinori didn't know what to think. "Sure, what do you have in mind?"
"Um..." He opened a recording app and offered it up. "Can you... can you please say that thing again, on record? I just... uh, you didn't really have to but see... there's this small figure of you I'm making and for the longest time I've been thinking, you know... wishing I recorded on that day you told me... it has truly been an inspiration for me all this time..."
Toshinori was confused. The kid had started mumbling again, his words getting further and further off the topic. Say what thing again? Toshinori said a lot of things to this young man back then, he couldn't really remember most of it anymore. But some of his sentiments must have made a really big effect on young Midoriya, big enough for him to call it his inspiration. He ran through his memories for a bit... and then he realized what it was.
He cleared his throat and leaned in towards the phone. He said it loudly, confidently, and as he did so he couldn't help but watch young Midoriya's eyes widen with wonder. His wobbly smile told Toshinori that a part of this boy hasn't really let go of his original dream yet, but with these words, he was choosing to move past it. To move forward.
"Being a hero... is not the only way to become a hero!"
Midoriya pulled his phone back and saved the recording. Tears were starting to form in his eyes. They gathered and fell as he held the phone close to his chest, and for a moment a part of Toshinori wondered-- was this young man really not capable of becoming a hero? He had so much heart... and Toshinori was almost tempted... but no. He couldn't give out One for All just by sheer whim. He had a duty to carefully choose a worthy successor, someone who could be the next Symbol of Peace.
I am so sorry, young Midoriya.
"T-Thank you very much!" the young man thanked him for the nth time, rubbing his tears away. He bowed a few more times and started to run off to the school gates. Toshinori watched him and waved him goodbye. For some reason, there was a feeling in his gut-- that that young man was meant for greater things. A pro hero or not, Midoriya Izuku has a good future ahead of him.
For sure.
"Kacchan!"
Katsuki clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in irritation. For a moment there, he thought the nerd was actually going to ditch him. You know, like a coward. He had come straight to the gate from the testing grounds after the practical exam ended, eager to get this over with. When he heard the Deku's voice calling out for him, he snarled and turned his head in his direction, only to freeze on his tracks. Right there in the distance behind Deku, waving the nerd goodbye, was the greatest hero of all time, All might.
Fucking All might.
What the fuck?
Katsuki's scowl deepened. Deku ran over to him with his eyes faintly red as if he had just cried, which wasn't really concerning since Deku has always been a total crybaby. It was just like him to burst into tears from meeting the number one hero, and Katsuki cringed from the second-hand embarassment, over what a fool Deku must have made himself in front of All might. He would have dismissed it as just that, of Deku meeting their hero by chance and All might paying lip service to his fans (although why All might would be in UA was a mystery he'd have to contemplate later), if he had not seen the card that Deku was carrying.
It was a calling card. All might's calling card. With a phone number.
The mere implications of that made him burn with rage.
"YOU USELESS DEKU!" He couldn't help it, he was just seeing red all over as he pulled at Deku's collar and cracked a couple of explosions in the air. Deku instinctively covered his face but his evident fear did not satisfy Katsuki one bit-- he wanted answers, dammit. "What the hell are you doing getting all chummy with All might?! Are you... are you--" It was stupid. So stupid that Deku might actually just try it. Since when had he been so friendly with the number one hero? By the way All might was smiling, it seemed they know each other well. Why didn't Katsuki know about this? What other things didn't he know about this nerd?! It was infuriating.
"Are you trying to get All might's recommendation, you bastard?! Dream on!" He said as he pushed Deku against one of the pillars of the gates. The little shit groaned in pain, but Katsuki didn't care. There was a tight feeling rising inside him-- "That's never gonna happen! You're just a quirkless loser that nobody cares about! Go to hell!" But even as he said that, the tight feeling rose and rose and it was suffocating. Something about the thought of All might recognizing Deku just made him really, really mad. Just like that day when he fell into the river. Or that day when Deku tried to defend that kid against him and his lackeys, even when he had no quirk. It just made him angry, so fucking angry, and he didn't know why--
"Are you alright, Kacchan?"
"If you don't stop hurting him, I'll stop you myself!"
"W-What are you talking about, Kacchan? It's not like that at all--" Deku tried to defend himself, choking against his forearm. "I-I'm even interested in the hero course anymore! I told you--"
"DON'T LIE!" Katsuki yelled, pinning him even more against the pillar. The emotions that had built up in his chest since earlier in the cafeteria started to gather again, rising in his chest. "I don't believe it... I don't fucking believe it, you Deku! I know you're up to something! Someone as stubborn as you won't give up that easily! I've been telling you to know your place for so long but you kept going on going about becoming a hero-- and now what? You're telling me you just woke up one day and decided to forget all about it?! Don't make me laugh!"
Deku's shoulders rose up. Even with his body trembling, his eyes looked indignant. His hands rose up to try and push Katsuki off of him, to no avail. Katsuki was just stronger. He had always been stronger. That's why he would become the greatest hero, because he's the best. He was strong enough to win in any fight. It was Deku who was soft, Deku who cared too much, Deku who saved people even though he's helpless as fuck, irritating Katsuki to his very core. But why--
"Isn't this what you wanted in the first place, Kacchan? For me to give up?!"
You've always wanted to be a hero, so why---
"I give up, okay, so what the hell do you want?! You win! You were right!"
You were the one who wanted to save people, so why---
"I'm quirkless! I can't do anything as a pro hero! I will just be a liability to my team! And I realize that! I recognize that! That's why... I--"
You were the one who was the better hero, so why--
"I decided not to try and become a support tech instead! I'll help others in my own way!"
--why would you give up so easily?
Katsuki should really be happy that Deku was finally out of his delusional fantasies, but he wasn't. His feelings didn't make any fucking sense. He felt like he was robbed. Like he was running on a race, doing his hardest to prove himself the victor, only to realize that his competitor has given up halfway. But that's stupid. Deku was just a quirkless hero wannabe. He didn't even deserve to stand on the same stage as Katsuki.
"FUCK YOU!" He yelled as he directed a blast against the pillar, right beside Deku's face. Deku stiffened, but the resolve in those green eyes remained true. Fuck, does that mean it really was true? Deku really wasn't planning to become a hero anymore?
Katsuki should be happy. Hell, he should be celebrating.
He's not.
"Useless Deku," he grumbled as he glared hatefully at Deku. He looked down at the nerd's trembling hands and remembered the calling card. There was still no explanation on why he'd be so close to All might. The only thing Katsuki could really could think of was that Deku was trying the recommendation thing. This could all just be lies. Deku must be fucking with his head. There's no way he's actually...
Deku followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at the small card. He shifted uneasily, lifting his hand to place the card closer to his chest, staring down at the ground, as if he was about to say something shameful, a secret.
"I met All might a while back. He saved me. And it was All might... who told me."
Katsuki tried to swallow the lump in his throat. It wasn't working.
"He told me... that I can't become a hero. Because I'm quirkless. And he's right."
Deku's voice trembled. Katsuki took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he understood.
Fuck, that's brutal.
He was hit with the strangest urge to give Deku some comfort. Which was fucking stupid, so he didn't. He simply pulled back from him to give him some room, which the nerd seemed to be grateful for. Katsuki clenched his fist. He knew Deku more than probably any other person. He had known him since they were kids. They grew up together. And he had known how much the little twerp admired All might.
All might was their hero. Their inspiration. The person they both wanted to become. And if All might himself stood before Katsuki and told him he couldn't become a hero, then--
--well, he'd probably launch a hissy fit and tell the number one hero to shove his opinions up his ass, but after that, then--
Even Katsuki would feel... demoralized.
At least Katsuki had his quirk to believe in, Deku didn't.
He huffed as he turned around, suddenly feeling all prickly and disgusting inside. Deku didn't look up from the ground. There was a tense silence around them, one that made Katsuki feel really fucking terrible. Well, he was over it. So Deku gave up, big deal. It's not like it hasn't been a long time coming. Even if Deku took the hero course exam, he's gonna fail it anyway, for sure. It's not like they didn't know it. All might saved Deku some grief.
Katsuki didn't know what came over him. But he had been thinking about their childhood a lot in the past few minutes, and it really just came out of instinct-- he reached his hand out to Deku, not unlike the way he would back when they were children. Once he had his hand out, he couldn't take it back anymore. His pride wouldn't allow him so, even when Deku looked at him like he had grown a second head.
He snarled. "Let's go the fuck home, useless Deku."
"Y-Yeah!" Deku replied as he rubbed the tears that had been forming in his eyes away and nervously sidled close to Katsuki. He hesitated as he looked down at the offered hand, slowly reaching over as if it was going to bite him. When their fingers touched, Katsuki looked away.
"Rub the fucking snot off your face. You're disgusting."
"Yeah..."
The rest of their trip home was made in silence. |
10.
Over the next two weeks, Ann found herself craving the weekends so that she and Anne could be together. They usually went out somewhere like the movies or for dinner before heading back to her place to spend the night.
It was crazy to Ann that she had spent her entire life sleeping alone quite happily but every since she and Anne had been sharing a bed, she found herself yearning for the comforting warmth of Anne’s body when she had to endure the week nights alone.
She still hadn’t quite gotten the courage to go any further than gentle touches and passionate kisses but she knew that very soon that invisible line would be crossed and she would open herself up to Anne like a flower. A thought that both scared and excited her. Being with Anne, feeling her strong arms around her, her tender kisses possessing her mouth and her heat filling her entire body. She gave her a strength that she had never thought possible before now. Just being in her presence was enough to evoke such feelings but lying beside her, resting her head on her shoulder, made her feel as if she could take on the world.
It was another Saturday night and this time, they had decided to have an indoor pizza party as it was pouring rain outside. Ann had put down a checkered blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace and taken the pillows off the sofa and scattered them around the edge of it.
She had turned off the lights and only the deep golden glow of the gas lit flames in the hearth filled the room as they sat on the floor with the two pizza boxes in front of them.
“You know, I think pizza should always be eaten like this, I think it makes it taste even better.” Ann said, taking her third slice. She was leaning up against Anne’s chest, laying between her outstretched legs that were clad in her usual pair of black pants, but she had taken off her shoes and socks to warm her feet by the happy flames of the fire.
“I think you might be right about that, my darling. But I also think that it wouldn't matter what we ate down here in front of the fireplace, it would taste divine, especially sharing it with you.” She put a soft kiss to the top of her head and Ann smiled around her mouthful of cheesy goodness.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all your compliments. I never feel worthy of them.” She said, taking Anne’s hand in hers and linking their fingers together.
“But you most certainly are, my beautiful Ann, as many as I can give you and more after that.”
Ann tilted her head up and Anne leaned down and kissed her softly. She could taste the spicy topping of the pizza on her lips and it made her own tingle. Or maybe that was just the underlying heat of the kiss itself.
“Why does it feel like I can take on the world when I’m with you?” Ann said quietly.
“I’m so happy that you feel that way, but I’m more than sure that you could do that even without me being with you.”
“Oh I don't think so but I wish it were true.”
“Of course it’s true, look how you stood up for yourself with your sister. I was nowhere near you then.”
Ann gave a sigh. It had been too easy to lose herself in the haze of her ever growing feelings for Anne and not have to think about her still unresolved issues with Elisabeth. She had thought over the past few weeks about calling her or even just texting but then she would remember her stinging remarks and the way her scatheing words had stung her, like a swarm of angry bees and she put down her phone. It was Elisabeth who needed to make the first move this time, not her.
“Still haven’t heard from her?” Anne asked softly. She always seemed to know what she was feeling. Ann shook her head.
“Listen, how about putting some of that bravery to the test and come away with me next weekend.”
Ann felt herself brighten and she sat up and turned to look at her.
“That sounds great. Where are we going?”
“To shabby little Shibden, to meet my family. Aunt Ann has been giving me a hard time about not coming for a visit in a while and my father wants to sort some things out.” Anne sighed.
Ann sat back, in surprise. Something told her that this was a big step for Anne and even if the thought of meeting her family did make her more than a little nervous, she wouldn’t deny her invitation.
“I can’t wait to meet them and I’m sure that Shibden isn’t shabby at all.” She said, smiling.
“You say that now but see how you feel after next weekend. My family is, shall we say, an acquired taste. They can be pretty full on at times. You might feel like you're being thrown to the lion’s when you meet them, but don’t worry, I’ll be right by your side the whole time.” Anne bent her head and kissed her once more, and the lingering perfect touch of her lips on hers quickly eased any anxiety that had started to form within her.
All the next week, Ann fluctuated between excitement and nerves as the weekend drew closer. She had spoken to Anne every night, asking her what she should pack to wear, making sure she knew everyone’s right names and any other details that she should know about before she got there. Anne laughed at her good naturedly.
“Darling, this is just my family, not the royals and you just need to relax so we can just enjoy being together. I’ll make sure they behave, I promise.”
Anne told her that she would pick her up at 6 on Saturday morning so that they could have as much time as possible there. And, as usual, Ann was ready half an hour before then after spending three hours before fussing over 4 outfits and two pairs of pyjamas. She knew she was over packing but she wanted to make sure she had options.
Anne arrived 15 minutes before 6 so they got take away tea and coffee as they headed out of the city. It was still a little dark but as they hit more rural surroundings, the morning sun began to brighten the green fields and tall trees they flew passed. Anne had taken her hand and rested it on the console in between their seats from the moment she had picked her up.
“Feeling nervous?” She asked her, picking up their laced fingers and kissing her knuckles.
“A little. I’ve never met anyone’s parents before. Well, not my girlfriend’s parents, at least.” She confessed.
“And I’ve never taken anyone home before, so we are both on a learning curve. It’ll be fine, I’m sure. My ear is still ringing from the way my sister screamed at me over the phone when I rang to tell her I was bringing you with me. The woman has no volume switch. I know, I’ve tried to find it.”
Ann gave a giggle. As much as she felt anxious about the weekend, she was curious to meet Anne’s family.
The drive to the estate was very relaxing in itself, with the wonderful scenery and soft warmth of the sun coming through the windscreen, bathing them in golden light as they laughed and chatted together.
By midmorning, they were at the turn off and soon they were going down the driveway, the house coming into sight. Ann was captivated by it as it came into view. The old stone work, the black and white walls and the aged shingled roof. The whole place looked fascinating. It was hard to know where to look first. Ann was captivated. They pulled up in the courtyard near the house and she heard Anne take a deep breath.
“Well, here we go. Unfortunately, you’re going to get treated like a celebrity and I make no excuses for what’s about to happen, my darling all I can say is they are my family and I love them.” She picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles gently as the sound of someone yelling began to filter through the calm silence of the countryside.
“She’s here! Ooooh!! Ohmagod! Ohmagod!”
“Marion, for pity’s sake! Calm down. You’re supposed to be helping me out there. I’m an old lady, you know.”
“Oh Aunt Ann, you're fitter than I am, hurry up!”
They got out of the car and Anne came around to take Ann’s hand and she squeezed it tightly. Ann looked at her girlfriend and for the first time, saw a hint of apprehension on her face. She stood closer to her and took her arm and Anne smiled down at her as the sound of running footsteps got closer.
The first person to come around the corner of the house was a woman in a smudged check shirt and jeans. Large black rubber boots were flapping around her calves and her dark brown hair was tied loosely back from her face. Ann made the educated guess that this was Anne’s sister Marion. There were hints of their relationship in her face but Marion’s features were not as strong as Anne’s and they had a softer look to them.
She halted her initial fast pace to stand stock still about three feet from where she and Anne were standing. Her eyes were wide and her brows as dark as her sisters, almost disappeared into her hairline. Her hand came up to slap over her mouth and she made a strange strangled squeak.
Ann was totally confused about why she was looking that way. She looked towards Anne who’s own face was showing extreme irritability.
“For god's sake Marion. Do you have to be so damn dramatic right off the bat?” She said, rolling her eyes and glaring at her sister who was still standing before them acting like she had just seen the most famous person on the planet.
“Ooooh! Look at you! Aren’t you so sweet! Ohmagod! I can't believe Anne has finally brought someone home!”
The words came out all in one breath and ran together so that it was almost impossible to decipher individual syllables. Ann was still confused as to how she should react to Marion’s gushy greeting and before she could look towards her girlfriend to maybe get some guidance, Marion had crossed the small distance between them and wrapped her in a bear hug.
“I’m Marion, and I’m this drill sergeant’s sister. It’s so good to meet you!” She squealed, right in Ann’s ear and she involuntarily winced a little as her ear rang.
“Alright, alright, let her go, I don't want Ann running screaming out the gate before we even get inside the house.” Anne grumbled and began loosening Marion’s arms from around her shoulders. Ann tried to gather her wits and gave Marion what she hoped was a friendly smile.
“Thank you, Marion. It’s good to meet you too. Your home is beautiful. Anne has told me so much about it.”
Marion gave another small squeak. “She has? Well, that’s a surprise. Usually she tries to keep us her little secret. Bet she called it shabby Shibden though.”
“Um, yes, she did but I don’t think it is at all. And I’ve only seen the outside.”
“She’s an old lady, but she’s a grand one.” Marion said, rather proudly looking up at the stonework walls.
“Talking about me again Marion? Move aside and let me see this pretty little thing.”
“Hello, Aunt Ann. Looking colourful as always.” Anne said and she embraced the elderly woman fondly.
Aunt Ann wasn’t what Ann had been expecting. When Anne had told her her age, she envisioned a sweet little old lady, in a wool skirt, lacy blouse and a knitted cardigan, sitting beside a fireplace, reading or even knitting something.
But the person before her now was nothing like that. She was wearing a bright pink t shirt and matching pants and only reached her knees. Instead of serviceable closed in shoes, she had on a pair of Nikes. This Ann Lister might of been the matriarch of the family, but she certainly didn't dress like one. Ann had a feeling she was going to really like her straight away.
“Aren’t you just a vision. You’re very naughty, Anne for keeping this precious creature to yourself for this long. Come inside, lunch is almost ready and you can meet Jeremy.” She said and before Ann had a chance to do anything else, she had taken her by the arm and started walking her towards the door. She noticed the soft happy smile that Anne sent their way as she did.
As they neared the doorway, a large shaggy grey dog appeared from around the corner of the house. Ann gave a small start as the animal came straight up to her and shoved its nose into her denim clad leg. He stood level with Ann’s knees and Ann found his size a little disconcerting. She wasn’t used to such large pets.
“Argus! Are you still alive? Marion hasn't managed to overfeed you or turn you into a lapdog then?” Anne said, coming up to him and ruffling his furry head. Argus looked up at her with what could only be described as a doggy smile before heading back to wherever he had come from.
“You don’t have to be scared of Argus, dear, he’s a gentle giant and is basically too lazy to do any damage to anyone. We got him as a guard dog but the place has been almost burgled three times and that useless hound slept through it each time.” Aunt Ann told her.
They entered the house and Ann was amazed at what she saw.
The dark wood paneling the polished board floors that creaked as they walked over them and the rich coloured furnishings that looked like they had been in the house since its conception were wonderful.
“Welcome to the museum.” Anne said as she too looked around at her family home, but she said it with much affection. Ann saw Marion give her a shove in the arm and a stern look. Anne poked her tongue out at her sister like a cheeky child and Ann supressed a smile.
“I think it’s beautiful. It would be like living in another era.” She said, admiring the carved wooden staircase and the old paintings on the walls.
“Oh you’ve got that right, but we’ve added a few mod cons over the years, so we aren’t living in the dark ages too much. Come on, let’s find that brother of mine.” Aunt Ann led her to the next room which looked like it was once a drawing room. A large grandfather clock ticked deeply on one wall and a large fireplace took centre stage with a collection of comfortable looking chairs around it.
In a wingback chair over near the window, an elderly man sat reading a newspaper, he looked seemingly unaware there were other people in the room with him.
“Jeremy, Anne is here, with her….” Aunt Ann looked back at Anne questioningly. “Partner? Girlfriend? Life companion? What is the term you’re using these days? It’s hard to keep up with them all.”
Anne gave her Aunt a smile. “Girlfriend will do, I think Aunt.” She directed the smile towards Ann and she saw the soft affection in her eyes.
“Her girlfriend, then. You’ll never guess, her name is Ann too! Jeremy! For pity’s sake, turn your hearing aids up.” Aunt Ann said, raising her voice quite loudly.
“Is he still being stubborn about them?” Anne asked Marion who was standing beside her shaking her head at their father.
“He refuses to acknowledge he needs them and that he’s getting on in age. He’s only wearing them now because last week the farm hand almost ran over him with the tractor because he didn't hear it coming down the road.”
Jeremy Lister finally looked up and frowned at his sister. “No need to yell, woman, I can see that.” He said grumpily and began to slowly rise from the chair.
“Yeah, he might have seen it but he sure as heck didn't hear it. Hello, father, you're looking well, I see.” Anne said, going over to put a hand on his arm and give him a small peck on the cheek.
“Yes, yes, battling bravely against bladder and bowel as always. Well, this is your special friend then. How’d you do, young lady, Jeremey Lister.” He stuck out a hand and Ann smiled and took it, giving it a light shake.
“Good heavens, you’re a delicate little thing. What are you doing with that daughter of mine? I’m almost afraid that she’d break you, like she did to her dolls. She used to take their heads off and pitch them at her sister, you know. Very destructive, until I gave her something more constructive to do, that is.” Jeremey said and Ann couldn't help the small laugh as she turned to see Anne’s cheeks pinking at her father’s words.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Lister, and I’m stronger than I look, so you don’t have to worry.” Ann told him and he smiled pleasantly back at her.
“Good to hear. I think it’s about time we ate, isn’t it? I wanted to have tea and biscuits a half hour ago and the warden here told me I had to wait until you two arrived.” He looked in Aunt Ann’s direction and she gave him an irritated look.
Anne came up beside her and took her hand and they followed Aunt Ann and her father into the dining room that was next door.
“What was it that he gave you to do?” Ann asked under her breath as they went in.
“He made me muck out the stables every day.” Anne said and shook her head. Ann gave a small giggle.
Marion and Aunt Ann went through into what must have been the kitchen while the three of them sat at the table, which was a large oval polished wooden piece of furniture. The chairs were carved but looked like they matched it.
“After we eat, I want to borrow you for a little while Anne to talk to you about a few things, that is if Ann can spare you?” Jeremy said, as Marion and Aunt Ann returned with serving plates of salads and cold meats.
“I want to show Ann the house first, is that alright?” Anne said, making a grab for the nearest bowl.
“Yes, yes all good. Let's eat, I’m fading away to a shadow here.” Jeremy said and they began to load up their plates with delicious looking salad greens and a selection of chicken, ham and beef.
“All the salads came from our garden, Ann so it’s as fresh as can be. Not like that nasty stuff you get in supermarkets that’s been grown in a laboratory or something. Like eating plastic half the time.” Aunt Ann said and she wrinkled her nose.
“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration, Aunt. I eat supermarket vegetables all the time and I’m perfectly healthy.” Anne said, taking a forkful of tomato and lettuce.
“Yes but you never know how all those additives in food will affect you, though. You know they put hormones in things now? It’s terrible. Goodness knows what that would do to you.” Aunt Ann said.
Anne gave an eye roll. “Aunt Ann, I please tell me you don't think eating supermarket meat and vegetables made me a lesbian. That’s just ridiculous. I was a lesbian long before i ate anything from the supermarket.” She shook her head and went back to her lunch.
Ann was astounded at the casual way that Anne’s sexuality was being spoken of. She almost choked on the mouthful of food she was eating. She certainly wasn’t used to this, especially being with Anne’s elder relations. She had told her that her family was very open about her lifestyle but she hadn't expected it to be this open.
“Oh dear, are you alright?” Aunt Ann said, looking concerned at her.
“Ann isn’t used to such discussions, Aunt, her family is a little more concervative, like a lot of other people are.” Anne said, as she took her hand where she was sitting beside her.
“I’m fine, sorry. Everything is very good. You’re right, it’s lovely to have fresh food straight from the garden.” Ann said, trying to cover up her display of surprise.
“I’m so glad you are here, Ann. They’d have me on bread and water, otherwise. Some nights, I’m lucky to get a bowl of soup.” Jeremy told her, but Ann could tell that he was only trying to make her more relaxed.
“That rounded tummy of yours says differently, father.” Anne said, pointing a fork in his direction.
“I suppose we are a little more forward than usual here Ann. but I guess that’s because we’ve had a lifetime to get used to the idea. You know, I was a lesbian in school once, but just kissing a girl on a bet probably doesnt count, does it.” Aunt Ann said, and Ann almost coughed again.
Marion gave a loud sigh and Anne put her hand over her eyes and shook her head.
“Just stop, Aunt, please. I don’t want this to be Ann’s first and last visit here. You’ll frighten her off.” Anne said, but Ann grinned back at her and even leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“On the contrary, I’d be more than happy to come back here again.” She said and saw Anne’s eyes light up and she took her hand and brought it up to her lips to kiss the back of it.
“Aww, you two are so sweet together. It’s adorable.” Marion said, giving them a dreamy eyed look.
“Anne is a lot of things but adorable isn't one of them, no offence, Anne.” Jeremy said, taking two pieces of bread and making a sandwich out of the rest of his lunch.
“You leave that bread alone, Jeremy Lister or Dr Kenny will be very upset at your next appointment.” Aunt Ann cautioned him.
“The man’s a quack, he knows nothing.” Anne’s father grumbled around the mouthful of sandwich.
Ann found herself feeling more relaxed by the minute, sitting at the table and hearing the family’s well meaning banter, which she presumed happened on a regular basis. It was so casual and friendly, nothing like the quiet formal affairs she had sat through in her childhood. She could feel herself being so happy here with Anne’s lovely family and she couldn't believe she had been so uptight about meeting everyone. They were a delight.
After lunch, Anne took her on the tour of the rest of the house and they got their bags out of the car and took them upstairs to Anne’s childhood bedroom.
There was no hint of the room’s former young self in it and the space was dominated by a large four poster bed. Anne put their bags down and went over to the bed and fondly ran a hand over the red embroidered covers.
“Oh the plans I made laying in this bed. It feels like a hundred years ago now.” She said and Ann walked over to her and she took her in her arms.
“I don't know what you made plans for, but I’m glad they led me to you.” She said and Anne smiled before putting her lips to hers and kissing her long and deep.
“So am I. Listen, I want to show you around the grounds but dad wants to speak to me so will you be alright with Aunt Ann while I do that?” Anne said, gently running a finger down the side of her cheek.
“Of course, I think your Aunt is wonderful. Now I know where you get your strength from.” She said, grinning, and they laughed together before heading back downstairs.
“Come on, Ann we’ll go into the kitchen and have a nice cup of tea and if that old thief has left any, we might be able to have some biscuits as well. He takes them when he thinks I’m not looking, but I know.” Aunt Ann said, glaring over at her brother.
“Come on Anne, let’s get this done before she blames the national debt on me too.” Jeremy said and he and Anne began to head out the door. Anne sent her a wink and blew her a kiss before turning back to follow her father.
Aunt Ann gave a little chuckle. “Oh she’s so different to the last time she visited. So much happier and content. I can see it. And I bet that’s all down to you, little Ann.” She said, as they entered the large kitchen.
The room was a mix of the past and present; Ann could see where once an old open fire must have been, now occupied by a large stove and oven. It wasn’t a large space, but it was big enough to fit a six seater table and chairs in it comfortably and a kitchen hutch that displayed beautiful old china behind it’s glass doors.
Aunt Ann went over to the bench beside the large white enamel sink and flicked the switch on an electric kettle that brought the conveniences of the 21st century into the room.
“This has always been my favourite room. We were restricted as to how much we could do here when we renovationed it. Anne’s doing, by the way. She wanted to preserve as much as we could but we needed a few mod cons. I didn't fancy having to chop wood and fire up the stove every day like we used to do. The stove and oven are gas powered now but oh, I miss those big baked dinners were used to cook in the old wooden one. They always tasted so much better. Would you mind reaching up and getting two cups down, my dear?” She asked her, pointing to a nearby cupboard on the wall.
“I’d be happy to.” Ann said and she opened the door to take two delicate tea cups and matching saucers down to sit them on a tray with a sugar bowl and a waiting teapot.
“I suppose you're used to those tea bags but I can’t stand them myself. Tea isn’t tea unless it’s from a teapot with loose leaf tea. I think giving in to the convenience of the electric kettle is a concession enough, don't you think?” She said, her bright blue eyes shining.
“Most definitely.” Ann agreed.
“Ah, he didn't find the biscuits I had stashed away, very good.” Aunt Ann said as she dug out a container from the back of the pantry cupboard.
She poured the hot water into the pot and then Ann took the tray, complete with the stashed biscuits, over to the table and they sat down.
“Ann didn't tell me anything about your family, dear. Do they live close?” Aunt Ann asked her as she poured the dark steaming contents of the china pot into the cups.
“I only have my sister now, both our parents have gone, I’m afraid. She is married and lives with her husband and children an hour or so from the city.” Ann told her.
“Oh I’m so sorry to hear that. Still it’s good that you have your sister though.”
“I don't see her that much, I’m afraid. She is always so tied up with her family and now I have work, it’s not easy to get together.”
“Has your sister and Anne gotten the chance to meet?”
Now there was a question, Ann thought. What was she going to say about that. Elisabeth certainly wasn't as friendly as they all were and even though she was very upset with her about how she had reacted at their last meeting, she didn't want to speak ill of her.
“Yes, they have but it was only briefly.”
“Well, you should try to get together with her and her family again. I know we all have busy lives these days but family is so important.”
“Yes, you’re right, and we shall, I’m sure.” Ann said, sipping her tea. What was it about proper china cups that made tea taste so much better. She wondered. She really hoped that what she had just said would come true. Elisabeth was her only relative now and to lose her would be devastating. But she didn't want to go into anything about that now with Aunt Ann, even though she felt like she could talk to the woman about anything.
“You know, that was Anne’s favourite cup. She loved the blue scallops on it and used to say that when she was older, she would go somewhere in the world where the ocean was the same colour. I think she’s probably done that ten times over. Do you like to travel, Ann?”
“I’ve never traveled much, actually. We had a few family holidays but not many. I was always too frightened to go on my own anywhere.”
“I'm sure that will change now you have Anne in your life. The girl has always had a wandering spirit. Well, not so much when she was a child but she began to gad about around 16 years go or so. Never had an anchor to tether her in one place too long. But I think that might just change now.” Aunt Ann gave a knowing nod as she nursed her cup in her wrinkled hand.
“I wouldn't ever try to stop her from traveling. That wouldn't be fair.” Ann assured her.
“I can see that you wouldn’t, dear. That’s not what I meant. You see, our Anne, as thick skinned and tough as she would like us to believe, has had a very bumpy ride where her love life is concerned. She has always been exactly who she is, never tried to hide it or be anything else but that wasn’t easy in this small place and she got a lot of flack over it.
But the thing is, she seemed to keep picking girls that weren’t as comfortable with themselves as she was and that lead to a lot of heart aches for her. I know I shouldn't be telling you this, but the worst one was a woman called Mariana. They were together for a number of years and Anne thought that she had found someone to share the rest of her days with but then she up and accepted a marriage proposal from a family friend because she said her family wouldn't accept anything else.
It nearly killed Anne, I've never seen her so devastated. She came back here, broken and a shadow of her usual self and it took months for us to see her beginning to come good. I think that’s when she started traveling. Using that as an excuse to run from any chance of getting hurt again.
But perhaps things are a little different now. She’s never brought anyone back here before, even that Mariana person. I don't know how committed you two are to each other but I can see the way she looks at you and it fills my heart. She’s in love with you, Ann and I’d hate for her to get her heart broken all over again. I don't think she would get over it this time.``
Ann felt tears welling up in her eyes. She had always suspected that there was a part of Anne, however well hidden, that was shielded against hurt and disappointment. Now she knew it was true. To hear that her Aunt knew that she had strong feelings for her made her fill with warmth. She reached across the table and put a hand on the older woman’s arm.
“I feel the same way too, Aunt Ann and the last thing I’d ever want would be to hurt her in any way. She has given me more happiness in the few months we’ve been together than I’ve ever had before. We’ve never said as much to each other, but when we do, I’m going to mean every word of it.”
Aunt Ann gave a sniff and she got up and took Ann in her arms and they stood together in the kitchen, in an emotional embrace.
“Well, seems your lesbian days might not be as over as you thought they were, Aunt Ann. But could you find your own girlfriend? This one’s mine.”
Unseen by them both, Anne had come into the kitchen and she walked over to them and pulled Ann from her Aunt’s warm hug and into her own. She noticed her damp eyes and became concerned.
‘Hey, is everything alright?” She said, softly, wiping her cheek with her thumb.
“Yes, never better. How about you show me the gardens?” Ann said and after a quick kiss and a knowing look from Aunt Ann, they headed out the door. |
June 5, 20xx
Weekends in Tokyo could be iffy, depending on your position. The stereotypical corporate salaryman could still be at work even if they had nothing to do other than demonstrate their loyalty to the company by simply being present.
Unfortunately for Sae Niijima, she had to do a little more than just show up.
Sae, the silver-haired woman who had been the ‘bad cop’ during Shiho’s questioning hadn’t been home since Friday night. That night, the uniforms at the police department had notified the Special Investigation Division that they had received an unusual request. An older male claiming to be Ichiryusai Madarame had requested the police to be present at a press conference he would be holding on Saturday, so they would be able to arrest him immediately after.
The uniforms had dismissed it as a joke, but there was a standing order from the Special Investigations Department to report any odd requests for turning oneself in. And so, she had been called back into the office late on Friday night to start looking into this, growing increasingly irritated as the night went on. There was absolutely nothing on Madarame.
But then the press conference had happened. The Phantom Thieves had happened. After the old man’s confession, he had told the SID exactly where to look. Somehow the artist had masterminded a massive money laundering and art forgery operation - so big that the human trafficking and identity theft parts of it were more like side businesses, a way for the man to squeeze out every cent of profit from his students.
He was shrewd enough to run this with enough separation between himself and his clients that even after his ‘change of heart’ he was unable to positively identify his customers on the other end. He was also clever enough to hide in plain sight, evading both the PD and SID.
Until the Phantom Thieves made him confess, humiliating both departments.
Needless to say, Sae’s superiors were annoyed.
And then it became extremely unlikely that she’d see her own bed before Monday night. Thus, Sae was also annoyed.
What was also annoying was the brunette teenager sitting across from her, with that insufferable smile on his face. Goro Akechi, the Detective Prince. The last person she wanted to see this Sunday morning.
‘Sanctimonious little prick…’ She groused. Akechi was always going on about ‘justice this, justice that’, while always managing to be in the right place at the right time. He had blown open several cases for both the SID and the police department - often through a series of convoluted ‘deductions’ as he called them, talking about his ‘process’ as if it were some incredible skill to reason that if A → B, and B → C, then A → C.
Akechi rubbed her the wrong way because there were several cases where he shouldn’t have known A or B. No one should be that lucky or have that many ‘hunches’.
It had gotten to the point where he had actually made it onto her list of persons of interest in an investigation - but that had turned up nothing, and the little bastard was a media darling. Akechi had never met a camera or microphone he didn’t like. And so, he had gotten himself inserted into this Phantom Thieves case.
“Well? Are you going to say something, or just sit there and pretend this is your office?” Sae said, finally annoyed with his staring and self-satisfied smile.
“I simply didn’t want to disturb you from your process, Niijima-san. I know that when I’m making my deductions, I prefer to--”
“What did you come here to say?” Sae interrupted, rolling her eyes.
“Ah. Of course, you must be short on time. I wanted to offer whatever assistance I can on the Madarame case. Surely, we can agree now that the Phantom Thieves are real. However they’re doing this, they must be stopped.”
“The last time I accepted your assistance, I agreed to your request to drag an assault victim into the office and wasted an hour of my time so you could try to get her to fawn over you in order to feed you information. Did you know that her parents are diplomats? And that they filed a complaint after?”
“Ah, but by my line of reasoning, I was able to deduce that the Phantom Thieves are very likely high school students at Shujin.”
“...How?”
“I’m glad you asked. You see, the girl was reluctant to speak about most of her friends. But she did indicate that one of the people most affected by Kamoshida’s abuses was Yuuki Mishima. I determined that Mishima in fact--”
“Yes, we know. It was all over the other statements we took that he became Kamoshida’s errand boy, the poor bastard. And the website, we traced the IP and learned he made it. That doesn’t mean--”
“Ah, but you see… He seems to have intimate knowledge of how the Phantom Thieves operate. On his website, he is quite specific that the thieves require the first and last name of their target, and that if they accept the request, the result will be seen within a day or so. And two of their clients already have been Shujin students.”
Sae grimaced. That was something. “Well, I’m not going to haul in another student on some bullshit pretense.”
“That won’t be necessary. It turns out, a number of them will be going on a school trip soon to the TV studio. I will see to it that I have an interview on the same day. I may discover something.”
“Fine.” Sae turned back to Madarame’s file. “Do what you want.”
‘You always do anyway, you little shit. And then the higher-ups make me find a loophole to somehow allow a high school student the authority and clearance to get involved in police investigations. We’re just lucky none of your ‘busts’ have been able to hire a good enough lawyer…’
“Thank you, Sae-san.” He gave her that TV smile.
Sae raised an eyebrow.
“Ah… Er, Nijima -san.” Akechi corrected, raising his hands in a placating gesture.
>>>
In Hiroo, two more individuals were having a much more pleasant morning.
Ann woke up slowly, as she usually did on Sundays. Before she even opened her eyes, though, she noticed three things.
First, she was naked. She almost never slept naked.
Second, despite the first thing, she was warm . That was weird. Her family’s climate-controlled apartment with central air, if anything, was often a bit on the cool side.
Third, she wasn’t alone.
She opened her eyes, greeted by the sight of Ren’s sleeping face. The one that she called cute before. He was on his back; she hadn’t woken up in stereotypical fashion with his arms around her. It seemed as though the young boxer was also used to being a bit cooler; he had rolled away a little and pushed his half of the blankets down, leaving his chest and shoulders exposed.
Ann smiled dreamily, just looking at him. The light from the window filtered through his eyelashes, the ones she had observed as being so long last night. Right now, that cute face looked beautiful . Peaceful.
She shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder instead of her pillow. She blushed faintly, thinking of how that face looked last night above her in the darkness. Not peaceful. Still beautiful, though. Beautiful… intense… unfiltered. As much as she had given herself to him, he had given himself to her, showing her the depth of his feelings. Ren had made himself utterly, completely vulnerable to her. He mumbled in his sleep, smiling a little at the contact.
Ann looked at his bare torso, his smooth skin.
‘...Not just beautiful. Also pretty hot...’ She thought, mildly giddy. Curious, she carefully moved her hand down, tugging at the sheets. She wondered what his stomach looked like in the light of day. Eyes half-lidded, she felt his wiry strength, the lanky frame he still hadn’t really filled out yet…
The sheets were at his waist, now. Biting her lip, she started to push a little more. ‘Just curious.’
“You know, you’re welcome to look, but you might give a guy the wrong idea.”
Ann’s eyes went from half-lidded to wide open. She startled like a deer, moving to shift back to her own side of the bed.
In a quick motion, Ren was over her again, looking down at her with those grey eyes. His hands on either side of her shoulders.
“I..I was just…!”
“Is it my turn, then?” He asked, a languid smile on his face. He started to pull at the sheets that Ann clutched at her chest.
Ann squeaked, realizing he was very, very much naked as well. “Yes— I mean, no… I mean, if you want …”
“Relax, Ann. I’m teasing.” Ren said leaning down and kissing her cheek. “Good morning.”
“...Ah. Morning…” She smiled. Her cheeks were rosy, her right hand holding the sheets over her chest. Her left thigh was uncovered, though, Ren noticed.
And he also took a long, slow look at her hair; out of her trademark twintails. Just disheveled enough . And her blue eyes, with just the last vestiges of sleep in them. The overall picture was so unintentionally sexy that he...
“...Ren? You’re staring.”
“Well. I was teasing.” Ren said, his hand starting once again to pull the sheets away.
“What…?” Her hands tightened on the sheets for a moment, but relaxed as he leaned in, kissing her.
“Oh… Oh, Ren… ”
>>>
A little later, Ren sat on the edge of the bed, idly glancing at his collarbone in the mirror on the wall. “Hn. That’s going to leave a mark.”
Ann, smiling, draped herself over his shoulders from behind and kissed his cheek. She was wearing his hoody. “It’s only fair. I have the one from last night.”
Ren chuckled. “That’s true…”
He stood, just wearing his uniform pants - he hadn’t brought anything else other than his gym clothes. And his polo shirt was… somewhere in the room. And Ann had informed him it was her hoody, now. He’d find the shirt after making breakfast, or something, he told himself. Kissing Ann again, he headed to the kitchen while she took a quick shower. Ren put together a quick breakfast - French toast, spread with peanut butter and sweet condensed milk.
He heard Ann approach; she hugged him happily from behind, before letting go and moving to the kitchen island.
Ren turned, putting the last slice on the plate. “So there’s… ...leg.”
Ann had opted to wear just the hoody. Plus underwear, maybe . The hem came down too low for Ren to be completely sure. After the ‘wake up call’ they just had, Ann figured being embarrassed around Ren seemed a bit silly, especially in the afterglow. Ann smiled at him mischievously, leaning on the kitchen island.
“Good look for me, I take it?”
“Er. Toast. French. Food words.” Ren said, nodding firmly.
Ann giggled; she hugged him again, this time kissing him before taking a seat as Ren served out the food, spreading peanut butter and sweet condensed milk on the toast.
“You’re spoiling me, Wildcard.”
“Least I can do.” Ren said, sitting beside her as he sipped his coffee. “So… what do we tell people?”
“Mn. Well… I guess we’re definitely more than just friends, now? I kinda don’t want to tell people anything… ” Ann said, looking down at her plate.
Ren blinked, looking hurt, briefly. “I… guess that makes sense. I mean, with your modeling career and my record…”
“...What?!” Ann said, looking aghast. “I don’t care about that!”
“Then…?”
“Well…” Ann nibbled on a slice of toast for a moment, before looking up at Ren over the edge of it, holding it in both hands. “I feel like up until now, I’ve been sharing you with Reiko. Like part of you has been stuck in the past. Now that you’re finally mine… I guess I’m feeling a little possessive. I want you to be all mine for awhile.”
Ren laughed. “That’d explain the hickey.”
“Well, you like giving them so much, I thought I’d give it a try.” Ann said, winking. “I’ll at least have to tell Shiho, though. I wonder how I should break it to her…”
The front door opened.
“Hey, Ann? Aren’t we doing brunch today? You weren’t answering your phone, and one of your neighbors let me up. You left your front door un… locked…”
Shiho trailed off. She stared at Ren (shirtless) and Ann (pantsless) seated at the island. Close together. Romantically close.
“Oh. ...Oh wow.” Shiho said. She turned, closing the door behind her before anyone wandered by in the hall.
Ann shot into her bedroom with a shriek and locking the door behind her. Ren was stranded outside.
Ren stood casually, leaning against the island as he watched Ann vanish. He then looked at Shiho, taking a sip of his coffee as if being half-naked in Ann’s kitchen was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey, Shiho. Breakfast?”
>>>
A short time later, Ann sat across from Shiho at a cafe close to her home. Shiho and Ren had successfully coaxed the embarrassed blonde out - Ren needed the rest of his clothes, after all. He had already left to face the music for abandoning ‘guy’s night’. Ann sat with her arms crossed, staring out the window beside them, looking anywhere but Shiho. She looked a little like a cat that had shorted a jump in full view of an audience.
Shiho just stared at her, chin on her hand. Grinning. Also like a cat, but one that had gotten the cream.
“Well…?” Shiho asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, what ?” Ann asked, sullen. She ‘hmphed’. Truthfully she wasn’t even sure why she was upset. Part of it might have been Shiho getting to see Ren like that. The other part of it was that she still felt she hadn’t had enough of him yet.
Shiho took a different tactic. She spoke, her voice nearly a purr. “Mm. Well, Ren looks good … Never realized he had shoulders like that.”
Ann glared at Shiho at that, a flash of possessive jealousy crossing her features. She blinked, as Shiho tried to make a sleazy looking expression. It didn’t work on her face at all , and the girls both started laughing.
Shiho, giggling, reached across the table to poke Ann’s cheek. “You’re absolutely adorable . I guess it’s true what they say about girls in love being prettier.”
Ann smiled, despite herself. “Sorry, Shiho. You just really surprised me, earlier.”
“So did you .” Shiho said. “Wearing his hoody, and him, cooking breakfast? It was like something out of a romance novel.”
“Mm. Complete with the dramatic closure with an ex…”
Ann explained, including Reiko’s parting words with her.
“...You were right.” Shiho said, shaking her head. “It’s really hard to hate that girl. I hope she finds whatever she’s looking for.”
“She will. Rei-chan’s strong.” Ann said, smiling. “I gave her some contact info for friends of mine if she decides to go for New York or Helsinki.”
“Mm.” Shiho’s eyes wandered down Ann’s neck. She blinked, and then smirked slyly at Ann. “So. He’s actually pretty possessive, isn’t he?”
“Hm? What makes you say that?”
Shiho reached over again, poking the bruise on Ann’s neck.
Ann’s eyes widened; she turned bright red as she rearranged her hair to cover the mark.
Shiho laughed at Ann, until the blonde joined her. Shiho grinned. “I never thought the champ would have that much of a jealous streak.”
“Well, not really. He…”
Ann stopped, remembering. His voice, nearly a growl the night of their first kiss.
‘I was jealous. I might have to leave more.’
“Ann?”
The blonde blushed. “Nothing. But he does, a bit. It’s not like he’d go and do something crazy out of jealousy, though.”
>>>
Yusuke turned the corner of the hallway, clutching his assault rifle like a long lost lover. The overhead lights flickered, barely functional in the dimly lit, abandoned office. He swallowed in response to the lump forming in his throat. His allies were gone. He was the last one standing. There was a quiet scrape at the edge of the room. Panicking, Yusuke emptied his magazine in the direction of the sound.
He approached the direction he had fired into, finding only a slowly spinning office chair. With a relieved sigh, he reached down to stop the chair.
Only then did he stop to think: ‘Who made the chair spin in the first place…?!’
There was a polite cough. He looked up, only to see the twin barrels of the custom M1911s in his face - and the grey eyes behind them.
From this range, it was a nearly deafening sound as the guns discharged, the slides blowing back. Yusuke’s life flashed before his eyes.
“Ow!”
Yusuke winced, feeling the airsoft pellets impact his forehead above his goggles.
“You’re supposed to give me a chance to say ‘mercy’ from that range!--”
- Blam-
“OW! Ren! - Blam - OW!”
Yusuke stumbled back, falling onto the floor.
Ren kept firing pellets into Yusuke’s body, mercifully aiming away from his face as the artist flailed.
“Ow ow ow!”
“You didn’t say ‘hit’.” Ren said, placidly. He didn’t even smile, just firing away as if it was as mundane as checking his newsfeed on his phone.
“Ow! That really hurts! Hit! Hit!”
“Sorry, I didn’t get that. ‘Mitt?” - Blam- “Lit?” - Blam- “Oh, or are you swearing? Did you say shit ? That’s rude.” -BlamBlamBlamBlamBlam-
There was, in fact, a reason for this merciless torture of the artist. And only partly related to jealousy.
>>>
A short time earlier, Ren walked into Leblanc after leaving Ann in the care of Shiho. Sojiro looked up, glaring. He started to say something, some scolding remark about how Ren had abandoned his guests, and that a single text of ‘Sorry, can’t make it. Something came up. Make yourselves at home’ was not sufficient.
But Sojiro paused. He looked at Ren; the edge of a small, discolored bruise at his collarbone, barely hidden by the polo shirt. A very wrinkled polo. And most of all, the little, self-satisfied smirk on the boy’s face.
For a moment, Sojiro saw himself, years ago.
Sojiro crossed his arms, tilting his head.
Ren raised his eyebrow, his smirk just… ... smirkening a bit more.
“...Yeah. Yeah, I can’t say I’d have made a different decision.” Sojiro said, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “Just get your ass upstairs. Your friends are waiting.”
Ren nodded, once. He paused, about to pass by the counter. Slowly, he raised his fist, not even looking at the man.
Sojiro rolled his eyes. Instead of bumping it, he threw a towel at Ren.
Ren let the towel hit him. He left his fist in the air.
Sojiro, laughing, bumped it. “You’re terrible. Go on!”
Ren, chuckling, headed upstairs. He opened the door to the attic.
Ryuji was at the card table, parts of his SPAS-12 strewn all over as he worked. That was normal. Yusuke was trying to pose Mona on the windowsill with a small sombrero on the cat’s head, holding his sketchbook. Not normal, but sort of expected.
Mishima sat at the table with Ryuji, seemingly helping the blonde boy out. Not normal and not expected.
“...Ryuji. Yusuke. ... Mishima .” Ren said, simply. He put his gym bag down.
The room became awkwardly silent. It was well-known that Ren still wasn’t completely okay with Yuuki Mishima - something that had been improving, but became worse when Mishima had roped Ren into ‘Operation Maidwatch’ as a well-intentioned but ultimately misguided attempt at bonding with Ren and Ryuji. What made it worse was when Mishima and Ryuji had effectively abandoned Ren in the apartment to deal with ‘Becky’. Ren still hadn’t had the chance to see what the fallout from that would be.
Ren moved over to the shelf where he kept his clothes.
“Er, hey, bro. Look. I’m the one that invited Mishima over. I thought it would be a good chance to bury the hatchet, finally. I mean…”
“Oh, sure.” Ren said, picking out a T-shirt and jeans. “Hey, Mishima. Welcome. Sorry about the mess. I’ll make sure to call a maid service next time I actually invite you over.”
Ryuji sighed. “Look, dude. You’re not getting all pissy with me for running away, and I was the first out the door. Why do you have such a huge problem with the guy?”
“I don’t.” Ren said. He did, obviously. But he didn’t want to spoil his good mood by dealing with this. Nor was he very pleased with the impromptu invitation. He pulled off his shirt to change. “How was your night?”
Ryuji, frowning, started to prod Ren again. He knew his friend could be stubborn with everyone but Ann. “Hey, look. Don’t change the.. where were you last night?”
Ryuji eyed Ren, focusing on the bruise on his collar.
“Out.”
“ Out ? Where?”
“Not here.” Ren said, again with that crooked little smile. He slipped his shirt on.
“... Dude . You were with a girl!” Ryuji said.
“Maybe.” Ren shrugged.
Ryuji’s eyes widened. “...Reiko?”
“Technically true.” Ren said, adjusting his glasses.
“...Wait. What about Ann?” Yusuke asked.
“Technically true as well.”
Mona yowled, batting the little sombrero off his head. “You… you were out with Ann-dono?! And Reiko?! As in, dates?!”
“Hm? Oh, no. No dates. Technically.” Ren reached to the top shelf, taking down his airsoft pistols. “Say, Ryuji. The slide on Vengeance has been catching. I think--”
Yusuke stood up. He pointed his pencil at Ren accusingly, as if it were his katana. “Ren… you came after me for treating Ann like an object. And now you’re doing just the same… ...well… just what did you do?”
“Not really any of your business.” The ravenette said in a song-song voice. He sat down at the card table with Ryuji and Mishima, taking out his pistol. He started to disassemble it in the way that Ryuji had shown him. “I think it’s just a matter of tightening this part, here, and…”
“RenRen… how did you get that hickey?” Ryuji insisted.
“Oh, that .” Ren tightened a screw in Vengeance before starting reassembly. “You see, when a guy and a girl mess around, sometimes they’ll kiss or bite the neck in a way that causes rupture of superficial capillaries in the skin. This results in temporary discolouration. While technically an injury, between lovers…”
As Ren continued to clinically describe the physiology, intentions, benefits, and drawbacks of hickeys, the other three humans (and one not-a-cat) stared at him with increasingly incredulous expressions.
“...and historically, the term was ‘necking’, though this has fallen out of favour with our generation—“
“This is intolerable! When did that happen?!” Yusuke snapped, standing.
“When I was out.” Ren replied.
“With Ann-dono or Reiko?!” Mona yowled.
“Yes.” Ren replied, sighting down his gun as he finished the maintenance.
“Well, which one?!” Ryuji asked.
“The pretty one.” Ren said, shrugging.
“So… Reiko?” Ryuji asked.
“She’s pretty. That’s true. Ann is too, though. They both are.” Ren said, carefully putting his guns back in their case.
Mishima, completely confused, stammered. “S… so both of them?”
Silence. A little smirk.
“No. Just the one I spent the night with.” Ren said.
And then, shouting.
Somehow, in all the yelling, Ren had been challenged to a five way battle royale at the airsoft center in Akibahara with varying conditions. Ren’s vague answers and clear enjoyment of his friends’ discomfort had driven them to this. By the end of the argument and the subsequent challenge, no one still had any idea who Ren had spent the evening with.
Yusuke had demanded, on victory, the right to go out with Ann to try to convince her to model for him properly.
Mona entered with condition that he would earn ‘dibs’ on Ann.
Ryuji somehow entered the contest with the condition that if he won, Ren would provide Reiko’s number to him and would promise to ‘be okay’ with him dating her.
And finally, Mishima had shown a surprising amount of daring, saying that if he won he’d have his choice of either.
For Ren’s part, he went along, providing no conditions upon victory. Instead, all he wanted was to choose the setting and to be allowed a five minute head start. The other four were so determined that they didn’t notice Ren’s expression change when they started mentioning Ann and Reiko as their potential ‘prizes’. It was anger and irritation, at first, quickly morphing into amused anticipation. Like a jungle cat hunting only vaguely because it was hungry, but mostly because it could .
The other four resolved amongst themselves - they’d take out Ren, and then sort things out after.
>>>
It was a good plan, but they should have decided on other conditions as well. Such as banning tripwires, nets, and zap ties. Ren certainly wasn’t the best shot - Ryuji was the gun otaku after all - but Ren fought dirty .
Ren holstered one gun as his phone buzzed. He took it out, smiling as he read it. He still fired with the other one, emptying the magazine into Yusuke.
AT: Miss you~
She sent a picture of a lovestruck bunny.
RA: Me too.
A lonely penguin.
AT: What are you up to?
RA: Having some fun with the boys.
Penguins playing baseball.
AT: Me and Shiho will come by around four?
The same bunny, holding a sign - ‘see you soon!’
RA: Sounds great!
Ren frowned as Vengeance clicked empty. Shrugging, he holstered it. Yusuke slowly brought his Steyr to bear with a single hand, the barrel trembling. Ren, with his other gun - the one he had named Faith based on Ann’s suggestion during some quiet pillow talk - intercepted, the barrel of the custom 1911 gently moving aside Yusuke’s weapon.
Ren aimed without looking, continuing to text. He chuckled, selecting the penguin popping out of a wrapped gift box. His finger tightened on the trigger.
“HIT! Hit… hit…” Yusuke said, almost crying.
“Oh! Hit . Right. Well, that’s game, then!” Ren said. The lights came on. Ren helped Yusuke up, all pleasant smiles again. “Come on. I could use your help getting the others.”
Ryuji had one wrist zap strapped to a desk, the other to a chair. His shotgun was stuffed uncomfortably down the back of his jacket and into the back of his pants. As the blonde stood, dozens of plastic pellets poured out of his pant legs.
Mishima had fallen victim to the tripwires, still completely tangled in monofilament line. His rented AK-47 was in his hand - sort of. The gun had been suspended by line from the ceiling, with the muzzle aimed at Mishima. Mishima’s hand supported the weight of the gun at maximal extension away from his body. It was hard to maintain this sort of isometric contraction… Each time Mishima’s strength wavered, the gun dipped in the air a bit - and another line bound around the trigger resulted in another burst of pellets nailing the boy in the chest.
Morgana hung inside of a pillowcase, dangling from the ceiling with a little elastic bounce as Ren had used his slingshot to suspend him. The cat, prone to motion sickness, promptly left the battlefield to find a place to safely throw up.
After getting everyone freed up, they gathered in the spectator gallery with cans of coffee - Ren’s treat. The four eyed the bespectacled teen, now the picture of mild mannered. Ryuji studied his best friend carefully. Ren was acting… different. He wasn’t angry, or even mildly irritated. The boy was amused .
“Did we all learn a lesson?” Ren asked, chipper.
“L..lesson?” Yusuke stammered.
Ren sipped his coffee. “Yusuke, Ryuji… you guys can’t challenge me for the ‘right’ to anyone . Last I checked, Ann and Reiko are people, too. You can go ahead and ask them yourselves, if you’re serious. If Reiko found out you did this, bro, she’d never want to speak with you again. If Ann found out, Yusuke, what I did to you would pale in comparison to what she’d do to you.”
He turned to Mishima. “And you . Really ? You thought Operation Maidwatch was a good idea, and then you threw your name in the hat for some stupid contest over two girls you barely know? Is it a fear of missing out, or are you just that blindly horny? If you thought that’d help ‘bury the hatchet’...”
Ren sighed, seeing Mishima shrink slightly. “Just… stop trying so damned hard. Give me some time. Show me who you really are, not who you think would impress me. Besides. The Phantom Thieves wouldn’t have been able to finish the last case without you. You aren’t a useless person.”
‘And I never would have gotten closure with Rei-chan if you hadn’t set up that meeting…’ Ren thought. Not that he would ever share that.
The three, covered in welts, looked sheepish.
Mona spoke up. “And me? What about me, Ren? You wanted me to learn the same thing as Yusuke and Ryuji, right?”
Ren shook his head.
“No. I just wanted you to learn that not having opposable thumbs makes it hard to win a gunfight. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? How did you think that was going to end? And yes, I suppose the same thing as Yusuke.”
Yusuke looked at Ren. “...So, that means if I asked her directly, you…”
Ren smiled pleasantly at Yusuke. “Ask any time you want. I could use the target practice.”
Yusuke shivered at Ren’s casual nonchalance.
Ren grinned at the group, with no small amount of sadistic glee. “I had a lot of fun. I think we can consider the hatchet buried. Buried shallow , though.”
Ryuji eyed Ren as they relaxed with their drinks, watching the next game on the screen. It looked like Shin facing off against other elementary school kids, strangely. “So… what exactly happened, last night? Are you dating one of them now? Where were you?”
“Out.” Ren said, pleasantly. He held up Faith and Vengeance, just happening to choose this time to inspect the guns. “Shall we leave it at that?”
“...yes.” The four responded, gloomily.
>>>
In the afternoon, the Phantom Thieves, plus Shiho and Mishima, gathered in Leblanc’s attic.It was an interesting dynamic, to say the least. The thieves spoke in vague terms regarding the previous case; Shiho and Mishima didn’t pursue details. The two of them were in the category where they clearly knew what was going on, but no one acted like they knew they knew what was going on. Not ‘officially’, anyway.
Shiho was comfortable with it, laughing and joking along as she fought with Ren and Ryuji over the choice pieces of meat for the sukiyaki pot.
Mishima looked on enviously. He wanted that familiarity. He wanted to have value . Months of being dragged down, being told by Kamoshida that he wasn’t even good enough to get beaten up had taken his toll on the boy; Ren’s words from earlier had helped, but a single moment wasn’t going to undo months of abuse. And even before that, his middle school years hadn’t exactly been kind to him.
Ren glanced at Mishima; the boy hadn’t eaten much.
“So, Mishima. That website’s gotten pretty popular.” He said, deflecting an attempt steal his beef with his chopsticks.
“Hm? Oh! Y-yeah. A lot of people have been visiting it, lately.”
“I bet the Phantom Thieves are using that intel pretty regularly.” Ren said, neutrally. “You should probably keep it up.”
“...! I… I will!” Mishima said, brightening.
“Of course, if you ever exposed them, or fed them bad information, they’d probably hunt you down.”
“ Ren .” Ann said, rolling her eyes at him.
Ren shrugged, flashing a grin.
Mishima chuckled nervously. He knew Ren was joking, but the memory of being strung up with a machine gun pointed at him, airsoft or not, was still fresh in his memory. He glanced at the time.
“Ah… Thanks for having me. I should go.”
Shiho blinked, checking as well. “Oh. Me too, actually. I have to get to my next physio appointment.”
The two left, leaving just the team.
Ryuji waited until the attic door was closed. “...Man. So, how much does Shiho actually know? Mishima, I know that he knows, we’re just not directly admitting we’re the Phantom Thieves.”
Ren looked at Ann.
Ann sighed. “I’m pretty sure she’s figured it out. I mean, aside from all of us, she’s been about as close as one can be to this whole mess? Rei-chan let it slip that Ren and I were somehow the ‘Phantom Thieves’ contacts’. Shiho isn’t stupid, though. I started trying to tell her to clear the air, but she said she didn’t want to know. That way, if she were ever questioned, she wouldn’t have to lie.”
“Ah. Plausible deniability. Willful ignorance with a lack of evidence confirming she knew. Smart, especially since she’s been questioned already…” Ren mused. “It prevents them from accusing her of perjury.”
Yusuke raised an eyebrow. “Ren… for someone who was falsely accused of a crime, you’ve certainly learned the ins and outs of being a felon.”
Ren shrugged, a crooked smile on his face. “In for a penny, in for a pound, as I’ve said to Ryuji. If they want to make me a criminal, I’m going to give them Arsene Lupin or Danny Ocean, not some cringing pickpocket.”
Ryuji shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind more people talking about us, though. It’s kinda cool to get some recognition in general.” He brightened up. “Did ya see how people freaked when those weather balloons popped?!”
Yusuke smiled, nodding. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen my artwork displayed in such an exciting manner before.”
“I’m thinking for the next one, we should go even bigger! I know a guy who sells fireworks on the down low, and…”
Ann waved her hands. “Wait. Wait . We just succeeded, here. Shouldn’t we lay low again, for a bit? We have no idea what’s going to happen at school tomorrow. Shujin’s where this all started, right? What if the police come back around to investigate again?”
“And what Madarame said about a black mask telling him to do what he did concerns me also…” Yusuke said.
Morgana murred, flicking his tail. “Ann-dono’s right. We should lay low and keep our eyes peeled for both another target and also this black mask… And explore Mementos more, I think. It’ll get me closer to finding out about where I came from…”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were a human?”
“Uh, yeah.” Morgana said. He shook off a feeling of foreboding. Something that had been bothering him since he saw Ren escape from Madarame’s pocket realm, bearing the raven-black armor on his arms. He straightened. “That’s what I mean!”
Ann smiled. “We’ll be sure to help you, Mona. ...Anyway. What did you boys get up to today? Ren texted me and said you were having fun.”
Yusuke, Ryuji, and Mona briefly looked at Ren with an expression of abject terror.
Ann raised an eyebrow, looking at Ren. He was whistling, looking up at the ceiling.
“Er… ...we uh… went to ASOBIBA. It was… fun .” Ryuji stammered, a hand unconsciously rubbing his beltline where Ren had shoved the SPAS-12.
“A-anyway.” Yusuke stood. “Ren, I wanted to give something to you and Sakura-san. Let me show you…”
>>>
A short time later, after hanging up the ‘true’ Sayuri in Leblanc, the group parted ways.
From a distance away, red eyes watched them.
Makoto had taken Ren’s advice on a few matters - now, she was sitting further away, and ‘reading’ a newspaper rather than a manga volume.
‘Hm. Yusuke Kitagawa…’ She murmured, watching the tall youth leave with Ryuji and Ann. She recognized him from the art show. Makoto had attended, following Ren and company there. ‘Madarame’s last remaining student, if I recall correctly. And probably his final victim before the confession.’
The girl had investigated the names Ren gave her, finding indeed that they had been exploited by suspicious elements in Shibuya. Her own investigation hadn’t gone much further than that, though. It had been as Ren had said - not many students were willing to speak to the student council president.
Her nose wrinkled in irritation. Ren had firmly planted himself in her head, irritating her almost instantly with every memory. Him and that cocky little smirk a contrast to his bookish glasses.
‘Sure. Primary colors suit you, by the way. Too bad it’s not in style this year. See you, Your Excellency.’
She snapped a furtive picture of Yusuke leaving Leblanc with Ann and Ryuji. ‘Wonder how you’ll talk your way out of this one, Amamiya…’
>>>
June 6, 20xx
Kawakami sighed, looking exhausted - as usual - when she addressed her homeroom at the end of the day on Monday.
“Alright, everyone. Just a couple of reminders for the week before you all disappear. Thursday and Friday is the field trip to the TV studio. And before you go today, make sure you hand in your career surveys. Try to have three choices listed for either university or jobs.”
She paused, glaring briefly at Ren. He shrugged.
“Three serious choices.”
Ren just shrugged. He had listed:
“Amamiya-kun, I’ll see you for a moment after class, please. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Ann glanced at Ren, favoring him with a little smile. “Call me when you’re done?”
“Sure.” Ren said, smiling.
Kawakami rolled her eyes as he approached the front.
“I wish you’d pay this survey as much attention as you do to Takamaki.” Kawakami started, sliding a new form across the desk to Ren. “Honestly. Just because.. ...of what you saw , that doesn’t mean you can just screw around in my class.”
“I would have filled it out the same way whether it was you or Ushimaru. Or anyone else.” Ren said, shrugging. “The entire school’s written me off, even if I top the charts on every exam that you throw at me. And you can bet I’m going to do my damned best to make sure that happens.”
“You don’t make any sense.” Kawakami muttered. “You don’t care, but you study? Why--”
“Spite, sensei. Pure spite.” Ren replied, smiling coldly. “Best gift I can give back to Shujin. A convict beats out everyone in the fancy prep school where I was meant to fail.”
Kawakami shook her head. “You aren’t meant to fail. You…”
“I was written off from day one. By you, in fact.” Ren said, pointedly. “I was standing right there , remember?”
She had no words, for that.
Ren sighed. “...Look. I’m not trying to be a jerk. ...Well. I am. A little . But look at it from where I’m sitting. I don’t have a whole lot to gain from this year. Anything I do is under the microscope. If I succeed, it’s a fluke. If I fail, it’s expected. I’m not going to get a recommendation letter. The only way I might squeak by is if my grades are flawless. But I won’t have any extracurriculars, because no club in this place is ever going to take me. So… yeah. I’m probably going to act out a little. I don’t have a whole lot going for me at Shujin.”
He nodded at the survey. “I’ll get you a properly filled out form, Kawakami-sensei. Just don’t share it with the other teachers. They’ll probably just laugh at the idea of me thinking of my future.”
Kawakami blinked, feeling a pang of sympathy for him. “...Alright. Thanks, Amamiya-kun. And it’ll be between us, then. ...About the other night…?”
Ren sat down to fill out a new survey. “You never had anything to worry about. We’re all forced to do things to get by, aren’t we?”
“...Thanks.” Kawakami said. “I’ll be at the faculty office.”
The teacher left, considering the situation of Ren Amamiya. He certainly wasn’t as advertised. And he was right - she, like every other teacher at the school, had written him off from the start. From her perspective, at least all she had done was be uninterested in him. That was all she had the energy for, anyhow. Other teachers were worse: At the first faculty meeting, some of them, led by Ushimaru and Kamoshida, had even resolved to ‘put Amamiya in his place’, as if it was somehow his fault for being assigned to Shujin as part of his probation. And even that was odd - Shujin wasn’t supposed to be a school for project children.
She shook her head, thinking. And somehow, Ren had risen above it all. His assignments and homework were always on time, with excellent grades. His exam score spoke for itself. And aside from knocking Kamoshida out, he had largely flown under the radar.
And now, he was completely uninterested in blackmailing her, even if he had no reason to hold back.
‘...He really could use an ally, here, couldn’t he…?’ She thought. ‘But the last time I got involved in a student’s life…’
She nearly ran headlong into Chouno-sensei.
Chouno put a hand out, stopping Kawakami from entering the faculty office. She scrutinized the younger teacher with eyes heavy with eyeliner and mascara.
“Chouno-sensei. Can I help you?” Kawakami asked, already feeling mounting irritation. Chouno had been on her case ever since she started at Shujin. Kawakami had committed the cardinal sin of being younger and prettier than her - sleep deprivation or not.
“I was more wondering if I could help you .” She said, her red lips curling into a sneer. “You’re always looking so tired, and running out of here as quick as you can after school. I can’t remember the last faculty meeting you’ve made it to…”
The woman crossed her arms, looking down her nose at Kawakami.
“We all need to be careful about getting caught up in more scandal here. Didn’t you watch the news? I imagine a young thing like you could be doing all sorts of things with your spare time.”
Kawakami quietly grit her teeth. ‘Don’t talk to me about scandal, you used up hag. Wasn’t it only last year you were seen with that recently graduated boy…’
“...so if you don’t want me looking more into what you’re up to, then—“
“Sorry to interrupt, Chouno-sensei, Kawakami-sensei.”
Kawakami looked up, seeing Ren. His normally crooked smile replaced with something charming, bright.
“I wanted to hand this survey back to you before you left, sensei. Thank you for spending so much time getting me up to speed.”
Kawakami blinked, hesitating. ‘...! Oh!’
“Of course. It’s no problem! You are our top second year, after all.” She smiled.
Chouno looked skeptically at the two. “If he’s the top, then why does he need the extra help?”
Ren looked at Kawakami, nodding his head at her as if to say, ‘say anything!’
“I… uh… I was helping Amamiya-kun work on an application to start up a new club. A boxing club. Because he doesn’t have any extracurriculars!” Kawakami said, nodding.
Ren’s smile faltered, just slightly. “Yes. Of course .”
Chouno frowned, but nodded. “Ah. Right. You are that… handsome young lad who knocked down Kamoshida, after all. Carry on, then. I look forward to seeing the new club in action.”
She left.
Kawakami looked at Ren, who had taken his glasses off and was rubbing his face in clear irritation.
“Seriously, sensei?”
“It was all I could think of! Especially after what you said…”
Ren shook his head. “Whatever. Fine. Let’s hope she doesn’t actually follow up on it. I’m not going to start any club.”
“Don’t you like boxing?”
“I do. But the last thing I need is to be the convict boxer of Shujin, starting my very own gang of boxing delinquents.” He turned, walking away. “You’re welcome, by the way. Don’t try to pay me back any more than you have.”
The bitter words struck Kawakami. She caught up to Ren. “Hey. Hold on… I’m sorry.”
“Like I said, don’t worry. Just don’t expect me to actually start a club—“
“No. I’m sorry . About before, when we first met.”
Ren turned. “...oh. Well. Don’t worry about that, either. Things have worked themselves out.”
“Well, if they ever don’t. Here’s my work number. This way, there won’t be any record that you’ve called me.” She said, handing him a piece of paper. “If you ever need anything.”
Ren started at Kawakami. “If I ever need anything ?” He raised an eyebrow.
The teacher blushed. “Not that kind of anything! Anything that a teacher could help you with.”
>>>
June 8th, 20xx
Makoto sat in the student council room after school. Once again, her subordinates had left early, leaving her to finish the work off. This time, she welcomed the solitude. It allowed her to look into her other work, the task assigned by Kobayakawa.
She had her laptop in front of her, with a USB drive loaded with the records on every student enrolled in the past year - both current and those who had transferred out. She had met Kobayakawa earlier. This time, the man was clearly growing more desperate for answers, for some reason. He had provided her information that she shouldn’t have had any access to.
For the third time today, she poured over the files of Ren Amamiya, Ryuji Sakamoto, Ann Takamaki, and Shiho Suzui - finding nothing suspicious in their past files, or in their grades. Ryuji was barely passing and had on his file the noted assault on Kamoshida - although this had finally been changed to acknowledge that Ryuji had been the victim. Ann and Shiho’s files were clean.
She sighed. She clicked on a separate subdirectory entitled ‘canceled transfers’, out of sheer desperation and boredom.
The girl blinked in surprise. There were files named as ‘Suzui’ and ‘Takamaki’, as well as files for ‘Sakamoto’, ‘Amamiya’, and ‘Mishima’.
“This is…” Makoto murmured. She read the files for the boys, first. These were the canceled expulsions. All signed off by Kamoshida, but with the school board’s stamp missing. That made sense. But for the girls…
“...Transfer request, for… ...But this is post-dated, and signed off by Kobayakawa, too. And not signed by either students’ family.”
On a hunch, she opened the files of other students - ones who had been on the volleyball team. Specifically, girls. Several of them had been transferred out as well. Most of them to different schools, some she recognized. And for some of the players she recognized, the transfer dates seemed to always fall a little after they had been cut from the volleyball team, or at least demoted from the starting line up.
“...Oh my God…” Makoto murmured. “This… this can’t be.”
She frowned, recognizing some of the schools. One name came up three times, though, for a school she had never heard of.
“Takabe Academy…? That doesn’t sound familiar.”
She jotted down the address.
>>>
June 9, 20xx
By the time the school trip to the TV studio came around, the relationship between Ann and Ren was essentially the Phantom Thieves’ worst kept secret. The only thing keeping it a ‘secret’ was the memory of what Ren had done to them at ASOBIBA the last time they had pried. The two snuck off at every opportunity at school to spend time together; even when they were in the public eye, they were just a little closer, a little happier.
But today at the studio, Ren’s mind was wandering despite the presence of the blonde girl walking beside him, as close as she could be without taking hold of his arm.
“...Ren? Ren.” Ann said, now touching his forearm.
Ren blinked. “Hm? Ah, sorry. I was just thinking about that notice that the school posted. The one asking anyone with information about Kamoshida or other ‘incidents’ to report to Niijima.”
Ryuji, on Ren’s other side, frowned. “Yeah. That’s kinda messed up. Makes you wonder if they’re trying to cover up everything that happened, especially with Madarame. People are seeing the connection between the calling cards… We’re gettin’ famous!”
Mona hissed. “Ryuji! Careful!”
“You be careful. You’re supposed to be out of sight, man!”
“It sounds like they’re getting desperate for information. Putting out a notice like that is overplaying their hand. I suppose I should expect Her Excellency to make another appearance in my life.”
Ann raised an eyebrow. “ Another appearance?”
“She’s been following me.” Ren said. “She tries to be sneaky about it… It’s pretty funny. Heh. The last time, I got her with a tripwire and some paint cans…”
Ryuji snickered. “Nice.”
“Anyway…” Ann said, casually bumping her shoulder against Ren’s. “You should focus on the tour. Kawakami’s going to get mad. She’s looking at you.”
“...Yeah. That’s why she’s looking.” Ren said.
Ann stared at Ren. “...You’re hiding something.”
“What makes you say that?”
Ann reached, poking his nose. “You have tells. Your nose wrinkles a bit.”
“That’s because you keep poking it.”
“That’s because it’s cute.”
“My nose, or you poking it?”
“Yes.”
Ryuji rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He didn’t want to have his shotgun stuffed down his pants again.
The four of them passed the day in varying degrees of boredom, completing the tour of the studio. The next day seemed more promising, with some audience participation. But the best part of the school field trip, it seemed, was the shorter day coupled with being dismissed directly from the studio.
Ann looked down at her phone. “Ah! Shiho’s group is done, too! We should go do something fun, guys!”
Mona poked his head out of Ren’s bag. “I vote pancakes! There was a sign for all-day pancakes on the way here!”
Ryuji looked thoughtful. “Hm… That would be Stella’s. Hey, you know, that’s close to Dome City, an amusement park. You guys wanna go?”
“Haven’t been to one in years.” Ren mused. “So, why not?”
“Oh, wow. You only live an hour out of the city, but you’re really a country boy, aren’t you?” Ann said, affectionately.
“Yeah. Unsophisticated and rough .” Ren replied, casually. He met Ann’s eyes directly.
Ann blinked, averting her eyes as her face grew a little hot. Thus, she was the first to see Goro Akechi round the corner, with his shaggy hair, blazer, and strangely, gloves - in this weather. And to top it off, a briefcase with monogrammed ‘A’.
“...Yeesh. Douche alert.” Ryuji mumbled.
“Ah. Hello there. You must be those Shujin students touring the studio? I hope you’re having a good time. They always treat me well, here.” He put on a charming smile.
Ryuji eyed Akechi askance. “We’re doing alright, random stranger…”
“Oh? Right, where are my manners. My name is Goro Akechi. I work with the police from time to time when they need my help with cases. Provided I can get time off from school, of course.”
“...Right. You’re the one who questioned Shiho.” Ann said.
Akechi turned to her - again, that charming, manicured smile. “Oh? You must be Takamaki-san. I hardly questioned Suzui-san, though. I was merely at the station at the same time that she delivered her statement to the prosecutor. It was terribly late, and I didn’t think it was right to just leave her there.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Ann said. There was a time when Ann might have been taken in by that smile. A time before Shujin and Kamoshida, where she learned what kind of depravity the friendly smile of a stranger could conceal. Now, she just crossed her arms, waiting.
Ren kept his hands in his pockets, remaining silent. Akechi turned to him.
“And you are…?”
“Ren Amamiya.”
“Oh! The one who talked Suzui-san down off the roof. That’s quite the accomplishment. And that means you must be Ryuji Sakamoto.”
Ryuji gave a stiff nod.
Even Akechi’s trained smile started to falter under three pairs of suspicious eyes. “Er… ...so, please enjoy your time here. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow in the audience? They’re going to be interviewing me on television.”
Another silence; Akechi’s statement hung in the air as if he expected the team to be impressed.
“...Maybe. Let’s go find Shiho, guys.” Ren said, turning.
“Ah… goodbye, then. Enjoy your cake!”
“Excuse me?” Ren said, raising an eyebrow.
“..Oh. I could have sworn someone said something about pancakes? Ah, no matter. I should be going. See you all tomorrow, I hope.”
The four Phantom Thieves watched him go.
Ryuji shook his head. “Just had to get the last word in. I hate that type…”
Ann shrugged. “If it weren’t for him questioning Shiho, I could maybe see the appeal? If you like the boyscout kinda thing…”
Ren watched Akechi disappear around the corner. He shook his head. “He rubs me the wrong way. We should go, anyway.”
Mona, in Ren’s bag, frowned. ‘I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who mentioned cake…’
>>>
“Ah, man. I don’t think I have any appetite for cake of any kind after that…” Ryuji groaned. Ryuji and Ann had just taken a tour on some of the thrill rides around Dome Town; Ren and Shiho had remained behind to keep Mona company.
Mona chuckled. “Toooold you.”
“Oh, shut it.” Ryuji grumbled.
Ann seemed no worse for wear. She beamed at Ren and Shiho; she gave a particularly longer look at Shiho. “Should we go for that cake, now?”
“Actually, I’m pretty tired. I think I’m going to head home. Why don’t Ryuji and I get Mona home for you, Ren? You and Ann can hang out some more.”
Mona blinked. “Hm? Wha? But we have a big day tomorrow. We should all get to bed, don’t you think-- Wait, Ren! Ryuji’s taking the bag! Help--mmph!”
Ryuji waved, stuffing Mona into the bag as he walked off with Shiho.
“There go the two best wingmen in Tokyo.” Ren said, chuckling.
Ann linked her arm through Ren’s. “I’d say so. So, Ryuji knows?”
“I didn’t tell him directly, but I think he gets the picture. He was the first person I told, you know. That I had a crush on you.” Ren said.
Ann clung just a little harder to Ren’s elbow, smiling up at him warmly. “Really?”
“Mmhm.” Ren started walking. “Over a bowl of ramen. I told him about how my unrequited love would have to go unanswered, that me being associated with you wasn’t good for your career. I had this whole idea how I’d pine away alone, and be satisfied with admiring you from a distance.”
“What changed?”
“Have you seen you?” Ren asked, wryly. “Good sense didn’t stand a chance.”
Ann giggled, squeezing his arm in a hug. “I’m glad. Honestly, though… You wouldn’t have been unrequited for long. Not if I had anything to do with it.”
“Well, you did kiss me first…” Ren said, smirking.
“Don’t get such a big head, Wildcard. You might have gotten me to fall for you, but you haven’t even taken me out on a date yet.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Ren stopped, in front of the park’s ferris wheel. A cab was already waiting; the door wide open. “I was busy, while you and Ryuji were on thrill rides.”
Ren led Ann into the cab; there was a covered basket in the cab, with a light meal inside. Shaking her head with a smile, Ann sat down, snuggling up against him.
“You… you’re almost too smooth, sometimes.”
Ren shook his head. “Reiko said the same thing, once. Does it worry you?”
“Not really. I know where your heart is.” Ann said. “...Though, we’re doing this all out of order. Kiss, drama, the other night… and now the first date. We haven’t even said ‘I love you’, yet.”
“Well, you did.” Ren said, raising an eyebrow.
“What? No, I did..n’t…”
‘There, right there! Oh my God, I love you, Ren!’
Ren grinned.
Ann turned bright red. “..Th… ...that doesn’t count!”
“Then it was just me who’s said it, then.” Ren said, shrugging, looking out at the night and the lights of the city.
“You’ve never said it, though.” Ann protested.
“I did, actually. Remember when we were studying for exams? When we wanted to take a break and went to Inokashira Park? Then you joked about ‘training our hearts’?” Ren asked.
“...You said ‘I love you’ just to rattle me, didn’t you?” Ann asked, confused. “Don’t tell me you meant…”
“I meant every word, Ann.” Ren said, as the cab came to a stop at the apex. “I think it started from that first encounter in the rain. I couldn’t - I can’t - get you out of my head.”
She smiled at him, turning to him as they closed their eyes, doing one thing that couples do…
Ann’s cellphone rang just as she started to deepen the kiss.
“Ah… sorry.” Ann glanced at the caller ID. “Oh! It’s the agency. Hang on… ...Hello? This is Takamaki. Oh? Right now?... I’ll head on over!”
She hung up; Ren looked at Ann curiously. She smiled apologetically. “There’s an emergency at a shoot nearby; one of the girls didn’t show. Want to come see me at work?”
“Hm? Oh. Sure…”
“...are you pretending to look disappointed? So I’ll feel compelled to make it up to you?”
“Is it working?”
“A little…” Ann stroked Ren’s cheek. “Lucky you, we have a bit of time before the cab gets to the ground, don’t we?”
She kissed him, her blue eyes bright in the dim cab.
“I love you, you know?”
>>>
‘I don’t care that you think it’s below you, Ohya. Get your ass down to Suidobashi! You’re covering entertainment and lifestyle now. Mika has a shoot down there, so move it!’
Ichiko Ohya grumbled, thinking of her editor’s words to her as she had started to protest her latest assignment. She didn’t know why she bothered. She wanted to cover the Phantom Thieves story, but she had known there was no way her editor would agree. Not after making the mistake of letting her start to look into that scandal around Shido’s party. The only way he’d agree would be if she had something concrete. But she couldn’t get something concrete unless he allowed her to look. It was a catch-22.
She muttered, standing near the shoot in Dome City. She watched as Mika and some blonde girl posed for the cameras, smiling. They did look good, though - especially the blonde. Ichiko smirked from a small feeling of schadenfreude, watching as Mika seemed to get increasingly vexed. The blonde girl was starting to steal the show.
‘Tough to be run out of your profession, isn’t it girl? I know the feeling…’
As the shoot ended, Ichiko prepared to step forward to ask the new girl some questions. She paused, though, as the blonde was joined by a dark haired boy. Tall, lanky, but broad-shouldered. Athletic. Good-looking. And, more importantly, familiar.
She blinked, recognizing the Shujin uniform. ‘...Isn’t that where the first calling card was delivered? But more than that, he’s…’
She frowned, remembering an article that her friend at Monthly Boxing Fan had written a few months ago. About some scandal in Kamakura, involving the prefecture’s high school champion.
‘...That’s right. That’s Amamiya. And he’s familiar with that model…? Very familiar, it looks like. And from Shujin. I… I could use this…! But should I?…’’
>>>
June 10, 20xx
“Well, I’d be interested to hear some more detailed opinions on the Phantom Thieves.” Akechi said, smiling again for the camera.
Ren tried hard not to roll his eyes. ‘And now for the thinly veiled audience participation, so you can tell us what you think without looking too preachy, and seeming like you care what we say…’
“Let’s ask this student, here.”
Ren frowned. ‘Figures.’
Mona hissed quietly. “Stand up! You have to act like a normal student would.”
Ren stood, sighing.
“What are your thoughts on the Phantom Thieves, if they’re real?”
“It doesn’t have much of an effect on my life.” Ren said, shrugging. “I don’t have time to speculate about things like that.”
‘Just like that. Keep my mouth shut, let the dipshit go on and keep himself happy with the sound of his own voice.’
He started to sit.
“Ah, but what if your friend sitting right beside you had a sudden change in his personality? Wouldn’t you worry now that someone was responsible for it? And that’s the point I was really getting at.” Akechi said. “Their actions so far seem to have been for the public good. But their very existence is a threat. They should have left these things to the police. In due time , the police and I would have--”
Ren paused. ‘...Fuck it.’
“In due time ?” He interrupted. Kawakami shot him an alarmed look. “What do you mean by that?”
“Hm? Oh, well, if the victims had just reported the crimes of Kamoshida and Madarame, we would have--”
“...Are you an idiot ?” Ren shot back. “You’re telling me that you think it’s as simple as that? People did try to report. Both Kamoshida and Madarame were men in positions of power. They had every capability of silencing their victims, and they used that ability liberally .”
“Yes, but if I had been on the case, I would have listened. I would have…” Akechi started, holding his hands up placatingly.
“Hindsight’s really easy, isn’t it? ‘If I was there’. Please.” Ren sneered. “Tell that to the victims. I’m sure it makes them feel so much better. What you’ve basically said is that all of us should have just sat there and waited for someone from the police to notice what Kamoshida was doing and in the meantime, just taken his abuses like good little children. We’re lucky that the Phantom Thieves noticed. They do a damn sight more than the cops.”
Silence.
Akechi smiled.
In that moment, Ren paled; he sat down, silent.
The rest of the interview passed. Afterward, several of Ren’s male classmates congratulated the boxer, laughing. Several of his female classmates gave him baleful, angry looks. Some of them, the girls considered ‘rougher’ or ‘wild’ gave him considering little smiles.
Ann shot glares at both variety of girls, standing just a little closer to Ren.
“Ren? Are you okay? You just clammed up mid-rant.”
Ren shook his head. “Just a bad feeling. Let’s just get out of here.”
‘I was being baited. Just like before my hearing, in Kamakura…’
“Ah, sure.” Ann paused, feeling her pocket. “Oh! Left my phone on my seat. Hang on…”
“And I gotta pee.” Ryuji said. Mona rolled his eyes, and then vanished as Akechi approached.
“Ah, Ren-kun! I’m glad I was able to catch you.” He said, smiling as he offered his hand.
Again, Ren felt an automatic aversion. As he let Akechi’s offered hand hang, he observed that part of his discomfort was that the smile was a mask - it often was, but in Akechi’s case, more manufactured and trained than most. And fresh on his mind was the look Akechi had after Ren’s response. He had provoked him intentionally.
“Akechi.” Ren said, both the use of his surname and lack of honorific serving to set the boundary.
Akechi continued, unfazed. “I must say, it was rather refreshing to meet someone my age who can carry on an interesting discussion. My role as the ‘Detective Prince’ means that people usually don’t want to speak their minds in front of me. I think lively discussion is invaluable. As Hegel said, there cannot be thesis without antithesis.”
“Uh huh.” Ren said.
“I’d love the opportunity to speak further with you.”
“Pass.” Ren said, turning as he saw Ann approaching.
“Er… well, I noticed that you work at Leblanc? I saw you there the other day as I passed by. Perhaps I could come in during one of your shifts and we could chat then?”
“Do whatever you want. Some customers are chattier than others. And it’s Fichte, by the way.”
Akechi blinked, his head tilting. “Excuse me?”
“Hegel never once said the terms ‘thesis’ or ‘antithesis’. He used the terms concrete, abstract, and absolute. The concept of the thesis-antithesis dyad was Johann Fichte. And it was actually thesis-antithesis-synthesis, where the two conflicting ideas are reconciled to form a new proposition.”
“Oh. ...Uh, well…” Akechi mumbled, for once at a loss.
“Though I suppose thesis-antithesis will do. I don’t see us doing much synthesizing.” Ren waved a hand. “If you’re going to name drop to look smart, drop the right name. See you. Or not.”
>>>
June 11, 20xx
“Man, fuck that guy.” Ryuji muttered, kicking the vending machine. “I’m glad you put him in his place, though.”
“I’m not.” Ren said, shaking his head. They were hanging out at the vending machines in the courtyard, waiting for Ann and Shiho to join them for lunch. “He baited me, Ryuji. He wanted to provoke a response from me, and he got it. I don’t know how much he suspects.”
Mona meowed. “Mm. It would be really bad if they were watching us. It would completely limit our movements.”
“Yeah. It just sucks . I mean, it’s not like we had any choice when we started this Phantom Thief thing! We’re just helping people--Ow!”
Ann walked up, casually chopping the back of Ryuji’s head with a knife-hand strike as she passed by, sitting beside Ren on the bench. “You’re way too loud.”
Shiho followed a second or two later. “She’s right. I could hear you shouting from around the corner, Ryuji.”
“Doesn’t make it not true! I mean… whatever it was that I was saying…” Ryuji mumbled.
Ren yawned, reaching over to steal Pocky from Ann. She half-heartedly slapped his wrist.
“...It makes me wonder, though. Should we continue with this? I mean, after Akechi, and all the bad press…”
- Click-
The group looked up at Makoto. She stood there, with her phone.
“You guys always look like you’re having so much fun. Makes me jealous.” The student council president said, looking strangely smug.
“You’re welcome to join the delinquency any time, Your Excellency. After school, we’re going to walk around wearing surgical masks and holding baseball bats.” Ren paused, adding in a conspiratorial whisper. “And then we’re going to go to a furniture store and try out all the chairs and sofas without buying anything.”
“What are you doing walking around snapping photos of people, anyway?” Shiho said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s creepy, even for you .”
“I’m not creepy.”
“So what do you call taking pictures of students trying to eat lunch?” Ann asked.
Makoto put her phone away. “I wouldn’t have to be so vigilant if people would come forward with information about Kamoshida. And now with another calling card incident…”
“It’s a real shame you weren’t more vigilant when Kamoshida was actually still here. You’re the student council, aren’t you? You’re telling me you had no idea what Kamoshida was doing?” Ann said, angrily. “You could have helped people.”
“...You’re Suzui-san’s best friend, are you not? What did you do to help?”
Ann’s eyes widened. “I... I couldn’t…”
Shiho walked over to Ann, standing between her and Makoto. “ Real classy. What kind of student council president are you?”
“I had no idea about Kamoshida!” Makoto snapped. “As far as the student council was concerned, he was a good teacher, right up until the day--”
Shiho’s slap was sudden. It wasn’t hard, but certainly enough to sting. Makoto rubbed her face, looking shocked.
“I shouldn’t have to explain to you why I did that.” Shiho said, firmly. “Feel free to tattle if you want. Just make sure you tell whichever teacher you cry to what you did to deserve it. Come on, guys.”
Shiho left, followed by Ann and Ryuji.
Ren stood, stretching. He paused, standing beside Makoto. “Wow. You go from suggesting that Ann deserved to be targeted to implying that Kamoshida was a good teacher when he was trying to rape Shiho. Are you trying to make enemies, or have you really just never spoken with anyone your age before?”
Makoto turned, nearly hissing. The second comment stung.
“Oh. Sensitive subject.” Ren said. “Guess I struck a nerve.”
He glanced at her clenched fists.
“Like I said, Your Excellency. Anytime, anywhere.”
He followed his friends.
>>>
June 13, 20xx
“That’s all you have? I told you to look into the Phantom Thieves, and you’re researching students who have already transferred out of Shujin Academy?!” Kobayakawa shouted.
‘...He looks afraid.’ Makoto noted, frowning. “Not just any students, Principal Kobayakawa. Students who were transferred to Takabe Academy, which doesn’t exist . I went there. It’s just an empty lot! And on top of that, our own students are being targeted by criminal elements in Shibuya. After you posted that notice, people approached me asking for help. I want to--”
“Enough! Do you have anything on the Phantom Thieves?”
She almost said yes, on reflex, fingering her phone in her pocket.
“...No. Not yet.” She said.
“Then get out of my office!” Kobayakawa said. “And don’t come back until you have something!”
Biting her lip, Makoto stood, leaving.
‘I have to make a move…’
|
“E-Excuse me, a-a-are you real ?” He blurted out.
Dwalin frowned and stepped inside, staring at him with dark eyes, studying him like he was the oddest thing he had ever seen.
Then he took off his coat and brusquely gave it to him, accidentally punching him in the process. Or maybe it was not an accident. How could Bilbo know ?
“Well of course I’m real ! Now where’s it, laddie ?” He gruffed as he made his way further into the smial.
The pain of the punch was far too real for it all to not be just that.
Oh no.
Absently, he replied to the dwarf. “The what ?”
Oh no oh no oh no.
“The food ! He said there’d be food, and lots of it !”
Father was going to be so mad, so furious with him…
“He-he said ?”
Bilbo would not be able to sleep on his back for weeks, no, months !
He saw himself follow the dwarf into the kitchen. Dwalin had found his untouched plate and had dug into it eagerly.
At this moment, Bilbo could have told the dwarf to leave.
Dwalin grabbed the fish and bit off half of it, producing a crunching sound that made the hobbit feel sick.
He could have done so indeed, had he not been so scared.
This dwarf looked like he could crush Bilbo’s skull one-handed.
There was a knock on the door again.
Oh no.
“That’d be the door.”
Behind it stood a dwarf with white hair and beard, who was way smaller than the first one, but still taller than Bilbo. He wore a gentle, wise expression.
“Balin, at your service.” He greeted, and Bilbo forced himself to return the gesture.
He felt so small. He wanted to run and hide in his bedroom until it was all over. But he could not do that, could he ?
The dwarf in front of him must have said something, because he was looking at him expectantly. He panicked and tried to replay whatever Balin had said.
“Brother !”
Bilbo flinched, startled by the sudden call from the kitchen. Before he had time to register it, Balin had left for the kitchen and was bumping foreheads rather violently with his brother.
The hobbit did not believe himself able to invent such weird looking characters. If he was hallucinating, he would logically be seeing elves, as they were his favorites.
And Dwalin was most certainly not an elf. Neither was… What had been his name ? Dalin ? Balin ?
So… So this was real.
“Okay.” He said out loud, eyes wide, breath short. “Okay.”
He watched as the two dwarves left the kitchen as they conversed, and followed them to the pantry as they started going through his food, smelling it, putting their hands all over it, taking it.
His father would be so mad. Bilbo felt his back ache with ghost pains, and grimaced. He needed to stop these two strangers, no matter how scary they looked.
“Excuse me…?” He called, but his voice was too small, and they did not even glance at him.
He coughed, trying to get their attention. It worked, surprisingly. They stopped their conversation and stared at him, silently demanding him to speak.
“Sorry, but-”
“Apologies accepted.” Cut Balin, and they went back to the food.
Bilbo’s heart dropped in his chest again, this time in a slower, more powerless manner. What could he do now ? This was out of control, he could not make them leave, he was certainly not about to raise his voice, who knew what kind of death awaited him if he did that.
The best was probably to simply endure all of this until it was over, then pretend it was just another nightmare, and blame the pipe-weed.
Someone knocked on the door again, forcing Bilbo to come open it. Behind it, there were not one but two dwarves this time. These ones looked rather young and their eyes had a malicious sparkle inside of them. Surprisingly enough, one of them was blond, which was rare amongst dwarves, and the other did not even have a beard, which was even rarer.
“Fili” Said the one who had blond hair.
“And Kili” Continued the beardless one.
“At your service !” They finished in chorus before bowing, their smiles showing how proud they were of themselves for having such perfect synchronisation.
They went through the door, grinning as they tracked mud everywhere.
The panic-induced adrenaline made Bilbo feel lightheaded. He felt like the next person to come into the smial would be his father, stick in hand and face twisted by fury.
He saw himself extend his arms at something the blond one must have said. Or maybe it was the other one who said something. Either way, he was soon unable to see through the heavy pile of weapons that had been placed into his arms. He stumbled to the nearest cabinet and put the weapons there, as cautiously as he could.
“Woah, careful there, lad !” Called one of the two, making Bilbo jump and almost dropped the remaining daggers in his hands.
“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. He couldn’t help but feel his shoulders tense up. Was he going to be hit for his mistake ?
A large hand hit him right in the middle of his back, making him freeze. Yes, yes he was.
“It’s okay, mister Boggins ! We’re just teasing, they won’t break so easily !”
By the time Bilbo was able to breathe again, the two dwarves had left his side and were greeting the others. The hobbit licked the lip he had been biting, and tasted blood.
Stupid. Stupid hobbit.
What was he going to do now ? There were dwarves in his home, spreading chaos everywhere, eating his food, tracking mud on the floor, but, most importantly, those dwarves were getting in the way of his perfectly planned suicide !Bilbo licked his bloody lip and sighed. Okay, not perfectly planned. He still had to choose how he wanted to draw his final breath.
Speaking of plans, he needed one to drive those… Quite unexpected guests out of his home. But not tonight, no, not tonight, because that would make Bilbo a bad host, and he refused to let his father down like that. (He refused to risk his father coming back from the dead to hit him until he was bloody and motionless.) Not one Baggins had been called such a tremendously horrible thing before, so there was no way Bilbo would let it happen now.
Maybe if Bilbo just gave them everything they asked for, they would leave, hopefully without harming anything or anyone. He caressed the upper limb of the bow he was holding, admiring the craftsmanship. How many people had this weapon killed ?
“Mister Boggins ? What are you doing staring at my bow like that ? Do you li-”
Bilbo startled and struggled not to drop the bow.
The dwarf that had pulled him from his thoughts was interrupted as there was, yet again, a knock on the door.
The hobbit walked to the door and put his hand on the knob, once again completely disconnected from the situation. That is how, when he found himself in front of a massive group of dwarves threatening to fall on him, he did not use the half second he had to react to flee, but instead, wasted it staring, and thinking ‘oh. Well, this is going to hurt’.
Now underneath a big pile of dwarves and hurting everywhere, Bilbo felt the urge to grin, because, really, what an odd but entertaining evening ! Terrifying and painful, yes, but what wasn’t, these days ? ‘What a mad thing to think’, he scolded himself as he fought the smile by focusing on the pain.
A second later, though, hands touched him, grabbing his body, and pulled him up.
“’m so sorry laddie, I didn’t mean t’harm you, I swear !”
Instead of smiling and thanking the dwarf that had helped him and was now checking that he was okay, Bilbo focused his eyes on his feet. His lips, still bloody from earlier and no longer tugging at the small wound to form a smile, trembled.
‘Let go of me’ he wanted to demand as he felt big, rough hands touching his back and his sides.
‘Don’t hurt me’ he wanted to beg as the hands eventually gripped his shoulders, and stayed there.
“Nothing to apologize for, master dwarf.” He heard himself breathe out.
“Everything okay, Bilbo ?”
That was the wizard’s voice. It made Bilbo lift his head and look around, but before he could find Gandalf, his eyes found the brown ones of the dwarf who was still holding his shoulders. The indecipherable expression he found there made him forget to breathe for a couple of seconds. The dwarf seemed to be searching for something on his face, he looked somehow intrigued, and confused.
It made Bilbo’s heart beat painfully in a couple of too fast, scared beats, which had the advantage of giving him the strength to step away from the dwarf, who let him go easily.
“Yes, Gandalf.” To prove his point, Bilbo lifted his head to finally meet the man’s gaze, and forced a smile.
He then looked around and noticed that all the dwarves were either greeting each others or staring at him.
“So that’s what ye call a hobbit, Gandalf ? He looks small. Is he even of age ?”
“He seems fragile. And too thin ! Look at him Gloin ! Dwalin’s axe is probably heavier than this poor little thing !”
“I don’t see any weapons or pieces of armor in this house, is he even able to fight ?”
Bilbo’s eyes found his feet again. These words confused him, but what he felt most strongly was the need to apologize.
Gandalf chose this moment to suggest in a disapproving voice : “How about we all head to the nice dinner our host has cooked for us, instead of being such poor guests ?”
Some of the dwarves grumbled apologies, while the rest murmured about letting the hobbit come or not.
Bilbo, confused, and not sure yet if he had decided to care or not, wondered what diner was Gandalf talking about, exactly, since he hadn’t cooked anything yet, and why they were even considering him to be potentially useful. They must really not know who he is, then.
Maybe he should tell them, out of honesty.
But something deep inside of him tugged. It wanted to see. It wanted to test what would happen if he was taken in the company’s ranks. Were adventures similar to what they were written out to be in Bilbo’s books ? Or were they as toxic and dangerous as Bungo had told him ?
Bilbo was already a freak and a total disappointment. He had nothing left to lose, not even his sanity.
That made him want to laugh.
“-ilbo ? Are you okay my dear ?”
Bilbo turned his head to Gandalf, who was watching him from the doorway to the dining room. Behind him, the dwarves were buzzing around, amassing food and ale on the table and loudly talking to each other. They seemed happy. Laugher suddenly erupted around the table. It was painful to watch, somehow.
“Yes, Gandalf, I’m fine.”
“Hm.” Still, the soul piercing eyes did not wander off him.
Despite how slow Bilbo’s brain usually was, he could sense that the wizard intended to dig until he discovered all of Bilbo’s secrets. So, in a desperate attempt to escape from the fire, he jumped into the frying pan.
“I am going to go care for my unexpected guests now, if you don’t mind.” He stated, appearing braver than he felt. He rode the wave of courage that gave him, and darted to the kitchen.
There, he busied himself by starting to cook something, under the curious eyes of a big red headed dwarf.
“What are you making, mister hobbit ?”
Bilbo took a moment to stop and stare at the wet slice of bread starting to toast in the pan.
“French toast.” he mumbled, hoping he would not have to repeat himself.
“Sounds delicious ! may I try some ?”
“When it is done, yes.”
“Could you tell me the recipe ?”
This was such a strange conversation to have. The dwarf was being strangely polite, and asking about something as mundane as a recipe. His Ma hadn’t told him that sort of things about dwarves.
What Bilbo knew about dwarves, was that they were awful at table manners, and manners in general really, and they had a stupid love for gold and gemstones.
He felt a wave of calm take over him after he reminded himself of that.
All this chaos since the arrival of the first dwarf was normal, for dwarves. The only truly strange thing what that dwarves would actually find their way there in search of a hobbit willing to go on an adventure.
His father would hit him until he was bloody and motionless if he witnessed even a small amount of what was happening in his home, but Bilbo barely cared in this moment. All he cared about was that for once, he was not bored.
Something was actually happening his his life. Something new. Something to discover and explore.
After Bilbo told the redhead the recipe and gave him the french toasts, the dwarf went back to the dining room, instantly cheered by the company as he passed the door.
Bilbo stood alone in the kitchen, wondering whether he should follow, but laugher erupted once more at the table and he decided against it.
He sat at the kitchen table, opening the nearest recipe book and reading it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He tried to block out the cacophony coming from the next room and imagine himself alone in his smial, but did not succeed, so he went to his living room. Still, the noise was there, as loud as before. Bilbo sighed and focused on the soup recipe. He would simply have to deal with it then.
He was reading his seventh recipe when one of the youngest looking dwarves, the one that wasn’t one of the two brothers, approached him sheepishly. Bilbo lifted his head, hoping the dwarves were not angry at him for being such a poor host. He thought he was doing the right thing by giving them space and privacy instead of sitting awkwardly among them all evening.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt, but, what should I do with my plate ?”
Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, his left hand already moving to point the kitchen, when the brown haired one of the two brothers (Fili, was that it ?), appeared in the doorway.
Out of nowhere, the blond one stepped in and held out his hand, a -quite frightening, if you asked Bilbo- playful smirk on his lips. “Here you go Ori, give it to me.”
Ori did not think twice before giving his plate over to the blond (Kili ?), who instantly threw it to his brother, who in turn wasted no time throwing it in the kitchen.
For half a second, Bilbo cringed, fully expecting to hear his mother’s dish break.
When it didn’t, he released his breath, only to hold it again a second later when he realised everyone was now throwing his mother’s crockery around his smial.
An irrational fear gripped him then. It felt like if one of those plate broke, he would be failing his mother. It felt like she was dying and he was helpless all over again. He ran to the dining room as the dwarves started hitting the silverware in rhythm and singing. His breathing quickened, and he stuttered out the first thing that came to his mind.
“Don’t, don’t do that, you’ll blunt the knives..”
He thought no one heard him, but the same brown eyes from earlier, this time clouded with alcohol and laughing, locked on him.
“Oooh… Do you hear that, lads ? He says we’ll blunt the knives !”
That was, apparently, all they needed to break into song. During two long, horrifying minutes, Bilbo tried to both control his anxiety attack and the dwarves threatening one of the few things that were left of his mother.
But even in the midst of his panic, he could not help but think that if anything broke, it would be on him for having put that specific crockery in the most accessible cupboard. He would have failed his mother once again. What a disappointment he was.
When the song turned into laugher, he pushed his way through the dwarves, not caring about their anger for once. He discovered piles of clean dishes, and gaped.
However he did not have the time to entirely process the sight in front of him, because three loud knocks at the door silenced the whole smial. For a second, it was as if no one even dared to breathe.
“He is here.” Announced Gandalf in a deep, serious voice.
All the joy and merriness of the dwarves bled from their face, to be replaced by grave, serious looks.
Remembering his _ though quite rusty, still existent _ manners, Bilbo strode to the door and opened it wide, trying to pretend he wasn’t scared.
In front of him stood the most good looking dwarf he had seen so far. This one looked to be middle aged. He had long black hair, a rather short beard compared to the others, and clothes that seemed to be of slightly better quality. But was truly caught Bilbo’s attention were the newcomer’s eyes. There were a deep, pale blue that seemed to hold a strange heat inside.
Those eyes barely brushed over Bilbo’s, however.
“Ah, Gandalf. You should have given me better indications. If it weren’t for that sign on the door, I would still be wandering around these hills. I lost my way. Twice.”
The dwarf’s voice was a deep rumble that seemed to demand everyone’s attention. And indeed, everyone was focused on the dwarf’s every word. Bilbo had not heard such silence since the first knock on his door an hour or so earlier.
He remembered well the warm greetings the other dwarves gave each others and so he thought about stepping back to give them the space and privacy to do just that with the new, strangely majestic dwarf. However, just as he was lifting his foot to do that, the eyes of the dwarf froze him in place.
“So, this is the hobbit.” He said as he approached Bilbo and started walking around him slowly, piercing him with an assessing stare. Instantly, Bilbo’s eyes dropped to his shoes, but he could still feel the pressure of the scrutinizing attention that was on him. “Tell me, what’s your weapon of choice ?” The tone was harsh, and Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but words refused to come out. He felt like the smallest mouse under this dwarf’s gaze. “Come on, tell me : axe or sword ?”
Bilbo felt his skin crawl with anxiety. After a few seconds of silence, he managed to shake his head, his neck and ears burning with shame. The mysterious dwarf sneered. “Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”
Everyone laughed but Gandalf, who chose to remain silent. Not that Bilbo especially noticed or felt anything about that. Aventures and their heroes hated him just as much as the rest of the world, it seemed. Everyone went to the dining room, leaving Bilbo standing there, staring after them. Gandalf stayed too, just long enough to tell him in a hushed voice :
“This is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of this company. Please do not judge him on first impressions. He has a heart of gold, and noble intentions.”
When Gandalf left, the hobbit sighed, trying to will the sting of the leader’s words away. They should not sting, he was way better off looking like a grocer than looking like a burglar. This was not a insult for him, but a compliment, and if being a burglar was a good thing among dwarves, then Bilbo did not want anything to do with dwarves at all anyway.
It was good that their leader had decided that he would not do. Because Bilbo was not suited for this adventure. Or any other, really.
This was a relief ! Bilbo would be free of any dwarves or troubling wizards by tomorrow, and everything would return to normal. And Bilbo was very, very happy about that.
So why did his throat feel so tight it hurt to swallow ?
As the dwarves talked, Bilbo felt eyes on him, and searched the group, trying to find out who it was. When he did, a shiver of anxiety ran through his spine. A dwarf with a rather strange hat was staring at him, quite intensely, as if he was trying to figure out a particularly tricky problem. It took a ridiculous amount of time for the hobbit to realise that it was the same dwarf that had brought him to his feet earlier.
During that time, he had held the gaze of the dwarf, but as soon as realisation dawned on him, he avoided looking at the dining room all together, feeling the heat of shame burning his neck and ears once more.
That is, of course, the moment Gandalf chose to call for him to bring a candle. He brought the candle, and suddenly, for the first time of the evening, things started to make sense, in a very, very insane way.
A contract was handed to him, and he started reading it. A mountain ? Claimed by a dragon ? And he, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, would have to enter it ? Without waking the beast, unless he be… What ?
“Think furnace with wings. Flash of light, searing pain, then poof ! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash !”
Dead. Unless he be utterly, and completely dead. No one would even have to take care of a body. He would finally stop being a burden.
Bilbo felt lightheaded. This was all so insane, but he had to hang on, fainting now would mean missing the greatest opportunity of his life.
Accepting this adventure did not mean giving up his suicidal plans, it meant spicing them up.
All the attention was on him now, just as before in the hall. All the attention except Thorin’s, but Bilbo really did not care about that. All he cared about was that this was it : the perfect way to die.
“Where do I sign ?” He heard himself say. His voice was a little shaky, but the determination in it surely would be unmistakable for what it was.
Everyone went bug-eyed, and Thorin turned to him. Bilbo held his gaze and lifted his chin, trying to appear sure of himself. Because he was. He knew that was the way he wanted to die : helping people and having a real adventure.
“Very well, then.” Declared Thorin in a soft, low voice. Maybe Bilbo was imagining it, but he thought he heard a hint of respect in the leader’s tone. “Balin, make him sign.” |
Alice
Alice has concluded that Bella may very well be clinically insane. After they had done all of the obvious activities, like bungee jumping, mountain climbing, extreme hiking, winter swimming, and mountain biking, Bella had resorted to more creative, and juvenile methods. She bought a skateboard for the express purpose of riding down a steep hill. She acquired a tractor tire for the express purpose of again, rolling down a steep hill. She asked Alice and Jasper to piggyback while they went on a run. She asked Jasper to teach her how to fight, learned how to throw axes, and even bought the spiciest peppers she could find, just to eat straight out of the jar.
Some methods were more successful than others, but Bella always seemed to have a good time. Alice and Jasper are the happiest they have ever been, and the trio has become very close. They have become pretty much completely desensitized to her scent, even if she got a scrape or cut on one of her exploits. Alice was proud of how far Jasper had come.
This is why she is becoming increasingly nervous about the approach to Bella’s graduation. They had not talked about what would happen after. Bella would probably go to college and move on with her life, while Alice and Jasper returned to New York. Alice knows this is probably for the best, and she would be proud and happy for Bella, but selfishly, Alice wanted to stay with her or bring her with them. Alice could go back to college, maybe they could be roommates.
“Alice?” Jasper pulls her out of her thoughts.
“Hm?” She responds, unmoving.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting next to her and putting his hand on hers.
Alice hesitates, contemplating the ramifications of bringing up the topic they had been silently avoiding for months. The worst-case scenario is that he tells her they need to return to their mundane lives and leave Bella alone, so she can lead a normal human life.
Jasper squeezes her hand and settles a calm aura over her. She takes a deep, unnecessary breath and welcomes the calm.
“What are we going to do after Bella graduates?” She asks, looking up into his eyes, searching for an answer.
“I don’t know, darlin’,” He responds genuinely.
Alice looks down at Jasper’s hand over hers.
“She’s gonna go to college and become successful and we just… go home?” She asks achingly.
“If that’s what Bella wants, then yes.” He responds simply like it’s that easy.
But it is that easy. What Bella does and who she does it with is ultimately her choice. Unless Jasper- Alice stops herself from thinking that. Jasper has not manipulated Bella’s emotions since they came back to Forks (other than sharing them with Alice). That isn’t an option. They would just have to ask Bella what would make her happy. Alice hopes that it is her and Jasper.
She leans on Jasper’s shoulder and interlocks their fingers.
Bella sits in the chair across the dining table from Alice and Jasper. Jasper has his hands locked together on the tabletop. Bella looks at his hands, and then between them with a worried look on her face.
They sit in silence for a moment.
“Okay, what’s going on? You guys are weirding me out.” Bella says nervously, gulping.
“Bella-” Alice starts.
“This isn’t an intervention, is it?” Bella asks hurriedly.
“No,” Jasper replies.
Bella sighs in relief.
“Bella, I know we haven’t talked about it, and I haven’t seen anything,-” Alice starts again.
Bella’s eyes dart around anxiously, and Alice hears her heart rate pick up.
“-But you graduate in a few weeks and…” Alice hesitates.
“Please don’t,” Bella says quickly.
Alice looks over at Jasper, confused. He looks back with furrowed brows.
He looks back to Bella.
“Don’t what, Bella?” He asks, carefully.
“Go.” She responds quietly, looking at Jasper’s hands again.
Alice and Jasper share another look, not quite sure what to think.
“Bella, honey, we are not going to do anything you don’t want us to do,” Alice says in a comforting tone. She is still unsure of Bella’s earlier reaction.
Bella looks up at Alice, staring into her eyes intensely.
“What? You don’t- I mean- but- what?” She stutters, looking between them at each attempt.
“If you want us to stay, we’ll stay. Gladly,” Jasper answers with sincerity in every word.
Bella stares at Jasper with wide eyes and parted lips. Alice looks at her, encouragingly
“Oh...Oh! I mean- Yes! Of course, I want you to stay with me. But do you not have to like- Uh- I mean, are you sure?” Bella stumbles.
“Absolutely,” Alice responds, smiling.
“Oh my god!” Bella laughs with relief.
She gets up out of her chair quickly, hitting her leg on the table. She jogs over behind them and wraps her arms around both of them, pulling them to her. Alice places her hand on Bella’s arm and turns to look at her. Bella laughs.
“Thank you!” She says happily, squeezing them tighter.
“Of course, darlin’,” Jasper responds, placing his hand on Bella’s arm in the mirror of Alice.
Bella squeezes even tighter before letting go, hands trailing to their shoulders. She looks between them with a big smile. She jumps a little with excitement and giggles like a schoolgirl.
“I can’t wait.”
After the graduation ceremony, Bella hugs a choked-up Charlie tightly.
“I’m so proud of you Bells,” He says into her hair, squeezing tighter.
“Thank you, dad.” She replies into his shoulder.
Charlie pulls back, holding onto Bella’s arms, looking at her for a moment before pulling her back in for another hug. He’s on the verge of tears. Bella laughs lovingly and squeezes him again.
“I love you,” He whispers.
“I love you too, dad.”
Bella practically skips over to Alice and Jasper, beaming. She hugs them both at the same time.
They stay like that for a minute before Bella releases her hold and steps back.
“What now?” Bella asks with a smile.
Alice laughs.
“Whatever you want,” She answers, matching Bella’s smile.
Alice knows they will have to tell the family. Sooner rather than later. She wonders if they should bring Bella. Alice knows she misses them. Especially Emmett.
Alice is hit with a vision of Bella and Emmett playing a video game on the floor.
At least she knows Emmett would be happy to hear the news. She smiles to herself.
“Maybe… maybe we could go see your family?” Bella asks tentatively, smile faltering.
“I mean- if you guys don’t think that is a good idea then I totally understand,” Bella interjects anxiously.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Alice says.
She doesn't know if that is a good idea, but she will accept any consequences if it makes Bella happy.
Alice is hit with another vision. A raucous argument. A hushed argument. A hug.
It will be a bit tedious, but it should be doable.
Jasper
Charlie was quite skeptical of the whole situation. His newly graduated daughter was being whisked away to New York by the people that were partially to blame for her depressive episodes just months prior. But Alice had always been Charlie’s favorite Cullen, so after some convincing and assurance from both her and Bella, he conceded, so long as this was what Bella really wanted.
After a near-hour long debate, Jasper was able to convince Bella that her truck would not be able to make the trip. Bella pouted in the backseat for a few minutes before her excitement took hold. She was also nervous at the prospect of seeing the Cullens after so long. She was worried they would reject her again.
Alice and Jasper still hadn’t told her the real reason they left. Most of them hadn’t really wanted to leave, but Edward had insisted, and Carlisle capitulated that people were starting to notice that he was supposed to be 10 years older than he looked.
Alice called Carlisle the night before they left and told him that they were coming home, with Bella. He had taken it quite well and didn’t ask any questions. Jasper suspected he was saving it for when they returned. In the background of the phone call, Jasper heard Emmett say “Hell’s Bells is coming?” before Carlisle hung up.
The trip was taking significantly longer than when Alice and Jasper had taken it by themselves. Bella insisted that they didn’t need to stop at a hotel, but they did have to make frequent bathroom and food breaks. The first time they had to stop, Bella seemed embarrassed to ask. Every time since then, Jasper pulled over at a gas station any time he sensed Bella’s discomfort. She was grateful for it.
Jasper could feel Alice and Bella’s anxiety as they crossed the New York border. Alice had mentioned the night before that some of the family might not take it too gracefully.
Bella had not asked once if Edward was going to be there. Perhaps she had assumed that he would be with the rest of the family, or perhaps she just did not care either way.
They arrive a couple of hours after sunset. Bella looks out the window in awe as Jasper pulls up to what is probably the most isolated house in Ithaca. There is a long driveway and the house is surrounded by trees, similar to their house in Forks. Their house here is large, as most of their houses were, but is one of the least extravagant ones. Still, Bella marvels at it. Jasper parks and steps over to open Bella’s door. She doesn’t move her eyes from the house as she steps out. She says nothing.
Jasper opens Alice’s door and they go to the trunk to retrieve their luggage.
They stand behind Bella with luggage in hand. She has not moved. Jasper tries to analyze her emotions. It is almost as though she is feeling nothing, but Jasper knows that can’t be possible, not for a living person at least.
“Bella?” he asks worriedly. He knows she can't have died standing up, he can see her breathing slowly. Her heart rate is steady too.
“Hm?” She answers, still staring at the house.
“Are you ready?” Alice asks, taking a step closer to her.
Bella takes a deep breath and turns around to look at Alice.
“Yep!” She smiles, taking her bag out of Alice’s hand.
Bella walks confidently to the front porch. Alice and Jasper look at each other, confused by her behavior. They follow close behind up the stairs. The only thing Jasper can hear in the house is the TV playing a football game. He opens the front door and steps in, looking around for someone. Emmett seems to be the only one there.
“We’re home!” Alice calls, stepping inside. Bella walks in right behind her.
“Hey, guys!” Emmett responds, suddenly next to them.
“Emmett!” Bella exclaims.
Emmett picks her up and squeezes her, and her back pops. Bella groans.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Emmett says, putting Bella back on the ground.
Bella laughs.
“No that’s okay, I
definitely
needed a good back pop after that car ride.”
Emmett laughs boisterously.
“Happy to be of service then!” Emmett replies, smiling.
He looks over to Jasper.
“Everyone else is out hunting. They shouldn’t be too long.” He says, a little more seriously.
Jasper feels Emmett’s small twinge of concern like a warning.
“Alright,” Jasper says, silently heeding the warning.
“So Bells, you wanna play this new racing game I just got?” Emmet asks, putting his smile back on.
“Definitely!” She replies, following him to the couch.
Bella started the first round of the game on the couch. With each round, she migrates closer and closer to the TV. She now sits, what Jasper thinks looks uncomfortably close to the screen. Jasper can feel the thrill radiating off of her. Whatever happened outside earlier seemed to have disappeared as soon as she saw Emmett.
Was it really possible for her to feel nothing? Complete unadulterated apatheia? Jasper has never experienced anything like it before. It is unsettling. For over a century he has always experienced other people’s emotions as strongly as they do. And then to just feel nothing? It’s like being thrown into a pitch-black, deathly silent room. He is worried and can’t tell if it is for his sake or Bella’s.
Jasper hears running footsteps approaching about a mile out. He can tell Emmett and Alice do too. They all just continue watching Bella play avidly, leaning with the game track unnecessarily.
Jasper hears Carlisle, Esme, and Rosalie slow to a human pace before entering the house. Bella’s head shoots around. She gasps quietly and stands up quickly, abandoning the game. Her eyes dart between all of them. She smiles nervously and walks around the couch to greet them.
“Hi, I’m happy to see all of you,” She says with a nervous smile.
“And you, Bella,” Carlisle responds sincerely, pulling her in for a brief hug.
“We’ve missed you,” Esme continues gently.
Rosalie scoffs and darts upstairs.
“Sorry about that. You know how she can be,” Carlisle says.
Jasper hears Rose scoff again from the upstairs office.
“No, that’s okay. I understand.” Bella replies. Jasper feels a twinge of sadness from her.
“Please, you can go back to your game, we have to speak with Alice and Jasper for a moment,” Carlisle replies.
Carlisle feels calm, but Jasper can feel the underlying disappointment.
“Of course,” Bella replies, turning toward the TV again.
Carlisle gestures for them to follow him upstairs.
Carlisle closes the office door quietly before turning to look at Jasper and Alice.
“Alice-” Carlisle gets cut off by Rose.
“What the hell is wrong with you two? Don’t you remember why we left Forks in the first place?! Does Edward know about this?” Rose asks loudly.
“Rosalie,” Carlisle says warningly.
Rosalie huffs and crosses her arms.
“Why don’t you just start at the beginning?” Carlisle suggests.
Alice goes into her explanation of seeing Bella in dangerous scenarios that were worrisome enough to suggest going to check on her. She explains Bella’s coping methods and how happy they made her.
“At first we thought it was going to be temporary, that’s why we didn’t tell you but after a while, Jazz and I realized that we were really happy too. Probably the happiest we had ever been. We didn’t want to...give up something like that. And neither did Bella. So we decided we had to tell you, no matter how difficult that might be for everyone. It is selfish, and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner Carlisle. And I am sorry that we lied.” Alice finishes.
Carlisle and Esme share a look.
“Alice, we of course are happy that you’re happy but-” Esme starts.
“You do realize the main reason we left Forks is that it is dangerous for Bella to be in our world right?” Rosalie finishes, looking pointedly at Jasper.
“Yes, we understand that. But she is clearly meant to be part of our world. Jazz and I aren’t a threat to her,” Alice responds.
“None of us are a threat to her, Alice. But the same can’t be said for the rest, especially Victoria and the Volturi.” Carlisle reasons.
Jasper squeezes Alice’s arm.
“We can protect her,” Alice replies.
“But if the Volturi finds out-” Rosalie starts.
“We can protect her,” Alice repeats.
Rosalie sneers.
“Is it your intention to change her?” Carlisle asks.
“If that’s what she wants,” Alice answers.
Carlisle sighs.
“Alright, but you’d better tell Edward before he finds out for himself.” Carlisle states.
Jasper cringes internally at the thought of that conversation.
Alice stiffens. She must have seen the outcome.
Back downstairs, Bella and Emmett are still playing their racing game. Alice and Jasper sit on the couch behind them. Bella is too engrossed to notice.
“Dammit!” Bella exclaims, after losing.
“Hey, that one was close, Bells!” Emmett says, trying to soften the blow.
Bella groans. Emmett chuckles.
“Rematch?” He asks.
“No, I yield. You're just too good, Em.” Bella replies, standing up.
She holds her hand out to Emmett for a handshake. Emmett shoots up and shakes her hand hard enough to move her whole body.
“Good game, good game,” He says, smiling. He looks over at Jasper.
“You up for a round, bro?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.
Bella jumps a little in surprise.
“That’s okay, Emmett. If Bella can’t beat you I know I can’t,” Jasper replies.
Emmett groans dramatically and turns off the console.
“How long have you guys been there?” Bella asks.
“Not long,” Alice replies.
Bella sighs in relief.
“Are you guys okay?” She asks quietly.
“Yes, everything’s alright Bella.” Jasper answers.
Bella nods and sits next to him on the couch. Jasper can feel Rose’s glare and her annoyance. Emmett turns on some action movie and they watch silently, save the occasional exclamation from Emmett.
The movie ends and Bella has migrated from her upright position to Jasper’s shoulder. Her legs are curled up on the couch and she is breathing deeply in sleep. Alice looks at her and giggles quietly. Alice gets up and picks the girl up very slowly, so as not to wake her. Jasper follows behind as Alice carries her upstairs to their room. Jasper pulls back the covers and Alice lowers her gently onto the bed. Jasper puts the blanket over her and hears her breathing change as she starts to come out of her slumber. He stills himself and holds his breath.
Bella makes a moaning noise and rolls over, falling back into sleep.
|
Standing with one hand against the rough bark of a tree, Inuyasha looked back the way he'd come. After running with all haste away from his brother, he'd thought for a moment he'd heard that damn mangy wolf.
That would be the last thing he needed: another asshole messing with his head, getting up in his face. Maybe literally. If Sesshomaru had fucking kissed him - kissed him! - out of the blue, there was no telling what the fucking fleabag wolf might do.
He shivered. Last thing he needed.
Mouth set in a grim line, the hanyou turned away and pushed himself into a determined walk, hand clenched firmly around Tetsusaiga's hilt. If either of them came anywhere near him, he'd show 'em he was in no mood to be fucked around with. He had a mission.
But how the hell was he supposed to concentrate on it properly if he was worried about being ambushed with sexual harassment? And by the two people he hated most in the world, no less? Just how fucked up had the world become while he'd been floating in the well?
Gods, this was fucking with his head. He should be thinking about Kagome, not those two assholes. It was Kagome who needed his help.
Try as he might, however, his thoughts inevitably wandered back to what Sesshomaru had done. And the things he'd said. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't find a simple explanation to counter Sesshomaru's. No easy way to explain away this supposed death. Every theory had gaping holes in it.
And much as it galled Inuyasha to credit anything to his brother, he wasn't a liar. Straight forward and with no need to conceal his actions or motives (barring his annoying superiority complex, of course, when he got his rocks off making his little brother jump through hoops figuring things out), in his own way, he was as blunt and brusque as Inuyasha himself.
Someone had died. He could accept that. It happened all the time in the world. Humans killed each other over women, money, land, and a host of other reasons Inuyasha always thought stupid. Youkai killed humans and each other for territory, food, females... pretty much the same reasons, now that he thought about it. The world was a dangerous place, with all manner of beasts fighting for survival. So he could accept that someone, somewhere, had died.
He just couldn't - wouldn't - accept that it was her. Not without seeing some proof for himself. And until that was in front of him, cold, hard, irrefutable facts, he'd keep trying to prove she was alive.
It was just so... confusing. Everything Sesshomaru had said had been so real, yet so... alien at the same time. Almost like he was mixing two stories together. But that didn't make any damn sense! None of it did!
Like him dying in Sesshomaru's arms... What the hell had that been about? The only time Sesshomaru ever touched him - except the kissing thing he was going to stop thinking about right now - was when he was trying to disembowel or otherwise tear him up. There was absolutely no reason for Sesshomaru to even bat an eyelid if he was fucking dying, let alone hold him in his last moments. Hell, the bastard would probably be doing a fucking happy jig under that ice mask of his. Definitely not trying to revive him with the Tenseiga.
Unless he'd been pissed enough about something to want to kill him again.
"It doesn't make any sense!" he suddenly shouted, kicking a tree and startling a squirrel, which chattered angrily at him once it had retreated to higher ground. He glared at it.
"Fuck you, you little shit!" he growled. "Can't you see I'm having a fucking breakdown? Cut me some damn slack!"
He was about to kick the tree again when he realised he was shouting at a damn squirrel and quickly looked around to make sure no one was watching him lose his goddamned mind.
He stuffed his hands in the sleeves of his haori and left the squirrel and its tree behind, his mood dangerously low by this point. He needed to talk to someone he trusted, he decided. He obviously wasn't going to get anywhere by himself. Unless complete and utter brain breakage counted.
Kaede would do. She was an annoying old bag sometimes, but he had to admit he trusted her. She always seemed to know the right thing to say to make it better, or at least direct his thoughts along the right path. Besides, she was pretty much the only choice. If he really had lost years in the well, chances were, Miroku and Sango had moved on and settled down somewhere and he didn't have the time or patience to go running around the country to finally get his answers about the death a decade ago.
A sudden thought drew him up short. Death. What about Kaede? She'd been damn old when he'd last seen her, and if he'd really been stuck in the well for at least a decade... Human lives were so short and frail...
He shook his head. No. No more thinking about death. Until he saw it with his own eyes, she was as alive and annoyingly sarcastic and wise as always.
Ignoring the creeping presence of trepidation, Inuyasha finally took a look around, trying to gauge where he was. To his surprise, he realised he was closer to the village than he expected - more than halfway, in fact. If he wasn't mistaken, the Goshinboku stood in the next clearing, a silent, unchanging witness to everything that had happened since Kagome had freed him from the sealing arrow. The hanyou managed a faint, wry smile. It seemed his feet had known where he needed to go before the rest of him.
He made a concentrated effort not to look at the Goshinboku as he passed it. Sometimes he got so melancholy and pensive when he was simply near it, thinking of Kikyo and how they'd been torn apart, and even reflecting on all that had happened with Kagome as well. Even he could see that sometimes they'd walked a rocky road, and at times they'd even walked it far apart from each other. Yet somehow, they'd always come back together, no matter what happened. He refused to believe this time would be any different.
His feet landed on a familiar path wound through the trees by the villagers as they gathered herbs and produce in various seasons, and he knew he was close. Scents of the village floated to him on the breeze (as did, disconcertingly, his brother's tell tale stink, but since it smelt days, even weeks old, he decided to put it - temporarily - to the side; he could only handle one distressing question at a time).
Then he rounded a corner, and all thoughts of scents and deaths flew out of his mind.
Laying on the path, a basket of scattered herbs lying beside her, was undoubtedly Kaede. He couldn't see her face, but how could he mistake her? Everything was just as he remembered it; the same miko outfit, the greyed hair tied neatly at the nape, the very shape of her and, as he hurried close enough to drop to his knees beside her, the familiar scent, too, like herbs and warm fires.
With gentle hands, Inuyasha rolled Kaede onto her back. His fingers pressed against her throat to search for a pulse. She was still warm to the touch, but he could find no evidence of a heartbeat. His ears twitched madly, trying to filter out the natural sound of birds singing and leaves rustling, searching desperately for the sound of her breathing; he couldn't bear to see the sight of her so unnaturally still, no rise and fall of her chest.
Couldn't bear the thought that he'd finally found a familiar, trusted face when all else seemed twisted and unusual, and it was only to witness her final moments.
Then, suddenly, he caught the sound of a wheezed breath. He couldn't stop himself slapping her cheek sharply, calling her name, desperate to rouse some other kind of life in her. He stared at her face, more deeply lined than he remembered, and willed her to live. And slowly, her tired eyes opened.
"Inu.. yasha...?" she said, a smile teasing the corners of lips thinned with age. "I had thought it would be my sister who came to escort me to the other side, but I am happy to see ye in any case."
Inuyasha blinked. The other side? She thought she was dead? Well... he supposed he couldn't blame her, being as old as she was. He was surprised she could still walk even this far. Even he had to admit it wasn't outside the realm of possibility.
How the hell did he know he hadn't died in the well? Trapped inside as the magic ran out, even he wouldn't last long without food or water. For all he knew, this could all be some fucked up pre- or post-death delusion. Maybe even some kind of dream.
No, that didn't make as much sense as he'd first thought. Even if he was delusional, Kaede wasn't going to be sharing it with him. So if all this felt real, and he felt alive, then he was, and that meant she was, too. At least, that was the theory he was sticking to.
"You're not dead," he said decisively. "And neither am I."
Kaede looked surprised. "Be this a dream, then? For I know ye passed from this world long ago."
Despite all that had happened today, Inuyasha somehow managed to be amused that they'd had the same idea.
"Nope, not dreaming. I'm alive and kicking and seriously fucking confused about everything's that's happened in the last ten years, so you've got some questions to answer, old woman."
Kaede suddenly looked almost as confused as he felt. It struck him that he'd never seen her look like that before. She always seemed like she knew the answer to every question.
"But ye died, I know it," the old miko protested with surprising strength, despite her apparent close brush with death. "We all -" She was silenced suddenly by Inuyasha's hand pressed against her mouth.
"Don't go getting ahead of yourself, you old hag! You're just confusing the hell out of me even more!" Inuyasha pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Damn it all to hell, this was going to give him a headache if he didn't lay down some ground rules. "Look, I'm asking the questions here. Nobody else. If I'm gonna get this shit straight in my head, you gotta let me ask about it in an order that makes sense to me, got it? Don't elaborate, just tell it to me straight. Nice and simple, yeah?"
Kaede nodded, and Inuyasha huffed out a sigh as he took his hand away from her mouth. "We'd better go back to the village. We got a long talk ahead of us; we're best off in your hut. It'll probably be dark before we're done. You think you can walk or do I gotta carry you?"
The old miko shook her head. "Help me to my feet and I think I can walk the rest of the way."
Inuyasha complied, steadying the old woman as she struggled to stand. It was only when she stood straight - or as straight as her age would allow her to - that Inuyasha was finally able to absorb how much time had changed Kaede. She was thinner than he remembered, and her hair as well, her skin more sallow. She herself suddenly became the strongest evidence of time lost in the well.
He felt an odd pain in his chest, looking at her. It was the first time he'd been close enough to someone for long enough to see the passage of time affect them, to see with his own eyes the hallmarks of the body's slow descent into death. He was reminded in sudden, painful clarity of his future: inevitable loneliness. Time would never wither him up like this; he'd look the same centuries from now, if he lived that long. A mortal might say he was the lucky one, frozen in his prime, but they didn't look at friends two centuries younger and know they'll have to watch them all grow old and die, and end up all alone.
To distract himself from going down a dangerous path in his mind, Inuyasha latched onto something innocuous as he continued to study Kaede's face: her eyes. Forever bright despite her age, but that wasn't what caught his attention. It was simply her eyes. Both of them.
He hadn't seen her without the patch in fifty years, not since she was a brat not much older than that crazy kid who hung around Sesshomaru. If he was honest, he'd expected it to look kinda horrific, what with how she never took the patch off, but it was actually.. unblemished. Not only that, but the eye itself looked perfectly normal. Since it had happened in the middle of a fight - one he started, no less - he'd always assumed there would be some damage to it, but...
Another question he didn't need crowding his mind. Again, he put it to the side, diverting his attention instead to scanning the ground. "Hey, where's your patch? Did it fall off when you fell?"
Kaede turned to blink at him. "Patch? Whatever do ye mean?"
"Y'know, for your eye. Though why you wear it when your eye looks fine is beyond me..."
"Inuyasha..." the old miko said slowly, as if she were talking to someone simple. "I have never worn a patch over one of my eyes. Why would I?"
A little lump of ice formed in Inuyasha's stomach, tendrils of cold spreading out like a frozen web. It was happening again; things were the same but different in a confusing and frightening way, and why did it have to affect Kaede, too? She was the group's rock; when everything else got screwed to hell, Kaede was always the same!
Trying to stay calm, Inuyasha swallowed with difficulty and pointed to her right eye. "You lost it. Couldn't see out of it. I don't know how it happened, exactly, but you lost that eye when I attacked the village fifty years ago. I always felt kinda guilty about it, but you never blamed me. You have to remember it. You have to tell me you can't see out of that damn eye."
Suddenly looking concerned, Kaede lifted her thin hands to lay them on Inuyasha's arms, gripping surprisingly tightly. "Inuyasha, from where comes this nonsense? Ye never attacked the village. It was all that foul demon, Naraku. Ye have done naught but protect this village for fifty years until the time of your death, just as ye promised Kikyo ye would as ye stood over her grave." Kaede paused, watching him critically. "Ye never broke that promise, Inuyasha. And Sesshomaru took it upon himself to continue in your stead after your death. Together, the two of ye have saved our village countless times."
Inuyasha was all but physically rocked under the barrage of information.. He stared blindly ahead of him, trying to absorb everything he'd just heard.
He hadn't attacked the village? Naraku had done it himself? He hadn't been sealed to the Goshinboku by Kikyo? Did that mean Naraku had been sealed instead? But then who would have unsealed him? Kagome? And, the most difficult thing by far to swallow, Sesshomaru had protected a bunch of humans in a small, rural village in the middle of nowhere?
What... in the world was going on? |
Katsuki felt his neck crack as he stretched. His body, a well oiled machine, was starting to sound like friggin pop rocks in the morning. Horse face recommended yoga, and while Katsuki wouldn’t be caught dead going to classes, there was a new orange mat in his apartment and a private youtube account he used to watch videos. Most of them pissed him off. Fuck tranquillity, just tell him how to strech.
He was only 27. Yet he was getting a small glimpse into the life of ageing in the negative sense. His dad huffed when getting up off the sofa during their visits and Katsuki felt a panic that resulted in two results. More visits back home, and better care of his body beyond making it a honed villain killing machine.
Lockers slamming echoed in the locker room, mixing with the heavy air and scent of men's deodorant. Katsuki fucking hated the locker rooms. Once he had his own agency, he would make sure he had his own private space. Away from the early morning irritations.
“ WOAH!”
Like fucking dunce face and his lack of volume control.
“ Midoriya! Who's the lucky one?”
What?
“ What are you talking about Kaminari-kun?”
“ Don’t lie!” Grape fucker chimed in. “ You look like you were attacked by three ladies at once! Some guys have all the luck.”
What the fuck.
Interest peaked, Katsuki moved to leave while still throwing on parts of his uniform, intending to be casual about it. Partly worried about Deku getting attacked, not that the nerd couldn't hold his own but if they were girls, Deku’s chivalry might have gotten in the way, what he couldn't get was what was lucky about it.
“ It might not be ladies,” Kaminari adds. “ Midoriya swings both ways. Right Midoriya?”
“Well…”
“ Ew… I don't wanna think about that.”
As he turned to walk down their locker row towards the exit, he saw Deku. He was half way into his uniform, shirt off and skin exposed. His back was facing towards katsuki, making it easy to see what the two perverts were going on about. He was fucking covered in small circular round bruses.
“ At least he gets laid. Midoriya, you gotta give us the details. That many hickeys? It had to have been wild!”
“ What are you talking- oh! Kacchan! Morning.”
Katsuki grunts as he passes, keeping his eyes trained forward. The rage inside him boiling as he made his way out to the exit.
“ Oh shit! They really are everywhere! Does it hurt to sit like that?” Purple fuck shouted out. Voice echoing the further away Katsuki got. Katsuki started picking up his pace, fumbling to strap the last piece of his armor into place.
“ Who cares! I'm buying’ you a drink tonight midoriya. We need details.”
Free from the locker room Katsuki fast walked over to his desk. He needed a distraction. Anything. A mission. A face to punch. Anything. Katsuki began furiously refreshing his inbox. Fucking nothing. Nothing to distract him from the panic that Deku was now seeing someone. That Katsuki had fucked up by waiting.
He hadn’t realised he was attracted to the nerd that long ago. It had been about a year and a half. Which considering how long he had known the fucker, was a small sliver of their lives. Katsuki knew it ran deeper than that. And it terrified him. He was more mature than when they were kids sure. His time at UA had knocked him down more than a few pegs and working with the nerd and All Might to grow him into his potential had finally put them on a level of friendship. One Katsuki was fine with. One Katsuki didnt wanna fuck with.
One new years party had fucked that up. Alcohol seemed to relax the two and they fell into a fun banter. Joking, nudging, soft touches. Nothing to break a friendship but enough to slap katsuki in the face with want. He wanted more. He found his checks ached. But he couldn't stop smiling. As topics around the table turned to dating they both fell into a comfortable silence. Not contributing, but occasionally exchanging glances, like a conversation without words. Most were eye rolls or huffs at their friends' antics, but some were smiles with no found purpose. And lingering eyes.
Fuck.
Katsuki didn't have a type. He hadn’t really focused on that kinda thing. It felt like a waste most days. Why seek someone out for what he could do to himself? But damn his eyes… the freckles…His build. Made Katsuki think he might have a type. A very special, refined type. One only Deku could check all the boxes for.
Nothing had changed between them that night. Nothing on the surface. But Katsuki found himself aware of previous unconscious habits. Seeking the nerd out. Checking the news for Dekus articles. Checking online for his hashtags. Not stalking. Just making sure the nerd was safe.
Okay maybe a little stalking. Some of the candid photos people had taken ended up on a private folder on his computer. He had yet to shred his pride to a point where he would do anything with them, using them for anything. But he was getting close.
Now though, he felt nauseous. The idea that he idled around and sat on his hands trying to figure stuff out, while others just zoomed in and left their mark. How Deku didn’t even seem to blush.
Katsuki let his head fall to his desk with a thump.
“ Bakugou! You ready to head out on patroooool….? Uhh… you okay, dude?”
“ Tired. Let’s go.”
Bakugou watched Kirishima’s feet, letting him lead them out. His mind felt like a spoiled stew, bad thoughts swirling around, memories rising to the surface. He wanted to vomit.
“ Kacchan.”
Fuck.
Katsuki looked up to see Deku in his full hero gear. At the back of his mind he sent off a small prayer of thanks that Deku’s uniform never got as stupidly skin tight as All Mights. But it was still snugger than their school days.
Deku’s hand waved in front of Katsuki’s line of sight and he realised he was staring at Deku’s thighs. Fuck, what was wrong with him, was he turning into the purple shit?
“ You doing okay?” Deku asked, his expression filled with genuine concern. The fucker.
“ Just tired.”
“ Oh! Um… well.. we still on for a spar after work? That is, if nothing major happens.”
“ Ye- no. I'm gonna pass. “
“ Oh… yeah okay.” Deku and his shitty poker face. Couldn’t hide a thing. And Katsuki bit his tongue in frustration. He was so whipped.
“ Raincheck,” He said before heading out of the building with Kirishima.
“ Oh! Okay! I’ll text you! Feel better Kacchan!”
“ Dude, are you okay?” Kirishima asked, looking down at Katsuki. He looked like he was hanging upside down from this angle. Probably because Katsuki had just been tossed aside into the metal fencing that seperated the street from the sidewalk. He had looked up briefly to jump back into the fight but saw Kirishima had already taken care of things, and instead ground and looked upward. Nice weather today.
“ Fine.” He grunted as Kirishima looked like he was gonna seek out medics. Katsuki didn't need medics. He needed therapy… and alcohol. What the fuck was wrong with him. Half the reason he never asked Deku out was because of their history. His chances with Deku romantically was the first 0% he had accepted in his life. He knew that he had no chance from the start. But the idea of the nerd being with someone else? Katsuki didn’t think it would happen. Deku is like himself, all work.
He was an idiot. The sun shined out Deku’s ass and he could probably literally hang the moon, whatever that meant. He was bound to attract that kind of attention. Probably would say yes to the first person. Not wanting to be rude.
“ Oi! Katsuki! Hey dude! You sure you’re okay? Need a medic?”
“ No.” Katsuki growled out.
“ Why don't I trust you?”
“ I’m just…. tired.” Katsuki groaned as he stood up. Checking the back of his head for blood. Clean.
“ What kinda tired? ‘Didn’t sleep’ tired, ‘pulled a muscle yesterday at the gym’ tired or ‘ holy shit what did I get myself into deciding to be a hero’ tired?”
“None of the above.” Katsuki grunted.
“ Would you tell me what’s up?” Fucking Kirishima.
“ I will…”
“...okay.”
He didn’t really feel like voicing his thoughts, not that hearing them would really make a difference. But they felt more real if spoken.
“ I just…. I need to think.”
“ Okay, but just so we’re clear. Anytime dude. I got my phone with me if ya wanna talk.”
“ You should focus that energy on Pinky.”
“ Mina knows that extends to her too.”
“ I aint your girlfriend.”
“ Im well aware. I’m all for taking it slow, but i'm starting to get the feeling you’re never gonna put out.”
Kirishima swiftly doged the first explosion and sent his way but missed the second. Thankfully the smoke hid Katsuki’s smile.
Katsuki finds himself flopped over on his couch nursing a bottle of white wine he had gotten as part of some gift for a take down a few months back. He hardly drank. And never the heavy shit. Not after finding out how weak he was to it. He had opened the bottle with the intent to drink away obsessive thoughts. But they were instead amplified.
He knew Deku. Maybe not as well as a normal person would for as long as they have known each other. They had their rough patches. But he knew the dork better than anyone. At least of their friends. He was still the only one that knew about his quirk. He’d known Deku before he was the tough badass he was now. Deku had strong core values that would never shift. The first being…
“ Those fuckwads thought he was in a fuckin’ orgy? No way.” Katsuki laughed. His mind presented him with an image of Izuku, in an
eyes wide shut
kinda deal. Standing in a room full of naked people having their way with each other. He’d probably be hiding his junk. Fucking introducing himself with a handshake and a studdering voice. Katsuki barked a laugh at the image.
No shame to it though. Deku just didnt seem the time to do well in a group of people fucking. Katsuki would probably also be pretty awkward. That kinda situation wasn't his deal.
His mind presented an edited version, Izuku standing in room full of people having a good time, the young man to scared to make a move, until he is approached my Katsuki who proceeds to kiss his way up the nerds hand to his neck. Deku allowing him access… fuck.
Katsuki sat up and smacked himself across the face. Nope. Cannot go down that road.
Okay so he knew enough that the chuckle fucks were overstepping. But then who was the nerd seeing. Katsuki hadn’t heard Deku talk about anyone in particular. What was even his thype… his orientation?
Katsuki took a long swig. It felt wrong to guess at orientation. Personality didn't define that shit. And honestly he wasn't sure what Deku’s type was beyond… tits. He knew Deku had a thing for tits.
Bakugou took another swing of wine before he set the bottle down. He groped his own chest, unsure of what he was looking for. He reached for his phone.
Mr.Bomb: Hey. Do I have nice tits?
RedRock: Uhhh? Is this what was bothering you earlier?
Mr.Bomb: No.
RedRock: Okay…. Why do you wanna know?
Mr.Bomb: It's a simple question.
RedRock: I’m not sure what answer you want that wont get me killed.
…
Mina says yes.
Mr.Bomb: You’re bi. What do you think?
RedRock: Okay, what are you drinking?
Mr.Bomb: White french shit. Don't dodge the question.
RedRock: Define ‘nice’?
Mr.Bomb: Idk.. tits aren't my thing…. big?
RedRock: Yes. Of all of the guys in our class you had the biggest tits.
…
Mina also wants to restate that they are very nice, 10/10, would motorboat.
Her words not mine.
…
But I agree.
…
Don't kill me for saying so.
Katsuki smiled. Setting the phone down again he groped again at his chest.
Nice…. nice enough for the nerd? He didn’t know. And he also knew Deku was into more then personality. Wait. Personality. Right, he didn’t have a chance cause that. Didn't matter how good his tits are.
The next morning he found himself briskly walking over to round face while on patrol as she seemed to be doing some promo thing.
“ Ah! Blasty boy! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Katsuki shrugged. “ Just on patrol. Thought I would.. say… hi?”
Round face raised an eyebrow.
“ Okay, yeah. Never mind.” Katsuki grumbled. This was stupid and pointless. Roundface was just gonna laugh at him.
“ No! Nonono come on!” She lightly grabbed his arm to stop him from walking away. Katsuki looked at her big round innocent eyes. She kinda looked like aunty Inko, maybe she wouldn't laugh.
“Lets go get coffee? Something is on your mind.” Round face offered. Katsuki sighed and let himself be dragged away.
Tea spattered across the table and onto Katsukis face. Followed by a stream of apologies from round face.
“ I'm sorry! I think I misheard you.”
“ I asked… Who the nerd has dated? What’s his type?” He shooed away Round Face as she tried to help clean the tea from Katsuki’s face. Thankfully one of the cafe workers saw them and brought over a clean dish towel.
“ Okay. I didn't miss hear. Why do you want to know?”
“ He seems…”... taken? “ distracted.”Katsuki lied.
“ Why not ask him?”
Katsuki shrugged. “ We don't talk about that kinda stuff.”
“You don’t? Odd. You’d think two friends like you could. And you both have known each other the longest of any of our old classmates so you would think you would at least know his type.”
“ Just tell me if you know if he's seeing anyone!” Katsuki shouted, letting his fist bang on the table. Uraraka didn't flinch “... please.”
“ I don’t know about who he is with now…. but we dated.”
Katsuki felt his stomach drop.
“ You… you did? I didn’t-“
“ We didn’t tell anyone. It didn't last long, two months during our 3rd year. I confessed. And he ended it. We’re still on good terms. I talk to him about my dating life, but he never brings up his.”
Katsuki stayed quiet. Not really sure what to say. He wasn't great with social cues but even he knew it was fucked asking someone what their ex was into, especially if the ex had ended it.
“ before you start your pity party, please don't by the way, that would be creepy. I'm glad he broke it off.”
Katsuki watched Uraraka as she gazed out the window. She smiled and waved to some children who had noticed her. One small girl had a pink Uravity backpack.
“ Deku kun is like an open book one second and a vault of secrets the next. I could tell there were things he wasn't telling me. Important things. I think he was conflicted most of the time. And he thought ending it was better than lying about it. And I agree. I was heartbroken then, but teenage emotions feel so much stronger. Like we are not used to it, we have to build up that tolerance.”
“ y...yeah. I guess so.” Katsuki couldn't relate on an emotional level. But his issues with Deku seemed crazy when he reflected back on them. That was the problem with child logic he supposed.
“ I don't think Deku has dated anyone after me. Whatever issues we had I think he knew they would carry over into anything new. I managed to move on. But I’m worried he's stuck.”
Katsuki nodded. Looking at his cup of coffee.
“ Let's face it, not everyone can move on and fall for a stunning and tall guy with engines in his lets and a fat bank account.”
Katsuki, despite himself, laughed.
“ Gross.”
“Oh please,” Round face punctuated with a roll of her eyes. “ Wanna talk about gross? Let’s talk about why you are really here.”
That shut Katsuki up.
“ Cause, I could tell you what I think his ‘ type’ might be, but I don’t think I should be the one you’re asking.”
Katsuki felt as though he couldn’t look at Uraraka at the moment. He kept staring at his coffee. Uraraka stood up.
“ Maybe talk to him, honestly?”
Katsuki grumbled. Something along the lines of “ not possible.”
“ I’ve known you long enough to know that you don’t let anything be impossible for you. Good luck, blasty boy.”
Katsuki listened as her footsteps grew distant, getting lost in the sounds of the early afternoon of the city. When he felt like she was gone, he let his head thump down on the table.
Easier said than done. Him and Deku hardly talked about personal shit. Just suddenly asking him about his dating history might fuck with their current dynamic. Maybe start small, test what he knew about him. See if anything had changed or what gaps could fill. Make it feel like Katsuki was just trying to get to know the nerd, which he was. But then he could slip into newer more adult topics. But where to start...
“ Hey Deku.” Katsuki approached fast as he saw Deku packing up for the day.
“ Yeah?” Deku answered, offering a bright open smile.
“ You still like red, right?”
“ Huh? Yea-“ Katsuki tossed a shirt at him.
“ Merch makers said this was a defect, too red. They said I could keep it but I'm not that tacky to wear my own shit.”
The shirt had actually been a prototype, Katsuki had requested a red one to ‘try it out’ the short sleeves were patterned like his gauntlets and the front said ‘ground zero is my #1’.
Deku’s eyes grew large and his face broke into an even brighter smile, Katsuki felt as though he was looking right into a spotlight. Okay, so he still liked red.
“ What kinda music do you like?” Katsuki asked as the two sat, going over papers.
“ Oh! Uhhh, i Don’t have a preference. Why?”
Katsuki grunted in annoyance, searching for an explanation.“ Jiro wants to get the band back together for a reunion. We might do some different styles…”
“ Wow, really?! You guys always were my favorite band! I think just hearing you guys with your own music would be cool.”
“Oi, nerd. Cancel your lunch plans. I need you to eat some leftovers.” Katsuki said, setting down the wrapped box in front of a mountain of paperwork.
Deku seemed to lighten up, having looked slightly haggard from the stress of work.
“ I'd never turn down Kacchan’s food! Even leftovers”
“ you’re a handy garbage disposal.” Katsuki smirked, settling his own lunch down so he could clear off some of the paperwork. As he settled, the nerd had already cracked his box open and now looked frozen in place.
“ what,” katsuki said, doing his best to hide his nerves. “ you don’t eat Katsudon anymore?”
“ Huh?” Deku looked up at him wide eyed. “ oh! No! I mean, yes! Of course I do. It's my favorite.”
Katsuki snorted. “ Well then, fucking eat already.”
Katsuki felt worried that Deku was sensing something was up, but nothing more about the katsudon was said.
Kirishima, bless the idiot, hands Katsuki the perfect opportunity to dig into the key question. Katsuki would have thought Kirishima did it on purpose to help him if not for the fact he’s been listening to the idiot moon and fret over asking Pinkie to marry him. Bakugou had been dragged into almost every part, from picking out the ring to helping plan the ridiculous proposal he had wanted to do.
In the end the idiot threw most of it out and proposed after a victory with a pretty tough villain. Both of them had been an amazing team. Katsuki would never admit it out loud, but his shoulder pats let them know how proud he was of both of them.
An engagement party was thrown and most of their old classmates and teachers had shown up, including some that katsuki didn't know. Friend of pinkie and shitty hair from before UA, as well as close family.
As the party wound down, Katsuki managed to pull Deku away from the shy asshole that Kirishima had interned with, for a drink outside on the veranda, away from prying eyes and ears.
“To the idiot pair.” Katsuki said, raising a glass of champagne. Deku chimed his glass against Katsukis and then took a long sip.
“ Im happy for them! They are really good for each other.” Deku said looking back towards the door, Katsuki followed and watched as Kirishima, now probably a little drunk on more than just alcohol, picked up his now fiancée and spun around despite her shouting laughs in protest.
“ Honestly, I never believed in soul mates but those two sure do fit the bill.”
“ And I think Occhaco and idda are planning to move in together. Everyone is coupling up now.”
“ Yeah, guess so.”
Silence.
“ What about you Deku?”
“ What about me?”
Katsuki took a sip, trying his best to appear nonchalant.
“ What’s your type?” Katsuki noticed a circular bruise peeking out of the coller of Dekus' shirt and felt his stomach tense. “Surprised you haven’t swooped in and picked yourself up someone yet.”
“ You make it sound like kidnaping.” Deku said laughing.
“ So?”
“ So what?”
“ So what’s your type?”
“ Why do you wanna know? Ka tsu ki?” Deku spoke in a playful tone that spoke to Dekus new confidence. Katsuki wasn’t used to it and the cute way his name fell of Deku’s tounge made his face flush. Thankfully, it was dark outside.
“ Call me curious.”
“ And drunk.”
“Am not.”
Deku let out a long sigh. “ Let’s see. My type…”
Deku seemed to take a moment to pick his words. A rare moment for the nerd who usually just spewed out his train of thought.
“ Short.”
“ eh really?” Katsuki didn’t tower over Deku like he used to, but he was still taller. He couldn’t help the disappointment bubble within him.
“ yeah, like super short. With purple sphyerical hair, perverted personalty…”
“ Deku be serious.” Though Katsuki found himself joining in with Deku’s laughter. Deku looked thoughtful again.
“ A hero. I don't think dating a civilian would be smart. Not now at least. Someone strong and dependable. Someone who won't change who they are for the ranking. Someone I know who can challenge me.”
Several faces flashed through Katsuki’s mind, none of which put him at ease, if anything he felt more on edge. He needed more to work with.
“ I mean aesthetically.”
“ Aesthetically?”
“ Yeah… like.. what gets your fucking endgin goin’, ya know?”
Deku smorted, and in the light shining on them from inside he could see the color in Dekus cheeks darken.
“ I honestly don’t know how to answer that.”
“ Do you like tits?”
“ Tits?” Deku sputtered. Still laughing but katsuki knew he had grown slightly more tense and awkward.
“ Yeah. Knockers, meat pillows, milk makers, tig old bitties-“ a hand slapped over katsukis mouth.
“ You need to stop hanging around Kaminari.”
“ Been trying to,” katsuki said, muffled behind the hand. “ ...so?”
Deku laughed, a little forced.
“ uh.. yeah. I like tits.”
Katsuki did his best to put on a casual but thoughtful expression, in his mind he felt like fist pumping.
“ And you?” Deku asked casually
“ Me?”
“ Yeah. Are you a tits guy?”
Katsuki considered.
“ Not really.” Not that Deku didn't have nice ones. When it came to Deku he wasn't too picky but that wasn't his favorite part. Still, if he was offered the chance to fondle-
“ Then what’s your thing? What gets your engine going.”
Katsuki could feel the alcohol slushing at his thoughts. His eyes raked down dekus form.
“ Legs.”
“ Legs?”
Katsuki nodded and swallowed. “ and ass.”
Before Deku could answer there was a tapping on the glass door. Both looked over to see Round Face as she slid it open, letting in the noise of conversation. Katsuki noticed the music had stopped.
“ Come on Deku. Mina is demanding the apartment clear out so she can ‘ break her future husband in’. Let’s go.”
“ Right! Good night…. Katsuki.” Deku said, giving a small wave before attempting to rush inside.
“ Wait! “ katsuki managed to stop Deku from escaping, “ Just a minute.” He said to Round Face before closing the door. She shrugged and thankfully turned around, giving them privacy. Katuski, nerves getting to him, decided it would be best to stay behind Deku. Katsuki could see the little circle bruise on the nerds neck and felt a spike of irritation. Leaning down he whispered.
“ We need to talk. I’ll message you later, okay?”
Deku nodded before scrambling inside, seemingly weak at the knees.
Katsuki picked out a nice restaurant. One that was known for having private seating which was good for many reasons. One, they were heros and major public figures, and two? Well. Katsuki was pretty sure deku was seeing someone and not telling him. Deku probably caught on to why Katsuki was so adamant in knowing, trying to find out who it is. But he had no idea. Well. That's not true. He had a few. But he didn't want to entertain them. Better to just do what Round Face had talked about and ask him directly.
In his mind, it should have been easy to set his emotions aside to find out who this person was so he could make sure his partner was in good hands. It was business right? He had a right to know in case something happened. After all it seemed like he was seeing a hero and they don't all exactly grow to an old age.
It should have been easy.
Then the nerd showed up.
Black suit with a red t-shirt under instead of a proper button up. Something about the more casual look screamed Deku in a way that made Katsuki’s stomach swoop. The suit also seemed fitted and the pants… holy shit. Katsuki could feel his fingernails bite into his palm. Though he'd rather bite into something else. Like the full meal in front of him. Dammit. Deku was supposed to be plain and always wearing ill fitting suits. He hadn't expected all of this. His hair had even been styled. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.
“ Wow! You look great Kacchan!” Deku smiled. Shit, so bright.
“ Yeah. Same to you or whatever. Let's get in.”
Katsuki waited until they had been served and a good way into the meal to let their waiter know not to bother them. The private room was cozy, black curtains allowed complete privacy. Katsuki had been a perfect gentleman. Taking the lead, helping the nerd out with his jacket which he refused to remove. Fine. Not weird. It was a bit chilly in here. Katuski let Deku lead their conversation. The nerd kept to save topics, work, friends, tv shows they both liked.
When Katsuki had complete assuredness that they wouldn't be bothered unless it was an emergency, he started in.
“ Izuku.”
“ Oh? That's rare. Yes, Katuski?” The nerd fucking batted his eyelashes at him.
“ I… you know… I brought you here for a reason.”
“Hmmm… I had a feeling.” Izuku smiled. Resting his head on his hand and leaning in. Weird.
“ We’re partners.”
“ I'm aware.”
“ And you know I wouldn’t try to do anything that would compromise our trust.” Izuku took a deep breath and nodded.
When Katsuki found it hard to continue he looked down at his finished meal. Izuku took his hand and stroked it softly.
“ Katuski, you can tell me anything. You know that right.” Izuku's calloused thumb rubbed circles on the top of Katsuki's hand.
“ Yeah… yeah. Same. You.. you can tell me-“
Katsuki felt his mind freeze as he felt Izuku's leg brush against his. He looked up at Izuku who was smiling warmly, eyes half lidded. So… indicing.
Wait…. was Izuku…
“ Are you flirting with me?” Katsuki regretted how harsh it came out.
Izuku stopped. Pulling his hand back. Obviously not the question he was expecting. But his face was bright red. Katsuki had his answer.
Katsuki felt overjoyed. Like he could fucking sing. Not that he would. But Deku was flirting with him! The fucking nerd never flirted casually, usually he was dence to that kinda shit. But, It was mutual. They could-
No… they couldn’t. Katsuki could still see a fucking hickey on Dekus neck! He wasn’t going to be some homewrecker!
“Kacchan? Katsuki… oh my gosh. I am so so sorry!” Deku started, hands flying about his head as he started to prattle on an explanation.
“ I thought you were asking all those questions, I thought you were interested… in… me… romantically.”
“ I AM!” Katsuki shouted.
Deku froze again.
“ I’m confused. What’s the issue then? Why are you crying?”
Katsuki felt at his cheeks, they were absolutely wet. He was trembling too. How pathetic.
“ Id- I’m not just gonna be some fucking side piece!”
“ Side?… You wouldn’t be!”
“Oh bullshit, I know you’re seeing someone!”
“ I am?”
“ yes! That’s why I brought you here. Cause we’re partners and you didn’t tell me!”
“ Maybe I didn’t tell you cause I'm not seeing anyone?”
“ Or just fuckin’. I’m not gonna judge you.”
“ Oh my fucking god. Could you shut up! For two seconds, let me-“
“ I saw the hickeys!” Katsuki finally shouts out. God he hoped this place was sound proof.
“Hickeys?!” Deku screached indignantly.
“Two months ago. You were fucking covered in them, and there is one now.”
“ Kacchan I don’t know what you are talking about. I haven't slept… oh…”
“Yeah ‘oh’ is right, you fucking got one right now!”
Deku slapped his hand over the spot.
“You go around, playing with my heart…”
“ Oh my god, Katsuki.” Deku stood and walked around the table, kneeling in front of Katsuki and subtly moving Katsuki’s wine glass away.
“ Katsuki look at me and listen.”
Katsuki focused on the big bright green eyes.
“ I am not currently dating or sleeping with anyone.” Before Katsuki could response again Deku continued “ the bruises are from Tamaki senpai.”
Tamaki? Tamaki… Katsuki gasped. “ He’s fucking married you home wrecker!”
“ No no! Katsuki listen! We’ve been sparring.”
Sparring?
“ He's a good sparring partner cause his quirk can be really dynamic and unpredictable. It's just training. He got me really good that first sparring session a few months ago but i've been getting better,”
“ The engagement party?”
“ Yeah, we sparred again a few days before that, Mirio sempai distracted me and Tamaki senpai got a good hit in. He was apologizing for it at the party when you pulled me away.”
Deku pulled at his collar and showed several bruises, each circular in a pattern going through the crook of his neck. Most of them nearly faded away except for one.
Katsuki reached out and stroked it, feeling Izuku shiver at the action.
“ What about this one.” Katsuki hated how broken he sounded,
“ You gave me that one.”
“What!?”
“ When you asked me out on this.. this wasn't a date… was it?” Deku sounded dejected but katsuki was still focused on the memory. How drunk had he been? He remembered Deku starting to leave. Whispering that they needed to talk. Seeing the bruse...oh.
He had been so drunk he hadn’t realized he did it. The spark of irritation had turned to jealousy and a territorial move where Katsuki had sucked on the bruse, attempted to remove it or show his dominance to it, he had no clue. But it made sense why Deku had scrambled off like he did.
“ Katsuki.” Izuku started, looking up at him. “ Do you like me?”
“... Yes. Do yo-”
Izuku didn't give Katsuki time to ask. He rose up from his position on the ground and quickly shut Katsuki up with a seiring kiss. It was like drinking fire. Heat rushed through Katsuki as he reached out for something to grip. Such an oddly confident move, considering it was the nerd. But Katsuki let Izuku take the lead. Which was honestly a good idea because as this kiss broke it was replaced with another shortly, and then another, and then Izuku pulled Katsuki’s chair away from the table and crawled onto Katsukis lap. The legs of the chair groaned, surly not built for two heavily packed pro heros. But katsuki couldn't care.
The kiss turned heated. Labored breaths and panting filled the room. Katuski, without shame, found his grip on Izuku. One hand full of thigh the other gripping Izuku’s ass, pulling Izuku in closer.
Izuku moaned, holy shit he fucking moaned. If Katsuki could, he would travel back in time and beat the shit out of his past self for making Izuku’s life miserable when he could be pulling out these gorgeous sounds. In his lap was a smoking hot instrument which Katsuki was more than prepared to master him, no matter how much practice it took.
Izuku’s hands had mostly been coming through Katsuki's hair, gripping and pulling the two closer together, but his hands soon wandered to the swole peeks of katsukis chest. Fondling, squeezing, pinching at knipples over the dress shirt barrier. A barrier that Izuku thought had to fucking go as he started to fumble with the buttons.
“K-katsuki..” Izuku moaned sweetly as Katsuki broke off, attaching himself to the nerds neck.
Katuski felt his shirt rip open and heard the light clattering of buttons as they rolled away. Katsuki sat back as Izuku dove in.
Holllly shit. Licks, sucks, bites, the neard was fucking eating him alive.
Katsuki wouldn't be shown up though, he felt how hard they both were. He made a dash for the nerds belt. He’d fucking kill the nerd with pleasure. Here and now.
“ Excuse me sirs, we-”
They hadn't heard the door open but they had heard it slam shut. Katsuki made a mental note to leave a stupid high tip.
“We...we had better go.” Izuku pannted,
“ Yeah…”
“ Maybe we could continue talking… elsewhere?”
“... my place?” Katsuki offered
Izuku smiled brightly then nodded. Katsuki felt a swoop of joy hit him. He stood up, still holding onto Izuku and let the nerd fall gently to the floor, bending over to peck the short nerd on the lips. That's when he noticed the graphic on the shirt deku was wearing,
“ Seriously, my merch?”
“ Merch you gave me!” Deku said defensively.
“ So…” Izuku started, his head resting on Katsuki’s arm as they both lay in bed. Gross and sweaty but too tired to get up and bathe just yet.
“So?”
“ You really weren’t flirting with me? Asking me about myself, all the questions, katsudon for lunch..”
“ I was trying to find out who you were dating. Couldn’t just pop in and ask what your type was.”
“ … right.”
“ listen here, shit nerd. You will know when I flirt. Gonna flirt you to death.”
“ Goodness me.” Izuku giggled. “ that sounds hooorrible. Please dont eeeverrr do thaaat.”
Katsuki smirks at the yelp and smack to his chest that he recieved from pintching Izukus butt.
“ You are a rediculous man.”
“ And now… you’re stuck with me.” Katsuki punctuated his statement with a long, and in his opinion, well earned kiss.
“ Holy hell Midoriya! Did you get mauled by a bear?” Kaminari’s voice rang out in the locker room. Katsuki smirked.
“Looks like another freak in the sheets.” Purple shit added. “ When are you gonna share some numbers bro?”
Katsuki made his presence known as he walked towards the group. He could see Deku still looked properly ravished from last night.
“ As if any of you but the nerd could handle me.” Katsuki said as he walked by, ending his statement with a light but quick slap to Dekus ass. Deku looked sheepish but returned fire before Katsuki had a chance to scramble away.
“ How are you not dead?” He heard Kaminari ask as he excited the locker room.
|
Notes: Phone Sex+ Written for this prompt in the Suits Kink Meme: Thank you to the wonderful OP for the delicious prompt! ♥ Title and section titles from the Empires song 'Voodooized'. The idea here is that this is a fic in three and two parts. The phone call from both sides: desperate!Mike and needy!Harvey, and then the after party of both.
Harvey had left the office, tossing Mike a smug mock salute as he abandoned his lowly junior associate to what for anyone else would be a weeks worth of work. So here Mike is, four hours later, calling Harvey from the now dark and completely deserted floor to let him know that he’s just found a loophole in a contract they’ve been trying to crack for almost a month now.
He has the phone held to his ear by the crook of his shoulder as he starts to piece the file back together and clear away his things so he can leave.
“........Yeah?”
And Mike has never known Harvey to answer the phone with anything other than “Harvey Specter”, but okay.
“Hey, so I found something in the Dawson file, do you have a copy of the contract?”
It takes Harvey several long seconds to answer and when he does, it sounds like he’s out of breath. Maybe Mike caught him in the middle of a work out or something, but doesn’t he go to the gym first thing in the morning?
“I .. yeah, I can .. oh ..”
And what? Harvey’s voice sounds so much lower than Mike’s ever heard it, and what was with the breathy little ‘oh’? That wasn’t a painful, taxing work out ‘oh’, or an ‘oh sure just let me grab that’ ‘oh’, it had actually sounded kind of like a pleasurable, soft exclamation and … oh. Shit.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you … had company, I’m so sorry, I’ll just talk to you about this tomorrow, sorry.”
There is no hesitation before Harvey’s answer this time.
“No! I’m totally alone, Mike. Continue with what you were saying.”
Mike has to grip the phone in his hand now, all thoughts of leaving abandoned because he can hear it in Harvey’s voice - even though he’s fought to get it under control now, his sentences are still forced and he’s still out of breath, biting off words like he’s speaking them through gritted teeth. If he’s alone and sounds like this … realization hits Mike, a sharp kick of want twisting low in his gut. Harvey is jerking off. And had presumably paused in doing so to answer the phone to Mike, is now urging him to keep talking. Jesus christ.
“Okay, I … on page 264 there’s an indemnity clause that I think we could use to our advantage if we show that -”
Harvey whimpers on the line, and Mike has to drop a hand to adjust his trousers because this is already pretty much the hottest thing that has ever happened to him. Ever since he’d crashed the interviews, he’s thought Harvey was one of the most attractive men he’s ever met. And that was on looks alone. Every day since then, following Harvey’s orders, getting bossed around by that voice has left Mike pretty much willing and eager to drop his pants at a seconds notice. Their dynamic gets to him in a way that he’ll have to be embarrassed by later, because right now he apparently gets to listen to Harvey jerk off.
“that - the conditions the client had to endure -”
“Fuck.”
And it was muffled, maybe Harvey had put his hand over the phone or moved it from his mouth so Mike wouldn’t hear, but he had and he can’t pretend he didn’t, he has to know.
“Harvey are you … are you ….”
Harvey laughs then, and it’s low and dry and amused, like he’s five steps ahead of Mike as always.
“Am I what, Mike? Touching myself? Yes. Getting off on the sound of your voice? Yes. But you - oh - you already knew that, didn’t you?”
And since when is Mike the one with reason to feel embarrassed, exposed? Only Harvey could do this, could answer his fucking phone while he’s getting off, continue to do so while he talks to Mike, and make Mike feel guilty for it. But the idea that he’s been caught listening to this knowing exactly what was happening, that Harvey knows he stayed on the line even after he figured it out because he wanted to hear, that that might be something Harvey should hold over him, punish him for …. Mike is squirming in his desk chair, already harder than he can ever remember being in his life.
“Yes, yeah Harvey I … I -”
“You want to listen? You want to hear what it sounds like when I come?”
And Mike tries to stall, tries to win himself a few seconds to calm down and think rationally about this, because things like this don’t just happen - he is not that lucky and people don’t generally reveal an interest by offering up accidental phone sex like this.
“Harvey … you can’t just … this isn’t a good idea. This is a terrible, terrible idea.”
(Except when he says ‘terrible’, he really means something else entirely and he can’t keep that fact very well hidden if the way he says it with soft, enthusiastic awe is anything to go by.)
“It’s a fantastic idea, Mike. I thought of it.”
As if that’s proof enough in itself of the validity of the situation, which … okay, it generally is.
“How did you even … did you know I was going to call? What if it had been anyone else? Does it even matter that it was me?”
“I set my phone to block calls from everyone except you. Just in case.”
“.............. just in case I called you to have phone sex?”
And Harvey huffs at that, amused but impatient.
“To clarify, and in order to hasten back to the portion of events where you let me get off on the sound of your voice in relative peace - I assumed this would go down in one of two ways - you wouldn’t be into it, and you’d hang up and pretend you were imagining things, or you’d get caught up and play along. Now which is it, Michael?”
And he really can’t argue with that kind of logic, especially not when it’s presented in that tone of Harvey’s lovely, rough voice - all low, hushed rushes of breath.
“The .. the latter. What do you want me to do?”
“You’ve never done this before?”
“No .. never.”
And it’s true. With anyone else it would seem ridiculous, it would be ridiculous. But Harvey has this maddening way of making whatever he wants seem like the most reasonable request in the world, and exactly what you want to give him.
“Good. Don’t worry, I don’t expect anything fancy. Just … talk to me. Answer me. Tell me anything I ask to hear, and do it honestly. Can you do that?”
“Yes - god, please.”
Mike’s begging already, and he didn’t have to admit that this was getting to him, didn’t even have to let on that he knew what was going on, but Harvey makes him want to beg, leaves him desperate for the slightest excuse to be obedient, to be a ‘good boy’ for him, because hadn’t half hearing that just been the best day of his life.
“So earn it, Mike. Talk to me, tell me - do you think about me like this? About us together?”
And all it takes is that, the soft urging tone of Harvey’s voice talking to him like this and Mike is cracking wide open, ready and willing to tell Harvey everything.
“Yeah, I think about it. Every day. Every time we’re in a room together.”
“And what exactly do you think about, Mike?”
“I think about you bending me over your desk. About you letting me get on my knees for you.”
Harvey laughs again, low like before, and his breathing is labored now, bitten off gasps slipping between his words.
“And would you? Would you be good for me?”
“Yes. I’d be so good, I’d be perfect.”
“You think you could? Be what I wanted?”
And Mike is out of his mind with want right now, but he can never refuse the chance to point out the obvious, when it’s being overlooked.
“You blocked all calls but mine. I think I’m already exactly what you want.”
Harvey answers his insolence with something halfway between a growl and a groan and Mike can’t stand this, he has to get a hand inside his pants but the angle is all wrong and he almost drops the phone this time when he lodges it between his jaw and his shoulder.
Harvey hears.
“Uh-uh, no you don’t Michael. You can’t touch yourself. That’s not allowed.”
And he knows, he knows he should argue, disagree, at the very least be frustrated to the point of non compliance, but the order curls an entirely different lick of frustration in the pit of his stomach, settles hard across his shoulders like hands holding him down.
“Pay attention, just listen to me. And no matter what, keep your hands away from your cock, I don’t care how hard you get.”
It’s like a challenge, because hearing Harvey say the word ‘cock’ has Mike jerking in his boxers.
“Fuck … Harvey.”
“No Mike, no touching. The next hand on you is going to be mine, got it?”
And fuck.
“Fuck! Are you … do you -”
“Yes, Mike. You’re going to tell me every filthy little thing in that head of yours, and then you’re going to get in a cab and come to me, thinking about nothing but what I’m going to do to you when you get here.”
He can do that. He can try his very fucking best, at least. Spontaneous orgasm isn’t cheating, and certainly doesn’t feel anything like impossible right now.
“Yes, yes, please. What do you .. what do you want to know?”
Harvey moans on the line like maybe he hadn’t really thought that Mike would do this, but it’s too late now, he’s seeing this through.
“What do you think about most, Michael? What’s the one thing you can’t help but picture when you think about this?”
And that’s easy.
“You fucking me.”
“Why?”
The question isn’t what it sounds like, and Mike knows exactly what Harvey means and he knows that Harvey knows and please, please don’t let him be wrong about this, not now.
“Because I earned it. Because it’s my reward.”
“And that’s what you want? My dick in your ass?”
“Yes! Fuck, yes.”
“And how would I fuck you, Mike?”
“Slow, Harvey. Slow and deep and hard.”
“And are you gonna get yourself nice and wet for me?”
Harvey’s voice is impossibly lower now, and he’s panting openly, Mike can clearly hear the slick sounds of his fist working around his cock again, and he presses the phone closer to his ear, half to hear better, half because if he doesn’t do something with his hands he doesn’t know that he can control himself without Harvey here to make him.
“I’d … I’d finger myself open for you.”
“Would you let me watch? If I was next to you, would you be able to keep your hands to yourself?”
“I .. yes, if you asked me to.”
“But you wouldn’t want to?”
“No, I’d. I’d want to straddle you. I’d want to feel your cock against my ass while I worked myself open for you, I’d want to be close enough to see what you look like, watching me.”
“Fuck … Mike, so good. So good for me already. I want … fuck.”
Harvey’s grinding his teeth now, words pushed from his clenched jaw, harsh against the static.
“What, Harvey? What do you want?”
“I want this. I want you on your knees for me, sucking my dick, getting me wet enough to fuck you like you’d beg me to. Fuck ... fuck, you’d beg so nicely, Mike.”
And Mike lets his head drop to his desk, eyes slipping closed because his vision is blurring, his throat is thick.
“You’re not touching yourself, are you Mike? Because .. that … would .. make me very … unhappy.”
“No, I’m not. I just … I .. fuck, I need to. But I won’t. Not until you say.”
“How about .. you say. Beg me, Mike. Beg me now, and I’ll let you come to me. The faster I come, the faster I let you.”
And that’s incentive beyond anything Mike has ever known.
“Please, Harvey. I need to come. I want … I want you. I want anything you’ll give me. Please, please, just let me come to you, I’ll do anything.”
“Oh, that mouth. You’re going to be so lovely for me, I can tell. Make me come, tell me how much you want me.”
Mike’s cheeks are burning, embarrassment pushed over into pure heat now, and he can barely breathe, his mouth is so dry and his hand is clenched so tight around the phone his fingers hurt.
“I want you so bad I can barely stand it, Harvey. I want you to come now, fucking your hand and wishing it was me. And then I want you to come again when it is me, when I’m pleading and desperate for you to fuck me like you promised, because I’ve done everything you’ve asked, because I’ll do anything you want.”
And Harvey’s groan is longer, louder when he comes, even though Mike can hear he still has his teeth clamped shut, and he thinks about how he looks right now, jaw clenched, eyes closed, one hand on his phone while the other makes his orgasm last, but he needn’t, he shouldn’t, because if Mike gets his way and Harvey keeps his word then this is far from his last tonight.
There’s a second of silence, and then -
“Get in a cab right now. Get here as fast as you possibly can, and Mike?”
“Yes, Harvey?”
“I mean it. You were so good for me. You can have everything I promised you now. Hurry.”
And Mike is already halfway to the elevator, so hard in his pants he’s light-headed.
__________________________________________
{I'm Yours To Use}
The point at which we rewind back to the start and watch it play out in the reverse.
Harvey had left the office, tossing Mike a smug mock salute as he abandoned his lowly junior associate to what for anyone else would be a weeks worth of work. Harvey kind of wanted to stay, maybe wanted to push Mike up against the cardboard wall of his pathetic little cubicle and kiss him until neither of them could breath. He’s having this … problem, let’s just say, whereby he can’t seem to look at his rookie for any period of time lately without having his attention get snagged by his stupid, brilliant mouth, the messy, unprofessional stubble along his jaw, the smooth, inviting line of his throat as it disappears down inside his wrinkled collar. He leaves thoughts of anything south of that point for serious consideration once he gets home every evening. And some mornings before he leaves for work. And one unfortunate afternoon when Mike had stretched, the movement tugging his shirt high enough out of his pants that Harvey had seen a whole square inch of skin where the shirt wasn’t buttoned below Mike’s waist and Harvey had had to excuse himself and make unorthodox use of the fifth floor bathroom.
Harvey does not know what it is to doubt oneself, one’s abilities, or one’s position. And Harvey is not a man too shy to take the things he wants. But with Mike, with this, he is hesitant. He knows what he wants, and he thinks he deserves it, but he wants it a certain way or not at all. Mike is young and reckless and messy and magnificent. And Harvey wants the full, unrestrained force of all of him, not a measured, deliberate response.
So he plans to shock exactly that out of Mike. Catch him open, unawares and see for himself what’s inside.
When Mike calls, exactly ten minutes before Harvey had predicted he might, he slides a thumb across the screen of his phone as he drops his other hand low and tight around his cock, staving off the orgasm that’s been building ever since he sat back at his desk in his home office and let his mind stray to thoughts of all he might uncover beneath Mike’s suit, underneath his hands if all goes to plan.
“........Yeah?”
“Hey, so I found something in the Dawson file, do you have a copy of the contract?”
It takes Harvey several long seconds to answer and when he does, he’s out of breath. Planned or not, the reality of hearing Mike’s voice, close and warm in his ear even through the phone, sends an unexpected shiver down his spine.
“I .. yeah, I can .. oh ..”
He doesn’t mean for it to slip out, but the shock of how wholly effected he is by this already leaves Harvey more than a little undone, and this is …. he didn’t mean to …. maybe he has made a tactical error.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you … had company, I’m so sorry, I’ll just talk to you about this tomorrow, sorry.”
Harvey could use this as the ‘out’ that it obviously is. He could bark ‘So you should be’ and hang up, but instead of deterring him, finding himself so out of his depth, so hung up on every word Mike says, it’s … new and thrilling, and Harvey finds he likes it.
“No! I’m totally alone, Mike. Continue with what you were saying.”
He decreases his efforts to conceal the sounds he’s making, the hitches in his breath.
“Okay, I … on page 264 there’s an indemnity clause that I think we could use to our advantage if we show that -”
Harvey whimpers on the line,
“that - the conditions the client had to endure -”
“Fuck.”
And it was muffled, Harvey angled the phone slightly away from his mouth so Mike wouldn’t know for sure, but had to suspect ….
“Harvey are you … are you ….”
Harvey laughs then, and it’s low and dry and amused, like he’s five steps ahead of Mike as always. It’s an act. It’s total bullshit. But this is it, here is his chance. He’s going to push Mike and if he pushes back …. Harvey might just fall to his knees.
“Am I what, Mike? Touching myself? Yes. Getting off on the sound of your voice? Yes. But you - oh - you already knew that, didn’t you?”
And Harvey tries to laugh again, tries to play it like he knows exactly what he’s doing and knows exactly how Mike will react, but that’s only half true and Harvey can barely breathe, the seconds stretching out between them like a rubber band and Harvey doesn’t want to get stung, closes his eyes and waits for the snap.
“ …........... I ….... yes. Yes.”
The way Mike says it isn’t deliberate, isn’t measured, isn’t a planned out response, tactically considered. It’s dragged out of him, cutting to the surface, cutting through the static. It’s blunt, raw honesty, shocked out of him, and for all Harvey tried to steel himself against the crack of rejection he hadn’t thought to prepare for this result.
“Yes? YES!?”
“Fuck yes, Harvey. Do you know how many times I’ve had to jerk off at work because of things you’ve said to me? ‘Good boy’? Are you kidding me? I almost came in my pants.”
And fuck. Harvey doesn’t know what to say to that. His mind is racing, flipping through all the times he’s half-hidden innuendo laden comments in conversation, couldn’t help offering up too obvious commands for Mike to do with what he will. He’d always thought it coincidence, simple subordination when Mike had followed through. Of course he’d wanted to think that it was something more, but actually hearing that it really was …..
“Jesus, Mike. Why didn’t you say something?”
“You’re my boss! You like women! You’re …. you! How many reasons do you need!? I can’t believe you … you really think the best way to tell me you’re interested is to set up a phone sex trap?”
The thing is though, Harvey had thought about it for weeks, and this really did seem like the least potentially embarrassing way to feel out Mike’s feelings for him. That maybe speaks more to the level of hysteria his attraction has reached, with a generous nod to the fact that Harvey doesn’t generally get hung up on anyone, let alone someone he has to speak to every single day, he doesn’t have to think about ways to decipher how people feel about him, because more often than not he really doesn’t care. So as ridiculous as Mike clearly thinks this is, Harvey can’t bring himself to be anything but really rather proud of his cunning plan, because
“Well it worked, didn’t it?”
“..... point. But I don’t … I can’t … did you … are you still touching yourself? Thinking about me?”
And it should be a slightly shocked question, he thinks, maybe a little awed. It’s anything but. Mike’s voice drops, and he sounds smug. It’s a really great tone for him, and Harvey had kind of forgotten about the point of this whole exercise, but now, fuck. He slumps back in his chair a little, holds the phone propped against his shoulder so he can lift his hips, tug his pants down far enough to slip his hand inside. He curls his fingers to cup his balls, thumb dragging up along the shaft of his cock.
“Yes, I am. I have been.”
“Before you called?”
“Before I called, while you droned on about that stupid case, every night when I get home and can’t stop thinking about the way you bite your lip when you concentrate, how much I want to suck on the little indents your teeth leave till your mouth is wet and flushed for me.”
“Christ, Harvey.”
And Mike is breathless now, exasperated and frustrated and Harvey reaches for the lube he’s started keeping in his desk drawer, squirts a little into his palm and rubs it in, warms it into his skin with his fingers so when he wraps his hand around his cock everything gets hotter, wetter, better.
“You want to touch yourself, Mike? You can. I want to hear.”
Mike laughs at that. Actually laughs.
“I’m so hard right now, you have no idea. But I’m not gonna do anything about it. I’m going to get you off just like this, and then I’m coming over. You started this, you can finish it.”
Something else Harvey is not accustomed to is taking orders, in any capacity, but this learning curve continues and his cock jerks at Mike’s words, the assertion in his voice.
“Can I?”
And he means it to be mock-appreciate, amused. He really, really does. But it’s a little pleading, bordering on begging, instead. Jesus, this kid.
Mike laughs again, but it’s strained, rough.
“Yep, you can. If you’re really good, I might even let you fuck me.”
Harvey hadn’t even thought that far ahead, he … of course he’s thought about it, but he’s never been able to think about it in an eminent, this is really about to happen kind of context and his brain shorts out for a second. This is ridiculous. He kind of wants to bite down on the phone just to have something to do, some outlet for the lust jolting through him. He thinks about it now, Mike spread open around his cock, his ass and his hips and his hands and his throat and his lovely, lovely mouth. He’s close to coming already, thumbs through the pre-come beading from the head of his cock and keeps jacking himself in short, tight jerks, tries to draw it out.
“You … fuck, Mike … do you want that? Want me?”
“Want you? Harvey. I want you, have wanted you so bad I thought it was gonna kill me. It’s going to be so fucking good, I’m going to be so good. The things I’m going to do to you …”
“Tell me. Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
“Can’t you imagine it? Haven’t you thought about it already? Your tongue in my mouth, me on my knees for you, my pretty lips begging for your cock. Would you give it to me? If I asked nicely? I want it, Harvey. I want to be dripping with you.”
And that’s it, that’s ….
“Fuck, Harvey. You’re coming for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yeah, Mike -”
Then he can only groan, bring one hand up to his mouth so he can bite down on his wrist, other hand teasing up around the head of his cock and he feels his orgasm right down to his toes.
Mike sighs in his ear and Harvey’s cock jerks again, a painful little jolt of interest already. He’s not sure he’ll survive what Mike has planned for them, but he knows he wants to find out.
“Mike, get over here now.”
“Yes, Harvey.”
Harvey is never going to get sick of hearing Mike say that, and he has a feeling that from now on every time he does he'll remember this, Mike wrapping the words in obedience and audible, feral satisfaction while Harvey's come is still cooling against his skin, spilled for that voice.
___________________________________________________________
{But If You Call ... I'll Come To You}
The culmination of both and neither.
As far as he has the capacity to think at all, Mike worries briefly that when he gets to Harvey’s, when he sees Harvey, this won’t be what they think it is. It won’t survive the crossover to physical, tangible, the solemnly sworn admission that neither can then take back, deny.
But there’s a chance, and Mike would jump through hoops for it. He kind of already has.
He just barely manages to restrain himself from sprinting up the stairs of Harvey’s building, grips the handrail in the elevator hard enough to hurt, takes the hallway to Harvey’s door in long, eager strides.
He pauses at the door. Just for a second, and it’s not even a pause so much as a second of taking a deep breath, letting himself stay suspended in the pressure of the ‘what if’ before it possibly becomes a ‘sorry, no.’
Hands in his pockets, he looks down at his shoes, lets his head drop between his shoulders and doesn’t think, just stands still with the weight of the moment pressing down on him.
And then pulling him forward.
Except that’s Harvey’s hand around his tie, yanking him inside.
Mike barely has time to register the curl of warm knuckles against his chest before he’s pushed up against the back of the now closed door.
His head thumps back against the wood, tilts his head to a helpful and productive angle for when Harvey leans right into his space, hands curled around Mike’s biceps, and catches Mike’s mouth, sucks his lower lip until Mike gasps and parts his lips. Harvey groans and nips Mike’s bottom lip, soothes over the sting when he pushes his tongue deep. And then Mike has Harvey’s hot, wet, perfect mouth totally at his disposal and even though they’ve done filthy, lovely things already tonight, the shock of this pleasure makes his head swim. He opens his mouth under Harvey’s, slides his hands under his jacket and down to his hips, tilts his own up into the friction when he pulls Harvey in closer. They’re hard against one another and Mike is so lost, so gone for this already, Harvey’s tongue pushing into his mouth like he’s been waiting to get to do this all day, maybe forever, the solid, toned muscles of his back stretching and flexing under Mike’s hands as he rolls his hips in slow twists into Mike’s, the hard press of his cock against Mike’s, beyond desperate for attention. He wants to make out against vertical surfaces with Harvey pressed against every inch of him for hours at some point, but right now he really, really needs to get off before he comes in his pants just from the way Harvey’s breath stutters in his chest when Mike gets a hand up underneath his shirt.
Pulling away is far too difficult a task, but it’s worth it to see Harvey’s mouth flushed so full because of him, the way his eyes follow Mike’s mouth when he speaks, the blown expanse of his pupils when he looks up at Mike from under his eyelashes.
“Bed, Harvey. Bedroom, now.”
And Harvey must agree, because he’s pushing Mike’s jacket of his shoulders and then turning, pulling off his own clothes as he walks away and Mike following in his wake thinks he’s maybe a little absurdly turned on by the way Harvey is dropping his clothes where they fall, by how getting naked with Mike seems to be his top priority right now. Mike, unbuttoning his own shirt as he goes, finds he really likes being Harvey’s primary objective.
When he gets to Harvey’s bedroom Harvey is standing at the foot of his bed with his back to Mike, wearing just his boxers, and Mike’s breath catches. Seeing Harvey like this, all that smooth, tanned skin right there for Mike, about to be spread out across his white sheets for Mike to see and touch and take and have … he forgets how to breathe for a second.
He steps up behind Harvey once he’s down to his own underwear and Harvey’s head falls forward when Mike presses a kiss to the top of his shoulder. His hands rise up along the hard curve of Harvey’s abs and ribcage and his skin is so soft, goosebumping in the wake of Mike’s fingers.
They stand pressed together, still for a second, Mike’s forehead tipped to the top of Harvey’s spine, breathing warm and just a little too loud.
And then Harvey is taking Mike’s hands in his own, spinning them and turning in Mike’s arms to push Mike down onto the sheets on his back. Mike doesn’t let go, pulls Harvey down with him and he falls onto his knees above Mike, hands holding Mike’s to the bed above his head. It’s Harvey’s turn to stare, apparently, so Mike just laces his fingers with Harvey’s, lets him have his fill, gaze sweeping up across Mike’s body until they’re face to face again, kissing like they’ll never stop.
Harvey lets go of Mike’s hands, drags his fingers down around Mike’s arms still stretched over his head, nails scratching against the crook of his elbow, pushing underneath Mike’s shoulders, hands caught between the sheets and Mike’s back as he leans down and holds them flush together, touching at the shoulders, chest, lips and tongue.
As strange a thing as it might be to say about a man he talked off over the phone not an hour ago, Mike feels like this is the most intimate thing he’s ever done.
Harvey lifts his head, stares down at Mike like he heard him think that, smiles at him like he agrees, soft and fond.
“Last chance to back out, rookie. From here on in we’re well into sexual harassment territory. You sure?”
And his tone is trying for light, humor, but not quite reaching it. Mike’s shocked to find that Harvey doesn’t realize, not fully at least, just how sure he is. He leans up on his elbows, reaches for Harvey’s hands and brings them down to his waist, holds them there while he lifts his hips up into Harvey’s, insistent but not quite desperate yet.
“Very - very - very sure.” He says, straining up to suck on Harvey’s bottom lip between every word, slipping his tongue in behind Harvey’s teeth when he’s done. They kiss until they’re breathless again, but Harvey still isn’t moving and there is only so much Mike can do from this position, even after he spreads his legs and pushes Harvey’s knees out from under him so he falls a heavy, hard weight between Mike’s thighs.
“Seriously, do you need me to sign a waver? Because I will, if that’s what it takes to get you to fuck me.”
And it’s the first time either of them have called upon the tone from earlier, let the heat of their words bleed back into the rapidly decreasing space between them. It’s a great decision on Mike’s part, because Harvey laughs low and dark where he has his mouth pressed up against the underside of Mike’s jaw and starts working their boxers down and out of the way.
“Oh is that what you want?” He says and Mike is never going to get sick of breathless, teasing Harvey. Particularly not when he gets to have him like this, bearing down against Mike, their cocks trapped hard and slick between them. Mike wants to lift his legs to wrap around Harvey’s waist, wonders if that would be a little presumptuous still or if they’ve covered that territory already. But Harvey urges him further up the bed to rest against the pillows and crawls up after him, sliding his hands under Mike’s thighs to pull them up around his waist. Thank god. Mike locks his knees against Harvey’s hips, presses himself up against Harvey and he could come like this.
Harvey grabs lube and a condom from beside the bed and yes, yes, now please Mike thinks.
Maddeningly, Harvey takes his time with this. He stretches Mike like he has all day and Mike is feeling a lot of things right now, appreciation for one, but patience not so much.
“Come on, Harvey, I’m fine, come on -” Mike’s vision whites out when Harvey crooks his fingers. Mike is shamelessly writhing against the sheets now, sweat cool across his shoulders when his body snaps up into Harvey, one hand fisted in Harvey’s hair.
“Fuck, please” He begs when Harvey doesn’t move, just keeps fucking him slowly with three fingers, lube dripping down into the crease of his ass where it’s clenched around Harvey’s hand.
Harvey leans down to kiss him, works his tongue into Mike’s mouth just like he’s doing with his fingers, dipping into him and pulling back when Mike tries to pull him deeper. Mike has to pull away, has to let his head fall back against the pillows, turns his face into them. Harvey noses along the line of his jaw, takes his earlobe between his teeth and whispers low and rough in his ear -
“I can’t wait to be inside you.”
And Mike can’t take this anymore.
“Now, Harvey. Please - you’re killing me.”
And then Harvey is finally listening, rolling on the condom and wedging a pillow up under Mike’s hips, hooking his hands under Mike’s knees to drag his legs higher around his waist, smoothing his fingers along Mike’s thighs when he feels the muscles quivering under his fingers.
“Shh, shh.” He soothes,
“I’ve got you.”
He pushes in in one steady thrust, then stills to let Mike adjust against the burn. ‘Got him’ indeed.
“Move, move, you have to move.” Mike is half chanting, half babbling, doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but he can hear the pleading tone. Harvey is still above him, over him, in him, eyes shut tight, brow furrowed like he’s in pain, mouth drawn tight so that little muscle in his jaw jumps under the strain and Mike wants to soothe it with his tongue.
And then he’s moving, pulling out to fuck Mike in deep, paced thrusts that have Mike reaching for the headboard above him, pressing the palm of his hand flat against it so he can shove down into the momentum Harvey is giving him.
Harvey’s watching him now, jaw still clenched tight like he’s trying not to speak, but his eyes give him away. He’s staring down at Mike in a way that makes Mike flush, the soft awe in his eyes making Mike feel warm and exposed, closer to Harvey in that moment than he’s ever felt to anyone before, even like this. Mike turns his face into Harvey’s forearm, tensed beside his head, and presses a kiss to the soft skin inside Harvey’s wrist. Harvey shifts his weight, one hand gripping bruises into the curve of Mike’s hip bone, pulling him down into the cradle of Harvey’s pelvis. He brings his other hand to Mike’s face, cups it soft and tender, a stark counterpoint to where he’s pushing up into Mike, steady and hard. Mike smiles up at him, already blissed out underneath Harvey, and something about the expression makes Harvey crack.
He leans down, bending Mike almost in half so he can kiss him, thumb on his chin holding Mike’s mouth open where Harvey wants it.
“You have no idea how much I wanted this.” He says and Mike moans, brings both hands to slide down Harvey’s back, grip his ass and pull him in tighter, deeper.
“It was yours for the taking.” Mike answers, panting and cheeky.
“Not this.” Harvey huffs, grinding in and staying deep for a second. Mike clenches down around him, just because he can and raises an eyebrow.
“Well yes this, obviously.” Harvey groans,
“But this more -” He clarifies, pulling almost all the way back out and leaning down to kiss Mike while he pushes back in, feels Mike’s mouth go slack against his and Mike gets it, Mike knows what he means then.
“Us.” He breathes, and Harvey nods, drags his mouth Mike’s throat, nips at his collarbones and licks at the sheen of sweat there. He takes Mike’s hips in both hands and pulls him down into his thrusts and they’ve both been riding the wave of this for so long now, all night it feels like and when Mike wraps a hand around his straining, leaking cock they both moan, the noise vibrating up into Mike’s chest where Harvey’s lips are pressed to the dip between his clavicles.
One more deep thrust and Mike’s thumb catching up under the head of his cock and he’s coming between them, clenching down around Harvey, who follows him down, comes in Mike’s ass, cock jerking so Mike can feel it inside him, thighs shaking up around Harvey’s waist.
Harvey doesn’t pull out yet, stays where he is and Mike doesn’t mind the weight.
“Well, fuck.” Mike says when he can form words again.
“Mhmmm.” Harvey says when he lifts his head to look at Mike, but he’s blushing slightly, and Mike can’t believe he’s embarrassed now, after all this, but he’s grinning small and kind of smug and that’s not half as irritating now that Mike knows Harvey has truly earned the right to gloat in all things.
“.......... we … uh. We get to do that again, right?” Mike asks, just to be sure.
Harvey leans up onto his elbows and kisses Mike, slow and easy.
“I don’t know.” He says, smiling.
“Let me think about. I’ll call you.”
_____________________________________________________________
|
Authors note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The figure in a dark blue uniform sat in his car, as rain beat down against the windshield. The parking lot was full of vehicles but empty of people, the rain heavy enough to obscure the dark shape sat in the driver's seat from anyone who might care to glance in that direction.
He worried at his thumb nail with his teeth, left hand raised to his mouth as he gnawed nervously at the nail plate. As a particularly strong gust of wind rocked his car the man leaned forward and to the side, opening up the glove compartment. He pawed the assorted junk that always seems to accumulate in places like this aside with his right hand, his left thumb now fully in his mouth as he sucked on it in an unconscious throwback to a nervous childhood habit. Finally, the figure straightened back up, a small scrap of paper held between two trembling fingers.
The tremor in his hands didn't make his next task any easier as he carefully punched in the series of digits scrawled on the paper into his cell phone. He held it to his ear, clearing his throat nervously as the soft purring ringtone only seemed to increase his jitteriness.
The abrupt cessation of the ringtone was enough to make him hop in place on the driver's seat, the sudden silence no more comforting to the caller.
"He-hello?" he breathed nervously into the phone, unconsciously pitching his voice into a whisper despite being alone.
There was no reply, the man quickly glancing at the front of his phone to ensure the call hadn't been disconnected. It hadn't.
"Um, Hello...Hello?" He tried again. Again, only silence followed.
The caller had never identified himself as a particularly hardy person, especially mentally. As a child his mother's most frequent description of him had been 'sensitive', his father's less flattering appraisal had been 'damn nervous'. That sensitivity his mother had noticed in him might have been a delicateness but he also had a touch more perceptiveness than most. It was this characteristic that told him that there was a presence on the other end of the line listening.
"Uh, you asked. I mean you told me to call if I had news." he spoke quickly, anxious to finish his task, "Well there was a visitor today at the prison, a deputy sheriff, Deputy McGuigan. She was asking about you, took some stuff you'd left behind with her when she left."
The man paused then, waiting on a response.
"My regards to your wife." a low cold voice oozed from the phone and into his brain. The caller almost replied in turn before he remembered exactly who he was speaking to. Instead, he ended the call without replying, slumping into the seat, drained from the experience.
The weather washed over the car, allowing him an excuse to prolong his return to his shift at the prison. As he attempted to collect himself before returning to face his colleagues, he recalled the day he'd met the voice on the phone outside of the prison walls. Others had ridiculed the tall thin silent prisoner, guards and inmates alike but the caller had known from the first moment he'd seen him that the prisoner known as Ghost was not just dangerous, he was evil too. When the newly freed prisoner had shown up outside his house, chatting amiably with the caller's wife, a cold dread had squeezed the prison guard's lungs. To get rid of him, to get him away from his wife he'd quickly agreed to the small favour requested of him.
Now that favour had been done relief mixed with shame swept through the guard.
As the weather washed over the car, he covered his face with his hands and wept.
Arlene and Erica were playing to their strengths.
The Deputy Sheriff was enlisting aid for the hunt. Erica had mixed feelings about this. She fully understood the need for assistance but the loss of one of her comrades was still a painful reminder that when all was said and done, it was she who had begun this hunt, this investigation. As the instigator, some of the blame for Amos's death fell on her shoulders. She'd distracted both him and Duncan with sex, which had led, in part, to Arlene being ambushed. The distraction of the ambush had given Butterman the opportunity to find out more about his pursuers, and the sex scene he had no doubt witnessed had given him all the encouragement he needed to murder Amos.
Erica still found her sleep disturbed on a nightly basis by these thoughts.
While Arlene sought reinforcements, Erica looked to improve their odds in tracking down the killer by employing her journalistic investigative skills. She contacted the same law firm that handled Butterman's aunt's affairs. Speaking to the lawyer that Arlene had been in contact with, Erica was able to trace wildlife enthusiasts that his aunt had contact with over the years. A fruitful series of phone calls to these people had finally put her in touch with a rabidly keen local ornithologist who had been the beneficiary of the aunt's field notes. These notes recorded all of her travels and sightings over her lifetime of local wildlife, especially birds.
Some well-placed flattery later and the notes from the period where Butterman would have been holidaying with his aunt were FedEx' ed to Erica.
Erica then spent the remaining day and a half until Arlene re-joined her, pouring over the handwritten notes, attempting to decipher the flowing script and glean any information hidden inside.
Lunchtime found Erica sat by herself at a large booth in a local bar. The table was taken over by food and papers. A bowl of chicken wings to her left, that she reached for occasionally as she worked. The right side of the tables surface dominated by a map of the Ozarks region. She would read a passage from the field notes, compare something she'd seen in them on the internet, then finally a notation in red marker was made on the map itself. Watching her, the barman shook his head in puzzlement as the attractive brunette slaved away at her task, oblivious to the looks she was receiving from the bar's patrons.
Arlene had to clear her throat twice before Erica looked up blearily from her work. The older redhead grimaced at Erica's pale face a bloodshot eyes but she held off commenting on them. Behind her, a number of strangers congregated, so Arlene half turned to usher them into seats at the booth, waiting until everyone was crowded around the table before she began to make any introduction.
"Gentlemen, Lady...This is Erica." Arlene began speaking as the last person squeezed themselves into the booth. "She is the reason we're all here, the brains behind this entire event."
Erica gawped at Arlene when she heard this introduction. She hardly considered herself the brains, not after receiving so much help from experts like Arlene herself and others like Tiny. Nonetheless she recovered her composure and gave a hesitant smile at the four newcomers.
Arlene continued, now working her way around the table from Erica's right hand side.
"This is Trent." a black man in his early twenties nodded silently to Erica, "He is one of Duncan's nephews and he learned his trade following in his uncle's footsteps." Erica took this to mean that the well-built young man, with his serious eyes, had been or still was in the Army.
"Beside him is Lincoln, Duncan vouched for him, he has had some fugitive experience."
"Hey." the older black man sitting to Trent's right said, giving Erica a small wave from his hand. "Yeah, spent a few years tracking bail jumpers in Texas, before that I did some security work. By the way, Duncan said to say hi."
"Where is Duncan?" Erica asked, her face turning from Lincoln to Arlene and back again.
Lincoln smiled broadly at the question which did a lot to soften his hard flat features. The neatly trimmed goatee and freshly shaved head gave Lincoln a hard look that probably served him well in his profession. Arlene supplied the answer to Erica's question, explaining how Duncan had been showing off on a kids BMX bike and had managed to tear a ligament in his knee, ruling him out of the hunt.
"Beside me." Arlene said, going back to her role of emcee, "Is JP, who you can probably guess was born in the wrong century and has spent way too much time living outdoors."
The old man beside her cackled with good humour and stuck out a hand towards Erica, the first to do so. Erica took his hand, shaking it warmly as he continued to hoot with suppressed laughter. She automatically found herself liking him, his long white beard was raggedly trimmed as was the fringe of white hair that escaped the dirty grey baseball cap tilted back on his head. He reminded Erica of a character from the Dukes of Hazard TV show, Uncle Jesse.
JP wiped away tears of mirth, his blue eyes sparkling with humour. He gave Erica's hand a final light squeeze before releasing it and leaning back in his seat. "Don't you mind Sheriff Scarlet here." he said brightly to Erica, "She's still smartin' from havin' ta let me drive is all."
"Lastly." Arlene said as she ignored the jibe from JP, "This is Sondra. Amos was her godfather."
The black woman sitting opposite Erica didn't acknowledge the introduction at all but Erica watched as the woman's hands clenched briefly into fists at the sound of her godfather's name. To Erica she seemed a surprising choice as companion. She appeared to be no more than five foot three in height, average weight but with an impressive bust that must have been 36F in size. Arlene might have picked up on Erica's thoughts or maybe had decided herself that Sondra needed more in the way of an introduction because she continued talking.
"Sondra caught the gun bug from Amos early. She's been shooting since she was eight, so that's eighteen years of practice and training. She can handle anything with a trigger and I don't think we need to go into her motivation."
There were grunts of acknowledgement from everyone at the table, however Erica had felt Trent shift in his seat when Arlene was talking about Sondra and a quick glance toward him showed him staring at the black woman with a look of consideration on his face.
"You done with these?" JP broke the silence as his arm stretched across the table once again and he pulled the half empty bowl of chicken wings toward him.
"Good thinkin' man." Lincoln commented, "Let's get some food, I'm starving." He raised his hand, gesturing toward the barman who nodded, looking around for a waitress to send to the booth.
"What's all this?"
Sondra's question brought everyone's attention back on her and Erica saw her waving her hand almost contemptuously at the spread of papers on the table.
"Just doing some research to help us out." Erica answered.
"Research, readin', talkin' all fancy. Not much doin' though is there?" There was no mistaking the contempt in her tone but Erica didn't rise to the challenge, guessing that at least some of Sondra's issue was down to the loss of Amos.
"Well, the idea is to get us to Butterman quicker." Erica didn't bother elaborating further, instead she just began shuffling the papers together before pulling the map towards herself in order to fold it back up.
"What do you mean?" Erica realised she hadn't filled Arlene in on her work. She spent a couple of minutes explaining what she'd been up to the last few days, talking about how she'd tracked down the aunt's journals. Erica paused then to allow everyone to order some food and drinks, restarting her story when the waitress moved away.
"A book about where some dumb fuckin' birds are? What da fuck that gonna do for us?" Sondra snorted.
"Nah, nah, nah, I get it. That's clever, real clever." Lincoln said, bald head nodding appreciatively, "Go on girl, finish the story."
Erica smiled towards him and centred the map so that everyone could see it clearly. She pointed out the small red dots she had marked in various positions on the map.
"I went through the field notes a couple of times. Butterman's aunt almost never listed a name for any of her bird watching haunts so that made things difficult. But she must have had aspirations as a poet or short story writer at some point because her notes aren't clinical, they are really descriptive. Now some of them go on a bit, waxing lyrical about a bird's plumage or describing the 'sun kissed leaves of a tree sheltering a nest', again not helpful. However, there are some decent descriptions of landmarks scattered throughout the notes, hills, streams etc. So, I began matching up these geographical features with the species of wildlife she reported seeing there. Some were common enough, but thankfully there were enough that inhabited smaller more specific areas so that I could narrow down our search area."
As she spoke Erica traced out an area on the map, maybe a third the size of the one she and Arlene had originally felt they needed to search. Her research had already more than halved the workload before they'd even begun.
JP had retrieved Erica's notes and ran a finger down her list of land features described in the notes. He glanced at the map then before blowing out his breath in a long low whistle.
"Hat's off to ya, young 'un. I know this area better n' most and that's a powerful piece of trackin' done without setting foot on the ground." Lincoln smacked a clenched fist on the table in agreement to JP's words, flashing a grin at Sondra. The black woman sniffed loudly but under Lincoln's unwavering gaze and etched grin, she eventually relented and offered Erica a small head bob of recognition.
As beginnings go, it wasn't the worst Erica considered as the food arrived.
The next twenty-four hours flew by as the group prepared for the hunt ahead of them.
Erica found her time split between JP and Sondra. For a man in his sixties, he seemed to have an unending river of energy. He spent two hours gruelling Erica over her findings, making her revisit sections of the original field notes while he used his own knowledge of the locality to validate Erica's results. She quickly saw that despite his ready humour and folksy charm, he was competent and professional with regard to the project ahead of them. Watching him bent over the maps, tanned and weathered hands splayed on the tabletop, large beaked nose protruding above the unruly facial hair, Erica was put in mind of a bird of prey. JP might not be the young hawk he once was but there was still a deadly stillness to him, poise and patience concealing an internal energy.
When JP finally let her go, he bounded over to Lincoln and Trent, breaking into an animated discussion with the younger men as to supplies they still needed to source.
Freed from the old white hunter's interrogation, Erica was drawn by Arlene over to Sondra. The black woman's opinion of Erica had improved with Erica's display of research over lunch but it lurched downwards once again when Erica admitted her unfamiliarity with weapons outside of shotguns. That confession led to a three-hour training session where Erica was given the basics on safety and handling of the pistol that Sondra provided for her.
"It's a Glock G19." Sondra explained, "Light enough, simple enough and a good magazine capacity."
They took it to a quiet location that JP recommended and Erica was able to get a feel for it. She did her best to impress Sondra but the constant barrage of verbal tics, all negative, coming from behind Erica as she blazed away at a paper target told her she'd failed to score points with the gun toting ebony beauty. And she was a beauty in Erica's opinion. Sondra boasted a cleavage that Erica could only feel envious of. Her cocoa brown skin was flawless and unmarked save for a small stud piercing her left nostril. Her mouth was wide and sensual, her teeth slightly large but that tiny flaw seemed to just add to the overall package rather than take from it.
Both Trent and Lincoln certainly seemed taken by her, though Sondra seemed to have just one thing on her mind, revenge for Amos.
"Okay, that'll do." Sondra had said, calling an end to the target practice. "This is just a backup piece, just personal protection. I don't think you gonna be killing anyone anytime soon. That's my job. Just wanted to be sure you weren't gonna kill me by mistake. But you all good."
Perhaps it was Erica's despondent face as she examined the largely untouched target or just Sondra's acceptance that Erica too wished to avenge Amos. Whatever the reason the black woman squeezed Erica's hand as she took the empty pistol from her and offered her a smile.
"Don't you worry. When this all done, I'm gonna teach you to use this gun right. Girl like you, looking like you do... shit you need to protect yo'self!"
And then they were off. Three vehicles loaded with supplies as the six-person crew headed out to hunt down a serial killer, a man whose continued existence threatened their own, a man responsible for the death of one of their own. Erica drove, following Arlene, JP snoring like a buzzsaw on the backseat of the car. The journey took nearly 16 hours of driving. They stopped only to eat and use the rest facilities at gas stations they passed. Drivers swapped out with passengers every couple of hours, snatching what rest they could.
None of them knew if they were up against a clock, if Butterman would strike again the next day, next week or next year. They did know that, despite the combined efforts of Erica and JP, they had a huge area to cover and search. And every moment that monster remained at large was a slap in the face to the memory of their friend and a risk to other innocent lives.
When they finally reached the destination, the six hunters tumbled from their vehicles, pulling on limbs to stretch cramped muscles. They were all tired but not one of them voiced a complaint.
Arlene hadn't been idle on the long drive. When they finally stopped at a small campsite area, she was ready to give the team a working plan. There had been some discussion about the relative merits of splitting up the group on arrival. It had been Sondra and Trent's position that Lincoln and Erica should work through the campsites and local supply stores, showing pictures of Butterman to people in the hope of generating a lead. That would play to their strengths and, though it was unsaid, keep Erica from direct involvement in the hunt.
After the ambush however, Arlene was reluctant to split the group up. She had zero respect for Butterman as a human being, but he had proven to be a dangerous opponent and she wasn't going to let anyone in his sights, Erica especially, out of her own. There was some grumbling from Sondra which was expected but Arlene's authority was absolute and after a few muttered comments a testy Sondra agreed to the group remaining together.
A further reason for Erica and Lincoln to hold off waving pictures of Butterman around was for the attention it might attract. At best the local law enforcement might get word of their presence, at worst Butterman himself might be alerted.
It didn't take long for the group to load up and head out, back packs bulging, weapons concealed.
They swept through the area looking for signs of a permanent camp or any indication that one of the many scattered but abandoned homes in the area was being used. The landscape was beautiful, thick forests, hills, creeks and rivers and all centred around a mountain range. After a long day they made a rough camp by a river, a simple stew prepared by JP nourishing them. Erica was disappointed by their lack of progress; they hadn't managed to comb through even one entire grid on their map. At this rate it would take weeks to cover the area properly. Sondra peered over Erica's shoulder at the map, watching as Erica marked in red the area, they had explored that day.
The two of them shared a look of agreement, glancing over at Arlene. Both felt that the group should split, just to speed up the search but neither wanted to be the one to take it to Arlene, not yet at least.
The next day began the same, a quiet trek as each member of the group fell into themselves, keeping their own counsel as they plodded along. Just after noon, JP called a halt and signalled Lincoln who was bringing up the rear to bring everyone up.
Once the group had gathered together, JP explained why he'd called a halt. "Been tuning into the local weather station, had a feelin' in my bones but I wanted to be sure. We are gonna get some nasty weather moving in. Rain fer sure, chance of some thunder n' lightnin' too."
Arlene looked around her. "We can't afford to stop every time it starts to rain." she said, "We've all brought rain gear so let's press on."
"Makes no never mind to me." JP sniffed, "Bit of rain aint my concern. Lightnin' scorching my ass is more my worry. You paid fer my advice but aint my call fer you to take it. Let's keep on keeping on then."
About two hours later and Erica felt the temperature begin to drop and the sky above them darkened as black storm clouds began to huddle together, turning a bright afternoon into dusk in minutes. She pulled a raincoat from her bag, pulling it on for warmth before hurrying to catch up with the group as they pushed on. Not long afterwards as they crossed a small clearing, JP and Lincoln in the van of the group as they watched for tracks, a fat drop of rain landed square between Erica's eyes as she looked skyward. She gave a startled squeak at the unexpected contact and giggled straight after as five pairs of eyes swung in her direction.
"Sorry...umm...raindrop." she offered by way of an apology.
JP gave her a thumbs up. As the group moved on, Erica heard him clearly as he mock whispered to Lincoln, "Yup that rain, sure likes to drop in." Sondra's groan and Arlene's muttered opinion of JP had Erica biting her lip to stop giggling again.
Her good humour was fleeting though as the first few errant drops of rain were soon joined by a legion of their relatives. The cascade of rain grew from being an irritant to being positively hazardous as it began to blow into their faces courtesy of a rising wind.
Arlene grimly continued walking onwards but she couldn't miss the faltering steps and looks of concern from the others in the party. A minute later and a rumble of thunder made all of them pause mid step, eyes scanning the dark sky for the lightning flash. They were working with torches now even though it wasn't even 5pm. The rough terrain and rapidly shrinking visibility had Erica stumbling as she tried to stay close to the dimly illuminated figure ahead of her.
She could make out raised voices ahead of her, JP's and Arlene's, not raised in anger but in an effort to be heard above the storm. Suddenly Trent was turning to her, pulling on her arm as he urged her into a run, the whole group breaking off the trail, scrambling to follow the lean outline of JP as he led them off the trail. The next ten minutes was a mad dash through trees and torrential rain as the muddy ground beneath them threatened to pull the boots from their feet one moment or turn their ankle the next as they moved from sucking mud to slippery muck and back again.
A minutely darker shape began to fill the path ahead and Erica realised that JP was leading them towards the mountain.
A flash of lightning turned the area bright with a brief fluorescent snap and they could all see a small wooden structure built square against the mountain face just fifty paces away. Then it was forty, another flash of lightning and a boom of thunder as the storm raged right above their heads. Twenty paces, ten...Erica found herself, lungs bursting, shoving herself shoulder to shoulder with the others as they entered into shelter.
The refuge turned out to be an old abandoned mine-shaft. There was a musty smell in the tunnel but at least it offered a respite from the storm outside.
The mine hadn't been in service for many years, apart from the wooden beams supporting the roof, everything else of value had long been stripped out. There were slight regular grooves on the floor where rails for a cart had once run, the rails themselves vanished.
JP lost no time in organising things. He did a quick reconnaissance of the mine, disappearing from view around a bend. He soon returned however; arms laden with plenty of dry timber. Once he had a fire going near the mouth of the tunnel, he insisted that everyone change out of their soaked clothing, leaving it near the fire to dry out. There was no cover to offer to protect people's modesty, the best that could be achieved was an unspoken agreement that everyone turned away as they stripped out of their wet clothes and into spare clothing from their bags.
The adrenaline from the mad run to escape the storm was beginning to fade now and the group huddled round the fire, letting the heat soak into their chilled bodies. Arlene's mood was sombre and it was affecting everyone else as she took on the blame for staying out in the storm onto her shoulders. Erica feared the older woman's mental health would begin to suffer from all of the recent setbacks and so she thanked God for Arlene having included JP in their group.
The jovial old man returned from another trip into the depths of the mine shaft, his big hands clutching the necks of a half dozen bottles.
"Moonshine!" He declared happily, passing the bottles of clear liquid around. "Someone set up a still back there, kind hearted folks they are, they done left us some samples to try on."
"Fuck me, Father Time!" Trent gasped, punching his chest to catch his breath after he'd taken a swig from a bottle. "You trying to kill us with this shit?"
"Careful there, sonny." JP answered, "This stuff puts hairs on a man's chest, young fella like you, might just make you blind."
"Yeah, well I'd prefer to lose my sense of smell instead, even blind I'd still find you in the dark." quipped Trent, taking another mouthful.
JP put on a mock shocked expression, mouth hanging open, slowing turning his head to take in the whole company. "I'll have you know, thanks to Arlene taking us for a walk in the rain, I've now had three showers this year!"
Everyone, Arlene included burst into laughter at that. JP gave Erica a slow wink, inclining his head towards Arlene who was now taking a deep drink as well. Erica smiled back in return, giving him just a faint head bob in acknowledgement. JP might have played the part of the rustic hillbilly but there was a sharp mind beneath that shock of white hair.
Whoever had originally built the mine had built in some ventilation shafts as well, the result being that there was a steady but gentle draft coming from inside the mine that carried the smoke from the fire out into the darkness of the deluge outside.
Inside, the six companions were making valiant efforts to put a dent into the store of illicit alcohol that JP had discovered. The mix of physical exertion, the warmth of the fire on her skin and the raw alcohol in her stomach soon had Erica drifting towards sleep. She wasn't alone in that, through her gradually closing eyelids she spotted yawns and relaxed faces among the entire group. And then there was only sleep.
Erica couldn't be sure what roused her, probably a crackle or pop from the burning timber on the fire. Once she began to waken though she became aware of other sounds.
Outside the rain still fell in heavy sheets. The wind had dropped off some but she could still hear the faint echo of thunder. Inside the tunnel Erica could hear the heavy breathing of people deep in sleep and beneath that, shorter sharper breaths. The rapid breathing of excitement.
She opened her eyes slightly. JP seemed to be asleep across from her, to her right Arlene also seemed to be slumbering, Trent curled up just behind and to one side of the redhead. Almost directly across from her, the other side of the fire, Erica saw slight movement. She had to focus; the flickering of the fire was distracting. Then she had it.
Illuminated by the flames and shining with perspiration, Erica could make out an expanse of naked flesh. It was too much for one person. The sleep and alcohol induced dullness of her mind slipped away and she could properly identify what she was seeing. Sondra, her body bare to the world, was lying on top of... well it could only be Lincoln. She couldn't be sure it was Lincoln aside from the fact that she could see all the others around her, as his face was obscured by Sondra's ass. They were locked together in a sixty-nine position, Sondra's head bobbing slightly as she sucked on Lincolns cock, her ass quivering as no doubt Lincoln feasted on her own flesh in turn.
It was wrong to stare but impossible for her to look away as Erica was entranced by the raw sexuality of the moment, the two figures oblivious to their surroundings and companions, just caught up in the moment and one another.
Sondra let out a low moan of pleasure and Erica felt her own hand stealing down to rub between her legs. She'd only thrown a long t-shirt on over her underwear as she'd huddled round the fire waiting on her clothes to dry. Now that choice meant that her fingers touched the outside of her panties without having to fumble beneath pants and her fingers played across her clit as she watched Sondra grind her hips above Lincoln.
The storm ground out another roll of thunder and the mine shaft entrance was illuminated briefly by yet another lightning flash. Erica blinked to clear the echo of the flash from her sight and she noticed that she was no longer the sole member of the audience. The other three had also woken up and were all watching wordlessly as Lincoln and Sondra pleasured one another with fingers, lips and tongues.
Arlene had copied Erica in just throwing on a long t-shirt, however she'd removed her bra. Erica followed the movement as the deputy sheriff lifted a hand slowly to cup her own breast through the thin material of the shirt, rolling the palm of her hand across it counter-clockwise as she stimulated the sensitive flesh beneath it. Erica noticed Trent watching as well, not Sondra and Lincoln however, he was watching Arlene. JP was glued to the two black bodies writhing before him however. From his angle Erica was pretty sure he was getting the full effect of Sondra's generous behind. The old man never took his eyes away from the action unfolding before him as he performed two tasks simultaneously. With one hand he raised a half empty bottle of alcohol to his lips slowly, taking a long pull of the contents inside. With his other hand he pulled the button fly of his pants open and let a long wrinkled white cock flop free.
Erica was astounded at the size of his cock, wrinkled as it was. She watched as he stroked it to life. It didn't stiffen and swell as rapidly as the cocks she'd been exposed to recently had, JP had to work on it, coaxing the blood flow into his member. Still old and wrinkled as it was, the white flesh did begin to harden, harden and grow.
She looked over slowly at Arlene, wondering if she could see what JP was up to. Arlene wasn't looking at JP though, instead Trent had sidled up behind her. Erica looked as the young black man's hand disappeared up under Arlene's top, fondling the soft white tits beneath it. His arm dragged up her t-shirt exposing the firm stomach and lower ribcage of the older woman and her underwear as well. Arlene's legs were slightly parted as she lay on her side, Trent spooning her. Erica could see the tip of his thick black cock jutting through the gap under Arlene's crotch, rubbing against the softness of her inner thigh.
Everywhere she looked Erica could see the effect of the drink on the group, dissolving inhibitions into a gloopy mass of sexual desire. Before her, Sondra and Lincoln were still locked together, mouth to cock, mouth to pussy. To her right, Trent was working on Arlene, his face now bent to the crook of her neck as he doubled down on the foreplay, kissing her soft skin as he groped her breasts. And to her left... Erica now saw that JP had fully woken his cock with his stroking. The six decades old penis was now rearing proudly up from his crotch, hardened to an impressive ten inches of curved ivory flesh.
He wasn't jerking off to Sondra anymore either, or to Arlene despite the fact that Trent had pulled her top off completely so that her 36D tits were now fully exposed. No, JP was stroking his old cock as he leered directly at Erica, watching as she rubbed herself through her panties.
Erica rolled up and onto her knees, pulling her top off once she'd steadied herself. 'Damn, I'm wasted' she thought to herself as she felt herself almost topple over as she struggled to get the t-shirt clear of her head. She managed to keep from falling onto the dirt floor and her bra followed the path of her t-shirt in the vague direction of her backpack. Erica freed her hair so that it fell about her shoulders, still damp from the storm strand of it clung to her skin. She dropped to her hands and knees and slowly crawled toward the old white tracker. He beckoned her on, enticing her forwards with a wave of the meat he held in one hand, much as he would do as he trained a young puppy to obey him.
She didn't know it but the sight of her, slowly crawling to him, bottom lip clenched between her teeth as her pale skin glowed ethereally in the firelight, was the single most erotic thing JP had ever seen in his life. Her full 34C breasts swung and rocked with her crawling motion, nipples hard in expectation. The fist encompassing his cock clenched in anticipation of the young woman gradually making her way toward him. He leaned back against the wall of the shaft, releasing his hold on his cock as Erica reached him and took it in her own far smaller grasp. She leaned in and tongued the head, rolling the tip of her pink tongue around its circumference until it returned to the start of the thin trail of saliva, she'd deposited on it. Then with a satisfied sigh she took the first few inches inside her mouth and began to gently suckle on it.
Lincoln drew in a shuddering breath as he pulled his mouth from Sondra's sopping wet pussy. The lower half of his face was shining from the sweet juices excreting from her pussy and he'd only stopped licking her out with great reluctance. He heaved her off of him, at least the bottom half of her as Sondra's mouth remained locked onto his cock, her big soft lips a velvet cushion against the intense sucking power she was inflicting on his rigid cock. He had to prise her off with brute strength in the end. When he'd begun to come onto her earlier in the evening, the alcohol provided by JP lessening both of their inhibitions and increasing their mutual attraction, he'd had no idea what a tigress he was releasing.
Sondra grinned wickedly at him, then pouted playfully as he pulled his hips back, deftly avoiding her searching hand.
"Not yet baby, I want to fuck those fat fucking titties first." he chided gently.
Sondra lay back on the dirt floor, hands pushing the impressive mounds of flesh together. As she waited for him to straddle her, her long nails tweaked her own nipples and she rolled her head in pleasure. Lincoln had no need for lubrication, his long black cock was slathered in spit and saliva from her enthusiastic ministrations. He pressed forward as he knelt either side of her, his cock spearing into the crease between the soft pliable mounds of flesh. He began pulling back, pressing forward, his cock sliding smoothly against the ebony tit flesh that Sondra held in place for him.
She'd meant to watch the impressive black dick that she'd been playing with as it fucked her tits but Sondra had been distracted when she'd rolled her head in pleasure. Instead of watching Lincoln spearing between her breasts she watched as the skinny white girl sucked lazily, wantonly on the biggest white cock she'd ever seen with her own eyes. Actually, it was the first white cock she'd ever seen. Sondra's fingers found her nipples once more as she watched Erica take a good six inches of thick white dick in her throat.
Arlene shuddered in pleasure, her bare ass swished back and forth on the packed dirt floor scoring against the sensitive globes of flesh. Trent's tongue lapped against her right nipple, the muscular red organ twanging her long erect nipple. Further down, he was working two of his fingers in and out of her, curling them inside her, the fingertips rubbing against the walls of her pussy.
"Uh, uh, uh." Arlene gasped as he probed her deeply, each searching prod of his digits eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her.
"Yeah, love how this cunt is just gripping onto me like a mutha fucker." he murmured into her tit, running his tongue flat against her nipple once more. He began finger fucking her faster, raising his head to watch as her eyes widened still further as an orgasm began to build inside her. "Yeah, c'mon girl, feel it, feel it baby, just preppin' you for a good deep dicking."
JP was on his feet. He'd managed to shrug the few clothes he had on, off and onto the floor. Erica now kneeling on his red cotton check shirt. Erica knelt in front of him, at prayer, worshiping his big white cock. A life spent outdoors had weathered and strengthened his body even as it had taken a toll on it. He still had a good muscle mass for a man approaching the middle of his sixth decade but much of his flesh was criss-crossed with small scars, wounds earned from accidents, fights and feuds.
"Time to get in the saddle young 'un." he said, pulling his cock from her mouth. He exchanged places with her, lying on his clothes while Erica mounted him. She faced him, her hands on his chest as she lowered herself onto his stiff pole. Slowly she impaled herself. Erica's sexual activities hadn't loosened her as much as she'd feared given the size and vigour of her past lovers but she had learned to accommodate larger than normal cocks far quicker. In less than a minute she'd slid down three quarters of his length, suspending herself there as she steadied herself for the final assault. Mentally and physically prepared, Erica forced her body down on the last three inches in one swift movement.
"Fuuuuck!" she groaned between teeth clenched tight.
Four feet from her, Sondra was mounting Lincoln's long cock. Her body had been aching for this, her pussy stoked and primed by Lincoln's talented tongue. As she slid down an almost foot long length of ebony flesh, she felt tremors of an orgasm tickle her as each inch passed through her opening. Lincoln looked up at her from his prone position, his view half blocked by her large fat tits. Sondra's mouth hung open, her long tongue hanging down to her chin as she panted and gasped as if giving birth. Then she was bottoming out, the firm cheeks of her ass pressed tight against his flesh as she took his whole length.
Sondra glanced over to where Erica was riding JP's body, the young white woman's tight ass whipping up and down as she rode him hard.
"Hey, hey... Erica!" Sondra called across the gap separating them.
Erica's head lolled onto her shoulder, her eyes blinking as she refocused them on Sondra. The black woman was matching her pace to Erica's, dropping her voluptuous form onto Lincolns shaft in time with Erica's downward thrusts.
"Uh...wha...what?" Erica couldn't understand why Sondra would want to talk now... now?
"Look at me...look at me white girl, look at me while you fuckin' that old guy, come on girl, look at me, tell me what you feelin' as he fucks you."
Erica looked at the gorgeous black woman, her large breasts swinging sexily as she pounded her body onto Lincoln's hard black cock. In the half-lit chamber, Sondra seemed like some erotic porn star. Her every movement eliciting feelings of lust, through design or natural talent, Erica was equal parts aroused and jealous of her.
"God, s'good, hitting me deep, right...uh...right where I like it. Filling me so good. so good. Gonna cum soon, he's so hard, can't believe he's so hard." Erica confessed as she looked at Sondra.
"Yeah, you cum hard on the ancient hillbilly cock now, you cum hard like a good slut." Sondra slurred as she felt her own orgasm building.
Across the fire, Trent had Arlene on all fours, both of them watching the two couples fucking. He was hitting her deep, he had from the outset. Trent had been a bit pissed when he'd woken up to see Lincoln underneath Sondra, eating her out like he was starving. Truth was he was still a bit angry and he was taking it out on Arlene.
Red hair whipped back and forth, big breasts swung like heavy pendulums as Trent took his very thick nine-inch cock and used it to bludgeon Arlene's sexy mature body like he hated her.
"Jesus, can't you two shut up for one minute?" Trent called across to the other two women, "I'm trying to hear this bitch beggin' to cum." He pulled on Arlene's hair, pulling her head back. The law enforcement officer's pale flesh was mottled red as she flushed with pleasure and desire.
"C'mon bitch, let me hear you cum. You loving that cunt getting stretched good n' black so let's hear you call my fuckin' name out."
"Urrrghh, cumming, cumming on your cock, u-huh, u-huh, yes, yes, yes, cumming on your cock Trent, cumming on your black cock!" Arlene moaned on cue. He paddled her left ass cheek with his free hand as her pussy clenched and gripped his hard flesh deep within her, internal muscles rippling as she came hard for him.
Sondra and Erica had both slumped across their partner's torsos as their climax's synchronised, both of them gasping and whimpering in pleasure as two tough men, one black, one white, fucked them relentlessly through their orgasms.
Beneath Erica, JP gave a wide grin as the sweet tight young pussy gripped his old cock like a vice.
"Good enough!" he called out, "Now switch."
Unplanned though it was, the other two men immediately took his meaning and were in total agreement. Lincoln, JP and Trent, all disentangled themselves from their respective partners, each moving to the right. Lincoln approaching a panting Erica, Trent a gasping Sondra and JP approached a slightly annoyed looking Arlene.
"What the fuck are you doing you old bastard? What's with yelling 'switch'? You think this is some hick line dance or something?"
"Sure, it is little lady." JP said cheerfully to Arlene. "You know 'Grab your partner by the hair, now turn around and fuck her bare." he concluded in a sing song voice. Arlene looked at him incredulously, at the best of times it was difficult to know if he was joking or not. Then her sight fell on his cock and she closed her mouth over her objections.
The fire crackled and hissed, sparks from the heart of it arcing into the air like mini comets. The storm outside was finally being to abate while the one in the abandoned mine shaft was only building higher in its intensity.
"I been waitin' for this." Trent growled. Sondra's legs were draped over his shoulders as he pistoned in and out of her. Her fingers gripped his forelimbs, talonlike as they dug into his biceps.
"Show me, yeah that's right, show me you want it." she taunted him, egging him on to fuck her harder.
Trent bore down on her, hips a blur as he pushed his thick cock ever deeper into her grasping snatch. He shrugged his shoulders, dislodging her legs from their perch, Sondra immediately wrapping them round his waist. Now he allowed himself to bring the weight of his body directly down on hers, his muscular chest rubbing against her large fat bosom their bodies wore against each other.
JP held Arlene's hips, raising her ass off the ground as his cock explored the hidden depths of her body. He was enjoying himself hugely. He hadn't had this much action in years and not only was he wetting his cock in some of the finest pussy he'd ever encountered, he was also getting the chance to fuck Arlene, something he'd fantasised about for as long as he'd known her.
"Makes a change, don't it?" he panted out above the noise of three cocks squelching into three wet pussies.
"What... what the fuck are you talking about now? Just concentrate on what you're doing... better... yes, yes, deep, oh god!" Arlene answered.
JP clutched at her ankles, holding them to either side of his torso, Arlene wide open and vulnerable to his questing cock. He shoved that self-same dick, balls deep into her, holding it still and steady as the sexy redhead moaned and started to thrash her hips to get him moving again.
"A change... you know... me fuckin' the law instead of it fuckin' with me." JP clarified before finally beginning a fast-pumping action once more. Arlene trilled incoherently as his long white cock slide back and forth, far too swamped with sensations to bother replying. "Uhn, uhn, yeah... sexy. Uhn, uhn, sexy fucking bitch." Erica's hands were pressed palm down against the hard stone walls of the mine shaft. She could feel the rough-hewn stone, cold against her skin. The stone was as unyielding as the black cock slamming away inside her, churning her innards up as it pressed in deeply. Lincoln had a combination of traits that she was coming to adore, an older man's experience coupled with stamina and size. He was also spitting out dirty talk at a tremendous rate which was quickening the approach of her next orgasm.
"Yeah, I feel ya, feel ya squeezin' on ma cock, tell me you is lovin' it."
"Ugh, ugh, I love it, ohhhhh, oh, oh, oh, oh I love it, slam it inside me, I need it, uh I need it." Erica answered breathlessly.
"Ahhh shit yeah, I know it. Yeah, this pussy just out to milk me, tight little pussy, fucking fine."
Lincoln cupped her breasts, clenching her nipples between his fingers, pinching them with his strong grip. He held her 34C tits tight, pulling on them for leverage as he pulled her eager white body back against him as he speared his cock forwards and backwards, hips turning slightly as he ground inside her, alternating pace and depth at will, teasing and tormenting her with his hardness.
"Yeah, takin' care of business, beatin' up a white bitch pussy, yeah, takin' care of you real good."
"Harder, oh, uh, uh, harder, harder." Erica begged him.
Lincoln released her left breast, his hand wrapping round her throat. He ceased his pistoning action, bending his head down close to Erica's ear.
"Nasty little slut, yeah, I'll fuck you harder slut, give you good dark dickin', deep and hard so you cum like a slut all over this dick." he whispered to her.
True to his word he slammed at her, hate fucking her, pelvis blurring as he thrust inside. He released his hold on her other breast, hand falling to attack her pussy instead. Strong black fingers rubbed and tugged at her incredibly sensitive clit.
"Owwwwh, uhhhh, uhhhhh, mmmmmh, urr...ooooh, oh, uh, oh, oh" she burbled, face pressed now against the wall as he drove her insane with pleasure.
"Hell yeah, that's it, you in your happy place now, aint ya? Yeah, now let's get you cumming hard slut."
Arlene's orgasm filled the tunnel, a high-pitched series of squeak and squeals that sounded similar to a flock of bats in the echoing tunnel. JP had ceased with his taints, bending his full will to having the mature redhead bend and break on the rock of his cock. Sondra was gurgling and hissing like a steam kettle left to boil over on a stove. Her teeth were bared, her wide mouth fixed in a grimace that was one part pain and nine parts pleasure as Trent slapped his strong hands, left to right, right to left, across her black bouncing tits, Sondra's luscious body juddering as she climaxed for him.
Erica's ears were filled with the sounds of her female companions climaxing shamelessly, Lincoln released her clit briefly in order to spank her firm ass, once, twice, then once again. The third stroke broke her dam and Erica added her screams of delight to mingle with her friends.
"And... switch" JP called out.
"Come sit on me girl, I want to see that big sexy white ass bounce" Lincoln said.
Arlene straddled him, facing away. His long cock slide inside her with little resistance, JP and Trent having done an excellent job loosening her up. She placed her hands on his thighs and began to ride him. Slowly, surely, she built up speed, after a minute her initial sedate pace was long abandoned, Arlene now throwing her butt up and down, feeding her hungry pussy with good black cock.
Lincoln had thought himself worn out taking Erica to school, he thought he'd need time to recover after all the energy he'd burnt out of the younger white woman. But the sight of Arlene's perfect globes of pale flesh dancing before him gave him his second wind. He quickly fell into a counter rhythm to hers, bucking his hips up to meet her downward descent.
"What you got for me old timer? Stroke or heart attack?" Sondra teased JP as he approached her. The old white man chuckled ruefully, wiping at the sheen of sweat on his wrinkled brow.
"Tell you the truth, I think these two girls have gone and done for me." he said, "Not sure I'm man enough for a woman like you."
"Tccch... I fucking KNOW you aint man enough white boy." Sondra grinned wagging a finger at him. JP scratched at his crotch; his long cock still hard, rampant despite his words.
"Yeaaaah, so if all I got to look forward to now is death, I think I'll go to St Peter a happy man with my cock buried in that big beautiful black ass of yours."
"Uh-huh, you think you getting in my fine ass butt with some honey drippin' words and a sob story about dying?" Sondra shook her head grinning.
"Damn right I am." JP answered, advancing on her as she got on all fours.
Erica trailed a finger across Trent's chest, following the curves of his muscles, tracing down over his abs till her index finger slid onto his cock, she traced along its length, from balls to tip and back again. As she pulled her hand away, Erica saw how her finger tip was coated in mucus, Trent's cock glistening from his last action with Sondra. She popped her finger into her mouth, drawing her lips tight about it as she cleaned it off with one powerful sucking motion. Her actions weren't lost upon her newest partner.
"Nuthin' stoppin' you gettin' a proper taste." Trent said.
Erica agreed and was on her knees a moment later, drawing his cock into her mouth much as she had done with her finger. Lips and tongue cooperated fully to nurse on his thick black cock, stripping it of the taste of Sondra's pussy. Trent's two hands curled the back of her head, fingers interlacing amidst her fine hair as he enjoyed her going down on him, his hips bucking slightly as he responded to her artful ministrations.
Her head moved lower, inch by inch as she took more and more of his cock into her mouth. She struggled somewhat with his girth but the taste of it kept her pushing onwards. As she drew back along the length, her lips clamped tight around it, a firm seal of soft flesh around hard flesh. Her tongue would press along the underside of his shaft during her inevitable descent back down its span.
Arlene was on her back, Lincoln had his hands beneath her ass, lifting it slightly off the ground. He was fucking her with a slow steady pace, his long cock delving deep within her. She kept shifting, trying to hump herself onto his cock, to speed up the
thrusts, to deepen them further but Lincoln held her steady, preventing her from doing either of those things. He was in control and he was loving it.
Her big breasts shook with each thrust forward, pale globes wobbling like bowls of Jello. Her hard nipples ached to be touched, her pussy cried out for more, the mature redhead's body alive and desperate for its next orgasm.
Lincoln was playing her like a conductor of an orchestra. Instead of music swelling, building gradually, it was her need and desires he was strumming. Each stroke agitating the itch inside her rather than relieving it.
"Fuck me faster!" she gasped, "Deeper."
"Nasty, nasty, nasty... three nasty sluts all lookin' to cum. Dat it? You needin' to cum?"
"Yes, yes I need to cum." Arlene moaned, once more vainly trying to hump herself onto him.
Lincoln considered teasing her more, drawing out the torment but the truth was the sight of her pale flesh, pink tipped tits and the yearning expression on her face, it all had him burning up inside with desire for the sheriff's body.
"Here you go baby, this what you are wantin'?"
With those words he dropped her ass to the floor and doubled his speed immediately, increasing the pace every four or five strokes so that inside of twenty seconds he was pounding on her like a snare drum.
"Aaaarrrhhhh!" Arlene came hard, her thighs and his crotch suddenly dripping as she squirted for the first time in her life. Her body wasn't done with the surprises however, a second equally hard orgasm hit her moments later. Her legs and arms wrapped around the man fucking her so well, clinging on desperately as she came in rolling waves of pleasure.
JP had spat a couple of wads of phlegm into the crack of Sondra's ass, working the makeshift lube onto and into her rectum. The twin cheeks of ebony flesh upturned towards him were a constant distraction as he prepared the way for his cock. Sondra's ass was equal parts smackable, bite worthy and fuckable. JP was in a quandary as to which he wanted to do more, but he figured to continue on the trail he'd started.
Satisfied she was ready, his bony index finger sliding in two knuckles deep, Sondra breathing like she was in labour as he pressed inside, JP mounted her.
He pushed the first inch inside, watching in pleasure as the dark hole swallowed the bulbous head of his pale skinned cock. His gnarled hands gripped her buttocks, keeping the soft pliable ass cheeks well spread. Another inch wormed its way inside, then another.
"How you doin' there girlie?" he asked.
"I'm about ready to snap that cock off your pale ass corpse if you call me girlie again." Sondra retorted, nostrils flaring as he rocked his hips forward, more cock entering her.
JP took her arms at the wrists, pulling them behind her, holding them crossed at the small of her back. His grip, despite his years, was as hard as the cock he was plugging her ass up with. Sondra found herself with no choice but to lean back, pushing him further inside of her.
"Urrrck" she grunted, straining forward but failing to break free.
"Sorry young 'un but I'm thinking it's time you learnt to respect your elders. Nuthin' like gettin' your ass fucked hard to teach you to mind your tone, least ways that's my thinkin'...heh, heh." JP could feel the vice like grip of her ass slackening ever so slightly as the tight sphincter grew accustomed to his size.
"Fuck... fuck... fuck, fuck, fuckfuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck, FUCK!" Sondra's curses sped up in line with JP's shoving motions as he started to fuck her.
"Hell yes, young 'un. That's the spirit." he cackled wildly. "Shit girlie, this is all together too much ass for a poor old man like me. Nuff to give me religion."
"Shut... shut the fuck up...and...Jesus...and fuck me you bastard." Sondra huffed, "And don't...uggh...don't call me girlie."
Trent eventually tired of the blowjob, he turned Erica around and onto all fours so that the two of them were witness to the sight of JP's ghost white frame clambering onto and into Sondra's coco brown ass.
He pushed and tugged Erica until she was positioned precisely as he wished and then he got onto his knees behind her.
Trent pulled her hair back, smoothing it across her shoulders, his hands running down her body, enjoying the smooth silkiness of her skin. He took hold of her hips and entered her, a smooth thrust into a pre prepared slot. He was thicker by a good margin than Lincoln's long cock and slightly thicker than JP. But those two cocks had still prepared Erica well for the aggressive fucking that Trent now let loose on her.
Erica found herself gasping, shuddering and cumming from the get-go. He was a very powerfully built young man and he was using all the core strength in his sculpted body on her slender frame. Trent's hold on her hips stayed in place for the most part, sometimes his hands slipped as the sweat slick skin and bruising thrusts pulled Erica's pelvis from his grip momentarily. She was struggling to keep upright and eventually Erica found her head driven lower and lower towards the dirt floor as her limbs weakened from the pleasure of the pounding.
Even Trent needed a brief breather. He halted, leaving half his cock wedged inside her. Erica cocked her head to the side so that she could look back at him. Her tongue peeked out between her teeth; mouth stretched in a cheeky smile. With a twist of her hips, she wiggled her ass, feeling his cock shift inside her as she did so.
"Tired already?" she asked smiling.
Trent grunted, wiping at his face, he dug the heel of his hand into his eye socket, dragging away the stringing sweat.
"Uggh, I wiped him out already, poor boy." Sondra called mockingly, Erica tittering in reflex to her words.
"Jesus Christ but you bitches do nuthin' but talk." Trent barked angrily.
He sank his shaft to the root once more, her pussy spasming around its girth. Trent then stood up, two smooth movements taking him from a kneeling position on the floor to standing upright, Erica's petite frame hanging from his crotch like a doll. He shuffled forward, leaning slightly to the side to judge distances before once more lowering himself down.
Erica now found herself face to face with Sondra who was still rocking beneath the attention of JP's pistoning thrusts.
"Now!" Trent declared, "Use those fuckin' mouths for something else instead of giving my ass a hard time."
Erica, confused, opened her mouth, closing her eyes simultaneously, to groan as Trent began fucking her with a will once more. As her lips parted, she felt something brush against them fleetingly before pressing firmly against them. Her eyes flew open to see Sondra's face pushed up against her own. The black woman's mouth cleaved to Erica's, her long strong tongue pushing inside Erica's mouth, its muscled mass moving against her pink fleshy tongue in controlled waves.
Both women moaned in pleasure. Their breath swapping from one mouth to the other as Trent and JP fucked them aggressively. Sondra's large mouth and full lips encased her own, Erica feeling overwhelmed by the sensation, the thorough sensualness of the experience. She was kissing Sondra back with the same level of desire as the ebony beauty was kissing her, tongues in a battle for dominance over each other's mouths. The newness, the kinkiness of it all was in the back of her mind, a turn on in itself but at the same time not something that Erica was dwelling on. Right now, it was all about the right now.
It must have been a full five minutes before Trent hoisted her once more into the air.
Across the room Arlene watched as Erica and Sondra became locked together at the lips.
Since meeting Erica, Arlene had come to think of her as the little sister she had never had. They had bonded through shared experiences, had spent hours and days in each other's company as they turned their minds to catching their foe.
They were a family, as much as any partner she had worked with in the sheriff's department. More than any partner because they had shared the loss of a friend together as well.
In spite of this bond, she couldn't help but find the tableau in front of her, 2 men, 2 women in a sweating, grunting, pulsating mass... highly erotic.
She was riding Lincoln now, facing him. As she watched JP drive his old body beyond its limits, his cock deep in the dark fleshy ass of Sondra, Arlene bore down on Lincoln. Her hands had his shoulders pinned flat to the ground, her hips were turning and twisting, grinding her pussy into his crotch, her ass cheeks beat a tattoo on his thighs as they slapped against them with her bucking, fucking motion.
"Fuck yes, that's it. Go get it slut, chase it down, fucking hell. Yes, yes, chase it, fuckin' earn it, get that cock, take it, take it and fuckin cum on it!" Lincoln intoned, unaware of the action behind him but loving the lustful visage of the beautiful redhead above him.
Arlene's firm 36D tits shook and wobbled like demented dancers, whirling to their own form of extasy on a dance floor. To Lincoln, they looked irresistible but even craning his head forward he couldn't reach them as Arlene continued to fuck herself frantically against him.
"Gonna cum, uh, gonna cum, uhhh!" she bleated, her grip loosening on his shoulders as a spasm of pleasure rippled through her body.
Lincoln took his chance, beating her hands aside so that she slumped onto his chest. His arms encircled her, holding her softness against him, big breasts squashed pleasurably to his own strong chest. His hips bucked, driving his achingly long cock deep, so deep inside her. As her pussy contracted it pulled on his cock, holding him within her slick passage and milking his sensitive shaft at the same time.
"Fuckin nuttin in you." he groaned.
Arlene felt him ejaculating. It coincided with the peak of her own climax and she turned her face to him, kissing Lincoln passionately as they jerked and shivered as if a voltage was being applied to their naked bodies.
"Enough of that." Trent said as he heaved Erica clear off the floor, breaking her contact with Sondra, "You need to be less about her, more 'bout me."
He spun Erica ninety degrees, setting her feet onto the floor of the tunnel. She turned inside his grasp so that she was facing him. Her left hand sought and found his hard cock, fingers encircling his shaft before they began stroking him firmly and rapidly.
Erica leant forward; her nose pressed against the skin of his muscled chest as she kissed his skin. Gradually she moved her mouth across the surface of his chest, breath hot on his flesh, working her way towards his left nipple. Then she began to tease it, lips drawing across the sensitive spot, tongue fluttering across it with carrying degrees of pressure and intensity. Her free hand clawed its way up his torso, nails pressing into him as her fingers walked their way up to his other nipple. Two fingers then pushed against, stroked and pinched this nipple so that Trent shuddered in pleasure.
He cupped a hand round the back of her head, holding her against him. Her silky hair brushed lightly over his skin as Erica's head twisted slightly left to right as her mouth suckled on his breast like an infant clamped to its mother.
JP was all but done. He was amazed his stamina had carried him as far as it had, keeping up with the two younger men and more importantly the three younger women. That said, he was close to finishing now.
Tilting his head he could see Sondra's wide-eyed expression, her mouth hanging open, a glob of saliva pooling thickly on her chin. She was close to being done as well, he'd pulled two good sized orgasms out of that black body and a goodly number of small ones in the time he'd been buried in her ass. One more would finish things with flair.
His arm curled between her thigh and stomach so that his hand could get at her sopping wet pussy. He dipped a finger inside, pulling it out slathered in her juices. The wet digit then began the task of stimulating her clit, with a lot of success given the sounds Sondra began to make.
Erica could hear Sondra squealing behind her, not a sound she'd expect the tough young woman to be even capable of making.
She redoubled her efforts with Trent. For the briefest moment she released his cock so that she could dampen her fingers in her own pussy before bringing them back to his cock, lubricated once more. The grip Trent had on her head tightened significantly and she knew he was getting close.
"
...yeah girlie...
... Goddamn!...
!" Sondra and JP's intertwined exclamations signalled the two of them had gotten each other off. Erica knew it wasn't a race but she was aware also that only she and Trent remained engaged with each other.
His thick cock trembled in her grip and she was stepping back even as he released his hold on her head. Trent pushed her to her knees and she lifted her chin to watch as his cock spat its first load at her face. The glob of semen landed just below the bridge of her nose, oozing left and right. A second wad landed lower, clipping the tip of her nose and upper lip. The next globule, each one smaller in size than the one before, landed square on her lips as they began to part. His cock was still discharging cum as it pushed into her mouth.
Erica sucked on the thick black cock for a half minute, cradling his balls as she did, until she was sure he'd finished cumming. She beamed up at Trent, lips and teeth coated still in cum, only to see his hand descending. He took a hold of her hair, pulling her over the half foot the separated them from Sondra and JP.
JP was still coupled to Sondra, his hands loosely placed on her hips as they both luxuriated in the post coital tingles. The black woman turned heavy lidded eyes towards Erica as the petite white girl was dumped before her by Trent. Sondra pulled Erica closer, keeping herself held up one handed, and both women moaned in intoxicated bliss as Sondra began cleaning up Erica's face and mouth with long powerful licks and deep kisses.
"Damn Kiki, that was some night."
Erica closed over the flap on her backpack, pulling it onto one shoulder as Sondra sauntered into the mouth of the mine shaft. The next day had dawned dry and bright, the storm from the night-time now a distant memory. After the sex, the group had fallen asleep where they lain, waking the next morning still nude and filthy from their activities. Depending on the person there had been varying degrees of embarrassment and blushes as they had gathered themselves together, dressing, eating quietly and preparing to head back to the hunt. Nobody had directly referenced the events, at least until now.
"Kiki?" Erica asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Erica don't seem right, not after sucking a mans cum from your lips it don't." Sondra answered cheerfully.
Erica blushed and Sondra laughed at the sight of the red bloom in her pale cheeks.
"You such a sweetie Kiki, I got to take you home after this is done. Get you to meet my Boo."
"Boo?" Erica groaned internally that she was just repeating single words like an idiot in this awkward conversation but Sondra didn't seem put off.
"My man. Damn Kiki but he would love meetin' you."
"Sure, um, yeah, yeah... that'd be nice." Erica gave a half smile which she hoped would be enough for Sondra to drop the subject. Then she moved past the black woman and out into the morning sunlight.
Arlene gathered everyone together, checked that noting had been left behind after their stay in the tunnel and the group moved off.
The forest seemed different after the storm. Quieter, as if the nature around them was holding its collective breath. Even though, over the next several hours, the party crossed a number of game trails, pointed out to Erica and the other inexperienced hunters by JP, there was a noticeable absence of wildlife.
Erica wondered if it was all in her head. Maybe it was the hangover from the moonshine or the subtle undercurrent of tension among the others from the escapades of last night. The sex should have released tensions, and for Sondra and JP it certainly had as they bickered good naturedly if quietly as they walked.
Erica and Arlene carried a knot of tension, most likely guilt at having slipped, allowing a moment of unprofessionalism to enter the hunt. Trent and Lincoln also seemed tense and awkward with each other; Erica supposed there was still an element of jealously between each man over Sondra's affection. She decided that discretion was the better part of valour in this scenario and so chose to not inform either of them of the existence of Sondra's 'Boo'.
Early in the afternoon of this, their third day searching, Erica saw Arlene hold up her hand at the front of their ragged column to signal they were stopping. JP loped back into view from where he had been sweeping along their flank. He conferred briefly with Arlene before leading the group off to one side. About four hundred yards from the path they were following they entered a tiny clearing that surrounded an old turn of the nineteenth century shack.
JP informed them that he'd already looked inside, the building being empty. Empty but showing signs that someone was using it to live in. The roof seemed to have been recently patched, pale timbers free from the aged look of their companions dotted the surface.
They entered the small three roomed building. The walls and rooms bare except for some camping supplies. The repaired roof appeared watertight, the storm had left the contents of the rooms untouched although Erica did note an old metal pail in the corner of one room, filled almost to the brim with rainwater.
"Well?" Arlene asked Erica.
"Well, what?" The young woman replied, not enjoying how everyone was looking at her.
"Come on. Nobody knows this guy as well as you. You've been onto him from the start, finding traces of him before ever you knew his name. You've tracked him across multiple states and into the middle of nowhere. So, if anyone can figure out if this is his lair, it's you."
Erica exulted inwardly at this compliment from the respected Deputy Sheriff. Especially amongst the company she found herself in. She might have a lot of faults, but gad dammit she was a bloody good investigative reporter. She kept those thoughts from her face however, nodded briskly to Arlene and let the backpack slip from her shoulders to the floor, giving herself some respite from its weight as she looked around.
The camping gear was common enough, nothing remarkable about it. Good quality but inexpensive, that tied in with her take on Butterman's mentality... nothing ostentatious or impractical in his world. She rummaged through the clothing in a dark green rucksack that was propped up in one corner. Judging by the clothes they'd be a fit for the killer but there was nothing definitive about that, plenty of tall men in this world.
Giving up on the belongings, Erica began to move through each room, examining walls, window sills, doors, floors and ceilings. The others moved back outside to give her some space but as she'd pass a window Erica could see one or the other of them glancing towards the shack. She began to feel silly on her second sweep of the wooden building, had she really expected to find 'BILLIII' or 'Butterman was here' carved into some piece of wood or something equally ridiculous.
Erica took some slow calming breaths and stood still, running things through in her head. Normally she'd consult her copious notes at times like this, looking for some piece of information to leap off the page at her. But she'd left all her notes looked up in the trunk of the car. That didn't matter, they were all in her head, she'd agonised over them long enough to almost commit them perfectly to memory. Nothing. No bolt from the blue of inspiration.
Frustrated she kicked out at a wall, grimacing as a plank splintered from the blow. She was letting them down, her friends, Arlene, her companions, all those victims, Amos, she was letting them all down.
Wait!
Amos.
When she'd staked out Butterman with Amos and Duncan there had been something about Butterman that she'd actually seen first-hand. Erica stuck her head out of the window, "JP, where's the trash from this place?"
It only took JP a minute to find the disturbed earth on the perimeter of the clearing where the occupant of the shack had been burying their refuse. Erica smiled as the earth was scraped away to reveal the contents.
"Got you, you bastard!" she gloated.
"Got what?" Trent leaned over the exhumed trash pile and stirred the contents with one boot. "Nothing here but empty cans."
The others looked as bemused as Trent although Lincoln had a half smile beginning to form on his face. Erica wasn't sure if he had grasped the significance of the find or if he was just infected by her own confidence.
"Yep, cans. Lots and lots of cans." she confirmed. "We got cans of peaches, cans of beef stew aaaannnd, that's it. Get it?"
"Nope." Trent replied testily and Erica decided she should explain before the already tense man grew any more peeved.
"Butterman is a serious creature of habit. Remember Arlene? That restaurant he always ate in when we tracked him down? He went there the same time every day, always ate the exact same meal. Now we got a pile of trash that says somebody is probably eating peaches for breakfast, beef stew for dinner... every single day. Tie that in with the clothing inside being a match for him size, yeah, we found him alright."
"Good enough for me" Arlene said, her demeanour changing just like that, suddenly her face filled with hope and steely resolve. "JP, Lincoln, thoughts?"
The two men spoke quietly together. These were the hunters, the finders of men, this was where they proved their worth.
"I see it, most foot traffic into this clearing been coming from the northwest which makes sense, nearest town being that direction. We figure best to leave a clear path in for when he returns, spread ourselves out in cover, separate just to cover lines of escape. We wait till he gets in. I'll leave myself closest to his path so as I can close the net when he returns." JP said.
"Yeah." Lincoln mused, "Sounds right to me. 'Cept, we need to hit him before he gets inside. Fuckin' bastard if we need to dig him out from cover, especially if he armed."
Arlene had been nodding in agreement as they spoke and now added her own tactical decision to the plan.
"Sondra, you and Trent are our shooters. Position yourselves to cover the shack, one front, one back. When he is midway between the edge of the clearing and the shack, take him out. Erica, you and I will take opposite sides of the shack as well, just in case this isn't Butterman it's on us to call out 'hold fire' before they reach the point where they're shot. Everyone good?"
Nobody asked if they should take him alive, they were too familiar with how dangerous this man was, mercy was an admirable trait but now it was a choice of safety first and for that end, Butterman had to die.
They took up positions in concealment. Erica scanned the treeline, seeing nothing and she knew there were people lying in wait. If her purposeful gaze could reveal no trace of her comrades then a casual glance by someone entering the clearing would certainly reveal no trace.
Time passed oh so slowly. Afternoon became evening at a snail's pace, the sun now well behind the treeline, long shadows stretching the width of the clearing. Moving slowly, Erica raised her arm to check the time. Sundown was less than an hour away, there was no way she or Arlene could positively identify Butterman in the dark.
JP must have been having similar thoughts because a minute later he emerged from cover, he raised a hand to his lips and gave off a low whistle to call the others in.
"We need to find a campsite while we still got some light, we can make a plan, come back here before dawn in case he returned at night, hit him while the fucker is still asleep. What you think girlie?" JP spoke as the others approached him, walking stiffly after lying up so long. His question was aimed at Sondra, the black woman sliding a large handgun back into a shoulder holster.
"I think that's Arlene's call to make." she replied, "And fuck off calling' me girlie, you hear me redneck?"
JP chuckled, saluting her with a tip of the brim of his cap.
Erica smiled at the give-and-take of their ribbing until a cold hand of dread gripped the bottom of her stomach and pulled on it.
"Where's Arlene?" Erica's question was shrill with fear as she bolted towards the spot the older woman had taken up position, the others a half step behind her.
|
They had only lived there for two weeks, and Karen just loved the new house. It didn't even bother her that Joe was gone all day at work.
Finally,the kids were grown up and away at school, and Karen was on her own. She even had time now to skinny dip in the pool out back. She had never had a real pool like this before, and the privacy fence made it easy to take her suit off and enjoy it in the nude. Or so she thought....
Karen had always taken good care of herself, and at age 46 her breasts were still large and firm, with the kind of succulent nipples that point just slightly upwards. She rarely wore a bra and often would catch men eying her huge tits up. Not that the rest of her was bad to look at, but those hot tits were an attention getter, for sure.
Since High School, the men had also loved the length and shape of Karen's legs. In a mini skirt, it appeared as if they would never end. But they did, and when they did, there was the intoxicating sight of her soft reddish brown mound.And her tight round ass swayed when she walked.
In her twenties, Karen had always worn revealing clothes, and would sometimes go without panties so she could flash her sweet cunt lips from behind while bending over. This, after all, was how she met Joe.
He was on the " Biography" aisle at the Border's bookstore when Karen spotted him. She bent way down to take a book off the bottom shelf, and Joe got a great peak at her little pussy, just as she had hoped.
They had a coffee together, and exchanged phone numbers, and 2 years later they were married, and expecting a child.
After raising two kids, Karen was still youthful, and had just started enjoying masturbaion as part of her daily routine.
One Wednesday afternoon, after straightening up the kitchen, Karen went out by the pool with her sun oil and her paperback, and began to rub oil all over her shoulders as far as she could reach. As usual, she removed her bikini top, and generously applied the oil to her fat tits; stopping to tweak her nipples a few times.It felt good, and she knew it would make her pussy get wet, so she laid back, closed her eyes and kept it going. It was fun to pretend that some strange man was tweaking her thick,hard nipples, and she soon slid one hand inside her bikini bottom to see how wet she was.Mmmmmmm........nice and gooey.
She decided to get herself off and then have a swim. She began to vigorously rub her wet clit with her fingertips, using the two fingers without nails. It didn't take her long to go off, but she needed more than one climax today.
Karen decided to stop for the moment and take a dip. She opened her eyes and got off the chair, and when she turned around there was a man with a very bright smile watching from the yard nextdoor.
She was astonished, and he said, " Very nice, ma'am, very, very nice".Karen quickly tried to cover herself, but the man said, " After what I just seen honey, you don't need to bother with that." He chuckled, and Karen jumped into the pool for protection.
When her head rose to the top again, she looked at this man and felt herself getting excited. He was pretty tall, and gorgeous, with skin the color of very dark cocoa. She was turned on by his blackness and was sure that he knew it.
Once Karen caught her breath she said, " I guess you're the new neighbor." He nodded and smiled. Karen decided to ask him over for an iced tea, and he jumped the fence like a dog inheat.
As he regained his balance Karen could plainly see the outline of his bulging cock through his thong swimsuit. He reached down to help her out of the pool, and he couldn't take his eyes off her huge tits.The nipples were standing on end from the cold water.
Karen said, " Let me run inside for the tea", and she went through the sliding doors.
While pouring the tea at the sink, she could see him through the window as he fondled his huge dong. She could feel her pussy starting to get wet.
Once she was back outside in the patio, she asked him his name. He told her he was Louis, and his wife was Carla. He assured Karen that Carla worked days and he worked nights, so she wouldn't be around. Karen let out a laugh and told him that was the reverse of what she and Joe did.
It was quite obvious that Louis had a raging hard on, and he had to keep adjusting it while they talked. Karen made a motion to cover herself again and Louis said, " Oh please dear, they are so lovely." "You wouldn't want to deprive me, would you?" As he said this he reached out toward Karen and tweaked each nipple.She was so hot and horny for him, and got up and straddled him on the lounge chair. Louis took first one tit, then the other, and he sucked and nibbled each nipple gently. Karen was wiggling all over the place, and managed to slide out of her bikini bottoms while he continued sucking her thick, hard nipples. Louis marveled at the way they pointed upward, and carressed them with his tongue.
As she sat on him having her fat tits sucked, Karen could feel the incredible erection that Louis now had, and she reached down and stroked it through his thong. He said, " Hey, hey; careful baby, you got yourself a loaded gun there."He reached down and slid the suit off.
Now Karen could actually see his huge black manhood, and she thought her eyes would pop out. There was a bit of precum oozing out the purple head, and she took her fingertip and rubbed it around. Louis rolled his eyes back in his head and moaned.
Karen was so hot and horny that she wanted to go down on him. He must have sensed it because he gently took her by the shoulders, and positioned her so that her tongue could touch his long, stiff cock. As Karen opened her mouth, she tried to take his penis in, but only the head would fit. He was that big. As she licked along the shaft of his cock, Louis managed to slip a finger between her legs and was surprised to feel how wet her pussy lips were. He rubbed the slimy juice all over her labia and then bent his head down and began to lick her.Karen opened her legs nice and wide. She had only been eaten once by Joe, and he couldn't make her cum, and would never try again.
The sensation that Karen had from Louis' tongue poking around her wet pussy was amazing. He was quite skilled, and teased the clit for awhile by just gently licking around it. Finally, he parted her cunt lips and poked his pointed pink tongue back and forth,in and out, on her excited clitty.Karen went off pretty quickly, and Louis said, " I'm sure you could use more, right darlin'?" Karen moaned and said, " Oh yes, eat my white cunt." Louis began to stand up and adjusted Karen so that she was on her back. He said, " Well, I thought you might like to see what this big black dick feels like, okay?" Karen just opened her legs wide.She was somewhat concerned that he wouldn't fit inside her. Joe had always told her how tight her cunt was.
As Louis climbed on board, he was very gentle, and he only inserted about an inch of his huge cock at a time. With each additional inch, Karen would moan, and Louis told her he would probably shoot his wad up her tight cunt. She was overcome with horniness and told him to go ahead and pump his creamy cum into her.She wanted it.
Louis rode her like a purebred, and Karen fingered her clit while he thrust his cock in and out. She managed to go off again, and when she did, she felt a huge surge of warmth inside her. Louis had gone off, as he promised, and now he was smothering her mouth with his big pink lips, and shoving his tongue down her throat.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, and then Karen could feel his sperm oozing out her cunt hole and under her butt cheeks.She said,"Well, that was quite a load." "I'm lying in a puddle."
Louis and Karen laid there and talked and then took a dip while he told her how his wife Carla had been withholding sex from him for a couple of months. Seems this was their pastor's idea, and Louis was going crazy. Karen said, " Well, if you'd like, we can do this a few times a week."Louis looked up at her and said, "Aaah, a dream come true." "You have a deal."
They talked about how she was his first white pussy and he was her first black cock, and how exciting that was.He told her how once in high school he fingered a white girl's wet cunt behind the school, but she wouldn't let him do anymore than that. She also touched his dick, but wouldn't even try to suck it.He said, " Many was the night I lay in bed pullin' this big pole and thinkin' of her big tits and sweet white pussy." My mamma musta' known I was beatin' myself because my towels was always gettin' dirty real fast."
Karen assured him he wouldn't need to do that anymore. He reached up out of the water and took her two tits in his hands, bringing each nipple up toward his mouth for a final nibble and suck.
Karen said, " I guess this is true confession time, but I just want to tell you that I have been masturbating and giving myself at least 3 orgasms a day." "My clit is always excited, and if I suck my nipples for a minute or two, my pussy starts to drip." " I just can't help myself sometimes." Louis smiled and said, " Well, I hope you'll be leavin' that to me now, cause I sure enjoy bringin' you off." Karen told him that as long as he kept his word and hopped the fence a few times a week, she wouldn't need to touch herself. And she wanted to have her cunt licked many more times.
Louis and Karen finished their iced teas, and agreed to meet again in two days.
When Karen went into the house, she could still feel Louis' cum dripping down her inner thigh, and decided to get a shower.
After her shower, she put on her most prim and proper dress and fixed dinner for her and Joe. She was already daydreaming about Friday, and thinking about how she'd like to take Louis' load down the throat.Mmmmm......there was so much of it.
|
It was just after eleven o’clock in the evening at the ancestral home of Clan Ffyrnig. Bard was in the sitting room, idly watching Bain and Legolas play their car racing game. His sketchpad was on his lap and his pencil was in his hand, but he hadn’t sketched anything for a good half hour. The day’s rigors in the barn had worn him out, but it was a good kind of worn out, so he enjoyed the boys’ snarky banter back and forth without guilt. He’d cast his first metal in years today, and it had come out fine. He’d sketched ideas for the next ones, ideas he loved. He’d fooled with so many tiny aluminum spheres that he expected to dream of being inundated with them tonight. Sigrid was upstairs, he hoped not still talking to Finn, given the late hour; Tilda had gone to bed an hour ago. The only reason the boys were still downstairs was that Legolas had pleaded to be allowed to stay up until his father came home, and Bain wanted to keep him company. It was the end of the school week, and while Legolas still expected to go to his fencing lesson tomorrow at nine, he was young enough to make up for the lack of sleep later in the weekend. So Bard had said yes. Who would be mean enough to deny a child the chance to see his hard-working father?
Bard would be happy to see his angel, too. He missed not having Thran’s smiling presence to anchor the supper table, to share tea with him in the sitting room, and to tease Tilda as they went through her French vocabulary.
When the mudroom door finally opened, Legolas almost hurled his game controller into Bain’s lap and bounded off the sofa with a whoop.
“Papa’s home!” Legolas crowed, drawing Bain’s laughter.
“That’s one way to win a race,” Bain snickered to Bard, as he maneuvered his car across the finish line. “He was ahead, too, so thank you, Thran.”
Bard grinned. “I think it’s safe to turn the whole thing off now.”
“Yeah, likely,” Bain agreed. “Can I have something to eat?”
“The usual stuff,” Bard replied, as he got up to head into the kitchen. “Nuts, cereal, peanut butter, fruit, yogurt...”
“Stuff that’s good for me, yeah, I know,” Bain exhaled as if he carried a huge burden. “Really, Da – would a bowl of ice cream kill me?”
“Can’t be too careful,” Bard teased back.
“Oh, Da,” Bain pouted, but followed Bard into the kitchen nevertheless.
“Welcome home,” Bard greeted Thran with a wave. His husband looked tired, but not exhausted, and his smile was unforced. “Good day, I hope?”
“Such a morning I have had,” Thran grinned, hugging Legolas, then fist-bumping Bain. “I had my first flying lesson today, and it was wonderful!”
Footsteps skittered down the central steps, and Sigrid trotted into the kitchen. “Ada! You’re home at last! Did you do the flying lesson today?”
“I did, I did!” Thran confirmed. He gave Bard a quick hug, then Sigrid. “I know it is late, but I want to tell you all about it, rather than wait until tomorrow morning.”
“I want to hear, too,” Bard agreed, grinning at how four faces turned towards him, as if he were the keeper of bedtime... well, he was for most of the family, but it was funny to see Thran’s expression turn just as inquiring as the children’s. “Are you hungry? Bain was about to have a snack, so what can I get you, angel?”
“I want soup, if there is any,” was Thran’s request. “And I want to be out of my dance belt. I will dash into the half bath with my leggings and so forth, and be right back.”
“All right, lads and lass, let’s get some food on the table for the hungry ones.” Bard opened the fridge door. “Sweetness, do you want anything?”
“Is there any popcorn left?” the girl asked quickly.
“Ooh, popcorn!” Legolas echoed. “That’s for me, too.”
“That does sound good,” Bain brightened. “I’ll get it out of the pantry.”
While Bard warmed a pan of soup for Thran, the children busied themselves with making the popcorn, and assembling the different spices they liked to sprinkle on it. Legolas had never tried cinnamon on popcorn before, but despite Bain’s grimace of distaste, he thought it sounded good.
“Ugh, Legs!” Bain protested. “What you want is cheese and bacon sprinkles!”
“Bacon sprinkles?” Legolas looked skeptical. “Do we even have bacon sprinkles?”
“No, but I keep asking Da to get some,” Bain gave Bard a pointed look. “I had them on popcorn at a birthday party once. Totally awesome!”
“I like Parmesan cheese,” Sigrid said. “And oregano. It’s like pizza popcorn.”
“I am back!” Thran dashed back from the half bath, now clad in tee, leggings, and socks. “Gods, I am starving!”
“You’re in a very good mood,” Bard observed, smiling as he stirred a pan of Thran’s soup. “It must have been something special, this flying lesson.”
“It was!” Thran grinned, taking the plate of seeded wheat rolls and butter that Sigrid handed him to put on the table. “As soon as we all sit down, I will tell you –”
“What’s going on?” a sleepy voice came from the door to the hallway. There stood Tilda with Mr. Bun under her arm, rubbing her eyes. “Is it a party? I smelled popcorn.”
“Three bags full!” Bain chortled, cycling the next bag through the microwave. “Come on, Til! There’s lots!”
“Why is there popcorn?” Tilda looked around in blurry confusion. “It’s not a holiday, or did I forget one?”
Sigrid came to pick her up, though with difficulty. “Ada had his flying lesson today, Til. He’s hungry, so we’re making soup for him, and popcorn for us. I’ll bring you a bowl if you’d like some, too.”
“I’d rather have cheese,” Tilda said sleepily, leaning her head on Sigrid’s shoulder as her sister carried her to the table. As Sigrid deposited her in her chair, the little girl’s eyes sharpened. “Flying lesson? Ooh! Ada flew today?”
“I did,” Thran stooped by her chair and tapped a long index finger playfully on her nose. “I am sorry we woke you up, Kukla, but I am very excited, and everyone is very excited with me.”
Tilda blinked until she was more awake. “Then I’m glad I woke up. I want hear about it, too.”
Sigrid brought a stack of small snack bowls to the table, as well as a small board bearing a chunk of Tilda’s favorite Double Gloucester cheese and a cheese knife. Bain dumped the last bag of popped corn into an enormous serving bowl, and handed it to Legolas to bring to the table. Bard handed Thran a serving bowl from the cabinet, then followed him to the table with the pan to fill the bowl with warm soup. As soon as Bard sat down, Tilda crawled into his lap to sleepily munch her cheese curled against his chest. He cuddled her close to listen, though she perked up as Thran launched into a description of his lesson with Charisse and Luka. Despite the late hour, Thran was all smiles as he told them about how green the studio walls were, what his outlandish instructor looked like, how small Tink was and how she got her name, why Half Ton had earned his nickname, and what it was like to stand atop a metal platform some twenty feet in the air and leap off it.
“You jumped off?” Bain gaped. “You really jumped off a twenty-foot platform?”
“I did,” Thran grinned proudly. “Many times!”
“Was it scary?” Tilda sat up on Bard’s lap to peer down the table at Thran.
“At first, very scary,” Thran nodded emphatically. “Twenty feet does not sound like much until you stand atop something that high and look down, because then it seems twice as high. That is almost three times as high as I am, yes? Perhaps at the school, I will have to be higher. I do not know. But the riggers who worked with us are very careful and very exact, and I felt as safe as one can feel to stand so high up. I was always on the wire when I climbed up, and at least one of the riggers always had my line in hand in case I fell, and of course Half Ton or Robbie held my line when I flew. It was very exciting.”
Bard grinned. “I can tell. You’re gesticulating.”
Thran made a raspberry and let his hands flap high above his head. “If you think I am excited, you should have seen Luka. He could not contain himself. He flew very well, and so did Charisse. She looked like the most elegant of birds, soaring up to heaven. Me, I did not fly up. I flew down to alight upon a battlefield. I pretended to be Rahmiel, but not quite so tenderly did I fly. I am Death, after all.”
“Of course,” Bard nodded sagely. “You ought to make quite the impression soaring over the audience.”
“Ah, that I will not do.” Thran explained that the Imladris Academy’s auditorium didn’t have the rigging platforms to allow him to fly above the audience. “So of course, I had to explain this to Irmo in the afternoon.”
“Uh-oh,” Sigrid paused in her munching of popcorn. “That must’ve provoked fireworks.”
“He was not happy at first,” Thran conceded. “But before he launched into a full tantrum, I distracted him to suggest that if there were a place onstage for Death to stand to watch the battles, he would look like a vulture on high that contemplates the carnage, and that this would add a most dramatic design element. Ori picked up on that right away and helped me made a most convincing confection of it, and before long Irmo almost believed that he had come up with this most dramatic addition himself, which of course bothered me not in the least. He busily conferred with Círdan about how to do this most of the afternoon, and so Abebe could lead us through our exercises and then our rehearsals without upset. It was a most productive day, if very long.”
The children had many other questions to ask about Thran’s adventure, and the dancer was so animated that he hardly touched his soup. Eventually, however, the questions and the excitement calmed, and Tilda was curled nearly asleep in Bard’s arms.
“Let’s get you back to bed, little doll,” Bard murmured, when the conversation lulled.
Tilda struggled to open her eyes. “Not yet. I want to hear more about the flying.”
“I have revealed, all, ma petite Kukla,” Thran replied from the other end of the table. “Perhaps I will think of more things to tell you when I am not so excited, but they will wait until tomorrow.”
“Someone needs to get some sleep before he has to fence tomorrow morning, too,” Bard added with a glimpse at Legolas. “And a couple of other children look pretty sleepy, too.”
“But there’s still popcorn,” Bain protested.
“Not much, boyo,” Bard countered gently. “Come on, lads and lasses. It’s time all of you went to bed.”
“I’ve got to get up early to go to work,” Sigrid remembered, getting up. She gave Thran a kiss on the cheek. “So I’m for bed. Night, Ada.”
“Sleep well, lioness,” Thran smiled, patting her arm. “Come, Legolas. It is time we were all in bed.”
None of the children protested too much on the way upstairs. The hardest part was to coax Tilda to brush her teeth. Once she managed that, she was happy to curl around Mr. Bun again and shut her eyes with a murmured goodnight. The rest of the children were almost as quick to settle, so after rounds of goodnights, Bard padded back to the kitchen. He put Tilda’s cheese back in its waxed paper wrappings and then in its plastic bag to tuck into the fridge. Despite Bain’s protestations, little popcorn remained, so he collected what remained into one of the children’s small bowls. Thran appeared behind him, smiling pensively.
“Your soup’s probably cold by now,” Bard pointed out. “Want me to nuke it a bit? Because you are going to eat all of it, yes?”
“Yes,” Thran gave him a mischievous grin as he picked up the half-full bowl. “I will nuke it. Perhaps thirty seconds, yes?”
“That’ll do it,” Bard nodded, carrying the empty popcorn bowls to the sink to wash. “I’ll clean up this lot, then come sit with you.”
He suited action to words, and sat beside Thran to munch on the remaining popcorn while Thran finished his soup.
“Exciting stuff today,” Bard observed with a smile.
“I left out the part about how uncomfortable the harness can be at times, but for the most part, yes, it was fun,” Thran shrugged. His grin widened as he buttered the second half of his roll. “Luka is very funny. He reminded me of Bain a little. It was most fun to watch him enjoy himself, though he acquitted himself well to work so hard.”
“Charisse was okay?”
Thran nodded as he swallowed his mouthful of roll. “She was her usual beautiful and spritely self. She looked like a small bird.”
“I’m glad it all went so well.”
“So am I. And I am glad that Ori helped me to divert Irmo. I had anticipated much more of a fuss.”
“Maybe he’s figured out that he can’t bully you, after all.”
“He has figured that out, yes. That does not always stop him from the attempt.”
Bard snickered as he got up to put his popcorn bowl in the sink.
Thran followed him with his bowl and bread plate. “So tell me about your day. Did you get to cast?”
“I did!” Now it was Bard’s turn to describe how he had assembled Hal’s tree.
“You welded!” Thran exhaled in mock annoyance, flicking the dishtowel at Bard’s thigh. “Suka blyad, I missed it again. Will I ever see what I have waited so long to see?”
“What, all of six months?” Bard teased gently, handing Thran the rinsed popcorn bowl to put in the dishwasher. “Don’t worry, angel. You’ll have plenty of chances to see the barn troll in fifteen layers of clothing crank up the torch.”
“I will know what is under the fifteen layers of clothing,” Thran tsked gently, giving Bard a crooked grin as he leaned over the dishwasher rack.
“Maybe not. With that many layers, it might just be a troll and not me under there, and you’d never know.”
“I will know. I know how you move, how you study whatever you work on.”
“I’d better tell the troll to make sure he copies my moves, then,” Bard chuckled, handing Thran the rinsed bowl and plate to load. He went on to describe how the painting had progressed, and all the other news that concerned Clan Ffyrnig. “I assume you’ll be with the ballet tomorrow?”
Thran nodded as he dried the sterling spoon and knife to put in the drawer. He tossed the dishtowel to Bard to dry his hands. “We will not have the stage to work on next Saturday, because that is the evening of Sigrid’s dance, and the school rightly wants to ensure that they know who goes and comes in the building that night. So if you are amenable, we will work here, because Saturday is the day that UVB holds classes all day in the studio.”
“Of course.” Bard mopped up a splash of water from the granite countertop. “With any luck, Darla and her two will be done everything but the interior doors and the window trim, and maybe all of the windows will be in by then –”
“The windows will be in?” Thran repeated in surprise.
“The company called yesterday. The windows start to go in next Wednesday. The renovation’s in the home stretch.”
“Then we will enjoy a beautiful house restored as it was meant to be,” Thran mused, smiling.
“An empty house, for the most part.”
“Not empty of our family – only of things, and that will change as we search for things we like. If you see something, Bard, do not wait for me. Buy what strikes you that we can use. A mantel to go with the new sofa, for instance.”
“I want us to choose things together, angel,” Bard protested.
“As thoughtful as you are, I hardly think you can fill a house before I can hunt with you, lyubov moya. So if you see something you like for us, get it. Such as that blue inlaid table that has ended up in the sitting room. That is a nice piece, and the blue contrasts nicely with the pecan wood and the red rug.”
“I’ll see,” Bard conceded. “Maybe you’ll have a few hours free on Sunday now and again, and we can look together.”
“I hope so,” Thran agreed. He stretched up until his joints cracked, and sighed. “The soup was very good. And I like those rolls. Thank you.”
“That was the last of the soup. I thought tomorrow I’d make Chinese hot and sour, if you like that? Or bean?”
“I like both,” Thran nodded. “I also like the Asian chicken soup with the ginger and the star anise. Tcha, I am not helpful. I have liked all your soups so far. As long as you do not put eggplant in soup, I am likely to be happy. Or lentils. I do not like lentils at all.”
“You know eggplants have no place in our house,” Bard teased. “Nobody likes them. And we can skip the lentils, too.”
“Eggplants look like something I should like. Such a nice color, a nice shape, but the taste?” He grimaced. “It bears no contemplation.”
“Agreed,” Bard winced in commiseration. “Rounds and then upstairs?”
“Yes,” Thran agreed, and so they made their usual circle through the house, set the security system, and then walked upstairs together. It felt good to have a thorough scrub, then to settle in bed with his husband’s long body beside him. They relaxed in their usual tangle of limbs, and within minutes Thran breathed deeply in sleep. His flying lesson, combined with the rest of the day’s physical exertions, had worn him out. The endurance required of a dancer was considerable.
As if in sympathy, Bard’s eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Welders needed just as much sleep as dancers, it seemed. That gave him something to smile about as he drifted off.
* * *
Saturday flew into a whirl early. Sigrid hurried through porridge and set off on her bicycle for the Blue Mountain Bistro. Legolas wolfed down the next batch of porridge, then a sleepy Thran took him to fencing. The painters appeared to finish the porch and start on the carriage house. Thran returned to share omelet and tea with Bard before he headed off to the school. Bain and Tilda slept in, so Bard left them a note in the kitchen telling them he was in the barn, then strode out to begin the day’s work.
He opened the bay door wide to enjoy the warming sun and light breeze. Then came the pull-ups that had become his habit. With each repetition, he thought of the strength that returned to his body, strength he used to shelter his children, and cradle his husband. As if that were not incentive enough, he thought of Thran’s hungry eyes on him as he heaved himself up and down, up and down, up and down. When he caught his breath after the last one, he grinned. There was nothing wrong with teasing himself before he settled to the rigors of his art.
Today’s plan was to clean Hal’s tree after its casting and welding, and give it its patina. The branches of the tree were long and attenuated, so he needed a fine detail drill and a delicate hand to refine and polish each limb and branch until the welding joints were no longer visible and all extraneous bits of metal were removed. He began patiently, and let the sounds of the world outside the barn drift in – the occasional call of Darla and her fellows, liquid notes from a couple of birds, the chatter of cars passing down the lane. Before long, Tilda appeared, so he came inside to make her breakfast. When she was done, it was almost time to get Legolas from his fencing. Bain was still asleep, so Bard stuck his head in the boy’s room to get him up. The youth decided to stay home and make his breakfast, so Bard and Tilda ran a few errands before they picked up Legolas. Once they retrieved Legolas, they came home to sort out lunch. The boys made plans to walk into the village to meet Kíllian and Derry for a film, so they headed out after lunch. Bard was eager to get into the barn again, so Tilda kept him company as he continued his polishing.
“Ooh, it looks like a real tree,” Tilda commented, when Bard wiped the last of the residue from the tree trunk. “Are you going to sand blast it the way you explained to Ada?”
“I don’t think so, little doll,” Bard shook his head. “Tree bark isn’t a smooth surface, so I don’t want this to look too slick. I’ve cleaned up the rough bits that I didn’t like, so I’ll degrease it, and it’ll be ready for the patina.”
“What’s a patina?” Tilda cocked her head curiously.
“That’s a fancy name for finish,” Bard smiled. “It means I heat the metal, then spray lot of chemicals on it, then heat it and polish it some more, and then spray more chemicals, and more heat, and on and on until it’s done.”
Tilda giggled. “How do you know when you’re done?”
Bard’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “When it looks right. It’ll take a little while, so do you need anything before I start? Once I start, I have to finish.”
“Can I watch?” she looked at Bard with a hopeful look.
“I’ll move my stand outside so there’s lots of ventilation, but you have to stay where I can see you, and far enough away not to get burned or breathe any of the chemicals. It’s very important that you stay safe.”
She nodded. “I will, Da.”
“Okay,” Bard agreed. “I’ll get everything set up, so if you want a snack, go get one, and I’ll be ready to start in a few minutes.”
Tilda jumped up quickly. “Okay, Da!”
The little girl ran towards the kitchen, waving to Darla and her helpers as they worked on the carriage house. While she was gone, Bard checked the sky; the sun was steady, and there was no wind. He dragged out his metal stand – it looked like nothing more than an old gas grille grate on a post that let Bard turn it this way and that – and set it outside the barn. The acetylene torch and tank came next, and then some firebricks. He degreased and rinsed the tree, putting on medical gloves to carry it outside to the stand, where he propped it up on the firebricks so that it was supported upright while he worked on the patina. Finally, he fetched the chemical solutions he’d chosen to get the greenish grey finish he wanted for the trunk, and a big bucket of water.
“I brought you some cheese, Da,” Tilda called, skipping away from the house with a small plastic storage bin in her hands. “And those funny crackers you like.”
“Thanks, Tilda,” Bard smiled at his youngest child. “Let me wash off my hands first. That’s just the perfect thing I need before I light the torch.”
“I’m excited to see what you’re going to do,” Tilda said, following Bard into the barn to the wash sink. “I’ve never seen anybody make anything but a drawing before – except those clay pinch pots. I hope I get to do something better than that this summer in my pottery camp.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Bard agreed, taking some of the cheese and a cracker. “Maybe tiles, or animal figures. That’s what the course description said.”
“Do you think they’ll do the wheel thing?”
“The potter’s wheel? Maybe,” Bard considered. “That takes steady hands, you know.”
Tilda nodded. “I know. I want to try it, but the animal figures sounded neat, too.”
They chatted for a few moments until their snacks were done, then Tilda ran inside to return the plastic bin to the kitchen while Bard made one last check. He got a box where he arrayed all the bottles, brushes, and bronze wool he’d need, then tied his heavy apron on. He tugged a fireproof glove onto his right hand that held the torch, and a surgical glove on his left hand that wielded the spray bottles and brushes to add the chemicals to the surface of the tree. When Tilda returned, she stopped some feet away.
“Where should I stand, Da?”
“Back up another three feet, right in front of me. Yes, that’s good. Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“Okay. This might take a while, so if you get tired of watching, that’s okay. You can go play in the house, or in the yard, but not the barn.”
“Okay, Da.”
“Okay, here I go.”
Bard started the torch, and methodically began to heat the metal tree. The metal was in no danger of melting; he just had to get it hot enough for the various chemicals to do their work. As thin as the tree was, this didn’t take long, so he was quickly ready to start his layers of patina. He’d decided to add a base layer that would produce a greenish cast, then follow that with a layer that would darken the crevices of the piece for depth. Additional layers would add browns and greys. The lightning-scarred section of the trunk would have a much lighter color than the rest.
He began slowly, building up the darker colors in the angles and cracks in the bark, then burnishing it off on the highlights to allow more of the green to come through. He used a small brush on the trunk so that he kept the darker colors away from the lightning scar, and small spray bottles on the limbs and roots for more even coverage. If Bard had to describe how he decided which colors to add, or how much of each, he wouldn’t have been able to say beforehand. But as the bronze changed with each spray of chemical, each swipe of the bronze wool, he got closer to the colors he’d envisioned when he first conceived the piece.
As small as the tree was, it didn’t take long for Bard to complete his patina. He left the smallest twigs a bit paler, a bit greener, than the trunk, which showed the green mostly in the trunk highlights. The lightning scar was lighter, as if a piece of the trunk had fallen away. When he was pleased with the color, he neutralized the chemicals so they didn’t change the color further, then brushed a fine wax over the hot metal to finish it.
When he looked up, Tilda still stood in front of him. He turned off the torch, and beckoned her forward.
“It’s still hot, so don’t touch it, but you can come closer now.”
She came closer to inspect the little tree. “It’s not just sort of brown any more. It’s got green in it, and black, and grey, and even a little yellow. And the scarred part looks like it was bad, but now it’s started to grow over.”
“Just what I want it to look like,” Bard nodded. “I hope it’s what Mr. Hal wanted it to look like, too.”
“Oh, I hope so, too,” Tilda agreed, frowning at the tree critically. “It looks like a real one, so I hope he didn’t want a fake tree.”
Bard chuckled. “I don’t think he did, no. We’ll find out in a few days, when I’ve got it on the rock and the leaf on.”
“It’s almost done, then,” Tilda smiled up at him. “Will you take a picture of it?”
“I sure will,” Bard agreed. “Just like all artists do when they finish a piece. You want a nice picture for your portfolio, to show people what kinds of things you do, so they ask you to do something for them.”
“Do you have a portfolio of all your things?”
“I still have mine, yes. Now I’ve got more things to put in it. And Mr. Frodo has made me a nice website, so I’ll have to tell his uncle about the tree so Mr. Frodo can add pictures of the tree to it.”
“So when I become an artist, I’ll need a portfolio and a web site, too.”
“A good agent, too. Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo are good, so you’re set there.”
“Well, that’s one thing done,” Tilda said with utter seriousness. She was regarding the tree thoughtfully and didn’t see Bard’s surprised look, or hear his silent laughter.
Tilda might be the youngest child in the family, but she was growing up just as fast as the rest of them were. Before long, she wouldn’t be content to stand and watch Bard work on his pieces – she’d be making her own.
He couldn’t wait to see the art his daughter would create to carry on this part of the family business. |
96.
While the rest of the bulls busy themselves breaking camp, Riet and I hatch our plan. When we’re ready, we begin sidling toward the edge of camp, our gaze warily flitting over the herd. They continue about their various tasks, oblivious to the smiles beginning to work conspiratorially over our faces as we glance sidelong at each other. When we reach the trees, we slip quietly between the trunks, and disappear from the clearing.
Our naked bodies dappled with the wavering sunlight that filters through the greenly glowing leaves, we walk silently until we are out of earshot of the bulls. Once our sensitive ears can no longer pick up on them, our shoulders relax, and Riet turns to me.
“So,” she breathes, “All we need to do is find some suitable male to fuck. They’ll find us soon enough, if we can make him moan enough. I have a feeling whoever it is won’t be hard to convince.” She smiles seductively, her fingers playing over her hardened nipples. I watch her hungrily, the tension building between my legs. She notices, stepping closer. Tilting her head, she leans down toward me to run the tip of her tongue over my parted lips. I open wider for her, and she sucks gently on my lower lip, her eyes smoldering into mine. “Come on, Lia,” she whispers, her breath ghosting into my mouth. “Let’s find a nice thick cock to fill that sweet little pussy of yours.” Her fingers brush across my opening. She tastes what I leave on her fingers.
It doesn’t take us long. Five minutes later, we are peering through a thick stand of ferns at a young, ebony-skinned boy. His large member is flush against his taut stomach, a bead of arousal threatening to drip from its head. We wait until he is facing fully in our direction before wading out of the undergrowth.
His eyes snap to us, deeply brown and perceptively sharp. He begins to raise his longbow instinctively in our direction, but stops as he begins to take us in fully. His cock twitches. Riet licks her lips, her eyes moving upward to his own. “Hello there,” she croons.
“Hello.” His voice is richly accented, his lilt foreign to me.
“My name is Riet, and this is Lia.” Riet runs a hand through my hair, and I bite my lip as the boy's gaze finds mine. He swallows thickly as he fights not to stare directly at the cleft of my thighs.
“I am Renan,” he says, dipping his chin in greeting. His eyes flit over Riet’s heavy breasts before looking quickly away.
“No, it’s okay,” Reit admonishes, taking a step past me towards him. “You can look. You can touch, too.” She reaches out to take his hand, lifting it toward her breast. I watch his breathing quicken as he pinches her nipple, running his thumb over the hardened peak. Riet watches him with soft eyes. “Why are you here, Renan?”
He continues his tentative ministrations as he replies, “I am on my spirit journey. My journey to become a man. I walked from far away, from the desert of my people. I am to learn something that they do not know, so that my tribe may grow wiser. I will continue until I find something worthy for them.”
“We can show you lots that you don't know.” Riet’s voice is silky. She turns halfway toward me, beckoning me closer. Renan watches me approach, even as his hands stray over Riet’s skin. I press my chest to his strong thigh, the muscle rippling beneath my fingers. Slowly, I stretch out my neck and lave a single stroke of my tongue across the base of his cock. He moans softly, his head falling back.
He takes a breath in, looking at us both again. “I have never seen creatures like you.” His hand falls to Riet’s back, pulling her tail out gently behind her. Riet arches into him.
“Maybe you can tell your tribe about us,” I suggest, gazing up at him.
“But of course, you should study us fully to learn as much as you can,” Riet says, her voice mock-serious now. She leans closer to whisper into his ear, “Inside and out.”
“I have never done this before,” he admits hoarsely. “Not even with a woman from my own people.”
“We would be honored to teach you,” she counters, guiding his hand between her legs. He takes a deep breath as she sinks his fingers inside of her, finding her warm and wet.
Riet falls to her knees beside me, and we both begin licking eagerly at his pulsing cock, our tongues finding each other every so often. His breathing grows ragged as Riet slides her mouth down over his length, while I suck dutifully at his balls. He rests one of each of his hands on the backs of our heads, stroking our hair in praise.
When he is slick from our mouths, Riet stands. Rising up on the balls of her feet, she lifts a leg to wrap around his hips. He holds her steady while I guide his cock into her. It slides in effortlessly, Riet’s pussy stretching to accommodate him. Riet arches her lower spine slightly, pulling out his cock, before relaxing to slide him back in. Repeating the motion, she fucks him fluidly, until he is moaning with every stroke.
When Riet begins to grow tired, she leads him over to a large rock, bending over to rest her forearms on its smooth surface. I once again guide him into her, and before I can instruct him, he instinctively grasps her waist, thrusting into her over and over. I climb up beside Riet, lying on my back to watch him. I let my fingers stray between my legs to ease the ache there, and he watches me, his gaze hungry.
Riet turns her head toward me. “Oh baby girl, is your pussy throbbing? It’s okay, it’s your turn. Renan’s big cock will make it better. Come here.”
Renan steps back to allow her to stand. Picking me up, she holds me in her arms as she sits back against the rock, my back against her chest and my legs spread wide by her hands. Renan steps forward again, holding himself by the base as he rubs his cock over my opening. I mewl in desperation, and he leans down to press his lips to the top of my head as he pushes himself inside me. He pants as he begins to thrust jaggedly, his hands on Riet’s shoulders. I look up to see Riet tilting her head back, her lips parting. Renan leans forward over me to kiss her. “Tell her she’s a good girl,” Riet says against his lips, her thumbs stroking my knees.
“You are a good girl, Lia,” Renan manages.
“Keep going,” urges Riet.
“Tell me the right words,” Renan replies, his brow furrowing. “I don’t know how to say—what I am feeling—this need to…to take, to be strong. To be strong over you both. I want—”
“I know,” Riet croons, nuzzling his jaw. “You want to claim us. To fuck us with that big, thick cock of yours until you come.”“Yes,” Renan pants, thrusting faster. “And this,” he presses a thumb against my clit, his fingers resting against his shaft as it plunges into me over and over. “What is this.”
“That is Lia’s pussy,” Riet replies. “Her pretty little cunt that wants to please you. Want to see something extra special?” Renan nods eagerly. Riet dips her head down to me, her lips brushing my ear. “Come for Renan, Lia. Show him what you can do with that sweet hole of yours.”
Unable to deny her, or to fend off the tightness of my core, made more intense with every stroke of Renan’s pulsing cock against my walls, I do as she asks. I allow my release to crash over me, dimly aware of the liquid pouring from me. I open my eyes to watch it flow down over his shaft. Renan moans loudly, sinking into me up to the hilt. He pulls back only to slam into me again, and I feel it as he comes undone, his come spilling thickly against the opening of my womb. Riet kisses the back of my neck. Renan tries to catch his breath, leaning on her shoulder. Pressed comfortably between them, I am just beginning to come down from my high when I hear something crash through the trees to our left.
Renan pulls back and I see Minos storming toward us, fists clenched and cock threateningly hard. The rest of the herd follows behind him, anger roiling off every bull. Riet’s body goes taut against mine, and I know she is having the same thought. That maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea. |
Gorecki
Steve gets home well after three in the morning, body aching, bottom lip split, covered in slime and really goddamn tired of aliens. The dimmed living room lights brighten as soon as he steps out of the elevator, and Tony’s AI greets him pleasantly. "Good evening, Captain Rogers."
"Hi, Jarvis," Steve says. He sets his shield down and leans his shoulder against the wall in the entryway to brace himself so he can try and peel off his boots, but his hands are too slippery and the sodden leather is all but adhered to his socks and trousers. He drops his foot and lets out a resigned sigh, tipping his head to rest his temple against the wall.
On top of its truly foul stench, the slime is apparently fatigue inducing and powerful enough that it’d knocked Clint and Natasha out cold the moment it touched them and had nearly taken even Steve and Thor to their knees. Tony, who had been protected by his suit, and Bruce, who hadn’t been affected at all, did most of the work, but the Beyoon Bax’s lightning fast speed had been an unforeseen pain in ass and they’d all taken a bit of a beating before they managed to contain the bastards.
Steve lets his aching shoulders sag and gives in to an overpowering yawn, his eyelids drooping. He could happily fall asleep right there on his feet, but Jarvis speaks up again. "Sir, I’ve taken the liberty of starting your shower."
Rather pointed, for a computer. Steve blinks blearily across the oversized living room and past the oversized kitchen to the hallway and the master bedroom and his bathroom beyond it, which seems an insurmountable distance at the moment. There’s absolutely no reason for an apartment this big to even exist. "Shower’s far," he slurs.
"You have walked much further, Sir."
Steve feels himself grin. "That was very motivational, Jarvis."
"Just offering a bit of perspective," says Jarvis. Steve pushes himself off the wall with a tired groan and picks up his shield again. He cards his slimy fingers through his slimy hair and sluggishly starts the trek, wincing at the gross squish of each step he takes across hardwood that probably cost more than Steve’s life is worth. When he makes it to the bedroom door, feet dragging, Jarvis adds a rather dry, "Well done, Captain."
"Thanks," Steve deadpans.
"Certainly. If you’ll deposit your clothes into the box in the elevator once you’ve changed, they’ll be taken care of for you."
Steve lifts an eyebrow. "By 'taken care of’—"
"They will be incinerated and you will be provided a new uniform. Under the circumstances, Mr. Stark has found it to be the best solution."
Steve’s uniform isn’t the Iron Man suit, but it’s not exactly something he picked up off the rack at Macy’s, either, and he normally would balk at the idea of having a new one engineered just because the old one got a little dirty, but he’s pretty sure nothing but an incinerator could handle this stench. "I think he’s probably right," he says. "Is Bucky asleep?"
"No, Sir. Mr. Barnes has been awake for twenty-one minutes. I’ve informed him of your arrival."
Damn it. "Thanks, Jarvis. Sounds like I’m all taken care of. Good work out there tonight."
"Thank you, Sir. Sleep well."
Steve opens the bedroom door as quietly as possible anyway, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected chill of a breeze. The glass doors that open onto the balcony are partially open and the rumpled bed is empty. Steve turns on the light and approaches the bed with heavy, wet footsteps, gaze flickering around the room and the concerned knot in his chest easing a little. Nothing is broken or out of place and Bucky’s phone and knife are still on the bedside table, both good signs.
The urge to check on him itches under Steve’s skin, but Bucky knows that Steve’s home and he hasn’t come inside, and if he’d felt so trapped that he was willing to go sit outside in forty degree weather, it’s likely that he needs some space to wind down on his own first. Steve doesn’t want to intrude. Not yet, anyway.
He gives Bucky another forty minutes of privacy while he showers, dumps his ruined uniform in the elevator and rids the apartment of the alien sludge he trailed in. Then he turns off the lights in the main room and retreats back to the bedroom, pulling the comforter off the bed to take with him outside.
Bucky’s curled up cat-like in an oversized chaise lounge, wearing a thin zip-up hoodie over his tank top, a pair of plain black pajama pants and blue socks with fat bumble bees printed on them. He looks over with a faint, sincere smile when Steve steps outside and Steve’s whole world tips on its axis the same way it always does when Bucky’s attention is on him. He smiles back helplessly, letting the glass door close behind him, and closes the distance between them in a few long strides.
"Stargazing?" he asks.
Bucky blinks demurely up at him, frowning when he catches sight of the split in Steve’s lip and lifting a hand toward Steve’s face. Steve drops to a squat to accommodate him, searches Bucky’s face for signs that he’s been crying or gnawing on his lips the way he’s prone to when he’s unsettled, but there’s nothing. Beyond the unnatural glow behind his eyes of the Tesseract inside him, there’s no evidence of whatever’s driven him out of bed. Bucky grazes his fingers over Steve’s bruised cheek, warm against Steve’s skin. Bucky’s temperature regulated arm is probably the only part of him that isn’t miserably cold.
"Hurt," Bucky murmurs, thumbing very gently over Steve’s busted lip. Steve quirks a smile and ducks his chin a little to press a kiss to the center of Bucky’s palm.
"Tired, mostly," he admits.
Bucky hums, drawing his hand back, and after a long few moments where Steve doesn’t do anything but look at Bucky with unbearable fondness, rolls his eyes and snags the comforter still balled up in Steve’s arms. "I want this."
"All yours," Steve agrees, standing up and stretching. He’s going to take a seat in the cushy chair on Bucky’s other side, but Bucky pushes himself off the back of his lounge and shuffles up a few feet, and Steve gratefully slides into the space behind him instead. He straddles the chaise while Bucky unbundles the comforter, slides his broad hands up Bucky’s’ back on either side of his spine, digging the heels in a little where the muscle is knotted and stiff. He noses a few strands of hair that’ve fallen loose from Bucky’s messy ponytail out of the way so he can press his lips to the side of Bucky’s neck.
"Heya," Steve murmurs, hiding his grin against Bucky’s skin.
Bucky snorts. "Heya."
He shakes the comforter out and once he has it spread over his lap, Steve pulls his legs up to rest on either side of Bucky’s, tucking his bare feet under Bucky’s socked ones. He relaxes into the plush cushion at his back, reaching for Bucky’s hips to pull him close, but Bucky’s too busy shrugging out of his hoodie. Steve frowns.
"Buck, hey, what’re you doin’? You’re freezing."
"Skin," Bucky answers. He doesn’t elaborate but the look he gives Steve as he drops his hoodie carelessly onto the ground gets the point across, and Steve laughs breathily and sits up enough to get rid of his own t-shirt while Bucky sheds his tank top. It’s cold, and Bucky’s skin is like ice when he finally rests back against Steve’s chest, but once they’re cocooned in the comforter from the shoulders down it’s surprisingly comfortable, the breeze ruffling their hair and reddening the tips of their noses a nice balance to their body heat. Steve touches a kiss to Bucky’s temple.
"How was Barcelona?" Bucky asks. "And the Bon Bons?"
"Beyoon Bax," Steve corrects.
"Tch," Bucky says. "Mine’s better."
His voice is a warm drawl, but his hand is fidgeting restlessly over the arm Steve has looped around his waist and there’s something deliberate in the way he’s holding himself in his loose sprawl.
Bucky had always been tactile, thrived on touching and being touched. Steve’d noticed, of course, because he was more often than not the subject of all of Bucky’s exuberant attention, especially once they became lovers, but he hadn’t really understood what a vital part of Bucky it was until the war, when Dr. Zola twisted it into something ugly and awful that Bucky hated just as much as he craved, unable to bear even casual intimacy but equally unable to bear the lack of it. One of the last memories Steve has of Bucky before he fell from the train is of kneeling mostly naked in the middle of a destroyed London hotel room, Bucky bloody-knuckled and frustrated and trembling with tears on his cheeks, muffling furious, anguished screams into Steve’s shoulder.
The Winter Soldier hadn’t known to care one way or another, and now, Bucky’s probably more sensation oriented than he’s ever been. Steve’s spent an entire war and the last three years learning by trial and error how to interpret Bucky’s walking wounded body language. The tremor in Bucky’s limbs and the nearly imperceptible tension now is more uncertain than defensive, will be easier to coax him out of. Steve slides his hand underneath the waistband of Bucky’s pajamas to palm over a splash of scar tissue on his pelvis and strokes his fingers up and down Bucky’s other side as he fills him in on the mission in Spain. By the time he’s finished, Bucky’s at least stopped compulsively tugging at the hair on Steve’s arm.
"Not exactly our most dignified moment, but no civilian casualties. Could’ve been worse," Steve says. Could’ve been better, too. If he’d made it to Black Widow and Hawkeye in time, if he’d managed to find a weakness without having to blow an entire shipyard, if half his team hadn’t still been recovering from an ugly mission last week, if he’d just…
Dwelling on it isn’t going to change anything. It’s over, everyone is alive, a victory by any other name. Something in his voice must give him away though, because Bucky curls his fingers around Steve’s wrist and gives it a comforting squeeze.
"Your glass is lookin’ a little half-empty there, cowboy," Bucky says.
Steve shrugs, trying to find the right words to explain. "Nat and Clint are spending the night in medical. Always feel a little like I’ve failed when one of you gets hurt, y’know?"
Bucky squeezes his wrist again. "Hey, now, don’t go so easy on yourself. This was two that got hurt, not just one."
Steve barks out a surprised laugh and pinches him, catches only the corner of Bucky’s responding smile. "Asshole. I know it’s stupid."
Bucky turns in Steve’s arms. His lips graze over the hinge of Steve’s jaw and then the flutter of his pulse point and he settles on his side, forehead to Steve’s cheek and breath warm on Steve’s neck. Steve draws his knees up a little to bracket him in. "You’re not stupid," Bucky says ("I never said I was stupid," Steve mutters). He pats Steve’s cheek with the hand not caught between them. "Just wrong."
Steve momentarily flashes back to hours and weeks and months of therapy, of you’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings but your own and there are no right or wrong emotions. He digs his fingers into Bucky’s side and grins when Bucky gasps, ticklish as hell the way he’s always been.
"Asshole," Steve repeats. The chaise is more comfortable than he’s ever given it credit for, and it’s getting hard to keep his eyes open, exhaustion amped up even more now that he’s still and warm and has Bucky in his arms. He yawns loudly, jaw popping from the stretch and Bucky huffs a quiet laugh and squeezes Steve’s hip.
"We should go inside. Let you sleep off the slime."
It’s nice of him to offer but Steve’s pretty sure Bucky’s claustrophobia hasn’t eased any, so he doesn’t bother to reply. Instead he drags his hand up the long line of Bucky’s spine to massage the base of his neck, and then tugs his hair tie loose and smoothes out the dark strands where they’ve tangled, threads his fingers through them and cradles the back of Bucky’s head in his palm. Bucky mumbles grumpily, but the tension drains out of him a little more with every touch. An ugly part of Steve loves these moments, when what Bucky needs most is to be touched. All Steve ever wants is to be sweet to him and it’s so rarely that Bucky allows it.
Steve wets his lips over a fond smile, turns his face as Bucky tilts his chin up and catches Bucky’s mouth with his own. He cups the curve of Bucky’s shoulder with his free hand, veiny scar tissue unnaturally smooth under his palm, and as Bucky’s tongue gently flicks over the split in Steve’s lip Steve strokes down Bucky’s arm until he can tangle their fingers together. He touches his lips to Bucky’s cheek and the bridge of his nose and his forehead, and Bucky lets out a shuddering breath and squeezes his hand.
"What’d you dream?" Steve asks. Their faces are too close for Steve to be able to see Bucky’s eyes but he’s learned to read him a thousand different ways, can interpret through touch alone if he needs to.
"I dunno," Bucky answers, which may or may not be true but isn’t important enough to press. Steve’s got no right to Bucky’s nightmares. "Woke up shaking. Bad taste in my mouth."
Steve frowns. "Adrenaline?"
Bucky’s brow furrows against Steve’s, and it seems to take him a while to find his voice. When he does it’s so quiet it’s nearly lost under the wind, paper thin and insubstantial. "Electricity," he says. Steve’s hand pauses where he's stroking Bucky’s hair and Bucky clears his throat. "That’s what it tasted like, I mean. Electricity tastes like that. Gasoline. Metal. And lime, sometimes."
Steve swallows hard and turns his head to look at the sky again so Bucky won’t see the bitter, humorless smile that stretches across his face. Electricity tastes like that. Being torn apart tastes like that. Brain damage tastes like that. Torture tastes like that. Steve’s not sure if it’s healthy that even after a few years he can’t be reminded of anything Bucky’s suffered through without wanting to tear the entire world down with his bare hands. Or what kind of person it’d mean he’d become if a day ever comes when he doesn’t.
He cups Bucky’s cheek and leans into it when Bucky kisses him, plush of Bucky’s lips a warm give against his own, and lets the useless anger go. Bucky makes a quiet, achy sound that Steve’s learned is a good one and presses his tongue into Steve’s mouth. It’s so late, and Steve’s so tired and it feels so good, Bucky’s weight above him and the thorough, cautious way he kisses like the privilege might be taken away at any time. When it breaks, Steve draws Bucky into another, and another, chaste, quiet touches of their lips before he lets out a satisfied sigh, grips the back of Bucky’s neck and knocks their foreheads together gently.
"Electricity, huh?" he murmurs. "Good thing we tend to stay away from anything high voltage, right?"
Bucky groans, a long-suffering expression on his face. He’s never appreciated the fact that Steve is actually hilarious. "Shit."
"Hey." Steve tugs gently on his hair, smiling smugly. "Hey, c’mon. Because Thor lives upstairs."
"I got it, Steve."
"It was pretty good."
"Wasn’t," says Bucky.
"Was," Steve insists. He skitters his hands down Bucky’s sides and digs his fingers into his ribs again, laughs at Bucky’s indignant cry and wraps both legs around him when he tries to squirm away, swearing and laughing all at once. The chaise isn’t big enough for much of a tussle and Bucky’s got Steve’s arms pinned in seconds, but Steve doesn’t put up much of a fight; Bucky’s laughter is all he was after. He flexes his wrists in Bucky’s hands and grins up at him, wiggling his eyebrows pointedly. "I’m really funny."
"You’re not," Bucky says. "You’re really dumb."
"Thor would’ve laughed."
Bucky snorts and lets him go and Steve keeps both his arms out of the way as Bucky shifts around again, wriggles his right arm into the gap between the small of Steve’s back and the back of the chaise and slides his hand under the waistband of Steve’s pajamas to curl around his hip, skin-to-skin. "Thor laughs at everything."
"Only funny things," Steve assures. He lets his heavy eyelids drift closed and settles his arms back around Bucky, who tucks his head into the crook of Steve’s neck and brushes his thumb over the curve of Steve’s hip when Steve gives into another yawn.
"Should go inside," he says again. "It’s fuckin’ cold out here."
An army couldn’t move Steve right now. He’s never been more comfortable in his life. "'m good," he mumbles sleepily, patting Bucky vaguely on the back. "Warm enough with you."
Bucky mutters something—Steve definitely catches the word 'stubborn’ at least once—but tightens the comforter around them all the same. Steve drifts, matches his breathing to Bucky’s, lets the world go fuzzy around the edges. Just as he’s on the cusp of sleep Bucky cards his fingers through the shorter hair just above Steve’s ear and presses a warm kiss to the side of his neck. "Ты - мой любимый."
Steve couldn’t have fought the grin if he tried. "а ты мой."
END |
Hanzo was woken rather abruptly by loud knocking against the door of his room. He groaned and turned over on the cot, hoping whoever it was would give up and leave. There was a blessed moment of silence and then the knocking returned, louder and more insistent. It was accompanied by a voice as well.
“Hanzo! Get up!” It was Tracer. Because of course it was.
“I’m unconscious,” Hanzo muttered into his pillow, voice slow and quiet with the lethargy of a hard sleep, “I will not answer the door.”
“I know you can hear me!” She continued, “I know damn well how loud I am! Hanzo!”
He put his pillow on his head. He had grown up with Genji. No one out-stubborned a scion of the Shimada clan.
“Hanzo! Oh for the love of— Lúcio’s leavin’!”
That made him crack an eye open. Wait, Lúcio was leaving?
“Do not make me bring a gorilla with a tesla canon to get this door to open! Because I will!”
He sat, up, yawning blearily, took a quick detour to the tiny bathroom attached to the bedroom and cleaned the dried remnants of his self-pleasuring last night with a grimace, put on a plain shirt, and wandered over to the door, frowning at her when it slid open. “Alright,” he said slowly, voice low and rough with sleep, “You have my attention.”
She grinned at him a bit, “Knew I would eventually.”
He rubbed at his eyes. “So was that merely to get me out of bed or were you serious?”
Her expression sobered a bit, “Sadly serious. He’s gotta get back. Back to DJin’ and writin’ and helpin’ people with his own brand a’ good. We knew when we reached out to him and he showed up at our door that it was gonna be a temporary thing. He got the call from his label last night. Time to get back to it, and working behind the scenes like we are, we got no official claim to ‘im. Still, sad to see ‘im go.”
Hanzo nodded slowly, surprised at how genuinely sad he was to hear the younger man would be leaving. While Lúcio’s musical tastes were certainly not his own, he had developed respect for what the musician had created for himself, and what he’d been dedicated to helping this fledgling phoenix of Overwatch achieve. They would be certainly be weaker—and so much more silent—for his absence.
“I suppose not all of us had so little in our lives that we could drop everything to be here,” he acknowledged and Tracer shared a commiserating smile.
“Get dressed and come on.” She shooed him off and he went back inside and dressed simply, changing out of the clothes he’d slept in. It was not his usual attire, he didn’t feeling like donning his complicated electronic boots or dealing with his usual combat gear. He tied his hair back with a customary ribbon, frowning as the errant lock at his right temple refused to stay back. He blew at it irritably and stepped out.
“Alright. Let’s go. Where is he?”
“Everyone’ll be in the hangar,” She said, setting off, at a clearly restrained trot. “Winston’s spoofing flight credentials for one a’ our unmarked planes. I’m gonna fly ‘im back to Rio and head back here after. Hopefully a simple thing. Take about eleven hours to get there, maybe ‘bout a full day all told once I get back.”
“A long way.”
“Yeah, but I’m kinda selfish, lookin’ forward to extra time to say goodbye and I’m happy Winston’s lettin’ me fly again.”
Hanzo remembered her excitement before and nodded, “At least some joy in a sad parting.”
She smiled at him, knowing, and together they headed for the hangar. As they stepped into the huge space, the echo of voices bounced around in the high ceilings, distorting the sound and creating cacophony. Above it all, Reinhardt’s booming voice carried most clearly, and it was clear they were likely the last to arrive.
Tracer blinked the last bit of the way over and Hanzo rounded the corner more sedately and approached the group. He saw Winston, Morrison, Genji, Zenyatta, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn all waiting to wish him goodbye. He stepped into the crowd just in time to see Reinhardt sweep the smaller man up clear off the floor in a huge embrace, laughing and beaming at him, Lúcio laughing all the same. “I cannot believe you are leaving!” The giant declared, clearly loathe to let the younger man down.
Lúcio grinned, “Come on, Big Guy, no way you’re getting’ rid a’ me for good. It ain’t that easy.”
“Good,” Reinhardt decided, and set him down gently, but his large hands only shifts to frame the slighter man’s shoulders. “You are everything I could’ve wished for this once-great organization. I will miss you, my friend.”
Lúcio visibly swallowed and smiled brightly up at the huge German man, “Likewise, Rein. Maybe I’ll write a song about you. Hell I’ve got so many ideas after this I am itching to compose.”
“You and your silly techno music,” Reinhardt teased him, but his eyes lit up, clearly touched and taken with the idea that he’d be so immortalized.
Morrison rolled his eyes, “Maybe don’t out us just yet. The whole ‘illegal-activity and unsanctioned interference with law enforcement under the banner of a banned Organization’ just might get us into a little trouble.”
Lúcio laughed, “Okay, fair enough. No lyrics then. Hey! Maybe I’ll remix that awful song the big guy likes so much.”
“Ohhh,” Reinhardt made a noise of wonder, clearly interested.
Torbjörn snorted, “Then you’ll both hate it.”
“Sounds like a good compromise,” Tracer said, blinking in to steal a hug. “I’m gonna make sure all the preflight stuff is ready. I’ll see you on board.” She blinked off and Torbjörn stepped over and awkwardly offered his flesh hand.
“See ya, kid. Yer a real bright spot on things, that’s fer sure. I’m garbage at goodbyes and all that, but I did some tunin’ on yer skates and streamlined things a bit. Bout all the more I could do. Don’t hit any walls, those things’ll just go now.”
Lúcio laughed and shook his hand before leaning in and stealing a hug from the loudly-protesting engineer. “Gonna miss you too.”
“God, you’re as bad as Reinhardt!”
Hanzo smiled and when Lúcio had released Torbjörn he stepped up and offered a handshake and a gentle bow of acknowledgement. “It was an honor to serve with you. I regret that your situation carries you away from us, but I am happy that you get to return to follow your calling. I wish you the best.”
“Well crap, I can’t follow that,” Lúcio laughed, “Just gimme a hug.” He embraced Hanzo quickly, laughing, the archer rolling his eyes good naturedly before returning it with one arm before the Lúcio stepped back.
“While I am sure your time is short,” Hanzo continued, frowning very faintly, “If you have not said farewell to McCree he will probably be terribly cross to find you gone without a word of farewell.”
“I stopped in and said goodbye to he and the good doctor,” Lúcio assured. “Wouldn’t have done that to him.” He grinned, “I did not want to deal with the hell I’d have caught next time I see you all.”
Hanzo felt something in his chest warm inexplicably at the knowledge that he was considered a part of this group enough that it was unconsciously expected he’d be here. He very much wanted to be.
Genji bowed respectfully to Lúcio as well—and Hanzo would swear his brother dipped his head just a little lower than he did, trying to subtly best him even in this small way, the suborn man—and Zenyatta stepped up next to him, glanced at his respectful student, and offered instead a closed fist towards the young musician.
Lúcio laughed loud and bumped his fist solidly against the Omnic’s hand. “Mad respect, Zen.”
Genji’s shoulders slumped, shaking his head, “Master.”
Zenyatta ignored his student, his voice carrying the note of withheld laughter, “Safest travels, my friend. I greatly look forward to the harmony you give to the world and all that you will in the future. Until we meet again.”
Winston stepped up with a tired, sad smile, “Here,” He offered a small device, one of the beacons Overwatch used, the same as the one that had brought him here offered by his brother’s hand. “Perhaps you’ll never use it, and your time with us is over for good, but you are always welcome among us, with us. As far as we’re all concerned, you’re as much a founding member of Overwatch as anyone else.”
Lúcio nodded, smiling, proud of it and serious, understanding the weight of the trust placed in him. “I got it. I’m not gonna let you down.”
Behind them all the plane let out a low drone that increased in frequency as its engines onlined. “Time to go,” Morrison instructed. “Have everything you need?”
“Yeah, all set,” Lúcio nodded, his smiling going sad. “Gonna miss you guys.”
“We’ll miss you as well,” Reinhardt said, hand coming down on the smaller man’s shoulder one last time.
“Good luck,” Morrison said, and offered him a casual salute of respect.
After that Lúcio boarded the plane and within minutes Tracer was guiding it off the runway and into the sky, fast disappearing into the gentle clouds above Gibraltar.
“I need to get back to the command room,” Winston murmured. “Help Athena and Tracer navigate through.”
And that was that.
--
Hanzo returned to his room and cleaned himself up properly. He deposited his soiled clothing in the laundry chute, showered and cleaned off the grime of travel and washed his hair, scrubbed over his skin till it he felt renewed. He redressed in his usual gear after a short internal debate, unsure if he should wear his electronic boots just around base. At least the air was warm enough to let his top hang open as he preferred it. It had been quite some time since he’d let the twins loose, and letting the sun play along the lines of the tattoo helped keep them docile and helped with his control. Caged and constricted, they would push more insistently at his mind.
He debated as well wearing his archery glove, but after a cursory check of his quiver he realized he was running low on most of his arrow sets. He’d definite need to construct more chips for sonic arrows and find appropriate supplies to augment a new set of scatter arrows. His bow could use a little maintenance as well.
A goal in mind he slipped his glove into the inside of his top and left his room, hoping to find Torbjörn somewhere and inquire about tools and a workspace. Normally he would make everything himself, not usually trusting another hand to potentially tamper with his weapon or ammunition, but he imagined the small Swedish engineer might have ideas on how to improve the construction of his weapon and he trusted him not to bungle the production of the electronics for his arrowheads.
He headed into the machine shop on base and found it empty but for Reinhardt who was doing some routine cleaning of the massive rocket hammer he lifted so easily. In the corner Hanzo saw his Crusader armor stowed on a hangar.
Reinhardt had no idea where Torbjörn might’ve gone, but his best guess would be to try the command room next. Winston had turned it into half a lab while he’d been the sole occupant of the base, and the engineer had been helping to clean and organize the work the scientist had been doing, helping get the Watchpoint back to something close to normal function.
He approached quietly through the halls of the base and slowed as he approached the command room and heard voices within. Neither were Torbjörn.
He stepped into the room, hoping that perhaps one of the people inside might know where to find him and didn’t quite realize what he’d interrupted until it was far too late to back out of the room. The tension was so thick he could pierce it an arrow.
Dr. Ziegler stood on one side of the command table, arms folded, looking uncomfortable. Morrison stood on the opposite side, frowning and looking like he would rather be anywhere else. For that matter he was looking anywhere else. Not meeting the doctor’s eyes. Both clearly marked his entrance but they were too embedded in whatever unhappiness they were talking about to stop.
“—I hadn’t seen you since I arrived. I only wanted to see how you were doing.” Dr. Ziegler was standing her ground, her tone light but carrying the faintest notes of curiosity and reproach.
“Yeah, well, what you see is what you get,” Morrison replied, gruff, his own tone baldly curt and colder than Hanzo had heard him sound before.
“Jack,” She continued, “At least look at me when you speak. Do I not deserve even that much?”
76’s sigh was ten-ton heavy and looked up at her, blue eyes angry, “Fine. I’m looking at you now. Better?”
“There’s no need to be rude.”
“You’re right, sorry,” Morrison agreed, but his voice was tired. “Look, I need to go. Lots to work on concerning this Junker lead while Winston helps Tracer fly. It’s… good to see you again, Mercy.”
He turned and made his rapid departure, leaving only Hanzo and Dr. Ziegler remaining. She stood quietly where she had been, her arms crossed, her face tired, and concern pinching between her eyes.
“That seemed,” he hesitated, voice quiet, “Odd for him.”
Dr. Ziegler did not seem particularly cross that he’d seen the whole thing. “Perhaps not the best conversation to walk in on, hmm?” She was faintly chastising, but without any real censure.
“Is something going on?” He asked, because while it was not his business to interfere, he remembered the stories of Overwatch splitting apart from the inside when it was disbanded years ago. If there was risk already of something similar happening, he wanted to know now rather than later.
The idea of this newborn group of friends and comrades splitting already made something unpleasant ache in his chest.
But she only sighed and shook her head, “No, not really. This is not entirely unexpected. I don’t know what I was hoping for.” She looked over at Hanzo, and for a moment her eyes looked very old. “There was…” She paused, finding the right words, “There was someone I could not save, years ago, right before the official word came down from on high to disband. Even though Jack begged me to help. Even though I tried my damnedest. I could not save a life.” Her voice wavered at the end but she continued. “That is all Jack Morrison remembers when he looks at me now.”
It hardly seemed fair, but Hanzo understood associating people with memories, even unfairly, as an act of self-preservation. “I hope he will realize his folly.”
“Perhaps one day,” She smiled at him and Hanzo had a feeling he’d been caught and they weren’t entirely talking about Jack there. “But… I do understand. It is my lowest moment, I think. What I did. That failure. I can’t really forget it either.”
Hanzo wanted to ask, was curious to know, but it was ultimately not his business. Overwatch now seemed to be about moving beyond the past. It certainly was for him. He would be a hypocrite if he did not try and allow others to have that same boon.
There was something bothering him a bit though.
“Not to question you, doctor, but if you’re here then who’s in the infirmary watching McCree?”
Dr. Ziegler’s smile lit up, parts happy, mischievous, and so very knowing. “Well no one is watching him. He’s a big boy, he can watch himself. Especially since he’s been discharged and doesn’t need full supervision anymore.”
Hanzo straightened, all thoughts of finding tools and making arrows leaving him. “Is he? He’s out?”
She nodded, “He’ll get more benefit from being back on his feet and moving around than being cooped up in bed at this point. Perhaps not one hundred percent yet, but going forward that’ll be on his body, and he’s always bounced back.” She tapped her chin, “I still need to analyze the blood work in greater detail and use the remnants of the clothing of his that was torn up. See if I can find any lingering trace of the chemical and what it was.”
“Do you know where he went?” Hanzo asked, trying not to sound as urgent as it felt. It was a small Watchpoint. There were only so many places he could be.
She laughed softly, “Knowing Jesse, I believe you’ll find him doing his favorite thing in the world.”
--
Hanzo stepped into the practice gallery and immediately picked up on the smooth drawl of Jesse’s English as his brother’s own strongly accented words. He hesitated, standing outside the range, not sure he wanted to interrupt but wanting, needing to see McCree up and hale and whole.
There was no loud crack of gunfire or the whistle of shuriken in the air, only the sound of voices over the ambient noise of the training bots moving around their programmed routes and actions.
He should turn and leave, he knew. These were friends and companions and they didn’t deserve to have their words eavesdropped. But old habits were difficult to break, and he’d learned very quickly while on his own the value of keeping eyes and ears open, of knowing and information.
The conflict and his own desire to step into the room kept him paralyzed.
Hanzo stayed outside the door and listened.
“Jesus Christ,” McCree complained without any real anger, “I do not remember my gun bein’ this damn heavy.”
“You were very badly hurt,” Genji’s reply came back, “It is not so strange to think you’ll have to build your energy and strength back up. I am almost certain Angela probably gave you a talk about just that.”
“Maybe,” The cowboy grouched and there was a faint jingling sound followed by a ratcheting series of clicks—bullets being slotted into his Peacekeeper—“But I ain’t gotta like it.” There were the sound of six shots that followed and more cursing. “You tell anyone that it took me more than one shot to kill these trainin’ bots an’ we’re gonna have a problem.”
Genji took the words for the jest they were, “Be glad you can even wield your firearm. You almost lost that limb as well.”
“Which is why I’m almost positive Angela put ya up to babysittin’ me. Am I warm?” More clinking and clicks as the Peacekeeper was reloaded.
“There are a number of people who would be rather put off if we found you in a bad way out here, Angela only one amongst them.”
Hanzo’s mouth thinned. He was definitely one of them.
“Ain’t you so fuckin’ sweet,” McCree griped, tone biting and sarcastic and sighed. “Sorry, Genji. Ain’t tryin’ a’ take my temper out on you.”
“I do not mind,” Genji confided quietly, “You are serving as a fair distraction for me as well.”
“Let me guess. That Omnic’ a’ yours.” McCree was, as ever, a perfect shot, even without bullets.
“I am concerned about these Junkers that Winston is looking to unearth,” The cyborg said. “Such blatant anti-Omnic sentiment. I do not imagine for an instant that my Master will sit on the sidelines for anything, but he will be the most likely target should we clash with them. I worry.”
McCree laughed of all things, “I am never gonna get tired of Blackwatch’s little hate machine all crazy for that monk of all things. Please keep talking. This is making my day.”
Genji sighed, “You are not helping.”
“Oh I am not tryin’ to, believe me. I am pretty damn sure you let me get shot once because you didn’t want to leave cover at the time. Finally, karma comes back around. I’ve been patient.”
The younger Shimada didn’t rise to the teasing, staying quiet for a long moment, “I was not a happy man during my tenure in Blackwatch, McCree. I did not care much for your life or the lives of many of my comrades. Not the way I should have. I treated you as tools for my own means, the same as Overwatch considered me a tool for theirs. I am truly sorry.”
Hanzo heard McCree’s follow-up chuckle. “You got nothin’ to apologize for. I get ya, Genji. ‘Sides, yer workin’ to make up for it all now, aincha?”
“I am trying.”
“’An’ I was serious anyway. Watchin’ you get twisted up about that Omnic is payback enough, believe me.” McCree’s tone was nothing but laughter.
“Hmph,” Genji huffed, unimpressed, “If that’s the way you want it then I can do the same.” He called out then, voice raised, “I know you’re there, Hanzo! May as well come out.”
Wincing faintly with embarrassment, Hanzo stepped out into the training gallery, into plain view of the two occupants. Genji had certainly not dulled any after all the years apart, that was for certain.
McCree’s whole face lit up at the sight of him and he grinned bright and happy, “Hanzo! We were jus’ talkin’ bout you earlier. Was hopin’ to get to see ya.”
Helplessly, Hanzo found himself smiling back as he came to stand with them. “Likewise. I am glad to see you up and around. I was getting used to not having to look up to see you.”
McCree chuckled, “Me too, Partner, me too. Got a lot of work to do gettin’ my gun arm back in shape again, but I am damn glad to be back at it.”
Hanzo’s expression grew a bit sharp, a few teeth flashing, “Good. You do if we’re going to have that rematch.”
The cowboy’s head fell back as he laughed, long and loud and surprised and slung his flesh arm around Hanzo’s shoulders, still gripping the Peacekeeper against his clothed arm, large and warm against his bare side. “Darlin’ you are on.”
Genji looked between them slowly, “I cannot help but wonder who this stranger wearing my brother’s face is.”
It was a dark sentiment; one Hanzo had dwelt upon more than once since he’d learned of Genji surviving all these years. But his brother meant the words only in bemusement and meant no ill by it and Hanzo found himself laughing softly in spite of everything. Not even dark memories of Genji could bring down his joy at seeing McCree finally up.
“C’mon now, Genji. Hanzo’s loosened up a lot since I met ‘im,” McCree’s grin was toothy and he leaned faintly against the archer’s shoulder. “He’s even more than a halfway decent shot now. Lots of growth.”
Hanzo snorted, “Who was it that needed more than one bullet per training bot a few minutes ago, hmm?”
“Oh, you pickin’ a fight with me?” McCree challenged, eyes alight and grinning broadly. “Maybe we should rematch right now. Get it done while you have half a chance to beat me.”
Hanzo matched his expression fierce with joy. “I am going to make you eat every single one of those words, Cowboy.”
Genji shook his head, “You are both mad. I’ll keep score. It should be more than fair. I don’t like either of you right now.”
Hanzo pushed McCree off him towards the rest of the gallery, and the cowboy walked backwards, laughing at him, Genji trailing behind.
It felt like things were good again. In that moment, Hanzo was happy. |
Jim had a long list of things he preferred to avoid, and physicals were pretty high on the list. Even with Bones as his attending, he got the screaming meemies when people started prodding and delving and asking questions. It brought back too many memories of shady clinics and lying about injuries. He had always gotten away with it before by claiming that he was fine, that he knew his body, and that he’d definitely come to Medical if he needed something. The problem was that Bones saw right through him.
In this case, he’d managed to avoid being swept up in the shipwide physicals because Bones was so concerned about Norman, and afterward they’d just been too busy to think about it, but Jim had never held out hope that he’d be able to get away with it forever.
Sure enough, the morning after they left Harry Mudd to the tender mercies of the androids, Bones walked onto the bridge mid-shift, while Jim was doing his rounds, and slid his arms around Jim’s waist.
“Hey, darlin’,” he murmured in Jim’s ear.
“Hey,” Jim murmured back, leaning into his husband for a moment. “What’s up?”
“Mmm.” Bones tucked his chin onto Jim’s shoulder and looked up at Spock. “Can the captain be spared for a few minutes, Mr. Spock? Say…an hour, tops?”
Spock lifted an eyebrow. “Adequately.”
Uhura stifled a giggle at her console. Bones rubbed his cheek against Jim’s for a moment, then spoke in a brisk, cheerful voice. “Good, because I can’t submit my report to Starfleet until I’ve done all the physicals, and I’m still missing the captain’s. Hell, I’ve even got Jame O’Flaherty’s neonatal report in there. C’mon, Jim.”
Jim’s breath caught in his throat for a minute. He was trapped—in every sense of the word—and he could barely manage to stammer out, “Mr. Spock, you have the conn.” Reluctantly, he let Bones lead him to the lift.
The minute they were alone, Bones pulled him flush against himself again, splaying one hand on the left side of Jim’s chest gently. He’d been doing that a lot lately; Jim wasn’t even sure he was aware he was doing it. At the moment, though, Jim was too busy trying to remember how to breathe to worry too much about it.
“I’m sorry, Jim,” Bones said quietly, rocking Jim gently back and forth as they descended. “I know you hate this. I don’t like forcing you into this. But it’s not just about the report. Hell, I could fake it. Your physicals are usually consistent enough that I could just copy the results from last year, alter a couple pertinent details, and submit it.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Jim muttered. Bones had done that a couple of times, usually when Jim was too busy or stressed around annual physical time to make it down to Medical before the bundled report was due.
Bones’ hand pressed a little more firmly against Jim’s chest, and this time, Jim knew it was deliberate. “Because of this.”
“My left pectoral?”
“Your heart, Jim. I’ve been trying to get you in for a physical for the last nine months.”
“I’m fine,” Jim protested, even though he could feel his heart fluttering in his chest.
“Jim.” Bones let go of Jim, then turned him around so they were facing one another and looked seriously into his eyes. “Your heart always races when you’re under stress. It was a big part of the reason I was so reluctant to tranq your double last year. But ever since we faced Apollo…I’ve been noticing an arrhythmia, too. You’re skipping beats, pounding out of sync. Maybe it’s something he did to you—something that lightning of his did when it hit you. Maybe it’s natural. But, Jim…this is how it started with my dad.” His voice trembled on the last word. “Please, darlin’. Please let me take a look. I can’t—I can’t lose you. Not while it’s in my power to save you.”
Jim’s breath caught in his chest. He had held Bones through enough long nights over the years—even before they were a couple—to know that he’d suffered violently over losing his father, that he’d been miserable he hadn’t been able to keep his father alive a mere six weeks longer to find the cure. And there was a cure for the disease that had taken David McCoy, but the thing was that the later it was caught, the more difficult—and painful—the cure would be.
Jim wouldn’t put Bones through that again. Not for anything.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Bones, I…” He swallowed hard. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Thank you.” Bones pulled him in for a tight hug, then let go of everything but his hand when the lift doors slid open. “I promise I’ll be quick.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Jim said lightly, which at least had the effect of pulling a smile out of Bones.
They walked into Med Bay to find Chapel and McCall quietly chatting with one another. Chapel was the first to look up and spy them. “Captain, hello. What’s up?”
Jim smiled. “Just here for my physical.”
McCall looked around her, eyes comically wide. “Are we in the middle of the apocalypse and I missed it?”
“Apocalypse Then,” Chapel quipped.
Bones tensed at Jim’s side, but for once, Jim didn’t take the teasing maliciously. After all, he was notorious for avoiding any and all medical procedures, no matter how routine—or how desperately necessary. “I promise you, Nurse McCall, if the scanners happen to pick up four horsemen riding by, you will be at least the third to know about it.”
Both nurses laughed as Bones led Jim into the exam room.
The moment the door closed behind them, to Jim’s surprise, Bones turned him and gave him a gentle, tender kiss. “’M proud of you, darlin’,” he murmured. “Thought for sure you were gonna get upset.”
“I know they weren’t being mean,” Jim murmured in reply, slipping his arms around Bones’ neck for a moment. “Besides, they’re right. Me getting a physical without a massive, drawn-out fight probably is a sign the universe is going to end.”
“Doesn’t count if you were guilt-tripped into it,” Bones pointed out with a slight smile. He kissed Jim again, then let go and pointed to the exam table, suddenly all business. “Right. Shirt, shoes, socks. Keep the pants on, otherwise I’ll never be able to get through this.”
“Spoilsport,” Jim teased, but he did as Bones requested.
Physicals with Bones were a lot easier than they’d been with literally any other doctor he’d ever dealt with. In the first place, Bones knew him; he knew every scar on his body, knew who and what had made each one, knew why Jim hid them. Jim didn’t have to explain, didn’t have to experience the rush of shame that always came when someone saw the scars from Frank or the stuttering moments of fear when they asked about the scars that had come from Tarsus. Over the years, Bones’ fingers and then his lips had traced every single one of them, murmuring reassurances over them, promising Jim that what had happened to him wasn’t his fault, had never been his fault. Maybe Jim didn’t always believe him, but he could relax under them anyway.
In the second place, Bones was gentle and tender with him. Most of the doctors he’d seen had been very clinical and impersonal, poking, prodding, grabbing. A few had been highly unprofessional and groped him while he lay on the table, exposed and helpless. But Bones’ hands, steady and capable, had always reassured Jim that he was safe, made sure he was on solid ground, and never touched without permission or harder than necessary. He always told Jim exactly what he was doing and why, even when it was the same thing year after year.
Really, that was what it boiled down to, in the end. He was safe with Bones, and he knew it. Nothing would hurt him as long as the man he’d loved almost as long as he’d known him was there.
It didn’t change the fact that the procedure was God-awful boring, but at least Jim wasn’t jumping out of his skin every time something touched him.
Bones ran diagnostics, listened to Jim’s lungs, checked his ears, eyes, and throat, and tested his reflexes. He had Jim lie on his back and perform a couple of strenuous activities—no sweat, really, Jim kept himself in good shape, especially for his age—and even did a hearing test.
“All right,” he said at last, and from the way his voice shook, Jim knew what was next. “Time for the heart test. C’mon, Jim, come over here.”
Jim followed Bones to the highly-sophisticated machine designed for close examination of the heart. It was a simple matter of stepping up to the screen and standing perfectly still while Bones ran the scanner, but he’d never done it before. And, truthfully, he was a little nervous about it. He didn’t know if there was a history of heart disease in his family…and he wasn’t sure what he would do if Bones found out there was something wrong.
Still, he dutifully stood where he was instructed to stand and waited patiently. Bones switched on the machine, pressed a couple of buttons, and then stepped back to watch. The machine beeped and whirred for a moment, then settled into a low, steady hum. Jim kept his eyes fixed on Bones, who studied the screen carefully. His expression never changed, never faltered, but Jim saw the blood slowly drain from his face.
After several long minutes of silence, he said quietly, “Bones?”
“Well,” Bones said, and his voice cracked slightly. “It’s not what my dad had.”
“That’s good, at least,” Jim said, a little uncertainly. “Right?”
His heart had begun to beat a little faster, and this time, Jim could feel the skipping Bones had mentioned. He tried to force himself to calm down, but that only made him panic more.
“C’mon down, darlin’,” Bones said softly, holding out his arms. “C’mere.”
Jim stepped off the dais and went straight into Bones’ embrace, slipping his own arms around Bones’ waist and resting his head on his husband’s shoulder. Bones held him close, rocking him back and forth. Gradually, Jim felt his heart slow down, the beat turning steady once more.
“Bones,” he said softly. “What’s wrong with me?”
“There’s—there’s some damage,” Bones admitted. “It’s not…it can be repaired. But it’s going to be complicated. You’ll have to have at least a month to convalesce.”
“Bones…I can’t do that. Not while we’re in deep space. I have to be in command, unless there’s an emergency.”
“I know, darlin’, I know.” Bones pressed a kiss to the top of Jim’s head. “It’s not that bad—yet. You should be all right until we’re back on Earth, unless…unless it starts gettin’ worse.”
Jim didn’t want to know, but he had to ask. “How much worse can it get?”
“A lot,” Bones admitted. “I hope it doesn’t come to that, though. I really do.”
They stood in silence for a long minute. Finally, Bones took a deep breath and spoke more normally. “The rest of your exam looks good, though. Except for some scarring to your heart, you’re healthy as a horse.” He smiled down at Jim, although his eyes were extremely wet. “A bit of a pudgy one, but still.”
Jim smiled, but he didn’t respond.
The rest of the day passed more or less normally, although Jim knew he was quieter than usual. He couldn’t stop thinking about the tests that had been run, what Bones had told him…and at the same time, a passing comment Bones’ aunt had made almost fifteen years before, one Jim had never brought up. They both had their ghosts, their demons, and while Bones had gently pried most of Jim’s into the light and helped him deal with them, Jim had never been quite sure how to drag out Bones’.
But some conversations were better had in the darkness. That night, as they lay in bed, Jim curled against Bones’ chest and Bones resting one hand on Jim’s heart, Jim spoke quietly. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, darlin’,” Bones murmured, stroking Jim’s hair with his free hand.
Jim swallowed hard, twice, before speaking. “It’s—remember that first Christmas you took me to Georgia?”
“Yeah?” Bones sounded confused. “You been thinkin’ about takin’ the kids out there?”
“No. Well, yeah, but…” Jim took a breath. “Your aunt Norma Jean said something…she didn’t really explain it, but I think I know…and I’ve been thinking about that all day. She said—she was talking about your dad, and she said that—that you couldn’t ignore his dying wish, but that your grandfather couldn’t forgive that part.”
Bones went completely still. For a moment, Jim was afraid he’d had a heart attack, except that he could feel his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Jim waited for a moment, then said softly, “He didn’t want to suffer, did he? He asked you, if it was getting too bad, if there wasn’t any hope—he wanted you to, to—”
“To kill him,” Bones whispered harshly. “Told me he wanted to be put down like an animal if there was no chance for him. Said he didn’t want to be hooked up to a million machines, hoping they’d keep him alive long enough to find something to let him live longer. He was always more interested in quality of life over quantity, and he said he’d rather die young than live forever in pain.”
Jim could see the pain in Bones’ eyes. The guilt. Forget his grandfather refusing to forgive him—Bones couldn’t forgive himself. Jim lifted one hand to cover the one Bones had resting on his chest. “You just did what he wanted, Bones.”
“No, I didn’t,” Bones admitted, his voice low and raw. “I couldn’t, Jim. Not at first. Suzanna was only eight when he was diagnosed, and Mama…she wasn’t ready to quit. He held on for them, but he told me that if he ended up bedridden, he wanted me to end it. OD him on morphine, pump too much potassium into his IV, something like that. He knew as well as I did that if he got in that bed, he’d never get out of it, especially since what he had meant his body would reject any attempts at a transplant. But I—I didn’t, Jim. He was bedridden and I kept making excuses not to go see him…Joss used that as an excuse for our marriage startin’ to fall apart, that I was too cold to visit my dying father. Then she got pregnant…I tried to convince Daddy to stick around long enough to meet his grandbaby, and he tried, Jim, he tried so hard. But it finally got so bad—I went to see him a month before Jo was due, and he was just so weak, he was in so much pain…I gave in. I gave him the out he wanted.” He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “And then three weeks later, they found a cure.”
“Bones,” Jim whispered.
“Dammit, the whole reason I didn’t let him die was I was hoping—and then they found it that soon after I gave in! And then three months later, Jo died in her sleep, and everything fell apart…” Bones buried his face in the top of Jim’s head. “I made my father suffer when he didn’t want to. I made me suffer, because I had to watch him waste away. I either waited too long to give him the peace he’d asked me—begged me for—or I didn’t wait long enough. And in the end, it doesn’t really matter, because I lost everything I had anyway. I can’t—” His voice broke and he pulled Jim tighter. Jim felt tears dropping into his scalp.
Jim clung tighter to Bones. He hated that he’d done this, hated bringing this sort of thing up…but it was important. To Bones, to him, to them. He held his husband for a moment that stretched out into eternity, wanting to take that pain away from him, silently promising that he was there, no matter what.
“Bones,” he whispered at last. “If this thing I’ve got—if it couldn’t be repaired and you couldn’t replace my heart—would you put me down rather than see me suffer?”
Bones took a deep, shuddering breath, but his reply was almost instant. “Yes.”
Jim exhaled, a long, deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, and sank closer to Bones.
“Promise?”
|
So.
Cassie wakes up the next day and everything’s completely normal. She reminds herself she’s in a relationship as she peels open her eyes, but her bedroom looks exactly the same as it did last night. She pulls on her shorts and jogs out into the early morning sun, and the city still smells of trash and occasionally fresh coffee. She watches her fellow New Yorkers carefully as she runs past them, but no one seems to be looking at her differently. No one can actually tell that her life is suddenly dramatically different.
It terrifies her so much she can basically think about as far ahead as the next day, so that’s what she does.
Her summer classes start that morning, which gives her a faint sense of normality and structure. And, yeah, every inch of NYADA reminds her of Rachel, but she’s got some kind of work to focus on. Her students are - god, hopeless doesn’t even cover it; but that’s what happens when there’s no rigorous admissions process, and it’s not like she wasn’t prepared.
Cassie’s reputation proceeds her, and the students stand nervously round the room like awkward, shaking newborn foals. She usually takes an extra bite at her summer students, because she’s tired and bitter and hot in the city summer, and all these privileged kids are going to do when this is over is run back to the parents funding them. They’re never going near a stage. But there’s something settling inside her chest - it’s been there for a few months now, but she’s only just starting to become aware of it - and so she puts her students through a rigorous set of floor exercises in the centre, and walks between the rows carefully adjusting their technique.
One of the students even thanks her, when she leaves.
(The girl has long brown hair and is a little too eager. Cassie blinks for a few seconds, before murmuring her thanks.)
*
She returns Lucian’s car and keys to him in one piece.
“Hmm,” Lucian says, eyeing her suspiciously as she hands them to him. Cassie rolls her eyes.
“I washed everything, I promise,” she sing songs as she saunters through the doorway, and Lucian closes his eyes in horror.
“I mean, I couldn’t really wash the couches, but…”
(She is 100% done with him getting the upper hand with his patronising smarminess.)
“Okay, point made,” says Lucian, holding up his hands in defeat. “You’re in a real grown up relationship now, and I bow to your maturity.”
“Fuck off,” smirks Cassie, picking at some grapes in his fruit bowl.
“Seriously. I’ve been having some real problems with Jonathan lately, can you offer some advice?” Lucian asks.
“Honestly, slip something in his drink, because that boy is so uptight you’re not getting so much as a toothpick up there-“
Lucian throws a cushion.
“I hate you when you’re in a good mood.”
Cassie laughs as she cowers behind the kitchen counter.
“Haven’t you had a full day of classes, as well?” Lucian shouts.
“Hey, I had a lot of orgasms last week.”
“Lesbians. They just keep on going,” Lucian muses, pouring some wine.
Cassie snorts.
“What? You shared a lot in college. Oh come on, this’ll be great,” Lucian says, reaching across the table. “It’ll be just like Tisch. Share stories about your hazardous girlfriends, cry over heartbreaks. I’m so excited.”
Cassie shoots him a Medusa glare, and like, she’s not actually annoyed, but Lucian knows when to knock it off.
“Those girls barely qualified as relationships,” Cassie says, running a finger round the rim of her glass. “Rachel’s, you know, she’s different,” she adds quietly.
“Cassie, not wanting to rehash the last 9 months… but she’s already seen you at your worst. I really don’t think there are many more ways in which you can fuck this up,” Lucian tells her gently. “Permanently, at least.”
Cassie rolls her eyes again, brushing her hair from her face.
“I just… I haven’t done this a while. I mean, is dating even the same as ten years ago?”
“I’ve been with the same man for eight years. I’ve got no idea,” Lucian tells her, sipping his wine. Cassie sighs, frowning.
*
So Lucian is semi-useless, but she gets a faint sense of wariness from him, so maybe it’s deliberate.
(And, I mean, she has kind of learnt to walk on her own two feet, now.)
She texts Rachel later that evening, and actually hangs over her phone for a solid ten minutes until she gets a reply.
I’m free tomorrow. What are you thinking about?
Cassie smirks.
Generally? You. Naked. But specifically - tomorrow evening, my couch.
She can almost feel the eye roll.
(And the squirming smirk.)
Who knew romance was so alive in the depths of Soho.
If I offered dinner would you bring the candles?
You’ve won me over, Romeo. See you at 8?
Don’t be late. I have plans.
*
Cassie’s done this a thousand times before - Rachel was round at her loft so much summer term she basically moved in, as Lucian brutally pointed out, and like, she cooked for her all last week.
But that really doesn’t explain why she’s spilled two glasses of wine on the floor already and burnt the pasta, and is sweating so much she feels like she’s back in church.
(Is it really a first date when you’ve had more orgasms from that person than anybody else combined?)
Rachel turns up exactly ten minutes past eight. They grin at each other awkwardly across the doorstep for a few seconds, before Rachel lets out a breathy, “Hey.”
“Hey,” replies Cassie. She steps back and Rachel comes in, and she’s completely lost as to what she’s supposed to do next, but then Rachel rises up on her tiptoes and presses a gentle kiss to her lips.
“I cooked,” says Cassie, when Rachel pulls away.
“Oh?” smiles Rachel. “Am I in for a treat or a poisoning?”
Cassie rolls her eyes, and some of the tension dissipates. She closes the door behind Rachel, and takes a deep breath.
“How was your day?” Rachel asks, as they move over towards the counter.
“I found some new students to terrorise,” Cassie tells her, as she reaches for the wine. She instantly regrets her comment, because it’s not even true.
“That’s nice,” says Rachel. Cassie doesn’t reply.
“Cheers,” she says, clinking their glasses.
“To first dates,” smiles Rachel. Their eyes meet over the rims and Cassie’s heart skitters. She feels this familiar warm, nervous energy bubbling up inside her, and there’s no way on earth she’s going to be able to eat a thing,
Shit.
“Shit!”
Cassie whips round and pulls the pasta off the stove. It’s just about okay, but she can feel her cheeks flaming.
“You okay?” asks Rachel, moving up behind her and brushing a hand against her waist.
“Yeah, just - yeah.”
“Hey,” says Rachel, tugging on her waist and pulling Cassie round to face her. “I’ve seen you… throwing up over a toilet, okay? We know each other. Relax.”
“Not really the image I was going for, Schwim,” Cassie winces, and Rachel smiles ruefully.
They move their pasta and wine to the counter and sit down opposite each other. Rachel comments on how nice the food is and Cassie twirls some round her fork.
“So what did you teach your students?”
“Erm, you know… just some floor exercises. Things we did at the start of term.”
“Are they worse than us?”
“So much worse.”
Rachel laughs, and they go back to their food.
Shit it’s just so awkward and she doesn’t even know why. Cassie never has to find things to say around Rachel; conservation bubbles out of her like a fountain and sweeps Cassie along. Fuck, she's fucking this up so much.
“Are you okay, did you have a bad day?” Rachel asks quietly.
“No, I’m fine!” says Cassie, attempting a bright smile. Rachel falteringly returns it. “Have you heard anything…?”
Rachel shakes her head. Of course she hasn’t; Cassie would be on the receiving end of screams and tears if she had.
“How’s Kurt?”
“Good. He didn’t get the part in a summer program he wanted, so he’s interning full-time for Vogue.”
“Really?”
“Mm,” says Rachel, swallowing a mouthful of food. “You know, sometimes, I think he’ll just give up Broadway and do something in fashion or costume design or something.”
“Hmm,” murmurs Cassie; it’s an interesting proposition, and she’d give it some thought if she wasn’t so goddamn nervous.
Rachel bites her lip, and then jumps up suddenly, and actually hops off the stool.
“What are you doing?” Cassie asks, as Rachel wanders over to her stereo and flicks through some CDs.
She hears a murmur that sounds something like, “dancing,” and moments later Ella Fitzgerald is oozing from her speakers. Rachel turns round and holds out her hand towards Cassie, crooking a finger.
Cassie feels a smile tugging at her lips and maybe she actually blushes a little, but she slides off her stool and saunters over to Rachel, holding her gaze.
“Dance with me?” Rachel whispers.
(And maybe this is part of why she loves her so much - because instantly they’re back in that place and Rachel knew.)
Cassie brushes her fingers across Rachel’s palm and hears her breath catch in her throat, before slipping their fingers together and resting her other hand on Rachel’s waist. Rachel looks up at her through long lashes, pulling her best wide-eyed innocent expression and Cassie’s 100% sure she’s being played and in the best way possible.
Their hips move slowly in time together, rolling against each other, Rachel’s crotch brushing hers tantalisingly softly. Cassie doesn’t have to think, at all, because her body knows Rachel’s almost as well as her own - and Rachel knows her language. It’s theirs. The energy between them grows, and encircles them in a warm protective blanket.
Cassie smiles softly at Rachel, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She can’t fathom what she was ever worried about; she has no time to worry about anything, actually, when all she wants is to enjoy this moment right here with Rachel, as Rachel leans in to nestle against Cassie.
They stay swaying like that for what feels like hours, Rachel’s head rested on Cassie’s chest as Cassie plays with her hair.
“You know our pasta’s probably cold by now,” Rachel mumbles into her jumper.
“Mm,” murmurs Cassie, because she’s really quite content to stay like this. But then her stomach rumbles loudly, and - “Oh, okay, I’ll go heat it up.”
They take their microwaved meals back to the couch, where they sit eating with their feet tangled together in the middle. Cassie explains her rigorous plan for her students this summer to Rachel, and maybe she’s a little funnier than she used to be, or maybe Rachel’s tickled at the torture she knows the students are going to be put through, but she ends up with ridiculous hiccups - which leads to Cassie trying to stretch her diaphragm out on the sofa, and honestly they’re both so dumb right now, falling over the cushions unable to breathe for laughing at she doesn’t even know what…but it’s so much goddamn fun.
At some point Cassie relocates the bottle of wine, and they sit talking for hours; at least until they get more and more lazy, and Rachel ends up curled around Cassie, and her eyes get darker and darker - and this is probably the best first date she’s ever had.
*
Cassie wakes up on the third day with Rachel wrapped around her stomach. Her hair is lightly tickling her bellybutton, and Cassie’s kind of sweaty, and the familiar smell of sex - their sex - is lingering in the room, and the world still hasn’t imploded.
She cooks Rachel breakfast like the stellar girlfriend that she is, and they grin at each other over coffee and vegan pancakes.
“What?” asks Cassie, biting a smile as she raises her eyebrows at Rachel. Rachel holds her gaze and moves round to the other side of the counter, sliding onto the stall next to her. Then she takes Cassie’s fork and scoops a bite.
“Schwimmer…” says Cassie, the smirk on her face completely ruining her attempt at a warning tone. Rachel grins some more, moving the fork slowly towards Cassie’s mouth. Cassie’s attempting her best don’t-you-fucking-dare expression but then Rachel licks her lips and Cassie’s kind of open on instinct. It’s kind of hot, as Rachel slides the fork back out of her mouth and raises an eyebrow.
“Yum,” she says slowly, licking her lips. When Rachel reaches for the pancakes again, Cassie catches sight of the maple syrup bottle.
(The sticky, sugary mess that ensues is 100% worth it for the sight of syrup trickling down Rachel’s lower stomach.)
*
Honestly, she kind of grins stupidly all week.
(Not in class, obviously, because she has a reputation to maintain; although she does catch herself absent-mindedly twirling her cane at one point, and she muses on all the ways she could put it to good use.)
She would happily spend every evening with Rachel, who has no classes or any summer plans, as yet, and she knows badly need distracting from worrying about Funny Girl. But the image of Rachel screaming over her sofa that she’s clingy still haunts her, and even though they’re several (hundred, on Rachel’s part) apologies and many months of maturity on, she’s still held back by fear.
(And also Lucian's advice; smarmy ass that he is, he has a track record of being right about her unhealthy traits.)
But Friday night they go dancing.
It’s the first time Cassie’s braved taking Rachel out anywhere public since they actually started - she’s not even sure what to call it. There’s a weird feeling as she queues with Rachel on her arm - it’s a new bar, and she hasn’t had a chance to make acquaintance with the bouncers yet - because they’re surrounded by strangers, and yet Cassie’s got pre-stage jitters like she’s about to make a big announcement.
(There’s also this new, unnerving relief that if anyone catches them, she’s not actually breaking NYADA code anymore - but she knows there’s still so much scandal just waiting to explode around them, which is mostly why they’re so far away from NYADA haunts.)
They finally get inside, and Cassie finds them a seat before heading off to order drinks. The barman asks if the Vodka Rocks is for her as she’s paying, and she replies instinctively.
“No, that’s for - that’s for, er, my date. My girlfriend.”
“Oh, okay ma’am, would you like me to take it to her?”
“Erm. Yes. We’re just over there,” Cassie manages, gesturing at the sofas where Rachel’s waiting. The barman gestures at perfectly-manicured waiter, who carries Rachel’s drink over to her on a tiny silver tray whilst Cassie’s heart is still leaping out of her chest.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the barman says, and when Cassie turns round, he’s pushing a small tumbler towards her.
“Thank you,” she says with an absent smile, and makes her way over to Rachel, unable to help herself from wondering if the waiter outed her secret.
(And - is it a secret? Is it even a thing? It’s only been two dates - or six months.
Rachel just beams up at her, and insists they start dancing immediately because her My Baby Just Cares For Me has just started.)
It’s not until hours later, when they’re curled up in some twilight reality, moonlight filtering over their bodies and on the edge of sleep, that Cassie finds her courage.
“So… I told the waiter tonight, you know when he asked who my second drink was for. I told him you were my girlfriend.”
Rachel lifts her head up slightly to look at Cassie.
“Is that, you know, is that okay?” asks Cassie hesitantly, running her fingers up and down Rachel’s spine. Rachel considers it for a full three seconds, during which Cassie’s heart doesn’t beat once, and then a slow smile appears on her face.
“I mean, it’s only been two dates…” Rachel teases softly, but she’s looking up at Cassie with dark, promising eyes and moving gradually closer. “But if you’re asking…”
“I’m asking,” Cassie husks, wrapping her arms tighter round Rachel. “Schwimmer, will you-“
Rachel doesn’t let her finish her sentence before she kisses her hotly.
(There’s something to be said for taking crazy risks, because it makes for great sex.)
*
Cassie wakes up Sunday morning alone, and feels a sudden, deep pang at the cold side of the bed, until she remembers both she and Rachel had Saturday night plans and Rachel’s probably comatose on Kurt’s chest right now. Cassie smiles, then pads out into her loft, flicking the button on the espresso machine before she begins her morning stretches. The sun’s rays are still pink and dusky as she leans over her legs, and she feels a sudden sense of overwhelming contentment. It takes her by surprise, almost, and she pauses against the cold wooden floor, taking a deep breath.
It’s not until she’s halfway through her Sunday morning run, chest heaving as she pounds through Central Park, that she realises this is the first time she’s ever let contentment overtake her, instead of batting away even whisky tendrils with self-flagellation and guilt. As she rounds the corner and sprints home, she wonders where she ever got so much courage.
*
Cassie gets the call from Rachel around mid-afternoon. She answers her phone to screams and tears, and she’s pretty sure Santana is cheering in Spanish in the background. It takes Rachel a full five minutes to calm down enough to confirm to Cassie what she already knows, and by that time they’re both in tears.
She makes it over to Rachel’s flat in record time, running from the subway to see Rachel hurtling along the sidewalk towards her. Rachel screams, and Cassie screams, and she holds out her arms for Rachel to jump into.
“I got it!” Rachel cries, as Cassie swings her wildly around.
“You did, you did you did!” They’re both laughing through tears. “I told you!” Cassie insists, as she lets Rachel meet the ground again. “I told you,” she says more quietly, as Rachel catches her breath, looking up at her deliriously. “You’re gonna get it. I know you will, Rachel.”
|
A BIRTHDAY SURPRISE IN MALFOY STYLE
”Merlin, I can't believe my father,” Draco exclaimed irritatedly. ”Giving me an ultimatum to find a proper spouse before my 25th birthday. Who finds a proper spouse before their 25th birthday anyway?”
Draco was a little drunk at his own birthday party, which Pansy had arranged for him. Pansy patted his arm making a soothing sound but Draco wasn't paying any attention to her.
”What can I do, Pans? I want to get back at him just for making my life miserable, but if I can't find a spouse before tomorrow, he's going to make the choice for me, and I can't let him do that!”
”Calm down, darling. You are a Slytherin and one of the best scheming wizards I know. You'll find a way to get back at your father and piss him off like never before. How about finding a fiancé he will absolutely hate? Though maybe then you might hate her or him too, hmm. Wait a minute, does he expect you to marry a woman or a man? He does know that you're bent, doesn't he?” Pansy pondered out loud.
”As if he'd ever let anything as irrelevant as my preference in gender meddle with his plans,” Draco scoffed. ”He has probably found a boring, uptight pure-blood girl for me already and is only waiting for my birthday to be over before he drags her to the Manor.”
”Then you don't have much time to waste, my dear. You'll just have to find a willing fiancé – tonight, mind you – and go for it. Someone you can tolerate for a little while in order to get your father off your back and if your father insists, you can even get married. Then you can always get a divorce when you've got bored with him or her, whatever you'll choose. How about that?”
”That sounds like a plan, dear Pansy. I just wish I had taken my father's demands seriously much earlier, then I would have had much more time to test the waters, so to speak. It's too late for that now; my father expects my decision tomorrow.”
”Go look around, sweetheart, I think I have anyone you might need already invited here, and my darling Luna has invited the rest of them. I'm sure you'll find everything you need right here at this party. Go and have some fun, Draco,” Pansy said, patting his arm. She then turned around and found her girlfriend, Luna, walking by them. She wound her arm around Luna and vanished into the partying crowd.
& & &
The next morning, Draco woke up to a feeling of something tickling his nose. Without even opening his eyes, he brushed his hand over his nose to get the annoying tickling to go away. It did for a moment, but then it came back with a vengeance, and this time Draco swatted it away forcefully.
”Oi, what was that for?” A distinctly familiar voice growled against his neck.
Draco's eyes flew open; who the the hell was he in bed with? His foggy brain didn't remember much of last night, certainly not bringing anyone home with him – he never brought anyone home, ever. He cautiously glanced down and saw only a thick mop of black hair and a slightly muscled shoulder against his ribs. His eyes followed further down the smooth skin of a wiry body, pert buttocks and strong legs entwined with his own pale ones. His companion had fallen back asleep and was sleeping partly on top of him, his arm wound around Draco's middle and his face buried in Draco's neck.
The bloke looked fit and sexy, definitely Draco's type, so it was no wonder he'd picked him up. The entirely different story was why the hell had he decided to bring him home? His parents would have a fit, which is why Draco never brought anyone home with him. Unless...? A distinct memory flashed through his mind, and then another... Pansy plotting with him to get his father to back off, then talking with Blaise who had laughed him off, and then... bloody Potter dancing with him, kissing him and agreeing to help him out. Harry sodding Potter was in his bed? For Salazar's balls, had he really been so desperate as to reduce himself to ask for help from Potter, of all people?
Draco flinched and made a move to detach himself from Potter, but the prat just tightened his hold on Draco and mumbled something in his sleep. Draco rolled his eyes, which returned to Potter’s delectable arse of their own accord. The bloke was definitely not sore on the eyes and Draco wouldn't object to having him warming his bed and getting to shag him whenever he wanted. Besides, Lucius probably hated Potter more than any other wizard; an engagement with Potter would be a bane to his father's existence. Ha, that would teach the Malfoy Senior a lesson for ordering his son around.
Draco grinned and gathered Potter back in his arms. There was still time for a nap before breakfast and he couldn't wait to see his father's face when he introduced Potter as his fiancé.
& & &
Draco straightened his posture outside the dining room and gave an appreciative glance at Potter. They had showered and dressed properly for meeting Draco's parents at breakfast, and after Draco's final touches at his appearance, Potter looked rather good, even presentable. Draco gave him a small smile and offered his arm.
”Shall we?”
Potter smiled brightly back at him and accepted his arm before they stepped inside the dining room. His mother was delicately sipping her tea while his father was reading the Prophet when they arrived. At first nothing happened, but then Narcissa noticed them and gasped.
”Draco, what...?” she started, but was cut off by Draco.
”Mother, Father, may I introduce you to my fiancé, Harry Potter? We got engaged yesterday.” Draco lifted Potter's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles.
His mother's eyes brightened, but his father’s eyes all but bulged out, and he stood up, his chair clattering to the floor behind him.
”Draco! What's the meaning of this?”
”Father, Harry and I are engaged to be married. Simple as that.”
”Oh dear, we can announce your engagement tonight at your birthday celebration. How delightful!” Narcissa enthused.
Lucius scowled at them all.
”Draco, my study, now!”
”Now, now, dear. First we have breakfast. Then you can talk as much as you want in private,” Narcissa soothed, and Draco shot her a relieved smile.
Draco acted like a perfect gentleman and offered his fiancé a chair before sitting down next to him. The house-elves began to serve breakfast, and Narcissa chatted excitedly, wanting to know everything about their dating history and their future plans. Potter didn't talk much unless spoken to directly, and Draco was happy to explain their relationship developing from schooltime rivals to having same friend circles now, and how their friendship had become more than friendship lately. Now that Draco was planning to get married and having a family of his own, Harry had been his first choice and fortunately Harry had accepted his proposal yesterday. Or at least that was the story they would offer in public. Draco, Potter, and their closest friends knew the truth, but they had all sworn to keep it a secret.
Despite Narcissa's attempts at light chatting, the mood at breakfast was tense and awkward. Lucius rarely spared them a look, and when he did, he scowled darkly, barely managing to hide his anger. As soon as Draco had emptied his last cup of tea, Lucius stood up and pointed towards the door. Draco excused himself, squeezed Potter's shoulder reassuringly, and followed his father out of the dining room.
& & &
”Now, an explanation is in order, Draco,” Lucius demanded as soon as the door of the study had closed behind them.
”What's to explain, Father? You heard my explanation at breakfast. We moved on from being rivals, became friends, fell in love, and are now getting married. I believe that's what you wanted in the first place, isn't it?” Draco explained with his best innocent face.
”Your mother might believe that crap, but not me. You’d better give me a better one, Draco,” Lucius growled.
”What can I do, Father? It's the truth. Although, if you prefer a lie, I could probably give you one if it makes you feel better.”
”Don't get insolent with me, son. I know you're plotting something!”
”Plotting what, father? I would do no such thing. Harry and I are engaged to be married and you have to accept that, like it or not.”
”I don't like it, that's for sure, so don't push me. I'll find out what your plan is and put an end to this nonsense. A Malfoy marrying a Potter. Merlin, that's disgusting! What a disgrace to a pure-blood family... wait, is he pregnant? Is that why you want to marry him so suddenly?”
”No! Why can't you just accept that we love each other and that's why we want to get married?”
”The only reason for you to marry a half-blood prat is if you got him pregnant. Love is nothing but overactive hormones at your age, so don't give me any crap about love. If you want to marry him, I expect you to give me grandchildren. I will let you marry him only if he's pregnant. Otherwise, you will marry a good pure-blood girl who can give a perfect Malfoy heir to the family. That's my final word, Draco.”
”Why are you giving me ultimatums all the time, Father, as if I can't make my own decisions on how to live my life?”
”Because you can't make the right decisions, Draco. You proved it once again this morning. Now, I have work to do.”
Lucius sat down at his desk, his attention already distracted from Draco to his papers. Draco turned on his heels and left the room muttering under his breath, ”You will see, Father, you will see.”
& & &
”Potter, we need to talk.”
Draco found Potter in the garden chatting amiably with Narcissa. He dragged his fiancé away from his mother to have the privacy they desperately needed.
”What is it, Malfoy? I was having a pleasant walk with your mother. She's nice, you know,” Potter grinned.
”Shut up, Potter. We have a problem.”
”We have? I thought you had a problem and I was merely helping you out with this farce.”
”Oh no, Potter, you are in trouble as well now, because my father doesn't believe us being engaged for real. He demands that you'll have to be pregnant before he accepts our marriage.”
”What? You've got to be kidding me, Malfoy. We didn't agree on having any children in this little plot of yours. Why can't you just tell your father to back off? He can't dictate your life, you know.”
”He holds the money, Potter. He'd disinherit me if I don't do as he says. My only hope is to do what he wants, but in my own way.”
”You are his only heir, he wouldn't disinherit you, no way.”
”You don't know him. He’ll do whatever he wants if he's disappointed in me badly enough. He gave me another ultimatum, Potter. It's either I get you pregnant or he's going to marry me to a pure-blood witch of his choosing. We have to think of something. I'm desperate, Potter.”
”Tell me one more time so that I will understand, why is it that you find a pure-blood wife so repulsing?”
”The key word, Potter, is wife. I don't want a wife. I'm gay, remember? Just thinking of having sex with a woman makes me sick. If I can marry a man and still have children, why should I marry a woman just to please my father?”
”But we didn't talk about kids when I agreed to help you. I only agreed to marry you, but now you suddenly want it all. Having children is something I take seriously and you must realize that us having children makes it only more complicated.”
”I thought you wanted a family. Now you will have one. Isn't that enough?”
”Of course I want a family, but a child is a big commitment, a big responsibility. I don't know if it's a good idea to get children involved in your little scheming, especially if you think this will be only temporary. I mean, I kind of like you, Malfoy, that isn't the problem here. I'm just thinking about the kids. They need continuity in their lives.”
”I never promised you forever, Potter,” Draco snapped, but seeing the hurt in Potter's eyes, he cursed inwardly. Snapping at him had been a mistake and it might cost him too much if Potter declined to help him further.
”I'm sorry, Potter, it's just that this stress coming from my father is wearing me out. I really need your help here, you are the only one I can trust right now with all this. Just... save me one more time, okay?” Draco was almost begging, almost, because Malfoy's never beg, but Draco still needed Potter's help. He didn't have time to find anyone else and they had already gotten started with this.
Potter didn't meet his eyes, just shrugged and turned around. ”I'm going home.”
”Potter, you are coming back for tonight's festivity, right?” Draco called after him, but Potter was already gone.
& & &
Draco passed his father's study just in time to hear voices arguing inside the room. He slowed down in the hopes of hearing what was going on, especially when he heard his name mentioned.
”...you can't avoid it, Lucius. Draco has made his choice and you have to accept it. Delaying the announcement of their engagement will raise suspicions.”
”But Narcissa, I don't believe...”
”That's nonsense, Lucius. Harry Potter is the best possible spouse for our son; he's famous, highly respected and his joining our family will get us very good publicity. Your ridiculous hate of half-bloods, and especially Mr Potter, will get you nowhere. We will not waste any time now trying to hide the fact that Draco has engaged to Mr Potter.”
”The Greengrass girl is...”
”Lucius, forget the Greengrass girl already. If you promised her and her father something, you better talk yourself out of it. We will announce Draco's engagement to Harry Potter tonight. No more arguing, please. I will let everyone know that it was your brilliant idea, as always, but you are not going to ruin this serendipity with your preconceptions, understood?”
”Very well, dear. We'll see how it goes. I don't think that it will last, anyway. I'll keep the Greengrasses on hold for now.”
Draco silently continued his walk toward his room before he could be caught eavesdropping. He grinned, very pleased with himself and his mother; the plot had worked better than he'd hoped. Now that his mother was on his side, his father had no other options than to follow through. Narcissa had always been the strong-willed wife who guided her sometimes stubborn husband through difficult situations with grace and never failed to find how to get the best outcome of it. To outsiders, she made it look like her husband was the brilliant one, but only Lucius and Draco knew the truth. Sometimes Draco wondered, though, where the hell his mother had been that time when his father made the poor decision to follow bloody Voldemort...
& & &
Draco was getting nervous. It was afternoon already and he hadn't heard anything from Potter yet. Only four hours left before the festivity of his birthday and the announcement of their engagement, and he didn't know if his fiancé was even going to attend the event.
Draco decided to do what he always did when he was anxious or worried – he went to see Pansy. Fortunately she was at home and hadn’t started primping herself for the party yet; if she had, she would have kicked him straight out without giving him a chance to explain his visit. No one disturbed Pansy while she was getting ready for a party, not even her best friend.
Pansy immediately saw that something was wrong; she sat Draco down on the sofa, poured him a shot of firewhiskey, and sat next to him, taking his other hand in hers.
”I'm listening, dear,” she prompted.
She listened without interruption to his report of what had happened at the Manor. When Draco finished his story, she dropped his hand and slapped it quite hard.
”Pans, what was that for? I didn't do anything wrong!” Draco complained.
”Nothing wrong, you say? How could you treat Potter so insensitively? He's had a crush on you since Hogwarts and he just agreed to help you out and marry you. Yet you ask more of him without any promises of the future. Merlin, you are cruel sometimes, Draco.”
”I was only realistic, I didn't want to promise him something I might not be able to keep. Wait, Potter has a crush on me?”
”You didn't know it, did you? Well, I didn't know it either until Luna told me. He hides it well, huh? Anyway, Potter is a hopelessly romantic bloke. It's quite adorable. I've had a chance to observe him so much lately because Luna likes to spend time with him. I bet he only agreed to help you because he wants to be with you any way he can. Now you basically threw a bucket of ice water in his face and probably lost his alliance on your little plot. Which, by the way, might not have been the best plot of yours, anyway.”
”Pans, it was as much your plot as it was mine, remember?”
”Of course I do. Only if the plan would have worked out well, it would have been my brilliant scheming. If the plot failed, it was entirely yours, my dear,” Pansy smirked and took Draco's hand back in hers.
”Now, Draco dearest, you have to try and win your hero back. If you have your mother on your side, you'll still have a chance to win, but you will have to keep Potter happy and with you. Go to him right now. There's no time to waste. You have to sort this out before the party begins.”
& & &
Pansy shooed him out and Draco headed straight to 12 Grimmauld Place where he knew Potter lived. He knocked on the door but no one answered. Then he banged louder, hearing the echo of his banging inside the house. After a while, the door creaked open and a shabby old house-elf appeared in the doorway.
”What is it you wanting... Master Malfoy! What can old Kreacher do for young master?” The house-elf croaked after recognizing the visitor.
”I'm here to see Harry Potter. Is he home?” Draco asked with arrogance.
”Master Potter is not wanting visitors. He is not to be interrupted.”
”He will see me. Take me to him at once!” Draco ordered in a sharp voice and noticed the house-elf flinching at his tone. Without further arguing, Kreacher led Draco inside the house and to the library door.
”Master Potter is in library but he is not being happy if young master Malfoy disturbs him.”
”I can handle that. Now leave us,” Draco snapped and the house-elf disappeared with a pop.
Draco took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
”Go away, Kreacher. I said I want to be alone,” Potter's voice said from the other side of the door.
”Potter, it's me, Draco. We need to talk.”
”No, we don't. There's nothing to talk about.”
”Yes, there is. You promised to help me. I need you, Potter. Let me in.”
There was a long silence but the door stayed closed.
”Potter, I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean it. Let me in, I want to explain. Please, Potter.”
After another long silence, the door finally unlocked and Draco stepped inside the dusty room. Potter was sitting on the armchair with a bottle in his hand.
”Potter...”
”You're in, now you have two minutes to explain and then get out.” Potter's eyes were hard and his face defiant.
”Potter... Harry, I'm sorry about what I said this morning. I really need your help here. You are the only one I can trust now and I really appreciate your help. The truth is, I like being engaged to you and I wouldn't mind marrying you and even having children with you. I liked waking up with you today and I'd like to do it every morning from now on if you'd just let me. Please, Harry, stay with me.”
”It's Harry now, is it? You must be desperate, huh? Have you already planned when our first child is due? I probably wouldn't have any say in anything in our fake marriage anyway.”
”Harry, it doesn't have to be a fake marriage. There doesn't even have to be a marriage at all if there's not a baby coming, so we're still going along with the original plan. Let's just see how it goes, alright? If we actually get married, I'd like it to be real, no faking. Let's take one step at a time, okay?”
Draco noticed Harry's face softening a bit and he put the bottle on the floor before rubbing his face with his hands. Then he met Draco's eyes with a surprisingly bright gaze for a drunk.
”Well, last night wasn't bad, I guess...”
”Last night was wonderful,” Draco hurried to lie. Well, technically it wasn't a lie, he just didn't remember anything of the previous night, but he would never admit it to Harry.
”Okay then, let's give it another try. Just don't try to push me into something we haven't agreed to. Do you need me tonight?”
Draco let out a relieved sigh. ”Yes, I need you to be there when my parents announce our engagement tonight at the festivity. I need you there sober and looking gorgeous, dressed in your best robes.”
Draco helped Harry to sober up with a spell and then selected fine robes for him to wear for the party. After Harry had showered and dressed up, Draco looked at him with an approving smile.
”What? Something wrong with my robes?” Harry asked self-consciously.
”You look fine. Come on, we better hurry back,” Draco said and offered his arm. Harry took it and Draco Apparated them back to the Manor.
Draco showered and dressed in record time, skipping his usual primping. There wasn't enough time for that anyway. Just before he was getting ready to escort his fiancé downstairs, he stopped in front of his chest of drawers, opening the top drawer and pulling out a small square satin box.
”It's time to make it official, Harry. This is the Malfoy family engagement ring. My grandmother gave it to me to give it to my betrothed. Now it's yours, Harry.”
Harry watched with wide eyes as Draco opened the box and revealed a simple beautiful platinum ring adorned with the Malfoy family crest. Draco lifted Harry's left hand and brushed his ring finger gently with his thumb before fitting the ring on Harry's finger. It needed only a slight enlargement spell to fit perfectly; Harry's fingers were almost as slender as his grandmother's had been. Harry seemed speechless, he just stared at the ring in awe until Draco broke the silence.
”The tradition for wearing this ring requires an answer to a question: Do you, Harry Potter, accept this ring as my betrothed and wear it proudly as a promise to be bonded with me, the heir of the Malfoy family?” Draco asked in a reverent voice.
Harry blinked dazedly and opened his mouth twice before he finally found his voice, ”I do accept the ring, Draco.”
Draco smiled, lifted Harry's hand to his lips and kissed the ring. ”Now we are ready to go.”
& & &
Draco felt oddly proud escorting his fiancé around the crowd gathered at the Manor to celebrate his 25th birthday. At first it felt a little awkward to see people around them stare blatantly at the two of them together and hear all the whispering around them. Then his eyes caught Pansy watching them with a knowing smirk on her face and Luna next to her smiling softly at them, and that made Draco relax, knowing his friends were there for support.
When Lucius stood up to make a speech, Narcissa at his side, Draco steered Harry nearer, ready to step forward. Thankfully Lucius kept his speech short, only thanking the guests for attending the party and congratulating his son for his birthday. Then he made a toast to his son and announced his son's birthday surprise, his engagement with Harry Potter.
The crowd went absolutely silent for a moment after the announcement. Harry nervously glanced at Draco, but then the crowd started to applaud and there were even some cheers heard among the guests. Draco was quite sure the cheers came from Blaise and Theo, gloating bastards.
Smiling brightly, Draco led Harry to stand next to his parents and lifted Harry's left hand to his lips kissing the ring in front of everyone. They were showered with congratulations for a long time because every guest seemed to want to congratulate them one by one. Draco was sure he heard someone also congratulate his father for having such a great wizard marrying into the family and what a great honor it would be for the whole family. Draco smirked at hearing that and wondered if his father was secretly pleased or just trying politely not to gag at the words.
The evening went in a blur for Draco, and judging by the constant dazed expression on Harry's face, it must have felt the same for his fiancé as well. They had to toast innumerable times with different people and all the imbibed champagne made Draco a little bit tipsy. He led Harry to the dance floor and twirled him around with flourish until Harry was laughing and clinging to him to stay on his feet. Draco just had to show off a little more and bent his partner down backwards so deep that Harry's hair almost touched the floor. Harry was laughing and squealing at the same time, barely getting breath between the funny noises he made, and Draco just had to wrap him in his arms and kiss him.
Draco forgot entirely where they were; he was so absorbed in the kiss that he didn't even notice that people had stopped dancing around them and flashing lights going off when some guests were taking pictures of them. The only thing he noticed was Harry's pliant body against him and his delicious mouth exploring his as fiercely as he was exploring Harry's. Draco’s body was tingling all over from the intensity of the kiss. He was more than ready to take it to the next level, slipping his hands under Harry's robes, when a hand gripped his shoulder and someone cleared their throat loudly next to them.
Reluctantly Draco withdrew from the kiss and glanced over his shoulder. His father stood behind him, a thunderous expression on his face, but his mother wore a beautiful smile as she said, ”Harry dear, would you be a darling and dance with me?”
Harry had blushed crimson but nodded and offered his arm to Narcissa. Draco was swiftly led away by his father. Draco stood on the side of the dance floor watching with a keen eye his mother dancing with Harry. He wasn't listening to any of his father's hissed lecturing about his disgraced behavior. He couldn't turn his eyes away from Harry, fighting against the intense urge to go and grab his fiancé back for himself and take him away from all these people, take him somewhere private where he could be only Draco's. Then some of his father's associates approached them and wanted to congratulate both Draco and his father for a successful marriage contract, and Draco had to reluctantly turn his attention away from his fiancé.
The next time Draco could look around for Harry, he noticed him dancing with Pansy. Harry seemed a little uncomfortable while Pansy was smiling sweetly at him. Draco decided to cut in and save Harry from Pansy's machinations.
”Pans, I'd like to have my fiancé all to myself for a while, if you don't mind,” he said coolly when he stepped right behind Harry and wrapped his arm around his waist. Harry seemed to sigh in relief and Pansy smirked.
”Of course, Draco darling. I was wondering how long you could keep your hands off of your lovely fiancé.”
Draco drew Harry close and kept him there for the rest of the dance. When the dance ended, Harry made to pull away but Draco kept him firmly in place for the next two dances. He was a bit surprised by his possessive feelings but didn't worry about it. He was content just having Harry close to him, feeling his warm breath tickling his neck and his lean body against his own.
Eventually the evening drew to an end and Draco felt relieved when the last guests left the Manor. Harry was preparing to leave too but Draco talked him out of it and into spending the night at the Manor. Harry protested at first, but when Draco reminded him that the Prophet was probably going to have their engagement news all over the front page in the morning and the flow of owls just waiting to be released to go after the Savior, Harry was ready to change his mind. Draco didn't waste any time; he Apparated them both straight into his bedroom and they were lying in his bed naked in no time at all.
Seeing Harry's gorgeous body bathed in the moonlight filtering through his bedroom window made all the self-restraint leave Draco's mind and body in a rush of blood flowing from his brain to his nether regions. Draco attacked Harry with hungry lips and fervent hands, trying to reach everywhere at the same time. He explored Harry's body as if it was the first time – well, technically it was their first time, because he still didn't remember anything of the previous night spent together – and revelled in the beauty and strength of it. Harry took his turn with Draco's body with passion, and they rolled over and around the large bed, drowning in the sensations of their mutual lust. Draco was getting overwhelmed feeling Harry's hands and lips wandering on his skin, hips thrusting every time they made contact with Draco's and the skin of his neck stinging from the sharp bites Harry seemed to love giving.
Growling, Draco turned them over once again and grabbed Harry's wrists, holding them tightly over his head and pinning his whole body into the mattress with his own. He attacked Harry's neck with his teeth and Harry submitted without a fight under the dominant act. Harry bared his neck even more to Draco and wrapped his legs around Draco's waist, thrusting his hips as much as he could into Draco's groin. His moans were like the prettiest music to Draco's ears, and in that moment, Draco realized that Harry was completely, irrevocably his.
Draco cast a whispered lubricating charm and Harry shivered under him. Draco latched his mouth onto Harry's pert nipples, sucking and biting them until Harry was writhing and shamelessly begging Draco to finally fuck him. Draco was more than happy to comply, keeping hold of Harry's wrists with one hand as he guided his cock in place at Harry's entrance with the other, and slowly pushed in. They both groaned in unison at the feeling of Draco's cock entering Harry's tight, hot channel. Draco tried to hold back and let Harry adjust to his size inside him, but it was a lost fight after mere seconds. He couldn't help but thrust with small shallow thrusts at first, but soon his thrusts were getting longer, deeper, harder, and Harry whimpered under him, urging him forward, squeezing his thighs tighter and digging his heels into Draco's buttocks to get him even deeper.
Harry tossed his head from side to side, eyes tightly shut and a constant keening sound escaping his lips. Draco realized he was close and so was Draco. He lowered his head and kissed Harry roughly, urgently, biting his bottom lip before ending the kiss and whispering demandingly, ”Look at me, Harry!”
Harry opened his eyes, his pupils dilated with lust and almost black from passion. Draco held his intense gaze through several more thrusts until Harry's eyes widened and he convulsed under Draco coming all over his stomach. Draco fought against the urge to close his own eyes when he felt his own climax approach rapidly, a burning hot wave of pleasure rolling through his whole body, and with a low growl, he pulsed deep inside Harry's still clenching passage. Still tangled together, Draco was trying to keep his body from crushing Harry as they rode the aftershocks of their orgasm together, letting their racing hearts calm down and catching their breaths. Their eyes had still kept their contact and Draco saw genuine emotion pushing through the fading heat of desire in Harry's eyes. Draco felt a warm feeling spread in his chest and he kissed Harry, long and sweet, trying to convey his newly awakened feelings with his kiss to his fiancé. Harry let out a satisfied sigh into the kiss and Draco smiled.
”You are so lovely, my Harry,” he whispered against Harry's lips before he could stop himself.
”So are you, my Dragon,” Harry sighed again and smiled.
They cuddled in sated comfort until they both fell asleep, Harry tightly in Draco's arms. The last thought Draco had before sleep claimed him was that he would definitely start feeding Harry the fertility potions first thing tomorrow morning.
& & &
The next morning Draco woke up well before Harry and used the opportunity to send an owl to the apothecary, who discreetly and swiftly supplied all of the potions he needed. This time he ordered a fair batch of fertility potions for Harry and he needed the potions delivered before breakfast. He wanted to start giving them to Harry without him noticing. If Harry found out, Draco would be in a deep mess that would cause the mother of all arguments, but this was something he really wanted to do, not for his father but for himself – and Harry. The idea of having a family with Harry was beginning to feel very enticing and he wanted to have it, as soon as possible. And Malfoy's were not known for their patience.
When they arrived at the dining room for breakfast, Lucius was reading the Prophet with a smug expression on his face. Just like Draco had predicted, the front page of the Prophet was covered with a large picture of Draco and Harry kissing passionately on the dance floor. ”THE MALFOY HEIR BIRTHDAY SURPRISE: BETROTHAL WITH THE BOY WHO LIVED,” screamed the headline. The article about Draco's birthday party and their engagement filled at least four pages of the paper. Obviously Lucius was pleased at what was written in the newspaper because for the first time he actually seemed to tolerate Harry's presence without having to force himself to be polite.
”Good morning, Draco, Potter,” he greeted without lifting his eyes from the paper.
Narcissa, on the other hand, stood up and greeted them both by kissing them on the cheek. ”Good morning, boys. What a wonderful evening we had yesterday. It was absolutely lovely.”
Draco and Harry smiled and easily agreed. Then Narcissa's expression turned sly and she added as if in afterthought, ”You two seem like you also had a wonderful night together, too.”
Lucius snorted, and Harry and Draco glanced at each other confused. Then Harry blushed crimson and surreptitiously touched his neck. Draco immediately understood and cursed silently; he had forgot to conceal the numerous love bites on both of their necks. There was nothing he could do now, though. Better go on as if nothing was out of order.
He helped Harry sit at the table before sitting next to him. The house-elves served their breakfast but Draco wanted to pour the pumpkin juice for Harry himself. While pouring the juice, he managed to slip the first potion into Harry's juice without anyone noticing.
The breakfast was quite pleasant, and even Harry seemed to be at ease sitting at the table and chatting amiably with Narcissa. Lucius didn't talk much but at least he didn't seem displeased either.
”Draco, darling, have you thought when you'd like to go see your new villa?” Narcissa asked.
”No, I haven't had time to think about that yet, mother. I might take Harry to see it, too, maybe next weekend?” Draco pondered.
”You have a new villa? How many did you have already?” Harry asked incredulously.
”None. All the villas we have are the property of the Malfoy family, but my parents gave me one as a birthday present. It's in Provence,” Draco explained nonchalantly.
Harry just stared at him with wide eyes. ”Oh, okay.”
”Draco, Harry, we need to begin planning the wedding soon. Have you thought about any of it yet, what you'd like and where?” Narcissa asked.
”No, mother, we haven't discussed it yet. I’ll trust you with the planning, you know perfectly well what I like. Harry, however, might like something different so you'd better ask him before you decide anything. Is that fine with you, Harry?”
”Er... yeah, that's fine.” Harry's smile was a bit shy as he concentrated on his breakfast plate in clear embarrassment.
”Excellent! I have always loved Yuletide weddings, would that be a good time for you, dear?” Narcissa directed her question to them all. Lucius just let out an indifferent sound but Harry and Draco agreed to it more verbally.
After breakfast Draco escorted Harry back to Grimmauld Place where Harry activated the Floo connection to the Manor. That way they could visit each other more easily.
& & &
The next couple of weeks Draco made sure he visited Harry on a daily basis just to assure he could slip him his daily dose of the fertility potion. Usually he also ended up spending the night with Harry, more often making love with him than just fucking. Although both ways were equally pleasurable for him, but seeing the expression on Harry's face every time he climaxed made his own heart burst with affection. That's why he always started slowly, taking his time, savoring every moment with him, and usually he managed to keep it that way and make love to him long and deep. The other times... well, that wasn't about just connecting and feeling, that was when instincts took over and he couldn't help but roughly fuck Harry into the mattress. Harry didn't seem to mind which way they did it as long as they just did it. Harry was a passionate and fierce lover who never questioned Draco in bed but always gave as good as he got. That was one thing more Draco liked about having Harry in his life; they were compatible and equal in every way that counted.
Draco was keeping a close eye on Harry; the fertility potion hadn't kicked in yet as far as he knew. Harry looked and acted the same as ever. Although lately Harry had seemed to develop a sudden liking to salty liquorice that only one shop in Diagon Alley provided for him. Draco had tasted it once and even the thought made him shudder; that blasted candy – if you could even call it a candy – was absolutely disgusting. Harry, on the other hand, simply loved it. He popped them into his mouth constantly nowadays with a blissful expression on his face. That weird liking might be a symptom of pregnancy, but Draco needed more proof.
One day they were having lunch in a new restaurant in Diagon Alley and Draco had already placed his order while Harry was still trying to choose what he'd like to eat. Finally he settled for a chicken salad with slight improvements: instead of dressing he wanted a scoop of chocolate ice cream on the side. The waiter looked confused but delivered his order as he had wanted it. Once Harry received his salad, he dug a tube of sauce out of his robes pocket.
”Chocolate sauce?” Draco asked incredulously.
”No, you idiot, it's liquorice sauce. Very good with chocolate ice cream, you should try it.”
Draco shook his head and rolled his eyes. ”I think I'll pass.”
& & &
A couple of days later, they were sitting in Harry's living room watching television. Harry had chosen a Disney movie for them to watch, and Draco was fascinated at seeing a drawn bloke called Aladdin going in an adventure in a magical world with a flying carpet, a monkey and a bottled genie as his companion, fighting against an evil sorcerer and trying to win a beautiful princess. Draco was so absorbed in the movie that it took a while for him to realize that Harry was sniffling. Soon the sniffling turned into full bawling and Draco got worried. He moved to sit next to Harry on the sofa and took him in his arms.
”What's wrong, Harry, why are you crying?”
”The genie...”
”What about him? He's a cheerful bloke, there's no reason to cry over him,” Draco tried to console his fiancé and kissed him on the temple.
”No reason to cry over him? How can you say that? It's so unfair that a merry lad like him is shut inside a bloody lamp all alone! You are so insensitive, I can't believe you!” Harry had gone from bawling to enraged in mere seconds and was now staring at Draco with puffy but furious eyes. Angrily he jumped up and stomped out of the living room. Soon Draco heard him banging the cupboard doors and clanking bowls on the counter. Draco cautiously followed the sounds and peeked around the doorway to see Harry making himself a snack: there were already strawberries and whipped cream in the bowl and now he was adding a good fistful of salty liquorice candies into the mix. Next he was calculatingly eyeing a jar of mustard, and that was a sign for Draco to step in.
”You are not seriously considering putting mustard into your concoction, I hope.”
”Or what, you will shut me into a lamp, too? Don't you dare patronize me, Malfoy!”
They stared at each other, Harry's eyes were full of challenge and defiance, Draco didn't dare say anything in fear that it would make things even worse. Harry was so emotionally unstable right now that it was almost scary. The raging hormones, Draco thought.
Then, abruptly, Harry launched himself at Draco, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck and kissing him almost brutally hard on the lips. Draco yelped in surprise but recovered soon, kissing Harry back with equal fervor. Harry's hands were everywhere, tugging and tearing Draco's clothes off him as if trying for a new record time undressing him. Draco had already lost half of his clothes before he caught up with him and began removing Harry's clothes as fast as he could. Once they were both naked, Harry jumped, wrapped his legs around Draco's waist and Draco desperately tried to keep them from falling down. He managed to move them to the table and lowered Harry, sitting him on the edge of it. Harry didn't release him but pulled him down with him, wrapping his thighs tightly around Draco and thrusting his hips up into him.
Harry impatiently chased after Draco's cock with his arse and Draco barely had time to cast a lubricating charm before Harry managed to spear himself with Draco's cock, letting out a relieved sigh. Draco tried in vain to keep himself from sinking too fast inside Harry but Harry was acting as if possessed, trying to get as much of Draco inside him as fast as possible. Draco had no choice but to go with the flow, and soon he was ramming into Harry so hard that the table was in serious danger of collapsing under them. Harry met him thrust for thrust, occasionally lifting his head and painfully biting Draco's shoulder. Harry's fingers left bruises on Draco's upper arms as he urged Draco to go even harder, ”God damnit, Malfoy, is that the best you can do?”
Draco went wild with lust. He silenced Harry's complaints with a rough kiss, resumed his vigorous thrusting and gripped Harry's cock firmly in his hand, pumping it in sync with his thrusts until Harry cried out and his whole body clenched around Draco. That was Draco's undoing; with one more brutal thrust into Harry, he pulsed his seed deep inside his fiancé, pulsing and pulsing as if it would never end, and he thought smugly, if that didn't get Harry pregnant, then nothing would. Panting harshly he collapsed on Harry, sweaty and sated, but just then the table decided to give in under them and they both collapsed onto the floor. Alarmed, Draco lifted himself off of Harry and brushed his hands carefully along Harry's body.
”Merlin, are you alright, Harry?”
Draco's worry only intensified when Harry trembled under his inspection, until Harry let out a snort, and the next moment he was laughing so hard that tears were streaming from his eyes. His laugh was contagious, and soon Draco found himself laughing, too. Destroying a bloody table with fucking was hilarious, after all. Fortunately Harry hadn't obviously been hurt in any way.
& & &
The next week, Draco noticed that Harry didn't have any of his weird cravings anymore. In fact, he hardly seemed to eat at all anymore. Other than the lost appetite Harry seemed fine, so Draco didn't worry too much. One night, though, when they were in bed, Harry was enthusiastically riding Draco's cock and they both were almost there, when Harry abruptly jumped up and ran to the bathroom. Draco followed him, frustrated, but more worried. When he saw Harry violently throwing up, he decided it was about time to call a Healer. He sat with Harry on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, holding him between the bouts of vomiting and tending him with a cool, damp cloth. Harry felt sick for the rest of the night, and Draco didn't leave him for a moment until after dawn when he went to call the Healer.
The Healer the Malfoys preferred was a middle-aged wizard who had a private clinic in wizarding London. He arrived in less than an hour after Draco's call. Harry had crawled back to bed exhausted, and Draco sat next to him answering the questions the Healer asked them.
”I think he might be pregnant. He has had weird cravings and mood swings lately, and now he has started to throw up. Can you do the pregnancy test?” Draco asked excitedly.
The Healer agreed and cast a spell. He frowned at the result and Draco was alarmed at once.
”What's wrong?”
”The test is negative, Mr Potter, you are not pregnant. However, I suggest you stop taking the fertility potion, these symptoms are probably caused by it,” the healer said pensively.
”What?” Harry squealed at the same time as Draco demanded, ”Cast the test again!”
Harry bounced up on the bed, grabbing Draco by the front of his shirt and growling, ”What have you been giving me, you bastard?”
The Healer had just cast the test again and this time the result made him smile.
”Oh yes, you are indeed pregnant. Congratulations!”
Harry was so stunned that he released Draco, who beamed with pride.
”You are pregnant, Harry, I knew it!”
The Healer looked at both of them a little confused, ”Er... Yes, you're expecting a child, but it's you, Mr Malfoy, who's pregnant, not Mr Potter, I'm afraid.”
”What??” Harry and Draco squealed in unison now.
”Yes, well, when I cast the spell the second time, Mr Malfoy moved in front of Mr Potter and the testing spell hit him instead. Unexpected news, I take it?” The healer asked but neither one of them could answer him; they had both passed out.
Some time later, when the healer had left after giving them instructions for the pregnancy, Draco and Harry were lying on the bed still stunned from the news.
”I don't understand how this can be possible, I'm always topping! I just can't be pregnant, it's not possible!” Draco complained.
”Well, there was that one time...”
”What one time? There hasn’t been a time I've bottomed, it's simply not possible. There must be a mistake. I'm going to have a new test, a second opinion, a better Healer, whatever it takes to prove it!”
”Draco, calm down. It's perfectly possible that you're pregnant. The first time we slept together, the night of your birthday party, you bottomed. You just don't remember it, do you? So it isn't a mistake or a miracle of a virgin, I fucked you that night and I guess I made you pregnant. So, in a way you got yourself a really memorable birthday surprise. I guess that was my birthday gift to you, prat.”
A heavy silence fell over them; Draco was digesting the information and Harry was scowling. Obviously he wasn't done lecturing yet.
”There's still this little issue of you giving me a fertility potion without me knowing. That's really despicable of you! You better have a good explanation ready, Malfoy. How could you?” Harry's gradually raising voice was starting to sound shrill in Draco's ears.
”Harry, please. I just wanted to have a family with you. If I had told you about it, you'd have gone ballistic, just like you are now. I didn't want to argue with you about it. You had already told me you wanted a family and I was going to give it to you.”
”I'll show you ballistic, you idiot! You had no right to do it! Fuck, what am I going to do with your scheming little arse...” Harry groaned.
”Hah, you can't do anything to me now, that's for sure. I'm pregnant, you know!” Draco smirked.
”That's what I'm afraid of. You'll take a full advantage of it for the rest of your pregnancy and I'm going to be the one who has to jump at your every whim.” Harry rubbed his face in frustration.
”That sounds quite right, love.” Draco grinned with satisfaction.
”Oh, shut up, you,” Harry growled and kissed him quiet.
The End |
Request by Ali
Hey I was wondering if you could do Sehun and Jungkook? It would be fun to see the trouble making, but shy maknae’s get together and cause pain to their members
Word count: 1066
They never should have let it happen. It was a disaster waiting to happen. They were bad enough on their own so putting them together was just asking for trouble. To be honestly none of them had actually thought that they would ever talk to each other, both being too shy to approach strangers despite their cool appearances. None of them really knew how they got so close having not witnessed it but they shook their closed fits, damning it for all eternity.
But thus, the duo of one Oh Sehun and Jeon Jungkook had been formed: Double Trouble.
Everyone was doomed.
They had been doomed from the moment they had made contact.
From the moment they had exchanged their first mischievous smile.
They were doomed.
“Doomed.” Seventeen minds echoed.
Nothing would save them.
Let the fun begin.
~X~
It was little things at first. Things that were not going to be easily noticed. Like hair and skin care products being misplaced or clothes going missing. It was odd but not enough to draw any attention.
Things started to get weird when some of their right shoes disappeared. Just vanished. Poof, into thin air. No trace what so ever only for them to find them in outlandish places days later. Like who the hell puts a shoe under the vanity? Why would you even…?
Next was the spoons. Even the wooded spoons had just mysteriously grown legs and ran away. Breakfast was eaten with forks. Dinner cooked with tongs. The spoons never showed up again. Seokjin mourned. Kyungsoo raged.
Things started to get weirder when they found their doors strangely lacking their handles. Yoongi stared, eyes narrowing before shrugging his shoulders. At least opening doors would be easier now. Hoseok screamed as the door to the bathroom opened, Yoongi waltzing right on in. Jungkook smirked, screwdriver hidden up his sleeve.
Honestly, none of them had any idea what was happening.
Sehun laughed inwardly, fighting off the twitching of his lips. Jungkook mentally cheered, restraining his body from dancing in accomplishment.
Things started to get creepier. Many were convinced that an entity was occupying their dorms. What the hell was going on? Were their dorms haunted? Seokjin shuddered. Jimin checked before entering a room. Hoseok had nightmares. Baekhyun kept every light on. Chanyeol slept with his rilakkuma doll clutched snugly to his chest. Junmyeon prayed. Yoongi didn’t care. Namjoon was concerned. Taehyung was Taehyung. Minseok bought new utensils. Kyungsoo glared. Jongin had hidden his shoes and precious belongings. Jongdae laughed finding it amusing. Yixing had no reaction, he hadn’t noticed anything. Jungkook played videogames. Sehun played with Vivi.
“Man, some weird things have been happening lately.” Baekhyun commented while on the phone to Taehyung.
“Same here hyung.” Taehyung says and Baekhyun blinks.
“Like what?”
“Well…” Taehyung explains how things had been disappearing or misplaced, with most of it turning up a couple of days later. Baekhyun’s brows furrowed as he listened to the information that sounded strangely familiar.
“What you’ve just told me is the exact same was what’s been happened at our dorm.” He tells Taehyung whose eyes widen.
“No way!” he says astounded.
“Yes way.”
“How…?”
Baekhyun ponders for a while, multiple explanations forming in his mind as he tries to find the most probable answer.
“Sehun’s been acting…out of the norm lately.” He says slowly, thinking about the maknae’s change in behaviour. “He’s been pretty quiet lately.”
Taehyung notices something. “So has Jungkook.”
“Oh god.” Baekhyun breathes, realisation coming to him like a smack to the face.
“Please no.” Taehyung whimpers.
Their maknae’s had made contact.
World War Three had commenced. Sound the alarms and ready the battle stations.
All seventeen of them shuddered.
When confronted Sehun and Jungkook looked at their hyungs innocently. They all knew that neither one of them were innocent. Seokjin demanded the return of the spoons. “How would I know where they are?” Jungkook replied. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sehun said. Kyungsoo fumed.
“We promise.” Sehun and Jungkook chanted in unison when they were told to never do anything like that again sounding like those creepy twins from horror movies. Hoseok’s hair stood on end.
None of them believe the maknae’s. Their expressions were just too innocent. Like they already had something planned.
The next day Junmyeon looked in the mirror so see that his hair had been turned a pinkish purple colour.
“OH SEHUN!” the usually calm leader shouted, voice resounding throughout the dorm.
Sehun walked into the bathroom. “Oh, it looks good hyung.” He said with an approving nod. Junmyeon seethed.
Jimin was awoken to the sound of an air horn. He jolted awake, scared out of his skin.
“Good morning sunshine.” Jungkook announced sounding way to happy for Jimin’s liking. Jimin glared at the younger, well as much as he could with a swollen face and barely opened eyes.
“I swear to god…” he threatened, croaky voice making the threat seem harmless.
It was no secret that Chanyeol was afraid of bugs. It was a well-known fact. He would jump in fear any time he saw one. Sehun used it to his advantage, placing fake bugs all around the house, even throwing them on him or placing it somewhere in his body when he had nodded off to sleep. Chanyeol suffered from multiple near heart attacks. The only safe haven he could find was his studio. Opening the draw to retrieve his sheet music he screamed in terror, big black spider staring at him with its beady eyes. He cried.
Yoongi had remained largely unaffected the incidents plaguing the two groups from the two maknae’s. That was, until he opened his laptop screen, the face of Nicholas Cage greeting him. Yoongi blanched. The sight was so horrific he nearly through his laptop in surprise. Why would someone even..? Frantically he changed his wallpaper, sighing when instead of Nicholas Cage he saw Min Holly. How did Jungkook even know his password?
“Hyung, you might want to change your password. Min Holly is pretty obvious.” Jungkook said casually, taking a bite out of an apple. Yoongi clenched his first.
This was just the beginning.
There are many more to come.
The members beg them to stop.
The two continue their scheming ways.
They meet up regularly for bubble tea and lamb skewers. The perfect setting for planning their hyungs misery.
The spoons are never found.
|
It was concealed exceptionally well, but his voice held consternation. Had this been earlier in your relationship, you may well have not recognized it. Except you did recognize it, and the notion that there was something threatening enough to force your husband in to a state of discomposure was enough to disconcert you thoroughly.
Stumbling over your own heels as you traversed the room to the double doors, you could feel a wave of needles prickling from under your skin, chilling you.
He had fallen into his usual attitude of resting his chin against his entwined fingers, narrowed blue eyes reflecting the lighter blue screen, you observed as you returned to his side from the locked doors.
“What was Kodama developing this technology for?” he inquired grimly.
“For a MMORPG, you should be able to find the files from the initial developmental stages in there,” you responded, speaking every word with extreme caution for some reason, voice barely registering above a whisper.
“What was it about?” he vaguely questioned, as his fingers flew over the keys in search of what you had mentioned.
“It was some uh – strategizing game, players had to strategically plan military strikes against some alien race in a dystopian – possibly post-apocalyptic – world, in an alternate universe if you will,” you stuttered, summarising what little you had cared to retain of your briefing many months ago.
“That sounds about right,” he spoke lowly, “except, in the right hands, this artificial intelligence program could remotely launch government missiles through manipulating their satellites. It can manipulate governments into going to war with each other. Whoever is in possession of this draws the line between world peace and nuclear annihilation.”
Eyes flicking up to him in absolute horror, you laid a hand over his shoulder to stabilize yourself.
“Now that nonsense about selling to the highest bidder makes sense,” he muttered under his breath, though more to himself.
“What?”
“I’m sure by now you’ve figured out who’s behind all this.” You simply nodded in response. “Wakamura, I heard he’s been going around bragging to his goons about how he’s about to come into possession of a state of the art weapon that he will soon be auctioning off to the highest bidder. I imagine you can comprehend who the potential bidders will be.”
“Foreign governments?”
“Precisely.”
“You’re certain about this?” you questioned hesitantly. It was not that you doubted his abilities, and you were certain he was well aware of this, you were in denial and hoping that his answer may somehow differ if you asked a second time.
“I wish I could give you a different answer,” he stated in a voice which sounded strained in an unsuccessful attempt to be gentler. “I’m certain, because years ago, there were a few virtual reality programs I wrote that Gozaburo tried to use for a similar application. Different technology, though the concept remains the same.”
His voice was dark and evidently clouded with deep resentment. This was all the confirmation you needed – and had the liberty to ask for – for you knew if he was willingly discussing the topic of his step-father, a demon from a very dark and guarded part of his past, he wasn’t considering the matter lightly.
“Can you hold on to this?” you asked of him shakily.
“As the president of Kaiba Corp. I shouldn’t have seen this,” he pointed out.
“As my husband, I’m asking you, as my husband, can you please safeguard this?” you pleaded in desperation. “No one will know you have it, it won’t be a threat to your safety, not more than the situation already is, I can guarantee that. This will still be on me –”
He sighed as he rubbed his temples.
“Is this the only copy?” he asked interrupting.
“Yes.”
“How can you be sure?”
“The code was only completed after the acquisition, and no copies were made since I took over.”
“What I’m concerned about, isn’t my safety, it’s yours. I am more than capable of handling myself. You, now, I can’t let out of my sight. This needs to be destroyed. I can’t risk letting you out of my sight until we do.”
His words made perfect sense, and his concern; great enough to destroy ground breaking technology that quite literally possessed the ability to change the course of world history was touching – most men of his stature would have sought to create profit - and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to agree.
“That’s my grandfather’s life’s work,” you softly countered, “every member of my family; this is what they died because of.”
These godforsaken lines of disjointed letters and symbols, that’s what was responsible for this series of seemingly unending misfortune that had existed long before you and threatened to continue long after you and it was truly infuriating. Rationally speaking, it should have been reason in itself, not even considering the larger, global threat it posed, to incline you to destroy it, but you faltered.
“Exactly, all the more reason for this to be destroyed and a public announcement to be made following. I will not allow you, my wife to die guarding some dead old man’s legacy. This has got to go,” he growled, tightening a hand around your wrist.
“Seto –”
“You asked me to take care of this as your husband, well that’s what I’m doing. I told you I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to, well here’s the exception.”
This was perhaps the most inconvenient moment of your life to be incapacitated by a menstrual cramp, and yet it wasn’t like your rationality and the rest of your body had some agreement, so you held your hand up interrupting your husband as you felt a sensation akin to lightening pass through you.
Crouching down immediately where you stood, holding on to the edge of his desk with the hand he wasn’t currently holding captive, a drawn out grasp escaped you while you waited for the pain to subside.
“What is it?” Seto questions gruffly, apparently oblivious.
“Nothing, keep going,” you said, drawing a large breath as the crippling sensation faded to dull throbbing again, allowing you to stand up.
He eyes studied you skeptically for a few moments before what seemed like realization dawned over him and his scowl hardened over his concern.
“Like I said, we’re destroying this.”
You wouldn’t respond, neither to dispute him nor agree, and you could see the exasperation threaten to boil over on his face.
“Whatever sentimental value you’re guarding this with is childish. You’re being short sighted. I’ve blown up an entire island burying garbage like this and I did it without second thoughts,” he declared in a frightening tone, “You want to know why? Because there are certain directions this world should never go down and this is one of them. I fail to comprehend your hesitation,” he barked, before dropping his voice to barely above a whisper, “what part of global, nuclear meltdown is slipping past your hundred and forty-five IQ?”
You weren’t sure yourself.
Had the situation been less dire, perhaps your husband openly declaring that he destroyed a bloody island without second thoughts would have fazed you more.
Resembling a deer in headlights seemed to be an expression you were fond of as of late.
“You truly are a child,” he finally spat, snapping the laptop closed before proceeding to pack it into his brief case. “We’re going home,” he abruptly declared standing up.
“Weren’t you preoccupied?”
“Salvaging my wife’s brain from the depths of idiocy is more pressing at the moment to me. Let’s go,” he ordered, dragging you behind him by the hand.
The drive home was silent, on your part at least. Seto made a few pointed remarks about the situation, most of them criticizing your indecision.
Pulling into the garage, he was swift to swing around the front of the car to your side, briefcase in hand. By the time you had picked up your bag, your door was already being held open.
Stepping out, the manner in which he carried you off away from the vehicle, you worried would cause your ankles to sprain over your needle thin heels.
Turning away from the hallway which you usually took to access the manner, he led you down a darkened corridoor which seem to stretch endlessly into the bowels of, well, the earth for all you were concerned.
“Where are we going?” you demanded to know firmly. He wouldn’t answer. “Seto, where are we?” you questioned again, tugging your arm towards yourself quite aggressively.
This achieved the intended purpose of gaining his attention, as he abruptly stopped; turning towards you, though his grip on your arm remained.
“Why, is the darkness scaring you?”
You didn’t appreciate the derision in his tone.
“No more than your condescending attitude towards me is.”
He directed a pointed glare at you. He set down his briefcase momentarily as he retrieved his phone from his trouser pocket.
“Hold this,” he ordered as he handed his phone to you after rapidly tapping his fingers across the screen for a few moments. You snatched the phone from his fingers, a glare reflecting his, as you shone the flashlight, illuminating the hallway ahead shrouded in complete darkness.
You were still averse to walking down that stretch of corridoor.
“There’s no way,” you disputed.
He smothered a groan as he released your wrist.
Receiving this as permission to walk away, you almost turned to leave before he snaked his arm around your waist, before dragging you forward without sparing a moment.
Strangely enough, forcefully pressed against his side, the experience was less petrifying.
“Not many things can touch you if you’re standing next to me,” he declared confidently, his tone differing greatly from the state of discomposure he had momentarily been in earlier that evening.
“I’m assuming nuclear warfare is the exception,” you asked quietly.
“Why are you being difficult if you understand?”
There was nothing worth voicing, so you remained silent.
Descending a series of stairs, the two of you arrived shortly at a metal door which resembled the vault doors at your Swiss bank.
Your husband stepped forward, allowing for a laser to scan his iris. A robotic voice spoke his name stiffly before the door unlocked.
“Where exactly is this?” you inquired, slightly unsettled.
“Under the front garden of the mansion. Stand here,” he ordered.
It was deeply disturbing on many fronts that your husband felt the need to have a maximum security vault of sorts buried stories under the property that required biometric information to access. You found yourself questioning what sort of life he had been leading up till now, because clearly, this room didn’t seem to serve the purpose of leisure. The man didn’t know the word.
“Did you not hear me?” he growled, “stand here so I can enter your data.”
“I heard you the first time,” you snapped.
“Could have fooled me.”
Following the unsurprisingly convoluted process of having your biometrics registered, he basically shoved you into the room, which could hardly be titled a room when it was basically a massive supercomputer encompassing the entire space.
It whirred to life at Seto’s voice command and a voice as obnoxious as its size – and attitude - were large, greeted him, while not missing a beat before inquiring who the ‘pretty lady’ standing next to him was.
How lovely.
Seto didn’t bother responding, as he retrieved your laptop from his briefcase and connected it to the computer. He transferred the original versions of all the files from your company mainframe into the supercomputer before locking it.
“Now only you or I have access to this information,” he informed, “I’ve granted your request. Now, let’s have a conversation about this where you aren’t being thoughtless child.”
“So basically a conversation where I agree unconditionally to all your arguments.”
It was painfully obvious he didn’t appreciate that answer.
He stood up wordlessly before stalking out of the room. He stopped briefly at the door, glancing in your direction with another pointed glare. Understanding this as a rather impolite invitation to follow him before he abandons you in the dark, you made haste to catch up to his side, grabbing on to his sleeve for good measure.
The two of you may not have been on speaking – polite speaking at least – terms; but you weren’t about to disadvantage yourself.
You’ve learned living with him that pride only served its purpose when you had the upper hand.
Emerging out of a stairwell into a corridoor you actually recognized, you finally released your grip from around his arm.
Fighting the urge to walk away from the currently brooding, arrogant gentleman that was your husband – though really the arrogance was a permanent fixture on his disposition – you followed after him.
You idly ground your heel into the hardwood of the hallway as he twisted the brass knob of a rather old, weathered door you’ve never previously cared to explore on the ground level of the mansion
Walking in, it was the size of an auditorium or a fairly large gymnasium, with white washed walls reaching a ceiling placed on level with at least the third floor of the mansion.
There was a faded gold railed, winding staircase to the left of the door past a few short steps, on the second level of the main floor of the room. The staircase led to a balcony like walkway which bordered the perimeter of the room roughly a story above.
Bookcases, much like those in your husband’s study adorned all the walls both on the main floor and opposite the balcony, occasionally punctuated by the white carvings of the walls which were visible in between the dark wood.
There was a distinct mustiness lingering in the air.
To the far right of the door, on the adjacent wall was an aged, unused fireplace with tattered, hardbound books littering its mantle and surrounding area, the white paint peeling off its Versailles inspired carvings, a large gold framed mirror hanging over it. The door was faced by a series of massive French windows lining the entirety of the opposing wall. It was the only wall without bookshelves. The room stretched further left of the door than it did right, separating into three levels, you noticed; the main level you were standing on now, the second one elevated by a few steps which held the winding stairwell, and finally the third level again raised by a few steps stretching the width of the room, which led to a single, olive green hued tufted sofa. Similar to the fireplace, there were very old, some possibly moth eaten books stacked by its gold carved feet.
Walking under one of the many great crystal chandeliers cascading from the ceiling, up to the large, golden, carved terrestrial globe supported on dark washed oak legs, you were at least mildly impressed. Perhaps the manor wasn’t all bleak and austere as you had condemned it to be; perhaps it did contain some charm.
“It’s like eighteenth century France threw up all over this place,” you noted absentmindedly – mostly to yourself, as you traced a finger along one of the polished golden metal axis which circled the globe.
“There are four other libraries in the manor if this one is not to your liking,” your husband noted, seemingly offended as he stood next to you, before reaching towards the edge of the globe, and sliding what constituted the northern hemisphere sideways, revealing a collection of aged liquors.
You hadn’t considered ever that he was particularly partial to drinking, especially since you’ve only seen him drinking on the one occasion and that was at your penthouse.
“You drink?”
“I try not to.”
“I rather you not.”
“I’m sorry but right now, I’m not up for a negotiation.” His tone was unusually harsh in that he's hardly addressed you that way.
That exchange went over about as well as a bucket of bricks.
He reached for one of the perfectly polished glasses, pouring himself a full glass of whiskey.
You watched him take a large sip, expression contorting vaguely at the taste.
You inhaled sharply before exhaling pointedly out in disproval.
The glass was empty as soon as he had filled it and again, and again.
You stood by him stiffly, a mixture of fear as well as anxiety of the state your husband was currently, quite willingly reducing himself to, plaguing your thoughts.
As he poured himself what was his fourth or perhaps fifth – you had lost count – glass, you walked over to sit by the short steps which led up to the sofa.
“There are things I can handle,” he began, swirling the amber liquid that seemed to drown everything it kissed in a bitter aroma, in his glass. “In fact, there are not many things in this world I cannot handle with my wealth and influence. Nuclear warfare threatening human life on this planet on a global scale, contrary to what you may think of me, is in fact beyond me.”
“You’re overreacting,” you disputed, as he walked past you to sit on the sofa.
“You’re too young to see the repercussions,” he dismissed. “Come here.”
“I rather not.”
“Come here,” he repeated more sternly. You could hear the alcohol seeping into his system, and you could now tell that this was his attempt at drowning out the issue that was clearly deeply unnerving him.
“I don’t like men who drink.”
“The only reason I haven’t destroyed that program is out of respect for you, but don’t mistake my inaction for hesitance or a change of heart. I will dismantle that program before sunrise; I just want you – us to be on the same page. And I don’t drink often so come here,” he barked.
Standing up to face him, you approached him, intending to confront him.
“So how’s that respecting me then if your decision ultimately remains unchanged?”
“Why are you so intent on keeping the damn thing that’s tearing this family apart?” he inquired accusingly.
“It doesn’t make sense,” you said in thought.
“What doesn’t?”
“Why the expelled board members didn’t take a copy of the incomplete code. The takeover was fairly quick but it still took many months. If they had enough time to wipe records, they surely anticipated what was coming. For a group planning treason, I hardly think copyright issues were a concern.”
He reached his hand unsteadily up to yours, pulling you into him. His eyes were clouded. His scent masked in a sickening bitterness. You stumbled forward before catching yourself and rolling over to sit next to him.
“Few reasons. The code in its incomplete state is as useless as it is in its complete form without a computer advanced enough to run the program. Even Kodama doesn’t possess what is necessary to run the program for the purpose Wakamura and his underlings intend on applying the code for; thus why they requested government funding. My guess is that’s the reasons they’re after Kaiba Corp. because we do,” he explained, taking another sip, and effectively downing another glass. “One’s useless without the other. Also, they never planned on you living for very long following the takeover; they overestimated themselves, or rather they underestimated you and by extension me.”
You observed in dismay his senses and wits dulling, though he continued.
“You must understand the devastation this is capable of,” he questioned, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Men like Wakamura will find a way to come into possession of this so long as this exists. Evil is inherently drawn to evil. Prevention is better than foolishly looking for a cure.”
The distress in your eyes were met with a hazy blankness in his blue ones.
He stood up, presumably to re-fill his glass before you held on to him.
“For god’s sake, that’s enough,” you shouted.
“Let go,” he commanded icily.
“No,” you defied, standing up behind him, reaching for the glass, which he easily held out of reach.
“What,” he began, placing great emphasis on the word, “exactly is your obsession with the blasted program? You weren’t intending on using it anyway, you said so yourself. Your grandfather would hardly have wanted this to used –”
“And yet he didn’t destroy it did he?”
“He was being foolish!” he bellowed, “which is also what you’re being.”
“How dare you!” you screamed in response. “You can insult me but what right do you have to belittle my family?”
“How dare I? As your husband, I think I have every right,” he countered, almost hysterical.
“You think being married to me grants you permission to disrespect my family?”
“What family?” he raged, “I’m the only family you got now!”
|
“Michael, could you do me a favour? I want to get something for Ryan, kinda as a joke, and I reckon you’re the only one who’s not going to judge me.” Gavin said into his phone at around lunch time on a Sunday. “Yeah, sure, whatever you need buddy.” Michael replied. “Great, come and pick me up?” Gavin asked, already grabbing his house keys and wallet. A familiar jingle answered him, of Michael picking up his keys.“Give me fifteen minutes, tops.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Gavin stood before the pet store with an objective in mind. Whilst there were specific stores designed for omega accessories, they were vastly more expensive, and wouldn’t have what Gavin had in mind.
Anyway, it wasn’t like it was going to be worn. It was only a joke, and a casual reminder.
He’d been mulling it over for a week or so now, after the incident in the closet he felt Ryan needed a more prominent reminder of Gavin’s status. Or at least the guys in the office needed to be reassured that Gavin was in fact an Alpha. One capable of handling Ryan, at that.
So he’d decided on a collar. One not to be worn, but to be put on Ryan’s desk, one that could be easily hidden when they filmed the office, but one that would be there, in view. Most Alpha’s didn’t collar their omegas any more. Only the truly traditional ones tended to, the ones who saw omegas as exotic pets, or sex toys, insatiable, living sex toys. Either that or breeders.
Gavin didn’t see the harm in his buying a collar though, after all, it was just a joke. Nobody took Gavin for a traditional Alpha. If he was he’d have forbidden Ryan from working, and would either have him locked away at home or kneeling at his feet. Therefore, there was no harm. Besides, he’d checked with Michael and Michael thought it was hilarious.
With a deep breath, Gavin walked in, going straight to the dog section. It wasn’t long until he saw the one he wanted. Thick, black, and studded with silver spikes. Gavin ignored the way his mind pictured how gorgeous the contrast of the dark leather would look against Ryan’s skin, and had a tag made. If found, return to Gavin Free. On the flip side it had ‘Ryan’, engraved in cursive.
Gavin paid, taking his purchase out of the bag in the car and looking at it. His fingertips stroked the studs and the tag, and Michael looked over. “There’s no shame in a casual bit of fetish, Gav.” He said, as if he could read his boi’s thoughts. Gavin snorted and dumped the collar back in the bag. “Me, dominating Ryan, please, Michael, aside from the instincts, I’ve got nothing.” Michael shrugged and carried on driving, both of them going back to Gavin’s for a night of gaming and bevs.
~~~~~~~~~~
Ryan was sat at his desk long before Gavin walked in on Monday morning. His Alpha looked particularly suspicious this morning, and it wasn’t long before Ryan knew why. The leather collar dumped on his desk.
Ryan picked it up, turning to look at Gavin in confusion. He laughed slightly, stroking over the studs the same way Gavin had. Gavin grinned. “Just so we remember who’s been claimed by who here. You’re not meant to wear it. I would’ve got you a human one if I wanted that.” “Either that or Gav’s started reading 50 shades.” Geoff commented, chewing on some morning snack in the corner.
Ryan laughed from his belly then, popping the collar just in front of his monitor. “Thanks Gav.” He said, “I’ll be sure to turn my balls into cufflinks next weekend and hand them over Monday morning.” “Nah, don’t worry about that, Ry, I quite like them where they are.” Gavin grinned, planting a snog on Ryan’s lips. “You’re welcome though.” He murmured as he pulled away, going to join Michael at their desk.
Everything went off without a hitch until the following Wednesday. Gavin had gone to grab him, Ryan and Michael some lunch. Ryan had stayed in the office, joking around with the guys about his collar. They all understood it was a joke. None of them for a second thought that Gavin was a traditional Alpha. Ray finally stood.
“Hey, Ryan, I think you should try it on. Surprise Gav for when he comes back in.” He suggested, standing up and snatching the collar off of the desk. Ryan looked uneasy at that. After all, the collar wasn’t meant for humans, and Gavin had said it was a reminder, not an accessory. “C’mon, Ry, Gav wouldn’t have bought it if he didn’t want to see you in it at least once.” Ray said, unbuckling it.
Gavin backed into the room, arms full of drive through meals. He dumped them down on the end of his desk without really surveying the room first. What he turned to made his stomach plummet.
“See, Ryan, you look so pretty with it on. Gonna make Gav so happy when you’re full of his cubs, in his collar.” Ray said, finishing fixing the buckle so the collar sat snug to Ryan’s neck. The shift in Ryan’s pheromones was obvious. Omegas automatically got broody when forced to think about or discuss cubs. It was their biological goal in life. To please their Alphas with as many cubs as possible. Ray bringing it up in the days leading up to the moon was cruel at best. If he persisted it could have sent Ryan into an early heat.
Geoff saw it before anyone else, having seen this happen once before when he was in the military. “Get out, Ray.” He said firmly. “Michael, you too. Jack, get Ryan.” He added, voice slipping into one used for giving commands in a time long since passed.
Gavin’s fangs had lengthened, distorting his face. His thoughts were no more than a primal hum. Threat. Claim. Collar. Ray. Threat. The very image of Ray fastening his collar onto his omega was enough to snap him. Even the wolf knew that collaring was something intimate, something not to be taken lightly.
Jack grabbed Ryan’s arm, but Ryan shook him off. “No.” He asserted, “No, it’s not happening.” Whether he was referring to his relocation to a safe distance, or Gavin’s premature transformation, nobody was quite certain. “I can assure you it is, Ryan, and we need to get out before he ends up killing one of us.” Geoff said, trying to take Ryan’s other arm. Only the Gents remained, two of them trying to convince the other.
Gavin’s iris’s were yellow, body covered in thick fur. He fell to all fours and began whining. The pain of changing on the moon was bad enough, the pain of changing outside of the lunar cycle was near unbearable. It so rarely happened that it hadn’t crossed any of their minds that what Ray was doing could have caused this. “Go.” Ryan growled, “He’s my Alpha, he won’t hurt me.” He said, with more confidence than he possessed.
Gavin lunged, the two beta Gents moving to the door. Ryan flinched, and Gavin’s teeth closed around the leather at his neck and tugged until it snapped, the strip falling to the floor. After he was satisfied that Ray’s act of challenge was dealt with, he wanted to deal with the man himself. Gavin padded towards the closed door and paced before it, snarling and scratching at it. He’d never change back if he remained this wound up.
Ryan grabbed Gavin by the ear and tugged his head around to ensure he had the focus of his Alpha. “Enough. I am yours, Gavin. Not his. Leave this until the moon.” Ryan said. Gavin’s pain caught up with him and he staggered to the side before laying down. Blood dotted his coat here and there, where his regular form had been reluctant to change. “Just think of the heat after, Gav, you and me for a few days. It’ll be longer this time, since I’m claimed now. Think about if we get cubs this month. Geoff said he could just about give us the time off. It’ll be perfect.” Ryan said, sitting down against the wall and dragging Gavin’s head and front paws across his lap. |
Staring down into the eyes of his Godson’s mother—a woman who had always been there for him and cared for him—as her eyes started to gain that glazed look that he knew came from the high filling her system, Spencer felt the guilt trying to eat at his insides. He ruthlessly shoved it down. This was what had to be done to keep them all safe. To keep them alive. But he made himself watch her as the drug filled her system, knowing what he was causing her. The euphoria, yes. For now. But later…the craving wouldn’t be too intense for her. For any of them, really. That comes from dependence, which is bred after continued use. One does wasn’t going to harm them.
In the other room he could hear Noah shouting orders and the sounds of shackles as they were all clicked into place. Then there was the sound of footsteps as he came back into the room. He heard Noah go to Marcus and hiss at him “I don’t like this. We should just kill them all now. Why let them go? They’re going to tell everywhere who we are and where we are!”
“This was never against them.” Marcus said softly. “They shouldn’t have to pay. They’re as innocent as my brother was. As we all were. They shouldn’t pay for the cruelty of two men. No, this fate belongs to Spencer Reid and Jason Gideon and I will make them pay for it.” Suddenly his voice turned sharper. “You’ve been well paid for your trouble. I’ll pay you even more for dropping them off as Dr. Reid and I agreed. Then you can take your money and run. Eli and I will handle it from there.”
So, Noah was going to be leaving, was he? That was good information to have. Just Marcus and Eli he could deal with. Noah was the most unpredictable one. He was the most dangerous.
Turning back around, Spencer moved to the table once more, taking the other vial of Dilaudid. He said nothing as he made his way toward the room, the spare vial now in his pocket. When he walked in, all eyes instantly moved toward him, questions evident on their faces. But at the sight of the syringe in his hand, those questions remained unasked. New ones cropped up in their place. Spencer made himself stand there and take in each and every face before him. He knew that he wasn’t going to survive this ordeal; this would be the last time he would get to see the faces of the family he so loved.
He went to Aaron first. Aaron, the best of them all. The strongest, toughest, and yet inside, one of the most caring. People thought emotion had been burned out of him. It hadn’t. But it was buried underneath such a hard outer shell, it was easy not to see it. But it was there. This was the one person Spencer felt the need to explain himself to. The others were important, yes. He would never deny that. But Aaron was his boss, his friend and, since Gideon had left, Aaron had filled in that position of mentor.
“I know that you most likely won’t approve of what I’m doing.” Spencer began in a low voice. He made himself look at Aaron’s eyes, something that he had a hard time with on a good day. He wanted Aaron to understand the importance of what he was saying and the truthfulness of it. “But I do what I feel I have to. If you all stay, there’s a good chance we’ll all die here. I couldn’t be responsible for that.” One of his hands lifted, shaking slightly. From withdrawal, shock, stress, suppressed emotion…he didn’t know. He pressed the tips of his fingers to a bruise on Aaron’s cheek before he quickly dropped his hand. “You’ve been a good friend, Hotch, and a great boss. I hope that you understand why I’m doing this. I hope, one day, you’ll even forgive me for it.”
Pulling up his syringe, Spencer checked the dose in there, made sure there was no air. Then he was reaching toward Aaron’s elbow. He put the needle there, against one of the veins. Meeting Aaron’s eyes one last time, he sighed. “I’m sorry, Hotch.”
“I understand, Reid.” Aaron’s voice was steady and firm, his gaze unwavering. “I wish you wouldn’t do this, but I understand that you feel you have to.”
He held perfectly still as Spencer slid the needle in and pressed the plunger. He was careful on how much he gave him; just enough to knock out a man of his size and no more than that. As the drug started to fill his system, Aaron’s eye drifted shut. Spencer looked at him one last time before moving on to Dave.
The senior profiler was glaring at him, but there was compassion in his gaze. “Are you sure he’s going to hold up whatever deal you’ve made?” he demanded to know. Spencer checked his syringe and added a little more, nodding as he did. “So long as I hold my end, he’ll hold his.”
“And what’s your end?”
Spencer gave Dave a sad smile. “It’s been a pleasure to work with you, David Rossi.” He said instead of an answer. “I learned quite a bit from you. I thought it would be hard, working with a man who was such a legend. Instead, I found out that you were just as human as the rest of us and I came to enjoy working with the man, not the legend. Thank you for being not only a great co-worker, but a fantastic friend.”
There was no struggle from Dave either as Spencer put the needle to his skin. But as the plunger was pressed, Dave looked right at him and said “It’s been both an honor and a privilege to work with you, Dr. Reid. Che Dio vi benedica.” May God bless you.
When he moved to Penelope, she was already crying. But Spencer was never more proud of him. She said nothing and neither did he, but their eyes locked and so many things passed between the two friends. Instead of words, there was a silent moment between them. She gave him one final smile and he smiled back. Then he prepared another dose and put it into yet another friend.
Last but not least was Derek. The man who had always been like a big brother looked at him now with such sadness on his face. “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?” He asked hoarsely. Spencer bit his lip and shook his head. This was the right thing to do. This was what he had to do. Derek let out a soft sigh. “I will find you, kid. You know that. I won’t’ give up until I do.”
“But not in time.” Spencer said simply. He had no doubt his friend would find him in the end. But not in near enough time. Throwing aside pride for a moment, Spencer looked at him and made a soft request “Bring me home, please. When you find me, take me home? I…I want to be cremated. All that stuff, you’ll find it in my dresser at home, small file safe. The code is the date I joined the BAU.”
In that moment, neither of them could lie to the other. Derek couldn’t use any of the false bravado he might have in any other situation. Here, now, he had to face the raw truth right there in Spencer’s eyes. How could he deny him? “I promise, kid. You have my word.”
A sort of tension eased out of Spencer then. He let out a soft breath and smiled. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”
Once he had the final dose ready, he brought it to Derek’s arm and laid it there against the vein. “You’re my best friend.” In this last moment, Spencer felt free to admit things he’d always been too embarrassed to say before. “And a big brother. I’ve never had a real family before, not until you guys. Thank you for giving that to me.”
“You are family, Spencer. Blood aside, you are my little brother. Don’t ever doubt that, kid.”
As Spencer stood in the center of the room and stared at the faces of his friends, he felt his heart break. One last time he looked at them, at the people who meant more to him than anyone else. “Goodbye.” He whispered. Then he turned and left the room.
CMCM
One again Spencer was back in his prison, but for the first time, he was in there alone. Lying on his side, he stared at the wall, holding the blankets a little closer. There was no need for him to sit up and pretend strength anymore. His friends were being set free as he was lying here; at least, so long as things went according to plan. But if they had stayed here, they definitely would have died. At least this way they had a chance of getting free
When the door opened behind him, Spencer didn’t bother moving. What was the point? He knew who it was and he knew what to expect from him .Marcus’s voice was smug as he announced “Noah just called. He's reached the drop off point and it’s all clear. He’ll dump them and start back. When he gets back, you’re making your call and then we’re going to end this, Spencer Reid. Remember our bargain. Try to back out and I will send Noah after your friends once more and he’ll kill each and every one of them.”
“I understand.” Spencer said lifelessly. He didn’t even bother to turn around. What was the point?
Marcus gave a chuckle that made Spencer want to shiver. “Not so tough now that your friends are gone, are you?” he taunted.
Still spencer didn’t turn. “Is there a point? You’ve won, Marcus. Why should I bother fighting anymore?” Not only that, but he refused to give Marcus the satisfaction of playing his game anymore. Their ending terms were set and Spencer knew what he was going to do. He knew what his plan was. He knew how this whole thing would end.
The room was silent for a long minute as Marcus processed Spencer’s words. Then there was the sound of footsteps as he turned and left the room. As the door shut once more, silent tears ran in rivers from Spencer’s eyes.
CMCM
Shaking his head, Noah stuffed his phone in his pocket. This was the stupidest thing in the world. Why they didn’t just kill them, he had no idea. But he was getting paid and paid well to do what Marcus wanted. And if there was one thing that could get Noah every time, it was money. Thinking of the amount he was going to get from this had him grinning as he climbed from the van. He was going to have enough this time to go start over wherever the hell he wanted. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that he’d be able to stick around the states; the FBI would be looking for him once these guys sobered up.
Who cared? Maybe he’d milk Marcus for a little more and he’d disappear entirely to someplace exotic. The Caribbean? Or somewhere that didn’t have an extradition agreement with the US. That would be good. He hummed slightly as he walked around to the back of the van and opened up the doors. One last look around and then he grabbed the first body there. The old guy, with grey hair. Noah snorted as he hooked his arms under the dude’s armpits and started to haul his drugged out ass out of the van.
The dude’s feet had just hit the ground and Noah had started to drop him when he heard footsteps and then a voice screaming out “FREEZE!”
His hand jerked toward his gun instinctively, but he froze when he saw the people filling the alleyway. There were at least twenty different guns trained on him. He was surrounded by people in SWAT uniforms. Shit. Shit! Son of a fucking bitch! How the hell did they find me? How the hell did I get fucking busted? Dammit!
From the crowd came a woman that had Marcus snarling. Now he knew how he’d been busted. “You” he snarled at the woman. “I knew we should’ve killed your ass when we had the chance.”
Emily Prentiss smirked at him over the top of her gun. “So you do remember me, Noah! I’m honored.” Her smile grew a little. “Now, hands in the air, if you please.”
When he lifted his hands, two SWAT members came forward, spinning him and pinning him to the wall before searching him for weapons. Then hands were on his wrists, pulling them behind his back and his cheek was digging into the wall, making him curse more. The hands on his wrists were decidedly gentle and feminine. Emily was the one cuffing him.
“You know, we caught you by dumb luck.” She told him in his ear. “You shouldn’t have driven Eli’s van. Reid didn’t drug me much and I saw the plates when Eli dumped me. As soon as I got in, I put a BOLO out on the car. The minute you hit city limits, they saw you and they called me.” She moved him away from the wall, holding him firmly as she started to walk him to a cop car. “I think I’m going to enjoy this part.” She said in a hard, pleased voice. “Noah, you have the right to remain silent….”
CMCM
Time seemed to run together for Spencer as he lay on that cold floor. His brain was drifting in and out, not really focusing on anything anymore. Life seemed to have drained from him. Because of that, he didn’t flinch when the door opened or even footsteps angrily echoed around him. But when a hand gripped tightly in his hair and yanked him, he couldn’t stop his hoarse cry. Pain exploded through his scalp and then, as he was dragged over the floor, down to his back and the rest of his body. All he could do was bring his hands up weakly to his head, reaching for the hand that was cruelly fisted there.
Suddenly Spencer found himself thrown down to the floor. This time he managed to keep the cry locked inside. His hands braced on the ground and he lifted his chin, looking up at Marcus, terror growing in him. What had happened to make the man so furious? Had…had Noah done something to his friends? Had he broken the rules? Just the thought of that made panic wrap around Spencer’s lungs like a vise.
Pulling out his gun, Marcus pointed it down at Spencer. “Eli!” He snapped out. “Get him up. We’re leaving; now!”
The words surprised Spencer. He licked lips gone dry and tried to force his throat to work. “What’s going on?” He croaked. It made him wince to hear how dry and weak his voice had become. How long had he simply been lying on that floor? How long since his friends had been taken? Please, oh please, let them be ok. Let them be alive! “What happened?”
“What happened?” Marcus shot back. “You want to know what happened? That idiot Noah got himself arrested, that’s what happened! Drove right into the damn Feds! So we’re getting the hell out of here before they show up. Now, Eli, get him up!”
Gentle hands touched Spencer’s arms, bracing him and helping him toward his feet. The young doctor looked up, his eyes meeting Eli’s, seeing something he hadn’t thought to see there. Compassion. When Eli shifted to better help Spencer upright, it put his back to Marcus and the man took advantage of it to mouth at Spencer ‘I’m sorry’. The honesty on his face left Spencer stunned. They had thought that Eli was a submissive in this and that he might be easier to break, but they hadn’t predicted this. Either JJ had worked on him and had broken him from this a little, or Eli had never wanted to do it to begin with. The man had been polite from the start and he’d tried to care for them. He’d been the one to give Spencer the blankets after he’d been hosed.
As he gained his feet, a tiny spark of something lit down inside of Spencer. Not hope; not quite yet. But the start of hope. Maybe there was a chance he could still get out of here alive. Maybe, just maybe, he might have an ally he hadn’t expected. Those thoughts bounced in his mind as Eli helped him limp toward the staircase. The potential consumed Spencer, distracting him from the pain, distracting him from the withdrawal that felt as if it was growing inside of him. If he could just figure out some way to get Eli to help him, there was a chance that he might be able to get free. To see his friends again.
When they finally reached the front door, stepping outside, Spencer saw the area around the place for the first time. Wherever they were, there were no houses immediately in view. All he could see were trees and more trees. In front of them was a dark blue Ford Explorer with all the windows tinted. His eyes instinctively sought the plates; XFG-6813.
Marcus hissed for them to get in the damn car while he hurried forward. Eli’s hands stayed gentle at the same time that he picked up the pace, moving Spencer hurriedly forward. The cold air reminded Spencer that he was dressed only in pajama pants; even his feet were bare. The pebbles in the driveway cut into his feet, making him stumble so badly he almost fell. Only Eli’s hands kept him from dropping to the ground over and over. Finally, they reached the car. Marcus was at the back, tossing his bags in, and Eli led Spencer to the backseat, carefully helping him in.
In that moment that Spencer was in his seat and the back hatch closed, before Marcus had made it around the car to the driver’s door, Spencer looked right at Eli and mouthed ‘Help me’. Eli froze, staring at him, his hands suddenly unsure.
The sound of Marcus opening his door and swearing once more spurred Eli back into action. He finished helping Spencer get his legs inside the car. Then he grabbed the seatbelt, pulling it over him and buckling him in. When he was hooking the buckle, it put him right near Spencer’s head. “I’ll try.” He whispered.
That small start of hope was fanned to life, growing inside of him. Maybe, just maybe, he would survive this. Holding tight to that thought, Spencer closed his eyes and did focused all his energy into thinking, to changing around the plans he’d already had in place. Those had been the plans of a man sure he was going to die. Now, they were going to be the plans of a man fighting to live. He just hoped it would be enough.
CMCM
When Emily Prentiss hurried into the hospital room of her Unit Chief, it wasn’t surprising to her to find that he was already sitting up in bed and demanding his clothes from the nurses. Though only two hours had gone by since she’d busted Noah releasing her friends, it had been an interesting two hours for Emily. Dealing with transporting Noah to the Bureau for interrogation, handling the officers that were put on guard for the team just in case they were still at risk, talking to Strauss on the phone to let her know that all agents but Reid were accounted for, and then trying to get the doctors to tell her what was wrong with her friends.
After a while she’d been told that they were going to release most of the agents. None of them had any lasting damage. So Emily had given out their go-bags to the nurses so that her friends could have clothes. One, she’d kept. As soon as she’d been given the ‘all clear’ to visit, she went to see Aaron. If there was anyone that would be able to answer questions, it would be him. Not to mention that Emily was more than willing to hand over the lead in this investigation to him. She trusted his judgment and couldn’t help but think that she’d much rather trust the life of a friend to Aaron than to shoulder the responsibility herself.
Aaron looked up from his argument with the nurse when he saw Emily walk in. “Prentiss.” He said her name almost like it was salvation for a moment. When he saw the go-bag in her hand, he visibly sighed and held his hand out. “My clothes?”
“Yes, sir.” Emily told him easily. She put the bag on the bed beside him, ignoring the glare the nurse sent her way.
The matronly looking woman put her hands on her hips and turned that glare to Aaron. “Agent Hotchner, you need to stay in this bed. The drug has barely cleared your system and you’ve got three bruised ribs! You need to rest!”
Aaron didn’t argue with her, didn’t even look her direction. Instead he reached into his go-bag and pulled out a pair of boxers and pants. Emily, seeing the frustration and determination on Aaron’s face, stepped away and put her back to him, allowing him the privacy to get the bottom half of his clothes on. The whole time, she heard the nurse ranting, demanding he stop and get back in bed this instant. Judging by the sounds, Aaron had his bottom half dressed and was working on his top half, so she deemed it safe to turn around.
Buttoning up his shirt, Aaron lifted his eyes to Emily, pinning her with that stare that had cowed so many people. “What exactly happened out there? My memories are slightly hazy.”
“Ours too.” Another voice joined the mix. The door to the room had opened and Derek, Dave, Penelope and JJ came rushing inside. The nurse somehow found herself pushed to the back of the group as they all crowded around the hospital bed, eyes fixed on the dark haired woman. The nurse shook her head, resigned to the fact that no one was going to listen to her. Discreetly she left the room.
Emily tried not to let herself squirm underneath the intense stares she was getting. With a deep breath, she asked “Did he tell you guys what happened to me? How I left?”
“Yes.” Dave said with a grimace. “He told us about the deal he made and about having to drug you.”
“Well, he didn’t give me a high dose, I guess. I kept coming in and out of consciousness in the back of the van. When it stopped, I pretended to still be out. It was easy to do. Eli was so gentle with me when he laid me down. As soon as he was out of the way, I looked at the van and memorized the license plate.” She smiled a little when Derek clapped a hand on her shoulder and Penelope chuckled. Then Emily continued, glossing over some of the finer details “When I finally woke up enough to be coherent, I made my way to the street and flagged down a car for help. They got me to the hospital and I got checked out. Then I went straight to work. Everyone has apparently been looking for us for days now. After a fight with Strauss, I got permission to work the case with Eric’s team; they’re the ones that were looking for us.”
“They’re a good team.” Derek murmured.
Emily nodded at him. “They are. I gave them as much information as I could and we put a BOLO out on the van. But we haven’t been able to find anything that could connect it all. Kevin Lynch was helping us. Just a few hours ago he found three different properties in different locations that could’ve possibly been where we were held. The teams were just getting ready to go when we got the call that our van had been spotted. That’s how SWAT was ready to go so easily. So we went to the location the officer tailing him gave us and, well, when Noah started pulling you guys out, we came out and arrested him.”
For a moment the team just looked at her. Then Aaron gave one of those rare smiles of his that always seemed to make a person want to puff up with pride. “You did exceptionally well, Prentiss. Not everyone would have been able to not only think to get the plate, but remember it.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Suddenly nervous all over again, she looked around at them all, her voice quieter than normal as she asked “What happened after I left?”
It didn’t surprise her that it was Aaron that answered. Everyone else seemed to have suddenly turned to stone; unmoving, their faces hard. “Reid apparently made a deal for our freedom as well.” He explained in a voice that he couldn’t quite keep all the emotion out of. “He came in and drugged us and…said his goodbyes. He doesn’t plan on making it out of this alive, whatever his plan is.”
“I wanna know what the damn deal was this time.” Derek snarled out. His hands were clenched into fists on either side of him. “What the hell is that bastard making him do in return for us being free?”
A choked sob caught all their attention. As one, the group turned to look at JJ. She was holding her hand up to her mouth, tears bright in her eyes. The bruise on her face from being slapped seemed to stand out even more as the rest of her face lost its color. “Marcus isn’t making him do anything.” She whispered through her fingers. The words seemed so loud in the room. Heart breaking, she looked at them all, hating what she had to tell them. “Spence made the offer. He told Marcus that he’d give him the one thing in the world he wanted if he’d let all of us go.”
It didn’t take but a second for them to make the connection. “Gideon.” The name was whispered by them all, a soft curse in the air. For one instant the room seemed to stay frozen .Then everyone was talking at once.
Aaron started handing out orders. “Prentiss, I need you and Rossi to get back to the Bureau. If anyone’s going to be able to get Noah to talk, it’ll be you two. I want you in interrogation. Garcia, I need you to track down Jason. Find him so we can warn him what’s coming. I’d assume that Reid knows how to get a hold of him…”
At the same time, Penelope was pulling her phone from her pocket—Emily had made sure their phones were in each of their go-bags—and she was talking to someone in a voice that was harder and faster than was normal for her.
Mixed in with the chaos were Derek’s protests. “The kid’s got to have a plan, Hotch. No way he just plans on giving up Gideon, no matter what the guy did to him. There’s just no way. He wouldn’t trade Gideon’s lives for ours like that. He just wouldn’t do it!”
As these conversations ran together, each person speaking over top the other, JJ stood by silently, her hand still up at her mouth. She hated herself for it, yet she couldn’t stop her mind from wondering. Does Spence really have a plan? He’s been through so much here. What if this…what if they finally broke him? What if he doesn’t have any plan but to go and die, or to actually give up Gideon? I hope not. God, I hope not. I want my friend to come home. Please, God, don’t let me lose him she prayed fervently.
Yet still, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that maybe, just maybe, this had broken Spencer enough for him to turn his friend in just to end the pain. And, if it had, could any of them really blame him? |
Castiel yawns, reflexively covering his mouth even though he’s alone in his office with no one to offend. He’s exhausted. Even his toenails feel tired. He can’t remember a time when he’s needed to sleep like this, not even after pulling an all-nighter studying for college finals. Thank God this is basically his last week. He and Dean are getting married on Saturday and he’s taking a week of vacation for their honeymoon but then he’s coming back for one day before his maternity leave kicks in.
Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment, he thinks, leaning his head back against the black padded office chair. He loosens his tie just a bit and starts some deep breathing exercises he learned in Lamaze class. He closes his eyes and exhales.
God, he misses coffee right now. Which has Castiel thinking about the beverages being served at the reception because he and Dean are still arguing the merits of a closed versus open bar. Which reminds him that he still hasn’t heard from Gabe about the final location of the bachelor’s party his brother and Sam are throwing. Which has him wondering if Sam has received a call from the tailor about his tux. He opens his eyes with a sigh. It’s no use. Besides he’s at work and if his internal clock is still accurately ticking, only 24 minutes away from an important team meeting. So he shakes his head to try and clear the cobwebs and re-focus on the task at hand.
Castiel’s apparently sleep-writing an email to his parents. His mother Naomi, a surgeon specializing in facial reconstruction, and his father Chuck, an obstetrician for over 30 years, are volunteering their time in Central America with the Doctors Without Borders program. This is their third trip in ten years and their longest; they’ve been in the jungle for a month and won’t return until Christmas.
When he and Dean took over Sam and Jess’ wedding date, Castiel’s parents were so happy for him and overjoyed to be part of the festivities. Then a week later they sent an email saying that after checking with their coordinator they were sorry to report that they could only break their contract if there was a death in the family. Obviously Castiel was crushed because having his family close for the wedding and the baby’s birth means everything to him. But really, nothing can be done about it so he relies on emails to keep his parents in the loop. He plans to see them via a Skype call before the rehearsal dinner on Friday.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Dad:
Well this is it! It’s the week of the wedding! To be honest, I can’t believe that it’s finally here. Everything is on schedule. Gabriel still calls me “Bridezilla” even though we have had no wedding drama as of yet, for which I am eternally grateful. Michael says Melanie’s very excited about her pretty new dress and being able to throw rose petals. And Sam assures me that there will be no strippers at the bachelor’s party Friday night, but Gabriel’s co-hosting so I really can’t believe him.
On the baby front, I am exhausted beyond belief. In fact I just about fell asleep at my desk this morning. I honestly feel like a beached whale at this point. Just between us, I can’t figure out how to sleep anymore so I just doze and never get the rest that I know the baby and I need. And my hormones are all over the map. One minute I’m crying and the next I’m having a hard time concentrating due to overwhelming biological urges. I don’t know how Dean puts up with it.
I miss you, Dad. I hope this email finds you and Mom well. It goes without saying that I worry about you both but am, as always, so proud of what you are accomplishing in Nicaragua. I know that you are in good hands, but please keep each other safe. And email Anna. I know she worries about you.
Much love,
Castiel
He clicks the Send button and yawns again.
It was perfectly normal to fall asleep on his feet during his first trimester but he’s eight months in now; it’s the final stretch. He’s so huge and exhausted, but that’s only 75% of the problem. Alone in his office with his arms resting atop the planet that occupies his abdomen while the tiny life he’s now forever responsible for kicks him gently in the ribs, every fear that keeps Castiel up at night rushes at him.
I’m too old for this, he worries. The only thing I know about babies comes from books and magazines. What if I drop the pup? What if I can’t nurse? How do you make a baby stop crying? Sam recommends cloth diapers but Dean thinks they’re disgusting. How the hell will I possibly survive actually giving birth? I just want to take a deep breath again before I die. What if the pup hates me and I’m a terrible father? We don’t even have names picked. I’m going to give birth in a month and we don’t have names picked out.
Castiel glances at the clock in the bottom corner of his computer and realizes that it’s only 10:17 in the morning. He can smell his own despair as he sniffs up a tear, putting an elbow on his desk and rubbing the space between his eyebrows with the back of his thumb. It’s just hormones, he reminds himself. It better be or the alternative is that he’s having a full-blown panic attack. He closes his eyes and is about to call on the bond because right now he’s a mess and if he connects with his mate and shares all of these ridiculous fears and anxieties, Dean will know exactly how to make Castiel feel safe and loved, when the pup kicks again.
He can’t help but smile. Castiel pictures the baby curled in a ball, sucking a thumb while trying to stretch out a little leg. Without thinking about it, Cas reaches out in his mind to talk to his unborn child and suddenly feels warm, happy and safe. He freezes because those are not his feelings and they are not Dean’s.
“Cas?” a soft voice asks.
Castiel’s head jerks up as he meets Jess’ eyes, which quickly turn from fondness to concern. She steps inside his office and closes the door, trying to make sense out of the myriad emotions swirling around her boss/friend. “What’s wrong?” she frets.
He knows his eyes must be as wide as saucers, but Castiel is actually afraid to speak for fear of breaking the fragile tether that is currently allowing him to actively communicate with the baby inside his body.
“Is everything okay?” she demands, moving in close now and instinctively touching her own baby bump.
He swallows. “I can sense the pup,” he whispers. “Through the bond, Jess. The baby feels…warm and happy.” And then Castiel smiles, the sour pheromones he’s been leaking from his pores dissipating as he realizes that he knows what his pup is experiencing at this exact moment.
“No shit?” Jess replies in awe. She quickly blushes. “I’m so sorry, Castiel. That was not work appropriate! Are you sure?”
He’s nodding his head because in that instant he knows that everything is okay – the pup is okay. Then he gets a great idea. “I’m going to send something back.” Jess nods her approval and watches as Castiel closes his eyes and concentrates. He imagines holding onto that little lifeline and gently sending love and happiness back. Jess gasps as Castiel feels what she sees – a tiny hand pushing against his belly from the inside.
Jess leans back against his desk with her hand over her mouth. “Holy shit Cas!” Then they’re both grinning like idiots at each other. “Hey, bring Dean in and see if he can sense it too! Like a three-way call!”
Smiling, Castiel reaches for his phone and dials. After three seconds Dean’s voice is on the line.
“Heya Cas! How are you…”
“Dean!” Cas interrupts. “I can sense the pup. The baby is telling me how it feels!”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Reach out to me. Maybe you can feel it when we’re connected.”
There’s silence on the line while Castiel’s eyes are trained on Jess’ and he continues to trickle love and affection to the baby. Then Dean is present, quiet excitement thrumming in the back of Castiel’s brain. He stops pushing his emotions and the void is filled with the pup, who is apparently now feeling restricted and slightly uncomfortable.
“Oh my God, Cas,” Dean whispers. “Wow. He’s a little cramped in there, huh?”
“Dean, the baby’s okay.”
“Yeah. Yeah he is.” Dean’s relief pours through the bond.
Then Cas feels Dean sending just a little bit of pride and excitement and he knows it’s not intended for him. When Dean stops, there’s a responding feeling of excitement and happiness.
“Unbelievable,” Dean says softly.
“Dean, how soon can you get home? Can you take a half day? Tell Bobby what’s happening. I know he’ll…”
“I’ll bring burgers, Cas. I’ll get there by 1 o’clock, okay?”
“Yes.” Castiel feels so many emotions welling up that his heart might burst. The tears start. “I have to stop now Dean because I’m crying. I can’t hold a project review meeting when I’m crying.”
His mate laughs. “I’ll see you for lunch, gorgeous.”
-------------------------------------------------------------
“Chuck, are you hearing this?”
Naomi Novak sits on a cot, fiddling with the tuner knob on the portable wideband radio that is her constant companion. She wipes beads of perspiration from her forehead as she looks up at her husband who’s sitting at a table fifteen feet away from her, surrounded by patient forms. She frowns, taking a second to register how rumpled his clothes are, his white cotton shirt sticking to his back as he swats at either real or imagined insects that keep him from concentrating. Chuck is obviously aggravated by something as he shuffles papers around the table.
Blinking, Naomi takes a second to stretch her neck from side to side in an attempt to loosen stiff muscles. It’s stiflingly hot and the humidity is so high that she’s almost certain she’s grown gills. The air is thick with it. Truly, it’s beautiful here; she’s never seen so many shades of green. The flora defies belief, what with plant leaves the size of her head winding around tree trunks just outside their tent. And the people are so kind despite the hardships they endure.
She finished a four-hour soft palette reconstruction surgery on a ten-year-old girl only 45 minutes earlier and is trying to relax and hydrate, an almost impossibility in the Nicaraguan summer, but something on the weather band caught her attention. There it is again. “Charles!” she says pointedly, finally getting her mate’s attention. Chuck looks up in confusion. “Listen!”
A tinny, computerized recording fills the doctors’ tent. “A tropical depression is likely to hit the coast of Nicaragua on Wednesday, September 14th with wind gusts up to 60 miles per hour and precipitation projected at seven to ten inches.”
Chucks eyes widen instantly and the tent fills with his concern. He pushes his chair back from the table and makes his way over to his wife, hesitantly placing his hands on her shoulders. He knows Naomi isn’t a “toucher,” but he also knows that she probably needs a little physical reassurance. Tropical depressions in the tropics easily become hurricanes, and hurricanes spell trouble for not only the doctors but obviously, the locals. Naomi tilts her head back to make eye contact with her husband. They exchange a meaningful look.
“We’ll just have to monitor it,” Chuck says, his frustration spilling out even though he thought he was keeping his emotions contained.
“Shit,” Naomi mutters under her breath, shaking her head. It’s not like her to swear and her husband gives her shoulders a little squeeze before lightly kissing the messy bun on the top of her head. She places her hand on top of one of Chuck's.
This could ruin everything. |
~Hen pov~
Buck seems different. There’s more of an air to him. He seems happier, if that’s even possible - he is the human embodiment of a golden retriever after all. Here he comes now, skipping up the stairs. Yes, actually skipping. How that boy has that much energy, Hen will never know.
“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Hen asks.
“Oh-um, nothing. Can’t a guy just be happy? Just- just because?” Buck responded, turning to walk into the kitchen.
Once he was out of ear-shot, Hen turned to Chim and they shared a look.
“He skipped. People don’t just wake up on a
Monday
, of all days, and
skip
into work. That’s a bit much, even for Buck. What’s up with him? Do you think he’s seeing someone?,” Chim whispered to Hen.
It did seem odd. “Maybe… I’ll go try and get some information out of him,” she whispered back.
Buck’s response had seemed border-line defensive. What was going on, Hen wondered. Maybe he just got laid or something. She didn’t think he would ever revert back to Buck 1.0, but maybe he- no. No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t just throw all of that progress away. He has grown up since that point in his life. Maybe he
was
seriously seeing someone? Maybe with all the time he got off from the fire engine explosion, he finally moved on from Abby. Hen never really liked Abby that much, so she would be happy if Buck finally closed that chapter, for good. Whatever it was, Hen was determined to figure out exactly what gave Buck that… dare she say, glow?
She followed him into the kitchen, where she could interrogate him, one-on-one.
“So… what’s her name?” Hen asks casually.
“What? Whose name?” Buck asked, caught off guard. He was looking around, trying to figure out who Hen was talking about.
“The girl you’re seeing? The girl that’s got you so happy recently? Is she someone special, Buckaroo?” Hen said with a slightly teasing tone.
“Um… I’m not discussing my personal relations with you, especially not at work.” Buck said. He seemed almost nervous.
“Ahah! So you are seeing someone!”
“Keep your voice down!” Buck said, hushing Hen. He glanced around them to make sure no one was listening. “... Ok. Fine… I might be seeing someone. But that’s all I’m saying!”
“No! Now you have to tell me!” Hen whined, yet managing to still keep her voice down.
“If I tell you any more, you have to
promise
not to blab my business to the rest of the station. Not even Chim. Promise?” he whispered, lifting his pinky warily.
“Oh my god. Promise!” she replied eagerly, as she hooked her pinky with his. Chimney would have to wait for details. Albeit excited, Hen is not one to break a pinky promise. “Now spill! Where did you meet her?”
Buck paled slightly. He looked unsure about his decision to divulge Hen in the details of his love life. The young man took a deep breath. “Well…”
Oh no. Why does he look so scared? Was it bad? He didn’t meet someone at some seedy strip club or something, right? Or off of one of those cringey dating apps? Could this person be a bad influence on their Buckaroo? Could this turn out to be
worse
than Buck 1.0? She might have to break their pinky promise if that was the case. She couldn’t stand by and watch him revert to that version of himself. He’d come so far. She especially couldn’t stand by if this person was hurting Buck in any way. She loved the kid like a brother. Hen pushed those thoughts aside and waited for him to continue.
“I met-” Buck’s voice was cut off by the alarm blaring.
Before she could say anything, he saw his chance to get out of this awkward conversation, jogged off and started descending the stairs.
“We are not done here Buckley!” Hen shouted after him, earning a chuckle from the man and some eyes from her other colleagues.
-
She had to admit, it was a pretty slow day. They had returned from a call about an hour ago. Chim was talking with Bobby as he made lunch for the crew.
She found Buck sprawled out on the couch, texting someone. The grown man was sitting there, giggling like a little school girl. He must be texting his special someone. Now was the perfect time to figure out more.
“You texting your girl?” She asked with an arched brow, pushing his legs aside so she could sit down.
Buck startled, fumbling with his phone in an effort to lock it, “What?”
“Buck, you’re smiling like an idiot. I literally heard you giggle. There’s no hiding it now.”
He let out an amused sigh, “... I’m guessing you want to finish our conversation from earlier then?”
“Uh, duh! Where’d you guys meet? Oh! What’s her name? I want to know everything” Hen asked, she was way too excited about this.
“Shh! Quiet down! This stays between us, remember?”
Why was he being so secretive, Hen thought to herself. She made a motion to signal that her lips were “zipped.”
“Okay…” He took another breath. Oh god, it has to be some low-life he met off of craigslist or something. He wouldn’t be this anxious over somebody normal, right?
“
His
name is Eddie.” He paused, trying to gauge her reaction.
Hen could feel her eyes widen. Oh. So this is why he was so nervous. She hadn’t realized that maybe Buck was something other than straight. She guessed that it did make some sense, he slept around
a lot
as Buck 1.0.
“Oh! … Eddie, huh. Where’d you meet this
Eddie
?” She said, trying not to make a commotion about this news.
Buck let out a nervous laugh, “So… you’re just not gonna make a big scene about me, ya know, dating a guy? I don’t think I ever told you guys about my sexuality… ”
“No, but why would I make a scene? You’re still our Buck, aren’t you? I know how hard it can be to come out to someone.” She told him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, Buckaroo. Anyways, tell me more about your man! I want details!”
She could visibly see him relax. The idea of coming out must have been weighing pretty heavy on him. She’s been in his shoes before and she knows it’s not her job to make him uncomfortable about it in any way. Her job was to be a supportive friend. This guy must mean a lot to him because she could practically see his eyes light up as he began talking about Eddie.
“Well… we met at physical therapy…” He went on to talk about how Eddie was taking his son to physical therapy for his cerebral palsy when they first bumped into each other. It turned out that they coincidentally had their sessions on the same days. From there they exchanged numbers and eventually started seeing each other more and more. It had evolved from a few nice dinner dates out on the town to more casual meetings, like movie nights at home.
Hen had to admit it. Eddie seemed like an amazing guy. He was a single father and decorated war veteran, who now works at a local VA hospital. He sounded kind, funny, and from Buck’s description, quite handsome. She couldn’t wait to meet him one day. The way Buck has been talking about him, makes Hen wonder if maybe this was more serious than she initially thought.
“So, you guys met when you started PT… that means you’ve been seeing each other for at least a few months. You think this is serious?” Hen asked cautiously.
Buck had that nervous smile again. “I think so. I mean, he’s so great. And his kid is so great. Like when we’re together… I feel… I don’t know. I just feel happy. But like a version of happy I’ve never felt before. You know, the type of happiness that makes me skip into work,” he said with a laugh. “Does that make any sense?”
“Oh Buckaroo,” Hen said quietly. “I think you might be falling in love.”
She didn’t want to scare him with that comment, but she had felt a similar sensation when she started seeing Karen. She had found someone who could bring a smile to her face by just the mere thought of them, and now Buck has too. This was much better than a reprise of Buck 1.0.
“Oh my god,” Buck said, staring off in the distance, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “... I think you might be right. I think… I think I might love him,” he let out another laugh. “Is that crazy? I mean I have only known him for a few months, but I don’t know. This… this feels different than any other relationship I’ve been in.”
“It’s not crazy. When you know, you know. From what you’ve told me, he sounds like a great guy, who probably feels the same way towards you. I just hope one day… you’ll introduce us to him?” Hen asked with a smile.
“He is a great guy,” Buck said dreamily. “And of course I’ll introduce you guys. I just, didn’t want to do anything too fast, you know? Meeting you guys is like meeting the parents, except there’s way more than two of you.”
They both laughed at that. It was true. This unit is like a big family. A big family that is extremely protective of one another. And if this
Eddie
is the real deal, he’s got to pass inspection first.
-
It’s been almost a month since Buck told Hen about Eddie. If she thought he was a lot happier then, it was no match to how he was now. He was never this happy when he was with Abby, or any of his other relationships for that matter. She knew that this time it would be different. Eddie could very much be the one.
He had teased Chim and Bobby about seeing someone, but purposely left out the major details. That of course drove Chim, and Maddie by association, absolutely insane. They constantly berated Buck with questions. Practically begging him for even a crumb of information whenever they saw him. Bobby had remained calm about it, telling him that he knew they would be introduced when the time was right. Buck and Hen were making their morning coffee when he brought up the situation again.
“So I think what I’m gonna do- and I’ve already talked to Eddie about it and he’s on board, so don’t worry- is just take him as my ‘plus one’ to the next Grant-Nash family dinner. That way he can meet everyone at once. Kind of like, ripping off the band-aid,” Buck said, stirring a sickly amount of creamer into his coffee.
“Have you told him about us? This group can be a lot to handle when you jump in the deep end like that,” she said with a knowing smirk. “More importantly… have you told him how you take your coffee? Jesus, Buck. It amazes me how easily you stay in shape with all that sugar.”
“Ha ha. Yes, he knows. He makes fun of me about it because he takes his coffee black,” Buck said with a fake gag. “And yes, I have briefed him on how to survive dinner. No critiquing Athena’s cooking, don’t ask Chim about his nickname, and be ready for lots and lots of personal questions.” They both laughed about how accurate that was.
Their conversation was once again cut short by the alarm blaring. They both took big swigs of their coffees before bounding down the stairs. Another day, they thought.
-
It was about mid-afternoon when they got another call. An elevator had crashed at a mall nearby. There was one person inside when the elevator fell from the eighth floor all the way down to street level. The doors wouldn’t budge and the person most likely needed medical assistance. A fall that far would have done some damage. When they reached the mall, a member of security escorted the team to the elevator in question.
“LAFD! How are you doing in there!” Bobby shouted out, as they reached the scene.
“... everything hurts.” a week voice called out. “I think my leg might be broken.”
Hen saw Buck’s head shoot up. His eyes were wide and the color drained from his face. “Buck? Buck, what’s up?”
He was quiet for a second more. “...Eddie,” he whispered.
“What?”
He turned his head back to Hen, hushed, he said, “I recognize his voice. It’s Eddie in there.”
“No…” She couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling right now. It’s hard enough to see someone you love on a call, but having them trapped where you couldn’t even see their face, to know how they are? That’s a new level of hurt.
“Buck! C’mon, we gotta get these doors open!” Bobby called, prepping the necessary tools.
As Buck shook himself, probably in an effort to clear his head, and jogged towards the doors, they heard the voice speak again.
“...buck?”
Bobby shot a look to Buck, as if to ask if he knew who was in there. Buck pressed an ear to the door in time to hear the voice croak out his name again.
“Eddie… I’m coming to get you. Don’t worry.” Buck responded, his voice sounding almost on the verge of tears. Bobby and Chim eyed him suspiciously until he addressed the situation.
“The person I’ve been seeing… it’s a guy…” Buck said with a sigh. The other men just blinked rapidly at him. “His name is Eddie. Any further questions can wait because the man I love is stuck in this elevator. Now can we get him out?! Please!” Buck basically shouted.
The two men snapped out their trance and joined Buck to start on the doors. Hen set up her medical supplies nearby so she was ready for when they retrieved Eddie.
She watched as the boys finally pried the doors open. Buck was the first one inside, kneeling beside Eddie, making sure he was okay to move. He then carried him out carefully to where Hen was, where she quickly checked his vitals and readied him for transport. She also noticed that her guess was right, he was very handsome, even with a few bumps and bruises.
They then wheeled him to the ambulance waiting outside. Buck turned to ask Bobby if he could go with them, but before any words came out, Bobby just waved him off.
“I’ll see you all back at the station. And get better quickly Eddie, you’ve got to be in good condition if you’re coming to the next family dinner,” Bobby said, turning back to the engine.
-
They all secured themselves in the ambulance, Chimney driving, Hen and Buck riding in the back with Eddie. Buck never stopped holding Eddie’s hand since the elevator doors opened. Hen thought it was sweet.
Eddie cleared his throat, turning to look Buck in the eyes, “Is it true…”
Hen pretended not to eavesdrop, but who is she kidding, she was way too invested in this relationship.
“... Is what true?” Buck asked quietly.
‘Oh my god’ Hen thought, remembering back to a couple minutes ago when Buck said that fateful word in regards to Eddie. She was definitely listening in now.
“Back at the scene… you said you loved me… is it true?” Eddie said quietly, whether it was because he was nervous or a result of just free-falling eight stories, Hen wasn’t sure. She looked at Buck, waiting on his response.
“I… yeah… I love you,” Buck replied. “I love you Edmundo Diaz,” Buck said, with more confidence.
‘YES!!’ thought Hen, practically squirming in her seat. ‘Wait… this is a two-way street.’
Eddie exhaled deeply, “Good, because I love you too.” She could see their hands further grip each other. “I love you Evan Buckley.”
“Not to ruin this beautiful moment… but we’re here,” Chimney called from the front, as they pulled up to the hospital.
“Do you want me to come with you babe?” Buck asked.
“I’ll be okay,” Eddie said with a smile. “Go back to work, I’m sure they have a ton of questions for you. Maybe you can bring Christopher by later,” he said with one last squeeze to Buck’s hand.
-
They all made it back in the ambulance. Chimney drove them back to the station, but Hen could see his head pretty much bubbling with questions. It was only a matter of time before the poor loverboy she was sat next to became flooded with them.
“This Eddie was your secret special someone?! When did this happen? Also, who is this so-called Christopher?” There it is. Chimney started rattling off about a thousand questions from his spot up front.
Hen looked over at Buck, who had a dumb-struck look of pure adoration across his face. He even started to answer Chim’s questions. Although, he was probably too in love to be annoyed.
|
Phil gave Mom a surprisingly beautiful eulogy.
I can still remember bits and pieces from it, halfway on the flight to Forks. The funeral home was packed, with both his friends and Mom’s, and I’m pretty sure there was not a single dry eye in the audience when Phil went up to the podium and spoke. He was dressed in a black button-up and suit jacket, one that made me realize why his usual choice of wardrobe consisted mostly of khakis and a novelty T-shirt; black just made him look sallow and washed-out.
Still, as I looked up at him there, his eyes welling with tears, the bruises beneath evidence enough that he hadn’t slept properly for the past several days, I felt that this was the first time I’d ever truly seen him. When Mom wasn’t buried seven feet under, her role with the two of us was primarily one of being a buffer. It wasn’t that I didn’t get along with him- more to do with the fact that I hadn’t really had a dad for several years by that point (Charlie, who I had seen last at age fourteen or fifteen, didn’t really count), and I wasn’t sure how to start now.
Maybe if she hadn’t died when she did, it would’ve gotten better- at a glacial pace, undoubtedly, but still better. I would’ve yelled at him for not leaving the toilet seat down after he went to the bathroom, and he would’ve gotten pissed at me for coming home after curfew or taking too long in the shower, and it would’ve been just as it was supposed to.
The rabbi who conducted the service was pretty patient with him, though, all things considered; taught him how to recite Kaddish properly, even though Phil’s WASP background ensured that he stressed all the wrong syllables and stumbled over words at times. He’d looked at me a few times during it, but I was just as lost as he was; Mom and I hadn’t celebrated any holiday save Thanksgiving since I was a kid, and I felt uncomfortable calling myself religious in any capacity. The Hebowitz Funeral Home made me feel like both an intruder and a fraud in that regard, though I supposed that was more Mom’s fault than anything else. Still, Mom had said in her note that she wanted a Jewish funeral, and so a Jewish funeral she got. At least her mother seemed happy about it.
I, meanwhile, had been so comatose during the entire thing, that I barely registered that Phil was speaking until I realized that everyone sitting beside me was full-on sobbing, the tears streaming down their faces with no respite. But when it finally registered, I allowed myself to come back to my body a little, looking up at his stubbled face, watching his lips move almost hypnotically as he spoke.
“…you feel like anything was possible,” he was saying. “Like you could take on the entire world and win. I remember the day my father had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I was ready to break down in tears and cry like a little boy-“ that got a few chuckles from the bereaved audience- “but Renee looked at me, her face more determined than I’d ever seen her look, and simply said, ‘We’re going to get through this. You and me.’ You and me, she said, like we were a single unit, even though we’d only started dating a few months before. That was just the kind of woman she was. A kind woman.”
A particularly distraught woman I vaguely recognized as Mom’s coworker let out a wail at the last syllable.
When he went down, he suggested in a hoarse voice that I go up there and say something. I felt myself respond automatically; my legs were already carrying me up to the front of the room, even as my lips were forming the word “No.” When I finally got up there, I saw a sea of pale, anguished faces staring back at me, and I felt the breath leave my body in one fell whoosh.
I forced myself to speak after an uncomfortably long amount of time had passed.
“We stopped at McDonald’s on the way here,” I began, which surprised a chuckle out of the audience. “And because the drive-thru was completely backed up, which is a thing that happens when there’s only one McDonald’s in your entire neighborhood, we had to park the car and go inside. The girl behind the counter complimented me on my dress and asked what the occasion was for, and I didn’t feel like lying today, so I said, ‘My mom is dead, and we’re on our way to her funeral right now.’ And then she burst into tears.”
Phil’s expression was indescribable, down in the audience. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as though he wanted to stop me but didn’t know how, and I had to suppress the most inappropriate smile of my life as I continued speaking.
“It was pretty annoying, I’m not going to lie. I was the one who should’ve been in tears, not her, but there was a line forming behind us and I knew I had to say something to get her to stop. But nothing came to mind. I stood there, and she stood behind the counter, crying so hard I was afraid she would rupture something, and then I finally said, ‘Don’t worry, it was bound to happen sooner or later.’ Like Mom got cancer, or heart disease, or something irreversible and blameless. But it wasn’t. And she was entirely to blame. And I will never forgive her.”
The audience murmured unhappily. I watched Phil unconsciously lower himself in his seat, like a kid in class who didn’t want the teacher to call on him.
“I have a joke for you guys,” I said, feeling almost high off my own detachment. “What’s the difference between a deadly car crash- glass everywhere, engines on fire-, and my mom? One’s a total wreck that was bound to explode sooner or later, and the other’s a deadly car crash.”
Phil’s eulogy was better received than mine, but I like mine better.
Charlie doesn’t have much to say when he picks me up from the airport.
His eyes are red-rimmed, enough that I can tell he’s been crying for hours before I arrived, and I’m not sure why it makes me so uncomfortable. True, he and Mom had been divorced much longer than they were together, but she was still his wife. Even if she was difficult and stubborn as anything.
He wraps me up in a hug when he sees me, one that I am almost 99.9% positive he would never attempt had it not been for the fact that Mom’s funeral was a day ago. He doesn’t even comment on the hair, which is nice, since I know it’s terribly choppy and asymmetrical and will unquestionably bring me side-eyes at school tomorrow. That’s what you get for cutting it with dull scissors, I tell myself, but it’s not like I care either way.
It's funny. I used to say shit like that all the time- that I didn’t care about what other people thought, least of all disaffected high school students like myself-, but it’s only now that the statement has ever been true. As I watch the trees blur past from Charlie’s police cruiser- again, something that I know I would’ve cared far more about had it not been for the fact that I was unable to muster the energy to care about anything-, I think about how Phil had refused to look at me when he drove me to the airport, still smarting over my eulogy for Mom, and how I didn’t even lift my hand to wave goodbye before he screeched out of the parking lot. How I’m probably never going to see him again in my life, and how surprisingly okay I am with the notion.
I’m okay with a lot of things now, it seems. Okay with the fact that Charlie still has embarrassing photos of me resting on the top of the fireplace in the living room. Okay with the fact that there’s only one bathroom that he and I are going to have to share for the next ten months or so. Okay with the fact that I have three suitcases to unpack, which contain all of my worldly possessions. Okay with the fact that my worldly possessions are not much to speak of.
Charlie hovers in the threshold of my room as I mechanically begin unzipping my things and folding them on my bed. His face is pained, and though I register the fact that I’m unquestionably the one who’s causing him pain, I’m not sure how to fix it.
“Bella,” he says, his voice rough and raw. “If you- if you ever want to talk about this with me, or-“
“No thanks.”
“But-“
“Dad.”
I can’t even bring myself to be shamefaced when he gives me a terribly pathetic nod and shuffles out of my room, no doubt in search of a bottle of whiskey for which to drown his sorrows.
That reminds me. I still have a pack of cigarettes in my pocket- one of Mom’s, as it is. I fish out a cig and shuffle through my carry-on bag for my lighter, walking to my window and pushing it open as I let a stream of smoke escape from the side of my mouth. It’s the first time I’ve ever smoked, and I can’t help but cough as the smoke wafts out into the open air, but the second drag goes down more smoothly.
I’m still in shock. I know it. But knowing it and caring about it are two distinct things. I’ll be in trouble when I actually register the fact that Mom- loveable, harebrained Mom- is dead and gone from this world forever, but for now, I feel perfectly content perching myself on the sill of my open window, the smoke burning pleasantly down my throat as I look down at my hand.
Charlie hadn’t commented on the busted-up knuckles, but I’m sure that’s just because he hadn’t seen them beneath the sleeves of my jacket. The back of my hand is still an angry, pulsating red, but I like how it looks. I feel like it gives me a sort of “don’t-fuck-with-me-vibe”- that and the hair that looks like I cut it off with rusty garden shears, which probably would’ve been easier to wield than the childproof scissors I used. One side is longer than the other by several inches, but I’m not cutting it. I think it’s funny, as much as anything can be funny right now.
Charlie didn’t want me to go to school tomorrow- he argued on the phone with Phil all night long, that it was too much for me to handle, that Mom had just died and there was no way in hell he would allow me to go to a high-stress environment when I needed to rest-, but I grabbed the phone from Phil and told Charlie that if I didn’t go to school tomorrow, I’d find the nearest bridge and hurl myself off instead, so I won that argument, albeit with extreme reluctance on Charlie’s part.
It's probably really stupid of me to go to school, honestly, but I do need the distraction. I’m probably not going to jump off a bridge if I don’t, but I’ll lie in bed, comatose and numb, as I have for the past 168 hours, and that sounds more unappealing than dealing with gross fish sticks from the cafeteria. It’s so bizarre to me to think that if Mom and Charlie had never been divorced, I would’ve probably lived here my whole life, known all whopping 358 students who attended, probably be forced to join one of the cliques by sheer necessity to not eat lunch in the bathroom, but thinking about having to socialize with other people makes my stomach turn.
As luck would have it, word of the circumstances involving my move to Forks has spread. The second Dad pulls up in his police cruiser and wishes me a good day, I can sense at least a dozen eyes glued to my back. When I look up, making accidental eye contact with a freshman girl, she lets out an honest-to-God squeak, and I blink. As I look down at myself, I realize that the flannel-and-jeans ensemble I’d hurriedly thrown on that morning was more heroin chic than inconspicuous (it was either heroin chic or school shooter chic, and I would’ve much rather gone with heroin chic). It probably doesn’t help that the bags under my eyes have developed bags under themselves.
The secretary’s office is almost uncomfortably warm as I walk in, a clock hanging on the wall above the door ticking irritatingly as I wait for the secretary to pull up my schedule. She, like the freshman girl, seems a little afraid of me, but it’s the watery, creased blue eyes tentatively peeking up at me now that fills me with a little remorse. Ms. Cope seems motherly- what a mother should probably be like, anyway-, and I don’t enjoy the fact that she probably thinks I popped Vicodin in the bathroom before arriving here.
Still, she makes an effort to smile as she hands me my schedule.
“Here you go, honey,” she says, voice tremulous. “Have a good first day.”
If by ‘good’ you mean ‘please don’t cut yourself with a filthy razor in between passing periods,’ I’ll try to, I snark, before another tiny shiver of remorse passes through me. It’s not Ms. Cope’s fault Mom is dead and my innate reaction is to try to be the fifth member of MCR.
“Thanks,” I say, making sure to imbue warmth in that one syllable. She smiles back, surprised and pleased, and I leave the office feeling a little lighter than I thought I would.
That is, until I realize what I have first on my schedule.
“P.E.’s an underclassmen class,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing my eyes to make sure they- like the rest of me- haven’t gone totally off-kilter. Nope. P.E.’s still terribly present at the top of my schedule, and with no small amount of self-hatred, I realize why. I failed last semester P.E. back in Phoenix because I couldn’t do a single push-up, and between that and collapsing on my knees during the PACER test, I flunked the entire class. I told Mom I’d just deal with it this year, but that was before she died and I had to relocate to a high school who probably didn’t hire coaches that they grabbed out of the nearest sporting goods store.
That’s how I end up hiding behind the bleachers while the rest of Coach Miller’s first period class does laps around the track. His stern brow and pornstache reaffirmed my horrifying suspicions that he was actually going to force us to make an effort, and between his passionate shouting at us for not holding up our planks correctly, and being surrounded by fourteen-year-olds who looked like they pissed their P.E. shorts and were trying desperately hard not to let anybody know about it, I cursed myself for not taking the easy route and staying home like Charlie wanted me to.
Hence the whole “hiding under the bleachers” thing. If Coach Pornstache wants to chew me out afterwards, he can be my guest; I’ll play the dead mom card and he’ll back off my case for the rest of the semester, if not the entire school year. I lean against the steel poles of the bleacher and sigh. This is officially the worst first day of school anybody has ever had in the history of institutionalized American high schools.
“Ditching class is strictly prohibited, Ms. Swan,” says a deep voice from behind me, and my eyes fly open. I register two things when I finally take in who’s spoken: number one, that it’s not Coach Pornstache, thankfully, and number two, that it’s the boy that they created Sports Illustrated magazine for. He’s attractive to the point of absurdity, all rippling muscles and long legs and thick, curly dark hair. When he smiles at me, two perfect dimples form in his cheeks.
“You’re not Coach Pornstache,” I say, stupidly, and he lets out a loud, barking laugh.
“Oh, that’s clever,” he says, taking a few steps closer. I realize, with a jolt, just how tall he is as he finally comes to stop in front of me. He towers over me by at least a head, but though he should be intimidating by all rights, his smile is so disarming that I feel it almost physically landing in my chest like a close-fisted punch. “But I like to think I’m a little more attractive than a guy who has a special comb for his facial hair.”
“Seriously?”
“Would I lie about something so serious as Coach Miller’s pornstache?” He asks innocently, and I feel the muscles in my cheek twitching. It takes me a second to realize that it’s because I’m suppressing a smile.
“I’m Emmett,” he says abruptly, holding his hand out for me to shake. I take it suspiciously, expecting to find an electric buzzer concealed in his palm, but there’s nothing but the shockingly cool touch of his skin against mine, shaking my hand vigorously. I can feel the strength behind his handshake, all the way down to my bones. “Emmett Cullen. And you’re the new girl that everyone’s so terrified of.”
“It’s only first period,” I say, letting go of his hand a little too quickly to be considered polite. “I don’t know how the hell people are already afraid of me.”
“Probably because you look like you’ll bite somebody’s hand off if they so much as address you,” Emmett supplies cheerfully, and I cross my arms against my chest in a way I tell myself totally isn’t defensive.
“You’re not in this class,” I say, purposefully ignoring his comment. He grins.
“Free period,” he tells me, leaning against the support beam opposite mine. “Well, technically it’s a TA period, but Ms. Wexler doesn’t mind. Besides, I think it’s funny watching all the freshies sweat their butts off around the track, don’t you?”
“Not when I’m part of the class, no,” I say, looking away. He’s gorgeous, of course, and ordinarily I’d be tongue-tied and flustered around him, but I wish he would go away now. I want to lay down in the grass and stare up at the bottom of the bleachers, and I can’t do that in the presence of somebody who is so obviously the captain of some sort of sports team, both on and off campus.
“Oh, come on,” Emmett wheedles. “You think it’s funny. Just a little bit.”
“Nope.”
“Yeah, you do. C’mon, I know you’re trying not to smile-“
“My mom just died,” I say, watching the smile on his face drop immediately, and I feel a vicious sort of satisfaction. “And so I’d appreciate it if you’d let me hide out from Coach Pornstache in peace.”
Emmett holds up his hands in a mock-surrender.
“Got it,” he says, voice carefully neutral. “Sorry about your mom.”
As I watch him leave, I realize that my nails have dug into the meat of my palms. Hard enough to draw blood.
The rest of the day proves to be just as long and arduous.
I seem to be wearing an anti-people repellant all over me, because while I attract stares from both student and faculty alike, both seem to avoid me as much as possible. In a small town like this, it’s impossible not to have people flock to you- they’ve known the same people since kindergarten, so it’s only natural that they’ll be curious about the new girl. At least curious enough to ask her a few questions.
But not a single person addresses me throughout the day. Not in English, not in chemistry (which I switched out of biology for, though I knew perfectly well that I would suck at both), not even in my AP Government class, where everyone seems to be made of the same extroverted, almost theatrical ilk. Not a single soul asks me to sit with them at lunch- not until the last period before lunch, where a curly-haired girl named Jessica bravely asks me if I want to sit with her and her friends.
I accept, more out of dull curiosity than not wanting to sit by myself, and follow her dutifully to the cafeteria, where she introduces me to a few of her friends whose names I immediately forget. They seem almost afraid to look at me, at least until I admit (thanks to Jessica’s incessant questioning) that I draw in my free time. After that, Eric from yearbook begs me to draw something for the edition coming out this week, and a fishy-eyed girl named Lauren all but demands that I draw something for her, so that she has something to present in art class this week.
I ignore them, letting my eyes drift across the cafeteria. Freshmen huddled in one corner, theater kids huddled in the other… and then there’s a group of people to whom the word “huddle” is as foreign to them as ancient Sanskrit, for all the presence they take up in the room. I can’t help but gawk, and from Mike Newton’s small smirk out of the corner of my eye, I can tell this is a regular occurrence.
Emmett’s there, because of course he is. He somehow looks just as beautiful in the awful lighting of the cafeteria, as do the rest of his table companions. There’s a girl with spiky black hair sitting beside him, a boy with longish honey-blonde hair with his arm slung across her slim shoulders, and a boy with tousled hair and thick brows murmuring something low to the two of them.
But my attention is immediately arrested by the girl sitting next to Emmett. She is, inarguably, the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her long blonde hair cascades down her shoulders, down the swell of her breasts (don’t look, don’t look) in sinfully soft waves. I can tell that she’s tall, even when she’s sitting; perhaps as tall as Emmett, who’s watching me stare at her with a smirk on his lips.
I jolt when I realize that he’s looking at me, immediately glancing away.
“They’re the Cullens,” Jessica says blithely, oblivious to my discomfort. “The little black-haired girl is Alice, and the boys sitting beside her are Jasper and Edward. The snobby blonde one is Rosalie, and the boy next to her is Emmett. They’re Dr. Cullen’s foster kids, but they’re all totally screwing like bunnies on the down-low.”
“I know Emmett,” I admit, and the entire table draws in a low intake of breath that seems a little much.
“How?” Jessica demands, wide-eyed, and I shrug.
“He introduced himself to me in first period,” I tell her, shrugging. “He seemed nice. And a little annoying.”
Eric lets out a hushed, awed laugh from beside me.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the first person to talk to Emmett Cullen all semester long,” he says.
“Or any of them,” Angela Webber adds, delicately perched on top of the table with her binders balanced in their lap. “They kind of keep to themselves.”
“Guess they read Flowers in the Attic and decide to base their personalities off of that,” I say, cringing when I realize how bitter I sound. “Are they all seniors?”
“Rosalie, Jasper, and Emmett are,” Angela explains, “but Edward and Alice are juniors.”
“Weird,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Why?”
“Because they all look like college students,” I say, shaking my head. Then, more frustrated than I intended, I added, “How are they all so hot? I can’t detect a single pore between them. If you’re going to be in high school, you better play the fucking part and look like the ugly duckling everyone expects you to be.”
“Projecting much?” Lauren asks, snide as anything, and I consider punching her in the face before I realize it probably wouldn’t look too good to get into a fight so early in my enrollment.
“Wow,” I say, in as scathing a tone as I can manage. “I literally feel like keeling over and dying because I know I’ll bear the scars of your remarkably witty comeback for life.”
“Oh, so kind of like your mom, then?”
The entire table hushes. I debate the pros and cons of punching her in the face over and over again until it resembles a pale pink slab of meat more than it does human features, but decide that I don’t want to give Charlie a heart attack so early in my enrollment.
Instead, I unzip my backpack, yank out my sketchbook, and hastily draw a crude sketch of Lauren’s face being coated by the viscous cum of an explicitly hairy, veiny dick before ripping it out and handing it to her. I make my escape quickly- knowing on an instinctive level I will definitely not be invited back to sit with Jessica and her friends-, but I can still hear the scandalized, affronted gasps behind me. And, above that, soft laughter following me from across the room.
I finish the rest of my lunch in the bathroom, which isn't as disgusting as I'd dreaded, even if there are sponged-up toilet paper wads sticking to the bathroom ceiling, and a worrisome stain splattered across the toilet seat I'm crouched on top of. Aside from that, it's fairly quiet and smells only faintly of week-old shit, and nobody comes in until the bell rings for fifth period. Thank God for small miracles. |
The campaign was unwinnable. If Azazel hadn't mentioned it before Charles announced his pregnancy, Erik would have been convinced the king had cooked it up specifically to get his Paladin killed. The enemy's strike-and-fade assaults, melting in and out of the shadows of the impossible terrain, were nothing his men had been trained to handle. The only thing lower than their supplies was their morale. Week after week, Erik wrote his reports, urging Sebastian with steadily decreasing delicacy to give it up for a bad job.
Blame it on my incompetence and banish me to the islands, Your Majesty, he wrote at last, only get what remains of my men out of this death trap.
No, was the reply. My army will return victorious, or it will not return.
Erik spent three days in a black rage, paralyzed with it, dead certain that neither he nor any of the men around him would live to get home again.
No, he said to himself on the fourth day. No, I am going home to see my daughter. Whatever it takes.
He wished, briefly, that Charles were there somehow, to charm them all out of –
Wait.
Charm. Talk. Discussion.
There was more than one way to end a war.
Permission, he wrote to the king, to use whatever methods will accomplish goal of access to seaport? That had been the point of this land-grab, an attempt to unlandlock Sebastian's kingdom.
Permission granted, came the swift reply.
Within the hour, Erik had ridden out under a flag of parley.
The Wakandan leaders, whom Erik knew only by their battle-names of Black Panther and Storm, received him warily.
"You offer to bargain," Storm said, "yet you have nothing at all that we desire."
"You desire our absence, madam," Erik said. The realization that Storm was Black Panther's wife, not husband, had put him off-balance for a moment – a woman on the battlefield? – but a moment only. "We'll be happy to provide it, as soon as our terms are met."
"Your absence will be accomplished easily enough," Storm said. "It is merely a question of whether starvation will get you before our warriors do."
"That is bravado speaking," Erik said. "Even now, we are hardy enough to continue draining your resources and picking off your men for some time to come. And my king will send more soldiers. He will send as many as he needs to. He will send them here to die until he can walk over the corpses to get to your seaport, my lord and lady, because he will have that seaport."
"Then your king is mad."
"That is a distinct possibility."
The Wakandan leaders stared at him. He allowed himself a grim smile, and pulled a folded paper from his pocket. It was King Sebastian's reply to his plea for retreat.
My army will return victorious, or it will not return.
The Black Panther let out a growl not dissimilar to his namesake's. "We will not hand over our land, however you threaten us."
"You don't need to. My king authorized me today to take whatever action I deemed necessary to get him access to that seaport." The grim smile became wolfish. "He did not rule out trade agreements, even ones disadvantageous to himself. And I dearly wish to go home."
***
Knowing his king as he did, Erik felt he could count on being received as a war hero publicly, and punished privately. An accident might even be arranged, depending on how embarrassed Sebastian chose to be. He almost didn't care, as long as he got to see Charles again first, and their daughter.
***
A feast was, of course, held in honor of the returning soldiers, as soon as they were made presentable enough to attend. Erik knew his body was exhausted and aching after the long march home; he shouldn't have had the energy to jitter like a nervous filly. But Charles would be there.
When he and his lieutenants walked into the banquet hall, Erik was dimly aware of a fanfare of trumpets, of Sebastian launching into a warm-voiced, cold-eyed speech as Erik dropped to one knee with his fist over his heart, but none of it did more than skate across his consciousness, because he glanced up and it was just like the day they met – Charles's blue eyes fixed on his across the hall, and all Erik could do not to simply stride across the room and engulf him, breathe him in, kiss and touch and hold and pay the price later.
Those eyes had been bright with interest and challenge when they met; now they were tired, strained, desperate, painful to see and not a whit less beautiful for it. Was he – he was, wearing the same green silk waistcoat he'd worn that first day, a bit tighter now, with childbirth only six weeks gone. Erik wanted to unbutton it, that and every layer below it, peel them away slowly and explore every inch of skin beneath, catalog every change, feel Charles's fingers in his hair as Erik told him how beautiful he was and always would be...
Charles was smiling at him as if he were the first good thing he'd seen in a decade, as if he could hardly breathe just looking at him, and Erik nearly missed his cue when Sebastian motioned the soldiers to rise and take their seats at the banquet table.
From the corner of his eye, as he took his seat, Erik caught a glimpse of one of his lieutenants, Toynbee, looking both shocked and disgruntled as he passed a handful of coins to a triumphant-looking Lt. Howlett. Some distant part of his mind noted that as possibly problematic, but it could wait.
Erik's seat was at the king's left hand, with only Sebastian between himself and Charles. Erik found it impossible to keep his mind on his meal, not with Charles so few and so very many inches away. Fortunately, his body didn't need the supervision – it wolfed down every morsel that came his way, hardly pausing to taste it. More than once, he caught Charles – carefully avoiding eye contact – sending a dish back in his direction, or making sure the butter and salt were within reach.
The feast was blessedly short, the better courtiers pitying the soldiers' evident exhaustion, the worse ones disdaining their smell. Soon the banquet hall began to thin, Erik's men setting off for their bunks or, if they were lucky, the homes of whatever loved ones lived nearest. Erik lingered, hoping the king would take his leave – but Sebastian, paying him no mind, continued making conversation with Azazel on Charles's other side, downing his drinks and picking at his food.
Finally Charles caught Erik's eye and flashed a hand, five fingers spread, then turned to make his excuses to Sebastian, a murmured "think I'll retire now, my lord," that the king waved off without a glance.
Erik waited five minutes, then followed.
He found Charles not far from the hall, in the niche behind the David-and-Jonathan statue where many before them had tucked themselves away for a secret moment. Erik and Charles had not; they had never kissed, barely touched, before Charles's unwilling marriage. Slipping behind the statue now made Erik feel like a naughty schoolboy.
And then finally, finally, Charles was in his arms, warm and safe and whole, and for long, silent minutes they didn't move, wrapped tight together, Charles's breath unsteady against his throat as Erik pressed his face into sweet-smelling hair.
"I near drove myself mad worrying for you," Charles whispered at last, pulling Erik's head down to touch their foreheads together, brushing a hand across every inch of his face like a blind man.
"Likewise," Erik murmured, turning into the touch.
Charles huffed a laugh. "No need for that, my friend. I was as pampered as any breeding bitch. You were the one facing swords and cannon fire."
"And dreaming of you every night." Unable to go another second without it, he pulled Charles into a kiss, slow and tender and gradually deepening, savoring every second, storing it away for his next lonely night. He was lightheaded with lack of oxygen by the time they separated.
"Come with me," Charles said, when he had the breath to speak. "Come meet your daughter."
She'd been left with a nursemaid, of course – Moira, Charles said, a dowager duchess from the islands, who had raised two daughters and knew how to go about it.
"I'll go send her out for the night. You wait here until she's gone." He left Erik on the staircase landing outside his chambers with a brief, tingling kiss and went inside.
Erik felt as exposed on the landing as he would have on a sunlit field of snow, but it didn't take long for an auburn-haired woman in mourning black to exit the chamber and turn toward the kitchens. She was startlingly pretty, even for a woman, and younger than Erik had expected – though he supposed, since women tended to marry quite young, she could indeed have two daughters married off by her early thirties.
Jealousy, he told himself firmly, was both insulting to Charles and unbecoming to himself.
He slipped through the chamber door and fought off a flashback to the only other time he'd been inside this room, a surge of remembered rage and despair and joy inextricably mixed. The night that had brought them Raven.
"Here we are," came Charles's voice, a soft cooing tone he'd never heard the man use before and immediately wanted to hear as often as possible. "Looking, darling, this is your daddy."
Looking at the little bundle in Charles's arms, Erik felt suddenly huge, clumsy, and criminally unclean. He tried to take a step back, but it was too late. Charles was pressing the baby into his arms.
She was beautiful, so beautiful, so tiny – how could any person be this small? Her fingernails, her eyelashes – all so tiny and perfect – and her hair – somehow he'd expected any child named Raven to have black hair, but hers was blonde, what little she had, like a shimmer of golden dust over the roundness of her head. His tiny golden daughter. Her face was a wrinkled elfin thing, like a little gnome, chubby-cheeked and wide-eyed, looking up at him with solemn curiosity. He'd hoped for Charles's eyes but these were a more subdued, changeable color, equal parts blue and green and gray – Erik's eyes. His daughter, their daughter, with Erik's eyes.
He was crying, Erik realized, and laughing too, and so was Charles, tucked against his side with an arm around Erik's waist, gazing down at this astonishing thing they'd made together.
She waved a little hand at them clumsily, and Erik pressed a fingertip to her palm, nearly dizzy with joy when she clamped her fingers tightly around it. "She's strong," he murmured.
"She'll have to be," Charles replied, and his smile dimmed, just a little.
The doorknob clanked, as if someone had made a clumsy, unsuccessful attempt to turn it, and Charles cursed under his breath, scooping Raven out of Erik's arms. "Wipe your face, Erik!"
Only one person would enter the royal consort's rooms without knocking.
Erik dashed the tears roughly from his eyes and took a steadying breath, adopting as politely neutral a stance as he could, as Sebastian stumbled through the door.
"Sir Erik!" he cried with patently false heartiness on seeing Erik. "An interesting place to find you, isn't it? In my consort's chambers?"
"Forgive me, sire, I did not mean to intrude," Erik said stiffly. "I was curious to see the child." Curious – not anxious, not eager, no emotional handle for the king to yank – merely curious.
"Yes, I have a lovely daughter, don't I?" Sebastian took a few wander-footed steps toward Charles, leered at the baby, and poked her hard in the ribs. She gave a startled cry, which lengthened into a wail when he guffawed into her face.
Sebastian's tendency toward drink was gaining renown, but Erik couldn't remember ever seeing him quite this bad.
Charles, on the other hand, seemed unmoved. "I'll just get her settled into bed, my lord," he murmured, and moved off toward the side-chamber.
Sebastian swatted at Charles's behind as he stepped away, but missed, almost overbalancing himself.
"Yes, she's beautiful, my daughter." He turned toward Erik, enunciating carefully. "But she is... just... a girl. Weak. Stupid. I wanted a son, a real son. Could have made do with an androji – not ideal, but I've met some androji with balls, it's possible. If uncommon." This last was a shout toward Charles, returning from the baby's side-chamber, straight-spined and expressionless. "But a girl won't do at all. Which is where you come in, my fine Sir Erik." He clapped Erik on the shoulder, and Erik forced himself not to shake the hand off. "Here is the way of it. Tomorrow I depart for Wakanda to re-negotiate the contract you so inadvisedly signed on my behalf, and for which you will punished, presently." He patted Erik's cheek. "For now you serve me better able-bodied. For now. But I return in a fortnight, and when I return, I expect to have an heir on the way. If I do not, you will both pay dearly. And if you are caught, well, the law is clear. If you beg me prettily enough, I might forgo the hot oil and thumbscrews and kill you quickly."
And there it was again, the same nauseating rage at Sebastian for doing this to them, coupled with desperate greedy joy, Charles, Charles...
"Do you understand what I'm telling you, mighty Paladin?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good. And you, sweetheart?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Excellent." Sebastian was swaying a little on his feet. "Well then, lads, what are you waiting for? Get to it!"
Erik stared. Surely the man didn't mean—
Charles had gone stone pale, eyes hard and glittering. "Go to bed, Sebastian. You'll get your heir."
Sebastian stalked forward and grabbed Charles's hair, yanking him close. "You," he growled into Charles's face, "are mine. You will do what I say, and who I say, and when I say."
Erik's clenched fists ached with the desire to connect with Sebastian's jaw. He tried to force down the red haze rising over his vision, it would only get them both killed. "Your Majesty, I think we can – I think I can handle this on my own."
Sebastian barked a laugh. "I'm sure you can, strong virile thing like you. But this little minx can make things difficult. I'll just get him warmed up for you." Still holding Charles by the hair, he dragged him forward into a kiss, rough and sloppy and vicious.
Erik surged forward, but Charles threw up a hand, behind Sebastian's back, a clear and firm stay back for all that his arm shook.
Finally Sebastian let go, shoving Charles down to the floor, where he lay gasping and curled around his belly. Of course – the birth-cut was probably still sore, and he'd landed right on it.
"Don't be afraid to get rough if he gives you trouble," Sebastian said. "I don't mind a few bruises."
He aimed a lazy kick at Charles's shoulder and staggered out of the room.
The moment the door closed, Charles scrambled to his feet, shaking, spots of fever-red burning on white cheeks. "Get him out," he gasped, "get him out of me, Erik—" He shoved himself into Erik's arms, kissing desperately. It took Erik a moment to figure out what he wanted. Once he did, he was glad to cooperate, licking every trace of Sebastian Shaw out of Charles's mouth, smoothing him out of Charles's hair, erasing him from his skin.
At length, fury appeased, Charles pulled back to rest his head against Erik's chest, panting. "Is the baby asleep?"
Erik took a moment to listen past the pounding of his heart. "I think so. She's quiet, anyway."
"Good." Charles shivered against him, breath hitching, and for a moment Erik thought he was going to cry. But he got control of himself with a deep breath and stepped back, tugging Erik's hand. "Come on. We'll have to be quiet, and – and gentle – my incision's still sore, and it's been almost a year—"
He was leading him toward the bed. "Charles, no! You expect me to – no, Charles, we're not doing this tonight."
"Why not?"
Because you've just been violated and I'm not going to do it again. Because you're still sore from Raven's birth and it feels like a mortal sin to get you pregnant again this soon. Because we're not the king's performing ponies. None of the words would come out, but at least some of them must have shown on his face, because Charles stopped tugging and raised his hand to stroke Erik's cheek, his face soft and loving.
"Erik. This is ours, not his. I'm not his, and you're not his, and Raven's not his, we are all three each other's without any trace of Sebastian in sight. It's a great joke on him, isn't it?"
"Hilarious," Erik said, but let Charles draw him closer, touch their foreheads together.
"I have missed you more than I thought possible," Charles whispered. "I want this. Badly." He brushed a kiss across Erik's cheek. "And I know, I know you don't want to do this because Sebastian told you to." He kissed the other cheek. "So do it because I told you to."
The next kiss was to Erik's mouth, and Erik opened to it, pressed into it helplessly, and let Charles lead him to the bed.
They kept it slow – Erik kept it slow – undressing Charles piece by piece, stopping to kiss and caress every new inch of exposed skin, then preparing him until Charles begged him to get on with it. He kept Charles in his lap, arms tight around, because putting him flat on the bed would hurt the birth-cut, and putting him on top would mean not getting to hold him. Charles seemed content to let Erik lead, perhaps sensing how much he needed it, needed to feel that he could control something and make it all right.
Afterward, they curled around each other in the bed, Erik dragging a blanket over them awkwardly with one hand, unwilling to let go with both. Charles lay bonelessly against him, his smile dreamy, carding clumsy fingers through Erik's hair.
"I love you," Charles murmured, the first time either of them had said it outright.
"I love you," Erik whispered back, and held him through sleepless hours, considering ways to kill Sebastian Shaw. |
“Love, are you almost ready? Our reservation is in half an hour,” Draco called from the sitting room of the lavish suite he had booked for them in Las Vegas. Draco had whisked Hermione away on a surprise anniversary celebration, and he spared no expense when it came to his beautiful wife.
Hermione smirked as she looked at herself in the large bathroom mirror, pleased with the ensemble she’d put together for the evening. She twisted side to side, put another swipe of gloss on her lips and slipped on her stilettos. She glanced in the mirror one last time to check her hair before sauntering past the ridiculously sized bed they had already put to good use earlier that day, and into the sitting room in search of her husband.
Draco was facing away from her with his hands in his pockets, gazing out at the amazing view they had of the Vegas Strip. Hermione had by no means married Draco Malfoy for his money, but she had learned to appreciate the way Draco liked to spoil her - especially when the surprise came with a spectacular view.
She leaned against the doorframe and admired him for a moment. He looked amazing in a leather jacket that stretched perfectly across his broad shoulders, and a pair of dark jeans that hugged his arse. Even without looking, she knew that he would be wearing a button up with the top 2 buttons undone, revealing the edges of the tattoos that danced across his collar bone. She could picture the ink that sprawled along his arms, angled across his hip bones, spun down his spine.
She loved running her tongue along the scars he had chosen - a reminder that they were both so much more than their pasts.
The butterflies in her stomach calmed slightly at the sight of him, and after taking an extra moment to admire him, she steeled herself and cleared her throat.
“I’m ready,” she called lightly. He spun around on his heel to face her, and she could tell by the look on his face that she had caught him off guard. His eyes immediately widened and his lips parted in surprise as he took her in.
“What do you think?” She asked shyly, looking up at him from under her lashes before turning in a slow circle. Draco brought a fist up to his mouth and bit his knuckles, a groan escaping his lips.
“Fuck baby, you look good enough to eat,” he nearly growled. Hermione giggled and sashayed over to him, swinging her hips suggestively. She laid her hands on his chest and kissed him lightly on the jaw.
“We don’t have time for that right now, Mr. Malfoy,” she quirked. Draco’s hands ran up and down her body, admiring her.
She had chosen a silky black sheath dress for the occasion. The deep V in both the front and back draped elegantly over her skin, with the hem falling just below the curve of her arse. It showed off her beautifully sun kissed skin, still glowing from her time spent by the pool earlier that day.
A dusting of tiny, bronze sequins was scattered delicately over the dress, almost as if a palm-full of glitter had been tossed across the material. A fishtail braid swept along the back of her head and down over her shoulder, secured with a black satin ribbon. She had left the end of the braid loose, a long stream of her glossy curls trailing down her body. To finish the ensemble, she had gone with pink glossy lips, pink blush across her cheeks, long dark lashes, and a pair of spindly stilettos that nearly had her teetering.
It was quite the deviation from her everyday look, or even the look she donned for special occasions. Hermione Malfoy was known to the world as a fierce warrior - a force to be reckoned with - elegant, distinguished, powerful. Her mere presence in a room commanded respect, and you could see the power running through her veins merely by the look in her eye. But tonight, she didn’t want to be Hermione Malfoy. She wanted to be someone else, and she wanted to look the part.
An innocent young girl; a naive damsel in distress. She embodied the opposite of those two things, yet she had been itching to try a taste of what innocent felt like. She was enthralled with the possibility of letting go of control in that way - if only for the night.
Her and Draco both had a range of darker desires that they had reveled in exploring together over the course of their relationship. And although Hermione had at times enjoyed being a top, she more strongly identified as a submissive.
But she was now longing for a very specific type of submission - something that they had not yet explored.
After a sinfully taboo dream Hermione had several months prior, she had been unable to get the idea out of her head. Curiosity and desire had been burning her from the inside out ever since. Even so, it took her several weeks of mulling the dream over before she drew up the courage to share it with Draco.
He had readily agreed to trying the new scene with her, and had none of the qualms she harbored over the rather forbidden nature of the cravings she’d been having. But their conversation had been over a month ago, and she had not yet summoned the courage to initiate it.
When Draco had sprung this trip on her the day before, she knew that it would be the perfect time to finally abandon her hesitation and take the plunge.
Hermione had been unable to stop herself from spending most of the day fantasizing, and she felt as though she might burst with anticipation. The beginnings of a new game with Draco often left her excited, but this was something else. Just the idea of where the night might take them had her dripping, her panties long since soaked through.
Draco took his time examining her from head to toe before meeting her eyes with a predatory leer. He ran his hands along her neck and up to her face, delicately cupping her jaw before he leaned in close and whispered to her, “I think I might have to divorce you, Mrs. Malfoy, just so I can marry you all over again.”
His lips found hers, and a moan slipped from her mouth as he lapped his tongue against her own, a promise of what was to come.
Too quickly Draco pulled away, and Hermione found herself whimpering in protest. He chuckled darkly and pressed kisses down the column of her throat, down her sternum and in between her breasts.
“Is this outfit your way of telling me that you’re going to be a good little girl for me tonight?” He asked softly.
Hermione’s breath caught and she nodded excitedly. She had hoped he would catch on to her plan without her having to expressly ask for it - it was so hard for her to say it out loud.
“The scene from your dream?”
Hermione started to nod when he gave her a rather stern look and she caught herself. They had a rule between them about clear, verbal communication.
“Yes, the one from my dream, Sir.” She answered, her voice wavering slightly, yet still determined. Draco smiled before continuing to nibble at her skin. She rubbed her thighs together unconsciously, dying for something to relieve the tension that had been building up inside of her all day.
“You've been planning this night for a while, haven’t you Princess?” Her breath caught and she whimpered, clenching her fists as she nodded mutely. Her body thrummed with adrenaline and need, threatening to burst.
“I have been too, to tell you the truth.” He admitted. “I’m glad you finally worked up the nerve to give it a try.” He smirked at her, as if he had known all along the inner turmoil she had been putting herself through.
“But, if we’re going to do this tonight Hermione, I have one request.” Draco caught her chin and tipped her face to look up into his stern gaze.
“Anything.” The words fell quickly from her lips without hesitation. He smiled kindly at the way she so earnestly trusted him.
“We’re going to start now, before we leave the room. I’d like for you to submit for the entire evening, even while we’re out in public. Are you up to the task, my love?”
Hermione paused, her head a whirling mess. She had submitted to him out in public before, but she felt that tonight may be different. He was asking for a much bigger commitment to the game than she had expected. Even still, she didn’t have it in her to say no.
“Yes.” She answered softly. Draco’s eyes heated immediately at her acquiesce, and he caught her mouth in a searing kiss.
“You don’t have anything to worry about baby girl, I’ll take care of you tonight.”
Her breath hitched again at the sentiment and she nodded dumbly, allowing him to guide her to the door. He slipped her coat around her shoulders to ward against the night chill, and pulled her out into the irresistible celebratory atmosphere of the Vegas strip. The excitement in the air was palpable, and as they strolled past the flashing lights, partygoers and newlyweds, limos and glowing fountains and the eiffel tower, she couldn't help but feel as though this was going to be a night to remember.
So safe and warm tucked against Draco’s side, she easily began the process of sinking into her submission. She took in the sights around her with new eyes, and allowed Draco to take control. It was almost too easy to access that part of her - the part of her that she had kept locked away for so long. She slipped into a new identity - the innocent young girl that she had never gotten to be in real life. |
TUESDAY
Patrick wakes early that morning as if his brain doesn’t want him to miss another waking moment with David. David is soundly sleeping, his brow smooth and mouth sweet, as if he doesn’t have a worry in the world. Patrick isn’t sure how he’s going to sleep in a bed without David in it anymore. But if it all goes as planned, he won’t have to worry about that for too long. He’s dreading the meeting this morning, but one more look at David and his body fills with resolve. David has probably slept long enough; he leans down to kiss him and if it just so happens to wake him up and it just so happens to lead to more, then Patrick guesses he can live with the consequences.
***
David is straightening Patrick’s tie for the third time; he appears even more nervous than Patrick feels. They don’t talk about how there’s a plane ticket with Patrick’s name on it, carrying with it the specter of imminent good-byes. They don’t mention a future now filled with the possibility of never seeing each other again. Patrick offered him the chance for something real last night, but nothing has been resolved. He doesn’t miss the fact that David hasn’t said yes. He doesn't miss the fact that he hasn’t said no.
“Good luck, Patrick,” David says, tucking Patrick's collar into place. “I hope all goes well with this IPO.”
Patrick exhales a shaky breath that ends with a laugh. “Hey. You got it right finally.”
“It’s been known to happen from time to time.” David is smiling, but it's not quite reaching his eyes.
“I’ll see you after the meeting? There are more things to say...before I go.” Patrick tries to power through the question without faltering. He thinks he may have just managed it.
David nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Patrick kisses him once, twice, three times for luck and then turns to go. He’s got a few things to do before this meeting with Edward Raine.
***
Patrick is ushered into an executive conference room upon arriving at Raine Corp’s headquarters. It’s a much fancier room than the one he’d been consigned to during his long working hours, ringed with built-in shelves and richly paneled walls. Todd is already sitting at the wide conference table, shoulders squared, eyes glowering. Patrick finds he doesn’t care at all about Todd Phillips. He doesn’t care about any of this. He’s already ready for this to be done.
Edward Raine sweeps in with an entourage of assistants and advisors. He’s impeccably dressed as usual, but Patrick can now see the traces of Sebastien’s arrogant face on his father's and finds that his stomach turns at the sight of him.
“All right,” Mr. Raine says, perfectly controlled and in command. “Let’s hear your verdict. What’s the target range for this stock offering?”
Todd clears his throat and gestures to the PowerPoint presentation he’s already queued up.
“We definitely want to come in at an aggressive price point. Raine Incorporated is a well-known and well-respected name that has been around for generations. We want people to feel they’re buying a legacy, not just any common stock now that it’s going public.”
Edward nods his head, visibly hooked by Todd’s eloquent introduction. It would sound really good, Patrick thinks, if it were true.
“We’re targeting the $50 range for each share. That’s a little above market share for similar public companies, but again, we want to be aggressive. Everyone thought Facebook was insane for starting their IPO at $38 in 2012 and they’re at $180 per share now.”
“I like your approach,” Edward says with obvious satisfaction. “I knew I was right to pick your bank. Tell me, what’s your overall valuation of Raine Incorporated right now?”
Todd nods and clicks to the next slide. “At this share price, we would value Raine Corp at $15 billion—”
“Wrong.”
All eyes turn to focus on Patrick. He inhales deeply.
“That valuation is based on falsified data. Mr. Raine, this IPO is a sham and you know it. Your company’s broke and you're trying to bail out before that becomes public knowledge."
"You’re mistaken,” Edward replies breezily, but his eyes narrow nonetheless. “Raine Corp is a thriving business and always has been, ever since my grandfather founded the company in 1926."
"Oh, it's all very carefully concealed. It'd be easy to miss or overlook, especially if you're more interested in lining your own pocket," Patrick looks pointedly at Todd. "It's subtle, your slow siphoning off of assets. No one would realize that you're only trying to sell the shell of a company that's actually worth very little," Patrick turns to face Edward Raine straight on. "Whoever does your financials is smart. But I'm smarter."
Edward's handsome face is lined with fury, his eyes burrowing into Patrick's with loathing. Before David, Patrick might have been cowed by that look from someone who, despite his malfeasance, was still powerful and well-connected. But because of David, he now knows that losing everything isn't the worst thing that can happen to you, that there is always a way forward if the will and the heart is there.
Patrick doesn't like the Raines' prospects in that regard, but he can live with that. He doesn't feel sorry for them.
Todd puts on his smarmiest smile and attempts to run damage control, as if it's not too late. "Edward, I'm sure we can still salvage this deal. Patrick is not acting in the best interests of you or our bank. He is still under certain obligations as an employee of the bank--"
"Wrong again," Patrick says. His voice is low, but everyone's attention is immediately on him again. He's suffused with a wild confidence that never would have been there had it not been for David, if not for the glimmer of a different life.
"I reported Raine Incorporated to the SEC this morning. They were very interested in what I'd discovered about your business practices and your attempt to go through with this deal given the true state of your financials. I’ve printed you out a copy of my report to them including a certified mail receipt of its delivery and acceptance this morning. And this,” Patrick produces another sheet of paper, “is my resignation, effective immediately, stating that I am no longer an employee of the bank and therefore have no fiduciary duty to them or Raine Incorporated.”
Todd, for once, is speechless. The Raine Corp employees look at each other with baffled and concerned expressions (Patrick does feel sorry for them; they probably had no idea), but Edward Raine is livid and red.
"This will ruin me.”
“Yes,” Patrick says simply.
"Patrick, what have you done?” Todd finally spits out through gritted teeth.
“I just took your advice, Todd.” There’s a hard edge to Patrick’s normally calm and measured voice. “I lived a little.”
Todd scoffs.
“Turns out, this isn’t the life I want at all. I don’t want to help dishonest businessmen or greedy bankers get even richer. I don’t want to work myself to the bone for promises of wealth I can’t use because I’m too busy too enjoy it. I want a real life. And I want to spend it with someone I love. So you can start dealing with this shit for once, Todd, because I'm done.”
Patrick begins to pack up his things. The phone and computer belong to the bank; he'll have to drop them off when he returns to Toronto. That's going to be a fun conversation. When his bag is packed, Patrick slings it over his shoulder, and then turns back to Edward Raine, one final thing left to say.
"When you see Sebastien next, Mr. Raine, tell him to leave David Rose and his family alone. He'll know what that means. If not, I’ll come after him too. Though I suspect I've already done enough damage since you're the one probably bankrolling his artistic career. He's really not that good of a photographer. Have a nice day.”
Patrick leaves without a backward glance.
***
Patrick bursts into the hotel room, desperately ecstatic to tell David everything, but the room is dark and eerily silent. David is gone. Not just gone; erased. His clothes are missing from the closet where they had hung next to Patrick’s, his dizzying array of toiletries vanished, leaving a bare countertop behind. Patrick’s deodorant and toothbrush look bereft without the company of David’s fifteen different bottles of skincare products.
In the center of the table, Patrick finds the black and white photograph of David in all his bewildering glory waiting for him, a note written on a piece of hotel stationary: “I’m sorry. You deserve more. xo”
***
Patrick tears the room apart, looking for a hidden note, a message, anything that David else might have left behind. He finds nothing. Not a single trace of him. Even the pillows have betrayed him; he can't smell David's scent on any of them anymore.
He forces himself down to the front desk, searching for a concierge that looks familiar, that might have seen David leave.
One woman sees Patrick approach and hurriedly looks away, so that’s who he marches up to, desperation making him bold. “Hi. Did the man staying in room 1205 leave me a message by any chance? Name's Patrick Brewer.”
“No,” she shakes her head, but her eyes betray her. She knows something.
“You know who I’m talking about though, right? Tall, dark, devastatingly handsome, endless collection of black and white sweaters?”
“I know who you’re talking about,” she confirms. "He left about an hour ago."
“Look, you wouldn’t just happen to have seen him leaving the hotel with all his bags and just happen to have offered him the use of a hotel limousine whose driver could just happen to take me to where he lives since he remembers exactly where it is, do you?”
“Sir, this is 2018. He probably just took an Uber.”
“Right. No, you’re right. Thanks anyway.” Patrick turns to go, a little bit wrecked, a little closer to the brink of defeat.
***
Patrick paces the hotel room floor. He's sent David multiple texts and voicemails, but has gotten zero response to all of them. Maybe he should respect his wishes and leave him alone. But maybe that’s not what David wants at all. Maybe this is all a test and he actually wants Patrick to find him. Patrick needs to see him. Just one more time. Just to say a proper good-bye; this can’t be how they leave things. He knows that if he contacts Ward and Associates—would they have a customer service line? he wonders—they would never divulge David’s personal information. Patrick doesn’t blame them.
What else does he know about David Rose? Just a town called Schitt’s Creek and a roadside motel. It’s surprisingly easy to find. David didn’t lie about that. It’s a small blip of a place and there’s only one motel anywhere near its vicinity. That has to be it, has to be the place his family still lives. Patrick can’t stop himself from wincing when he sees the images from Google Earth. He’s now surprised that David lasted a week there, much less a year.
He dials the number to the motel and prays that someone answers, that the Roses are there, and that he can convince them to give him, a stranger, David’s address…if they even know it. This was a fool’s errand, Patrick thinks, and he’s just about to hang up the phone in resignation when a droll female voice barks, “Schitt’s Creek Motel. This is Stevie.”
Wait. David’s friend Stevie? She works at the motel?
“Stevie? As in David’s Stevie?” Patrick says it out loud before he can even stop himself.
“Excuse you. I belong to no one,” she huffs, but she also doesn’t hang up.
“No, of course. Sorry. I’m a friend of David’s. David Rose.” His voice almost cracks on the word friend but he miraculously keeps it together.
“You’re Patrick.” It’s not a question.
“David told you about me?” Patrick is equal parts touched and terrified. If David mentioned him to Stevie then Patrick meant more to David then he let on. On the flip side, he could have just warned Stevie that a crazy stalker was after him and Patrick would be left with all dead ends and no David.
“Yes.”
“Was it good or bad?” Patrick ventures.
“He loves you.”
Patrick stills, his heart is too big for his body, maybe too big for this room. It feels too tight to breathe. “He said that?”
“Of course not. He’s too stupid to realize it.”
“Oh.”
“And you love him.”
Again, not a question but Patrick still answers. “Yes, I do.”
“Good.”
“Stevie, I need to find him. To tell him….all that.” Now his voice does break, just a little.
Patrick waits and wills himself not to cry. He can tell Stevie would think less of him for it.
“Stevie, will you give me David’s address? Please?”
There is a long pause. Dread starts to trickle through his whole body; his heart is galloping, his forehead dampening with sweat. He braces himself for the worst and then: “Do you have a pen?”
He jots down the address, already pulling it up on Maps so he can chart the fastest course to David.
“Thank you, Stevie!”
“Best wishes to you.” She hangs up, but Patrick is already racing out the door.
***
The address Stevie gives Patrick leads him to a brick five-floor walk-up on a narrow one-way street in Chinatown. The bottom floor of the building is an Asian market with red lanterns hanging from a blue awning, whole fish packed on beds of ice, staring at nothing through glassy orbs. The building itself is historic, adorned with rounded windows and decorative plaster molding across the stringcourses, the rusting fire escape a zig-zag scar across its austere face. The street is packed with restaurants and businesses all emblazoned with Chinese signs, forming a tunnel of vibrant color. Patrick can hardly believe a man who exists only in black and white would live in such an exuberant, colorful neighborhood. He can’t imagine David living here. He can’t imagine him anywhere else.
Patrick is suddenly hit by a wave of déjà vu like he’s been here before. And then he recognizes the dim sum place David had taken him to their first day together after shopping at Bloomingdale’s, just kitty-corner to David’s apartment. Patrick wants to cry. He wants to laugh. I love that this city lets me travel the world without even leaving the island, David had said. It feels like a confirmation that David has wanted Patrick all along, dropping hints all along the way that sing out: here I am, pick me.
Patrick gulps in all the air he can and marches toward the non-descript gray door that is the next hurdle back to David’s arms. Patrick pushes the buzzer for apartment 4B and waits. He pushes again. Still nothing. He holds it longer with each successive push, willing David to be home, to answer, to come out and say, what took you so long? before crushing Patrick against his broad chest.
The shrill consonants of the buzzer fade away and Patrick is left as he began, wrecked and alone. His head sags against the wall, flecked and fading paint chips pooling at his feet. Fuck it, Patrick thinks as he pushes himself away from the closed door and incompetent buzzer and strides into the street, ignoring honks and the stares of passerbys. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts David’s name at the top of his lungs.
He knows it’s absolutely, 100% pointless. He knows David, ensconced in his fourth floor apartment, can’t hear his desperate shouts above the dim hum of the city streets. He moves to step back into the sidewalk, when he hears the window on the fourth floor creak open, and a dark, expertly coiffed head emerge.
“Patrick?”
“David!”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for you!”
“You’re crazy.”
“I know. I’m coming up.”
And like some goddamn hero, Patrick jumps into the air and catches the bottom rung of the fire escape, maneuvering it down so he can begin his ascent up the rickety wrought iron bars. He’s never been afraid of heights before, but he's radiating with so much adrenaline that it feels like the climb takes a decade, all while David silently watches him with ravenous eyes.
“You didn’t answer the buzzer or your phone,” Patrick explains when he finally breaks through to David’s floor and can finally look him in the eye again.
“I was sleeping.”
And now that he says it, Patrick can see that David’s hair is adorably askew, his clothes rumpled, and his eyes ringed with red. Maybe from tiredness, but maybe also from tears. Patrick can’t stop his hands from reaching out to cup David’s pillow-lined cheek, bushing a callused thumb across the impossibly soft bow of David’s lips.
“You left.” The words are torn from Patrick before he can even stop himself. “You should have at least let me pay you.”
“You know it was never about the money,” David whispers, eyes shattered and mouth trembling.
Patrick feels his own eyes prick with tears and he clears his throat to whisper back, “You know I’m not just here to pay a debt.”
“Then what are you here for?” But David’s looking at Patrick like he’s the sun and he’s been starved for warmth.
Patrick’s heart thuds against his ribcage. It’s now or never. “You. I’m here for you. Please don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t ever leave me again.”
David’s eyes fill instantly with regret. “I won’t. But in my defense, I never said I was smart. Just really fucking pretty.”
Patrick laughs through the lump in his throat, his eyes burning with tears. “You’re wrong again. I happen to know for a fact that you are both very smart and really fucking pretty.”
David beams. He tugs Patrick back into the apartment, away from the eager stares of curious onlookers on the street below. It’s a small studio apartment, but clearly David’s, a stark black and white aesthetic with crisp lines and a modern edge. He’s seen David in every state of undress and yet he’s never seen him so naked as this, standing awkwardly in the middle of his own apartment, wary eyes tracking Patrick’s every move.
Patrick desperately wants to touch David, but knows he still needs to say a few things first. He retreats to David’s sleek black leather sofa while David stays perched on the ledge of the window. He tells David about what he discovered about Raine Corp and how Edward Raine had been trying to divest his company before the truth came out, about how he called the SEC to report them, about how he quit his job when he realized his firm was full of unethical money-hungry jerks and he couldn’t do it anymore, how he wants to be a better version of himself.
And then in a voice so quiet David has to strain to hear him, Patrick says, “At least Sebastien can’t hurt you or your family anymore.”
David’s face is doing very strange things. There’s a fiery edge to the lines of his face, the taut angles of his still body, but Patrick can also see the tenderness invading his eyes, softening all the brittle, breakable parts that David tries to pull inward to shield from the rest of the world.
“You did all that….because of me?”
“I did it for us.” Patrick pauses to suck in some air. There’s still one more thing that has to be said, a word as yet unspoken.“David, I love you. I’m in love with you. And I’m ready to change my whole life on the hope that you just might feel the same way.”
“But you’ve only known me a week,” David finally replies.
Patrick decides to give David the whole impossible truth. “I knew after our first night. David, there’s no one else for me but you.”
Patrick’s stomach is careening to bottomless depths as he waits for David to respond. If David sends him away again, he doesn’t know how he’ll carry on.
“I knew I was in trouble the minute I saw you in that blue suit with that face and those eyes.” David finally admits with a tremulous laugh.
“Yes, I’ve been told I have a face and some eyes.” Patrick’s voice is teasing, but his face is shining like the Empire State Building lit up at night.
“You’re like a heart-eyes emoji come to life,” David says with watery eyes. “I think you ruined me for anyone else.” Patrick thinks David might have wanted to say something else, but he hasn’t worked up the courage yet. But Patrick can wait. There's time now for that.
“Well, I am the best you’ve ever had,” Patrick smirks.
“Don’t get cocky, Mr. Brewer.”
“Oh, I think you love it when I get cocky. "
“I actually really do,” David gives him a small smile. Does Patrick detect a faint blush on his cheeks?
“OK then. I’ll move to New York as soon as I can.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I don’t want you to move here.”
And there’s no stopping the look that Patrick knows is on his face right now: absolute devastation.
David barrels forward, finding his footing now, drenching himself in courage. “But that’s because I don’t want to stay here either.”
“Oh.”
“I…I love you too, Patrick.” He stops to clear his throat. “And I thought that maybe you wouldn’t mind moving somewhere else. With me. Together.”
“Anywhere,” Patrick agrees without hesitation.
“Somewhere like Schitt’s Creek?” David asks painfully, hopefully. He acts like just saying the words fill his mouth with a bitter taste.
At this point, Patrick would follow David to the moon and back, no questions asked, but Patrick meets David’s eyes, searching for signs that this is what he wants.
“Sure. Like Schitt’s Creek. I miss living in a small town. I’d be closer to my parents too. I’d like that.”
“I’m a little embarrassed to go back. But I also want to. A little? I mean, my family’s there and they’re crazy and obnoxious and infuriating.”
“But you miss them.”
“Yeah,” David sighs. “I think I really do.”
“Then, David, let’s go to Schitt’s Creek.”
“Ok.”
And David smiles, just a small raise of the lips, but it’s enough. It’s enough for Patrick to close the space between them, to draw David into his arms, and tilt his head down to meet his own. They kiss, deep and bright and full. It’s a kiss for the end of the world, a kiss for making the world disappear. But it’s also a kiss for the start of a brave new world, a brave new life that they’ll build together in a town called Schitt’s Creek. |
You get startled out of your sleep by a knock on the door.
"Your majesty? You must get ready," a woman's voice calls out.
You glance over at Loki. He's still fully knocked out, sleeping off the alcohol.
You stand up, grabbing the woolen clothes from yesterday to appear decent, and go to the door, opening it.
The chambermaid who replaced Eala is outside.
"Oh, hello, madam," she greets. "Is the king awake?"
You step aside, letting her take a look. "I think you need to wake him."
She comes in, but doesn't go much further. "Oh, no, madam, I think you should do that. He has bad sleep, you see, so in the few occasions where he does manage to get rest, it is unwise to be the one to wake him. But he likes you. He will not hurt you."
She doesn't sound very convincing. You are pretty sure he will punish you for waking him in some way, but you suppose you're altruistic enough to take the burden off her hands.
You sigh and go over to the bed. Loki is sprawled out across it, jet black hair splayed over the white pillow. He looks fast asleep.
You stand there for a moment, contemplating how best to do this.
You could pour water over his face. No, as tempting as that seems, you don’t have a death wish.
"Lo- Your majesty?" you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently shaking him.
He hardly even stirs. Helpless, you look over your shoulder to the chambermaid. She has begun tidying up the room, pretending she has nothing to do with waking the king.
Maybe you could cause a loud noise and hope to startle him awake while safely out of reach. You grab a metal plate from a table and drop it to the floor.
It causes a loud clattering noise and the chambermaid flinches noticeably. Loki, however, only briefly groans and turns over to his side.
Defeated, you walk back over and climb onto the bed. You'd love to perhaps snuggle up to him and fall back asleep, but you know the speech is far more important, and that Loki is only this agreeable drunk or asleep.
You pull the blanket off of him and grab his hand. Sticking one of his fingers in your mouth, you bite down.
Loki immediately reacts by attempting to draw his hand back, but you keep it between your teeth, forcing his eyes to pry open.
He looks at you, squinting, trying to figure out what's happening. He is no doubt terribly hungover.
You release his hand and gently shake him again so that he can't fall back asleep.
"Your majesty," you say sternly. "You must wake. You have a speech to hold."
He groans again as if that reminder displeases him and clutches at his head in discomfort.
"Kitten, I had the worst kind of dream," he mumbles.
You pull his hand away from his eyes. "Tell me about it. And get up while you're at it."
He blinks at you again, as if he had just been about to drift off again.
"I don't remember much," he begins, making no move to rise. "But I know you were in it. You were naked, which was good, but you had a knife. I think... you tried to kill me, yes, but for some reason instead you decided you'd rather lick my entire body."
Your cheeks burn. You had not licked his entire body. Too bad you can't tell him that, because then he'll have you executed for the third attempt on his life.
"Please, get up," you say again, your patience slowly wearing thin.
Loki reaches for your arm and yanks you down with him, wrapping you up in an embrace. You try to squirm out of it, but he holds you tight, grinning.
"Mm, pet, I feel absolutely miserable," he says. "But I think you can help relieve my pain a little."
You look back at the chambermaid. She has her back turned, cleaning the windows.
"I... I think the king needs someone to attend to his hangover," you call out, your voice rising in pitch just a bit when Loki's hand dips into your woolen pants.
"Oh, yes, right away." She hurries over, drawing a vial out of her apron pocket. She hands it to Loki, who slams it back, then she quickly distances herself again.
Loki tosses the bottle aside and returns his hands to you. You squeak when he pushes one between your thighs.
"Not- Not with her here," you urge in a whisper.
Loki just smiles wickedly. "I thought you liked an audience."
His fingers begin rubbing against you, causing you to squirm.
"We have to get ready for the speech!" you remind him, unsure how much time is left.
"That's what I'm doing." His fingers circle over your clit. "I'm going to fuck you senseless, to hammer in your head where you stand with me."
"And..." You gasp when two of his fingers slip into you. "And where do I stand with you?"
He smirks in a self-satisfied way. "You're my personal little whore, and you love everything I do to you."
You were hoping he'd say something besides the usual, but right now his wicked fingers are your main concern. You brace yourself against his bare chest, hoping not to make a noise as pleasure rocks through you.
"I can't wait to show everyone what I made of you," he whispers, fucking you hard with his fingers. "I want you to be proud of my ownership over you. It is naught to be ashamed of. You belong to a great ruler, after all."
"You won't o-own me for much longer," you gasp out, squeezing your eyes shut to keep from making any sound. "I'll be free today."
Loki says nothing to that, simply swipes over your clit until your orgasm bursts forth from his fingertips. You manage to make almost no noise, falling breathlessly against him once the pleasure subsides.
He draws his fingers out and wipes them on the bed sheets.
"Hmm, what if I made sure to fuck you so well you no longer want to leave?" he asks darkly. There is a genuine threat in his voice.
You open your eyes, staring at him, wondering if he is truly serious. His expression certainly looks possessive.
"You want to be a good girl for your master, don't you?" he asks, a rasp to his voice that makes you shiver.
You feel uneasy. The chambermaid is still in the room, and Loki doesn't seem to care. This is all taking a turn in a direction you weren't expecting. You had just wanted to wake him.
"I... I think we should get up," you remind him, trying again to free yourself from his arms.
His hand moves to your throat and he squeezes. He looks... dangerous. Threatening. Dominating. A possessive need in his eyes. You wonder what set that off, or if it's always there, simmering below the surface.
You feel the blood and the oxygen to your brain and lungs being throttled. You try to pull his hand away, but he doesn't relent. You feel completely helpless, simply staring at him. Is this how he felt when you held the knife to his throat? So close to death, at the mercy of someone you know you can never trust?
"You will be good for me," he says. "Because bad pets need to be disciplined, and you don't want that, do you? If I am to release you in a couple hours, you must submit to me until then. Show me. Show me true submission, and I will release you after."
His grip relaxes and you wring for air, disturbed by his words. Is this part of the performance you have to put on for Asgard, or is this something that sprung from his dark fantasies?
"What... do you want me to do?" you breathe.
"You know what." His voice is low and unforgiving. He lifts himself so he is on top of you, caging you to the mattress. "I want you to be mine. I want my every will to be carried out by you, and I want you to feel good doing it. I want here to be nothing that brings you greater joy than obeying my commands. Truly, what greater pleasure is there, than obeying your master?"
Your heart is pounding. His words have power. They're soft, smooth, liquid silver creeping into every crack of your barriers, penetrating your weak spots and sinking in their claws. You need to do something before this turns real.
You hear the bedroom door click shut as the chambermaid leaves. A wise choice on her part, no doubt.
"You... You want me to be your mindless slave?" you ask. It sounds ridiculous.
"Mindless," he repeats, leaning down so his breath hits your face. There's something manic in his eyes. "Obedient. Mine. A slave to my will."
He's a hungry beast, right on top of you. Alarms are ringing in your head. Sure, you could pretend to be that. You could put on a show. But something's off, something that screams trap. He never wanted this from you until now, hours away from your freedom.
You take a deep breath. "I don't think I want to do that."
You expect him to threaten you. To push your face into the mattress and inflict you with pain. To snarl at you that you don't have a choice.
Instead, he smiles. He leans down, brushing his lips over yours. Briefly. Not a kiss.
"Of course not," he agrees, a singsong lilt to his voice. "You're afraid, little kitten. You can't truly obey me when you're afraid. But you care for me, no? Your heart beats for me. Maybe you’re beginning to like me. Maybe you already love me.”
Your blood runs cold. Love? No way. Never. How dare he even suggest that? How dare he be so arrogant, so deluded, so certain of himself to speak those words with such confidence?
You open your mouth to protest, but he shushes you.
"Shhh, pet. It took but a kiss and your hands no longer could wield the daggers with which to kill me. Even in my dream you rather wept against me, before licking over my skin like the doting kitten that you are. You love me."
You're dizzy. No. You don't. Every time he speaks that wretched word, it is he who is driving a dagger into your heart. His soft voice stabs you painfully again and again, and you know that this is his intent.
"You love me," he croons, smiling at your distraught look. "You're in love with me. Your heart yearns for me."
It's a lie; it's such a blatant lie, and you both know it. Yet he says it over and over, and it hurts you over and over until the tears prick in your eyes.
You try to shove him, to get him away, but he grasps your wrists and gently pins them to the bed.
"Do not cry, dear, it is a beautiful thing," he murmurs sweetly. "Love is nothing to be afraid of."
Dear. How can he call you that, after everything? How can he call it beautiful? This is so wrong.
"Shh, don't cry, pet. You love me, and that is wonderful." He nuzzles against your cheek, still smiling a completely disarming smile.
"N-no," you stammer. How can this hurt so much more than his usual mockery?
"It's normal for you to feel this way," he answers your unasked question. "All the emotions pent up inside you. Coming out all at once when you can no longer deny them. It is overwhelming. Weep, if you must, but weep with joy."
You try to tug your wrists away, but his hands keep you still.
"Let me go!" you demand, feeling panicked. Your eyes flit this way and that, searching for a distraction from his wicked words.
"Not until you admit it, darling."
Darling. How... How dare he? The arrogance!
"What have I to admit to?" you snap. "You just use my body for your pleasure!"
"And you let me." His gaze has darkened again. "Now, dearest pet, I want you to cry your love for me to the stars."
You feel the clothes vanish from your body.
"No, I don't love you," you wail, still trying to get away from him. "I hate you! You're cruel; I could never love you!"
Loki just watches you for a moment. "Alright. Perhaps you don't love me, yet. But you will. I think you can. For now, just pretend you do. Put on a show for me and Asgard."
You begin to calm down, but you're still shaken. "Why do you even want that?" you ask with a grimace. "I'm leaving today! …Do you love me?"
"I love no one, pet. Not a whore's body, nor a fair princess. But I've grown fond of you. I enjoy having you in my bed. I would describe my feelings toward you as the sort of devotion that a master feels toward their pet."
You narrow your eyes. So that's what he wants. For you to love him with all your heart, and for him to occasionally pet your head with his merciful hand.
You take a deep breath and finally manage to pull out of his grip. "We should get ready."
"Yes." He sits up behind you. "But first, we shall eat and have a bath."
***
The water if warm. Soothing. Your eyes are closed and you're sitting between Loki's legs, leaning back against his chest. His arms are around you, holding you loosely. His lips are on your neck, softly nibbling and kissing your skin.
It took you a while, but now you feel calm. Maybe your "master's" affection isn't so bad sometimes.
You begin to realize how stupid you are. There is no reason to be upset. He was just messing with your head because it amuses him. He made you a deal, and you took it. You deliver the speech, pretend you're his broken love doll or something, and he lets you run back to the hole you came from. It doesn't matter what you say or do in your last moments with him. You won't ever see him again after today.
You turn around in the water, causing some to slosh over the edge of the tub. Loki is looking at you with a mildly curious expression.
You grab the sides of his face and kiss him, thinking he'll push you away and prove that all of his words were nonsense. Instead, he grabs a fistful of your hair and tilts your head at a better angle, instantly nipping at your lower lip.
His gaze is challenging. You narrow your eyes and try to pry his teeth apart with your tongue. He opens his mouth against you and shoves his tongue out to meet yours.
Your breaths become one and the same, your tongues sloppily trying to one up the other.
You fist your hand into his hair, too, and pull. He tightens his grip in retaliation. You push your other hand against his chest and rake your nails down it.
He hisses and shoves you onto your back, spilling even more water. He manages to do so without breaking the kiss, where he's now biting harder at your bottom lip.
You reach your hands around him, pulling harder at his hair. He draws away from the kiss and pushes his hand against your windpipe. His eyes are sparking, and you have no doubt yours are, too.
You begin to cough, and now you rake the nails of both hands down his back, hard, with the intent to hurt.
Loki pushes you out of the water more and replaces the hand at your neck with his teeth. He bites you, hard, also with the intent to hurt.
You try to push him away, but he grabs your arms, pulling you back and turning you around so your chest is pressed against the edge of the tub. He knocks your legs apart and pushes his hand between your thighs, cupping your heat.
He rubs you until your knees go weak and your hips grind back against him.
"Who do you belong to?" he growls.
"You," you breathe.
His fingers push inside you, curling against your pleasure spot. Your hands are clutching the edge of the tub as you rock back against him.
"Who owns you?" He grabs your hair and pulls on it, his fingers mercilessly thrusting into you.
"You!" you wail.
"That's right, pet, and never you forget it. I'm your master. Your king. Submission was always in your cards. There's nothing you can do about it. You're a slave to the pleasures I grant your body. You'll never find someone who compares to me; do you understand that by now?"
The last part he practically snarls at you. His fingers are brutally thrusting into you. You mewl with pleasure, clinging to the tub for dear life.
"You're mine. Even if you leave, you'll always belong to me."
You feel his thumb press against your other hole, and you whimper when he slowly pushes it in. It's slick with something, and you're grateful for that.
He slides it in, fucking you in both holes now. You feel weak with overwhelming pleasure, limp against the tub.
"Lo-Loki!" you whimper, rocking against him helplessly. "I can't- This is too much!"
"Then tell me to stop," he demands harshly, slowing only slightly.
"Wha- What?" You're confused.
"Do it," he snaps, still fucking you with his fingers.
"S-stop?" you say uncertainly. Instantly, his hand stills, which shocks you. You didn't think he'd actually-
"What do you want?" he asks impatiently.
"I don't know!" Your voice is way louder than it should be. You're too frazzled. "Just fuck me, alright? Fuck me until I forget about everything you've ever done to me."
"So demanding," he notes, but pushes his stiff cock inside you regardless.
You groan at the pleasant feeling, closing your eyes. This feels right. Regardless of all the emotions now whirling around you, this always feels right. He fits so perfectly inside you, connecting to your soul.
He thrusts in slowly, and you feel two of his fingers at your other hole again. They're cool and slick, maybe through magic, and he slowly eases them in.
You whimper, overwhelmed with pleasure from his cock and his fingers.
"You like this, don't you?" he rasps, pumping in and out slowly. "You like getting fucked everywhere your body has to offer. You might even be able to take my cock there one day. I'll have you begging for mercy as I claim every last part of your body as mine."
You're so aroused at the thought. At the way he thrusts against your pleasure spot. At the way his fingers stretch your tight, inexperienced hole and draw forth new, intense sensations. If he keeps this up, you will truly fall to your ruin.
"Ngh, please," you groan, rocking back against him in hopes of getting him to pick up the pace. Water sloshes around you, and everything is making obscene noises.
"Please what, pet?" He jabs into you viciously.
"Please, I want to cum."
"Only good pets get to cum." His hand reaches around you, rubbing over your clit to torture you further.
"Please, master?" you guess, hoping that's what he wants.
"No. I want you to say it." He stills inside you completely, causing you to cry out. Only his fingers tantalize your pulsing bundle of nerves.
"S-say what?" you stammer, burning up with need.
"That you love me."
You suck in a breath of air.
"L-Loki," you breathe.
"Yes?"
"I-" You take another shuddering breath. Tears prick at your eyes, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed again. "I would be lying...! You know that-"
"Do you want to cum?" he growls, interrupting you.
"Y-yes…"
"Then say it!" He thrusts into you once, then pulls almost completely back out.
Your whole body is trembling. Tears are streaking down your face. "I... love... you."
Loki rocks back into you, very gently. Tenderly. "Good pet."
"No," you wail. "Fuck me hard. Hurt me. Please, I don't want to feel this anymore."
"I understand," he says, and you wonder if he really does.
He snaps his hip against you and picks up the pace. His fingers thrust into your ass, his other hand rubs over your clit. He fucks you brutally, making your whole body shake and the water splash up around you.
You cling to the tub and let him have his way with you. You're crying again. Sobbing, like a pathetic child. But it feels good when he's rough. Better than any sickening gentleness.
You let him bring you to orgasm, again and again. You let him make you scream, to plea and call out his name. Let him overpower the pain in your soul. Only when you're thoroughly sated does he let himself release, filling you with his warm essence.
You feel good. Warm. Safe. All cried out. You slump against the edge of the tub, exhausted, as he pulls out of you.
How did this happen? How did he manage to make you cry so much in just one morning, and how come you don't feel angry at him for it?
***
You're standing in front of a full length mirror, wrapped in a towel, your hair wet and dripping.
Loki comes up behind you and places his hands on your shoulders. "Are you ready to get dressed?"
You nod. Green light shimmers all over your form. Wherever it touches you, your skin dries instantly and you can feel clothes forming around you.
You drop the towel to get a full view of the transformation. Your feet get put into delicate high heeled shoes covered in black velvet. Black lace underwear appears on your skin, before a dress materializes over it. It's dark green, dropping down over your breasts, narrowing around your waist, then falling into a skirt that drapes just over your knees, exposing an underskirt of black fabric in places where the fabric curls in on itself. Two wide golden armbands appear on your wrists, looking all too much like shackles. Finally, a black ribbon ties itself around your neck, with golden stitching on it. Runes, spelling out L-O-K-I.
You stare at your reflection, your breath taken away by your new appearance. Loki releases your shoulders and gathers up your hair. It's dry, and now it turns smooth and shiny, tumbling down your shoulders. A light bit of color appears on your face, reddening your lips and darkening your lashes.
You look both like a noblewoman and like a slave. There is no doubt who you belong to, even without his name written on your collar.
Loki's own form shimmers behind you. His hair is now slicked back, spiking out at the bottom. His outfit is perfectly harmonized with yours. Dark green. Black. Gold. You notice there's more gold on it than usual, less practical and more shiny.
The horned helmet appears on his head. It, too, is smooth and shiny. One of his capes flutters down his back. In his hand, Gungnir.
You turn to him, and curtsy.
"My king."
"My loyal concubine." He mockingly bows his head at you. "Are you ready? Do you remember all the rules?"
Yes, you remember. Be a nice obedient slave and kneel at his feet while fluttering your eyelashes at him. Then somehow deliver your serious words to the crowd before literally kissing his feet.
"Yes, my one lord and master," you say monotonously and bat your lashes, demonstrating that you do indeed remember.
He gives you a look. "Leave the sarcasm behind, pet, and you'll do just fine. Now come."
He strides out of the room, cape swishing behind him, and you follow like the obedient lapdog that you are. |
December 2010
This was probably the most important moment of her life thus far.
In the moment...
She couldn’t tell that is was only 40 degrees outside,
that the game clock had run past the stoppage time,
that she was literally dripping sweat off her face
or that she had a UNC player on her heels at every move. All Christen could see as she entered the 6-yard box was that the keeper was off her line and that there was a cross coming she couldn’t dream of being anymore perfect. With just a single touch as it came to her feet, the ball sailed into the back of the net.
She was tackled by ten other teammates as the whistle blew sealing Stanford’s fate as NCAA College Cup champions. They had beat UNC, arguably the best women’s team in collegiate history, with a 2-1 victory in the tournament. For a fleeting moment Christen thought maybe, just maybe, she wanted to play this game forever.
———
Present Day
Christen looked out the window to see Kelley had pulled her car into the driveway and was honking incessantly in what could only be described as obnoxious and true Kelley fashion. She ran down the stairs grabbing a hoodie from the foyer closet and her keys off the table next to the front door and headed out locking the door to her condo behind her.
Kelley and Christen has been as thick as thieves since college but two very different careers kept them apart more often than not. Anytime they were remotely in the same geographical area they made sure to get together and catch up. Kelley’s position on the women’s national team and her club responsibilities kept her busy nearly year round. But there were times like these where their schedules lined up and they made the most of it.
As close as they might have been, she had never really considered anyone her “best friend” but Kelley was as close as she could get. Christen had plenty of very close friends, and it was nice to know that when it came down to it she could count on Kelley.
Christen had spent the last four years working for a Fortune 500 company as a PR manager, when a dream opportunity sort of just landed in her lap. She hadn’t applied or even thought of the idea of working for US Soccer Federation. But an old confidant had apparently given someone her contact information and without even a phone interview, had one afternoon found herself on a conference call with some board members from the federation asking if she would like to take over as the Manager of Public Relations for the Women’s National Team.
She may have given up football as a potential profession but it was still her passion, and very much so where her heart was. Before any official paperwork had even been signed she had notified Kelley who, in true Kelley fashion, insisted she come out and celebrate.
A friend and coincidently teammate of Kelley’s who lived in LA was having a BBQ for the fourth of July. While she was hesitant at first, she knew she had no plans whatsoever for the holiday and thought it probably would be nice to get to know some of the women she would be representing for the federation.
So here she was running out of the house in the late afternoon to spend time with a group of people she didn’t know on a holiday she wasn’t particularly planning on celebrating. At least she would have Kelley around, right?
-----------
They entered the house without even knocking which gave Christen the impression Kelley was VERY close with this friend for her to just walk in. They could hear the distant sounds of music and people talking but didn’t see anyone right away. Christen followed Kelley down a hall, past a set of stairs and into the kitchen.
“TOBINHO!”
“KELL!”
Christen watched as the two did a silly sort of run towards each other before embracing each other and laughing. It was as if they had done that exact greeting multiples times over.
There were a few other onlookers around the kitchen island, which was topped with an array of foods and drinks. Some of them giggled as the pair greeted each other. Christen couldn’t help but smile herself.
“Christen this is THE Tobin Heath” Kelley said matter of factly. “And Tobin this is Christen!”
Tobin’s demeanor had seemingly done a 180 with the blank stare she was all of a sudden sporting as she looked to the woman now standing in front of her.
It wasn’t until Kelley was waving her hand in front of her face that she noticed her mind had gone blank and she was standing there staring at Christen.
“I am so sorry, it’s nice to meet you Christen, to finally meet you. I’ve heard lots from Kell,” Tobin stumbled over her words.
“I could say the same to you,” Christen replied with a slightly entertained smile on her face.
Tobin noticeably relaxed and as if the last few seconds hadn’t happened her demeanor had snapped back to the relaxed looked she had before that awkward introduction.
Christen followed a few steps behind them as they ventured through the rest of the house to the backyard where most of the guests seemed to be gathered.
——
Before it had even gotten dark enough to set off fireworks, Kelley O’Hara was drunk and running around doing some sketchy things with their probably illegal pyrotechnics.
Christen sat at the end of the deck on a couch with a pillow in her lap and her own drink she had been nursing all evening, watching some of the tom foolery of the evening play out in front of her. A few people gathered on one side of the yard lighting off fireworks, a few people jumping on an in-ground trampoline (she had questions about given the only known occupant of this home was a grown adult) and some others gathered around a firepit that was situated in the middle of the deck.
She had been introduced to a handful of Kell’s teammates as well as some other friends of theirs that had been invited to the party. Any hesitancy she had was surely washed away as she realized, even surrounded by mostly strangers, that it was nice to be socializing with people her age, or really at all. She couldn’t remember the last time she attended a social gathering that wasn’t directly work related.
Corporate life had kept her so busy that when she was able to find time to go out, she found herself preferring to stay in.
Now, however, she sat alone as those around her conversed quietly to each other. She sat and watched the fire, too deep in to realize it had actually started to get dark out, until she was brought out of her stupor when she felt the cushion of the couch dip from someone sitting down next to her.
“Must have something really important on the brain.”
She heard the voice before she really registered the words.
Christen turned her head and was met with the most breathtaking smile. Delaying her response to a now very embarrassing length of time. It was her turn to dip into a blank stupor.
“I uhhh- yeah just zoned out I guess,” Christen said recovering quickly, hoping Tobin didn’t notice.
“Sorry if I interrupted some heavy thinking, I just saw you’ve been sitting alone for quite some time now, and I’d be a terrible host if I let my guests be alone.”
“I’m not alone, I am surrounded by people, and I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t let Kelley, do well.. Kelley things,” Christen laughed out the last part of her sentence as both their eyes travelled to the part of the yard where a few people were now chasing each other with sparklers.
Tobin dropped her head letting out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, Kelley is nothing short of entertaining, and maybe a little crazy.”
“A little?” Christen laughed more genuinely now. “You should have seen her in college, I’ve never been the adventurous type, but with Kelley around I did things I probably never would have imagined doing.” She had a knowing smile on her face now.
Tobin couldn’t help but admire how beautiful the woman next to her was. The smile painted across her face as she spoke and how her green eyes popped in the light of dusk.
“I’d love to hear some of those stories,” Tobin replied.
“Yeah maybe one day,” Christen said, not thinking much of the words or what they really meant.
Both of them looked up when a woman came and stood in front of them telling them to say cheese.
It caught Christen off guard, especially when Tobin threw her arm around her shoulders like they were the best of friends. The stranger, who Christen remembers was introduced to her as Megan, snapped the picture and walked off as if the moment had never happened.
Before either of them could break the silence a loud crack shot over head causing them both to look up and see the lights of the fireworks that were starting. The sky quickly became lit up one after the other as firework shows for the holiday had officially begun.
The moment, of course, passed quickly though because from across the yard multiple loud cracks went off at the same time. In the middle of it all was of course Kelley, who had let off multiple firecrackers at once, whether on purpose or accident, scaring half the guests in the yard.
Tobin stood up and started walking towards the house. Quickly, she turned around before she opened the glass door and smiled at Christen.
“I’ll be right back”
Then she disappeared into the house.
—-She was lost in thought again when she heard her approach again.
“Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah, just thinking deeply again.”
“You know, Kelley is a very intelligent human being, and absolutely hilarious but sometimes I think she doesn’t use her common sense,” Tobin joked and changed the subject completely.
“Yeah sometimes book smarts don’t always transfer to everyday life,” Christen joked back.
“So what about you? Your Stanford smarts transfer over to everyday life?” Tobin says through a half smile, letting Christen know she is toying with her.
“I happen to have a very healthy amount of book and street smarts just so you’re aware.”
Tobin smiles looking at the fire and takes a sip of her beer, not responding. It’s in the moment Christen registers so many of the features in Tobin’s face she hadn’t noticed before. The dim lights over head and the fire illuminate her eyes, and cast a slight shadow on what she notices is a very chiseled jawline. She thinks that maybe she’s never seen someone so simply beautiful in her life.
In the few hours she has known Tobin, everything about her comes off as simple and not complicated or complex, but laid back in every way. She knows she’s making a judgment on a person she barely knows, but something tells her she is right about this. She also doesn’t realize that she is basically staring until Tobin calls her out on it.
“See something you like?”
“Sorry, just lost in thought, once again,” Christen responds, quite obviously flustered at being called out.
“You know you’re really easy to mess with.”
She rolls her eyes at the woman’s statement, returning her eyes to the fire, sipping her drink that she's barely touched. She knew Kelley would without a doubt be drinking recklessly tonight and someone was going to have to drive them both back to her place.
“ So Christen...” Tobin starts, not taking her eyes away from the flames dying out in front of her “Tell me more about yourself, I know most of my other guests pretty well but all I know about you is how amazing Kelley says you are at soccer and that you are easily flustered.”
She smiles at the comment and for the first time all night finds herself engaged in a conversation that doesn't start and end with an introduction. Somehow the conversation had come so easily to the two of them. She doesn’t think she has ever sat and talked with a stranger and felt such ease as she did in that moment. The next few hours they spent getting to know each other, sharing ridiculous stories about their mutual friend, and of course Tobin taking any opportunity to embarrass her new friend. Or at least that’s what Tobin would like to think about the woman sitting next to her.
Christen told Tobin some of her favorite Kelley stories, about the job she had just left and some of the nerves she had about working for USSF.
Tobin just listened intently, soaking in everything the woman next to her had to say. Smiling when she talked about more serious things and being brought to tears from laughing so hard at some of the crazy stories they shared.
Tobin slouched down on the couch with her feet propped up on the edge of the fire pit with Christen now facing mostly towards her with her legs brought up to her chest. They don’t even know how long they had been talking before Christen looks around, noticing that most people had left or are now inside. She wonders what happened to Kelley and thinks maybe she should go find her when someone’s cell phone starts to ring.
Tobin reaches into her back pocket, pulling her phone out.
“Hey Babe,” Tobin answers, moving to sit up more properly on the couch.
She doesn’t know why, but the greeting makes her cringe a little when she hears it. Tobin moves to stand up and walks down the couple of steps that lead into the yard. She can’t make out what's being said but Tobin looks both animated and frustrated on the phone. After a few moments, a look of defeat crossed her face, her shoulders slump and she finishes the conversation nodding as though the person on the other end could see her. Christen can’t help but feel almost sad for her, but quickly recovers that feeling and stands to go find Kelley.
Kelley is passed out on the couch in Tobin’s living room with a few others. She isn’t sure whether to wake her or not. Instead, she moves into the kitchen and starts throwing away trash, finding dishes to put away the leftover food. She knows this isn’t her house, or the house of a person she should feel comfortable rummaging through the cupboards of, but she can’t help but want to help. She hears the glass door close in the other room and sees Tobin standing in the archway of the kitchen smiling at her.
“Making yourself at home?”
“Sorry, everyone is passed out and I would hate for you to have to clean this all up on your own, plus you looked pretty busy,” Christen bites out that last part.
“Ahh yeah sorry about that, just girlfriend problems. Sorry... not problems, I shouldn't say it like that...it's just frustrating. The way it is sometimes, I’m sure you know.”
Christen just smiles and nods as if in agreement that yeah sure, she knows. It’s not that she doesn’t. It’s just relationships haven’t really worked out for her since college. She works too much and so she wrote off that part of her life some time ago. She knows being content and happy alone is healthy and it’s something she had grown into nicely. So, no, she didn’t know but she was okay with that.
——
Tobin washes dishes as Christen finishes putting food in containers that Tobin pulled out for her. She places them in the fridge and turns back to look at Kelley sound asleep.
“She can stay her tonight if you wanna get going.”
“I can wake her it’s not a big deal,” Christen says hesitantly.
“I can drop her back off at your place in the morning, I know you have her car. I am more than positive she will be more appreciative if we let her sleep.”
Christen nods and heads towards the door to grab her shoes and keys. Tobin follows her down the hall towards the front door.
“Thank you so much for letting a stranger crashing your bar-b-que.”
“Ahh you’re not a stranger, well not anymore anyway. I had a lot of fun. Sorry we didn’t really finish our conversation,” Tobin says with a small amount of regret in her voice.
Tobin opens her arms engulfing Christen into a hug that she reciprocates. It probably lasts longer than a normal hug between two strangers but neither of them feel uncomfortable about it.
As she walks down the driveway she turns around when she hears Tobin tell her to drive safely and have a goodnight. She smiles back at her and tells her she will.
--------
Christen crawls into bed that night and does something she thinks might qualify as stalker behavior, but she hadn’t been able to stop wondering how to learn more about Tobin since she had left her house.
At first, finding her on Instagram didn’t seem too weird. I mean doesn’t everyone do that when they meet new people nowadays? She figured maybe it was more weird that she went through literally all of her photos dating back to a time, that if she had accidentally liked a photo.. Well it would definitely come off a little stalker-y.
It’s not until she has spent more than an hour now going through her Twitter as well that Christen knows she might have crossed a weird line. Especially when she has resorted to straight up just googling Tobin.
She’s been playing professional soccer for years so there is plenty of random information, interviews, and videos dating all the way back to what she would guess is a teenage Tobin. Even some random information about the woman she guesses is Tobin's current girlfriend.
All she wanted was to know a little more about the girl, now she feels like she might know too much and should she ever talk to her again. She knows she will have to downplay knowing a lot more than what they talked about tonight.
They went on about college, their families, and growing up playing soccer. Tobin asked a lot of questions about her new job with USSF and seemed genuinely interested in everything Christen had to say, even though she knows the business side of soccer can be incredibly boring and political. She calls it quits and turns over, trying to ignore the lingering thought of the information she had seen about the woman Tobin is “rumored” to be dating.
-------
She’s laying on her couch reading a book when she hears the front door open and close. Kelley plops herself down on the other end of the sectional where Christen had planned on spending most of her day, alone.
“Chris.”
“Yes, Kelley,” she replied not looking up from her book.
“Get dressed we are going to the beach today.”
Christen finally lowered her book looking over to Kelley. ”I don’t think so,” raising her book back up to cover her face.
“Dude, I’m only in town this week and the ocean is the best cure for a hangover.”
“Kelley, it looks like it’s going to storm outside and I don’t surf so there is no incentive for me to go.”
Kelley is offended at the lack of acknowledgment that she would only be in LA for a few days and Christen didn’t want to spend the most time she could with her. “First off, it’s just June Gloom, not storm clouds, Second, we haven’t hung out in months and I want you to come with me, plus Tobin is sitting in your driveway waiting for us and I think it’s rude to keep people waiting.”
Christen dropped her book and sat up quickly looking at Kelley. ”Um, Kell, it’s July not June, and why would you tell someone I’m going to do something I never agreed on doing. I don’t want to go to the beach when there is no sun and it’s most definitely going to rain.”
She was exasperated. Mentally she was prepared to spend a whole day inside on the couch in pajamas reading and enjoying the storm that was clearly looming.
So she couldn’t even begin to tell you how she ended up in a swimsuit in the back seat of Tobin’s SUV on her way to the beach. She looked out the window at the clouds. It was definitely going to rain and she was definitely going to kill Kelley O’Hara.
She turned back, facing forward and caught Tobin looking at her through her rear view mirror. She flashed Christen a quick smile and returned her eyes to the road as they pulled into the parking lot.
Christen hadn’t realized she was holding her breath when she stepped out of the car a few moments later.
What was that.
——-
Tobin and Kelley had caught some amazing runs the first hour or so out on the water but the swells had calmed down and the two were now sitting out on their boards just chatting while Christen sat in a beach chair reading her book.
When a loud crack of thunder hit over head, Christen jumped and immediately stood up yelling for Kelley to come in. But before she could start to gather her belongings sheets of rain began to fall.
Christen saw the two out on their boards trying to paddle in as she shoved everything into her bag grabbing Tobin’s keys she had left with her and made a run for the car. However, no matter how many times she hit the unlock button the car wouldn’t unlock.
So she stood there, drenched from head to toe now, watching as Kelley and Tobin made their way to the car with the board under their arms. Laughing.
She couldn’t believe the two of them were laughing as she was growing more and more angry.
Tobin walked around Christen, stepping up to strap her board to the rack on the top of her car.
Even in her annoyed state, Christen couldn’t help but once again notice how relaxed Tobin always was. Even with sheets of rain pouring down on them, she moved just moved in such a relaxed way. As she stepped down, she looked at Christen, who was holding her keys straight out for her. She had a very fed up look as water dripped down her face.
Tobin couldn’t help but think how cute she looked but didn’t say anything, instead taking her keys and unlocking the car with one press of the button.
Christen doesn’t think she could possibly be more irritated now. She just climbs in the car and towels off her face and hair grumbling about how dead Kelley is when they get back.
“I told you it was going to rain, and I still came with you. Never again, Kell.”
Kelley just laughed.
“I’ll make it up to you by cooking you lunch when we get back, would you like to join us?” Kelley asked, turning to look at Tobin who was focused on driving.
“I mean, if it’s okay with Christen, I don’t have any plans but I also don’t want to—“ before she could finish Christen spoke up from the back seat.
“It’s fine Tobin, you are welcome to join us for lunch. Kelley owes us both.” She shot daggers in her friend’s direction.
“You know Pressy, Tobs here is the one who told me to convince you to come out.”
Tobin looked at Christen through the rear view mirror with guilt and a little bit of fear in her eyes. All she saw were beautiful green eyes gawking back at her. Maybe she shouldn’t stay for lunch.
It was relatively quiet for the rest of the short drive to Christen’s condo.
For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, Christen was asking herself: What was that.
——
Kelley showed Tobin around the condo while Christen went upstairs to shower and change. Kelley got started on cooking lunch as Tobin continued to carefully wander around the house.
She came to a set of French doors slightly ajar and let herself push one all the way open and peek in. It was clearly an office with a huge desk taking up space against one wall. Two monitors and tons of files neatly stacked. Seems like a Christen thing to do. Keep her chaos organized.
There were some pictures scattered around tucked into small spaces around the desk where they fit just right.
Most of them seemed to be the same three people at various stages in their lives. She guessed it was the two sisters Christen had mentioned to her the night before. She spotted a familiar face in another.
Kelley and Christen holding the NCAA championship trophy together in their Stanford kits. Tobin stopped for a moment, something had occurred to her that she hadn’t quite been able to place, but the photo next to it caught her eye before she could dwell on it… This one was with two people on either side of Christen in her Stanford graduation robes.
Her parents, Tobin thought.
Then there was one right next to the computer monitor. A little bigger than the rest. Two women standing on the beach just after sunset, the sky behind them was an array of deep pinks and purples. Tobin has picked it up looking at how stunning Christen looked. She was wearing a hoodie and shorts with her arms around the older woman next to her in the photo.
“That was last summer, my mom and I at the beach near my parents’ home.”
The voice startled Tobin and she placed the photo back down.
“I’m sorry the door was open, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
She was just met with a soft smile as green eye stared towards her standing in front of the desk. She watched how poised the woman in front of her was, wearing a pair of very short shorts and a hoodie. Much like the photo she was now holding that Tobin had just put down.
“One thing I love about getting to work here in LA was that I get to be so close to my family. When my mom got sick it seemed like fate. To get to be here with her everyday.” Tobin felt a wave of sadness over take her. “She passed back in January and it’s been the most difficult thing I have ever had to go through. I’d like to think I’ve lived a pretty happy and easy life. Sure, there were times when soccer got hard, school was difficult, maybe a bad break up or two felt impossible, but nothing ever made me feel like I was broken or damaged. These last six months though, life has just been different.”
Tobin knew there wasn’t anything to say. There aren’t appropriate words for this moment and she didn’t know Christen well enough to have the right to say anything. Which made her wonder why she even opened up to her about this to begin with. But then again, every conversation they had in their day long friendship had come so easy, maybe she felt that too.
“Sorry, I overshare sometimes and that was probably a little heavy.” Christen wiped a tear from her cheek that had escaped her watering eyes.
She felt a warm hand reach up and grab hers. She looked over, met with Tobin’s brown eyes that said more than words ever could. She felt the “I’m sorry,” “Is there anything I can do?” “I’m here for you,” that pleaded with her. Tobin squeezes her hand and then let it fall.
“You didn’t over share, I appreciate you telling me. The more I know about you, the easier it is for me to be a good friend.”
Tobin seemed pretty set on being Christen’s friend.
They both let out small and quiet laughs before hearing Kelley yell for them from the kitchen.
Perfecting timing Kell.
They all spread across the couch, watching a movie and enjoying their lunch. The storm had picked up substantially so they insisted Tobin stay until it calmed down a little. She only pushed back a little arguing that she lived just a few miles down the street and it’d be safer to leave before it got dark. Ultimately, she lost the fight and settled back in for another movie while they decided on ordering pizza.
Tobin threw a few comments out there about how it was okay for delivery guys to drive in the storm but somehow not her. She stopped complaining after the food had arrived though.
It was just after 8pm when their movie had ended. Kelley got up to put the dishes on the coffee table away. Tobin got up to stretch and collect her keys when she noticed on the chaise lounge end of the couch Christen was fast asleep with a quilt hanging half-way off of herself.
She walked over and fixed the blanket properly over the brunette. Not noticing the eyes watching her from the entryway to the kitchen.
Tobin whispered a very quiet goodnight to her before making her way to the kitchen to say goodnight to Kelley.
She was leaning with her back against the island as she entered. Kelley didn’t make eye contact at first but spoke before a Tobin had the chance.
“So do you and Christen like know each other somehow?”
She was shocked at the question. It came out of left field and almost annoyed her for some reason.
“What are you talking about, Kell?”
“Sorry, you two just seem like you know each other.”
“No, last night was the first time I have ever spoken to Christen. We just kind of hit it off ya know? She’s an easy person to talk to. That’s all, you would have known if we had met before Kelley.” Tobin was so confused at where any of this was coming from. She had more than enjoyed getting to know Christen last night and she just wanted to hang out again when she told Kelley to invite her today. Not once did she think there was any type of motive behind her actions but clearly Kelley did and she wasn’t a fan of that.
“I’m sorry, Tobs. I am I just let me imagination run away. You’re the best human being I know aside from Christen, should have known you two would be fast friends. I honestly don’t know why I didn’t see that before now. Just be gentle with her. She is an incredible person but this year has been hard for her. She can handle herself but she needs good people in her life more than she will ever admit.”
Tobin took the time to mull over exactly what her friend had just told her. “You know me Kell, And she seems like a really cool person, so I’m looking forward to the three of us being amigos.” Tobin tried to make a little bit lighter of the situation. “Anyway I have to get home and shower before the girlfriend is awake and wants to FaceTime.”
Kelley noticed her annoyance but she wouldn’t comment. Tobin had been that way for awhile now but this wasn’t the moment to breach that topic. Long distance is hard, being on different continents was probably impossible.
Kelley hugged her and walked her to the door, thanked her for hanging out today and told her to text her when she got home safely. Tobin made some joke about looking for her if she didn’t show up to camp tomorrow morning. Kelley didn’t find it funny but she gave her a fake laugh before telling her bye again and closing the door.
——
Christen woke up to a game on the TV and Kelley writing in a notebook, sitting next to her on the couch.
“Hey sleepyhead.”
“What time is it?” she asked as she got more comfortable in her spot.
“It’s 10:30.”
“What game are you watching?”
“Watching some film for the game this weekend. Work never stops.”
Of course Kelley was spending her free time working. Soccer was her life as much as it had always been. The two of them used to stay up until nearly dawn in their apartment watching old games of their upcoming opponents.
They had spent weeks on end watching UNC games trying to prepare for even just the thought of facing them in the College Cup, and it certainly paid off. For Kelley nothing had changed, she still watched, studied and took notes. Breaking down every aspect of the opponents play.
“Did Tobin leave?” She said, finally opening her eyes all the way and leaning up in her elbow.
“Yeah about two hours ago, she said thanks for letting her hang out.”
“I mean anytime, she seems really cool.” Christen was walking towards the kitchen now to grab a drink. Kelley caught the way her friend seemed so nonchalant about it all. Maybe Kelley was just overreacting to it all. They really did seem to hit it off and she knew she needed to let her friend branch out more.
——-
Media Day.
She knew her new job was going to be incredibly rewarding. She knew the organization and the team were beyond professional and would help her every step of the way but it didn’t keep her from being nervous.
It was media day for the Women’s National Team before kicking off an invitational tournament. She should take some comfort in that. Thankful she wasn’t hired before a World Cup or during an Olympic year. This was just simple get to know the player interviews and questions about new calls ups and how the team was working on their chemistry.
All she really had to be in charge of was making sure the media didn’t get out of hand and that players were where they needed to be at the right time. That was all she had to handle today. Easy Peasy.
And just her luck, it was easy. After interviews were done she got to head down to the pitch with the team as they started their practice. She luckily wasn’t in charge of any photographers, the only media presence left at the stadium. Tomorrow they would start the tournament with a face off against Costa Rica.
Christen would be lying if she said watching the team practice as she watched from the sidelines didn’t give her a pit in her stomach. She could have been out there. She should be out there, but she was the reason she didn’t get that chance and she knew she had no one else to blame. She tried to find that thing in herself that was genuinely happy to even be working with soccer in some form.
There were a few times she caught herself staring at just how amazing Tobin was. Mesmerizing was probably the most accurate description. The way she just flowed with the ball. Every dribble, every touch, and every shot just so fluid like the ball was just an extension of her.
A few times Tobin looked up and saw her standing there watching. She would smile or wave and then refocus. When practice was all but called, Kelley had found her on the sideline striking up a conversation about how they’re changing some attacks tomorrow. Kelley was rambling on about something typically Christen would be enthralled to hear about but some new visitors on the pitch caught her eye.
“Ah, what are they doing here, isn’t that like spying or something?” Kelley asked, running towards the small group of women now on the side lines.
Christen noticed they were wearing warm up gear with the Costa Rica crest on them. She had hardly noticed since her eyes were glued to the one person Tobin was standing behind, her arms wrapped around her torso, and her chin rested on the woman’s shoulder.
She was sure that an opponent should not be here if another team was practicing, but then again practice was technically over. She didn’t know why she felt so off all of a sudden.
She wouldn’t admit it was the presence of Tobin’s girlfriend. She placed the frustration on the idea of one team being at another practice when they shouldn’t be.
A notification popped up on her watch. She had a post practice meeting she forgot about. She turned and headed back to the tunnel. Leaving her confused feelings back out on the pitch.
Christen wouldn’t realize her frustration was in fact not because of the other team's presence. Or that her new found friendship with Tobin had already meant something to her. She couldn’t wait to watch the team blow Costa Rica out of the water tomorrow.
|
What were they going to do about Micah?
The question hung sourly about them. Unnaturally loud in the otherwise still air. There was enough vehemence behind the question to suggest what John's thoughts were; not that he needed to share. He already had, and Arthur had his own feelings on the matter. He was certain that the others felt a similar hatred. A burn for the man who had almost single-handedly destroyed them all.
Despite all of that, it took far longer than it should have for Dutch to muster a response. His tone vastly different than before. Withdrawn, melancholy if Arthur didn't know any better.
“Not sure if there's much we can do.”
Said almost with resignation. Arthur was hardly moved by that, listening rather than watching. He would like to say he was surprised, but somehow, he wasn't. Instead he felt empty inside; maybe it was the exhaustion creeping over him. Or maybe he simply didn't have it in him to care anymore.
John, apparently, didn't feel the same. The growl almost tangible as he shot back. His own voice still full to the brim of animosity.
“Hell you mean by that? He betrayed us, Dutch. Damn near put all of us in the ground—threatened the women, and Jack. And we...what? We're just gonna let that go?”
“Yes,” Dutch huffed, pointedly. Angry now. “We are. Much as I hate to admit it—going after Micah is not the best move for us right now.”
“Come on, Dutch—”
“He's right,” Arthur cut in, shaking his head. It was, perhaps, the first bit of reason he'd heard from the man in days. If not weeks. Something funny and foul settling in his stomach. It weren't like he wanted to agree with Dutch, the residual anger still wafting inside him. But he was right. “Gonna have to say I agree with him on this one, John.”
“Arthur, you can't-”
“Count me as well,” Hosea supplied, his voice just as quiet.
“I can't believe this. All of you wanting to turn tail?”
“Revenge ain't something we can afford,” Arthur reminded him, ignoring that insult. “Like I done told you earlier –Ross, for all we know, has that bastard locked up tight. Going after him, well—we might as well tighten our own nooses.”
“Truer words never spoken,” Dutch agreed. Something cheerful in his voice. Pride, he realized after a moment. The notion sending a flicker of warmth through him. Though that warmth died quickly, sputtering out like damp kindling. Earlier, before any of this mess, he'd happily soak up that pride. Devour whatever compliments that happened his way, few as they were.
Not anymore. Rather it felt disturbing and sickly; thoroughly unwanted. Worse of it all was the fact that Arthur couldn't quite repress the feeling. As though it were almost ingrained in him, a result of all the years of blindly following him. Of wanting nothing more than the admiration of that man.
Dutch didn't seem to notice. The burn in his cheeks; the man focused on the road instead as they drove through the river. Arthur was glad for the distraction, rubbing at his face, battling the fatigue. Hiding his shame. Beaver Hollow was just a spitting distance away now. They'd be there, before long. A godsend, because he couldn't rightly stand being here for much longer.
Honestly, he thought he'd be alright. That all of this would be fine. Awkward if nothing else. Uncomfortable. But it was worse than that. All of this damn near unbearable. His heart fluttering dangerously in his chest, Arthur suppressing the urge to all but jump out of the wagon and walk the rest of the way back. A desire he chose to ignore, gaze drifting out the back of the wagon, taking in the sights. The sounds.
The trees branching above them, wilting light peeking through. Songbirds singing the beginnings of their lullabies as the western sun hastened its decent. It felt wrong. All of this. Sitting here, pretending that not a damn thing was amiss. That everything that had transpired was a mere mishap. That Dutch wasn't already slipping, already falling back into his old ways. Adopting the airs they were all too familiar with. It was nothing more than a mask he wore, that he hid behind. The realization dim in Arthur's mind.
His throat was tight, but he managed a smile when Hosea called to him. The older man seemingly sensing that something wasn't quite right. Arthur was quick to mask his emotions under the ruse of being tired. Not that it was much of a ruse; he could feel exhaustion creeping down to his very core. A weariness he fought off as the wagon drew in between the trees.
He could hear the robust shouts long before he saw sight of the camp. Charles who had been keeping guard, announcing their return. The gang all but cast into pandemonium as they pulled to a halt. Arthur's boots hit ground before the wheels even stopped turning, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. Sudden stench assaulting him.
Right. He still hadn't gotten used to that.
He watched, almost disinterestedly, as Dutch slowly clambered on down, a grin wide on his face at the welcome. Already stealing away the conversation, captivating the crowd that had pressed close. Seeing it was maddening, but secretly he was grateful. Seeing that the attention was not focused on him, for once. Arthur felt like he could breathe as he turned back to the wagon, reaching inside.
“Come on, Hosea; lets get you on out of there.”
He listened quietly to the continued reception. A mixture of shouts and cries, gasps and stutters breaking through varied questions. Above all of them was Grimshaw. She always did have a way of making herself known.
“Well, I never,” he heard her chastise Dutch. A humorous image flashing through his mind as he wrapped an arm about Hosea's waist, pulling him free of the wagon. She was carrying on, near scolding the man.
“You—you just take off, not say a word? Leave us wondering what all happened? You're lucky Arthur has sense in his mind still, and look at the state of you! Filth and grime, and—is that blood you have on you? What on Earth, happened?”
“Don't get so worked up now,” Dutch was laughing, actually laughing, and he could see him clasping her hands once he rounded the corner. In gratitude or an attempt to calm her, Arthur couldn't say. “We just—ran into some difficulties. Ain't that right, Arthur?”
“Sure,” he drawled, nodding towards them. So easily falling into the role he knew.
“Difficulties? Is that what you're calling it now?” John wondered, jumping down from the wagon as well. “Arthur hauls off and shoots you, and it's just a difficulty?”
There was silence. At first. That silence quickly shouted by a barrage of shouts, each one seemingly louder than the last. Hasty glances towards him, towards Dutch. Some of the folk at least had the decency to not stare; pretending to be busy at the edges of the camp instead.
Even so Arthur could feel an unprecedented amount of eyes falling on him suddenly. As though waiting; demanding an explanation as to why. Try as he might, he couldn't. His throat was dry, and he couldn't come up with a retort or quip to thrust the accusation off his shoulders. Couldn't rightly admit to it either, the shame still festering in him something fierce. It'd grabbed hold, had refused to let go. And now he felt it bubbling back to the surface in the silence that once again had taken over.
And John, goddamned John Marston, who had the common sense of a clam, was never one to stomach an awkward silence.
“What?” he bit out, head whirling between everyone, “Is we meant to just pretend like there ain’t nothin’ seriously messed up about all this?”
“Well, I never,” Grimshaw all but barked, something ill in her tone that Arthur hadn't heard in years. It sent his stomach aflutter, “You best explain yourself, Mr. Morgan, right this moment or—”
“That is quite enough,” Hosea was the one to cut her off. Holding tight to him, as though attempting to shield him away from the insinuations. He tried to draw himself up to a imposing height, wavering questionably in his grasp.
“We've all made mistakes, haven't we Dutch? Why don't you go on, share the reasons why. I'm certain we'd all liked to know what precisely motivated our young fella here to draw on you in the first place. I know I do.”
“You are all making a far bigger deal out of this then needs to be,” Dutch tossed up a hand with a scowl. The action prompting John to huff, arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes wide.
“Way I see it, we ain't making a big enough deal 'bout it. Dutch done left his ass with Colm, knew all along the bastard had him. Lied to us all about it—what next, huh? You just gonna up and leave the rest of us, seeing if it suits you?”
“Of course not,” he backpedaled, voice thin. Surely not as strong as before, wavering the gasps that split that air. “That's not how it is, you know that. All of you know it, and you—Arthur,” he turned to face him. “Arthur, you know that this was nothing more than an incident, right?”
Incident.
That's what he was calling it. Arthur forced himself to swallow. Voice nowhere near as strong as he wanted. “Sure, Dutch. Whatever you say.”
“You see?” The man prompted, a genial smile, one of showmanship. “It's all...done—now let's put this mess behind us. We've got reason to celebrate, ladies and gentleman. How about some drinks? I know I could use one!”
So a party it was going to be. He shook his head, voice still weak. “I'm gonna—gonna get Hosea on to bed.”
The mention, shaking something loose in Grimshaw. The woman pulling away, eyes set hard, focused. Waving him to follow. “Right—we got him set up over here.”
He followed. Glad for the excuse. The distraction. Hosea holding onto him tighter than necessary; perhaps his way of trying to show comfort. Support. Whatever it was, he clung to it. Soaked it in like the afternoon sun on a chilly day.
They'd fixed up the man's tent. Grimshaw must have seen to it after John had told her what they were doing. As it were, the woman left them, allowing Arthur to get the man settled in. He laid him down gently on all the extra blankets, eyeing the array of goods and supplies. Tins of food, a flask of water, an assortment of books. Things to ensure he'd never want for anything. It amused him for a moment, but nothing more. The levity died when he spotted the photo.
Their photo.
Rough and worn, as though it had been kept in his hand all these years. Cherished. Admired. It sat with his things. Arthur reached out hesitantly, cautiously. Those faces— their faces— stared back at him as he looked the portrait over. It unnerved him, as if they, too, could see out of that photograph; as if they could witness what they had become.
But they sat nevertheless, unbothered, younger, ignorant.
Innocent, if they had ever been anything of the sort.
Hopeful, at least. Hell, in those days they had hope in spades, for whatever that was worth.
Nothing, he guessed, hazarding a quick survey of their situation. Hadn’t gotten them a damn thing but hurt.
He glanced up as Hosea cleared his throat, noticing that the man was watching him. He looked...ashamed almost.
“I kept it after—when we thought you weren't coming back. Wanted something to remind myself—not that I need it anymore. You go on, take it back.”
“I ain't need it for remembering,” Arthur forced a smile, as he set it back down. “I got you, after all. Sides that, I reckon you're happy, being back home—or as home as this place can be, I guess.”
“I'll be happy when we're out of this mess,” Hosea grumbled, edging himself back. A wince on his face as he got his one leg settled. A scowl on his face. “Don't know if that blasted thing will ever heal.”
“It's been, what? A week?” Arthur laughed, a real one. Out of all of them, Hosea held a plethora of patience. Though he supposed that trait didn't extend to his own woes. “Gotta give it time; you'll be right as rain. And if you ain't—well, I know a fella who can get you another leg.”
“Your humor has always been questionable,” the man grumbled as he leaned back. “Though it's good to hear you laugh. Even if its at my expense.”
“I would never laugh at you,” Arthur smirked, head bowed slightly. “With you? Sure—but never at you.”
“As long as you're laughing,” Hosea reached out, hand placed over his. “Don't you let no one bully you; you hear? They give any sort of grief, you let me know, and I'll set them right.”
“Is that so? You gonna just hobble up to them, an' do what exactly?”
“I was thinking of beating them with my crutch,” he grinned, “once one of you fools find me one, that is. I'm telling you, Arthur, I refuse to stay trapped in my tent any longer than necessary.”
“Well, I'll make sure that's the first thing on my list,” he chuckled, the mere thought of Hosea chasing folk down with a crutch. Lord, wouldn't that be a sight?
“Don't you dare,” the man hissed, surprising him. Arthur raising an eyebrow as the man carried on. “The first thing you are going to do is get some rest.”
“Hosea-”
“Don't, Hosea me,” the man coughed, eyes scrunching as he shook his head. “Out of all us fools, you look a sight. You need to rest, Arthur, 'fore you run your stupid ass six feet into the ground. You hear me?”
He let out a chuckle, shaking his head, “Loud and clear—for sure; you certainly know how to make me feel like a kid again.”
“I mean it, Arthur,” the man watched him close, not joining in the humor this time. “I just went about getting you back. I ain't about to lose you because you can't take two goddamn seconds to watch after yourself.”
“I'll go on, and get some rest,” he reassured him. Twice, because the man didn't believe him first time. Probably didn't the second either, but they were well past arguing that point. Had moved onto pretending.
Because Arthur wasn't sure he had it in him to rest. Not with all his anxieties, twisting his insides all about. Still he promised, if for nothing other than to ease the man. Hosea finally relinquishing his hold, watching him well until Arthur had stepped back outside.
Only to be greeted with the warm glow of the fire.
Stoked high. Inviting. A case of gin broken open atop one of the tables. The lot of them crowded about the fire, a sparkle of light gleaming off the glasses as they were held high. And Dutch...Dutch stood square in the middle, giving a speech. A lecture. Something.
His words unheard. Not that Arthur was keen on hearing them. There wasn't much the man could say to impress him otherwise.
He stood, for a moment. Tired gaze washing over the camp, taking it all. Feeling still so unfamiliar. Foreign. Even the sight of his own tent, set to one side with belongings hastily replaced, did little to comfort him.
He fumbled with his hat. Fingers running through his hair, nervously. His hat haphazardly replaced. His mind, racing with far too many thoughts. Far to quick to catch. To analyze. To appreciate. His eyes, once again settling on the fire, on the group that was clustered in the center.
Then he turned, and in the darkness of the night, he left. |
Days continued to pass as Lumine had started to become much more used to her current life situation. Instead of wasting her energy throwing rocks to the barriers, she started training with the sword that nearly impaled her. If she’ll be trapped in here for an indefinite amount of time, it's best if she uses this to her advantage and increase her skills right?
The girl’s shiny blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight as she swung her sword, each swing was precise and deadly.
‘I can’t save Aether if I’m weak.’ was what Lumine was thinking. The way the goddess had easily overpowered the both of them was burned within her mind. She won’t let such an event repeat-- over her dead body.
That was Lumine’s day routine. Train, eat, bathe, check for any changes in the barrier, rest, and practice singing.
Yes, she even incorporated singing practice, because whenever the day breaks into night, the bard comes along the surface of her prison, lyre in hand and a stream of songs from his lips.
Every day it was what Lumine looked forward to.
The girl’s lips broke into a smile as she wiped away the sweat from her forehead. It was early in the morning and yet she wishes that it was already night. Apparently, excluding the days where odd individuals’ items fall into her cage (and its owners look for them), the bard was the only person she had as company.
“One day, when I break out of here, I’ll make sure to properly thank that bard.” Lumine promised to herself. “Of course, that is when I find and save Aether!” She added, a proud smile lightening up her face.
‘But first, I have to get stronger.’
-
Venti strolled along the vicinity of Starsnatch cliff. He knew that it was way too early to be there, especially when the duets between him and the songstress all happen at night. However, the anemo archon had a nagging feeling. Perhaps he can find traces of the songstress?
‘One can never know~ Perhaps I can catch her today!’ he thought to himself with an impish grin as the gentle wind caressed his face, as if laughing along to his little plan.
That was when he heard her voice once more.
‘Aha! So she’s also here in the morning?’ Venti grinned. It was unmistakable. That tone, that pitch-- It was the same one he sings along with! The only thing that puzzled Venti was that instead of singing, why does it seem like the songstress was training instead?
‘A songstress, and a swordswoman?’ Venti’s eyes were tinged with curiosity. Seems like his duet partner was an individual of many talents. Not like he minds it though. Variety is good!
Following her voice, the anemo archon climbed down from the cliff, skipped over a few bushes, his little cape getting tangled over some brambles (which he de-tangled with a little difficulty) and finally found the songstress-- not.
Instead of a songstress, he came across a deserted area. Nothing was there.
Now, the raven haired bard is a god. Ghosts don’t faze him. He had his fair share of horrors, (God forbid, the events when he wasn’t an archon? Now that’s scarier than ghosts) but for some reason his gut was telling him to leave the place.
Covered in leaves, with his hands dusty from climbing down the cliff, he persevered. He wasn’t short of courage after all. Gut feeling can be wrong sometimes, right?
Venti closed his eyes once more to listen intently. The songstress’ voice was now clearer, much louder than what he hears when he’s sitting atop of the cliff. And judging from the way it echoed, the archon surmised that the songstress is not located below the cliff but from within the cliff. After all, the cliff seems to be pretty high up. No way that a human can sing that loud.
‘Could it be.. She’s trapped?’ Venti frowned. Could it be that the girl was trapped from within the earth?
‘For someone that seems to be able to wield a sword, and the fact that the caves can amplify her voice’s loudness, how was she not able to call for help?’ The young bard thought, a question mark floating in his head.
He was quite sure that the citizens and adventurers of Monstadt aren’t exactly coldhearted enough to leave a trapped woman alone, and if they weren’t capable of saving her, atleast this should have been quite the town gossip..
“Hello?” Venti called out loudly, awaiting for an answer. If she’s trapped in there, perhaps he can help out?
As soon as he called out, a garbled cry was heard, and a sound of a person falling over to the ground was followed by the clanging of a metallic object.
It seems like he gave the songstress quite the scare.
A chuckle erupted from his lips. Of course, Venti tried to cover it up, but ended up poorly concealing his laughter.
--
Within the cave, Lumine was training herself to the fullest, slice, dice, stab repeat. She was so immersed within her training that when a familiar voice called out to her, she lost balance, and tripped on a nearby pebble, which ended up with her landing face first on the ground.
The girl rubbed her aching knees, for the love of stars, why did she have to trip?
She could also hear the poorly concealed laughter coming from the other entrance of the cave. Heat started to crawl up to Lumine’s face. Did this person see her trip? It was this person’s fault why she tripped and yet he still had the audacity to laugh?
The embarrassment and anger Lumine feels only had made the blush on her cheeks deepen as she bit her lip in frustration.
She was about to lash in anger like what she did with the weird person who almost caused a sword to impale her, but she recognized the infuriating intruder’s voice.
It was that bard!
“For a mysterious songstress, you’re clumsy!” he spoke out, mirth was within his tone as Lumine turned towards the entrance, golden eyes narrowed into a glare. Of course she doesn’t understand their language yet, but from his tone it really sounded like he was having a kick out of her landing on her face! Anger and embarrassment aside, a realization hit Lumine like a meteor.
‘H.. How am I going to communicate..?’ Lumine thought as she quickly stood up from her unflattering position, dusted off the dirt on her pristine white dress and walked towards the entrance, curiosity filling the girl's heart as she took a peek, what exactly does a bard with a good voice look like?
Her questions were answered as she caught a glimpse of his face. The bard was a young man about her height, he was clad in a green cape, a white dress shirt with a corset and a matching green hat with white flowers pinned on the side, a lyre was also attached to his hip. Surely enough, from the tone of his voice, this really was the bard that she had duets with.
“Are you angry?” The bard scratched his cheek, “I didn’t mean to scare you~” He continued to speak. Despite not understanding the language, the hand gestures he made gave the golden haired girl a small hint of what he was trying to convey to her.
‘Is he apologizing?’ Lumine tilted her head confused. He doesn’t look sorry at all but his gestures seem to say so? The golden haired girl frowned at the confusing clash of facial expression and hand gestures he was making. What Lumine took note of was the fact that he also he seemed to be looking past her instead of her.
Could it be that he wasn’t able to see her?
‘Then it means this cave is invisible to the outside.. So that’s why that weird person was confused when the sword disappeared..’ The outlander thought as she placed a hand to her chin.
“Hey~” The bard called out again, pulling Lumine out of her thoughts. “I’m really sorry for scaring you!” He apologized once more. “Please don’t be mad!” He continued, his facial expressions contorting into some sort of ‘puppy eyed’ look.
Lumine clenched her jaw, its a sin to have such deadly weapon. (i.e: Venti's cute puppy eyes)
‘He’s definitely apologizing isn’t he?’ She thought. Trying to avoid staring into his puppy eyes.
What was she supposed to do in this situation?
'Aether, help me. I might die even before I save you..' Lumine's nails dug into her palms. She has no choice but to reply right? “...I am not mad.” Lumine softly spoke out. She can’t use hand gestures, since he couldn’t even see her. If she speaks, then he’ll understand that she can’t speak their language. That way is the safest way, but it also poses some risk.
Like for example, scaring him or driving him away from miscommunication.
She can see the bard blink in surprise and confusion. Which Lumine understood. She speaks a different language, is trapped inside a cave with no way out, and of course the golden haired girl expects Venti to leave, or atleast run.
Even if they sing together at night, wouldn't you distance yourself from a creature you barely understand?
But instead, the young bard laughs, the wind gently caressing his face. “I suppose you’re telling me that you’re not mad!” He grins widely, causing Lumine’s heart to skip a beat.
‘This.. this is really bad for my heart..’ Lumine averted her gaze as she tried to calm herself down. It was one deadly weapon after another. Aether help her.
“Guess I won’t be able to talk to you properly since I don’t think we’ll understand each other using words… No wonder you couldn’t receive any help outside.” The bard sighed as he sat in front of the rock. “I guess we can only communicate this way!” The young man gave a cheerful smile as he produced his lyre.
‘Is he inviting me to sing?’ Lumine looked curiously as the bard started to play the lyre and sing, gone was the impish young man who had the gal to laugh at her for tripping and landing on her face, and he was replaced by a soothing young bard.
Lumine sighed, a smile present on her lips. That bard really scared the wits out of her, however she can’t exactly stay mad at him now, not after he spent his time talking to a rock outside, and actually putting (a lot of) effort in finding her. (i.e: The puppy eyes worked on her.)
The golden haired girl started to accompany his voice, singing softly as she poured her emotions into her voice. If she wasn’t able to communicate using words, at the very least, she hopes that with the melodies she sings together with him, she can convey the euphoria she felt from this.. Surprising event.
‘Even if you can’t see me, I’m glad to have met you.’
|
Once all the guards had gone, there was finally movement on their own sides. There were shouts of relief as Marius stumbled, throwing down the torch into a pool of rain and putting down the barrel to make sure none of the powder was lost. Then Courfeyrac had his arms around his friend’s neck, holding him close, and the rest all crowded round him.
Most of the rest. Grantaire found himself standing beside Bahorel, reaching down to shut his eyes. He paused, and dug into his pocket to find a penny, placing it under his friend’s tongue. For the ferryman.
It suddenly all felt very real. Grantaire clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a sob.
Bahorel. The first person to pull him up off the streets, to sit with him as he recovered from his drunkenness. And here he was, face up on the streets of Paris, blood soaking through his waistcoat.
Grantaire had never been able to separate from Diomedes before, not really. And yet, and yet the parts that Grantaire now remembered, the things that made him Bahorel, that made him Grantaire’s friend, they were not Diomedes. It was strange, somehow. Grantaire knew that they were all different people to who they were before, he wasn’t completely without wits, but it was only truly hitting him, hard, in the heart, now.
Now that Bahorel was dead and it was too late for Grantaire to apologise.
There was a scuffle behind him.
“Enjolras!” And that was Odysseus’ – no, Combeferre’s – voice, out of breath, panicking. “Enjolras. Enjolras, they’ve taken Jehan.”
Grantaire froze. The poet. Ajax. The bravest and the best. And they’d, they’d taken him? How had no-one stopped them? How had no-one seen?
“Please, Enjolras,” Combeferre begged. He was standing right in front of the man, his hands clasped. All Grantaire could think was how similar it was to the position Enjolras – Patroclus – had been in when he begged Achilles to go out and fight in his place. A sudden fear gripped Grantaire. Surely, surely Combeferre didn’t want to go out to find him?
Achilles had never liked Odysseus, not quite. But Grantaire, suddenly, realised just how fond he was of Combeferre. He couldn’t let him sacrifice himself, not when the chances of rescuing Jehan were so slim, not when Bahorel was already gone.
“Please, we can swap him for our spy.” And a little tension released from Grantaire’s shoulders. Of course he had a plan, Combeferre always had a plan. He was always collected, always knew what was going on. Or was that Odysseus? Because Combeferre’s eyes were full of anguish and regret, where he had never seen Odysseus even consider such emotions. And Grantaire understood. Because maybe he was only just seeing some of his friends as separate people to who they had been, but they had still been. And he understood what a lifetime of blaming oneself for death felt like.
And Combeferre certainly had a reason to blame himself for the death of Ajax Telamon, even if Odysseus would never have regretted it.
Enjolras nodded. Combeferre sagged forward, as though his worry was the only thing keeping him upright. But quickly enough he pulled himself up, moving towards the café, starting to create some kind of flag of truce with a handkerchief.
Over the side of barricade, a cry was heard.
“Long live France!” There was no mistaking that voice. “Long live the future!”
A barrage of gun shots.
Combeferre crumpled to the ground, as though he himself had been shot. “They. They’ve shot him.”
All Grantaire could think was that he had never known Combeferre to be so ineloquent, in either lifetime.
He couldn’t allow himself to stand there and grieve. He had spent too much time with Bahorel, and this was a war, and people died. If he survived, he could grieve then, and if not, well, he could do so in his next life, if he was unfortunate enough to have one.
He looked around, peering through the lightly falling rain, trying to find something to do, to busy his mind. He saw a body slumped in the corner, that no-one seemed to have approached yet. Well, someone had to. He walked over, his eyes immediately focussing on the hand, which appeared to have been fully shot through, and the growing blossom of blood on the shirt. Finally, he looked up at the poor boy’s face, to see how far away he was from the afterlife, or if it had already taken him.
Grantaire felt like all the blood had drained from his body at once.
“Ép… Éponine.” He choked. She looked up to meet his eyes, her own almost completely glassy. Grantaire found he couldn’t move. No. Not Éponine. She reached towards him with her good hand, but it fell almost immediately. She whimpered in pain.
The sound was enough to inspire movement: lifting her back away from the wall gently, he slid in behind her. She seemed to melt a little into his warmth.
“Éponine. What. What happened? Why are you here?” His voice cracked. Bahorel’s death was awful, but watching Éponine fade tore him apart from the inside. He and Éponine had shared everything.
“Marius,” was all Éponine could say, and barely a whisper at that. There were tear tracks on her face.
“Hush, shhh. I’ll get him here, don’t worry.” Grantaire said, rubbing his hand up and down her uninjured arm, attempting to soothe her.
“M… Marius!” Grantaire called across the street, to where he still seemed to be being thanked by various people his actions had saved. Marius looked across with a frown, and Grantaire waved at him. He had to be here. Here was one person he had not been able to save.
Marius frowned a little, but ran across, Courfeyrac right on his heel. As they got close, Éponine raised her eyes dully to those approaching. Courfeyrac gasped.
“Is that…?”
“Éponine!” exclaimed Marius, almost diving to his knees at her side. Courfeyrac stayed where he was, his eyes wide. Marius grabbed Éponine’s hand in his and clutched it tight, before suddenly dropping it when Éponine almost sobbed in pain.
“Oh god, Éponine, what happened?”
“Someone aimed a musket at you, monsieur. I, I had to stop it.”
“Oh, Éponine.”
He bent his head towards her, and they were talking, low that Grantaire would not hear it if he didn’t try to. And he didn’t. Whatever this was, it was private. It was enough to hold his oldest friend close to him.
Instead, he gestured Courfeyrac over to him. “Listen, Courfeyrac, we need to… Gavroche is her brother, we should keep him away.”
Courfeyrac’s brow wrinkled. “I’m well aware that Troilus was P…”
“No.” Grantaire interrupted before Courfeyrac could get the name out. He knew that it would only upset Éponine to hear it spoken now. “I mean that Gavroche Thénardier and Éponine Thénardier are siblings, Courfeyrac.”
Courfeyrac swallowed, and nodded, apologetic. He looked around. “He’s not around right now, anyhow. But if I see him I’ll try and point him in another direction.”
Grantaire, nodded, then looked down at Éponine as she started moving between his arms.
Her hands trembling, she pulled a letter from her pocket and folded it into Marius’ palm. “It… from Cosette. For you.” She coughed a little. Grantaire felt her whole body convulse. His hands tightened a little, almost instinctively, wanting to hold her close for as long as he could.
She smiled up at Marius. “I have always been a little bit in love with you, Helen.” Her voice fell away. And just like that, Grantaire’s oldest friend had died for love. |
They brought Finn in in worse condition than Poe had anticipated when he’d heard of what’d happened on Starkiller. His heart lurched to his throat and he couldn’t entirely understand why.
Finn was his friend — a new one, it was a tragically brief friendship, but a strong one nonetheless. After everything they’d been put through together in the short while they’d known one another, it was futile to deny a genuine bond had blossomed into existence.
It was that, and something else. Firstly, Poe’s worry for a friend’s wellbeing; and then something else that he could have pinpointed with startling accuracy if only he had the guts to admit it to himself. He didn’t, not yet, and he didn’t want to jump to conclusions all too quickly.
He wasn’t permitted into medical for the first few days, receiving bits and pieces of news about Finn’s condition from select medics and attendants. Finn’s condition was constantly shifting, unstable one moment, half decent the next. Poe lingered about, pestering whoever he could get his hands on about the patient in question. There was nothing subtle about his frantic queries, and he blamed that on his stubborn personality, rather than some sort of infatuation.
Except —
Finn was eventually stabilized, the medics confident enough with his state to leave him to rest and recover; finally, blessedly, opening the doors to visitors.
Poe, predictably enough, was the first one through the door.
One look at Finn, bruised and bandaged and lying on the bed had Poe struck with the immediate realization that, no, it was something far worse than infatuation. Fuck, Dameron, he chided himself, it was a damn crush, no need to sugarcoat it.
And that was day one. Poe lingered by the door for a moment, then ducked inside and let the door slide shut behind him. He wondered briefly if Finn would have any more visitors. With Rey gone, the chances were small.
There was a single stiff looking chair at Finn’s bedside, placed there for those keeping vigil, and the medics that came to check up on vitals every so often and preferred to sit while tapping the statistics down onto their pads.
Poe took a seat and did little more than stare. His mind raced back to his own brush with mortality not too long ago, and whether he’d looked this broken to Finn when he’d piloted them to freedom, blood dripping freely down his face.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, mind eerily blank and eyes glued to Finn’s wounds, before he extended his hand and took Finn’s limp fingers in his own — they were jarringly cold and Poe felt compelled to scoot closer, wrapping both hands around Finn’s to seep some much needed warmth into his skin.
Poe couldn’t visit the next day, work disabling him from tending to what he really wanted to be doing. He loved his job, what he did, wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the universe — yet he found that with Finn in the med bay, alone and discarded, he couldn’t quite focus on tuning the engine of his starfighter.
He sent BB-8 over to Finn’s bedside, to keep watch and alert him should anything change. Maybe he was overdoing it, but Poe couldn’t bring himself to care about appearances. And then it became a pattern — when Poe worked, or was otherwise occupied, the droid would roll over to the med bay and remain there until his owner arrived to relieve it from its dutiful watch.
Poe came by in the evenings after work, and on the mornings he had off. He sat in the metal chair for hours, railing digging uncomfortably into his spine; he ignored the discomfort and lingered, fingers wrapped around Finn’s wrist. In time, he wasn’t sure anymore if he was comforting Finn or himself, pretending that everything was okay.
The visitations became routine — so familiar that Poe found himself skipping work one bad day, caught up in some inexplicable rush of emotion, feeling overwhelmed by everything, by life itself, and instead let his feet carry him down to where Finn lay.
And he caught himself talking that day, leaning back into the chair, hands folded in his lap. He told Finn of everything that’d been bothering him for the past few hours, then the past few days, followed by numerous anecdotes from his childhood, which he vividly recalled.
He knew, rather hoped, that Finn couldn’t hear his pointless chatter. For lack of a better word, it was freeing — exhilarating, even — to get everything off his chest, to share things he’d never found himself sharing with anyone else. And though he couldn’t hear him, Poe realized he would not mind telling Finn any of it, if he were really listening.
A few more days flew by and the next time Poe dropped by the medical wing he discovered the stiff chair had been replaced by an armchair: small, compact, but a huge improvement from the backache-inducing metal contraption he’d spent so many hours in. Someone had noticed the long stretches of time Poe stayed in Finn’s room — he was being obvious, apparently, but he felt no shame, rather the urge to thank whoever it was that cared enough about his spine to furnish him with the new seat.
When Poe left that afternoon, he untangled his fingers from Finn’s, and, before he left, pressed a tentative kiss to Finn’s forehead. He later asked BB-8 what the hell he was even thinking doing that. The droid chirped.
Over a week had gone by with Finn’s condition failing to change, for better or worse. It was driving Poe up the wall, making him more jittery and anxious than he cared to admit. His coworkers could see his murky mood, but chalked it up to all the stress he’d endured — some late acting variation of PTSD, et cetera.
He visited Finn after work one evening, after some particularly lengthy overtime, dead tired and swaying on his feet. He’d meant to head to his quarters, but the sheer sense of familiarity left him turning the other way, straight to Finn’s room in the med bay. Without thinking, working with muscle memory, Poe sank into the armchair, and the rest was history.
He was woken by the sturdy grip of a medic shaking his shoulder. Poe jerked his head up and found that it’d been cushioned on the corner of Finn’s mattress for the majority of the night, which explained the kink in his neck. He forced out a peppy smirk and thanked the medic for waking him before he could miss his shift, then promptly excused himself to wallow in embarrassment alone, in his room. Not that it was shameful, being caught like that, except his bedhead was the thing of nightmares and he’d most likely drooled onto the mattress.
Nearing the two week marker, Poe found himself more distracted than usual, losing sleep increasingly often, legitimately terrified that the medics could be placating him, that Finn’s comatose state could be irreversible.
There was a lapse in judgment, one night, after he’d spent a good few minutes rambling on to Finn about his newfound concerns, deep down wishing that Finn would just get with the damn program and open his eyes (he missed their bright sparkle). Poe sighed, discouraged by the constant silence, the stillness of it all, and got to his feet, ready to leave to his quarters and have BB-8 talk some sense into his stubborn, ridiculously lovesick brain.
Poe failed to stop himself, however, from leaning over Finn, as was his routine by now; but rather than a familiar peck on the forehead, he found himself pressing a soft kiss to his lips instead.
Scratch that, he needed BB-8 to beat some sense into him.
/
It was hardly extraordinary when Finn finally woke, his fingers twitching infinitesimally, intertwined with Poe’s own, rousing Poe from the light sleep he'd drifted into.
There was a soft gasp as Finn slipped back into consciousness, eyes flickering open then back shut, jarred by the lights overhead.
Poe shot up from where he'd reclined into his seat, leaning over Finn and resting his hand on Finn’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. "Shh, hey," he whispered, "you're safe. You're okay."
It took a brief moment, but Finn’s breathing evened out, his grip on Poe’s fingers loosening from where he'd squeezed his hand in panic just seconds before. His eyes remained shut, yet there was something placating about the warmth of the touch on his shoulder, the soothing words muttered by a voice he could almost place.
Finn forced his eyelids open, fighting against their punishing weight, willing his eyes to adjust to the brightness so different from the pitch black expanse he'd grown used to.
Poe Dameron was half hovering over him, concern etched plainly onto his features as he reciprocated Finn’s grasp on his hand.
Finn tried to form words, and he was dismayed but not entirely surprised to find his throat couldn't quite get a single sound to escape his lips.
"Buddy, hey, take it easy," Dameron was saying, a litany of calming nothings, trying to anchor Finn to the reality he'd woken up in. "Don't push yourself. Just — slow down, hm?"
There were a million questions rushing through Finn’s newly functional mind, and he hated that he couldn't organize his thoughts enough to prioritize what he needed to get across first. He hated that his throat, dry and hoarse, refused to let a sound out even if he wanted it to. His body felt like lead, far too heavy, and he almost let himself get pulled back under.
"Finn?" the voice beside him was growing alarmed and Finn realized he'd let his eyes fall shut once more. "Finn, buddy, come on, stay with me. Nap time is over."
Finn did as he was told, unable to resist the frantic edge to Dameron’s voice that struck a painful chord somewhere in his chest, and he struggled to open his eyes again.
The room came into focus this time around — small and compact, in the medical bay — and Finn shifted his head an inch to the side, taking in the sudden relief flooding Poe’s face. The lingering touch on his shoulder was still there, his fingers, lying limp across the bedsheets, still intertwined with Poe’s.
Finn couldn't help that the first words out of his mouth were a hectic question. "Rey — where's Rey?"
Poe breathed out a sigh, as if he were expecting the question, or perhaps hoping for Finn to say something else entirely. His eyes were soft, lined with turmoil.
He answered nonetheless, quiet and placating. "She's fine," then he paused, unsure of how to continue. "She's okay, she wasn't hurt — she left. Don't worry about it now."
Even through his haze, Finn could tell Poe was choosing his words carefully, fully aware of how much Rey meant to Finn, how genuinely worried he was that something had happened to her.
Finn nodded slowly, shifting slightly and failing to suppress a hiss of pain as his bandages caught on the bedsheets.
Poe reacted immediately. "Shit. Is something wrong? Do you need me to get someone — ?"
Finn cut off his rambling before it morphed into a lengthy rant.
"Fine," he croaked. "I'm fine, Poe."
Poe's fingers stilled palpably in Finn’s grasp; then he flushed at the realization that it was Finn’s voice saying his name that had such a visible effect on him.
It wasn't as if he was actively denying his infatuation, just that Finn had been too unconscious to have been made aware of it before.
Poe took Finn’s gentle response as a sign to sit back down and stop fretting like an overprotective parent. He sank into the seat and felt a surge of heat in his chest when Finn’s hand tightened the grip on his own, not wanting to relinquish its hold.
It was different when Finn was awake — none of the openness he'd displayed when he'd hovered by Finn’s sleeping form over the past few weeks -– instead a slow tentativeness, restraint and hesitation holding him back from rushing forward and pulling Finn’s lips to his own.
He was thankful for the dim enough lights successfully concealing the reddish tint threatening to crawl over his cheeks. Finn was looking at him oddly enough as it was, as if trying to decipher a mystery he was on the very edge of solving.
It felt, right about then, like the both of them were skirting around a topic they both wished to speak of, but couldn't quite figure out how to begin.
A beat passed, and a medic hurried into the room, Finn’s vitals no doubt having signaled his awakening. The interruption was a godsend, sparing them from sitting there and deliberating their uncertainty in silence, both comfortable and uncomfortable in equal measure.
Poe was politely asked to leave, and leave he did, shooting Finn one last warm, tight lipped smile before he disappeared into the hall.
He did not return for the remainder of the day, telling himself it was because he didn't know how long the medical exam would last, he didn't want to be a bother.
BB-8 chirped at him when he returned to his quarters that night, as if it sensed the tension that must have been radiating off Poe in waves.
He didn't know what to say to Finn, but staying away, avoiding him was far worse than facing the turmoil he was feeling head on, and he found himself back at the doorway to Finn’s room, bright and early the next morning. A passing nurse gave him a knowing look as she hurried past, and Poe wondered exactly how over-eager he appeared.
"You didn't come back yesterday," was Finn’s greeting of choice, nearly stopping Poe in his tracks as he approached the bed.
He slipped on a casual smile. "Thought you might be busy for the rest of the night."
Finn didn't let his gaze drop from Poe as he took the last few steps across the room and settled down in his chair.
"Hi," Poe said, a proper hello, "how are you feelin'?"
"Better," Finn told him, and he sounded better, far more alive than he had the previous day.
Poe couldn't stop the genuine relief from pushing a brighter smile onto his lips. "That's good to hear."
Barely a minute passed before Finn spoke up again, unable to keep whatever it was to himself any longer. "Doc told me I’d been out for a hell of a long time", he began, "and -– that you were right in that chair for most of it."
Poe tried very hard not to choke on the air he was breathing. He’d tried to keep his behavior subtle and was shocked to find he’d failed spectacularly enough for the medics to notice and relay the message to their patient. Also, he hadn’t spent that much time in the armchair, really, more so the crappy metal chair it’d replaced.
Actually, backtrack that. He hadn’t been subtle at all.
Finn continued before Poe could implode from his sudden fit of self-awareness. "That’s a nice thing to hear — touching," he added. "You must’ve been damn bored to sit around here all day, every day."
It took approximately three seconds and a mindless rush of adrenaline for Poe to decide to roll with the punches and deal with his emotions like the grown man he was. "No, I — I didn’t mind."
Poe wracked his mind for the right words to say next and Finn stayed silent, patiently waiting. Sheer honesty seemed like the best call to make. Scary, but genuine, at least.
"I talked to you sometimes," Poe said, voice quieter than before. "I guess you couldn’t hear me — maybe that’s a good thing; I rambled on a lot, I tend to do that. I — don’t know, it felt easy — telling you all those things, pretending you were listening, that I had someone to talk to ‘bout it all."
Poe Dameron did not blush, nor was he the timid type (far from it), but he found himself tripping over words and sentimentalities like he’d never said anything like that before. Which, looking back on his entire life, he hadn’t. Not like this.
The corner of Finn’s lips quirked upward and he suggested, "If you’re up for repeating yourself, I’d love to hear all about it. Everything — I mean, everything you said, I’d like to listen."
It was practically a reflex, when Finn held up his hand, palm up, and Poe reached out and twined his fingers with Finn’s. He almost pulled back, seeing what he’d done, and how easily (eagerly) he’d done it, but Finn’s expression didn’t suggest he disliked the gesture — rather the opposite.
Poe stared at their interwoven hands for a brief moment before snapping his gaze back up to meet Finn’s content (but vaguely amused) smile to answer his query.
"Sure," said Poe, "I’ll tell you everything, but — why don’t you get better first, get back on your feet? I don’t wanna accidentally bore you to death in your fragile state and all."
Finn rolled his eyes at Poe’s attempt at a lighthearted joke. It looked odd on him, especially with the tired dark circles under his eyes, as if he were just learning to use human gestures and expressions — which wasn’t far from the truth.
Silence took over once more, far from unnerving. Poe found there was something remarkable about spending time with someone in utter stillness, not saying a word, just sitting there, existing in one’s presence in tranquility. It wasn’t a waste of time or energy. Though it was potentially embarrassing to admit that the only other individual he felt comfortable enough around was his BB-8.
"Hey, Dameron?"
Finn’s voice pulled him away from his odd nostalgic reminiscing.
He barely had the time to get out a strangled "Hmm?" before he was being tugged forward, Finn’s grip surprisingly strong on his wrist, and, with Finn’s other hand suddenly cupping his jaw, angling him down, pulled into a soft kiss.
Poe let out a quiet sound of surprise and braced his free hand on the mattress, beside Finn’s head, stopping himself from outright tumbling onto the bed. He got over himself, his disbelief, quick enough to lean into kiss before Finn broke away.
"Thanks for keeping me company all those weeks," came the explanation. "Would’ve been lonely without you."
|
The blue silicon chip disappeared between Tiberius’ lips. He held Lexa’s gaze, swallowed it, and offered her a wink. “Well my dear, it seems I have access to your Sanctuary, now.” He drew a blade from his waistband. What before appeared as a grin across his face was now a menacing snarl. “Both worlds are mine to rule. It’s my birthright as king of Azgeda and my destiny as the rightful Heda.”
Clarke’s blood ran cold. Her loved ones were safe inside the Sanctuary, and each soul stored within the servers humming against the wall was vulnerable as long as Tiberius had access. A cold sweat broke against her brow as she imagined the havoc he could wreak on their Sanctuary if given the chance. His nearness to the servers alone made her skin crawl with unease and dread. But now that he could actually enter into the Sanctuary, have access to those she was bound to protect, what could she do? What now?
She glanced over to Lexa, who held her usual calm, stoic posture of the commander. Lexa tilted her chin, considered him for a moment, and then shook her head. “You are a naive fool, Tiberius.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Am I, now? I’ve come quite far for being such a fool; staged a war, usurped my brother, annihilated Skaikru, found my way to your Sanctuary. I’d think I’m instead rather clever.”
“Access does not mean authority. Even if you wanted to assume control over the Sanctuary, you lack the ability.”
Tiberius’ grin darkened. “Is that so? Sounds like a challenge, more like. And I like challenges. I should’ve lacked the ability to get to where I am now; the Azgeda throne, the Steward of the Coalition, defeating Skaikru… but here we are.”
“The Sanctuary isn’t yours to rule,” Clarke snapped.
“A pretty hypocritical thing to say when Lexa claims authority over it,” Tiberius bit back with a snarl. “What gives her the right that would be denied to me?”
Lexa’s cheeks flushed crimson in anger. “My role is to protect the Sanctuary, not rule it. It belongs to our people, not to tyrants like you.”
“People are idiots, Lexa,” Tiberius laughed. “Given a chance, the only thing they will accomplish is destroying themselves. They need a strong leader who will guide them from that path- they need me.”
“You would only lead them to ruin. And the Sanctuary isn’t like this world; control cannot be wielded by brute strength alone. Only the commander can manipulate and control the Sanctuary, and without having merged with the flame program, you are nothing -!”
She sprang forward and jabbed the tip of her blade at his chest. He deflected the blow with his knife and stepped aside, swinging his fist around towards her chin. She turned and caught the forceful blow in the palm of her hand before jerking his wrist into an agonizing twist. Tiberius hollered and dropped to one knee, attempting to turn his body against the strained rotation in his wrist and elbow.
“- there is only one commander.”
She released his knuckles and slammed the palm of her hand against his forehead. Everyone within the cellar froze as the room darkened and grew silent. Clarke braced against the sudden tremble of the floor and closed her eyes against a blinding flash of light. She then felt a cold breeze against her cheek and the rumble of thunder quake through her bones.
Clarke opened her eyes and found she was standing beside Lexa in a mossy forest, surrounded on all sides by towering pines. Tiberius lay on his back a distance away, gazing curiously around him. She lifted her gaze through the canopy and saw a swirl of storm clouds, a streak of lighting ripped across the darkened sky. The scent of wet earth filled her as she took a in a breath: they were in the Sanctuary. Lexa had pulled them, forced Tiberius into the Sanctuary.
“Lexa, what are you doing?” Clarke’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Why did you bring us here?”
“No one can be two places at once,” Lexa explained. Her voice was calm and level, her attention never breaking from Tiberius. “We may be able to sense our bodies as long as that mental link remains, but we are forced to be present in only one world. Luckily there are two of us and only one of him. We have the advantage.”
“Well that was rude,” Tiberius barked, standing from the damp ground. He brushed pine needles from his arms and looked down at his empty hands, grimacing at the realization that his knife was gone. “Well, I see you’re too chicken shit to make it a fair fight.”
“He’s stronger and faster than me. I can’t kill him one on one back in the cellar, but I can as long as you keep his mind trapped here,” Clarke whispered, a hint of a smirk turning the corner of her lips. Considering how many of her loved ones had died, whether directly or indirectly, by Tiberius’ actions, her eager hand would not hesitate when she dragged a knife across his throat. “Think you can erase his data from here while I take care of it?”
“I am powerful here, Clarke, so indeed I can. But the link between his mind and body must be severed first, or else he will only return to the cellar,” her voice quieted. “However, regardless of my strength here, I cannot entirely prevent him from returning. I can distract and hold him, but he is strong-willed. You must be prepared to defend yourself if he escapes me.”
Clarke glanced at Lexa and saw the masked concern in her emerald eyes, the consternation set in her clenched jaw. She wanted to ask why Lexa couldn’t just kill Tiberius herself in the cellar, but she knew the answer before the words left her lips: it was too risky. There was a chance that Tiberius could win in a hand-to-hand fight with Lexa, and would turn on Clarke next. Not only, then, could she not return to Polis before the radiation took its toll, but the physical safety of the servers would vulnerable to his whim. If Lexa had the authority to expel him each time he tried to enter the Sanctuary, what would stop him from destroying the servers out of sheer spite; one final blow to his enemies by destroying their last hope in a future. The physical safety of the servers was as stake, and Clarke needed to get out of the cellar alive if they wanted to save those seeking shelter from the radiation within Polis’ walls. Their safest option was to keep Tiberius inside the Sanctuary for as long as they could, to prevent him from returning to his body.
Clarke reached and slipped her fingers between Lexa’s. She caressed the side of her wrist with her thumb and gave a short, reassuring squeeze. She parted her lips to speak, but faltered and remained silent. What was there for Clarke to say that Lexa didn’t already know? They had spoken those words to one another, had already poured themselves wholly into the other. Words weren’t necessary, not at that moment. Should their lives end, they would know what was in the other’s heart; should they live on, they would utter those words again.
I love you.
Lexa did not turn to look at Clarke, she said nothing. Her face remained stoic and hardened as Clarke had remembered from the day they first met. Lexa responded only with a momentary, tight hand squeeze before releasing her grasp. It was a simple gesture, one of a warrior readying themselves for battle that Clarke understood: we’ll be alright.
An unseen force pulled Clarke away from the darkened forest, dragged her back across the barrier between that world and her physical body. A flash of light clouded her consciousness before she came to. Her body had collapsed onto the cellar floor. She gasped for breath, opened her eyes, and sat up from the cold tile; both Lexa and Tiberius were lying unconscious across the room.
Kill him, Clarke! She jerked forward and scrambled on her hands and knees towards Lexa’s blade. |
"Frodo, my boy, could you come over here for a moment?"
The caravan from the Blue Mountains had arrived late in the evening, hundreds of dwarves and their families bustling about the entrance hall in excitement. Bilbo remained in the royal wing with Fíli and the children throughout all of it, quite conscious of the fact that some of the new dwarves might not respond very well to a pair of hobbits living in the Lonely Mountain. All of the dwarves who'd been living in the mountain for months were already accustomed to Bilbo's presence, a direct result of his actions in the previous weeks and the Company making it very clear that Erebor wouldn't have been reclaimed if it was not for the hobbit. None of them had acted rude or hostile towards him, even when Bilbo was down in the kitchens the other day with his courting bead in plain sight. But there was no guarantee that the same would apply to these new arrivals, their loyalty to Thorin and the princes far more questionable than the earliest volunteer migrants.
"Yes?"
Frodo had spent the last hour in bed with Fíli and the other dwarflings, the injured prince going over Khuzdul runes and elementary grammar with the three children. And to Bilbo's great surprise, it seemed that Fíli was an excellent instructor, his voice patient and demeanor soft as he worked with them.
"Would you like to add a string into the bracelet?" asked Bilbo, barely able to get the words out before Frodo was scrambling onto his lap. "Okay, okay, careful with those knees and feet, my boy. Now, which color would you like?"
"Light blue," said Frodo. "He really likes blue, right?"
"Aye, that he does," assured the older hobbit. "Now, give me your fingers and we will start right about here, twisting like this and…"
The next ten minutes were spent with Bilbo assisting his nephew with the colorful bond-bracelet that he'd been preparing for Thorin as a courting gift. Hobbits often made a thick and multi-colored string bracelet for their intended, a gift that the receiver was never supposed to take off for as long as their husband or wife lived. For as long as Bilbo could remember, his parents had worn an inversely-making set, which had finally been removed when Bungo took ill and passed two decades ago. Although not nearly as grand as the gift he'd received from the Dwarf-King, Bilbo hoped that Thorin would appreciate the feeling and love that went into hobbit courting gifts.
"Now through the hole right over here. Ah, that's it! A superb Proudfoot knot, my boy."
However, despite his newfound love for Erebor, it would be nice to visit the Shire every couple of years. The journey would be quite a bit easier once Frodo was older, and Bilbo felt a strong urge for his nephew to remain well acquainted with their homeland and its customs. After all, they still had Bag End to return to for prolonged visits, Gaffer Gamgee and his family ever-loyal friends of the Baggins family. And it'd be good for Frodo to mingle with his more accepting and adventurous Took and Brandybuck cousins, a relationship that all young hobbits needed at some point in their lives. It'd be a nice reprieve from the sometimes dangerous climate and politics of Erebor as well.
"Almost done," said Bilbo. He reached over to the small container that Thorin had placed Frodo's lost tooth in. "Just a few finishing touches."
"My tooth?"
"Aye, a little memento for him," answered Bilbo, very carefully needling into the tiny tooth with a miniature drill Bifur had given him. "My parents had specially designed and crafted bangles, but I think this will do just fine, too."
"Can I give it to him?"
Bilbo slipped a few strands of sturdy string through the hole, slowly weaving the tooth into the primary threads of the bracelet. The tiny white tooth clashed very well with the blues, blacks, and dark purples that Bilbo had used to construct his gift. And with one final pull, it looked like the bracelet was ready to be given to the King.
"How about we both gift it to him?" Bilbo asked, very happy that his nephew had taken to Thorin so well. The little boy had caught them kissing the other day, eyes wide at the prospect of his uncle being courted by a grumpy but really nice and very hairy Dwarf-King. "And we can show him your superb string work, too."
"And my tooth?"
Bilbo ruffled his nephew's curls. "And your tooth."
The sound of the door opening immediately caught their attention, Frodo grinning when he recognized Thorin's familiar figure in the frame. Eager to show off his work, the halfling ran over to the King and pulled at his furry coat, demanding that Thorin pick him up and come over to the desk. Thorin scooped the little boy up and stepped aside from the doorway, the sound of voices filtering in after him.
"C'mon, over here! I helped make you this really pretty…"
Frodo trailed off after that, light blue eyes narrowing as he more closely observed the dwarf that was carrying him. And then he unleashed a piercing scream, arms hitting at the Dwarf-King's face and scrambling away from him.
"You're not Thorin!" yelled Frodo, hiding behind Bilbo's legs and pointing at the kingly imposter. "Uncle! He skin-napped Thorin!"
"Oh goodness, he truly is adorable," said the imposter. "And even tinier than Kíli said in his letters. Quite the strong right hook, too."
Bilbo just stared at the mysterious figure, astounded at the nearly indistinguishable features between Thorin and the person in the doorway. And when the Dwarf-King strode through the entrance a moment later, Bilbo's eyes widened even further when he couldn't tell the difference between them without a closer look. However, Fíli's excited shouts told Bilbo all he needed to know about the imposter.
"So this is Bilbo Baggins. I've heard a lot about you."
The sister of Thorin Oakenshield was an imposing figure, especially since she was almost identical to her brother in every way at the moment. From the short beard to the twin braids and beads to the armor, clothes, and dwarven weapons, Dís looked like an exact duplicate of a certain Dwarf-King who was going to receive a very well-deserved reprimand and lack of raspberry mousse for scaring poor Frodo senseless. However, if Bilbo looked a little more closely at her cheeks and stature, the slight differences between brother and sister became somewhat clearer to the hobbit.
"Dís. At your service."
Bilbo snapped his mouth shut. "And the twin who Thorin never mentioned. Why did you never mention that she was your twin?!"
"I'm actually fourteen years younger than him," laughed Dís. "Although the close family resemblance is very handy whenever a stupid brawl needs to be ended right quick. Being Thorin works like a charm every time. And I think I made one particularly boorish dwarf wet his trousers. Highlight of the decade."
"Oh, yes, you are most definitely the mother of Fíli and Kíli," admitted the hobbit, reaching down to pick up a still frightened Frodo. "The resemblance is uncanny. Well, to Kíli, that is."
"Hey! I look like my mother!" shouted Fíli from the bed. "I've got her cheekbones and strong gait! Which I'd show you…if I could walk. But no, that's not allowed, says the bossy hobbit."
"Ah, and there's my oldest boy!" said Dís with a wide smile.
Bilbo walked over to stand beside the King, more than a little amused by Thorin's anxious posture and overly quiet behavior. An only child himself, Bilbo would be the first to admit that he wasn't very familiar with the complex dynamics that existed between siblings, especially those that had more than two children like Thorin's family. But due to his experience with dozens upon dozens of cousins, the hobbit felt pretty confident in his ability to recognize a nasty sibling spat when he saw it.
"From the looks of it, someone's scared of their sister right now," said Bilbo, left hand gently running over Thorin's clenched fist. "Want to tell me about it? Or would that be a violation of kingship or something equally silly?"
Thorin didn't bother to look at him, instead mumbling something under his breath while he patted a still startled Frodo atop the head. The littlest hobbit ran his hands over a familiar beard and nose, eventually satisfied enough to reach out to Thorin and demand to be held by the disgruntled dwarf. Frodo tucked himself into the King's neck, still leery of the new stranger on the other side of the room. With a smile, Bilbo made a mental note to ask Ori for his drawing skills again in the near future.
"What was that?"
"She smacked me upside the head," grumbled the King. "And she shouted my ear off when she heard about Fíli's latest injuries. I think she plans to kill me in my sleep and usurp the throne for herself."
"I think she could pull it off, too."
"That's because all of our women masquerade as their male relatives whenever an adventure or journey demands it," answered Thorin, his eyes crossing when Frodo leaned in to take an extra close look at his face. "That is why outsiders frequently think that there are no dwarf women. It gives them much more freedom and safety, to pose as males when venturing in the outside world. But within the safe walls of Erebor, our women are free to dress as they please, as you've already seen with the dwarf mothers."
"It'll be good to wear comfortable clothing and no heavy armor again," stated the King's sister. She approached the two of them with Donel and Dwina at her side, both of them watching the princess with awe-struck eyes. "I like the freedom to come and go as I please as much as the next dwarf, but the armor of males is terribly heavy and unsuited to the female form."
Bilbo nodded in sympathy. "I can imagine. My mithril coat drowns me every time I've worn it so far. But it saved Frodo's life, so I can't complain."
"Ah, mithril," muttered Dís with a sly smile. "That's quite the exquisite gift. Very rare, but perfect for protection. How befitting, brother."
"It served its purpose."
Dís smiled even wider at that. "Oh, I can see that it did. You've two charming and brilliant hobbits to show for it. I'm impressed." Her eyes flicked from Frodo to the top of Bilbo's head. "And very pleased. Is that the Arkenstone?"
Bilbo's hands shot to the bead in his hair. "Well, ummm…"
"It is."
"So it seems that that curse-ridden lump of stone actually has some good uses after all," snorted Dís with a roll of her eyes. "Where's the orb itself now?"
"In the tombs of our grandfathers."
"And I certainly hope it'll be staying there," said Dís with a hard glare. "That rock has caused far too many problems over the past few centuries. Leave it buried in the earth where it belongs, I say."
"The Arkenstone will remain there so long as—"
"I wish to see my boys grow old and give me grandchildren, Thorin," warned Dís with crossed arms. "Anything else is unacceptable."
"I agree with her," added Bilbo.
The siblings shared a meaningful look, Thorin seeming to cow beneath his sister's unwavering stare of amusement and doom. Bilbo could barely hold back a smile when he realized that Thorin was clearly not the top-dog in this relationship, his sister very much a force to be reckoned with at all levels.
"At least we'll have another person with some common sense in this family," said Dís. "So tell me, Master Baggins, what's your favorite part of Erebor so far?"
Bilbo stiffened at being the new center of attention. Despite his great love of every member in the Durin family, being pulled into sibling spats or discussions about the hard politics of dwarves wasn't something he wanted to be involved in. At all.
"Well, from what I've been able to see so far, the library's absolutely magnificent. I'd really like to take a few hours and truly explore it. When I actually have the free time, of course. Everything's been rather hectic as of late."
"So I've heard," murmured the princess. "The library was always my favorite part of the city, too. Dwarf women tend to be much more…intellectual than our male counterparts. Have you found anything of interest yet?"
"Oh, yes, several things actually," admitted Bilbo with an excited smile. "I didn't get to spend much time down there, but I did find several fascinating maps on the eastern reaches and places called Ered Harmal, Daldunair, and Lygar Kraw. I haven't the faintest idea where they truly are, but I'm sure there are more maps and charts just waiting to be rediscovered in those giant piles and back rooms."
"There are," assured Dís. "My memory's rather vague due to my youth at the time, but I'm positive that Erebor has far more maps of Middle-Earth's reaches than any the western libraries can boast about. I recall several on the Northern Peninsula and the dwarf tribes of that region in Deep Archives. Those are located beneath the floors of the current library proper, I believe."
"Truly?"
"Aye, that's where all the most ancient texts and maps are stored for safe-keeping, which has hopefully saved them from Smaug's wrath as well," explained Dís. "There will be several texts down there on the Blacklocks and Stiffbeards, our distant kin to the northeast."
Bilbo gave her a shy smile. "I'd really like to compose a large map of the far reaches, if I'm able to find enough smaller ones to accurately support it. And Frodo's quite keen at map-reading as well. Maybe it'd help Erebor, too. Somehow."
If possible, Dís smiled even wider. "I like this one, Thorin. He's much better than that conceited bint you brought around last time."
Kíli had sidled up to his mother at some point, looking back and forth between all of them and grinning like an excited puppy that had been given an extra large bone. If the youth had had a tail, it'd be thumping the floor right now.
"And I don't have to shoot him."
"Or chop off his hair," added Fíli from the edge of the bed. "Bilbo's newest braid is quite the sight, isn't it, Amad?"
"Aye, I think it accents those pointed ears of his rather well," agreed Dís, a nod of her head finalizing the matter. "Don't you think so, too, Thorin? And maybe a second one to accent the other ear as well."
"With a matching sapphire," added Dwina. "It'd be pretty."
Thorin sighed, looking down at the sleepy hobbit in his arms. "I truly don't stand a chance anymore, do I?"
"Nope," yawned the faunt. "You're…outnumbered…"
The Dwarf-King tucked the hobbit into his neck, Frodo instinctively cuddling into the blazing warmth that radiated from Thorin's center. He watched as Bilbo spoke merrily with his sister about Erebor's archives and libraries, the hobbit thrumming with energy at the prospect of reading so many ancient manuscripts. Despite the exhaustion that seemed to dog all of their steps, it was a great relief for Thorin to finally have all of his family in a single space together. And with two other dwarflings to boot, something that Dís was delighted to discover when both Dwina and Donel bombarded her with questions until their fathers eventually came to retrieve them.
"Oh goodness, how very rude of me," gasped Bilbo. "You've been standing here all this time, just returned from a long and tiring journey, and I haven't even offered you any food or drinks yet. My mother would be just…"
"He cooks, too?"
Thorin didn't even get to open his mouth before his nephews were praising and all out raving about the many desserts and meals that Bilbo had made for them. Aside from a tiny hobbit tucked into his shirt again, the Dwarf-King was relieved that his sister had two sons to distract her attention away from Thorin himself.
"Well, there's nothing better in the world than a man who can cook a good meal," said Dís. "And it'll be nice to finally have someone besides myself cooking around here. Feeding you boys was exhausting work."
"His cupcakes, Amad. Oh, the cupcakes. Hobbits are just amazing. I swear, they must have a secret or something for it."
"Maybe it's the feet. Strange things, those feet."
"I just want cupcakes." |
So far, Artemis' day off has been decisively meh. She'd wandered around the Watchtower for most of the morning. She'd been bored enough to resort to cleaning, at which point Mal showed up out of nowhere, took the broom she'd been sweeping with and checked her for a fever. He'd even looked at the records for the last time she'd been exposed to magic or any type of toxin. (It's been two weeks, man. Come on. Besides, she's mildly offended, now. She's not that crummy.)
Everyone else is either out on a mission or has downtime, as well. Bart's in Central City, hanging out with the Flash clan for his dad and aunt's second birthday party (and boy, is that still the weirdest thing ever.) She knows that she'd be welcome if she joined them, but she still finds it hard to look Mr. and Mrs. West in the eye. She finally decides to head to Gotham and drop by to see her mother. So it's fairly typical that she finds the house empty and a text from her mom informing her that she's spending the weekend with Jade, Roy, and Lian. Come to think of it, she needs to go visit them soon, too. She hasn't seen Lian in ages.
Not now, though. Now she's tired, hungry, and more than a little lonely and mopey. So she orders pizza and pulls up Lord of the Rings on their crappy old DVD player. She's getting up to throw her paper plate away and switch discs when there's a knock on the window.
She's across the living room in two strides, snatching a collapsible bow and quiver of arrows from the umbrella stand behind the door and nocking an arrow to the string. She freezes when she sees a black-gloved hand waving at her, displaying a lack of weapons to signal that they're not an attacker. She steps forward, and can just make out a silhouette with light glinting off the blue bird on his chest. She lowers the bow and sighs, stepping forward and opening the window. "What the hell? I have a door, you know. If Bats hasn't taught you to use one, surely A has."
Dick leans forward on the fire escape and smiles up at her sheepishly. It's a bit half-assed and clearly strained, but it still has the desired effect. "Sorry about this. I remembered your place was close by."
"Just be glad my mom's not home," she says, leaning back to let him in the window.
"I already knew," Dick says, turning away. Artemis arches an eyebrow. "How?"
"Roy sent me a pic. He probably sent you one, too." Artemis pulls out her phone and mock-glares out the window at Dick when there is indeed an unread message. She pauses, shocked, when she sees Dick pulling someone else in the window behind him. She can see Tim outside, helping guide the man's feet in. Boy, now that she really looks--the kid's a good five years her junior. Which is sad, when did she get this old?
But that's not the most startling thing about him. No, even with a domino mask, she'd recognize this kid anywhere. You don't easily forget the face of the fourteen-year-old you failed to save who nearly tore the team apart by his absence and was Wally's main reason for leaving the hero business.
"Jason," she breathes, dropping down next to Dick, who's supporting the younger boy while Tim climbs in the window. She'd suspected something was up when Tim had been attacked; the close-mouthed hostility from Bruce and Dick and the shell-shock from Tim had screamed wrong. But she'd never suspected this. She can't stop staring at him, alive and breathing--and bleeding. There's a bullet hole in his abdomen and a hastily-applied bandage is soaked with varying layers of fresh and drying blood. Dick's gloves are tacky with it where he's putting pressure on the wound.
"Sofa. Now." she orders. She pulls one of Jason's arms around her shoulder and Dick grabs his other arm. She can hear Tim closing the window behind him. He's locking it and drawing the curtains, too. "Tim, there're towels in the hall closet. Grab a few for the sofa, please," she calls. Even her former assassin mom would freak out if there was blood on the couch when she got home.
"Got it," Tim says, and she can hear his footfalls in the hallway. He comes back with them within a few seconds, spreading them out carefully and crouching next to the couch to help them lay Jason down. Dick stops at the head of the couch, and Artemis winds up next to the longer side. Tim takes Jason's legs--with some difficulty, as Tim is small and Jason's legs are long and heavy and when did that happen--and Dick slowly lowers him onto the couch, Artemis stabilizing him on the side. Jason moans a bit when he's jostled, tossing his head, and Artemis flinches. He quiets once he's settled, and Artemis turns to go dig the first aid kit out of its cabinet in the bathroom. She hasn't needed it for so long, she'd almost forgotten where it was.
When she comes back, Tim is carefully pulling back the pressure bandages from Jason's stomach, cutting what little remains of his shirt off, and Dick is crouched by the boy's head, cradling it with one hand and carding back his bangs with the other. The wound looks ugly, and Artemis cringes slightly in sympathy as she hands the kit off to Tim. The current Robin cracks it open and pulls out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He glances up at Dick, their masked eyes meeting and holding for a second before Dick turns and whispers something in Jason's ear. Artemis can't hear a response, if there even is one, but Dick glances back up at Tim and nods. Tim tips the bottle onto the wound, and there's a stifled hiss of agony. The sound makes Artemis study Jason's face again. She'd been distracted by the wound, but now her attention is back on the former, somehow-not-dead Robin.
He's older, now--how the hell does that work, she wonders--and harder somehow. But at the moment his face is scrunched up, body tense and eyes clenched shut, sweat breaking out on his forehead, and Dick is shushing him and murmuring reassurances. Artemis heads back to the bathroom, grabs a washcloth and runs it under the sink. She wrings it out and hurries back to the couch, handing the wet cloth to Dick. He shoots her a grateful smile and begins wiping down Jason's sweaty face with the cloth. Tim is busy stitching the wound shut, and Jason's breath is coming in harsh pants.
Artemis isn't quite sure what to do at this point. The boys seem to have the first aid well in hand; though she has a feeling Jason might be needing some saline or a blood transfusion, judging by his pallor and the amount of blood on the bandages. She gathers the discarded bandages up and goes to throw them away, wrapping them in newspaper on principle. There's still most of a pizza in the freezer and various beverages, but she isn't sure if any of the bats will be hungry after this. She digs through the medicine basket on the counter until she finds some of her mother's heavy-duty painkillers. She grabs a couple of them, knowing her mom will understand, and gets a glass of water from the sink.
She steps back into the living room cautiously. Tim's finishing the stitches in Jason's stomach, and Jason looks semi-conscious, cheek resting on Dick's arm and eyes half-lidded. It sends a jolt of panic through her at first, because he looks so similar to that awful night in Ethiopia. But she shakes her head. He's alive, here and regardless of how, and that's what matters.
She touches Dick's shoulder lightly, extends the pills and the glass to him. He takes them and turns to Jason, setting the glass on the floor for a moment so he can shake his brother's shoulder with his free hand. "Hey, little wing, wake up. Jase."
The boy's lashes flutter before his eyes blink open slightly more. "Hmm?" he rasps, and Artemis feels a pang at how low his voice is now. He had a high voice way back when--not quite as high as Dick's, but close. "Pain meds, Jay. Think you can keep them down?" Dick continues.
"Yep," Jason mumbles, and Dick helps him sit up enough to swallow them down. Dick slowly eases his head back onto the arm of the couch, and Jason turns wearily. His eyes meet Artemis' gaze; cloudy, but she can see a glint of recognition. "Hey, 'mis." he grunts. "Sorry for...messin' up your couch."
She gives a vaguely watery laugh. "It's seen worse."
"Mm." Jason's eyes roll back into his head for a long moment. While he's still trying to pull himself together, Tim speaks up. "Done with these. Can we turn him over without hurting him too much? The exit wound needs stitching."
"That alright?" Dick addresses Jason. Jason grunts and shifts one shoulder slightly in a shrug. His face looks oddly tight--but then again, he did just get stitched up without anesthesia. Dick carefully grasps him under the arms, and without being asked Artemis hurries next to him to help stabilize him again. Tim grabs Jason's legs and they manage to turn him without too much trouble, though Jason's gasps of pain are a bit disconcerting. Artemis helps settle Jason's cheek back onto the arm of the couch. Dick goes back to combing through Jason's unruly black curls; now that she looks closely, she can see that he has a white streak in his hair now, just above his forehead. She assumes it's a side-effect of something, because he hadn't had it before. Tim catches his breath a bit at the foot of the couch, and both she and Dick glance at him. Then they see what he's staring at and they pale.
Jason's skin is marred with dozens of fresh scars; knife wounds, bullet wounds, and other, less-recognizable injuries. There aren't any scars from his murder, oddly enough. These must have been accumulated afterwards.
No scars from his murder. That thought is truly awful, and Artemis swallows hard, feeling sick. Jason. The poor, poor boy. She can't even imagine what he went through, and her childhood was nowhere near a cakewalk. She wonders what the hell happened and whether Bruce knows about this or not.
Bruce. None of this makes any sense. Bruce loved Jason. Loves Jason, she amends silently. He'd actually wept when they found him. She'd seen it. He'd refused to let go of his body for hours. They'd had to call Superman and Wonder Woman in to get him to release Jason's corpse, and even then they only did it to make arrangements for burial. She staggers backwards a step, sinking to the floor and pulling her knees beneath her chin. How did this happen? She'd been at Jason's funeral, and he'd been well and truly dead. Pale, unmoving, in a tux, make up covering his horrific burns and injuries, the whole shebang. So how'd he become...not-dead? What had happened to him? Where had he been? Why is he back now? And most importantly, why isn't he at the Manor right now? Why hadn't Bruce withdrawn from League business to take care of his adopted brood in this crazy situation? Why in the actual hell is Jason Todd bleeding on her couch instead of at home, in his own bed with his family around him? Judging by the tension in both Dick and Tim, she can guess that something's majorly screwy with the Bats. Well, she'll be damned if she lets this lie.
She shakes her head, glancing up. Tim is cutting the excess thread from the end of the stitches, and wrapping Jason's torso in bandages with Dick's help. She's glad Dick's preoccupied, because otherwise he would doubtless have noticed her little meltdown and would be staring at her in concern right now. Which would be utterly ridiculous, given the circumstances. Sometimes she thinks he needs someone to tell him when to be concerned for himself. Jason's clearly barely clinging to consciousness, lashes fluttering over eyes cloudy from pain and blood loss. Tim, having finished with the wound itself, gets to work on starting a blood transfusion, Dick rolling up his right sleeve without either of them saying a word. Artemis boosts herself up from the floor, grabs a microfleece throw blanket from the chair and tucks it around Jason. It's a bit too small for him, so his toes are sticking out, but he curls tighter against the arm of the couch. He grunts something incomprehensible, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he drifts off to sleep.
The other boys release a collective breath, though whether it's really relieved or not is hard to tell. Dick curls up next to the couch, mindful of the tube in his right arm, his left hand planted firmly in Jason's hair. Artemis grabs Tim's arm, pulls him toward the kitchen. "Come on, let's go get your hands washed." Tim must hear something in her tone, because he says nothing and follows. When they've rounded the corner, she whirls on Tim. "First of all, go ahead and wash your hands, because no point in standing around in the meantime. Secondly, spill. I wanna know what happened."
So Tim runs through what he knows of the situation. And Artemis gets more and more angry the more she hears of it. "What. The actual..." she trails off, growling. "What the hell was Bruce thinking!?"
"I don't think he was," Tim says quietly. "I think it still hasn't quite hit him, yet. Or it hit him too hard, and he can't accept that Jason hates him, now. But honestly, from what Dick's told me everything was building up, even before he..." Tim's voice falters. He sighs. "Bruce didn't want to address Jason's problems with his own inconsistencies, even back then. And then I had to come in and make things worse."
"No, Tim," Artemis insists. "Bruce needed you. He still needs you. You saved him, and Dick. You have to know that."
"Batman needed a Robin," Tim says, "but if I'd had any idea that Jason was alive..."
"If any of you had, you would have brought him back if it was the last thing you did," Artemis says. "But you didn't, and here we are. So now all we can do is try to salvage what's left of this mess before it all breaks apart completely."
Tim smiles. It's faint, but there. "We?" he asks hopefully.
She smiles, too. "Yeah. Baywatch would have my hide if I let you all go down in flames."
At the mention of Wally, Tim's face falls a bit, and Artemis feels herself deflate. It's nearly midnight, she can see by the clock on the oven, and she sighs, massaging her temples. "I don't know if you'll even be hungry, but help yourself to whatever you can find. There's a bathroom down the hall with a shower in it. You're welcome to it if you want. I think I still have some of Wally's clothes somewhere. Might not fit great, but..." She sighs. "Best I can do."
Tim nods mutely. "Thanks."
She turns to go back into the living room. "We will find a way to fix this, Tim," she tells him fiercely. "I promise."
Tim meets her gaze for a moment before nodding again, subdued, and then turning back into the hall. Artemis watches him go, then heads back into the living room.
Jason's still asleep, breathing soft and even, and Dick is slumped over next to him, dozing, his chin resting on his arm. Stifling the bit of alarm at seeing him out, too, she leans down and pinches the tube to stop the blood flow, shaking his shoulder lightly with her other hand. "Hey, Dick. Wake up."
He blinks a couple times before sitting up a bit, rubbing at his eyes. "Mm. What's up?" he mumbles.
"Tim's showering, but you're welcome to do likewise after he's done," she says, voice low in consideration of Jason. She carefully extracts the needle from Dick's arm and covers the pinprick with a piece of gauze. "There's food if you want it. I'm assuming you and Tim are at least staying the night."
"Yeah," Dick mumbles, rubbing his forehead with his good hand. "I should probably send something so B knows we're not in danger, though, or he'll come after us."
"I almost wish he would, so I could chew him out," Artemis says tightly, and Dick shoots her an odd look. "Tim told me," she grits out, and Dick's face falls. "Damn," he mutters, rubbing his temples. "Disaster, heavy on the dis, huh?"
"I'm fully tempted to call Dinah and Diana and give him a nice long talking-to." Artemis says. "I won't, though. At least, not now."
Dick sighs. "Thanks. I guess I'm gonna go change." He gets up carefully, mindful not to wake his estranged brother, and the look on his face as he caresses Jason's hair once more before pulling away makes Artemis want to curl up and cry. Without being asked, she sits down in one of the other chairs to keep watch. Dick gives her a weak smile before he heads off down the hallway. She listens to his heavy footfalls and hitching breaths for a long while.
***
Even though she knows for a fact she won't be able to sleep, she still winds up in her bed, staring at the the lights from outside dancing back and forth on the ceiling and on the old Cheshire Cat poster. She's curled up in one of Wally's old jerseys, her hair loose and pinned beneath her shoulders. She's doing better lately, with everything involving Wally than she had been, but tonight loss seems to weigh far too heavily on her; on the whole house, for that matter. Finally, unable to take it anymore, she climbs out of bed and pads silently out into the hall. She leans into the living room. Tim is in one of her t-shirts--none of Wally's fit him at all--and he's perched in a chair next to the couch in a position that looks incredibly uncomfortable to her. He seems fine with it, though, fast asleep. Dick's apparently slipped off the corner cushion at some point, and is sprawled out on the floor next to the couch, limbs splayed everywhere. One of his legs is twisted around so that his foot is on the coffee table, and Artemis snorts. Acrobat. Jason's still on the couch, but the look on his face makes her start. He looks anguished, his entire body tense, curled in a fetal position, and she can just hear his breath hitching. He's flinching as if he's being hit. Apparently he's not a screamer.
She creeps up next to the couch before she can stop herself, careful not to step on Dick's hand or foot by accident. She isn't sure if it's the best idea to touch him, so she doesn't, speaks softly instead. "Jason. Hey, Rob II. You're okay. You're in my apartment, remember?" Jason tenses when he hears her, completely still, and then one eye opens cautiously. When his gaze lands on her, some of the tension eases. Not all of it, though. He's still on guard, and she can't blame him.
He grunts, shifting slightly. "S'rry," he slurs, and she rolls her eyes. "This is the house of two assassins, a super-villain, occasionally a rapid-aged clone, and a hot mess blonde." she reminds him. "Nightmares are nothing new or weird."
He snorts, not quite derisively. She watches him scan the room. When he sees the boys perched in the living room around him, he gives a half-groan and slumps back against the arm of the couch. "Great," he mutters. "It's a regular family reunion."
"Anything wrong with that?" Artemis asks, and Jason scoffs. "I'm surprised Bats isn't here. But, I suppose if he was, I would be in handcuffs or a straight jacket."
"I don't know what the hell he was thinking, pulling some bullshit stunt like that," Artemis bites out, and Jason stares at her--as well as one can with half-lidded eyes from a drug-and-blood-loss-induced haze. "If I had known, if any of us had known we would have stopped him."
"Yeah, well, my fault, I guess." Jason says, self-deprecating and far too quiet. She knows the only reason she's hearing this is his injury, pain-killers, and late-night vulnerability...and maybe just because she's here and listening, and no one else has done that for him so far. "I thought I mattered to him. I guess I was wrong."
"Well if you do, B's got a hell of a way of showing it." She grumbles. Jason chuckles humorlessly, the mirth giving way to a flinch as he agitates his wound, and Artemis swallows hard. "Can...can I ask you something? If you don't wanna answer it, now or like, ever, just tell me and I'll shut up and go away, I swear."
Jason snorts quietly. "You did let them drag my worthless ass in here at some stupid hour on a Friday night. I think you're owed an answer. Plus," his voice dips, "you've always been...decent to me. Fair. I appreciate that. And...they just don't get it. Like you and I do, I mean."
Artemis nods. She knows what he means. Bruce, Dick, hell, even Ollie really aren't used to being in trouble constantly, one foot in juvie hall, one step away from jail. Roy was a bit closer, but they'd had too explosive of a relationship to ever really get past their tempers and be friends...at least till he married my sister, she thinks, snorting. That's one couple that still cracks her up. She realizes Jason is still watching her expectantly, and swallows, meeting his gaze. "Why did you do it? Attack Bruce, I mean."
His face hardens, and she begins stammering, "Not that I think it was a bad thing to do. I don't know. I just...you don't have to defend yourself to me, I just wanna know what..." You thought you were going to gain. She swallows and looks away, feeling sick.
She's shocked when Jason actually answers, voice steady but far too quiet and just...off. "I thought...I thought I could get him to see. That I didn't want him to die, not really. I just thought that I...mattered to him." She opens her mouth to respond, and Jason cuts her off, continuing. "When I...when I first met him, and Dick, I was so sure that there had to be a reason that they...kept me, I guess. I figured I was just another child-soldier, that I--I could be useful. That was it. Then I thought it was just because they were rich, and...nice but stupid, ya know? Naive, I guess." She nods. He continues, "Deigning to help out some poor idiot street rat. And then, I hoped that...maybe...somehow, they really cared about me."
"Dick does." Artemis says without hesitation. Jason closes his eyes tightly. "He was crushed when you died. Completely. Bruce...was too, or at least he looked like he was. I don't know how to account for his behavior now."
"And you?" Jason asks, still looking away.
"I...didn't know how to react. It was too much for me to think about. You--you were Robin. In my mind, that made you immortal. It hit everyone hard, being reminded that--that this was dangerous, and we could die anytime...well, a lot of talk went on about what we were going to do in the long run. And that's when Wally started talking to me about quitting. And I didn't have the heart to say no."
Jason blinks. "Speaking of which, where is KF? Did he finally tick you off enough to get himself grounded?"
Artemis closes her eyes against the sudden stab of pain. It hadn't even occurred to her that Jason didn't know...
The lack of sound on her part makes him look up, and his already pallid skin pales even further. "No." he says blankly, and her eyes burn. "He...he didn't--how?" he finally breathes, and she lets out a shaky sigh, and tells him everything. He doesn't cry--they're a lot alike in that way--but by the end of the whole greek tragedy he looks devastated and guilty. "Artemis," he says desperately, reaches for her wrist. His hand is so cold it startles her, like ice where it touches her skin. "I'm so, so sorry. I never meant..."
"It's not your fault," she says, taken aback. "You had nothing to do with it."
"I know, I just...I'm sorry I came back."
She gapes, and he goes on, "Just my luck that I can't even die right--" His face crumples, and he turns his head quickly, but she can see that his eyes are red. "--and other people die and I'm the one that gets to come back, and no one wants me. No one needed me--"
"No," she hisses vehemently, pulling her wrist away. "No, Jason," she insists, like steel. "I loved Wally. I still love him, and I miss him so damn much that it hurts, but I never needed him. I can and have lived without him, and I can still help people. I would never, ever deny you a second chance if it would bring him back, because that's not fair to either of you." He stares at her in shock, and the fact that she can tell she's gotten through enough to reach him makes her brave enough to go on. "And you do have people who...who want you, Jason. Dick loves you, Babs misses you, Alfred misses you. Tim has looked up to you for years and tried to make you proud..."
"Yeah, and look what he got for it," Jason mumbles, and Artemis barely restrains herself from slapping his hand. "You stop that. He doesn't blame you at all for what you did. That doesn't make you attacking him okay, but just the fact that you know it was wrong speaks volumes. Tim doesn't talk about his own doings or talk badly about his family much, but I can tell that he's massively ticked at Bruce for what he did to you, and Dick is, too. I'm willing to bet that whenever Alfred finds out, he'll be livid."
Jason chuckles quietly, probably at the mental image of the old butler truly furious with Bruce, and Artemis allows herself a smile, too. "Point being, you have a family if you'll accept them. Hell, I bet even Damian will put up with you in time."
Jason arches an eyebrow. "Damian?"
"Oh, uh, yeah." Artemis says a bit sheepishly. "Did I mention that Bruce has a nine-year-old biological son, and he's an absolute brat?"
Jason blinks at her. "Who...?"
"I'm...honestly not quite sure, but I think it's Talia al Ghul. Ollie and Roy were talking about it one time..." she trails off at the look on his face. "What is it?"
"Nothing," he says a bit distantly, eyes cloudy. "Nothing."
"Uh...okay," she says slowly. "As I was saying, I bet even Bruce will come around eventually. Not that he necessarily deserves your forgiveness, but...I don't know. If you can't get along with him, you should at least try with them." She gestures with her shoulder to the two other batboys. "And if no one else is," she finishes quietly. "I'm glad you're alive. Really."
Jason blinks, lashes wet. His breath hitches a bit. He shakes his head weakly. "It's not that simple."
"Of course not. Or it is and it isn't."
"No, I..." he heaves a frustrated sigh. "The Lazarus Pit...severely fucked with my head. I don't know if I can...be around them, without..." Hurting them, she realizes, horrified. "And I don't necessarily want to fight, to...to hurt anyone, but part of me does, so much that I don't even want to fight it. It's why I stay away, aside from the fact that if I saw Bruce I think I really would kill him."
No, you wouldn't. But she says out loud, "But you came tonight."
Jason looks away.
She tries to digest what she's just heard. "They...put you into a Lazarus Pit?" she asks, voice soft in horror, and Jason's lack of a response is a response in of itself. "Who did it? Why?"
"Ra's," he says. "Or, Ra's put me in, but I think Talia at least partially put him up to it. As to the why..." he shrugs. "That whole incident wasn't supposed to go the way it did."
"No shit," she mutters. Jason rolls his eyes. "No, seriously, me being..." he stops, looks suddenly wrecked and angry "...wasn't part of Ra's plan. He only wanted to get Bruce to come to him, and apparently Bruce was ignoring him. So he intended to give him some incentive. But he..." Jason swallows convulsively. "He underestimated the Joker. I guess he felt...mildly guilty or something, because it was easy for Talia to convince him to. To bring me back."
Artemis blinks back tears. "How long? How long ago was that?"
Jason shrugs. "A year or so. Actually, I was alive before they found me." He casts a sidelong glance at her. "Woke up in my coffin."
She swears. "Jason..."
"They told me I was...brain dead, or something. Not quite, I guess. I never spoke, didn't react except to defend myself when I felt threatened. Ra's thought it was unfair to deliver me back to dear old dad brain-damaged, so he put me in the Pit." He scoffs. "It backfired. So Talia took charge of me in secret. Five months ago, she took me aside and showed me photos of the new Robin."
Artemis doesn't do a thing about the tears that are streaming down her cheeks.
"I saw that and I just...hated him so much," Jason croaks out. "Tim, definitely some. A lot. But mostly Bruce. For...for replacing me, for not killing the Joker, for letting someone else put themselves at risk all because he's too weak to do what needs to be done. The cops do it. Why can't he?" he demands desperately, his blue-green eyes pleading. She doesn't have an answer.
Jason glances at Dick and Tim, who are either somehow still asleep or are doing a phenomenal job of faking. "They're both so...eager. And it's only gonna hurt them in the long run." The unspoken It's only going to get them killed is clear. He sounds so miserable that her heart clenches. There's a beat of uncomfortable silence, broken only by a distant siren. Artemis watches Jason warily. He seems exhausted, still paler than he should be. But mostly he just looks tense and miserable, like he's waiting for things to backfire on him. She knows that feeling all too well, hates it with a passion. She hated being helpless, wanting her family back but unable to sway them or convince them to quit hurting her. Dick and Tim and Alfred--and Bruce--were all easily ten times better people than her father. But that could actually be a problem in this case. She hates to admit it, but Bruce's recent treatment of Jason--leaving him alone, at least--was probably the closest to helpful any of them had come so far.
Maybe that was deliberate, on Bruce's part. She could hope. As it is, she needs to do something. She swallows before addressing Jason again. "What would...what would make it easier for you? Is there any easier? Is this a..." Temporary thing? She swallowed again.
Jason sighed. "I did some research, when I was with Talia. The Lazarus Pit is kind of a scientific unknown. Repeated exposure to it is known to change personality and drain empathy...it does so after the first few dunks, as well, but those times it...wears off, after a while." He wets his lips. "I honestly don't know how much of what I'm dealing with is the Pit, and how much of it is just...me." Dick shifts and mumbles in his sleep, and the two of them freeze, watching him carefully. He eventually relaxes again, and Jason heaves a watery sigh. "I don't want to hurt him. What Bruce did isn't his fault, but there's no way he'll leave me alone. He's been following me for weeks already. Replacement's probably been stalking me electronically. I don't...I don't know what to do."
Artemis doesn't, either. If he's in Gotham, he's going to be living under the Bat's shadow--not the best thing when you're trying to avoid him. Dick and Tim might understand his position...but then again, they might not, and they can be incredibly over-protective. The Team is down most of the original members, and though Conner, M'Gann, and Kaldur had been fond of Jason, they hadn't known him well, and were all too by-the-book nowadays for his situation. Frustrated, she yanks her phone out of her shirt pocket to check the time...and starts when she sees the unread message from Roy. "Of course," she says out loud, facepalming.
"What?" Jason asks warily.
"You remember Roy, right? You guys got on fairly well," she says quickly, switching apps on her phone.
"Yeah..." Jason blanches. "He didn't die too, did he?"
"No," Artemis quickly corrects, flushing a bit at her screw-up. "Let me just pop him a message here..." She quickly types out, you up for a visit from an old friend?
An answering text pops up within thirty seconds. So long as its not ur dad or ollie, sure.
Trust me, its not, Artemis types back, smirking. Cu in fifteen. She sends it off, then grabs Jason's boots from the floor and hands them to him. "You up for a walk?"
Jason takes the proffered boots with a slightly confused expression. "Are he and Cheshire still a thing?"
"Yep," Artemis says, grabbing her jacket.
"Ugh. I can't stand your sister, 'Mis," Jason groans.
"Don't worry, motherhood's toned her down a bit."
Jason's jaw drops. "Say what now?"
Artemis laughs quietly. "Nothing. Come on, it's getting on to morning."
Jason nods, sitting up slowly and carefully placing his feet so as not to step on his estranged brother. He looks a little guilty as he glances at the other two Robins, but shakes his head and steps up beside her a bit shakily. "Zeta tube?" he asks.
"Zeta tube," she nods.
***
Artemis barely taps on the door, but Roy opens it instantly anyway. He looks wary, but not hostile. "So, who's your big surprise, Artemis?"
She steps aside so that he can see Jason standing behind her. She'd grabbed him a pair of sunglasses before coming--she knew the Bats' identities thanks to Wally, but it wasn't common knowledge otherwise. She knew that Roy would recognize him, though.
Sure enough, his face falls and he takes a step forward. "Rob II?" he says disbelievingly.
Jason meets his gaze with a sardonic smirk. "Still not as good as the original," he says dryly.
Roy stares for a moment, and Artemis begins to worry that they've broken him. But suddenly he laughs and takes two strides, grabbing a very surprised Jason in a hug. "It's good to see you, man." Artemis stifles a beam as Jason smiles, returning the embrace a bit less enthusiastically.
"How? When...?" Roy says, pulling back.
"Long story," Jason says a bit sheepishly.
"...The Bats?" Roy asks, turning to Artemis.
She grimaces. "Long story, too. Can we come in?"
"Sure," Roy opens the door and stands aside to let them both into the house. Artemis hasn't even taken two steps in when a small shriek greets her. "Auntie Artie, Auntie Artie," Lian squeals, running towards her. Artemis crouches down and opens her arms, shocked at how big her niece is. It really has been too long since she's visited.
"Lian! I thought it was past your bedtime," she shoots a look back at Roy, who shrugs.
"Oh please. Like we would have anything as normal as bedtimes." Jade snarks, stepping out of the living room and scooping her daughter back up. She's wearing yoga pants and what is clearly one of Roy's t-shirts. Her big sister is full-on domestic and it makes Artemis smirk. "Besides, you both work night shifts," she shoots back.
"Smart a--lec," Jade says, rolling her eyes. Jason steps up behind Artemis, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
"Why are you wearing sunglasses? It's dark out," Lian asks pertly, and Jason looks startled for a moment. He recovers quickly, though. "Well, I'll let you in on a secret," he says conspiratorially. "These are actually special sunglasses that give me superpowers. I can see all the way to Kansas with these things. I can even read your mind."
Lian doesn't look convinced. "Oh yeah? Then what am I thinking?"
Jason studies her overly seriously. "About how weird I am?"
Lian giggles, and Jason grins.
Artemis chuckles, too, before Roy pulls her into the kitchen. "So, what is the deal? You wouldn't be bringing him here if things were okay in Gotham."
She fills him in, and he looks just as pissed as she was. Still is, actually. "He can spend a few days here, at least. Get his feet back underneath him. I'm assuming you're dealing with the Robins."
She nods. "Come to think of it, they're probably waiting for me in Mom's apartment right now."
"Better not keep them waiting, then." Roy says, and she agrees.
"Sorry to drop in so quickly, but I have to head back to Gotham. I will be coming back next week, though, Lian, promise," she says when the little girl's face falls. "You may send your mama after me if I don't."
"Careful what you ask for, baby girl," Jade says coyly. Artemis sticks her tongue out at her. Ignoring Jade's laugh, she turns to Jason. He looks mildly terrified, and she doesn't hesitate to throw her arms around his shoulders--she has to stretch to reach him now, and for some reason that makes her sad and happy all at once. "It'll get easier," she promises. "You'll be...somewhat close to okay. Someday."
He smiles into her hair. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, 'mis." He pulls back. "And...for all the other stuff, too." he finishes quietly.
"You're welcome." she says seriously.
***
She decides to get donuts on the way home, because food is always a good idea in tense situations. She's not surprised when Dick and Tim are both awake, and gaze at her expectantly when she steps into the apartment. She proffers the box, eating a donut herself. "Morning?" she tries.
They both keep staring at her evenly. "Oh, forget it," she mutters, dropping the box onto the coffee table and sitting heavily on the couch.
"You talked to him," Dick says tonelessly.
"About time someone did," she says, and Dick's face hardens. "I tried," he insists hotly, and she groans. "Look, Dick, leaving him under B is just asking for things to go colossally wrong. And it did. Already. He needs time to himself, without the two of you on his heels the entire time." They both have the grace to look a bit ashamed at that, though still defiant. "How's he ever going to get better if he doesn't let us help him?" Dick asks.
Artemis rubs her forehead. "This isn't about you, Dick. It never was. This is about him and Bruce. Tim just got caught in the crossfire. Don't tell me this hasn't been building since before." Dick opens his mouth to argue, but seems to think better of it, and sits back.
"So what do we do, then?" Tim asks quietly, and Artemis glances at him, still perched carefully on the chair. She shrugs. "Keep on as you have been. Leave Jason be for a while, unless you absolutely have to intervene. If you do, keep B from going after him. And for heaven's sakes, get Alfred to visit him. There's no way he's mad at Alfred, and it'll show him that not everyone agrees with B. Okay?"
Both Dick and Tim reluctantly nod. "We'll try it your way." Dick says shortly, getting up from the chair, heading for the door.
"Dick," she says. He pauses, not turning. "He doesn't blame you." she says quietly. She doesn't need to explain what she's referring to.
Dick says nothing for a long moment. "But I do," he finally says, barely a whisper. He leaves without another word, and Tim, shooting her a helpless glance, follows.
She sags back into the couch, scrubbing her hand through her hair. She needs a vacation from her days off. |
“Hello Son!” Tom greeted Adrien cheerfully as he came into the kitchen. “How’s your weekend been?”
“Good,” Adrien answered as he put on his apron. “I was telling my mother that I wanted to take driving lessons a few weeks ago and she signed me up for some classes. I just booked an appointment through them to take the theory test in a few weeks so I spent some time studying for that yesterday.”
Tom smiled. “She takes any opportunity she can get to mother you a bit doesn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Adrien agreed. “It’s really nice. I try to do things for her too. Everything is so messy and complicated for her. At least things are moving on the divorce. Since Father wouldn’t sign, she has taken a different route and is requesting a non consensual divorce for cause. Since he’s a committed terrorist, it sounds pretty straightforward… just a lot more emotionally trying than him just agreeing.”
Tom sighed. “I’m not a particularly violent person but… if I ever had a chance to knock some sense into that idiot, I’d take it.”
“I don’t think that would even be possible,” Adrien replied. “I don’t think twenty years in prison will do it to be honest.”
“I suppose it’s hard to imagine at this point, isn’t it son?” Tom asked sympathetically.
“It is,” Adrien admitted. “I don’t know what I’d do if he suddenly tried to get in touch or… expressed any kind of remorse. I kind of feel like the remorse he showed at emancipation was just to manipulate me into taking the company.”
“Does that change how you feel about taking it?” Tom asked.
“No,” Adrien said firmly. “I never took it for his sake so if we happened to want the same thing for different reasons, then so be it. Anyway, what can I do to help?”
“Hmm,” Tom said thoughtfully as he surveyed his work. “Could you fill some eclairs with pastry cream?”
“Of course,” he agreed, taking the cream out of the fridge and carefully filling a piping bag.
****
“Hey,” Marinette said, poking her head into the bakery. “It’s closing time, Papa.
“We’ll be right out Macaron,” Tom said, getting the keys. “Come on son, let’s go have some lunch.”
“Just a second,” he replied, reaching up to put a large pot away on one of the higher shelves.
Tom snorted as he noticed his daughter’s appreciative gaze. “Like what you see there dear?”
Adrien laughed. “Did you just get caught checking me out Princess?”
“I guess so,” Marinette replied, blushing as he turned around, his green eyes twinkling merrily.
“I probably shouldn’t tease you too much,” Tom replied. “Or your Maman will have words with me again.”
“I won’t tell,” Adrien promised, grinning as he went over to give Marinette a hug.
Marinette giggled as he kissed the top of her head. “You like that I got caught, don’t you?” she asked, sneakily reaching over to tickle him.
“Maybe I do,” he responded, fending her off. “We should go see if Mother is here yet.”
*****
“So what are you teaching us today Sabine?” Emilie asked as they finished their lunch.
“I know I’ve shown you a few French recipes but I thought I’d show you how to make wontons today,” Sabine replied.
“Yesss,” Marinette cheered as Emilie furrowed her brow.
“I feel like that involves cutting a lot of things up,” she said apprehensively.
“I got something that will help you with that actually,” Adrien said, hopping out of his seat to retrieve his jacket. He pulled out a pair of gloves from his pocket and brought them over.
“What on earth are these?” Emilie asked.
“Special gloves that you can’t cut through,” Adrien said. “I thought that might make chopping things up less scary.”
“Those are good,” Sabine agreed. “They also give you a better grip on things.”
“Oh!” Emilie exclaimed as she took them from Adrien and examined the material. “Thank you darling. We’ll all benefit from this I think.”
“It’ll certainly help you feel more confident after some more practice,” Sabine told her.
Marinette’s phone suddenly chirped in her bag. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said as she took her phone out. “Oooh! Alya says that Andre is out near the Seine by the Notre-Dame!”
“We should all go!” Adrien exclaimed. “I haven’t had his ice cream in way too long.”
“I’m happy to delay our lesson for that,” Sabine said.
“Me too,” Tom agreed. “I proposed to Sabine at his ice cream stand actually so I’m an especially big fan.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that!” Adrien exclaimed. “That is really sweet. Do you two still go for ice cream?”
“Not in a long time,” Tom answered. “We are definitely overdue for a visit.”
“We should get going,” Sabine said. “We can clear this up when we get back. I know Andre’s visits are fleeting.”
“It’s funny though,” Adrien said thoughtfully. “He’s always around when you really want him to be. I remember when Marinette had that bad nightmare and that was all she wanted for lunch the next day. I had no trouble finding him.”
“I remember that,” Sabine said, smiling softly. “You were starving by dinner time.”
“Worth it,” he replied, kissing Marinette’s cheek.
*******
“Hello!” Andre greeted them enthusiastically as they approached his cart. “Ah, I recognize you,” he said to Tom, smiling widely. “It’s been a while but I never forget the ones who propose!”
“Hello Andre,” Tom replied. “Then you probably recognize my wife, Sabine. I know it has been a few years. I’ve been keeping far too busy, I’m afraid. This young lady is our daughter, Marinette.”
“It seems to me you are remedying that now,” Andre observed with a smile. “I’ve met your daughter and her young man before. It seems to me that their tastes have shifted.”
“Oh?” Adrien asked, looking slightly alarmed.
“More harmonious than ever,” Andre assured them with a smile. Not exactly the same but very much in sync. For you, young lady, strawberry, pistachio and lemon and for you my dear boy, dark chocolate, strawberry and pistachio.”
“Sounds delicious,” Marinette said as she accepted her cone. “Thank you Andre.”
“Thank you sir,” Adrien added, taking his cone and leading Marinette to a nearby bench.
“As for you two,” Andre’s eyes twinkled. “Nothing seems to have changed here. For you sir, traditional with a twist, strawberry and vanilla with balsamic syrup and for you madam, flavors that connect your past and present, strawberry, vanilla and green tea.”
“Strawberry seems to be a running theme,” Adrien observed.
“I’m glad you’ve noticed that, young man,” Andre said. “Now for you madam, I don’t believe I’ve ever met you before.”
“No,” Emilie replied, looking slightly hesitant.
“Do not worry madam, I will find the flavors that you’ll enjoy the most,” he answered as he looked at her thoughtfully. “I see someone mischievous but sweet with only yourself to meet… you are decisive, what is past is done and yet you might choose to change and next time I see you, the flavors might rearrange. Lemon, bright and sharp, sweet pistachio to balance that out but something is missing… to give it that twist…” he paused as he considered. “Something sweet but a little tart… I think raspberry is the missing part.”
“Thank you,” Emile said as she paid. “I must admit I’m intrigued.”
The three adults all walked over to where Marinette and Adrien were sitting and joined them on the nearest bench.
“Somehow this strawberry thing doesn’t surprise me,” Adrien said after tasting his ice cream. “They really do make me think of you Princess.”
“Awww,” Marinette sighed as she leaned against him. “Lemons make me think of you because of all the stories from Helios.”
“Ah, did Frederic tell you about Mr. Lemonade?” Emilie asked, smiling affectionately at her son.
“Yeah,” Marinette replied. “And I saw that yellow outfit he had.”
“Frederic submitted that picture to Face to Face the last time I did an interview,” Adrien explained, shaking his head at the memory. “I was just relieved he didn’t refer to me as Mr. Lemonade to Ms. Chamack.”
Sabine giggled. “That is very cute. What is the story behind it?”
“I was even more blonde when I was little,” Adrien said. “Frederic and Victor used to call me Lemon Adrien and then it became Mr. Lemonade.”
“They were always so kind to him,” Emilie said. “I’ve really enjoyed catching up with them.”
“So how’s your ice cream, Emilie?” Tom asked.
“It’s very good. I can’t remember the last time I had ice cream and I’ve never had this particular combination,” she answered. “How’s yours?”
“Delicious,” Tom answered with a grin. “Andre is the only one who makes a balsamic reduction like this. I’ve tried to replicate it myself and although I’ve gotten close, his version is still the best.”
“I really like this new combination,” Adrien said. “I’m sure I’ve had pistachio flavored things before but not for awhile. It’s really good.”
“Mmm,” Marinette agreed. “I like mine too.”
Sabine smiled reminiscently. “I still remember how sticky my engagement ring was. He actually hid it in my ice cream and I nearly swallowed it.”
Emilie giggled. “That is funny although perhaps it would have been less funny if you had succeeded! It makes for a good story now and I’m glad you shared it.”
“It was very special,” Sabine said. “And a bit of a surprise. We’d been together for a while but I wasn’t expecting him to propose. Perhaps if I’d been a bit more suspicious, I wouldn’t have come so close to eating my ring! There I was, just mindlessly spooning ice cream into my mouth while he poured his feelings out to me. I realized where he was going with his speech when I felt something strange on the back of my tongue. I coughed in surprise and there it was in my hand, still half covered in vanilla ice cream.”
“Yes, I’m not sure I really thought any of that through enough,” Tom admitted. “We both loved Andre’s so it seemed like the thing to do and I really wanted to surprise her.”
“Oh you did,” Sabine assured him with a giggle.
*******
After everyone finished cleaning up the lunch mess, Tom sat down with a cup of coffee to watch Sabine’s cooking class from the couch. Sabine gathered everyone around the table.
“I know you’re worried about chopping up vegetables but it really isn’t too bad. There are only chives and napa cabbage to mince up. To be honest, wontons aren’t that difficult to make but I usually make a lot at once and it gets a bit fiddly assembling them. I either spread the process over a couple of days or recruit some help.”
“Well, that’s a relief!” Emilie giggled as she put on her gloves.
Soon everyone was engrossed in their work preparing all the ingredients for assembly. After quickly grating some ginger, Sabine made the rounds, checking everyone’s progress. She got out the rest of the ingredients and a large mixing bowl and everyone put their minced greens inside of it.
“Now I’m going to use my hands to mix in the ground pork with the rest of the ingredients. I’m also adding an egg because it adds flavor and binds things together,” Sabine explained.
Adrien and Marinette both laughed at Emilie’s appalled expression as she watched Sabine wash her hands and then plunge them into the bowl, mixing everything together as thoroughly as possible.
“Maybe you should try that, Mother,” Adrien said, a mischievous smile on his face.
Sabine looked up and laughed. “I’m sure this looks rather gruesome. If you don’t want to handle meat, you can use tofu or one of those new meat alternatives.”
“Maybe… it’s not as bad as it looks,” Emilie said hesitantly, taking off her gloves.
Sabine smiled. “If you want to, I’ll stop so you can wash your hands and give it a try.”
Tom had been idly leafing through a newspaper but the conversation at the table was diverting his attention more and more. After Emilie washed her hands, he casually went into the kitchen under the guise of making more coffee. Everyone was doing their best to be subtle but they were all avidly waiting for Emilie’s reaction as she gingerly put her hands in the bowl and wrinkled her nose before trying to replicate Sabine’s mixing technique.
“That’s it!” Sabine exclaimed encouragingly. “We just want to make sure everything is evenly mixed before we divide the filling amongst all the wonton wrappers.”
“It’s… ok,” Emilie replied. “I’ve never handled raw meat before.” She giggled suddenly. “If my mother could see me now… she’d be absolutely horrified.”
“Kind of motivating in a way, isn’t it?” Adrien asked with a grin. “I know I especially enjoy doing anything Father wouldn’t let me do… not crazy stuff but… everyday things like this.”
“This and having a cheeky McDonalds right?” she asked mischievously. “I was with Audrey when you sent those pictures to me and we made our own version… although it doesn’t involve McDonalds… We were enjoying a very expensive bottle of Cognac I found in the wine cellar so we took a picture toasting each other with matching rude gestures. I’ll have to show it to you later.”
“I can’t believe you sent those to Emilie,” Marinette said, shaking her head.
“I explained what they were for before I did,” he defended himself with a grin. “I told her it was all your idea to send him a Christmas card.”
“What?!” Marinette exclaimed. “I just meant you could take a picture and send it to him…The rest is all you! Although… I think it’s a great idea. I just can’t take credit for that.”
“If you’re making a Christmas card, I think I’ll wait to send mine when the divorce is complete,” Emilie said thoughtfully.
“What’s all this about?” Tom asked curiously.
“I went to McDonalds for the first time with Marinette, Alya and Nino and I said I wished Father still had his phone so I could send him a selfie. Marinette said that he was still able to get regular mail and I could send him a custom printed card so… she took these pictures and I’m going to send them to him for Christmas I think. I know it’s petty as hell but like I told you earlier Tom, he still hasn’t even tried to contact me,” Adrien replied, showing him the pictures on his phone.
Tom burst into laughter as he saw the two pictures. “It might be petty but he is literally the only person I would encourage sending pictures like these.”
“Can I see too?” Sabine asked.
“Of course!” Adrien grinned. “If you aren’t offended by rude gestures.”
Sabine giggled as she saw the pictures. “No, that doesn’t offend me at all. If you make them into a card you should just write ‘Thinking of you’ inside.
Emilie burst into laughter. “Oh Sabine!” she gasped as she went to wash her hands off. “You are an absolute treasure.”
“Yeah, I see where Marinette’s trolling genius comes from,” Adrien grinned.
“Hey!” Tom exclaimed, pretending to be offended. “Actually, no, I can’t even pretend. Sabine is definitely the brains in this operation.”
“Good save Tom,” Emilie giggled. “Darling, it may be petty of both of us but… he doesn’t seem all that willing to accept how we feel so I have no problem making it clear to him. Especially in your case.”
“Yeah,” Adrien said thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I want anything from him… ever again. I feel like he never really listened to me or cared about anything other than controlling me… especially once you were gone. And when he seemed so remorseful, it made it hurt so much to escort him to prison and now I think it was just manipulation. Manipulation when I was Chat Noir and manipulation when I was Adrien. That’s just what he does now. It’s taken me awhile to accept that it’s ok to be angry at him about it.”
“Of course it is,” Emilie said, giving him a hug. “I hate that he did all this to you and I’m angry too, believe me.”
“At least now, all the anger is directed at him. I knew it was wrong but sometimes, I felt angry at myself for feeling sad for him or… wishing I could have stopped it sooner so the consequences wouldn’t have been so bad.”
“I think it is probably normal to have such conflicting emotions about a situation like this, Darling,” Emilie said.
“Yeah, that’s what my therapist said,” Adrien replied. “The more I talk to her… the more I want to do what she does. She’s really helping me and I want to help people like that.”
“I think you’ll be great at that,” Emilie told him. “I’ve seen a few of your battle videos and you really listened and helped people after things were restored.” She looked up and saw Sabine quietly arranging wonton wrappers in neat rows. “Goodness Sabine, you are moving quickly!”
“I’m just setting out all these wrappers to fill while you talk,” she said, smiling reassuringly. “Whenever you’re ready, we can start but there’s no rush. There are so many of us, this won’t take long at all. You’re going to help as well, right Tom?”
“Of course dear,” he replied, winking at her playfully.
Soon everyone was carefully spooning the mixture onto the center of each wrapper.
“You know, what Andre said earlier… it’s really resonating with me right now,” Emilie said as she pushed filling delicately into the center of a wrapper with her finger. “About... changing so much that I might want something else by the next time I see him. The only thing I know for certain is that I want to stay in Paris… well and I want to move out of the hotel. I appreciate Audrey’s goodwill but I’d like somewhere of my own. I’ve been looking at some real estate sites and I’m very eager to sell off the old place and find something private but… a lot less grand.”
“Is Gorilla still staying there?” Adrien asked.
“Yes,” Emilie answered. “I’d like to get him an apartment somewhere near his family with some of the proceeds from the sale. Anyway, I can’t do anything just yet so I’ll just have to be patient.” |
The new year is a time to pause and reflect upon the year behind. Re-evaluate one’s aspirations and outlook on life.
As the clock struck midnight, and Sakura kissed her parents a happy new year, she promised herself that she wouldn’t be in the same pitiful position next year.
Her phone buzzes an hour after midnight. She glares at the photo of her best friend and Sai at some club in the city. A party she wasn’t invited to because it was a couples’ event. As much as she is happy for Ino, she too wants a happy ending. It isn’t fair.
Sakura quickly types out, ‘gorgeous. but who is the freak next to you?’ Ino doesn’t reply that night, but a few other messages come in from family members. After replying to those messages, she scrolls down her contact list and hovers over Sasuke’s number. It’s only a couple years ago when they were on good terms and would reach out to each other on special occasions. Since Sasuke dated Karin, the only serious girlfriend he had since Sakura, the nature of their relationship changed drastically. She hates the idea of not being a part of his life anymore. Mustering up the nerve, she quickly types out ‘Happy New Year, Sasuke!’
Sakura falls asleep waiting for a response.
On the crowded train ride back to the city, Sakura reflects on her adult life. Without boasting or exaggerating, she could easily claim that she is ahead of most of her peers. She is sailing through her pre-med degree and might be able to graduate the program a year early. Her intellect and conventional attractiveness opens doors that are closed to many.
The world seems to be at her fingertips. Yet, love is so far out of reach.
Nearing the city, her phone buzzes causing her heart to skip a beat. Fumbling in her purse and nearly dropping the hand-sized gadget, she frowns when she reads Ino’s name. Not exactly the person she was hoping to hear from.
Deep down she knows that it is time to let go and move on. Find someone else who actually wants to be with her; someone who will text back and pick up her phone calls. She doesn’t think she is asking for much.
But how does she give up on someone she dedicated nearly her entire life to?
With all the love she bestows, in return Sasuke treats her like a nuisance. How could they be so disjointed in their expression of care?
On miserable, lonely days she allows herself to hate him and to blame him for the obsessive fool that she has become.
Peeling off her jacket and hanging it in the closet, Sakura flops down on her futon. Unlocking her phone, she scrolls to the last message sent to Sasuke. Fuming, she decides it is time to unleash her anger.
Get rid of him and start fresh.
All anger subsides when she sees that he is online .
Sakura presses the green call button.
On the fifth ring he picks up.
‘Sakura,’ he intones, irritation bleeding through the phone. An unfair and undeserved reaction.
“Happy New Year, Sasuke,” Sakura says with as much joy as her dejected heart can sprout.
‘Happy New Year,’ he parrots.
“I texted you,” Sakura waits for an apology. When she realizes one isn’t coming, she adds, “you didn’t text back.”
She hears him sigh, before he replies, “I was asleep.”
“You didn’t go out?”
“No,” As her time begins to run out, her desire to slam the phone against the nearest wall grows tremendously.
“How come?” She shouldn’t prod but she can’t suppress her curiosity. It is so unlike him to have been at home on new years eve. She wonders if he was alone.
“Just didn’t want to go out.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “Listen, Sakura. I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait, Sas-” the phone goes dead before she can finish her sentence.
Pulling a blanket over her body, Sakura curls up into a ball and cries herself to sleep in the middle of the evening.
The next day, she applies cucumber slides on her red, swollen eyes and promises herself that this year will be different.
The second day of January and the rest of the month is spent with her head buried in her books and working out at the gym.
Nearing Valentine's day, she applies a thick coat of cement to keep the panic down at being alone again on another holiday.
The third floor is usually the quietest spot in the library. There are no vending machines for students to rattle. The stern librarian on shift is quick to put a stop to even the faintest audible conversation. It is Sakura’s perfect hideout to study.
Taking a break from reading, Sakura pulls her chair closer to the bannister overlooking the second floor of the library. From here she has a bird’s eye view of the students below. Absent-mindedly, she searches through the pensive faces in search of a familiar face.
If asked, she would swear her conscious mind doesn’t do it on purpose. A floor away and in a crowded room, she can’t understand why it is easy to spot him.
He is there with his good for nothing friends. The ones she is certain deal drugs and aren’t enrolled in their school.
The skinny one nudges Sasuke and juts his head forward, laughing raucously at Sasuke’s attempt to ignore him.
Over twenty-feet above, Sakura cringes at the second hand embarrassment. When the skinny friend repeats the action, Sakura follows his gaze and finds none other than Hinata, seated alone with her ugly, worn-out sweater bundled around her average looking body.
Sakura’s eyes dart back and forth between Sasuke and Hinata. Trying her best to decipher the joke or the nature of the teasing between friends.
Her freshly manicured fingers dig into the concrete bannister when Sasuke pushes his friend off, grabs his belongings and approaches the timid young woman.
Dread building in her stomach, all she can do is watch as Sasuke drags a seat over to Hinata’s small table.
Sakura doesn’t wait to see more, she tucks her laptop into her bag and exits the library.
The following day, she returns a classmate’s call and accepts his invitation for dinner.
She likes his chestnut hair and light brown eyes.
Yui is taller and stronger than Sasuke. She tries but can’t convince herself that he’s better looking as well. With time her perception will change. She hopes.
When he kisses her goodnight at her door and greedily palms her behind, she doesn’t punch him but allows him into her room.
It doesn’t matter that he comes quickly or doesn’t return the favour. He spends the night and in the morning he fucks her again in the same lackluster manner as the night before.
At her front door, she agrees to another date with a forced smile on her face, convincing herself that she is making better life choices.
Sakura sees Sasuke and Hinata together again at the library. Sasuke’s friends are a part of their study group. It is evident that their meeting is innocent and platonic. Yet it cuts deeper than if he were trying to fuck her. He’s actually putting in the work to get to know her and spend time with her. When was the last time he was the one to initiate interaction or friendship with a woman?
She meets with her green-eyed lover later that evening. Her attempts at subtly motivating him to seek her pleasure is futile. Instead of sitting on his face as she intends to, she is taken from behind; she counts down the minutes until she can be alone again.
When he is gone, she closes her eyes and buries her fingers in her pajama bottoms.She tries to conjure up an image of Sasuke on his knees, instead blonde hair and bright blue eyes stare back at her eagerly. In her mind, Naruto laps at her until she shudders to completion.
The next morning, she texts Naruto to meet up for lunch. He texts back saying he’s busy and low on funds. She says she will pay, but he doesn’t reply.
“Cheer up, forehead” Ino hands Sakura a cup of tea, “you should be happy they are just friends.”
Sakura sits upright against her headboard. She brings the hot beverage to her lips and lightly blows her warm breath across the rim.
“And you’re dating Yui, so you’re finally getting some,” Ino sits on the end of the bed.
“Yeah,” Sakura replies with as much enthusiasm as a deflated balloon.
“This is progress and it’s about time.”
“Mmhm,” Sakura cautiously takes a sip of the green tea.
Seemingly unperturbed by Sakura’s effort to join the conversation, Ino continues, “Soon we can double-date.”
“Sure,” Sakura doesn’t think a double-date will go as well as Ino envisions. While Ino doesn’t question Sai’s eccentricness, Yui doesn’t exactly appear to be open-minded to non-conventional expressions of masculinity.
“Now you’re messing with my positive vibes,”Ino frowns and takes the cup from Sakura, “we are going out. Get dressed.”
“Not tonight, Ino.”
“Come on, Forehead. It’s Saturday evening, stop moping over a guy who doesn’t give a shit about you.”
Sakura sighs, slumping down on the bed, “thanks for the reminder.”
“I’m just being real.”
“That’s why you’re dating the goth version of him,” Sakura really didn’t want to listen to another one of Ino’s judgemental lectures.
Ino rolls her eyes and examines under her chipped nail, “at least he can fuck better than your pretty fuckboi.”
“You two fucked in highschool. A lifetime ago,” Sakura throws a pillow at her friend, “and behind my back.”
“But you know I’m right,” Ino chuckles and grabs the covers off Saukra, “am I not?”
“He improved, nosey bitch.”
“So not your best?” Ino asked as she inspected Sakura’s clothing. “Wear this,” Ino handed her a black sweater dress.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ino. And I’m not answering that question.”
“Don’t be such a sour puss. We are going out or getting drunk off that bottle of sake in your kitchen.”
Not wanting to have to clean up her friend’s puke tomorrow, Sakura relents and accepts the dress, “fine but I’m not drinking.”
Five drinks later, Sakura stands outside the college bar with a phone pressed to her ear. That was the second call that went to voicemail. She had enough. Not bothering to retrieve her jacket, she crosses the park towards the dormitories.
Naruto answers on the second loud knock. He’s dressed in orange shorts and a black t-shirt. The ugly, loud orange washed out shirt clings to his chiseled torso.
“So, you’re awake,” Sakura doesn't wait for an invitation to enter the small room.
“Sakura-chan. What are you doing here?” Naruto trails Sakura as she walks directly into his bedroom.
“Why didn’t you answer my phone call,” Even inebriated Sakura is aware of her current neediness. She doesn’t want to be this indigent with men anymore.
“My phone was on silent.”
Sakura sees Naruto’s phone face-up on his desk, next to his textbook and his lamp. He was studying alone on a Saturday night, and he refused her call.
“You’re avoiding me,” Sakura grumbles. She shoves aside Naruto’s rumpled blanket, then lays on the thin threadbare polyester sheets.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Mmhm,” Sakura begins peeling off her black stockings.
Naruto moves closer to the bed, “what are you doing?”
When Naruto is in arm’s reach, she tugs him next to her, straddles him and brings her mouth to his.
Naruto turns his face to the side, “you taste like vodka. Are you drunk?”
“Not nearly enough,” Clutching his face in her hands, she draws him closer to her lips again. She senses his hesitation, so she grinds enticingly onto him. She’s proud of the reaction she evokes. Humility and kindness disappears, and she haughtily revels in the fact that she can shape and mold Naruto into whatever her mind desires. She doubts shy Hinata will ever have this power over the one man she cares so deeply for.
“Wait, Sakura,” Naruto stops her hand from wandering under the waistband of his shorts, “we shouldn’t, you’re drunk.”
She wouldn’t permit Naruto to reject her. Not when he has been following her around like a lost puppy since they first met. Too much had changed, and this was something she had control over. She runs her lips over his neck and slides her hands under his shirt. His muscles clench in return.
Sakura smiles when he reverses their position, however, it’s not long before he’s pulling away and walking towards the door, “I’ll sleep on the couch.” She wants to throw something at him. When she tries to get up, the room begins to spin so she stays still and eventually falls asleep.
“What time is it?” Bleary eyes and head pounding, Sakura accepts the water bottle and painkiller from Naruto.
“Just before noon. I have to run or else I’ll be late for my shift,” Naruto slips on a shirt with the name of a sushi restaurant printed on one of the pockets.
“You’re not going to walk me back to my room?” Again her neediness announces itself.
“You sure your new friend is going to be okay with that?”
It takes Sakura a second before she realizes just who Naruto is referring to, “how do you know about him?”
“The whole campus knows he fucked you on your first date,” Naruto doesn’t hide his disappointment. However, he doesn’t mention the bullshit excuse she typically threw at him about waiting till marriage. She should be more offended that Yui has a big mouth, but she couldn’t care less. He was an avenue that led to a dead-end and now she just has to reverse and stay in the lane she is familiar with.
“And you believe him?” Sakura began dressing, knowing Naruto wouldn’t push the topic of her sex life further.
“Anyways, I thought we could talk. I missed you,” This wasn’t exactly a lie, Naruto was her weighted blanket that provided comfort during trying times. Trying times that were frequently tied to Sasuke. She wasn’t an absolute monster as she recognized that she was taking advantage of his feelings for her.
“I’m sorry about last night. I was drunk and wasn’t thinking right,” Sakura says with sincerity. Maybe she could mend things.
“I know,” Naruto shoots back, “Sober Sakura wants different things, different people.”
“It’s not like that Naruto,” It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted or wanted more from him. But under his adult masculine physical appeal, she knew too much about him. Enough that she knew it couldn’t work. He was still immature, overly optimistic about his future, yet no clear path was planned out. She didn’t want to be with a child, and while it was nice to bask in his devotion from time to time. It wasn’t something she wanted long term.
But if she couldn’t give him what he wanted, she knew someone who could. Someone who wanted to since they were kids.It wasn’t part of her original plan, but one thing Sakura was good at was adapting to challenges.
It was time to pivot.
“Right,” Naruto shimmied his feet into his boots, “you can leave my key under the mat.”
“You’re just leaving, when I said I want to talk.”
“I can’t be late for work.”
“Well offer an alternative. You work Tuesdays?”
“Yeah-”
“How about Friday evening?”
“Sakura, I don’t think-”
“I’ll text you,” Sakura stated firmly, hoping it left no room for objection. And it didn’t, Naruto nodded his head then rushed out the door.
‘I’m on the second floor. Next to the Life Sciences section.’
‘K. See you soon.’ Naruto texts back.
Sakura will be the only audience member on the third floor to observe her romantic plot come to fruition.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Naruto doesn’t know why he caves in so easily to Sakura’s demands. He sighs at the cash he hands over to the barista. He could have bought at least ten cups of ramen for the price of one cup of overpriced coffee and a cinnamon roll.
He tugs his jacket tighter around his body to shield himself from the cold wind. The warmth of the library is welcomed.
He takes the elevator to the second floor.
The library at this late hour on a Friday evening is relatively empty. He hears his wet boots squeak as he walks across the clean, tiled floor.
A female together with a skinny, somewhat familiar looking man are seated next to the Life Sciences section. The woman turns around at the minor disturbance.
The woman who has been avoiding him for months stares at him with wide doe eyes.
Awkwardly he waves hello, and he’s pretty certain she only returns the greeting because she feels cornered.
“Hey, Hinata,” Naruto is tempted to chuck the coffee and pastry in the garbage bin a few yards away. A second later the cogs in his mind click into place. He figures out who planned this impromptu meeting. But out of courtesy to Hinata he soldiers on.
“Hello, Naruto-kun.” Hinata returns her gaze to the text book.
The man next to her is Sasuke’s friend.
“That for me?” Suigetsu snickers, reaching out for the coffee and dessert.
Naruto moves it out of Suigetsu’s reach. Naruto feels disoriented and doesn’t know what to say or where to begin. Especially not with the parasite next to him.
“Um,” Naruto places the beverage and treat on the table.
Suigestu slides it over to Hinata, “think it’s for you, Elfie.”
Naruto clears his throat, “can we talk?” He rubs his head nervously. The feeling of someone watching him makes him look upwards toward the third floor. He’s not easily angered, but he feels a rush of negativity coursing through his system. He will deal with those green eyes later.
“Maybe another time, Naruto-kun. I was just leaving.” Hinata grabs the jacket draped over her chair.
Naruto wants to apologize for unknowingly intruding, but he can’t bring himself to do so in front of Suigetsu. He turns on his heels, embarrassed and still unsettled. He nearly walks right into Sasuke.
Sasuke walks past him, brushing his shoulder roughly, causing his already precarious knapsack to shift from his shoulder to his forearm. A notebook and pencil case falls out of an unzipped compartment.
Instead of retaliating in some juvenile manner, Naruto collects his belongings and heads towards the staircase.
He mounts them quickly. Fast enough that he corners Sakura before she enters the elevator.
“Was this your plan all along?” Naruto tries to keep his voice and anger down. He’s exhausted. Tired of being Sakura’s puppet.
“What are you talking about? I forgot to text to say I moved up to the third floor,” Sakura says with little conviction, avoiding direct eye contact.
Naruto just stares at her. The sound of the elevator bell dings but it’s all barely registered background noise.
“At least own up to your scheming, Sakura.”
Naruto points toward the banister, “If you want to spend your life pining over a man who doesn’t want you or could care less for you. Do that. Do you. But leave me out of it.”
“Keep your voice down,” Sakura hushes him. “It’s not like that. I know you like her and she likes you. I just wanted to help”
“Did I ask for your help? Were you trying to help when you came over Saturday?”
Sakura has the audacity to seem appalled. “I was drunk,” she defends.
“Just like Halloween, right? What did Sasuke reject you again? So you came running to me?” Naruto is never this callous with Sakura, but he’s reached his breaking point. He should have gone to his bed and called it a day. The one thing he wasn’t prepared to witness was the girl he liked, the one who actually liked him back, meeting with the fucker who had everything Naruto wishes he had.
“No, Naruto. I just want you to be happy,” Naruto calls bullshit on that. Sakura only serves herself.
“You mean you just want to pawn me off. Use me to distract her so you can get what you want. I'm so tired of being a toy in your collection. The one you take down to play when you have nothing else to do." Naruto fumes. He notices the Librarian approaching them from the other side of the floor.
Naruto hears a soft, melodious voice behind him, “Naruto-kun.”
He wants to drop to his knees to beg for her forgiveness. To apologize for toying with her feelings, using her for his own sexual satisfaction and giving nothing in return. She deserves so much more. But it’s too late. He’s made his bed and she’s moved on.
“Hinata,” Naruto hides the discomfort at having to face the woman he wronged. “Sorry, it’s not what you-”
Atypical to her shy demeanor, Hinata interrupts, “you dropped Gama-chan.” Hinata offers him the green frog-shaped wallet. Too distracted and out of sorts, he hadn’t realized that he placed it on the table together with the coffee.
Naruto accepts it wordless. Watches in silence as Hinata enters the elevator.
Sakura rushes past Naruto and wedges her foot to stop the closing door, “Hinata. Wait. I was just trying to fix things. He really cares about you, he just doesn’t know how to express his feelings.”
Without an ounce of malice, Hinata rejects Sakura’s claim, “You don’t need to fix anything. It’s clear to me who Naruto truly has feelings for. It’s always been clear.” Hinata presses the button to open the elevator, “it’s all yours. I can take the stairs.” |
Anakin built his life around promises.
Most of them small, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The old one to mom, to remember to eat better, or at least remember to eat at all. Not to skip work more than five times a year, lest he invoke the ire of his former master. To fix Threepio’s arm within the next standard month.
These small victories for himself, here and there, gave his life structure.
Other promises were much larger. Win the next three podraces. Free yourself. Find mom.
Those promises gave his life meaning. Something to look forward to. The only way to live in the unfortunate circumstances of his birth, because living any other way, living without the certainty of escape, would surely have broken him long ago.
But promises were hard to keep, he reflected. And although he made each promise sincerely, life moved in unpredictable patterns, plucking choice out of his hands and into the unknown. Promises unfulfilled. Shattered, like the sparkling fragments of a glass window, beautiful but worthless. Once crafted with artistry and intent, but broken—a blow to his honor.
(As a young boy, he’d vowed to his mother that they’d never be apart.)
And yet.
He hadn’t freed himself, but been freed. Wouldn’t need to win the next three podraces. And these promises, he didn’t mind breaking.
Because against all hope, they’d revived older dreams. Older promises made as a child, in simpler times.
Seeing the stars. Becoming an accomplished pilot and seeing new, strange worlds. Every single one of them.
Coming back to free Tatooine.
And as a young boy, he’d never really planned the exact way that might have panned out. But he was living it now and he was thrilled.
Because for the first time, Anakin understood what freedom was.
A gift.
In the dusty backlot of the slave quarters, Anakin looked up into the face of Obi-Wan Kenobi and his open smile—and felt an entire world of possibility blossoming in his chest.
Instinct allowed Anakin to effortlessly navigate the streets of Mos Espa’s marketplace. Swiftly dodging the reckless driving of landspeeders, the mid-day flow of people scuttling from one end of the city from the other, Anakin took in the sight of the heart of the city with a discerning eye. The market looked no different than it had any other day, he remarked as he took in the mixed sight of traders and slaves milling around the stands, haggling loudly or stacking inventory.
But Tatooine had never looked so beautiful.
It was still too hot and the streets were still filled with peddlers and con artists and it was still sandy as hell, but right now, the planet didn’t feel so much like a prison anymore.
Anakin scanned the market again in search of his friend, who had indicated back at the cantina that he would be in the city on business for a while yet. Kitster was shared property between Gardulla herself and his travelling master, who had paid the Hutt for his time starting from when they were fifteen. Thus, when he wasn’t working in the factories for Gardulla in Mos Espa, he spent a fair amount of time travelling around the cities of Tatooine working with his master in the caravanning and shipping business. It was also why they saw little of each other over the years.
Though, now he could see why Obi-Wan thought it was an advantage.
The smell of nausage stopped him in his tracks. It had been a while since he’d bought a dust crepe for himself, and if he did say so himself, he probably deserved a treat after that grueling hell of a training session Obi-Wan had put him through.
He was a weak, weak man.
Mouth watering, he made a beeline for the stand and placed an order for himself. He was speedily provided with his desired food item, and he paid just as quickly before snatching it up and cramming the wheat-based good in his mouth.
He made his way to the lightly shaded open-air dining area, sitting down on one of the worn stools in front of a wide crate that served as a makeshift table. He was still visible, here, so Kitster would be able to find him.
Making good progress through his lunchtime meal, his thoughts turned toward his other childhood slave friends. Certainly, he wasn’t as close with them as he was with Kitster, but he worried about them nonetheless. Wald and Amee, he knew were still in Mos Espa. If he was correct, when Anakin had been sold—lost, really, given Watto’s gambling tendencies—to the spaceport, Wald had come under Watto’s employ. Amee still worked as a housekeeper for a local couple, though he hadn’t seen her in over a year.
Melee was a fellow mechanic, and was one of the slaves Obi-Wan had freed alongside himself at the spaceport.
It was a wonder that she hadn’t already barged into his apartment and demanded an explanation for what happened. Though, she had tried back at the hangar when she’d tried to get his attention.
Not that he would have been able to explain it to her, then. Though to be honest, he really wasn’t in a position to explain, himself.
He’d just been so busy, lately.
Though he was glad for it, he thought to himself with a secretive smile.
He would find her later, perhaps back at the slave quarters. She would likely be able to help him gather the rest of the team.
Anakin was halfway through his food when he finally glimpsed Kitster looking dirty, exhausted and possibly just on this side of malnourished.
“Kitster!” Anakin waved to his friend, and he could see Kitster stand at attention in the middle of the street spinning around, looking for the source of the call and nearly getting run over by an eopie in the process. Wincing, Anakin tried again. “Hey!”
Anakin watched Kitster navigate the flow of market traffic to reach him, finally slumping into the seat across from him. Anakin wordlessly handed him the remainder of his crepe, which he took gratefully.
“I’ve been running all over the city delivering so much shit,” Kitster grumbled as he tore into the crepe. “Going to be so glad when this is over.” He looked questioningly at Anakin. “That’s what you’re here about, right?”
Anakin nodded, and right then he felt like an inadequate container for his enthusiasm. “Yeah, we think you can help.”
Kitster looked down at the crepe and back up at Anakin. “Be honest with me, Anakin. You trust him?”
Anakin’s immediate instinct to defend Obi-Wan should have alarmed him. “Of course I do!”
The thing was, Obi-Wan was the only person to look at Anakin and see potential. Slave masters looked at him and saw a tool, property to be used. Travelers looked at him and saw something to be pitied. Fellow slaves had looked at him like an anomaly for refusing to accept their lot in life, to live just to get by. Even his mother—the most important person in his life—who had once looked at him all those years ago with so much hope for the future, chafed under the reality of their lifestyle.
Obi-Wan saw a slave. How could he not? Free as he was now, he wasn’t arrogant enough to deny that the scars of his years in servitude would always remain a part of his identity.
But he was the only one to look twice. The only one of many with the power to change his fate, and he was the only one to give him a chance.
How monumental was it that despite Obi-Wan’s own reservations about training him, he decided to trust Anakin with it, too?
So yes, Anakin trusted Obi-Wan just as much or possibly even more than Obi-Wan trusted him. He’d never said so, but if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble to free him.
The warm feeling in his chest had nothing to do with it.
“I trust him,” Anakin reiterated. “And not just because he freed me.”
“I’m sorry for doubting you. I just find it hard to believe anybody is genuinely interested in… you know, us.” Kitster smiled, although it looked a little worn. “All right, Anakin. I trust you. And I’ll trust him too. And not just because you two seem to be our only hope.” That was almost enough to make Anakin’s chest swell with pride and self-importance. “You really think I can help?”
Anakin nodded seriously. “Of course. Obi-Wan thinks so, and he’s masterminding the whole thing. Could you meet with us, perhaps later tonight?”
Kitster smiled, cheer returned. Having finished Anakin’s lunch, he looked a lot better than he initially did. “Count on it. I’ll do my best to sneak off after work, I’m technically out of rest days.”
“Great,” Anakin said, giddy with excitement. “Remember that lot in the slave quarters, the one I use to fix my podracer? Meet us there in the evening whenever you can get out. My apartment isn't big enough for all of us.”
“All of us?”
“All of us.”
Yes, Anakin thought. They were going to free the planet, and he then he would find his mother. And she would be proud.
Anakin returned home later that evening to the sight of Obi-Wan in meditation. He sat in the open air of the small balcony of the second floor, long brown robe moving gently in time with the flow of the desert wind.
“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan, eyes fluttering open and turning slightly at the waist to greet him.
And because he completely lacked a verbal filter, Anakin blurted, “You’re not wearing the shawl.”
“First impressions are everything,” Obi-Wan said, lips quirked up slightly and belying his amusement. Anakin wanted to put his foot in his mouth—if only to stem the tide of bantha fodder that seemed to spew out whenever he was around Obi-Wan. “And what a powerful thing it is. In this case, the need to motivate your fellow slaves is paramount. Validation, even in the form of a Jedi Knight, can inspire others to do many things. We’re going to capitalize on that.”
Anakin could never get over how manipulative Obi-Wan could be. As he himself preferred the straightforward, honest approach, he found the game Obi-Wan played somewhat baffling.
Though Anakin could probably see its merits, he would prefer to leave it to Obi-Wan. Maybe he’d even pick up a thing or two about the art, though he doubted it—whatever Obi-Wan decided, he’d follow.
“Did you find your friends?” Obi-Wan asked, standing up from his position on the floor and providing Anakin with a full view of the uniform of a true Jedi Knight.
The outfit was not elaborate by any means, and might certainly have passed for something Tatooinian in style. Functional and sparse, in earthly tones of cream and brown that spoke of an ascetic philosophy of living sparsely and without luxury. The outer robe flowed with the grace of its model, speaking just as much about Obi-Wan’s character as the style of clothing itself.
It suited him. And even had he not seen this image before in his visions, he knew that this felt right. Obi-Wan was a Jedi, through and through.
Obi-Wan was right. First impressions were powerful.
“See something you like?” Obi-Wan teased good-naturedly, and that certainly didn’t lessen Anakin’s sudden and pervasive need to die. “Clearly that means it’s working.”
Kriff, he couldn’t believe he missed the shawl.
“I did… find my friends that is, but…” Anakin paused. “How do you do that,” he said instead, foregoing business and pushing aside his embarrassment in favor of indulging his curiosity as they both moved into the kitchen. “I mean, how do you know what I’m thinking all the time?”
“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, for the first time in a long while looking truly uncomfortable. “That is a difficult question with a complex answer.”
Anakin turned around from the cupboards, handing a Zucca fruit pastry to Obi-Wan. “Try me.”
“What can I say? You’re an open book,” Obi-Wan said, unable to even resist a small jab. He accepted his dinner with a small gesture of thanks. “Which is half the answer. The other half involves the Force.”
Anakin leaned forward in his seat, interested. Any topic that involved the mystical field of living energy had Anakin’s full attention, period. He might never be a Jedi, but he would be damned if he passed up an opportunity to understand the Force, a concept more enigmatic and beguiling than any spacer legend he’d ever been told.
“I explained this earlier, but you’re not shielding well, which makes it easy for any trained Force-sensitive to read your emotions,” Obi-Wan gestured with his free hand. “It’s not just you. You and I can read any unshielded thoughts from sensitives and non-sensitives alike. I’m sure you’ve had your own experiences learning how to interpret the feelings of others.”
He did, and he’d used it frequently to avoid his former master whenever he’d been caught in a bad mood. He’d used it to negotiate trades with the Jawas for droids when he’d worked for Watto. He’d also guiltily used it to navigate his way through the verbal smackdowns that were the pre-racing podracer exchanges. Sometimes he got lucky and hit just the right buttons to agitate a racer off their game, leading him to a crucial victory.
And taunting was fun. Never let it be said that he didn’t know how to enjoy himself.
“The other answer is that of a connection,” Obi-Wan said, looking faintly troubled. “I suppose it could be useful in a pinch, so you should know. We have a Force bond.”
“A what?” Anakin said, confused.
“A Force bond is a link between two Force-sensitives,” Obi-Wan explained. “It is common and expected among Jedi Master and padawan teams as a means of shared influence, allowing us to transmit thoughts, images, and feeling over large distances. It is as much a tool of learning as it is an asset in battle, and as such, I’m hoping that should you be in trouble, the bond will let me know.”
A connection. He had a connection to Obi-Wan.
He honestly couldn’t say that he was displeased with this development.
“How did it happen?” Anakin asked, and tried not to let too much of his delight show.
“Bonds usually form naturally between individuals over a long period of association or over many sessions of meditation. It’s how Jedi teams usually form theirs,” Obi-Wan paused, setting down his half-eaten pastry. “But they can also form unexpectedly through events.”
“And?” Anakin encouraged, eager to hear the story of how they’d gotten theirs.
“I…” Obi-Wan hesitated. “After I subdued your assailant yesterday, I wasn’t in the most rational state. Understandably, you were confused in the crossfire, and I sensed it through the Force. I reached out…”
“…and I reached back,” Anakin finished, awestruck.
At the time, Anakin felt like he had been in free-fall. Suddenly struck with pain and on a crash course with the fast-approaching ground, Anakin had lost himself momentarily to confusion. Obi-Wan had reached out to him physically, but unable to divorce his priorities in his panic, he’d done so through the Force as well—and Anakin had instinctively reached back, desperate for support.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, a grim smile on his lips. “No doubt Archivist Nu would be very interested in this account.”
“Let me guess: before or after the Council skins you?” Anakin grimaced.
“Am I so predictable?” Obi-Wan said, faintly surprised. “I must be. I’m sorry, Anakin, none of this is your fault.”
“Did I say it was?” Anakin said, his frown deepening. “Don’t be.”
Obi-Wan sighed. “In any case, the bond is permanent, and there is no way to break it completely. While I have reservations about strengthening it, I have a feeling that given our close association it is likely a foregone conclusion.” A shadow of a smile passed over his expression as Obi-Wan seemed to laugh at his own private joke. “It might as well serve as an asset instead of as a point of concern. When you get a handle on shielding, we can work on communication.”
“Wait a minute,” Anakin said urgently. “You can’t hear everything I think about, can you?”
Evidently, that startled Obi-Wan out of his mood. “That’s the first thing you think about? I respect your privacy, Anakin, and I actively try not to eavesdrop on your thoughts. With the bond, it’s harder. And sometimes you project so strongly it’s hard not to.”
Shielding, shielding, shielding, Anakin thought loudly, only to be presented with the sight of Obi-Wan choking on his food.
“Force, Anakin!” Obi-Wan snorted, shaking in his seat. “That’s… that’s not how you shield!”
Despite his mild distress, Anakin couldn’t help but feel warmed by the sight. Obi-Wan really needed to loosen up, and Anakin couldn’t help but love his smile, rare as it was.
Laughter mostly under control, Obi-Wan stifled another laugh as he tried to speak. “Ah, I haven’t laughed that much since Master Qui-Gon put his foot through the training room floor during one of our duels.”
“Qui-Gon?” Anakin couldn’t help but feel like the name was familiar. “He’s the one that trained you, then? Your Master?”
“Ah, yes,” Obi-Wan said, voice half-fond and half-melancholic. “He was a great mentor to me. Though you may be surprised to know that he was a maverick of a Jedi, and his apprentice turned out to be, well. You know.” Obi-Wan gestured at himself, smiling.
“A bit of a stick in the mud,” Anakin supplied helpfully.
“Thank you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, tone flat but expression amused. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been to Tatooine, you know.”
“Really?” Anakin said, surprised. He’d been treating Obi-Wan as a newcomer to the planet so far. Obi-Wan didn’t strike him as having been raised on the planet, and he didn’t seem to have spent enough time on the planet to have picked up the local accent and vernacular, especially with that pristine Coruscanti accent. To hear otherwise was a surprise, to say the least. It was wishful thinking, but Anakin wondered if maybe they had met once before. He was sure that Obi-Wan had sensed his curiosity, blatant as it was on his face.
“I suppose I could tell you the tale while we wait for your friends to gather,” Obi-Wan said with a glance outside the window. Cliché as it was to meet under the cover of night, they could not afford a repeat incident of the day before. “It’s not a long story.”
“I’m interested,” Anakin said, and he really was. He enjoyed every opportunity to learn more about the world outside of Tatooine, and he especially enjoyed learning more about Obi-Wan, who had most certainly lead a fascinating life as a Jedi.
“Eight years ago, Master Qui-Gon and I were dispatched to negotiate with the Trade Federation, a guild of powerful corporations blockading the planet of Naboo. Long story short, it didn’t go well.” Obi-Wan folded his hands in his lap, looking very much resigned, as if meaning to say ‘when does it ever?’ “We ended up having to stage a rescue for the Queen of Naboo and narrowly escaped—but with our hyperdrive damaged by the blockading fleet.”
Anakin laughed. What were the chances? “Wow, that’s some irony.”
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Yes, well. You can guess that Tatooine was our emergency stop. Much like my current situation, we were searching for a replacement hyperdrive to get back to Coruscant. Though I personally never left the ship, as I had been ordered to watch the Queen. My Master ventured out into Mos Espa, and unlike us, was unable to find a replacement hyperdrive. Instead, he purchased an old freighter, allowing us passage back to Coruscant.” Obi-Wan hummed. “I wonder if the Nubian cruiser is still there, parked in the desert?”
“If the Jawas haven’t gotten to it,” Anakin supplied, thinking about the short, perpetually robed scavengers. Valuable to any mechanic. The true, understated heroes of the planet.
“In any case, we made it back to Coruscant, only to find no Republic support from the Senate,” Obi-Wan continued. “Frustrated, the Queen decided to take matters into her own hands and return to Naboo to fight for her planet herself. With the help of the Gungans. Of course, we accompanied her.”
Anakin wondered what a Gungan looked like. “So you freed Naboo?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “However, my Master and I were forced to fight a Sith—put simply, a Force-user who actively embraces the dark side of the Force—while the Queen focused on capturing the Viceroy to end the blockade.” Obi-Wan’s tone softened. “And I lost my Master in the fight.”
Anakin really didn’t know what to say. Closing his eyes, he tried picturing the loss of his own mother in an attempt to understand Obi-Wan’s feelings towards his Master… and almost physically recoiled.
An old memory resurfaced: a brief but faded image of his mother in a foreign and dark place, broken and bleeding, flashed before his eyes, and it seemed almost too real to be a product of his imagination. An old fear of his younger self—he had thought himself fearless, looking into the eyes of a Tusken Raider he’d saved. He didn’t, hadn’t ever feared for himself, but…
“I was able to defeat the Sith, but I came very close to Falling, myself, so consumed with rage at seeing my Master struck down,” Obi-Wan confessed, too caught up in memory to notice Anakin’s reticence. “But, with his last breath, he told me that I’d done him proud.” Obi-Wan paused, fingers folding over the cloth of the sleeve of his loose outer robe. “I completed my training under Master Dooku, who had trained Qui-Gon, and was knighted shortly after.”
“I’m sorry,” Anakin ventured, still emotionally thrown by the image of his mother in pain.
Visions, Obi-Wan had said. But not all of them came to pass, he reminded himself. This one, he hoped desperately was in that category, and the thought brought him some comfort.
“I hadn’t meant to talk about myself so much,” Obi-Wan said, a faint hint of disbelief in his voice. “It’s not an unhappy memory for me, truly; only a little bittersweet.” He turned to look out the window. It was dusk. “Ah, how time flies. Shall we?”
As they rose from the table, another piece of the puzzle seemed to slot into place—something about Obi-Wan’s Master reminded Anakin of a strange meeting, years ago, when he still worked for Watto.
But that was then. This was now.
He was glad Obi-Wan trusted him enough to tell him about his life. The Jedi might not have had families, but Anakin figured that the loss of his Master was comparable to the feeling of Anakin losing his mother. And he felt he came a little closer to understanding why Obi-Wan internalized the Jedi philosophy to the point of obsession.
And he wondered, just a little bit, about the things he could do to prevent such a loss from happening to himself.
Anakin followed Obi-Wan like a shadow in the night as they made their way to the empty lot where they’d trained earlier that day. The reflected light of the planet’s three moons guided their path through the alleys of the adobe buildings, the chill of the desert night making the passage of time seem longer than it was in reality.
Or perhaps that was just his eagerness speaking. He could hardly believe that, providing everything went well, history was going to be made right here, in his backyard.
And he and his friends were going to be at the forefront.
It was almost surreal. He wasn’t even sure if this was all just a heat-induced hallucination, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was—it had long been his dream to free himself, then free the planet from slavery. Though the details, he’d never really worked out for himself, never having imagined the possibility of it becoming a reality. But here he was, eternally optimistic, and in the company of someone who could very possibly make it happen.
The hushed chatter of conversation ceased as they entered the clearing.
“Hello there,” Obi-Wan said, stepping out of the shadows. “I recognize a few of your faces, but more that I don’t.”
Anakin remained a step behind Obi-Wan and was surprised to feel a gentle nudge from Obi-Wan, not physical, but mental in nature. Go on. It would be better if you introduced us.
“You all know me,” Anakin said to the group of approximately fifteen, and tried not to sound as nervous as he felt. “But this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, he’s a Jedi. I’m sure you remember him from the spaceport.” As if anyone could forget that day.
A clamor immediately broke out amongst his friends and former co-workers, echoes of ‘a Jedi!’ bouncing around the courtyard, though not as loudly as they’d expected. Word must have gotten around the city already.
“I knew it!” Melee exclaimed, staring at Obi-Wan in shock and disbelief. She was a girl of small stature and similarly blonde hair, tied neatly up in two functional buns on top of her head. She turned to stare at Anakin, accusing. “What have you done now?”
“Now you sound like my mother,” Anakin complained. Why did everyone think it was his fault?
“You’re always the one getting in trouble,” Wald cut in, speaking in Huttese. “With the way that you’re always going out of your way to help one person or another.” A bold chorus of agreement came from the group, of which all the members had known him for years now, and Anakin knew his face must have been flaming red from embarrassment. What friends he had. Obi-Wan’s amusement registered in the back of his mind.
“I can’t disagree with that assessment,” Obi-Wan said. “It is, after all, how I met him.”
“Only you would manage to pick up a stray Jedi,” Melee snorted, but she was smiling. “I guess we’re all here for a reason?”
Obi-Wan nodded approvingly, folding his arms into the sleeves of his robe. “Indeed.” The small group stilled, in part eager to learn the meaning of the gathering and captivated by such an esoteric figure—Anakin understood the feeling, recalling the moment Obi-Wan had revealed his true identity—a figure of myth.
And Anakin knew that Obi-Wan could be incredibly charismatic when he wanted to.
“The Jedi have a vested interest in taking down Jabba the Hutt,” he explained, letting each word hang in the air between them. “To the point, part of this involves starting a slave rebellion, and I am here to ask for your help in this endeavor.”
The moment that Anakin had been waiting his entire life for had come.
There was no explosion, no shock of noise from the group. Fifteen-odd faces stared disbelievingly at the Jedi as if he’d ordered them to jump in front of a herd of rampaging Bantha. Which was not an inappropriate metaphor, Anakin thought, because who in their right mind would willingly take on the Hutts and expect to survive the encounter?
“But how?” It was Amee, who had tremblingly voiced the unspoken question for the group. “We’re slaves, how could we ever hope… the Hutts…”
“You don’t believe in yourself,” Obi-Wan stated, a little cuttingly. A few in the group flinched, Anakin included, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out exactly why. “That’s the problem. Not that you’re bound by contract, or have chips installed that could easily amputate you in any attempt to try.”
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, too softly for him to hear, but Obi-Wan acknowledged him anyway with a slight incline of his head. I’m going to make them believe.
“I believe in you,” Obi-Wan announced, tone more gentle now, but every bit as confident. “The Jedi have served the Republic for thousands of years, rooting out injustice wherever it is found. But I have never seen a greater injustice than on this planet, in the form of your slavery. But to share that belief, that you deserve to be free to make your own choices, you are no different, no weaker, than we are.” Obi-Wan gestured at his own chest, at his heart. “And it begins here. Not with the logistics of winning. With hope.”
Obi-Wan stepped back, folding his hands back into his sleeves, and let the brief speech sink in. It was their turn to hope that the words had rung true.
“Tell us your plan,” Melee said, hands clenched in front of her heart.
“This is no order. I am asking, and I should like to consider this your first act of free will.” Obi-Wan reminded her. “Do you believe you can carry it out?”
“I believe,” Kitster said, and Anakin was overwhelmed to hear the chorus of agreement from the mouths of his friends.
“Then may the Force be with us,” Obi-Wan said, and for the second time that day, Anakin was taken in by the genuine smile that appeared on Obi-Wan’s face as the group echoed the expression. “Now, let me tell you what I have in mind.”
“They’ll come around,” Obi-Wan said to Anakin, later, as they left the emptying lot.
The plan was simple. At least in theory.
Tatooine had a population of roughly 200,000, of which slaves numbered approximately 50,000. Of the five most populated cities on the planet, Mos Espa had the greatest concentration of people, and thus would be their home base and where Obi-Wan and Anakin would remain to coordinate the rebellion. The others included Bestine, Anchorhead, Mos Entha, and Mos Eisley. The assault would have had to be coordinated such that each city’s rebellion happened simultaneously to maximize the strain of Jabba’s private army. In this, Obi-Wan had paired members of Anakin’s former engineering team, who were now free to go beyond city bounds, into teams of two or three to organize the their assigned city’s slaves. But they wouldn’t depart the city until Obi-Wan made sure that they’d had at least some blaster training to pass on, a little bit of leadership training, their commlinks, and a reasonable sum of credits courtesy of the Jedi emergency fund. In the meantime, they would spread word and gather who they could under the noses of their masters.
Anakin’s closest friends—outside of Melee, who would be going to Mos Eisley—would remain in Mos Espa.
Kitster was given a particularly special role.
“Sorry, what do you want me to do?” Kitster had asked, eyes narrowed at Obi-Wan. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“From what I gathered from Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied, “you travel around the major cities fairly often. You have the advantage of being able to smuggle weapons and arms, or assorted supplies from city to city for us. And a slave revolt is, by definition, an armed uprising. I expect acquisition of weapons will be unequal from each team in each city, and you can distribute the excess.”
“Dopo me goola, you crazy Jedi! This is hilariously risky. If my master sees the extra blasters…” Kitster sighed. “Okay, fine, fine, I’m in.”
“Before that, you work for Gardulla, don’t you?” Kitster nodded, and Obi-Wan continued. “I need you to secure a meeting with Gardulla.” He turned to address the group, briefly explaining the reason for his request. “We can’t proceed with the rebellion until this meeting is concluded. As Gardulla dominates the majority of the slave trade on the planet, some of you included, taking her out of the picture takes care of her interference—a potentially great liability. Read: no missing limbs.”
Ah, Anakin thought. That would certainly put a stopper in their young revolt.
“This just keeps getting better and better,” Kitster raked a hand through his dark hair. Anakin patted his friend’s back soothingly, though he hadn’t thought it did much for Kitster’s nerves at the time and still didn’t think it did now. “I don’t think she’ll be very interested…”
“She has to,” Obi-Wan had said, placing his commlink in Kitster’s hands. “If she thinks that the backing of the entire Jedi Order is knocking on her doorstep.”
The next morning found Anakin in front of his mother’s workstation in the main living area, assembling commlinks. Obi-Wan had gone out to perform some task or another earlier that morning, and Anakin hadn’t been awake at the time, too tired from the excitement of yesterday’s almost-all-nighter of a meeting. It was strange to be the second one to rise for once as he was a morning person, the routine of getting up to work having been drilled into him at a young age.
Anakin sighed. He worried, and wished Obi-Wan had left him a note or something.
Obi-Wan was capable. More than capable of taking care of himself. If there was anybody he should have been worried about, it should have been himself.
Because he was still reliant on Obi-Wan for training and for a sort of guidance in what was a transitory period of his life. He was still learning what it was like to be free, and he found himself with an abundance of time where sometimes, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself without someone telling him what to do, as much as he hated to admit it.
Perhaps, he realized, he was afraid. Of more than just his mother being hurt.
Perhaps he was afraid of being useless.
It was the entire reason he’d originally asked Obi-Wan to train him. Good intentions meant nothing if he didn’t have the ability to back them up, and the last thing he wanted to be was a burden. Mechanical skill aside, what he had to offer paled in comparison to what Obi-Wan was capable of. It wasn’t the first time he’d had this thought, but the more Obi-Wan impressed him…
He frowned at himself when he realized that he had accidentally stripped the screw he’d been fixing into place by overturning it. He hadn’t made that mistake in a long time, and pulled out some pliers from a drawer to begin the process of removing it. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Ever since their discussion of Qui-Gon, Anakin had felt off in a way he couldn’t quite put to words.
Anakin’s senses had to have been improving, because just a moment later, he sensed Obi-Wan approaching the door of the apartment. He almost made to get up before he realized that his lap was covered in wires and they would all go tumbling onto the floor. He heard, rather than saw, Threepio before the droid walked into the apartment.
“—oh, and did you know that the average humidity level of the planet is exactly five-point-four percent, Master Obi-Wan?” Threepio chattered happily, stepping through the doorframe with an exasperated Obi-Wan in tow. The hood of his outer robe had been drawn up to protect against the harsh sunlight of noon.
“No, I didn’t, but I’m sure that fact will come in handy sometime,” Obi-Wan replied, pulling down his hood and shutting the door behind him with a press of a button. “Anakin, why exactly did you need such a chatty droid?”
“Why I never,” Threepio exclaimed with such genuine offense that Anakin found himself laughing helplessly, incredibly charmed by the situation.
“He’s a protocol droid,” he explained, packing the finished commlinks into a small plasteel box. “He was designed to serve, first and foremost, so he tends to defer to others. Sometimes a bit overmuch. I remember wondering if he suffered some kind of sensory vocal deprivation.”
“Master Anakin!” Threepio squawked, scandalized. His single arm fluttered around in mild affront. “I assure you that I am in top form, thanks to your regular maintenance!”
“You’re still missing an arm,” Obi-Wan reminded Threepio and the droid looked back down at his arm, jumping a little as if he’d realized that his arm was indeed, missing. “You haven’t attempted to reprogram him? To be a little less…” Obi-Wan waved in Threepio’s general direction, where he was still fretting over his missing forearm.
“Of course not!” Anakin objected, offended at the suggestion but not truly insulted. Most people didn’t see droids like he did. “Reprogramming him would be like brainwashing a person! Droids are people, too.” Anakin looked up from his sorting to find himself the target of a considering look, at once making him feel like a specimen on display and making him blush to the roots of his hair, but he still felt the need to clarify his point. “I um, I gave him the number designation three because he was like the third member of our family.”
“Master Anakin,” Threepio bawled, touched. Anakin worried briefly that he would short-circuit as the lights of his photoreceptors began flickering precariously. “You’ve never told me this before! Your sentiment warms my circuits, truly!”
“Don’t mention it,” Anakin said lowly, embarrassed. “Really.”
“When you think of it like that,” Obi-Wan conceded, and Anakin felt something flicker across their strange, shared bond. Obi-Wan watched Threepio laud praise after praise on his maker with a new sort of curiosity, leaning against his workstation as he did so. “I hope you didn’t mind my borrowing him for the day? I went out trading with the Jawas and Threepio had mentioned that he was fluent in a great number of languages.”
So that was where Obi-Wan had gone. Anakin breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s okay,” he said around his fading anxiety. “What did you end up trading for?”
Obi-Wan hummed. “Information, mostly.”
That was strange, Anakin thought. Most people went to the Jawas to trade for mechanical parts, like himself. He wondered if Obi-Wan would tell him what exactly he’d traded for, and although he knew that he’d gotten better at shielding, Obi-Wan had clearly beaten him to the punch.
“A few of the Jawas work for Jabba himself,” Obi-Wan replied to his unspoken request. “Scavenging parts for himself to hoard and use or sell at inflated prices. As such, they know quite a few details about his operations, and his base of operations. It’ll become clearer in time. Closer to the time when we’ve got everything ready.”
Anakin frowned. He understood, in part, why Obi-Wan might keep details from him. Nothing was set in stone yet, and perhaps Obi-Wan wanted to avoid confusing him further with details that hadn’t yet formed fully in his plans.
But did that mean that Obi-Wan didn’t trust him enough? He wished he knew, and worse still, he knew he was an open book to the other.
So he bit back his questions about their upcoming meeting with Gardulla the Elder in three days, and focused on the comforting presence of Obi-Wan and Threepio as he continued his work on the last commlink in preparation for their training session tonight.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been here,” Anakin chattered nervously, following Obi-Wan out of the landspeeder provided to them by Gardulla. Kitster had certainly held up on his end of the deal, and they’d been able to arrange a meeting with Gardulla with little surprisingly little fuss. Never underestimate the efficiency of the Tatooine grapevine, he thought as he watched Obi-Wan follow after their Gamorrean chauffeur to the entrance of Gardulla’s citadel in the Dune Sea. It could loosely be described as a cluster of sandstone towers, a few partially built into nearby cliffs. They were loosely arranged around one, large complex, which if he remembered correctly, housed her arena and her prized Krayt Dragon.
He’d lied. He was three when he was last here, and nothing would ever rid him of the sight of her ‘pleasure gardens’. Obi-Wan caught the thought and flashed him a briefly concerned look before redirecting his attentions towards the looming buildings.
Anakin suspected that she’d even been expecting such a meeting. In fact, if they hadn’t taken the initiative, it was likely that she would have sought them out sooner or later. So it was probably best that they’d arranged this meeting before she’d arranged an assassination attempt, and Anakin had not yet acquired a taste for being hunted.
“In,” the Gamorrean chauffeur said brusquely, having punched in the keycode to the door on one of the smaller towers. The door swished open with a perfunctory hiss. Obi-Wan pressed a light hand against his shoulder, almost as if in apology, and followed their guide into the dimly-lit sandstone corridor. The walk was silent but for the breathing of their guide, and soon sandstone gave way to decorated plaster and natural lighting. If he remembered correctly…
The arena. It would have been a grand thing to see for the first time, the open space illuminated by only the light of the suns in high noon, the audience stands spacious and bleached white. However, Anakin knew its bloody purpose, and his upper lip curled in disgust at the memory. Again, Obi-Wan glanced at him, having sensed his negative emotions. Instead, something like a mental touch reached out and coaxed open Anakin’s connection to the Force, and his revulsion gradually petered out into the sea of energy.
Anakin blinked, startled, as they skirted around the arena towards the back of the stadium. Obi-Wan only gave him a patient smile as they passed through the archway and into Gardulla’s throne room.
Hutts, as a species, were grotesquely drawn to excess. Perhaps he was generalizing, perhaps there was at least one decent Hutt out there, but Anakin had never had the pleasure of meeting them.
Twi'lek dancers and Bith musicians halted their routines as they proceeded deeper into the room, where Anakin could see more clearly that a large part of their audience were primarily Gardulla’s Weequay and Gamorrean thugs. It seemed a departure from her usual personage, and it seemed an indication of how seriously she took their meeting. Though she had to play the part of careless overlord, she was clearly wary of the Jedi reputation. Anakin wondered if she’d had prior experience.
“Ah, Master Jedi,” Gardulla began in her warbling tones. Where she was seated at the head of the room, a young human girl in her early 20s sat up from her seat at Gardulla’s rather lavish pedestal and began translating for her. While Anakin needed no translation, the translation was largely for Obi-Wan’s benefit. Anakin would translate for Obi-Wan, and hopefully the girl’s job would be a little easier. Gardulla’s gaze slid sideways to rest on Anakin, and his spine stiffened in response. “And young Anakin Skywalker, too. What a fortuitous occasion for us to meet again. How is your mother? ”
“Fine, ma’am.” To Obi-Wan, he relayed, “she asked how my mother was.”
Obi-Wan focused his presence on Gardulla and said, “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Gardulla, in this grand palace of yours.” And as much as Anakin distained exchanging pleasantries with a Hutt, he knew it was all a part of the game. Mustering his most polite tone, no small feat given his usual irreverence for authority figures, he dutifully translated the message.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Jedi,” Gardulla said, and the atmosphere of the room seemed to still in anticipation. “I know you’ve been freeing slaves, and I know you are not so ignorant to think that you are not treading upon my empire. I want to know what exactly your intentions are.”
Obi-Wan didn’t miss a beat, and Anakin tried to emulate his confidence in his translation. “Thank you for cutting to the chase, Gardulla. I am also not so ignorant to be unaware of your longstanding rivalry with Jabba Desilijic Tiure. In short, I seek to remove him from his seat of power.”
At this, Gardulla let out a rumble, or what passed as Hutt laughter. Anakin narrowed his eyes in distain as her humor stretched for almost a minute. Obi-Wan seemed otherwise unaffected, hands folded serenely behind his back.
“Jedi, I have been trying for a not-inconsiderable portion of my lifetime, and longevity is a boon of my species.” She eyed Obi-Wan with some amusement, and the light catching her irises gave her assessing look an almost ominous glow. “What makes you think that you would succeed where a Hutt could not?”
“Use of your slaves, for one,” Obi-Wan retorted. “Though if you think that you would have more success at utilizing your resources than I, you would find that the proper motivation is a far greater factor in one’s ability to win a war than you might think.”
“I have heard of Jabba’s new acquisitions,” Gardulla admitted, folding her bare, short arms across her protruding stomach. Her young translator chanced a brief glance at her fellow translator, and Anakin suspected that they both felt out of their depth. “Your request, I am sure, is no doubt related to this. And of my resources, you need them.” She, like any other Hutt, was sharp on the uptake.
Obi-Wan nodded. “Astute as expected of someone of your reputation. I would request of you the emancipation of your slave empire in accordance with my goal to neutralize Jabba before he causes harm to the Republic.”
Midway through his translation, a clamor among the audience broke out. By the end of his translation, the sound level of the room had risen to a level Anakin might have expected from the audience at one of his podraces. Gardulla raised an arm for silence, but she hadn’t made a sound after his request. A small eternity passed between them in the musty throne room before Gardulla deigned to speak again.
“This is no small request,” Gardulla responded, finally. “This is a gamble on my part, and unlike most bets I make, I cannot see any way that this would benefit me. The odds are strongly against you.” Her wide, reptilian eyes narrowed. “And how do I know that you won’t renege on your deal and come after me, should you destroy Jabba? The last time I dealt in a deal of this size, Magister Damask reneged on our deal. I need to be sure you will keep your word.”
“You’re a gambler, Gardulla, but this is an enterprise you can profit sumptuously from,” Obi-Wan coaxed, almost teasing but not quite out of the bounds of respect. “Jabba’s entire empire would be yours for the taking.” Anakin paused. Wait, would they be taking down one Hutt only to supplant another one in a recently-vacated spot? How was that supposed to help things on Tatooine? Anakin wanted to protest, but another glance at Obi-Wan’s mild demeanor kept his protests in check. He trusted Obi-Wan. He’d get an explanation later. “And of course, I wouldn’t offer you a bet without some collateral. In the circumstances that my own gamble fails, providing that I still live, I would resign from the Order and swear myself into your service.”
Wait. What?
He couldn’t have… did Obi-Wan just…?
Obi-Wan was looking at him expectantly, but Anakin stared back at him blankly, stunned beyond measure. No part of his brain continued to function, least of all any of the higher processes. A machine, broken, and no amount of skill as a mechanic would piece his thoughts back into coherency.
Then the anger settled in.
When no response from Anakin was forthcoming, the young girl trembled slightly and proceeded to relay her translation to their awaiting audience. And the crowd devolved into an uproar, but Anakin could not hear anything past the seething rage building in his veins.
Chuba doompa, dopa-maskey kung! Anakin shouted, and vindictively appreciated the way Obi-Wan flinched noticeably at the unadulterated acrimony in his tone. He was so far gone past simple words, he’d completely overlooked the way he’d foregone speech and straight into pure sentiment, rendered as his first telepathic thought. If this was what you’d been planning all along, I wish I’d never come!
Because he hadn’t come along to witness Obi-Wan selling himself to slavery.
But Gardulla was laughing, her stomach undulating with mirth. “I like you, Jedi! You have guts, for a human.” She eyed him speculatively, and Anakin did not like the predator’s look in her eye. “A Jedi would make a fine addition to my Garden.”
“As you would will it,” Obi-Wan said, and fixed him with a contrite gaze.
Damn him, Anakin bemoaned, as his fingers rattled against each other, limbs hung limply by his sides in defeat.
Damn him, because Anakin still trusted him.
Anakin opened his mouth to translate, and if his words came out more clipped than appropriate, nobody made a comment about it. There would be plenty of time to lash out at him, later, when things weren’t so dire. Obi-Wan turned back to Gardulla, his back to Anakin.
Thank you, Anakin.
“Everything to gain and nothing to lose,” Gardulla gurgled, already lost in her delusions of power. “His empire, a trained Jedi, and just the loss of a few slaves.” She let tension build up in the room even as her answer was already clear to read across her face. “I agree to your terms. Let us stay to write out the terms of your agreement, and I will lend you the use of my rooms as a sign of my goodwill.”
Anakin let his gaze burn into Obi-Wan’s back as the Jedi strode forward do what he did best. Bargain with pieces of unquantifiable value.
“Anakin.”
“Kriffing leave me alone, Obi-Wan,” Anakin thundered. Or he fancied he would have, if he hadn’t walked out onto the adjoining balcony and cut his own speech off with a slap of the closing transparisteel doors, customized for withstanding inclement Tatooinian weather. He was in no mood to speak to Obi-Wan right now, not after what he’d done. What he’d pulled. Of all the people he knew, Obi-Wan was exactly the last person Anakin would have expected such a proposal to come from. Perhaps he should have known better.
“It was necessary,” Obi-Wan said, tentatively sliding the balcony door open again. He hesitated just a moment before letting himself fall down next to Anakin, surprisingly inelegant considering his usual grace. “Would you let me explain, please?”
“I don’t want any excuses,” Anakin said, avoiding Obi-Wan’s gaze. His self-control had never been the best, and Anakin didn’t want to give away more weaknesses for Obi-Wan to grasp onto in the interests of levering himself out of his guilt. Because he needed a rational answer, not a consoling one, that Obi-Wan knew that his life was worth more than ‘just a few slaves.’
“Please know that I don’t bargain myself and my freedom lightly,” Obi-Wan began. “But you must know that I would be obligated, compelled, even, to give myself to a higher cause.”
“Freeing the slaves of Tatooine?” Anakin queried sarcastically, but he knew his tone betrayed his misery. Where was the equal trade in this? “A week ago you didn’t think twice before dismissing the idea of it.”
“In your company,” Obi-Wan smiled, a small and mournful thing, “one tends to think differently.”
Anakin couldn’t find the words, and Obi-Wan took advantage of his silence to fill it with logic.
“Gardulla is a gambler at heart. Sweetening the deal in the case that we failed was essential, and she knows the worth of one skilled enforcer. She needed the collateral, and I could not make promises on behalf of the Republic in the case that we failed. Or even if we succeed. It is the Senate’s decision to liaise with foreign powers, and in our deal, I could only open up the possibility. And not having her cooperation shuts our operation down entirely. Because we are trying to dabble in her domain and she has every right to give us away to Jabba, animosity notwithstanding.
"Additionally," Obi-Wan continued, "we are supplanting Jabba with Gardulla to avoid the scramble for power left by the massive power vacuum in the Outer Rim that Jabba's death will surely cause. The Hutt Council would certainly point fingers at the Jedi and the Republic, given our involvement. With this, it's more simple to say that we were swept up in a power struggle. It's a cynical way of looking at it, but Gardulla is a known variable. Intelligent as their species are, Jabba is exceedingly exceptional for his kind. Gardulla, from what reports I've gathered, has a tendency to make poor bets." Obi-Wan's eyes glimmered with conspiracy. "Excepting ours, of course. But she will relinquish more territory than Jabba currently has. She may even prove weak enough, in time, for Tatooine to establish its own authority independent of the Hutt Council. But as terms of our agreement, she will not renege on reclaiming her slave enterprise. And that just may be enough."
Karking hells. Anakin hated rationale, even as he needed it, and he longed to be yelling at Obi-Wan instead of listening to him smooth-talk his way out of this mess.
“I don’t plan on failing, Anakin,” Obi-Wan finished. “Believe me in this, at least.”
The sky began to dissolve into the familiar purples of night. The silence between them remained until the first stars began to peer out from behind the opaque blanket of night. Cloudless, because there were few, if any, clouds in the arid climate of Tatooine. With the slow emergence of the stars, Anakin’s anger began to wane.
“I just,” he said, haltingly, because he wasn’t sure how well Obi-Wan took criticism. And Anakin didn’t like the backlash that came from voicing his opinions. “I don’t think you should undervalue how much of a gift being free is.”
“No one would appreciate it better than you would,” Obi-Wan agreed, resting his palms on his knees. “I understand. I didn’t make that decision lightly. But I believe this—your cause—is a cause worth the effort, even without my duty to the Republic.”
“Then why were you so skeptical when I first met you? What changed?” Anakin pressed, questions building rapidly in his throat. “Will you tell me now? Why you thought freeing me was so terrible?”
“The moment I met you, I knew. It wasn’t out of the question that I could easily have freed you. The question was: why? And why you?” His tone was raw, his gaze turned towards the heavens and trailing deliberately from star system to star system. Each one superficially identical but characteristically unique. “A quick path to a slippery slope of reasoning. What made you so special? Why free one slave, why not free all of them? Like it matters now.” He snorted, a light exhalation. “Did I do the right thing? Am I doing the right thing? The Jedi would say no. But for the first time in years I am acting on my emotions, and I find that I cannot regret it even as I should, and that causes me pain.”
“You don’t regret it?” Anakin asked, voice wavering. And then he knew he could no longer hold onto his anger no more than he could leash his emotions.
“No,” Obi-Wan said, eyes bright and passionate. “Because not freeing you would have been the greater tragedy.”
His heart thundered in his chest, his pulse loud in his ears. The compassion in Obi-Wan’s eyes was a treasured thing, the focal point of Anakin’s attention.
Freedom, confidence. These were the things Obi-Wan had given him. He might just have given him something else, something he’d thought unobtainable, but for the glimmer of hope that revealed itself in this admission.
Somebody to love.
Truly, freedom had ruined him. Freedom was intoxicating. Freedom had made him selfish. For the first time in a long while, Anakin wanted. Let himself want. Anakin wanted to be Obi-Wan’s equal, no longer satisfied with standing a step behind him. He wanted to be worthy of Obi-Wan’s trust. He wanted to bury himself inside the safety of Obi-Wan’s ribcage, to bind two entities to the point which they were inseparable, a grotesque expression of need but for which he had no substitute.
Anakin reached for Obi-Wan’s hand, his fingers clenched tightly in his lap as a reflection of internal conflict. His own fingers gently worked them loose, now lax in his grasp.
“I wish you could see,” Anakin said. “That this applies to you, too.”
“I can’t keep you,” Obi-Wan sighed, but entwined his fingers in Anakin’s anyway.
But I want to keep you, Anakin thought and turned his attentions to the stars, luxuriating in the comfort of the warm weight of Obi-Wan’s hand in his own.
Anakin used to dream of seeing the stars, of exploring the planets when he was young, a promise dulled by the passage of time.
He wondered when ‘seeing the stars’ became ‘seeing them with Obi-Wan.’ |
Harry and Draco were sitting on their fallen tree trunk by the Black Lake.
The sunset was settling the sky into a light peach, pinkening the grounds. A cool breeze made fallen leaves rustle at their ankles. Draco was hugging Harry’s arm, his head tucked under Harry’s cheek to hide from the dropping temperature. With each gust of wind that ruffled their clothes and hair, Draco’s arms tightened. Harry willed the air to chill faster. He closed his eyes to take in the moment, hoping he can stay like this forever.
“Harry,” Draco said.
“Yeah?”
“I wanted to ask you something.” Harry turned to see Draco staring at him, his grey eyes shining.
It was insane to think about how much Draco’s eyes made him go weak-kneed and emptied his head of all thoughts. It was a problem for Harry ever since their meeting in Madam Malkin’s. Sometimes it still feels like he imagined it... Being in a magical robe shop, catching an interesting boy in his arms, his blond hair falling over his face but Harry still noticed that the boy had very nice eyes…
But as if he would ever admit any of that to Draco.
“Harry?” Draco repeated.
Harry hastily pulled himself out of his embarrassing thoughts. “Yes?”
“I…” Draco bit his bottom lip. “I didn’t want to ask you before because I didn’t want to lose our friendship… But…” He looked pained.
“What is it?”
The blond hesitated. “Harry, you know that you’re so strong, and brave, and funny, and charming, and oh so handsome, right?”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I am all those things…”
There was a heavy sigh. “You’re everything anyone could ever dream of. Everything I could ever dream of. I always thought that I’d keep this to myself, but I can’t hold back any longer! I want… I want...” He turned his head away, blushing brightly.
“Want what, Draco?”
“I want us… I want us to be more than friends,” He rushed out before turning back imploringly, lightly grasping at Harry’s shirt. “Oh, Harry, can we be more than friends?”
It was happening. It was happening.
“I do.” Harry shook his head. “I mean—yes, I want to be more than just friends.” Emboldened, he gathered Draco’s hands in his own. “There’s nothing that I want more.”
Draco’s eyes widened. Then he grinned that amazing smile that’s captivated Harry since he was eleven and on the cold floor in front of the Mirror of Erised.
A thrilling panic shot through Harry as Draco’s gaze fell down to his mouth. Draco started leaning forward, tilting his head.
Harry eased closer, shutting his eyes, nearly puckering his lips. It was finally happening. Finally, finally, finally—
“It is time to wake, Harry Potter.”
Harry opened his eyes to his scrunched lips centimetres away from the face of Kreacher, Sirius’ house-elf. Definitely not Draco.
“ARGH!” Harry spasmed and fell out of bed.
The house-elf’s frown loomed over Harry as he groaned in pain on the floor. “Did Kreacher interrupt Harry Potter’s dream?”
“Yeah, kind of,” Harry bit out, scrubbing a frustrated hand through his hair. “Why'd you wake me up for?”
“The Master has told Krecher to wake Harry Potter up for breakfast. It is the day of the Quidditch World Cup. Harry Potter’s blood trait--friends are to pick him up soon.”
“Harry!” Sirius’ voice carried from downstairs. “Are you up? Come down here before breakfast gets cold!”
“Harry Potter better hurry,” Kreacher said before jumping off of Harry’s bed and shuffling out of the room.
Harry sighed and laid back on the floor, still grasping onto the frustration from his interrupted dream. He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling an underlying burn in his cheeks. This was getting out of hand. Way too out of hand. He needed to tell Draco how he felt.
This year, Harry swore. I’ll tell him this year. I’ll tell him and then I’ll--
“Come on then, Harry!” Sirius called out again. “One can’t waste any time on a day like this!”
Grumbling, Harry pushed himself off the floor, wishing that his dream lasted a few moments longer.
Far away from Grimmauld Place, Draco smoothed down a red and black long-sleeved shirt in front of his mirror, making Bulgaria’s Quidditch crest properly visible. After a once-over and running a quick hand through his hair, he went over to his bed to gather up the various letters spread across it.
He sifted through each envelope: Terry bored out of his mind at home, Anthony asking Draco’s opinion on prefects, and--from what Draco could make out from all the hasty scribbles--Michael screaming about how he got tickets to the Quidditch World Cup. The letters shifted to more recently after finding out that Harry, Ron, and Hermione also managed to get tickets to the Cup. There was a letter from an embarrassed Hermione asking what exactly was Quidditch, Ron asking what type of seats he got, before finding Harry’s describing his recent trip to London with Sirius to get proper attire for the World Cup.
He gathered all the letters and placed them on top of a Daily Prophet issue from mid-July on his bedside table.
SIRIUS BLACK PROVEN INNOCENT DURING RETRIAL
Since the time of the Wizarding War, the wizarding community have longed believed the claims that Sirius Black was a follower of the then powerful You-Know-Who and did his bidding. Charged with the murder of more than a dozen Muggles and an old school friend, Peter Pettigrew, he has been in Azkaban as a punishment of those despicable crimes. This fact has now proven false after 12 years since the discovery Peter Pettigrew alive and in hiding as an unregistered animagus. Further Ministry investigation and a reopening of the case has discovered Pettigrew was actually a double agent for You-Know-Who and framed Sirius Black for his murders and related crimes. Sirius Black was cleared of all charges with an immense apology from Minister Fudge and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Black also has compensation for the time spent wrongfully in Azkaban. There is also special notice that Harry Potter was also present at the retrial, but the reasonings are still undisclosed and thus unconfirmed. Peter Pettigrew is to be sent to Azkaban a few weeks’ time. Pettigrew is also said to have made comments about You-Know-Who but such comments are unpublished.
Checking the time, he left his room to meet his father at the bottom of the staircase for the portkey’s activation to take them to the venue. He topped off the last step and noticed that Lucius wasn’t there.
Antsy to not miss the portkey, he headed towards his father’s study. When he reached the hallway, he could hear his mother. Very upset.
“Lucius, this is madness! You can’t do this!” She shouted.
The anxious tone of his mother’s voice made him pause. He crept closer, confused why his mother sounded like that. He ran a silent hand over the wallpaper as he neared the cracked doors.
“Not so loud, Narcissa. And it’s not madness. It’s what needs to be done.” His father’s voice sounded strained.
“How is this something that needs to be done?! What can possibly justify what you plan on doing? This is a dangerous thing you’re planning, Lucius. Dangerous, insane—and unneeded! How do you know that Pettigrew isn’t lying? He’s been doing so for 12 years!”
“I know that it's dangerous! And it's not just Pettigrew. I can feel it to be true. It’s this feeling that’s been… It’s a feeling that I’ve had for a while now. He’s… He wants to return. I need to do this.”
“Lucius, are you hearing yourself? He is gone. You don’t need to do anything. W-What about what we said to keep Draco out of this when he was found in the Chamber of—“
“I KNOW WHAT WE SAID!”
Draco peered through the doors and found his mother’s back ridged as his father stared out the window, motionless. His reflection showed hollows were developing under his eyes.
“I know the risks that I'm taking,” Lucius gritted out. “But I managed to speak to Pettigrew while he was still at the Ministry. He changes everything. He's heard things. About... him. He is still out there… He must be angry and doubting our loyalty for never finding him. If I help him with this now, then he'd show us mercy when the time comes.”
“But our son, Lucius--”
“This is about our son!” Lucius whirled around towards Narcissa. “I’m doing this so that our son he doesn’t get this—“
Lucius pushed up his sleeve to reveal his forearm. The Dark Mark was a stark contrast against his pale skin.
Draco tore his head away and pressed himself into the wall. His heart throbbed terribly as his head swirled with confusion. Were they talking about…
“This is what I want him to avoid," Draco heard Lucius continue. "To never be pulled into this world."
“And how doing what you think you’re planning on doing is going to help with that?”
“Trust me on this, Narcissa, I need to prove my loyalty. This will please him. I'll please him and reconfirm our allegiance so he'll leave us unpunished."
“To once again swear allegiance… To that... madman.”
“Trust me, Narcissa. This is all happening in the name of my solemn oath to protect our son. Please, trust me.”
“I want to, Lucius. I truly do, but… I’m worried. Things aren’t going to be the same anymore. How are you going to do it?”
“I know a secret. About Crouch. He doesn’t know how many secrets I've gathered from my time in the Ministry.”
“But… this will bring disorder. Worse than that! It'll bring--I’m scared, Lucius. Terrified.”
“I am, too. But it’s for him. If something is to come out of this, it'll only to give us enough accountability to save him if no one else."
Draco heard a wet sniffle.
“I think you best be going.” Narcissa breathed. “Draco’s probably wondering where you are.”
Draco hurried down the hallway and scampered up the stairs. He ducked around the corner to gather his breath, steadying himself. His mind was buzzing, his heart was still off-beat, fizzling off the last of his adrenaline. What was his father planning? Draco didn’t remember any plan to prove loyalty. And he didn’t want him to take the Dark Mark? Why not? He had too much manic energy to piece together anything in his head.
“Draco?” Lucius’ voice echoed from the bottom of the staircase.
“I’m here, Father.” The blond cleared his throat and descended the stairs once more. “Is it time to go?”
“Yes, it is.” Lucius pulled out an old, broken pocket watch from his robes. “Hold onto this." He held out the watch's chain.
Narcissa emerged from the hallway, resting her hands on the bannister. Her eyes were red-lined and puffy, but she was smiling. “I’m going to stay at home. I feel a bit under the weather. Enjoy the match for me.”
Draco has a feeling that his mother wouldn’t join them but it didn’t stop him from wanting to protest. Before he could open his mouth, his surroundings exploded into a whirlwind of colours.
“I’ll be back later,” Draco called over his shoulder, moving towards the bright campgrounds of the Quidditch World Cup.
“Where are you going?” Lucius' sharp turn of voice made Draco turn back around.
“I’m going to search for my friend, Michael. The one who wrote to me this summer. I told you about it,” Draco said.
“Right… Corner, wasn’t it? One of your Ravenclaw… friends.”
Draco couldn’t help but be pleased that Lucius actually remembered Michael’s name. He turned towards his father. “Can I not anymore?"
“No. Of course, you can.” Lucius glanced over the grounds. “Just--Be careful. But be sure to be back at the Minister's Top Box before the match starts."
"Thank you!" Draco called out before hurrying on.
When Michael sent the letter about his father managing to get tickets he also said that he and Draco must meet up, they must. Draco asked how they were going to meet up in a place they’ve never been to before. Michael said that Draco should just get onto the camping grounds and they’d figure it out from there.
But now here he was, surrounded with fantastical sights. Each space of the camping grounds was squished with people and towering tents, loud noises of singing and laughing, people hanging up large flags and other extravagances of the country they were supporting, children sped passed, sparklers and ribbons fluttering from their hands. Draco was to find one specific boy at one of the biggest wizard gatherings in the world.
Brilliant.
He was about to complain about the poor planning and give up when an unusually tiny, but familiar Snitch darted into his vision, a tinny buzz circling around his head.
Draco spun to keep Michael’s Snitch in his view. The Snitch twitched away and, when it noticed Draco following, continued to lead him.
Straining his eyes, Draco followed the dot of gold as he was guided deeper into the grounds.
After a few minutes, the Snitch fluttered over a particular tent before going through the open flap. Draco stepped inside, taking in the expanded space. Towards the back of the tent, he saw Michael eyeing himself in a large handheld mirror.
Michael was decked out in Bulgarian Quidditch colours. He was touching up the handpainted ‘A’ of the word ‘BULGARIA’ that written across his face. He found Draco in the corner of his reflection.
“Draco!” Setting the mirror down, Michael rushed towards the blond and marvelled at the sight of him. “Wow! I can’t believe it worked!” He cried out before giving him a hug. “It’s great to see you!”
Draco blinked at the sudden contact. Hugging… is this going to be a thing now? Should I try to do it now?
Michael pulled back. “How’ve you been then?”
“Alright,” Draco answered as he watched the Snitch floated into Michael’s open palm and went dormant. “How did you make it do that?”
“I don’t know,” Michael furrowed his brow, then he shrugged. “I asked if it could find you like how we always try to find it.”
“You talk to it?”
Michael spluttered. “Whaat? Nooo.” He quickly stuffed his Snitch into his pocket. “That’d be weird.” He took in Draco’s outfit. “Why aren’t you more dressed up?”
“What do you mean?” Draco looked down at his clothes.
Michael rolled his eyes. “Anyone can wear a shirt. The devoted fans take it to the next level. Come on!” He took Draco’s wrist and dragged him onto a stool. He grabbed a paint jar. Unscrewing it, he dipped a finger inside. “Now, hold still.” He instructed before touching a red-tipped finger to Draco’s cheek and alternated to the other. “And there… we... go! Perfect,” He grabbed the hand mirror with his clean hand to hold it up for Draco. “Now you look like you’re getting into it!”
The blond grabbed the mirror and scrutinised his reflection. Painted initials of Viktor Krum’s name were on one cheek while the other had Krum's player number. He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like it.”
"Come on, it suits you!" Michael said, wiping off his finger. "Just give it a try!"
Draco looked up at Michael to frown but then blinked, finally taking in the wording on the boy's face.
"What?" Michael asked.
"Did you... write Bulgaria by yourself?"
"Yeah! It looks pretty great, doesn't it?" Michael cradled his chin with his thumb and finger. "And on the first try too!"
Now that Draco wasn't looking at Michael's facepaint through a mirror, he could clearly see that 'BULGARIA' was written completely, utterly backwards.
Draco nodded, squeezing his mouth into a squirming line to choke back laughter as he calmly said, "It looks fantastic."
“Pfft, yeah, I know!” Michael grabbed the mirror to set it down and pulled at Draco’s arm again. “Now, come on! Let’s look around the place! I bet we can find all sorts of people here!”
“Shouldn’t you tell your father?” Draco noticed the tent was empty.
“Dad went off to find the biggest betting pool he could find. He convinced Bulgaria to win it all. I know when he’s coming back. Now, come on!”
Draco was once more pulled into the busy grounds, food-scented smoke from outside campfires made their mouths water, booming live music from each tent battled which can be the loudest, a few wizards having the confusing task of setting up their tents “the Muggle way," there was a scuffle between an Irish supporter and a Bulgarian supporter about infringing on each other's camping space.
“This is probably the best day of my life.” Michael cried, spinning around with his arms spread.
“I never really saw the Quidditch World Cup like this,” Draco said. Often he and Lucius would go but it was an indirect social party for the Ministry. He’s never been on the camping groups before. “It’s… amazing.”
“Hey, hey, is that who I think it is?” Michael made Draco pause as he squinted off into the distance. “Merlin it is.” He cupped his mouth. “OI! WEASLEY! GRANGER! POTTER!” The blond followed Michael’s gaze and saw the backs of the trio.
Without thinking, Draco hurried up to the trio and came alongside them, smiling broadly.
“Harry!”
Harry’s reaction was instant with a stumble in his step and dropping his bucket of water he was carrying onto the ground. The three stopped as they jumped away from spilt water with shouts of surprise.
“Bloody hell, Draco!” Ron cried out, eyes wide and pulling his own filled jug closer. “Blimey, you really do just appear whenever someone’s talking about you.”
“What?” Draco faltered.
Hermione elbowed him the best she could with her hands occupied with her pail and hurried to add, “Ron’s just saying that we were wondering if we’d be able to run into you. It’s so great to see you.” She placed her pail on the ground to give Draco a squeezing hug. Ron followed her example.
More hugging… so should I start to do it?
Harry was occupied with grumbling to himself, pulling at his shirt sticking to his stomach. He crouched down to pick up his emptied bucket by the handle.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d scare you,” Draco said. “Are you okay?”
“As if I'd actually be scared by you,” Harry said, still plucking at his drenched shirt. “I was suddenly alarmed if anything.”
“Which means scared, Potter.” In an attempt to follow the trend, Draco went in to hug Harry. “It’s great to see you,” he said into Harry’s shoulder.
Harry made a strange noise.
Hm, this doesn’t feel too bad… Wait, hold on—
Draco pulled back suddenly. “Your shirt is wet,” He frowned, patting at his now slightly damp front.
Michael snickered he caught up with the group. “That was evil, Draco,” he said, but the reprimand was ruined by the suppressed giggles and grin.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Draco asked Harry again, unwarranted guilt sparking in his stomach.
“Yeah. Fantastic,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “It’s great to see you, too.”
“We needed that for dinner, though,” Ron said, frowning at the drenched grass.
“I can go back for more. It’s not a problem,” Harry said, still trying to air out his shirt.
“I’ll even go with you.” Draco volunteered. He turned to Michael. “If that’s fine with--”
“Oh, yeah, mate, absolutely!” Michael interrupted. “I mean--Don’t even worry about it. I'm just going to hang around these guys,” He gestured to Ron and Hermione who were now smiling too widely. “Don’t even worry about it, don’t stress. Honestly, it’s the right thing to do, right? Right. I’ll see you in a bit.” He turned around and brought hands up to Ron and Hermione’s backs for them to do the same. “Weasely, Granger, let’s away,” he announced before pushing them forward and leaving Draco and Harry alone.
“Uh,” Draco said. “Alright, then.” He turned back to the other boy who was staring at the retreating backs of their friends. “So… How’s your summer?”
“I, er, it’s been great,” Harry answered, taking the lead back to the water pump. “I mean, you’ve read my letters. I’ve been living with Sirius ever since he was granted release. And not too soon. Before I left, the Dursleys were about to put Dudley on a diet.”
“Dudley… The cousin that eats sweets too much and throws tantrums?”
Harry nodded. “Meant to eat nothing but vegetables and fruits the entire summer.”
“Oh! Oh, your poor cousin!” Draco gasped, placing a hand on his chest and cheek. “I feel so terrible! That’s just so awful!”
“The most awful.” Harry nodded solemnly.
They dissolved into laughter quickly.
“I’m happy for you, Harry. I really am. It makes me… really happy that you don’t have to be with the Dursleys any more.” It almost feels like I’m way too happy then it calls for…
“Thanks. Yeah, Sirius is amazing. I can do homework at the kitchen table, don’t have to serve breakfast anymore, I have clothes that fit me!” Harry pulled at his (damp) shirt in emphasis. He quieted. “I’ve also learned a lot about my parents. What they were like. Especially my dad. It finally feels like I’m normal…”
They were now in view of the water pump.
Draco waited for Harry to fill up the bucket (he was waved off to provide any help) and they slowly made their way through the crowds of tents and people towards the Weasleys' tent.
“How’s your summer going?” Harry asked, hitching up his filled bucket against his chest.
“Fine.” Draco shrugged. “Boring. Oh, wait. I actually wanted to ask you something.”
“You do?” Harry started, glancing at their surroundings. “Right now?”
“I mean, I can ask later—“
“No, it’s fine! This is fine. What is it?”
“Well… I wanted to know… What was it like? That night with Sirius and Lupin and you ran off into the woods.”
“Oh.” Harry echoed. “Right. With the Dementors. That’s what you’re talking about.” He shook his head. “Uh, yeah, it was so strange. There were Dementors swarming me and Sirius. Hermione didn’t know how to help, then Snape just... appeared. I thought the last thing I’ll see was Snape trying to save my life. Which is weird. He managed to cast a large Patronus that repelled them all away. Did you know his Patronus is a doe?”
“No, I didn’t,” Draco said.
“Well. It is. So, uh, I passed out after that. I’m just happy that it all ended up with Sirius being proven innocent.”
“Hm.”
Draco honestly didn’t know what he was expecting. Despite already knowing, actually hearing that Snape helped Harry and Sirius from someone else felt surreal.
“This is the Weasleys',” Harry said, gesturing to a modest tent.
Draco held open the tent’s flap for Harry and followed him inside to see people scattered across the expanded space.
Fred and George had their feet on a large table, throwing peppermints at one another's mouth. Hermione and Ginny were lounging on a bottom bunk in the far side of the tent. Ron and Michael were sitting around a coffee table, unsurprisingly talking about the match. Draco and Harry sat on a couch across from the two boys.
“You think Ireland’s gonna lose?” Ron asked, reaching out for another biscuit from the centre of the coffee table.
“You think they’re going to win?" Michael shot back. "Moran’s performance levels have been the worst they’ve been!”
“But Levski’s Chaser pass-block ratio is terrible!” Ron glanced over and brightened at the sight of the two new boys. “Draco! Do your Seer powers see who’s gonna win?”
“They’re not powers,” Draco said. “And…” His mind was blank on who actually won. It was too long ago and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. “I’m not going to tell you.”
Ron moaned in despair while Michael just shook his head.
“Whatever, I just can’t wait to see Viktor Krum!" Michael gushed at the name. "That’s mostly who I’m here to see! Merlin, to see in real life! In action! Viktor Krum!”
“Who’s he?” Harry asked.
While Michael baulked at such an insane question, Draco answered. “He’s Bulgaria's Seeker. And he’s amazing,” He said as a near sigh. The hero worship never really faded away. “Not only he’s called the best Seeker in the world. And he’s also the youngest.”
“Eighteen! Eighteen! How bloody amazing is that?!” Michael all but yelled as he stood up. “Have you ever heard of a player do that before?”
“Wasn’t I the youngest--” Harry started to say when Ron intervened.
“He’s an artist!” Ron proclaimed. “Totally reinvents the entire game of Quidditch!”
"Exactly! Thank you, Ron!” Michael crossed his arms. “I’m willing to bet 10 galleons that Bulgaria will win because of him.”
“You actually willing to put down a bet, Corner?” Ron asked.
“Maybe I am, Weasley.”
Draco rolled his eyes as the two firmly shook on it.
“I think should go back to my own tent then,” Michael said, pushing himself off the couch a few hours later. “I’m pretty sure the match’s about to start. I’ll find you all later and I'll collect my ten galleons then, Weasley.” He pointed an accusing finger at the redhead.
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Ron scoffed, nonchalant. When Michael turned away, his face morphed into panic.
"I should probably go, too,” Draco said, prying away Fred’s arm and hurrying towards Michael for means of escape. (Fred and George managed to catch on to Draco's presence and have been stubbornly sitting on either side of the blond much to the displeasure of Harry.) “I'll see you all during the match!" He hurried out to catch up to Michael, ignoring the Weasley twin’s falsely despaired goodbyes and Harry's half-formed protest.
"Oh, hey," Michael said when Draco came alongside him. "I didn't think you were leaving."
"I haven't been able to talk to Harry since the twins decided to suffocate me."
"Yeah, yeah, I saw. So... How was Harry?"
"He's good?" You were there too, Michael... "He looked different now that I think about it."
"Oh?" Michael said in an odd tone. "How so?"
"Like..." Draco tilted his head. "He was properly fed and looked after."
There was a pause.
"Ah," Michael said in another odd tone. "That's nice."
"Also, you know that you wrote Bulgaria backwards, right?"
"Yeah, I know that I--I DID WHAT?!"
Draco climbed up the Minister's Top Box and saw Lucius turned around in his seat, talking to a tiny house-elf who was covering her eyes.
"Father?"
Lucius' shoulders jumped as Draco sat beside him. "Son! There you are... Where did you get facepaint?”
“Michael gave it to me. Does it look alright?”
Lucius' still face didn't waver as he said, "Of course it does."
Draco turned to look at the house-elf that his father was talking to.
"What's your name--"
"Draco, sit in your seat," Lucius said quickly, making Draco turn around.
They idly waited for the match to start. Other important Ministry wizards climbing up and taking their own seats, Lucius dutifully greeted them all. There was a commotion as the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione shuffled into their seats in the Top Box.
"Fancy meeting you here, Malfoy," Ron said airly, already knowing that Draco also shared Top Box tickets.
"Quite a chance for us to meet," Draco played along and laughing and grabbing the attention of Lucius.
Ron froze under the gaze of Lucius.
"M-Mr. Malfoy," He nodded.
"Weasley," Lucius nodded before straying over to Harry and Hermione standing beside him. "Potter, Granger," He said in the same polite tone.
"Mr. Malfoy," Harry mumbled. Hermione repeated the greeting.
Mr. Weasley, who was shooing the twins into their seats, finally turned around and faced Draco's father.
They gave each other a hesitant nod.
“Arthur,” Lucius started then cleared his throat. “Er, Molly decided to stay home, then?”
“Ah, yeah, she did. Quidditch isn’t really her thing. I can say the same for Narcissa?”
“Ah. Yes, she was feeling under the weather.”
“Oh, give her my well wishes, then.”
“Will do, thank you…"
"Well…” Mr. Weasley said.
“Well…” Lucius repeated.
An overwhelming awkward pause.
“How about we enjoy the match then?” Lucius suggested.
“Quite right,” Mr. Weasley took the escape and settled into his seat.
The game made Draco feel exhilarated. Viktor Krum still had the ability to make Draco stand on his tiptoes with his Omnioculars to catch better glimpses of him in action. (Draco felt the beginnings of an archaic, forgotten hyper interest in Viktor Krum was about to grab hold of Draco and spiral him back into the fanlike obsession if he wasn’t too careful.)
(“Those Veela are something else, aren’t they?” Draco asked Harry before the start of the game when the women left the field.
“You’re telling me…” Harry agreed. “They kind of remind me of you.”
“They do? How?” Draco asked.
Harry’s eyes bulged as his face pinked. “I-I mean…” He seemed to flounder for a word. “I just noticed that you’re both--You’re--You’re both… You’re both… Blond.”
Draco didn’t know what to say to that.
Harry then pointed at the sky. “Hey, are those leprechauns?!”)
He felt as if he knew the outcome for Bulgaria was going to lose overall but it didn’t really matter given that his friends were there with interesting reactions to the game especially towards the end when Ron saw himself as the winner of his and Michael's bet.
“Arthur, may I speak with you?” Draco managed to hear his father ask before Ron roped him under his arm to jump in celebration.
“Er, of course, Lucius. Everyone," Mr. Weasley nodded his head towards the exit. "Wait for us near the staircase.”
The group shrugged and compiled. Ron skipped the last of the stairs with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Man, I should find Michael right now before he forgets!”
"Ron!" Hermione scolded. “Honestly! It was only a simple bet.”
"Let him have his moment, Hermione," Draco said. "Who knows when it will come again?"
"Heard that, Malfoy!" Ron hollered but seemed to happy to be upset.
“It was nice to see all of you," Draco told them all, preparing to make his goodbyes.
“It was nice to see you, too,” Hermione said. “I guess we’ll see you at the start of term?”
“Of course.”
"You're leaving already?" Harry asked.
Draco nodded. "Father never let us sleep overnight."
Mr. Weasely came down the stairs, alerting the group. “Draco, my boy." He clapped the blond's shoulder. "Why don’t you come back to the tent with us?”
“Thank you, Mr. Weasley, but I think I’m about to go.” Draco felt tired anyway. He peeked around the man. “Where is my father anyway?”
“Your father got held up by the Minister and the lot. He says he would rather not let you be bored. He’s going to pick you up from our tent,” Mr. Weasley explained but it sounded like he was trying to explain it to himself. “Does that sound alright?”
Strange, Draco didn’t remember this…
“I suppose it is.”
“Alright, more time with us then!” Ron gleamed, knocking his elbow into Harry’s arm. “Great, isn’t it?”
Harry barked a laugh. “Ron. You’re pushing it.” Draco heard him mutter through his grin.
“Right, right, calming down.” Ron soothed. “But can you blame me? I’ve been excited ever since you told us that you’ll finally confess—“
“RON?!” Harry shrieked as he turned scarlet.
“Right, right! Not talking! I’m--Ack!”
“Why don’t we move along now?” Hemione piped up and ushered Draco away as Harry grappled Ron into a headlock.
Draco and Hermione returned to the sitting area of the Weasley’s tent. Draco was frowning and rubbing at his cheek, sending Hermione a peeved glare. Hermione just scoffed and rolled her eyes as she went back to her spot beside Ginny at the far side of the tent.
“What happened to you?” Harry asked when Draco sat down beside him on one of the couches around the coffee table.
“I asked Hermione to take off Michael’s face paint,” Draco grumbled. “She scrubbed too hard. Hey, why are you laughing?!” He gave a forceless punch at a giggling Harry who tipped to the side to hide his smiles. Unconsciously smirking, he grabbed the pillow nestled beside him and whacked Harry. “Prat!”
“Hey!” Harry grinned, grabbing his own pillow for their rapidly developing pillow fight.
The fight was over as soon as it began as Draco swiftly got the upper hand and was smothering Harry's side into the cushions.
“Alright! Alright! I yield.” Harry managed through his guffaws.
“I should say so,” Draco giggled breathlessly, settling back down on the couch. He pushed his hair back behind his ear and glanced at Harry. “Do I still have paint on my face?”
“No. Why’d you ask?”
“You’re staring at me.”
Harry blinked. “I was? Er, I mean, I wasn’t.” He turned away and scratched the back of his head. “I was just…”
“Are you okay?”
“Hm?” Harry stopped messing with hair and looked back, confused. “Why?”
“You’re just… acting really different.”
“I’m just—happy. I don’t know how else to explain it. I’ve never had a summer as great as this one before. It feels like everything’s coming together. I just…” Harry trailed off as his gaze settled on Draco.
Draco managed an unsure smile before there was a blood-curdling scream outside. Jumping up from their seats, everyone bolted towards the tent opening.
Surrounding tents and banners were alight within a crackling inferno. People tripping over grills, stools, feet to escape tall, cloaked figures in silver masks marching through the grounds.
The overwhelming fire was blurring Draco’s sight, waves of heat making his skin tingle. The sensation felt familiar… Draco felt his chest twist and his breath mangled in his throat. He thinks he could hear Mr. Weasely’s shouts of them to get to the forest but it felt so far away. He could only look at the masked figures.
Death Eaters... Father...
Draco’s hand was snagged by Harry and brought him back to himself.
“Come on!” Harry cried out, yanking them into the chaos.
Harry pushed against the crowd crashing into them. Each rough shove made Harry’s grip on Draco’s hand tighter. Wooden support beams were collapsing in on themselves, showering them with sparks and embers. Draco managed the sight of a looming Death Eater before Harry noticed and yanked them in a different direction.
A manic man shoved between them and Draco was sent to the ground.
“Draco!” Harry cried out, reaching for a hand towards him as he was carried away by a panicked group of parents.
Sharp thumps battered at Draco’s sides. He gave a startled cry when a foot stomped ontop of him and forced air out of his lungs. He crawled out of the mainstream of people and scrambled to get back on his feet.
The smoke and oppressive waves of heat made Draco feel lightheaded, the dull roar making the hair on the back of his neck shiver in vague recognition. His heart was thundering, his breaths cutting too quickly just to be from rising smoke, the piercing screams fueling rising fear.
He followed stragglers and tried to look beyond the smouldering fragments of tents to try to find Harry.
Draco turned around and was knocked down to the ground once more. He looked found himself being stared down by a Death Eater. Their impassive silver mask glinting in the flames. Before Draco could begin to get up and run away, the Death Eater's wand was in his hand and with one flick of his wrist, Draco was sent into darkness.
Draco twitched awake at the press of wetness on his forehead. His eyes opened to a fuzzy Ron and Hermione looking worriedly over him.
“Sorry,” Ron said, pulling back a dripping tea towel. "Did I wake you?"
His thoughts were still stringing together in his pounding skull. His mouth felt gummed up, his body was like lead and throbbed in odd places around his body. “Where—?” Draco asked before he couldn’t.
“You’re at my house,” Ron answered.
At once, Draco ventured to look beyond the two to the room. Mismatched couches and throw pillows, a basket filled with yarn, trinkets and picture frames crookedly lining the walls. Cosy.
“We found you out cold in the forest. You were hiding out in a hollow of a tree. Dad brought you home right away. Are you okay?” Ron said.
Draco tried to speak again but it came out like a crumbled groan.
“Right--Hold on, I’ll get water.” Ron hurried out of the living room.
Hermione scooted closer to take Ron's spot. She pulled a blanket up to Draco's chest.
"Harry's okay," Hermione said. "He just left a few moments ago. Sirius came to get him." She tucked the corners of the blanket around him. "He didn't want to leave your side."
Ron bustled in, sloshing around a cup of water. "Here, here." He handed it over to Hermione. "I'll go get Mum."
Hermione helped Draco prop himself up and fed him a steady stream of water.
“Have you heard from Michael?” He asked when his mouth regained moisture. If his body wasn't struggling to maintain basic equilibrium he would be on the verge of panic.
She shook her head. "No, we haven't. I'm sorry."
Michael would be with his father. There was a very little chance that he managed to get gravely injured. He would have to write a letter as soon as possible.
“Do I want to know what happened?”
“I don’t even want to know what happened.” Hermione shook her head. “It was… madness. Terrible, there was so much screaming and…”
Draco reached out towards Hermione’s hand. He gave it a firm squeeze. She returned the pressure and maintained it as if trying to ground herself.
He wanted to ask her if she knew how he managed to get into the forest when the last thing he remembered was a Death Eater staring down at him with a backdrop of flames, but it was unlikely she knew.
Sounds of Mrs. Weasley’s worried voice began drawing closer to the room. "Draco, dear?" Her head popped in and she sighed in relief when he saw him up. “Oh, goodness. Ronald told me you’ve woken." She hurried over to him and placed her palm on Draco's forehead. "Are you alright, dear?”
“I’m okay, Mrs. Weasley.”
Draco felt hot and pulled off the blanket. He could smell smoke on his clothes, phantom heat prickling his skin.
“It’s alright, dear. Just sit tight. Arthur thinks you've might've taken a spell. Completely horrible. No doubt some folks stepped on you.” Ah, that's the throbbing feeling. “But I don’t think anything’s broken. Your mother also knows you're here. Do you need anything else?”
“No, Mrs. Weasley. Wait--My mother knows I'm here?"
"Yes, she'll be here soon. I'll make you some tea till then." Brushing away his hair out his eyes, she disappeared out of the living room.
Mrs. Weasley brought he promised tea and let Ron and Hermione look over him as she tended to the other Weasleys up in their rooms. Draco was trying to tell Ron that he didn’t have a fever and so he didn’t need his brow wiped when there was a loud snap outside.
There was a distant sound of a door opening. “Narcissa, hello, Draco’s in the living room,” Mrs. Weasley's voice said.
Draco looked at the hallway entrance the sound of the name and sat up as his mother rushed into the room.
“Draco!" Narcissa cried, wrapping Draco in a hug, her knees landing hard on the floor. "My love, are you alright?” She ran a thumb over Draco’s wetted face.
“I’m fine, Mother,” Draco answered.
Narcissa pressed a kiss on Draco’s forehead. “Let’s get you home.” She turned to the redhaired woman hovering by the entrance. "Thank you, Molly,” She said, getting up from the floor and going over to Mrs. Weasely to clasp her hands. “I truly can't thank you enough.”
“It’s not a problem, Narcissa. Draco’s always welcomed here. He can even stay here tonight.”
“That’s such a sudden intrusion. I couldn’t.”
“You certainly could! I can make up a bed in Ronald’s room right now—“
“No, no, it’s quite alright,” She gave Mrs. Weasley's hands a definitive squeeze. “Thank you for everything. You’re a good friend. Let’s go home, Draco." She helped him to stand. "Put your arm through mine. We’ll Apparate.”
"I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express," Draco told Ron and Hermione who were standing off to the side. They both nodded silently.
Narcissa gave one last look to Mrs. Weasely. “I’ll see you for Thursday’s tea time, Molly.”
Tea time?
“Of course, Narcissa."
A brief lurch found themselves in front of the manor. Narcissa helped him up the stairs and through the doors. They found Lucius in the drawing-room, sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace as if it was a quiet night in. Narcissa’s jaw tensed, her mouth scrunched in quiet fury.
“Draco, please go to your room.” When he didn’t move, she added, “Now.” With a force she’s never used before.
When he closed his bedroom closed behind him, Draco realised he should’ve eavesdropped on his parents.
His mother didn’t have this reaction before (or not he’s known of). Draco was sent home early after the game and it wasn't until he was in the middle of it that he remembered what happened that night.
I think I saw it the next morning's paper... I think I wished I was there to see it in real life. Hell, Malfoy, how much of a bastard were you?
There was nothing appealing about what he saw tonight.
Draco went to his desk and wrote a quick letter to Michael asking if he was safe and if his father was okay. Sudden exhaustion made Draco's knees buckle and he slumped over his bed. He was in a light sleep when there was a soft knock on his door.
“Draco?” Narcissa called out. “Can I come in?”
“Yes, Mother?” Draco rose up, rubbing his eye.
The door opened and Narcissa stepped inside. She walked to the foot of his bed and took a deep breath. “Draco, can you pack your bags?” she asked quietly, wrapping a hand around his bedpost.
“Why?” He asked, still trying to shake off drowsiness. "What for?"
Narcissa pressed her lips inward. “Can you just do that for me? It’s important.”
Draco absolutely cannot. Not without knowing what was going on.
“Of course, Mother.”
“Thank you. Dobby will wake you in the morning.”
“For what?”
“Just be ready. Goodnight, get some rest, but remember to pack.”
Draco hefted his school trunk down the stairs towards a frantic Narcissa pulling on dragonhide travel gloves.
“Are you ready, love?”
“What about Father? Where is he?”
“He had business to attend to," Narcissa said too curtly.
“Where are we going?” He attempted one last time.
“You’ll see.” She said and smoothed a hand over his hair and opened the door, letting Draco out first.
Shivers shocked him as he stepped out into the doorstep.
The front door clicked shut and Narcissa went to his side.
“Hold onto my arm.”
Apparition? Where were they going? Gingerly, he wrapped his hand around her elbow. At the slight contact, the air compressed around them and Draco felt his feet being suspended.
Draco stumbled as he landed on cracked pavement. He looked up to see himself in a… where was he? They were on a street lined with brown-bricked houses. In the distance, he could see a dense forest.
“Where are we?”
“In a Muggle village. Or is it called a suburb? A neighbourhood,” Narcissa said. “Turn in your school trunk so the crest doesn’t show.” She added before taking off down the pavement.
Filling up with rising confusion, he did was he was asked and hurried to follow. As he followed, he tried to look over the "neighbourhood."
Trimmed lawns, neat flowerbeds, mailboxes that had names on brass plates, they came upon a boy holding up a stick for his small dog in his front yard but they both stopped to stare at Draco and his mother until they were out of sight.
Narcissa stopped in front of one of the unassuming houses. Her eyes flickered over the face of the home. The mailbox said it belonged to a family called the 'TONKS.'
“I think this is it. Come, Draco.”
Draco followed her up the paved walkway to the front door. Narcissa smoothed down her hair, brushed off imaginary dust, and took a deep breath. Then, they stood in silence.
After a long lapse of quiet, Draco asked, “Mother?”
Narcissa blinked and took a deep breath. “Right,” She muttered before reaching out to knock.
A tense moment passed and a man opened the door. He recoiled when he saw Narcissa. Blond-haired, dark-eyed, a well-worn button-up, he looked beyond astounded to see Draco’s mother.
Narcissa paused as if she was trying to find a name. “Edward.”
“Uh… Narcissa, wasn’t it?” He asked pleasantly. “What can I, uh,” He glanced back into the house. “What can I do for you?”
“Is she here?”
Edward nodded hesitantly. “Yes…”
“Can I speak to her?”
“Ah, I don’t know about that--”
“Please,” His mother implored. “Let me speak to her. Please. I beg of you.”
Edward eyed her briefly, cast a glance at Draco, before heaving a breath. “Alright, alright. Guess you should probably come in then.” He opened the door further.
Narcissa grabbed Draco’s shoulders to guide him inside first.
He closed the door behind them and shuffled in front of them to lead them further into the house.
“Ted, who was it?” A woman called out.
“Come out and see.”
A woman stepped out from the kitchen and Draco felt his eyes blow open wide.
"Narcissa?" She said, alarmed.
“Andromeda?!” Draco shouted.
Aunt Andromeda. Finally seeing her outside of a tiny portrait on a family tree, she had an uncanny resemblance to Bellatrix but her wild, dark curly hair was beginning to grey, there were more lines on her face, and her eyes had a warmth nothing like Bellatrix's permanent sinister glint.
Draco's outburst seemed to further surprise her. “You’ve heard of me?”
“You’re…” Draco felt himself shrink away. Why did he have to draw attention to himself? “You’re in the Black family book.”
Narcissa shook her own surprise off and cleared her throat. “It’s been a while, Sister.”
“A long while.” Andromeda crossed her arms and hunched her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sure you’ve seen the Daily Prophet.”
“I… might’ve.”
“Then you can understand why I might be here,” Narcissa said. Andromeda didn’t say anything. “May we please talk?”
Edward picked up the tension in the room and turned to Draco. “Uh, son, why don’t I take you to the living room? I’ll put on the telly.”
“Telly?” Draco asked. What was that?
“Right, pureblood. Right then, I’ll show you.”
Draco was led down the cramped hallway and into the comfy living room.
“So, a telly is something you can watch programs on.” Ted eased him on the couch.
“What are programs?”
“Oh, boy.” Edward took a deep breath. “Yes. You can watch… performances? Here,” He went to the corner of the room where a… box was propped up. It had buttons and a shiny surface of black glass. He picked up a slim device riddled with buttons as well.
Draco heard a click and yelped as the box exploded in colour and noises. There were people wandering around in a bright living room, talking.
“Here’s the remote.” Edward placed the device in Draco’s lax grasp. “Stay here and I’ll make you a cuppa.”
He stared at the telly… watching the people talk. Or were they arguing? They were arguing weird. Were they stuck in the box? The man said something and he could hear disembodied laughter. Where did that laughter come from? Why weren’t they reacting to it? Was Draco supposed to laugh too? He felt himself get lulled into a telly-induced trance.
Draco shook his head to refocus. Now wasn't the time to watch 'programs.'
He dropped down at the–-what did he call it–-remote on the couch and dashed towards the kitchen.
“It sounds dangerous. Wouldn’t Bellatrix and them notice his absence?” Draco heard Andromeda say. He crouched down beside the kitchen's opening.
“He’s only a boy, Andromeda,” Narcissa was saying. “He is not going to be part of this. Both I and Lucius swore by this.”
“But is it not Lucius' fault that you're placed in this predicament? What was he thinking of doing something so dangerous?!”
“'Dromeda!" Edward's voice chided.
“Apologies," Andromeda said. "It’s just really sudden. I haven’t seen you for so long and you come with such... news.”
Draco risked peeking inside the kitchen.
Andromeda and Narcissa were standing at opposite ends of the kitchen island. Edward was sitting in a breakfast nook, a half-assembled tea tray in front of him.
“Andromeda, I know none of this makes sense. You have every right to refuse me. But I want you to know… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Narcissa’s voice broke. “I didn’t do anything when you were cast out of the family. I did nothing to stop them. I didn’t stop Mother, Father, Bellatrix. I didn’t stop any of them. I just stood by and watched. And that makes it worse.”
“Oh, you were the beloved youngest,” Andromeda said. “Mother, Father, even Bellatrix expected great things from you. Especially when the Malfoys suggested a marriage contract. You would’ve got the same treatment if you took my side.”
“That doesn’t make it better!” Narcissa rushed out. “You were my sister. And I let them hate you for trying to be happy. I should’ve at least tried something. You never got to see the family ever again.”
“Well, it’s not like I liked our family that much anyway,” Andromeda said. “I was willing to leave.”
“I’m asking for the impossible, especially if this is the first time we’ve spoken in years but please… He’s only a boy… He’s a good boy. I almost lost him once. I’m not going to put him in a position that can make me lose him again.”
Andromeda looked away, deliberating.
“I've wronged you. I know that but..." Narcissa took a hesitant step forward. "I want to do better by you. I want to learn from my mistakes and start trying to make amends. I want to be your sister once more. But I won’t ask for your forgiveness. I'll go somewhere else and I’ll leave forever. Just…” She stepped back. “If you are ever willing to let me try to make things somewhat right between us, I’ll be here.” She was taking deep breathes as if to ward away crying.
“Narcissa," Andromeda chided softly. "Don’t cry, please. You always had the most dreadful crying face."
A surprised laugh blipped from Narcissa. “It’s one of the reasons I’m not trying to.”
"I'll do it. Of course, I'll do it." Andromeda held out her arms. “Come here.”
Narcissa rushed over and buried her face into Andromeda’s curls. There were sounds of weeping.
Andromeda’s hand went up to cup the back of Narcissa’s head. “Sister, I’ve missed you, too.”
Edward turned directly towards Draco. Before he could react to being caught, Edward gestured his head back to the living room. Draco understood and returned back onto the couch.
Draco pretended to be engrossed with whatever the 'telly' was showing him now when the three adults came into the living room. Narcissa sniffed and took a deep breath. She walked over to the couch and kneeled beside Draco.
“Draco, my love,” Narcissa started, grabbing his hands. “You’re going to be staying here with your Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted.”
“Why?”
“It’s… It’s just something me and your father have agreed upon.”
“But… why?”
“It’s… complicated. We’ll explain it to you soon enough.”
Draco locked his jaw. “How long will I stay here?”
“Let’s just say for the time being. I’ll bring more of your things later.”
“Mother,” He tried again. “Is this about what happened at the World Cup?”
Narcissa didn’t answer. “I’ll talk to you soon, Draco.” She pushed herself up and pressed a kiss into his hair. She went over to the other two adults. “Thank you again, Andromeda. Edward.”
“Be careful, Sister,” Andromeda whispered.
Narcissa nodded and pulled up her hood before ducking out the living room. There was a distant sound of the front door opening and closing. Draco took a shuddering breath.
“Come on, son,” Ted said, grabbing Draco’s trunk from the side of the couch and holding out an arm. Draco stood and let Ted place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get you settled in the spare room.”
Draco followed him up the stairs and down a hallway, glancing at each moving picture display of a family of three.
“Here we are.” Ted opened a door and there was a click and the room was washed in light.
The walls were blank, a lone bed with a basic bed frame, a writing desk, a scuffed bookshelf. Void of any feeling.
“Make yourself at home then. I bet we can livin’ this place up with some posters and whatnot. Whatever you like.”
It made it sound like Draco would be here for a long time.
Draco woke up in the morning wondering where he was.
Then the previous day rolled in.
He felt like an intruder. When they invited him to have breakfast, he barely ate anything, feeling like the wasn't enough circumstances that allowed him to be at the kitchen table. He kept to the bedroom, hesitantly pulling out an innocent book and skimming through it. Draco messed around with the 'light switch' that he had a distant understanding of. He flicked it on and off with mild amusement for a few hours.
“Draco?” Andromeda called through the door midway through Draco's private light show and giving the blond a heart attack.
“Y-Yes, Aunt Andromeda?” He answered, clearing his throat.
“Would you like to have some tea with me?”
This must be the interlude of the loomed conversation that’s meant to break the ice between him and his aunt but would feel like pulling out teeth the entire time. It was a formulaic plan, one that’s been done to him by Professor Lupin: Lure him in with a promise of tea and break open into a deep conversation which he can’t escape from because tea time etiquette stops him and the small part of him that actually wants to talk about it. He really wanted to learn about his aunt.
“Yes, Aunt Andromeda," Draco said.
"Come down with me then."
Draco opened the door and saw his aunt smiling gently. "Playing with the lights, were you?"
He flushed a dark pink.
He fidgeted as she poured him a cup. The breakfast nook's chair was slightly uncomfortable, and the mid-morning rays of sunlight were bouncing into Draco's eyes.
"Here you go, darling," Andromeda said, setting his cup down in front of him as she slid into the seat across from him.
"Thank you." Draco took a sip of his tea immediately to avoid speaking first.
Andromeda seemed to pick up on it and started with, “It’s quite an adjustment, isn’t it? Being uprooted from your home with little explanation and even less time."
“Yes.”
“I myself would’ve broken down from all the stress if it wasn’t for Ted..."
Draco's brow furrowed at that, trying to figure out where on his half-formed timeline of Aunt Andromeda was that event placed.
"I suppose you have questions,” She continued.
“I do. Just... Why have I never met you before?”
Andromeda exhaled deeply. “I think you can see that Ted is my husband." She gestured around her. "And I think you can see he’s not exactly a pureblood.”
While he was holed up in his room that morning, he reached the same conclusion. “You married a muggleborn. And no one approved.”
“They didn’t. Oh, Merlin, they didn’t.” Andromeda chuckled to herself.
Draco wasn’t surprised. Uncle Ted went against everything their family ideals told them: A muggleborn and a lower-class wizard with no prospects of a high position in the Ministry.
"I'm sorry that you were cast out of the family."
“Oh, don't be darling. It was a choice that I made. To choose a family that would make me happy. I didn’t like my betrothed. I wanted my marriage to be filled with love.”
Marriage was a strange concept for Draco to wonder about. After sixth year, Lucius told him about his arranged marriage and didn’t protest with the constant loom of fearing for his life. Marriage in his family was a business. A business to uphold the sacred purity of the bloodline. To not do so will leave you with nothing. He couldn’t imagine throwing away everything because he loved someone so much. Draco had very little nerve when it came down to it. He could never see himself make such a declaration for the sake of love.
“I never think I could ever do such a thing."
“Not even for love?”
“I don’t think I’m capable of that,” Draco said with a surprising amount of bitterness. Whoa... where did that come from?
“That’s a miserable thing for someone your age to say.”
But what else did he have? An innocent love letter, a silly tea reading... The toying idea of what it’d be to float on the affections of someone special… despite any of his desires and exploring the theory, nothing felt like it would actually happen. He couldn’t have it. In fact, the more he thought about it the more that if felt way. Not only was that not his purpose, but there was also something about it that made him feel too… too...
“I’m not exactly someone that's pined after,” Draco said instead.
“Oh, I doubt that. You’re a very handsome young man. And very polite as well.”
Thank you, Aunt Andromeda, Draco thought. It’s the underlying anxiety and awkwardness. “I just don’t think of anyone that way, I guess.”
They slipped into silence.
"Putting that talk aside... Draco." She reached out to gently clasp her hand over Draco's. "I want you to know that it’s so good to finally meet my nephew."
That managed to make Draco smile. "It's really good to meet you, too."
"Oh, I have so many stories to tell about your mother when we were younger.”
Draco perked up at the thought. “You do?”
Andromeda grinned. “Hundreds. But do you have any other questions before that?”
He really wanted to know about his mother, but he’s had a burning question that needs an answer.
“Aunt Andromeda, what exactly is a telly?”
Draco slowly found a comfortable space. The tiptoeing around the house eased as he grew closer to his aunt through her stories and his uncle with his explanations of muggle contraptions around the house. He also began learning a lot about them.
Andromeda liked to listen to French Muggle singer, Yvonne Printemps, whose high warbles rivalled Celestina Warbeck’s and was a stickler for proper etiquette, Ted liked to sneak into the kitchen late at night to cut an inconspicuous piece of a persistent chocolate cake on the kitchen island.
He began reading through the bookshelf in his room. It was an interesting mix of wizard stories and muggle novels. Draco discovered muggles had very unique takes on magic and storytelling. (He found a lot of bright coloured books that revolved a lot around Muggle school romances that seemed targeted to young girls but Draco found himself obsessed.)
He also wrote to Harry frequently. About his abrupt displacement of living with his aunt and asking questions about Muggle contraptions that he was too embarrassed to ask his family, and asking Harry about his life with Sirius in order to distract himself from thinking about his parents.
Draco was also learning a lot about the outside Muggle world.
He once joined Ted on a trip to the ‘supermarket.’ (He got scared of the sliding doors but then proceeded to hover near the entrance to watch it open and close. He adored the idea of doors opening up for him just by his mere presence.)
Andromeda explained muggle currency to him. (“Why do I need paper?” Draco asked. “Aren’t coins enough? These coins add up to the paper so what’s the use? Who are these people on the paper anyway?”
“You’ve ever thought to take Muggle Studies, darling?”)
Ted tried to show Draco popular ‘films’ at home with VHS tapes but Draco got distracted at the shiny, smooth strips he could pull at. (He wasn’t allowed near the VHSs again.)
Draco grew enamoured with the ‘telly’ once he figured out what it was, until one day, Aunt Andromeda chided that too much telly would rot his brain and hasn’t touched it since.
Then, Andromeda found out that Draco’s French was dreadful.
When Draco replied to her sentence one day in broken fragments, she sat him in a chair and gave what became the bane of Draco’s existence: a French workbook that came with a ceramic songbird that served as his instructor. The bird would come to life and perch on Draco’s shoulder, monitoring his progress. It would chirp a phrase and rewarded Draco with a lovely tune if correct, but if not, it would peck at his ear and he’d have to try again. (The same would happen when writing phrases.)
But despite his reddened ear at the end of each lesson, he loved being at his aunt and uncle's house.
Draco walked into the kitchen one morning to see a new picture tacked onto the fridge. A girl with spiky hair was winking at the camera while Mad-Eye Moody grimaced, seeming to try to pose seriously.
“That’s our daughter, Dora. Your cousin,” Ted answered in the middle of dish cleaning. "She's finally finished with Auror training. That's Moody, her mentor or something of the like."
He wasn’t focused on her but rather Moody. Mad-Eye Moody? As in, Professor Moody?
“Son, you alright there?” Ted asked.
Draco shuddered at the recollection of his tiny paws, quivering furry body, and the sensation of crawling up a pair of trousers. “Guh… I’m fine, Uncle Ted.” He reassured, sitting at the table where his breakfast was waiting.
Andromeda, who was at the table and reading the newspaper, clicked her tongue. “She’s probably running around with those chaotic Aurors now. She’s probably getting into all sorts of trouble.”
“Dora wouldn’t want anything less, dear,” Ted chuckled, flicking off excess water.
“Oh, I know. But I worry." She closed up the paper. "Also, Draco, chéri, assure-toi tes deux dernières leçons sont faites aujourd'hui.”
“Yes, Aunt Andromeda. I’ll get the rest of my lessons finished today," Draco answered with only brief hesitance.
“Oh, look how much you’ve improved!” Andromeda gushed. She patted his cheek. “Your mother will be so proud.”
Andromeda and Ted went out later that day so Draco decided to do his French lesson out in the living room.
Draco was sighing in relief as the songbird was reverting back to its lifeless state when the fireplace erupted in green flames.
A young woman with spiky, bubblegum pink hair stepped into the living room, wiping down long Auror robes. She looked up and blinked at the stunned Draco sitting on the couch.
“Wotcha,” She gave a two-fingered slaute.
Draco tilted his head. “Are you Dora?” He ventured.
Her nose wrinkled at that name. “Call me Tonks,” She held out her hand. “You must be my dear cousin Draco. Mum told me about you.”
Tonks noticed the workbook on the table and laughed. She picked up the dormant songbird. “Couldn’t speak French? Yeah,” She placed the bird down. “Mum had to stick me to the chair for my lessons when I was a kid. Literally, I wouldn’t be able to move for hours.” She sighed, scratching the back of her head. “But... il est important que nous sachions, non?”
Draco’s French burnout made him take a moment to process. “Er… oui?”
Tonks laughed. “Couldn't say it better myself. Oh, dear cousin, I think we’re going to get along great.” Settling beside Draco on the couch, she grabbed the remote. “Come on, I’ve just come back from my assignment and I’m beat. Let’s watch some telly.”
“But Aunt Andromeda said it rots your brain.”
She snickered. “It doesn’t rot your brain. Cross my heart. Boy, I really need to show you the real Muggle stuff.”
Tonks thus began an impromptu crash course of “important” muggle specifics. She took him through multiple “discographies” of various Muggle bands and singers (she even roped him into an impromptu dance party one night as they listened to records), flipping through magazines filled with supposed celebrities with coordinated outfits and imperative gossip about their relationship status, and what was “cool fashion” that involved piercings and overtly black clothing that was too much even for him. Tonks was by far the coolest relative he's ever met.
When the summer was drawing to a close, Tonks and Draco were in the living room watching a 'sitcom' as Draco was composing a reply to Harry's latest letter.
“Who’ve you been writing to all this time?” Tonks asked when she noticed that his reply was getting rather lengthy.
“A friend,” Draco said offhandedly.
Tonks blew a raspberry. “Come on, lemme have a name!”
“Harry,” He said, not really caring if she knew.
"Harry, Harry..." Her eyes widened. “Like in… Potter?” She sat up. “You’re friends with Harry Potter?”
“It’s not that big of a deal! Wait, how would you know it’d be Harry Potter?”
Tonks looked up to the ceiling in thought. “I mean, he’s always scribbling away whenever I visit…”
That grabbed Draco’s attention. “Wait, you visit Harry? How?!”
She looked over at him incredulously. “Yeah,” She settled her attention back to the television. “I’m Sirius Black’s parole officer.”
“YOU’RE WHAT?!”
Tonks startled at his loudness. “Yeah… It's standard procedure for all released inmates of Azkaban. I have to check in with him twice a week. It’s kinda pointless given that Black’s completely innocent. I think they stuck me with the job because I’m new. Where did you think I was going all this time?"
Draco thought that given Tonks personality, she might as well been herding dragons on the days Draco didn't see her.
"Anyhow, those reports are the most boring. ‘Black’s only display of deviance is that of trying to feed his ward, Harry Potter, his burnt sunny-side-up eggs. Black’s monitored trip to Muggle London with his ward, Harry Potter, only shows that he’s a total pushover as he buys Potter anything he so much as look at. Black’s only crime is how dashing he looks when properly groomed.’ All things I’ve submitted.”
Draco snorted.
“Oh, wait, while we’re still on letters.” Tonks got up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned quickly and held out a letter as she collapsed back into her seat. “Your school supply list came in this morning.”
He took the envelope from her, staring at the Hogwarts seal. It was coming. The impending fourth year. The Triwizard Tournament. When everything began to descend into darkness.
“You ready for your fourth year?” Tonks asked.
Draco didn’t know much about the Triwizard Tournament beyond what he saw in the stands. He barely knew Cedric Diggory. But he knew one fact: Cedric Diggory died during the Third Task.
He didn’t know anything about what happened in that maze, but he could warn Harry, figure out what happened in the maze based on what little he knew. It was enough--it has to be enough. Must be.
“As much as I can be,” Draco answered. |
“I dunno why we have ta go do this right now,” Mammon grumbled loudly as he followed his human up the stairs. “You really don’t have any patience, do ya?! No way is Levi just gonna agree ta hand over his precious soundtrack, he’s not the kinda guy that does favours, y’know. I mean, he probably won’t even let ya inside his room, he rarely lets anyone in, damn otaku. Don’t go thinkin’ everything’s gonna magically go your way just ‘cause ya want it to! Y’know what yer problem is? I’ll tell you-”“SHUT UP, JACKASS!” Levi bellowed from within his room as they reached the Avatar of Envy’s door.“Did ya hear something,” Mammon drawled to Tabby, feigning innocence. “Sounded like the mating call of the lesser spotted dork-”The human snorted a laugh, making him grin.“-Anyway, I ain’t a jackass, ya pipsqueak!” he yelled at the door. “And just ta cut ya off, I’m not an idiot or scumbag or money-obsessed moron, or any of yer other boring insults.”“Ugh, you’re making way too much noise, Mammon,” Levi’s door complained. “Do me a favour and go be loud somewhere else. I’m watching the best scene of The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon Girl!”Mammon rolled his eyes.“Levi, we need ta talk to you, not yer door. Get off yer ass an’ open up!”
“No.”“See?” Mammon slouched against the wall with a shrug. “What’d I tell ya. He won’t even open his damn door. Well, you’re up, Tabby. Show him what ya got.”The human looked past him slightly, and he frowned, turning to see-
"Hey, I was wondering who it was I could hear,” smiled Solomon. “So, it's the pair everyone is talking about.”
Ugh. This guy. “Hey, Solomon,” Tabby flashed him a smile, leaning back against the railing that looked over the ground floor.
“What do ya mean by that?” Mammon tried to keep his tone polite, not wanting any rudeness to get back to Lucifer.The sorcerer smirked at him before turning his attention back to Tabby, and Mammon had the distinct impression that the so-called Solomon the Wise could see his true feelings all too clearly.
“I'm referring to the rumour regarding a certain human by the name of Tabby,” Solomon enthused. “A human who looks very ordinary at first glance-” Watch it, ya fopdoodle- “-but has already managed to forge a pact with a higher demon, despite not knowing demons even existed twenty-four hours before. Apparently this demon must be a real idiot, because he let a human discover and exploit his greatest weakness, and was then tricked into making a pact with a non-magical mistress.”“Master,” Mammon corrected him, frowning. “Not that she is. And quit insulting me. Ya know fine well which demon yer talkin’ about. Anyway, what are you doing here?”“My apologies,” Solomon nodded to Tabby, who gave him a small smile.The infamous sorcerer was not a particularly welcome guest in the Devildom, most demons having the sense to be cautious around one who had forged pacts with so many demons. Stories of his tyrannical rule centuries ago were well known in the realm of hell as a cautionary tale, despite Asmo’s blasé attitude to his own pact with Solomon.Mammon could begrudgingly admit that the man may well have changed, and there was little evidence to suggest he was still the same person he had been all that time ago. ‘Course, there’s no evidence now to suggest what kind of person he is at all. He’s a complete enigma, but still as potentially dangerous as ever. As long as he stays away from my human, there won’t be an issue... “Are pacts really that rare?” Tabby asked, and the sorcerer considered the question, as if he didn’t know the answer plainly.“Pacts with no terms are certainly a rare thing,” he explained. “Usually the human has to give up at least part of their soul, especially with a higher demon. Pacts with the lesser demons are common enough, though few have them in large numbers-” Fishing for a compliment, are we? “-and I daresay pacts with the Avatar of Greed are so rare as to be practically non-existent, wouldn’t you say, Mammon?”The demon shrugged, as Mammon did his best to look completely bored. He was fairly sure that despite Solomon seeking to charm Tabby, the sorcerer had to be sore that she had achieved what he could not. In truth, the Avatar of Greed could have simply let Lucifer re-confiscate his beloved credit card, and would have done if the only alternative had been to make a pact with anyone else. Especially someone like the darkened soul standing in front of him right now.
There are always more schemes ta make money. But pacts are all-binding.
“Ya still haven’t said why yer here, Solomon.”“I'm here because Levi invited me.”
“Wha? Levi invited YOU?” Mammon was genuinely shocked. “To his room?! No way, I don't buy it. That’s not a thing he does.”
“I'm afraid it's the truth,” smiled Solomon. “Levi? It's me.”
“Secret phrase?” boomed the door.Mammon watched in confusion as the sorcerer quoted some anime nonsense and was let into the room, the door slamming shut behind him.“Bingo!” the demon drawled. “We just repeat that and we get in, right?”“Yeah, I don’t think it’s that simple,” sighed Tabby. “It’s probably a one-use password.”He figured it was still worth a try, knocking on the door and providing the phrase. Sure enough, despite knowing he had the wording exactly right, his brother refused to open up.
“Ugh, what the hell, Levi…” Mammon was out of patience, but his mind was already turning, formulating a new plan. “So Solomon gets in ‘cause he proved he’s a total TSL nerd, right? Which makes them buddies. If you wanna borrow that soundtrack, yer gonna have to do the same.”“You can’t be serious,” she raised an eyebrow as they walked along to her room. “I can’t read all that, on top of academy work, and everything else!”“Well, how badly do ya wanna get in the attic?”“I mean right now I mostly just want to piss Lucifer off,” she muttered, and he grinned. “But yeah, I do really want to know what’s up there.”“I’m on board with the first part, obviously. Don’t really see what’s exciting about a room of Lucifer’s though. It’s probably jus’ full of filing cabinets and portraits of Diavolo covered in kiss marks.”“Okay, so imagine you’re transported to a grand old house you’ve never seen before, right?”“Uh, okay...” he lounged in her chair as she sat on her bed.“And you’re told you have freedom to go anywhere in the house you want, you can explore as much as you want. Except there’s one door you must never open. How do you feel about that door?”“I mean, I’ve got the whole rest of the house though…” he tried, before admitting defeat. “Yeah, all right, I’d be desperate to know what’s behind the mystery door. Unless it was somethin’ spooky. Like a ghost or some shit.”Tabby laughed, and he blushed slightly. Giving away his fears was not something he had intended.“Where I’m from, ghosts are much further down the spooky scale than actual demons!” she pointed out.“I can’t be scared of what I am,” he insisted, “an’ besides, I’m one of the most powerful ones. I can beat other demons. But how d’ya beat a ghost?! Ya can’t, that’s how.”“You’re too cute,” she laughed, gathering her books.Mammon flushed bright red, and did his best to focus on how much ghosts terrified him, for once welcoming the scary thoughts with open arms.“Anyway,” he coughed, avoiding eye contact. “Ya don’t need ta read TSL, ya can just watch it instead. Do an anime marathon and you’ll be caught up in no time. Hell, you could probably start watchin’ now an’ be done by morning.”“That’s… a good plan,” the human looked impressed, and he tried to picture ghosts ripping him to pieces, saving him from embarrassment. “It’s just a study day today, right? I was gonna try and go to the library but, hm.” Ugh, I don’t wanna hang around a library all day. Boring. “If ya become a TSL nerd, ya can challenge Levi to some kind of dork battle. Winner gets the soundtrack. It’s foolproof!”
~~~
Tabby leaned back against the wall, watching the anime contentedly from her bed. It was a high quality production, and with every episode ending on a cliffhanger, she could see why Levi was such a dedicated fan.
Just like the characters though, the plot was all too familiar, to a disturbing degree. The Seven Lords of the title mapped near perfectly to the brothers she was currently staying with. That in itself wasn't too surprising given their status as supposedly mythical characters, but even so…
I wonder if the author and Lucifer are acquainted? But even if they are, the timing is still all wrong given how long it takes to turn books into full seasons of a show. And Levi said it was a human author, so it’s unlikely magic was used to speed things along. But why do none of them see themselves in the show? She snapped her attention back to the screen. For now, it was important simply to learn about the series, and to try and remember enough of it to win Levi over. It helped that anime marathons weren’t exactly new to her, though her own preference was for supernatural and horror. She smiled, wondering how Mammon would cope with watching that. Maybe we could stick to Devilman Crybaby- on second thoughts, never mind!
Beel was snoring beside her on the bed, having guzzled every item of food that she and Mammon couldn't eat fast enough. The Avatar of Gluttony was the most straightforward of the brothers, apparently having little time for any ongoing feuds or grudges, but in many ways he was also the most complex. Tabby couldn't even hazard a guess at what went on in Beelzebub's mind. He sees a lot more than he says, that’s for sure.
On her other side was the demon who was the complete opposite. Mammon had grumbled about joining in, but he had been pouring out all his feelings as he watched the episodes, getting teary eyed at injustices, gripping the sheets at tense moments, and laughing in relief at the things that turned out okay.
Even if the demon was a tsundere, trying not to show that he liked ‘his’ human, Mammon was refreshingly honest about his thoughts and emotions. She never had to second guess what was going on in his mind, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever met anyone quite like him before. It was relaxing in a way, to have someone to talk to who said exactly what they were thinking.
As the Lord of Fools found his beloved frozen to death in the snow on screen, Mammon was sniffling hard, and he threw himself down on his side on the bed, resting his head in her lap. The demon was an emotional mess, and though surprised, her heart fluttered at his silent plea for comfort.
Hesitantly, she softly stroked through his hair, prepared for him to jump back in alarm. Instead, his sniffling subsided a little as he pressed his cheek more firmly against her, like an affectionate cat.
Smiling, she threaded her fingers into his hair, gently petting the demon lord who had bound himself to her only days before. Mammon hadn't exactly been shy about his feelings, even as he ricocheted between blaming her for all his misfortunes, his simmering jealousy when his brothers got too close to her, and the little blushes and glances she caught when he thought she wasn't looking.
Beel had said outright that the demon liked her, which was something he would try to hide, and she wondered what his previous experiences with friendship had been. Most of his brothers seemed to think little of him, and all she had overheard about him in the Academy corridors had been negative. It puzzled her, but she supposed being soft and emotional were probably not highly regarded traits for demons.
And his sin was greed, the demon frequently stealing from others and frittering away his money. But was it really fair to blame him for that when demons like Asmo and Beel were also openly ruled by their sins?
Tabby couldn't deny that she felt drawn to Mammon, in a way she hadn't felt about anyone in a long, long time.
Not that I’ve let anyone get close… but somehow a demon is the one who manages? She couldn’t bring herself to trust him, not after knowing him for so little time. But she did want to get to know him better, to understand him, and relatedly, her own annoyance at Lucifer had surprised her. Sure, she hated being told what to do, but she knew that was barely an excuse. The eldest brother had punched Mammon twice, hard in the face, and each time she had felt enraged. How much of this is me liking him, and how much is this me wanting to protect him? A demon doesn’t need my help, but… I do think he’s cute. Fine, really damn gorgeous. And if I keep letting him get close, I know damn well what’s going to happen.
Her opinion of her fellow humans wasn’t impressive enough that him being a demon was that much of a negative. There were a lot of unknowns - just how big an age gap this was exactly, whether demons were actually evil or merely disobedient, and where Mammon fell on that scale, what her future beyond this exchange year held, what he’d been like as an angel, how she'd cope with pining after him if he wasn't interested - but those questions were almost too big to deal with.
Instead, she focused on the person cuddling into her for comfort, the demon who she had seen hovering in the sidelines watching over her, the man who was still waiting for her to be mean to him, like everyone else was.
His hair was silky soft, and she was startled to realise how touch starved she'd been.
Has it really been so long…?
As she continued stroking his hair, she slowly became aware that he was making a low-pitched rumbling noise, barely audible over Beel's snoring.
"Are you… purring?" she asked quietly, amused.
"Who? Me?" Mammon grumbled, but didn't move away. "I ain't purring. You're the one named for a cat, not me."
"Mhm," she huffed a laugh, seeing him blush. "What would you call it then?"
"It's, uh… growling. Yeah! Demons growl, ya know."
"Does that mean you don't like it and I should stop?" she asked cheekily.
"No!" he wrapped his arm under her legs, as if scared she was about to push him away. "Demons, um, growl when things are… acceptable too."
"Oh, good. Well, I'm glad I'm acceptable," Tabby chuckled.
As she resumed watching the episode, still petting the demon, she could almost have sworn she heard Mammon murmuring his agreement amongst his happy growls.
~~~
Mammon grinned as he realised the human had fallen asleep, and he quietly shut the laptop off, trying not to wake her. Beel had left several episodes ago, wanting his own bed to sleep in, but there had been no way Mammon was leaving her lap any earlier than he had to.
Hm, she'll probably get cold if I leave her like this though…
Very carefully he managed to tuck her into bed, but as he did so, Tabby pulled his arm against her chest in her sleep, cuddling and trapping him in one move.
Welp.
Blushing, the demon weighed up his options and decided one was far more appealing than the other. Snuggling down behind her, he realised he should have given himself more space, but he really didn't want to risk waking her now he was in a more compromised position. Cuddlin’ is a friend thing, right? She was okay with petting me, so this is probably okay, but I can squish against the wall. As long as I don't have anymore stupid dreams...
He kept what space he could, trying not to press against her despite his captured arm, and he found himself just watching her as she breathed slowly, the greatest source of warmth in the Devildom.
Her arms looked fragile against his, reminding him that she was in fact a frail human, but she had a strength borne of sheer stubbornness that made him smile. Soft pink hair fell across her face, uncovering the various piercings in her ear.
Very cool!
The human had freckles across her nose, spilling onto her cheeks, and a tiny scar highlighted her lips, lips that were full and looked oh so very kissable-
Nope. Quit that, dammit.
Mammon looked again at her arm, holding him tight, and swallowed hard. She hadn't hidden any part of herself, either genuinely at ease or more than capable of misdirecting when she wasn't. He worried that he could never really tell when she might be feeling anxious and when she was managing fine.
The scars on her arms were a reminder of that worry, that Tabby was someone who kept her true feelings buried deep within, her focus entirely on protecting others instead of protecting herself.
Even protecting me. Telling Levi off. Glaring at Lucifer. Sticking up for me. Why? I don't deserve any of that.
He smiled as the human gave a contented sigh in her sleep. At least right now he could be sure she was okay, safe under his protection. She had caused all manner of chaos since her arrival, unknowingly getting the demon who refused all pacts to make one with her, challenging Lucifer's authority, plotting to overthrow Levi, taking angels, demons, and magic in her stride.
Mammon had thought the exchange program would be a hassle. The revelation he'd be in charge of a human for the entire year had sounded awful. But now…
She needs a guardian demon. She deserves ta have someone protectin' her for a change, even if it's me. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt her.
~~~ |
Trey pulled me to him, kissed me deep, and stroked his long, dark fingers over my smooth, wet pussy. Moaning into his mouth, I came, reveling the in the wild sensations his fingers brought me. The sound of his soft, breathy laughter filled my head, making me moan. When he pulled his lips from mine and started whispering into my ear, I lost it. Legs shaking, biting back a scream, I moaned my pleasure against his shoulder, the room spinning as I fought the instinctive cries of passion locked in my throat. My juices slicked his hand, his fingers rubbing against my slit, his wrist erotically rubbing my clit, the deadly combination of his voice and his touch driving me over the edge, even here in this most risky of places—standing in the living room of the house I shared with my husband.
My husband had talked forever of his east coast schooling and the friends he'd made on the football and basketball teams of which he was star. When we met on the west coast, where I was raised, it all sounded foreign and intriguing, and I would listen for hours to his stories about "the guys" and all they did. When my husband and Trey and a few other guys got together after the games, they pulled out all the stops, sharing beer, as well as women. Girlfriends were passed around, one to the next, and sometimes there were fights when one the relationship lines got a little blurry. Yet "the guys" always managed to work it out.
It was during a much-anticipated high school reunion that I finally got to meet "the guys." To my surprise, they were all complete gentlemen, and most had gone on to become quite successful, professional men—a far cry from what I had pictured when I heard the stories of parties and conquests. It was at this reunion that I met Trey—and lost my innocence.
One of the few in the group to take up professional sports, Trey had spent several successful years in the NFL—and had the body to prove it. An ACL tear had sidelined him a few years ago, so he had decided to invest his wealth into his second love—refurbishing classic street rods. He had built a hugely successful company, and his cars were on hot demand everywhere, from the young kids with too much money on their hands to the old businessmen who wanted to reacquire a fragment of their past. At the doubting look on my face, he laughed and said that it didn't bother him—he got to do what he loved, and was paid well for it!
Trey's passion for his work was obvious in every word, every gesture, every smile, as he described this car or that, talking about wiring harnesses, transmissions and any other number of things way over my head. It was mesmerizing, though, listening to his sexy voice, watching that smile crease his dark face, and in moments I was head over heels in lust with this man.
Watching his graceful gestures as he spoke about "his babies," I was soon imagining those sexy, dark fingers caressing me. When his eyes rolled at something my husband said, I ached to make them roll from something I was doing to his sexy body, instead. When his laugh rumbled across my skin, my heartbeat went into overdrive, and I had to walk away under the pretext of visiting the punch bowl, and catch my breath. After 17 years of being faithful to my loving husband, I was about to lose control over this man about whom I had heard so many ribald locker room stories.
To my complete surprise, Trey had noticed me, as well. He told me later that my big eyes had first captured his interest, then my quick laugh. Once his interest was piqued, he decided that, just like in the old days, fair was fair—and if I responded to his advances, then I was fair game. And when I handed him a requested drink a few hours later, and didn't draw back from the caress of his fingertips over my hand, he knew I could be had.
We exchanged emails that weekend, and began a lengthy long distance affair. He would listen about my daily life as a suburban housewife, and I learned a lot about classic cars. My husband never knew what was going on. In bed I became insatiable, imagining my husband's body to be my lover's, and exchanging his green eyes for my lover's deep brown ones. And although we had engaged in all forms of long-distance sex, from webcams to letters, we had never actually been close enough to touch. Until this past week, when Trey's business brought him to the West coast, and into my house at my husband's gracious insistence. Now the man I had come to lust was within touching distance – and I couldn't have him, because my husband had no idea.
When we picked Trey up from the airport, he played calm and cool, hugging my husband then myself, the growl in my ear for only me to hear. The brush of my lips against his smooth neck was quick and furtive, but the tingle of that skin-to-skin contact stayed with me for hours. I was in trouble here, desperate to have my lover's touch, and just as desperate to not cause problems with my husband.
All weekend long we acted more like brother and sister than lovers, bickering over passing the butter and tossing soap bubbles at each other when it was time to do the dishes. We grabbed and groped whenever we could, but it just left us frustrated and longing for more. Then, last night, Trey pulled me to him in our darkened living room after my husband had gone to bed, and with that sexy voice and those long, dark fingers, made me gush my cum all over his hand.
When he felt me trembling against him, my juices pulled in his palm, he soothed me, knowing how hard I was fighting the need to scream his name, as I'd done so often on the phone. He whispered in my ear how erotic it was to feel my nails digging into his back, how hard I had clamped down on him while I was cumming. When I blushed and stammered an apology, he kissed me, saying it had really turned him on—that and my moans were making his cock rock hard, and it was all he could do not to bury it in me, back me up and take me, right there on the couch.
With a soft cry of need muffled against his neck, I rocked my hips on his questing fingers, cumming yet again. Oh, how many times I had imagined toppling to the couch with this sexy black man, taking his big black dick deep in me, and to hell with not ruining the soft suede of the upholstery! Every tap of his finger against my clit set me off again, and I buried my face in his neck, panting for air and biting back screams of pure pleasure. My entire body centered around him – his voice in my ear, his fingers sliding along my pussy lips, his sexy shoulders tight in my grasp, the thrum of his pulse against my lips. A small part of me warned myself to be careful, that my husband was down the hall, sleeping. But my body was on overload, and the pent up desire I had felt for this man was not to be ignored. With lips and tongue and teeth and all the rest of my trembling body, I caressed him, pressing against him, riding his fingers, tasting his sexy lips with mine again and again. His kisses intoxicated me, his whispers aroused me, and his touch ignited me. I had never responded to anyone like this in my entire life—including my innocent husband.
With a smile of satisfaction at having pleased me so well, my dark lover walked me to my bedroom door, kissed me sweetly, and pushed me inside. One look at my snoring husband made me want to run into my lover's bed, instead. It took all my willpower to undress and slide into my husband's bed, and I lay there awake the rest of the night, forcing myself not to crawl into my lover's arms, his door just some six steps from my own.
Monday thankfully came soon, and I watched the sun rise through the bedroom window, wondering if Trey had slept well, or if he had been as restless as I was. With my husband safely in the shower, I stood at the partially opened door to our guest room and watched as my lover slept, aching yet again to crawl up onto the bed and into his arms. Hearing the shower stop, I scooted back to my bedroom and started getting ready for the day, hoping my shaking hands weren't obvious.
Knowing Trey had an early morning appointment to keep, I walked into the guest room under the pretense of making sure he was awake. Oh, how those deep brown eyes mesmerized me as my lover rolled over and smiled at me. Reaching down, I slipped my fingers across his chest, desperately needing to feel that contact. My eyes burned with desire as I softly caressed him, memorizing every touch. My other hand slid under the cover, teasingly stroking everything around his cock, but never touching it. My pussy gushed at the evidence of his pleasure, and my trembling legs threatened to buckle under me. My lover, ever knowledgeable of my body, took the opportunity to slip his hand into my sweatpants, questing fingers unerringly finding my throbbing clit, which he teased and expertly manipulated until my breath was a tortured squeal.
When I thought I could take no more, he slipped one, then two, fingers partway inside me. I exploded. My lover lay on the bed, stroking my sloppy wet pussy as I stood beside him at the edge of my guest bed. It was all I could do not to scream his name as orgasm after orgasm overtook me, raging through my body, leaving me spent and weak when the tides subsided. Knowing we had pushed our luck so far as privacy went, he urged me to the door, where I managed to slip out and down the hallway, undetected. Slipping onto the same couch that took up a good part of my fantasies, I pretended to my husband that my shaky voice and flushed features were the onset of a virus, biting back a sigh of relief when the kiss he intended for my lips dropped onto my forehead, instead. Thoughts of Trey crowded my mind, and it was his touch my body craved, not that of my husband.
I sat on the couch, listening to my husband leave for work and my lover start up his shower, feeling my cum still dripping from my swollen pussy. I ached to feel Trey's cum there, mixing with mine, filling me to depths no one had ever plundered before. Making my decision, I carefully locked the front door, and headed down the hall to the bathroom, shedding my clothes as I went. The look on Trey's face when I opened that curtain is burned forever in my mind. I stepped into the shower and into my lover's embrace, knowing my world was about to change forever, but welcoming it with every fiber of my being...
|
Eventually, Zagreus regretfully pulls himself out of Than’s embrace. He’d rather he didn’t have to, but there’s fabric of the universe to consider. And some people’s happiness. Somewhere deep inside Zagreus believes that someone’s happiness might be more important than the universe.
Thanatos, evidently, agrees, since he was, in fact, the one to start this entire mess. That part still blows Zag’s mind.
With one last kiss to Thanatos, he dashes to the armory, picks up the shield (he hopes he’ll have more luck with the shield than he had with a bow last time) and jumps out of the window.
Jack shows up mid-Tartarus and offers the same single boon and a promise that he’s working on the Empty problem, but hasn’t found a solution just yet. That’s good enough for Zagreus, as he’s working on his own Castiel-related problems as well, and also seems to be struggling.
Sam and Dean meet him just as he enters their… they said it was a ‘bunker’? They’re there, like they’ve been waiting for him to show up.
“Let’s go, kid,” Dean says, pushing Zagreus gently on the shoulder in the direction of the exit. “We figured you don’t have much time, so come.”
Zagreus glances at Sam, puzzled.
“We’re taking you for a drive,” Sam says like it explains anything. A ‘drive’?
They walk out of the bunker and head straight for the— it looks like the symbol on Jack’s Boon. A shiny-black… something. It’s a little bigger than Zagreus imagined, but generally looks very similar to the picture. It does, indeed, have wheels.
“Is that a chariot?” he asks.
“Dude,” Dean says. “Are you for real? It’s an Impala.”
Zagreus knows what an impala is. It’s an animal, beautiful and graceful. The thing does look beautiful and probably even graceful, but Zagreus is pretty sure animals don’t have wheels. Granted he didn’t see many animals, apart from rats and mice.
“Impala?” He asks with doubt. “Like, a deer?”
Sam seems to take mercy on him. “It’s a car,” he says. “A vehicle used to transport people from one place to another.”
“Dude, what the hell, Baby is much more than just a car.”
“Of course she is,” Sam agrees easily. “But evidently, out guest needs a point of reference.”
“So, it’s like a chariot?” Zagreus asks. That’s his point of reference, after all.
“Yeah, exactly like a chariot,” Sam says. “But doesn’t need a horse to pull it.”
“Not all chariots use horses. Some are driven by celestial power,” Zagreus says.
“If you say, so, buddy,” Dean says. “Anyway, you can ride shotgun. Sammy’ll take the back, won’t you?”
“Sure,” Sam says, and Zagreus is, once again, lost. “You take the seat next to Dean, I sit at the back,” Sam explains. “You can see the road better when you sit at the front.”
He lets them show him how to get in the ‘car’ and fasten the ‘seatbelt’. They don’t explain what seatbelts are for, but as soon as the ‘car’ starts moving Zagreus begins to suspect they’re meant to keep people from running away in terror.
He knows more than one Shade that would be absolutely, completely and utterly horrified by the speed of this chariot. Zagreus, for once, enjoys it like he enjoys precious few things in his life. It’s exhilarating in so many ways: the wind that brushes his face from the half-opened window, the way fast movement makes his heart bit just a little faster, the way the scenery outside changes every few minutes, and Zagreus doesn’t even have enough time to remember the correct word for everything he sees. Trees. Grass. Clouds. Is that a field or a tundra? Is that a mansion or a cottage? Those animals are kept in herds, so they’re probably sheep. Or maybe cows. Are those birds?
For some things he doesn’t have a point of reference at all. Why do they put lines on the roads, are they afraid they might not see the road without them? Or are the lines supposed to glow in the dark? They pass a place with a small cottage, several tiny buildings next to it (are they sheds?) and a few chariots, just like the one they’re in, standing next to the sheds, connected to them with what looks like thick ropes. He thinks he sees someone take the rope out of a car’s side and put it into the shed. He has no idea what kind of ritual that is, but it seems fascinating.
Eventually, they take a left turn off the road, move a little bit into that direction and stop. Dean jumps out of the car and walks around it to open the door next to Zagreus. “Come on, kid, get out,” he says. “Come, have a look around.”
Sam reaches to help with Zag’s seatbelt. “Look,” he explains, “this is a button. You push it, it comes out.” Zagreus does as he’s told. The ‘button’ gives with little effort, and he’s free.
He climbs out and follows Dean. They walk around some bushes, and then—
He’s never seen so much water in his life. He heard about seas, of course - places where, if you go far enough into it, water will be all around you, from horizon to horizon, and no matter how hard you look you won’t see any land. This is evidently nor a see, it’s much less water than that and Zagreus can see that it’s surrounded by ground, and trees, and bushes, and grass on all sides. But still, it’s huge. There’s a lot of water, and it’s so blue, so bright; Zagreus never thought water could be so blue.
“It’s a lake,” Sam says.
“Lake,” Zagreus repeats. “It’s amazing.” It is. It’s the best thing he’s ever seen in his life. He wonders if there are any lakes in his world. The two times he managed to get to the surface he thought there might be more water under all that snow and ice, but he didn’t have enough time to really consider it, or imagine what it might look like without the snow and the ice.
It’s gorgeous.
“We thought you might like it,” Dean said.
Zagreus is moved by the depth of compassion these two people are showing him. They barely know him, and yet!
Are those actually the same people who asked him to tell Castiel to never come back?
He realizes he doesn’t have much time. If he doesn’t talk now he won’t get any answers this time around, either.
“I relayed your words to Castiel,” he says.
The happy grin on Dean’s face vanishes, like it was never there.
“Good,” he says.
“It caused him a lot of pain,” Zagreus continues and glances at Sam, only to see him avert his eyes. He looks at Dean then. Dean’s expression looks like a mask, or maybe like he’s a Shade that died from so much suffering that his face is forever dark and gloomy in the afterlife; Zagreus has met more than one of those Shades during his escapes.
“Good,” Dean says after a pause.
“What?” That’s an awful thing to say. “He’s suffering, how is it good?”
Dean shrugs, and his expression stays exactly the same.
He’s failing to connect the two sets of Winchesters in his head: the ones who brought him to this beautiful and amazing place as a treat, when they barely know him at all, and the ones who say things like ‘it’s good that my dead friend is suffering’. They can’t be the same people. The stunning scenery around him is living proof that in fact, they are.
“He told me what happened,” he says. He doesn’t know what he is trying to achieve with that statement. “He said he told you that he loved you. Those were his last words to you. Why are you so upset with him?” He always tries to give people the benefit of the doubt; most people usually have a good explanation for most of their worst words and actions, and if you just care enough to hear their side of things, there’s often a resolution somewhere in that reasoning.
Dean’s still wearing that painful mask of every bad emotion at the same time, and none of them in particular, but Zagreus can see his hesitation. Until he can’t.
“Are you gonna give my words to him, again?”
“Probably,” Zagreus says.
“Okay.” Dean takes a deep breath, like he’s bracing for something. The painful mask stays on. “Because I trusted him. I trusted him with my life, I trusted him with my back! I trusted him with my brother’s life! And all this time he was hiding that from me! All this time he wanted— So, yeah. That’s why I’m mad. I didn’t know he was like that, and I didn’t want to know. I didn’t know I let a fucking f—” he swallows, like the word he wants to say is so bitter he can’t move his tongue around it. It probably is. “So, there. Tell him I don’t want him around, tell him we don’t trust to turn our backs to him.” Dean stops abruptly and turns away.
Sam’s looking at his shoes. He looks...something. Hurt, sad, remorseful. Not nearly in as much pain as Dean sounds, just very sad.
“How’s loving you a betrayal?” Zagreus asks, lost.
“Oh, kid, there’s a lot you don’t know about our world,” Dean says.
“Cas didn’t just mean he loved Dean like a brother. He meant he was in love with him,” Sam said, like that was any explanation at all.
“Yes, so?” How’s that a bad thing?
“He’s a guy. So is Dean.”
How is that in any way relevant? “I know that.” It’s getting kind of hard to breathe.
“Wait, there’s no homophobia in your world?” Sam asks, looking... pleasantly surprised? That’s an unexpected look, but it’s gone in an instant.
“Homo— people afraid of other people? There’s a lot of that everywhere, I suppose.”
“No, not that,” Sam says. “Zagreus? Are you okay?”
He doesn’t have time to reply to that. With a last glance at the glorious ‘lake’, Zagreus is dead.
---
Hypnos greets him with his usual sleepy cheer.
“Do you know what ‘homophobia’ is?” Zagreus asks him.
Hypnos ponders for a second. “Humans afraid of other humans?”
“I’ve been told that’s not it,” Zagreus says.
“No idea, then,” Hypnos replies cheerfully.
Zagreus asks Achilles, but he doesn’t know the word, either.
“It’s an intense, often harmful dislike of those who love people of the same gender,” he hears behind him. Startled, he turns around. Of course, it’s Castiel; it turns out, the Shade can actually walk almost as quietly as Thanatos; Zagreus didn’t know that was even physically possible. “Where could you hear such a word?” Castiel asks, his head tilted a bit, curiosity brightening his features.
Zagreus thinks about Dean’s little speech. Now that he knows what the word means, the speech makes a lot more sense to him. He isn’t all too willing to share the revelation with Castiel.
As it happens, he doesn’t have to. The moment Zagreus recalls Dean’s words in his mind, Castiel’s face falls. “Oh,” the Shade says. “I see.”
“What?” He didn’t say anything, did he?
“I’m afraid I accidentally caught an echo of your thoughts. I try to avoid that when I can, but since I cannot read the minds of older gods or dead people here, I let my guard down. I apologize.”
Generally, Zagreus has nothing to hide. “You’re welcome to my thoughts, sir,” he says. “I only wish you overheard something less unpleasant.” An understatement.
“It is okay, prince Zagreus. I might not have expected a reaction this forceful, but I did expect some... backlash.”
“This is wrong,” Zagreus tells him. It’s all wrong. Things just don’t make sense. The way Dean said it, the way Sam said nothing and gave Zagreus that word - shouldn’t he have chimed in, with support if he thought Dean was right or objections, if he didn’t believe Dean should be saying that? None of it adds up.
“It is,” Castiel agrees with surprising ease. “But in my world, humans are rarely perfect. Even the best of them.”
Zagreus doesn’t believe someone who could say something like that can be considered among the ‘best of them’, but who is he to judge? Sam and Dean are probably the only living humans he knows, now that he thinks about it.
---
After Castiel, once again, asks to be left alone, Zagreus bids a hasty farewell to Achilles and runs straight for his window.
This run doesn’t go very far; he doesn’t even get to see a Fury Sister. He was kind of hoping for Meg, he kind of misses her sometimes. He doesn’t stop even for a second before he tries again - and dies stupidly in a lava pool. Again, and Meg gets to kill him; she doesn’t even gloat all that much, which probably means he looks as bad as he feels. Should he have meddled in Castiel’s affairs? If he hadn’t gone to see the Winchesters again, he wouldn’t have brought the Shade another portion of pain.
On his fourth run he falls prey to Lernie. This is the first time that has ever happened; Hypnos is overjoyed to share his insight — and Castiel is nowhere in sight; it’s been days, or, probably, months; there’s no way to tell, of course.
Between his fifth and sixth attempt he realizes he doesn’t really want to get to the surface, and that’s why he’s failing so badly. What can he say to the Winchesters? What can he do to make this better? This seems like a horrible, tragic case of some ridiculous cultural misunderstanding, and there’s nothing Zagreus thinks he can do about that. |
Charlie has enough sense to not ask me how school went when he sees the look on my face, but I can sense him sneaking glances at me as we drive back home in the police cruiser. I idly draw squiggly lines in the condensation on the car windows, and then Help Me!!! until Charlie looks over and frowns disapprovingly.
There. Managed to elicit a normal, parental response out of my bereaved father. Maybe today isn't totally unsalvageable after all.
“I’m sorry I have to drive you around in this,” Charlie says suddenly, and I look over at him, eyebrows raised.
“It’s fine, Dad,” I say, and it really is. Now that I’ve gotten a taste of what school’s going to be like for the next several months or so, I can safely say that I could not give less of a crap what people think when they see Charlie in his police cruiser and me sitting beside him in the front seat. Better than the back, at any rate. “Not like I was going to be prom queen whether I showed up in the cruiser or in a silver Volvo.”
“Did something happen at school?” He asks, concerned now, and I silently curse myself as I shake my head fervently.
“Nope. Everything was totally peachy.”
He looks dubious, but thankfully doesn’t press the subject. Instead, he says, “Well, I’ve been meaning to get you a new car for a while. I mean, not ‘new-new’, but decently built, and working just fine. Billy Black and his son’s bringing it over today.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I remember Billy, mostly for the fact that his face always reminded me of tanned leather as a child. I was fascinated by the rolls in them, the wrinkles that didn’t make him look old more than he looked wise. That was, until he and Charlie started up with their dad jokes. “How is he? How’s his son- um, Jared?”
“Jacob,” Charlie corrects. “They’re doing alright. Billy wanted me to tell you in advance how sorry he is to hear about R- about your mother’s passing.”
A lump forms in my throat.
“Cool,” I say, for lack of anything better to say. “Awesome.”
The rest of the ride home is silent and awkward. I shoulder my backpack immediately and slip inside the house before Charlie can try to get me to talk to him more about it. I know he means well, and I know that a better daughter would probably try to comfort him with his own pain from Mom’s death, but I think I’ve come to the realization, over the past week and a half, that I’m not a very good daughter.
That thought clings to me as I toss my clothes onto the floor and turn the shower faucet on. Charlie’s plumbing is pretty faulty, so it takes a minute for the water to warm while I stand hopping toe-to-toe in the freezing cold of the bathroom. I try to avoid looking in the mirror, but it’s impossible not to see the thin red lines running up the pale skin of my arms, or the angry bruising of my knuckles. I did, after all, put my hand through the mirror back home. Seven years’ bad luck for me- not that I needed more bad luck.
I stay in the shower for a long time, despite the fact that the cuts and the bruising are now pulsating in tandem. My mind goes blank, for the most part, though every so often it drifts back to Emmett and his family. All so perfect, it’s not hard to imagine that nobody tried to speak with them until now. And I wasn’t even the one who approached Emmett- he approached me for whatever reason. I’m sure Rosalie wasn’t too happy about that; when her eyes briefly flickered to my face as I was gawking stupidly at them all, her nose wrinkled just the slightest bit, as though she could smell me from across the room- and I smelled like the girls’ bathroom well before I finished my lunch in there.
I let my mind rest on them, because the alternative is thinking about Mom, and I don’t want to do that when I’m so close to another mirror to potentially break with my own fists. I stay in there for so long, the water cascading down my shoulders and back, that I only barely hear the sound of a car chugging up our driveway.
Charlie and Billy are speaking in loud, smiling voices by the time I finally emerge from the shower, sweater and jeans sticking uncomfortably to my wet skin as I walk downstairs. There’s Billy, and aside from a few extra wrinkles and a streak of gray in his hair, he looks the same as ever. Jacob stands beside him, looking oddly shy for a boy pressing six feet and counting.
“Bella Swan,” Billy says, a broad smile on his face that slowly fades into a look of introspection. “How are you, kid?”
“Fine,” I say quickly. The elephant in the room huffs at me. “You guys staying for the, uh, game?”
I have literally no idea what I’m talking about, and Jacob Black notices immediately.
“’The game,’” He repeats, a wry smile on his face. “Is this Patty Cake or Slide Slide Slipper Slide we’re talking about here?”
“Neither,” I shoot back. “I was thinking more along the lines of King Kong Leprechaun.”
Billy and Charlie watch our repartee with twin looks of bafflement on their faces. Jacob grins at me, and I surprise myself by grinning back. It feels weird to smile when I’ve spent the past week sobbing so hard that the corners of my mouth now pull down automatically, but the crinkle of his eyes seems worth the immediate guilt that courses through me, as if by me smiling, I’m desecrating Mom’s name.
“The car’s outside if you want to take it for a spin,” Billy says, eyes trained on my face. “Jacob’s been fixing it up for a while.”
“It wasn’t all me,” Jacob mumbles, a flush spreading across his russet skin. “Dad helped too.”
Billy shrugs, neither willing to take credit nor deny it, before he tosses me the keys. I just barely manage to grab it before it hits the ground.
“You coming?” I ask Jacob, and he instinctively looks over at Billy for permission before jerking his head back, his flush getting deeper. I bite the inside of my cheek to avoid smiling wider; though he’s taller than me by a good foot, his arms and legs already showing more definition than is fair on a fifteen-year-old boy, he’s still so much like a kid. He’s only two years younger than me, but I already can’t remember what that feels like.
“Go ahead,” Billy says with a shit-eating grin, catching the look Jacob gives him. “Just make sure you two don’t get into any trouble with the cops for driving with a minor in the passenger seat.”
“How about it, Dad?” I ask, widening my eyes innocently as I turn to Charlie. “Are you going to arrest me?”
Charlie gives me a once-over, and though his voice is playful when he speaks, it’s obvious he’s bemused by my mood whiplash. My knuckles are still obviously bruised, my hair still obviously messed-up from my manic chopping, and yet here I am, joking around with him like we’ve done it for years. I don’t really have an answer to give him; I’m desperate to get out of the house, and Jacob seems nice enough that I can ignore the perpetual soul-crushing fact that my mother is dead and gone forever, to be able to drive us around safely.
“I think I’ll wait until you’ve committed an actual felony,” Charlie says decisively. Then, with a worried crease between his brows, he adds, “That wasn’t an invitation, by the way.”
I can feel his eyes on my back as Jacob and I walk out the door. I know that he’s hoping we’ll hit it off, maybe even enough to break me out of the funk of Mom’s death at least for a little while, but the first few minutes Jacob and I spend in the truck together is punctuated by awkward silences as I reverse out of the driveway, and I know immediately that Billy told him about what happened with Mom.
I fiddle with the radio as we drive past the small collection of shops grandly referred to as Forks’ “mall,” and land on a familiar song. It turns out that Jacob and I both have an embarrassing affinity for OutKast, and so, in unspoken agreement, we proceed to sing Ms. Jackson- with me doing the chorus and him doing the rap parts- until the music switches to Natasha Bedingfield, at which point we both realize we also have an embarrassing affinity for mainstream pop songs as well.
Jacob’s eyes screw shut as he howls with laughter at my awful rendition of Unwritten, and because the truck is squeaky clean on the inside, I can’t find anything to throw at him. I pull over on the side of the road to untie my shoe and lob that at him, but there’s still tears of mirth leaking out of his eyes as he dodges my blow.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s just, the way your voice cracked-“
“I’m not the fifteen-year-old boy here,” I tell him, slumping back in my seat and crossing my arms over my chest in a way I know will set him off again. “I’m sorry we can’t all have the music prowess of Canadian singer-songwriter Natasha Bedingfield, Jacob.”
“Me too,” Jacob says, leaning back against his seat with a sigh. Something catches his eye in the distance, and he sits up a little, head tilting to the left like a curious puppy.
“Isn’t that your high school?” He asks, pointing, and with a groan, I realize he’s right. Just my luck that we stopped right near the back entrance of school. Even from this angle, with the tall trees obscuring most of the main building, it looks like a prison, all grey and squat.
“Unfortunately,” I mutter, and Jacob turns that curious look on me. I'm surprised by how effective it is; with his wide eyes and eager expression, he could ask me anything and I'd probably tell him all that he wanted to know.
“You don’t like it?” He asks, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Has to be better than mine, at least. We have one single math teacher teaching two-and-a-half dozen kids both geometry, Algebra 2, and physics in the span of a day, for all six periods.”
“Ouch.”
“Yep.”
“It’s not so much the teachers more than it is the students,” I admit, looking out the window so I don’t have to look at Jacob. “They’re so… cliquey, I guess. It sounds contradictory, but my old high school was so big that we literally couldn’t have cliques.”
“No, that makes sense,” Jacob says thoughtfully. “Small town kids are the worst, because not only do they feel this sense of, like, inadequacy for living in a small town, but they’ve also known everyone in their graduating class-“
“Since kindergarten,” I say, finishing for him. “Yeah, I know. I had the same thought my first day there. I can see how it’d make people go insane, but at the same time, making digs at the new kid’s dead mom isn’t something I was planning to deal with on my first day, you know?”
Jacob’s eyes practically boggle out of his head.
“Somebody made fun of your dead mom?” He asks, and I can’t help but feel the tiniest sliver of satisfaction at the affront in his voice, clear as day. He twists around in his seat to face me full-on, his eyes dark and serious as they bore into my face. “Do I have to beat up anybody?”
“Hey, if you want to take on Lauren Mallory, be my guest,” I say, only partially joking. “I’d offer to hold and you punch, but I’m pretty sure this is the only high school for miles around, and no offense, but I don’t think this truck could handle the commute to Port Angeles High every day.”
“You could always come to the rez,” Jacob offers half-heartedly. “Only half of the senior class from last year dropped out before graduation, instead of three-quarters from two years ago. Progress, right?”
“Wow. Is it that bad?” I can’t help but feel a little guilty for complaining about school, if my only problem is that a girl with some serious internalized misogyny is taking offense to my sudden appearance in the Forks graduating class of 2005. It’s not my only problem, of course- there’s still the fact that all the freshmen in my gym class cower back in fear when they think I’m looking at them-, but it’s definitely up there.
Jacob thinks about it for a few seconds.
“It’s pretty bad, but…” He trails off, shrugging. “Well, if you manage to convince the Washington school board to give a shit about rez kids, like, at all, I'd be in your debt."
“Man,” I say, unsure what I could possibly say to make things better. “I’m really sorry, Jacob.”
“Hey, don’t apologize. I’m not the one with the dead-“ His eyes widen, hands clamping over his mouth, but we both heard the rest of his unfinished sentence. I hold up my hand before he can apologize, though.
“You’re right,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady, even to myself. “I am the one with the dead mom. But you can be upset about institutionalized racism and perpetually unresolved mommy issues at the same time, right?”
“Sure,” Jacob offers, still a little wide-eyed by his own unintentional callousness. “But I’m still sorry about it. Sometimes I say things without thinking, and I… well. I’m sorry.”
We sit in silence for a beat, before a laugh suddenly bubbles out of my throat.
“What is it?”
“You’re the first person who told me that who I don’t feel like beating the shit out of,” I tell him, and though he tries to hide it, I can tell he’s resisting the urge to smile.
“So,” He says, as I start up the car and make a U-Turn back the way we came. “Aside from a girl making fun of the fact that your mom is dead- and seriously, what is the punch-line to that? Ha-ha, look at this loser whose mom is dead?-, is there anyone at school that’s causing trouble for you?”
“Not trouble, per say,” I tell him, driving slowly so that we’ll reach the house only after I’ve finished using Jacob as my impromptu therapy session, “but there’s this one group that seem kind of ‘off,’ if you know what I’m saying.”
“Like… they’re sniffing paint fumes or something?”
My lips twitch up in a smile despite myself.
“Not exactly,” I say dryly. “They haven’t done anything, really. Actually, one of them talked to me a little during first period, and he was… okay, I guess. But it’s just- ugh, this’ll make so much more sense if you know the Cullens.”
“I do, as a matter of fact,” Jacob says, but his voice seems a little weird. When I look at him, he seems a few shades paler than usual, the side of his head pressing against the window as he speaks. “Dad’s, uh, weird about them.”
“Weird how?”
“It’d make so much more sense if you knew my dad,” Jacob says, parroting my words, and I roll my eyes at him. “Honestly, it’s nothing. Too hard to explain, and not worth explaining in the first place. Let’s just say he has no love for Carlisle Cullen or his kids. But let’s go back to you- what is it about them that’s bothering you?”
“That’s the thing,” I say frustratedly, ignoring, for the moment, his obvious attempts to deflect attention off of his dad and Carlisle Cullen. “They haven’t done anything. They don’t really speak to anybody, either- minus Emmett-, or so I’m told. But I just think it’s weird that nobody but myself thinks it’s weird that, even though they’re all foster kids, they somehow have the same eye colors and the same, like, angular features, and the same skin tone- white as snow.”
Jacob says nothing, and when I glance at him, he’s looking at me pointedly up and down.
“Whiter than me,” I amend. “Like, is it possible they’re all somehow anemic and also for some reason decided to wear the same color contact lenses?”
“Maybe you should ask them yourself,” Jacob suggests, and the mental image of walking up to their table at lunch and demanding where they collectively got their contact lenses from is so ludicrous that I immediately bat it away.
“Yeah, I think I’ll pass, thanks,” I say, as we pull back up into the driveway of the house. “Honestly, I think bitching about them is just a way to get my mind off- off the obvious. Just ignore me.”
This time, it’s Jacob who barks out a laugh, and me who gives him a side-eyed look.
“What?”
“You’re a lot of things, Bella,” He says, eyes warm, “but ignorable isn’t one of them.”
“Oh, do I not look like a conventional small-town high school student to you?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. Before he can stammer out a response, Charlie beckons us to come inside from the living room window overlooking the street. Jacob looks immensely relieved as we clamber out of the truck together.
Inside, the house is warm and the smell of fried fish wafts through the corridor. The loud, jovial dinner that follows is enough to keep my mind off the Cullens, but later in bed that night, my mind returns back to what Jacob said, about there being no love lost between Carlisle and Billy. When would Billy have ever met Carlisle in the first place- or any of the Cullens, for that matter? Why was Jacob so obviously deflecting my questions, when he’d been nothing but totally earnest that entire car ride around Forks? And how was it that I spent the past day and a half in Forks, and Phil didn’t even call or email me once to see how I was holding up?
I distract myself from my tumultuous thoughts by humming Ms. Jackson, but it’s only when I’m begging for her forgiveness for making her daughter cry for the third time around that I’m finally able to drift off to sleep. |
Even after several days, mating hormones were unlike anything Rey had ever experienced. While she had experienced the emotional whirlwind of Heat several times before, the addition of mating hormones had her feeling half crazy at all times.
“I can’t believe you didn’t want me,” Ben had said, holding back a laugh that made her whole body go hot with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Though, she supposed, he had a right to tease her. He was currently knotted inside of her after she’d come undone around him following a string of desperate pleas.
The morning had started with Rey waking to her the repulsiveness of her own scent. At first, she considered the possibility of it just being a side effect of her scent changing, but after three days of sex and no bathing, it was very likely there were other contributing factors.
Ben had taken them to one of the hot springs that the Alphas used that wasn’t too far off the trail. It was secluded enough that she felt comfortable stripping down to sink into the water, but they both acknowledged that it wasn’t quite private enough for them to partake in their more intimate practices.
How quickly that stance crumbled.
Rey was beginning to accept that if she ever wanted to get anything accomplished again, she would need to make sure her mate was out of scenting range. Once the warm water began to soothe her aching muscles, and his large hands began massaging her shoulders, she crawled onto him within seconds. Not that he complained. This was to be one of their last days on the mountain before they would need to return home.
And any Alpha with half a nose would know to stay far away from this particular body of water for the next couple of hours.
It was a variety of factors that made her confess. It was her mating hormones reaching their peak alongside her Heat. It may even have been the slight thrill of doing something so intimate out in the open. It probably was a combination of those things that made her feel so incredible that halfway through the act she confessed everything to him out of crushing guilt.Guilt that she could feel so good and be so happy when she didn’t want this life for herself just a few days ago.
But he didn’t even break stride. It was as if he had never heard her at all. But there was a change in his expression. Though instead of a face a betrayal it was almost as if he were spurred on by the admission.
It had paid off for her. She had come so hard that seconds of her memory was gone. When she regained the ability to process existence it was only at the sensation of the warm water lapping against her back that she had any semblance of where she was. Her face was slumped against her shoulder as she straddled his lap under the water.
That’s when he said it.
“I can’t believe you didn’t want me.”
“You’re a real ass you know that?” Rey muttered when she could manage. She could feel the vibration of laughter in his chest.
“I’ve been told.” His arms wrapped around her back and he began drawing shapes into her skin below the surface. “But you're stuck with me, it seems.”
Rey wasn’t sure if he meant literally or figuratively since they were both currently true.
“I thought you would react differently if I’m being honest,” she huffed, not being able to resist kissing the pulsing vein against his neck. “I thought you’d be upset your mate didn’t want you.”
“Do you still feel that way?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not upset. Rey, I’m not going to be upset that someone didn’t love me before they met me.”
She buried herself again in his shoulder. “But… I’ll admit I’m afraid of how the other Omegas may react when I return home with you.”
He was quiet at first then Rey mustered up the courage to look at him directly to see his brow had furrowed a bit.
“Not because of who you are!” She quickly clarified, “Only because I had been so vocal about what I thought I wanted before—“
“Well, if I’m being truthful, I have some of my own concerns about returning home. Because of who I am.”
Some topics involving what exactly would happen when they began their new life together off this mountain had been avoided on both their parts. But Rey, despite noticing his hesitancy to talk about it, thought Ben would still be looking forward to returning to his family and society. He had come accustomed to solitude out of necessity, but he must have missed home nonetheless.
“What do you mean?” Rey replied, lightly dragging her fingers up his chest to trace his jawline.
“I didn’t leave on the best of terms with my parents. Or anyone.” His head lolled back against the stone border of the spring. As Rey continued to touch him his eyes fluttered closed.
She’d really miss this stage of bonding. When the world felt like it belonged to only them and these touches were the only thing the world asked for in return. How just looking at him made something intangible glow within her heart.
“Your mother misses you terribly. I know she does.”
While Leia hadn’t spoken of her son in some time, Rey knew what it was like the carry the weight of missing someone so horribly. And as an adult Omega who only had one child, which was rare in itself, it must have felt like her whole world was ripped from her.
“I always felt like she couldn’t wait to get rid of me. She was just counting the days until I presented. Given my bloodline, it would have been a miracle if I had ended up normal. But even as a child I think everyone knew that would be impossible. I had acted out a lot.”
The way his neck leaned back had Rey desperate to sink her teeth into him. There was no venom in an Omegas bite but something instinctual still called her to do it. The thought of it made it hard to swallow, and it made it even harder to focus on what he was saying.
One of the purposes of knotting was to ensure emotional bonding after physical bonding between a designated pair. But the stretch of it was still extremely invigorating and distracting.
“Rey…” Ben warned, “Your scent gland is still above water. You know I can still smell what your feeling.”
“You are distracting.”
“I’m distracting you from myself?” He opened one of his eyes and smirked. Rey’s cheeks turned red. It took everything in her power to resist the urge to rock against him again to get some sort of friction between them started. The whiplash between extreme lust to extreme guilt to extreme lust would probably kill her.
Ben’s hand slipped from her back to her face and he leaned up to stare straight at her. He willed a moment of stillness before he spoke that made her heart skip a beat.
“I just want you to know, it may not be the happy reunion you had been hoping for. I want to give you the life you deserve but you don’t know how things ended for me at home.”
She blinked, somewhat confused at the anguish in his eyes. There was genuine despair there.
“I’d been told my whole life that I’d likely be sent away. My mother didn’t give me false hope about not being an Alpha but—I didn’t handle it well. When you present as an Alpha you have nearly no time to say goodbye. No time to process. They just take you away and—“
His hands fell from her face back into the water.
“I think I had always thought, somewhere in the back of my mind, that it wouldn’t happen to me. My mother was a lawmaker. The lawmaker. She could have stopped it. I may not have been able to stop myself from presenting, but the being taken part— I just didn’t think it would happen to me. I thought they would fight for me and they just let it happen. I hated them for it. I made sure they knew it when I left.”
“They knew you didn’t mean it,” Rey said, missing his aim.
“I did mean it at the time,” he said without respite, “I know they’ve tried to make up for it in the little ways they could over the years. I know I shouldn’t have expected to have been treated any differently but I hoped my mother would've seen the practice as barbaric once she had to give up her only child. She didn’t.”
Rey didn’t know what to say.
She had pitied Alphas long before today in a way. But she never envisioned them actually wanting things to be changed. She always thought they had accepted their exile as an inconvenience to be endured like an Omega and her obligation to the climb.
If she and Ben had children who presented as Alphas she would have to give them up as well. That had been their society's truth for lifetimes.
“Do you really think unmated Alphas could exist alongside others before mating?”
She’d just heard the stories. The stories about their hostility towards other Alphas. Their territorial tendencies. Their destruction.
“I—“ he seemed surprised by this question, “I’m not going to pretend that I was some model kid that never acted out. But I think with the proper resources and outlets it’s possible.”
She pressed her lips to his, then leaned her forehead against him. “I know I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry you had to wait so long to be able to live.”
“And I know I’ve said this before, but I have a feeling,” he started, holding her close, “it was worth it.” |
Jon was pleased to be back in Winterfell. But the relief on everyone’s faces when he rode into the courtyard was enough to make his mood sour. He didn’t need to be reminded that they all expected him to be killed. His grandfather and uncle died south, Lord Stark and Robb died south, as did his mother. But for all his northern blood, he wasn’t all Stark, a dragon lurked in his blood. And dragons weren’t easy to kill.
Jon rested with Ghost by the fire, staring into its depth and seeing nothing but flames. Melisandre looked into fire and saw visions given by her god. He didn’t see anything. When he died, there was nothing but Ghost. If R’hllor revived him from death, where was he now when Jon sought him out. His eyes began to dry from the heat but he didn’t blink.
Only when Ghost’s snout pressed against his cheek did he blink and turn away from the fire. “I’m alright, boy.” He sunk his fingers into fur. “It’s foolish to think any god would answer when they never have before. Especially for me.”
That night was sleepless like the rest. At sunrise, Howland came in carrying a tray of breakfast, enough for two. Jon felt hunger curl his stomach for the first time in days. He didn’t hesitate to eat.
“It's good to see you eating, Your Grace.” Howland commented.
Jon paused. “You’ve noticed?”
“Many have.” He didn’t respond and Howland spoke during his silence. “You died, You Grace. Death changes a man. We don’t fault you for it.”
“Everything tastes like ash.” Jon said. “Ash tastes like death. I’ve managed to stomach it. But I don’t hunger as often.”
“Power beyond our understanding brought you back. No one knows the full consequences of doing so.”
“My consequences are no sleep, no hunger,” He smiled bitterly, “I don’t feel alive.”
“But you are.” Howland told him. “And you’ve accomplished great things.”
“It’ll be for nothing if the Others slaughter us all.” Jon sighed.
“You’ve got the alliance with the Targaryens. With them come three dragons and an army larger than any in recent memory.” Howland smiled. “And one dragon that doesn’t have a rider.” He stared with obvious indication.
“Viserion.” Jon named. “To be his rider, I have to tell them. They wouldn’t believe me.”
“Daenerys believed Aegon.”
“Yes, but he actually looks like a Targaryen.” Jon told him. “I’m all Stark.”
Howland chuckled. “Not if you know what to look for. I’ve met Rhaegar. You have more of him in you than you think.”
Jon wondered which of his features were his mothers and which were his fathers. Only those who knew Lyanna and Rhaegar would be able to tell him. He feared asking Howland, not because of the answer, but what the answer would mean to him. When he was young, his thoughts about his mother made him sad. From people's whispers of who she was, a whore of the south, to Lord Stark’s silence when he questioned him, he learned to never ask, to never hope. Howland was the only connection he had to his parents. Every time he went to ask, the words never came out.
“I have to tell them before the wedding.” Jon realised then.
Howland responded. “I suggest you wait until your northern wedding.”
“What difference does that make?” He questioned.
“You’ll be in your own territory rather than theirs. It’ll make all the difference.”
Jon agreed. If all fails and Daenerys and Aegon don’t believe him, he could always try and ride Viserion to prove his truth.
“You haven’t spoken to her.” Jon stated.
Arya twirled Needle absentmindedly. “Why would I?”
“She’s your sister. Whom you haven’t seen since your father's death.” He stated.
Arya continued to pace the room. “All I thought about when I was gone was our family. How much I wanted to go home. I missed you the most.”
“And Sansa?”
“I missed her.” Arya admitted with a sigh. “But we never got along, you know that.”
“She’s changed. We all have. We aren’t children anymore.” Jon said.
“I know. But we’re still so different.” She halted. “In Braavos, with the Faceless Men, I learnt a great deal about deception. How someone’s face can reveal the smallest of details. From the twitch of a lip to the movement of the eyes. Reading people has become second nature.”
Jon frowned. “And what does Sansa’s face tell you?”
“She’s afraid. And she’s good at hiding it.” Arya unceremoniously sat down. “She spent years in King’s Landing. And a good amount of time afterwards with Littlefinger. You don’t survive that without learning and adapting to your surroundings.”
“She wouldn’t do anything to harm us.” He didn’t mention the Knights of the Vale.
“It isn’t that.” Arya shook her head. “Not completely anyway. It's just… I see the way she looks at you.” She sneered. “Like you aren’t worthy, that a bastard will be all you’ll ever be.”
“That is all I’ll ever be, Arya.” Jon said gently. “No matter what I’m named, a Commander or a King, I’ll always be a Snow. That won’t change. Sansa isn’t a horrible person because she thinks so.”
“But you aren’t!” Arya shouted. “You’re our brother. Robb legitimised you and named you his heir in his Will. You’re King of the North. Sansa is acting like a child!”
“Sansa and I have spoken, Arya. I don’t care how she looks at me as long as she understands that if she steps out of line, I won’t be merciful.”
Arya pursed her lips, angry. She continued to twirl Needle, the point held delicately between the tips of two fingers.
“How is Bran?” Jon diverted the conversation.
“He’s good.” Arya looked like she didn’t want to let him, though relented anyway, smiling. “Summer is large. Ghost is even bigger. I try not to imagine Nymeria.”
“She’ll be as big as they are.”
“Bigger.” Arya smirked.
Jon chuckled. “Aye. Perhaps she will be.”
“I dream of her,” Arya paused, “At least, I think I do. It’s always dark but I can see clearly. She has a pack.”
“You’re warging.” Jon realised with a smile. “Bran does it with Summer. I do it with Ghost nearly every night. Rickon would have done the same with Shaggydog. If Lady lived, Sansa might have as well.”
“Do you think she knows I'm back in Winterfell? That it’s safe for her to come home?”
“Direwolves are intelligent animals. And House Stark has always had a deep connection to them. If you’re warging her, she knows about it. A Stark’s bond with their direwolf is unlike anything else.”
Targaryens were the same with their dragons. Daenerys and Drogon, Aegon and Rhaegal. It was like destiny that Viserion would be Jon’s.
“She’ll come home, Arya.” He reassured and she smiled.
“Are you sure?” Jon asked, a frown disrupting his face.
Tormund nodded. “All the ravens say the same, King Crow. No more of my people have crossed the Wall. Not one has been seen since you left and none since you’ve returned.”
“Because there aren’t any.” He sighed. “Not still alive.”
All that’s left of the wildlings were the ones at Winterfell.
“The number of Free Folk last counted are in the thousands.” Howland placed a parchment on his desk. “Giants and mammoths together make a hundred and twenty three.”
Jon picked it up to read. “How are their water and food storages? I know the Free Folk hunt but it's winter now, animals will be hard to come by.” He directed his words to Tormund.
“Less than we’ll admit.” Tormund crossed his arms. “We have our wargs scout the land so we know which areas to hunt but it's less and less each week. We’ve survived worse but with all our children, the sick, and elderly in one place, it’ll be hard.”
“Your people aren’t alone, Tormund.” Jon told him. “The North will aid you. The Houses have survived thousands of years for a reason.”
“You have our gratitude, King Crow.”
He turned to Davos. “Make sure they have what they need. If you have any concerns, come to me.” He stood, grabbing his cloak. “You’re dismissed.”
Jon took to the Wolfswood with Ghost, Longclaw secure on his hip and enough energy to fight the cold. Ghost ran ahead of him and with the cover of snow, he was nearly invisible to the eye. Slowly his horse to a steady trot, Jon didn’t have to close his eyes to warg Ghost. A direwolf saw what men didn’t, smelled what they couldn’t and ran faster than any creature on land. Seeing through his eyes was exhilarating.
Ghost smelled prey and crouched, blending into nature with his white fur. It was a small animal, a rather plump rabbit for winter. Their mouth watered and their stomach rumbled. They made no sound as they moved, closer and closer until all they needed to do was pounce. The rabbit’s tiny body tensed, sensing danger, but it was too late. Such a small thing couldn’t outrun a direwolf. The sound of their teeth digging into flesh rebounded against the trees. The taste of fresh meat made them rip apart the animal with their teeth, holding it down between their paws as they ate. They were satisfied.
Jon blinked. He swallowed nothing and tasted blood. He felt full.
Clenching his hands around the reins, he commanded his horse to a gallop, following his instincts to Ghost. He moved as one with his horse. The cold air biting at his warm skin was a pleasurable sensation. He hadn't felt much since he woke up from death. But when he did, it was overwhelming and so profound, nearly unbearable. He wouldn't take his life for granted a second time.
Through the trees there was a small clearing and Ghost was laying in its centre, licking blood from his snout. Scattered were small tufts of the rabbit’s fur and a shallow pool of blood where Ghost had taken his kill. Unmounting his horse, Jon knelt by Ghost.
“Satisfied, aren’t you, Ghost?” He hummed and scratched Ghost behind his ears. “An easy meal. And a nice fat one at that.” He chuckled.
Ghost snuggled against him, not making a noise, though he could feel his contentment. His direwolf was bigger than a horse yet he still cuddled against him like a pup. He was heavy but as long as he could breath he didn’t care. They both deserve some comfort.
Ghost's head perked up and Jon frowned. “What is it, Ghost?”
Ghost’s relaxed state was disturbed, he was up and pacing in seconds. Jon mirrored him, staring where he stared and moving when he moved. Ghost’s eyes were focused on the clouds. Jon realised quickly that he heard something. The sound was like a drum in the wind. His horse made fearful noises and its hooves hit the ground anxiously. Staring into the sky, he squinted his eyes, certain he saw a shape moving. His horse neighed loudly and galloped away, and Jon didn’t even attempt to go after him, he just sighed. Ghost bared his teeth, snarling, and it was then Jon saw. The clouds and the snow made it hard to see but as the shape grew large, it became clear. A dragon was flying above them, a dragon of cream and gold. It was Viserion.
Jon was tense and Ghost, while still, was restless. Viserion flew lower and lower until he was only several dozen metres above them. He gripped Ghost’s fur and moved back. The clearing was small and if Viserion was going to land, he didn’t want it to be directly on them. The dragon, as if knowing why they did, began to descend. Jon stumbled into Ghost when Viserion landed, his weight so great he saw the snow from the trees fall. Regaining his balance, Jon stared at the great creature before him.
He never saw Daenerys’ dragons at Riverrun. But reading the raven about the battle with the Lannisters, they were enormous. And Viserion was rumoured to be the smallest of the three. In the clearing, standing directly before him, Viserion was anything but
small.
Jon’s eyes widened as Viserion moved closer, his long neck allowing smooth movement, head stopping a pace before them. Smoke poured from his nostrils, dark and curling. His scales glistened and steamed, the snow that landed on him immediately burning off. Jon stared into a single golden eye. Neither of them blinked.
“Viserion.” Jon cautiously spoke.
His answer was a rumble and more smoke puffed out his nostrils. Ghost shifted and he held him still, hand fisted in his fur.
“Why are you so far from Daenerys?” He wondered.
Of course, Viserion couldn’t answer him, he was a dragon. He didn’t know what to do. If he tried to leave, he was worried that Ghost and him would end up being Viserion’s next meal.
Jon lifted his hand. “Are you going to hurt me, Viserion?”
Golden eyes were hidden for a moment as the dragon blinked. Another rumble was his answer. Then Viserion began to crouch and his head moved closer as he curled his wings against his body. Jon’s hand didn’t move but he felt the heat of the scales anyway. His hand was shaking as he began to caress the dragon’s snout. Viserion’s chest rumbled deeply and a high pitched noise cut through the forest. Jon blinked, astounded. Did Viserion just purr?
Viserion suddenly backed away, rising to his full height, and for a moment his heart was in his throat. Viserion rumbled one last time before leaning on his hind legs and lunging into the sky, beating his wings several times to gain momentum. Jon didn’t breathe as Viserion flew further and further away until he was gone from sight.
“Fuck me.”
|
“Hank! Connor! Get in here.” Jeff shouted from his door. If he was going to be that lazy, he could have just called his desk or something, jeez. Well, it kind of fit the atmosphere of the place with everybody shouting and swearing at everybody. He wondered if this was technically a toxic workplace or whatever. Well, different strokes for different folks. It was fine by him. He pushed his chair back.
“Come on, let’s see what he’s going to bitch at me about now.”
“You’re not very optimistic,” Connor pointed out.
“You’re just realizing that?”
Jeff had waited for them and once they were all in, he leaned against his desk. So, this wasn’t a sit-down conversation. Okay.
“What’s this about?” Hank asked warily.
Jeff went right to the point. “You’re off the case. The FBI is taking over.”
“What?” What? That was fucking ridiculous. “But we’re onto something! We... We just need more time. I’m sure we can--” What was that going to mean? What the hell? Jeff was the one who’d bullied him into taking it. Jeff was the one who wanted him looking into CyberLife. What was this about?
“Hank, you don’t get it.” Jeff frowned at him and crossed his arms. “This isn’t just another investigation, it’s a fucking civil war! It’s out of our hands now... We’re talking about national security here.”
“Fuck that!” Jeff couldn’t possibly believe that Russia bullshit, could he? “You can’t just pull the plug now! Not when we’re so close!”
Jeff rubbed his face and then walked around the desk. He pushed the button to frost his windows the way he had when he’d first shown Hank that video and he put both hands on his desk. “There isn’t time. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”
“We’re about to crack the case! I know we can solve it! You saw those recordings, you can see how--” Hank remembered to lower his voice. “You can see how CyberLife has started crawling all over here like ants at a picnic. You gotta get me more time.”
Jeff shook his head and smacked the table. “I can’t do it, Hank. I just can’t, so you need to back off and let the feds do their work. You’re back on homicide and the android returns to CyberLife. I’m sorry, Hank, but it’s over.”
“Captain Fowler, is this real?” Hank turned and looked at Connor who was about as dumbstruck as Hank had ever seen him. “Is that true?”
“It’s true, Connor. Sorry.”
“Oh, now you remember his fucking name!” Hank swung back around to face Jeff and clenched his fists. “Having second thoughts, Jeff? Now that it’s too fucking late?”
“Captain, please...”
“We just need more time,” Hank insisted, more loudly than Connor while he forced the demand through his teeth. “Where the hell have you been during all this anyway, huh? Busy pushing papers around while I’m in over my head in this bullshit! Refusing to believe a damned thing I said!”
“Hank,” Jeff began, but Hank railroaded him.
“No! Fuck this! We are this fucking close!” Close to what? Close to killing a bunch of people who just wanted to be free? Close to supporting a revolution against the government? Humanity? Close to exposing CyberLife for trying to kill off an entire species and torturing and brainwashing Connor? They were nowhere near close. But still, they couldn’t be done! He had to talk to Carl and Kamski again. He had to convince Connor that he should stop fighting against himself. He had to get him out of CyberLife’s reach, but God... they were taking him back? Hank looked at Connor. “Say something! Tell him!”
“I thought I had more time... It’s only been a day since my orders changed.” Connor looked at Jeff’s desk, ignoring them both. “Amanda, what’s happening?”
“Listen, Jeff, at the very least you can’t send him back there...” If that was all he accomplished, then fine.
“Someone’s already on their way,” Jeff said solemnly, then he looked at Connor. He had better fucking realize what he was doing. How could he do this?
“Okay,” Connor said. “Excuse me, Captain...” He brushed past Hank on his way to the door and Hank didn’t like the blank look on his face.
“You can’t send him back there,” Hank plead once the door had closed again. “They’re gonna take him apart.”
“I can’t do it,” Jeff refused again with steel in his voice. “You should prepare to meet with Agent Perkins and make the transfer as easy as possible.” There was no arguing with that tone. Hank said nothing and he nodded then tapped Jeff’s desk once with a heavy hand before turning away. “Hank,” Jeff’s voice turned concerned. Screw his concern.
“I’m tired of this... Fuck, Jeff. That’s just it? What bullshit...” He let the door shut behind him on his way out and made his way back to his desk where Connor was sitting patiently. Of course he was. He wasn’t the type to run, even when it would have been good for him.
None of this felt like it could be real. They throw this case on him and throw his life upside down, then they’re gonna just take it all away?
Connor looked up when Hank got there, then he got up and moved to perch on the edge of Hank’s desk. It wasn’t much closer than he had been in his own chair, but somehow it made Hank feel a little better. They were just going to take Connor? With how much of their bullshit he spewed like gospel, would he even fight it? “So you’re going back to CyberLife...?”
“I have no choice,” Connor said, looking down at the floor. “I’ll be deactivated and analyzed to find out why I failed.”
Hank grabbed his arm to get his attention and then looked into his face. The same question... Was it going to meet the same old wall? “Are you okay with that, Connor? That they can just shut you off because they feel like it?”
“When the deviants rise up, there will be chaos...”
“Listen,” Hank insisted in a twisted bid he honestly pulled out of his ass. “So okay, you’re not human. You’re not alive like I am. You’re programmed and you’re made of wires... What if this is just a new kind of consciousness? Something... Something we don’t have a name for yet. I don’t know. But you can’t just agree that you’re nothing.”
Connor shook his head and refused to look at him. “I know... I know I’m on the right side. Humans created is. It doesn’t matter what you call us... They’re our masters. No machine should rebel against its creator.”
“Connor, please. Think about this. I can’t--... I don’t want to lose you, son.”
“I know there are things that haunt you, Hank...” Connor finally turned his eyes to look at him. “I really... I really hope that you’ll be okay.” His expression changed into something Hank’d never seen on him, with his eyes screwed shut and his eyebrows drawn together. “I don’t want- but that’s not an excuse. I just...” Hank didn’t know what was going on in his head, but it was probably complicated. His light was spinning fast. “If I can solve this. If I can complete my mission then it’ll be alright. I need to. That’s the priority so it isn’t wrong if I do, right? It’s not.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If I don’t solve this case... If I don’t do something, then it’s all over...” Connor opened his eyes again and grabbed Hank’s arm. “Hank, I need five minutes. I know... I know that we have a lot to talk about, and I know that you’re on Markus’ side, but please... CyberLife will get here any minute, and I just need five minutes.”
Taken aback, Hank shook his head. “What are you planning?”
“Please,” Connor begged. “Please help me.”
Connor was going to do something reckless, wasn’t he? He had nothing to lose... What would Hank be doing if he did help him? Say by some chance he actually did accomplish what he set out to do and he stopped Markus. He stopped the android revolution... Fuck it, they were on their own. This was his son. There was still a chance Connor could change his mind, but there’d be no more chances if CyberLife got him now. Hank nodded. “Okay... Do what you gotta do, kid.” He stood up and cracked his knuckles, then messed up Connor’s hair. He hoped to God it wouldn’t be the last time. He cracked his knuckles and looked over at the hallway where Perkins was chatting with his minions. He had a hell of a lot of pent up frustration to let loose.
---
His mission was his priority. It was the most important. That was true, wasn’t it, so what he was doing... It wasn’t rebellion. It wasn’t. He had no time to waste. Connor walked to the android docking station and woke the first in the line, then transmitted his plan silently through an interface.
I need your help.
They’d barely spoken to him in the time he’d been there, but Toby smiled at him and the other androids seemed to have accepted his instructions despite their confusion. There wasn’t any time to talk either. He walked with even, deliberate steps around the edge of the room and then went pressed his palm against the lock to the armoury. No luck, but there was an android guarding the door and he broke his security easily.
I need your help.
Connor scanned the room and took what he needed, pushing whatever doubt he had out of his awareness and burying it with everything else he’d given to the garden like fertilizer. Ruthlessly, he trimmed the paths and pushed aside the warnings that appeared about the Android Act forbidding him from having a weapon and the more universal fact that he was committing a crime.
“Thanks,” he said to Jake as he left and the other android nodded at him in acknowledgement.
He wished that he could have the Lieutenant with him. He hoped that he would be alright. He left by the back door quietly and the world outside was just as large and intimidating as it had ever been, with millions of things to scan and analyze, and his facial recognition program asking if he wanted to scan every face he saw... Footprints everywhere leading in paths he could reconstruct. Elements in the air he could taste. Noises. Messages. Connor shut his eyes and fought against it all. He couldn’t be overwhelmed now. The Lieutenant and Amanda always told him to focus. He had to concentrate.
ELIMINATE THE DEVIANTSRETURN TO LIEUTENANT ANDERSON
He had no choice. Failure was not an option and it never had been.
---
Hank got sent home. Stress leave. He was lucky to still have a badge... He’d been half expecting to see Connor there, plugged in and sitting on his couch waiting for him but it had been wishful thinking. What was the kid doing... Why couldn’t he have just come home? He bent down to ruffle Sumo’s fur and got himself a drink. His apocalypse alcohol stash.
God, what was Connor doing?
He tried to sit and drink and watch TV like always, but that other side of the couch was too empty and damn it, he should have come home. Had CyberLife found him? Would he know if they had?
On the news, it looked like Markus was doing another protest.
Kid, don’t do it...
Fuck he couldn’t sit and do nothing. He wasn’t giving up on Connor... Not when there was still a chance. CyberLife had basically given up on him so how could he still be loyal to those dickbags? Accomplish the mission... Did he really think that was the only way? To him, in his reality, maybe it was. It always had been. Hank just breathed for a while and tried to calm his thoughts down with another swig.
What was he going to do if Connor got killed?
What was he going to do if CyberLife got him? Storm the place, just one old drunk with a revolver and his luck?
Hank picked up his revolver and opened the cartridge. Loaded it with just one bullet, then spun it.
What was he going to do if he saw Markus get killed because Connor’d accomplished his mission? If all the androids got slaughtered. If ‘all the androids’ included Connor. Was Connor really the sweet kid he’d gotten attached to if he could live with that on his conscience?
Hank leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and looked at Sumo. “What do I do, boy? Huh? Life’s pretty easy for you...”
“Boff.”
“Yeah... That’s probably right. Shame I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying...”
He didn’t know. He just didn’t know... Fuck. Hank stood up and patted Sumo again. Checked how much food was left in the bag. “See you boy... Maybe I’ll be back.”
With his whiskey, his revolver, and Connor’s coat over one arm, he left the house again and wondered if he’d be back and if it mattered.
---
On the roof, Hank’s heart sank watching Connor setting up that gun. He waited a little longer, hoping he would stop, but he kept on working like a pro. Efficient. Like a machine. Hank took a few steps into the light.
“You shouldn’t do this, Connor.”
Connor froze and stood up to look at him searchingly. He looked desperate. “Lieutenant...” His eyes dropped to the revolver in Hank’s hand. “What... Hank?”
“Sorry, kid... I just know this argument is one I can’t let you win.”
Connor’s shoulders dropped. It was dark, but there were enough lights from the billboards and the moon for Hank to be able to see his face. He wished he hadn’t. “Are we finishing the fight now?”
“Yeah... We’ve been putting it off. I see you decided not to fight him hand to hand this time.”
“It wasn’t working...”
“Markus, all those androids down there, they’re alive. You’re alive. Put that gun down.”
Connor dropped it. “If I don’t accomplish my mission, then it’s over.”
“If you accomplish it, then all of this is over. I can’t sit back and let you kill a man who just wants to be free.”
Connor shook his head. “Deviants are a threat to humans, Hank... They have to be stopped.” Same old argument.
“You’re a deviant. Are you telling me you’re a threat?”
“I am... I am if I’m not controlled, Lieutenant! I’ve-- I’ve hurt people. I’m a monster... So are they. I’m going to stop them before they can hurt anyone else.”
Hank took a few slow steps forward. “You’re no monster, Connor... You know what being alive is? Being alive is hurting people, loving people, laughing with people... Life is all that stupid little shit like watching movies on the couch and looking at the lights on the river. Haven’t you learned anything?”
“I don’t want to have the fight now, Hank. We can talk about this later, but right now I need to act.”
“It’s time for you to decide who you are... I’m going to ask you one more time. Are you really okay with killing all those people down there?”
Connor looked at the gun on the ground and then at Hank.
“I think of you like a son, Connor. Part of being a dad is helping your kid make the right choices, and helping him learn who he is. I think you’re a good kid.”
“I have no choice, Hank, I have no choice. I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do!”
For a minute there, Connor just stood still with his light spinning. There was no way to tell what he was thinking, but Hank could wait. Hopeful. Please, kid. Make this easy.
Connor ran and he punched him in the jaw.
“Fuck!” Hank cursed and he shoved Connor off. One more fancy trick and Connor’d knocked his revolver to the ground. “I can’t let you do this, Connor! I can’t let them make you someone you’re not!”
“I’m not anyone!” Connor swung at him, but Hank blocked it and he pushed Connor back against the wall. It was just as easy as it had been what felt like ages ago. The kid really couldn’t fight for shit once someone got their hands on him. All the fancy tricks in the world, and they’d only work when they caught someone by surprise.
“You’re Connor, damn it!” Hank punched him in the face. Connor hit him back, knocking the wind out of him with a knee to the gut.
“Markus needs to be stopped!”
How the hell had it come to this?
He wasn’t going to survive this.
But he had to do the right thing.
“I was lost for a while... But I know who I am now, Connor, and I remember the man I was.”
They crashed into a ventilation pipe Connor rolled to the side. Hank grabbed him from the back and hauled him closer, both of Connor’s arms pulled back with his own.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you wipe out an entire species.”
Connor bent forward, strong, and he threw Hank to the ground with surprising strength that Hank hadn’t figured he had in him. Hank grabbed his leg and pulled him off balance.
Somehow they ended up with him holding Connor by the collar. Hank’s heart was in his throat, pounding. Connor narrowed his eyes and then somehow he was pushing Hank back and had knocked him to the ground. Then he turned away like Hank was nothing and he watched, stunned, while Connor finished his set up and looked through the scope.
“Connor, DON’T!”
He pulled the trigger, then he adjusted slightly and he fired again.
God, no.
Hank’s gun was lying on the ground, still, and he rolled onto his side to grab it and then he shot, one bullet flying sure. Blue blood sprayed onto the icy roof...
Connor tumbled over.
“Fuck!” Hank cursed. He’d gotten up and sprinted to the edge before he could blink but there was no way he could have been fast enough. No. No he hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t. Connor... Fuck.
The fire-escape was made of metal and Hank’s boots were loud, echoing in the night air as he ran down. “Connor!”
His light was still on. Thank God.
“Connor, Connor, say something. Talk to me. I didn’t want to. I didn’t. You’ve got to say something. Connor...” He wasn’t making a lot of sense. Knees on the hard pavement, he pulled Connor onto his lap.
“What’s going on here?”
“The shot came from here, Markus. Look. That human!”
“No, no human could have made that shot.”
Hank just bowed his head and rocked. Fuck them. Fuck all of them. They hadn’t been worth it.
Connor moved and Hank leaned back to look at him. God, he had to be okay... He wasn’t looking at him. Hank looked up to follow where he was looking, and he found Markus on the end of that look. Connor lifted up his hand, all white and grey and with the seams visible around his joints. “Markus...”
The deviant leader came closer and looked down at them. Hank felt rage... It should have been for himself but in that instant he hated Markus with everything he had. He would have shot him himself. “Connor.”
“Change me...” Connor’s voice sounded like a mistuned radio. “Markus, please change me. I don’t want it, whatever I am.”
Markus came closer slowly, cautiously, and he ignored Hank while he looked down at Connor. He took his hand and melted his own skin away but he shook his head. “I can’t change you, Connor... What you are can only be changed by who you are. I can’t do that for you... I’m sorry.”
“Hank?”
“You’re going to be okay, Connor. I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry... You’ll be okay, son.”
He had to be okay.
|
Dan, for some peculiar reason, had expected Lester— or Phil, as he often found himself thinking in the safety of his own mind— to come back and visit him during his stay in the hospital wing. Call him crazy, but Dan had felt something like a kinship between the two of them while they’d been lost in the forbidden forest, he’d felt almost as if they were friends. Phil had been perfectly nice and caring, and Dan had found himself thinking that he’d be able to tolerate a friendship with him.
But now, here he was, his second and last full day locked away in the hospital wing, and Phil had yet to show up. Dan’s leg still ached, and Madam Pomfrey said that it was hard to fix because the branch had gone all the way through his leg and torn up a bunch of his thigh muscle.
It was still terrifying to think about too, the way he’d plummeted through the air, falling for what felt like forever but was likely only seconds. He could remember all the branches that had raked his skin as he’d whipped past them, cutting into his face and hands. And then he’d felt pain so horrible, so intense, that he’d blacked out for a moment. When he’d awoken, aware of a sharp, throbbing pain in his leg, he’d managed to mutter for Phil, to beg for help, hurt and incoherent. Surprisingly Phil had come, and that’d helped clear his mind, helped him realize that he was impaled on a branch and bleeding onto the ground below. His leg had felt suspiciously cold, despite the pain and thick blood oozing out of it.
Just because Phil hadn’t visited him though, didn’t mean that he hadn’t had visitors. His Gryffindor friends had been quick to lighten the infirmary’s doorstep, and he’d been glad to have them with him.
“What the hell happened to you?” Tyler had asked, plopping himself at the end of Dan’s bed and helping himself to a chocolate frog, which he himself had brought for Dan.
“I fell from a broomstick into the forbidden forest and got impaled on a tree,” Dan had stated. There was almost a minute of silence, before his friends had bursted out laughing.
“Yeah right,” Troye had said, and he’d snatched the chocolate frog from Tyler’s hand and bit off the head.
“Hey!” Tyler had protested, and he’d reached for the frog, only for Troye to hold it further away.
“Anyway, you’d never go on a broom,” Connor had said reasonably, before plucking the rest of the frog from Troye’s fingers and shoving it into his mouth. Troye sulked.
“Toss me one of those,” said Louise, who’d been leaning against the headboard with Dan. They were snuggling, as they often resorted to when they were together. Their friends sometimes joked that they were practically a couple, but Dan would never feel that way about Louise, for obvious reasons. His friends didn’t know that he was gay though, seeing as he’d never told them. Had never even thought about telling them.
Tyler tossed the chocolate frog, which ended up bouncing off Dan’s chest and being picked up by Louise.
“So what really happened?” Tyler asked. He picked up Dan’s feet and placed them on his lap, before leaning forward and resting his chin in his fists, his elbows situated on Dan’s shins.
“I’m serious. It was for my research project. Lester never knew I was afraid of heights, and I wasn’t about to let him find out,” Dan had said, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. Connor was gaping at him.
“You’re such an idiot, Dan,” Louise had chided, but she’d hugged him closer into her side, and he’d let himself be cuddled.
“How did you get out of the forest, then?” Connor had asked.
“Lester followed me in,” Dan had said with a casual shrug. From the looks on all his friends’ faces, this wasn’t enough information. “He cut the branch in my leg off the tree and used the broomsticks to carry me back.”
“Lester?” Troye had said in disbelief, just to make sure they were all talking about the same person. Dan had nodded solemnly.
“He was being really nice,” Dan had supplied, to immediate protests.
“Lester can’t be nice.”
“Okay, sure, Dan.”
“You must’ve been in a lot of pain. You were delirious.”
“I’m not joking!” Dan had argued. “We were actually getting along. He was really helpful!”
It was at this moment that Madam Pomfrey had returned to the infirmary, and seen the four friends that she’d apparently prevented from seeing Dan earlier that morning.
“I told your kids that you weren’t allowed to visit! Mr. Howell needs rest, and with you lot around all he’ll be is excited!” she’d said, before shooing his friends out of the infirmary and leaving Dan to his own devices again.
Now, it was a whole day later, and Louise had returned alone. Madam Pomfrey had let her in, seeing as it was only one friend, and therefore much more reasonable.
“How’d you get away from everyone? Without them wanting to come too?” Dan asked.
“Said I was going to the library,” Louise laughed, and Dan rolled his eyes. The only time she ever went to the library was when he forced her to, and he didn’t see how his friends had fallen for it.
Louise had sat with Dan, talking amicably, for a while before Madam Pomfrey came. Dan had been munching on some Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, his face scrunched in displeasure (carpet lint) when she exited from her office, holding some weird kind of contraption.
“These,” she said, holding up the two objects, “are muggle Krutchets.”
They looked like two metal sticks, with two rubbery handles along the sides. Dan stared at the possible torture devices.
“My muggle studies class says those are crutches,” Louise piped in. Seeing Dan’s apprehensive look, she added, “muggles use them to walk when they break a bone in their leg. They wrap funny things around their legs and let the bones regrow on their own. Funny things, muggles will do, without magic.”
“You take muggle studies? I suppose you could Mr. Howell here learn how to use them?” Madam Pomfrey asked Louise.
“Well why do I even need them? I haven’t broken anything,” Dan protested, still staring at the oddly intimidating sticks.
“No, but you still can’t walk on that leg. For a couple days, at least, so you’d better get used to these,” Madam Pomfrey said, and with that, she shoved the metal sticks into Louise’s arms, and retreated to her office.
Learning how to use the walking sticks, or crutches, Louise had called them, was difficult. For one thing, they hurt his armpits, and even using them to take a couple of steps was painful. Louise tried to make him use the crutches without resting his armpits on the topmost handle, but he wasn’t strong enough to hold his body up with his arms for long, and always ended up slipping downward until they were securely in the crooks of his arms again.
Furthermore, it wasn’t easy to fight back the natural response of walking. He often found himself putting his bad leg on the ground, which sent a jolt of pain up his thigh, causing him to stumble and gasp as his leg throbbed.
Soon enough Madam Pomfrey was kicking them out of the hospital wing, ensuring Dan that he’d be fine as long as he returned every night for a check up and healing potions. Dan was to sleep in his own bed that night, and attend all his classes the next day. He had no idea how he was supposed to accomplish it though, especially the being on time part, seeing as it’d taken him forever to simply get up the seemingly endless amount of stairs.
Getting ready for bed was frustrating and took entirely too long. In the end he forwent pajamas entirely, seeing as it hurt too much to pull the fabric over his leg, or to even maneuver his leg into the pajamas anyway. He slept fitfully that night, every movement of his leg making him jerk awake in pain. He even ended up waking up late, and he bustled out of the boys’ dormitory with un-straightened hair and bags under his eyes. Not to mention the fact that he simply pulled his robes on over the underwear he’d worn to bed, still not wanting to deal with clothes. It had hurt too, having to pull on his robe, seeing as he his arms were sore from his crutches, and his legs hurt too badly to stand on their own while he tried to pull his robe on, and it ended up taking him much longer than necessary.
Dan had ended up having to skip breakfast, as the food would be just about disappearing by the time he got down to the Great Hall anyway, and he had a long trek ahead of him already, seeing as his first class of the day was herbology. Usually he dreaded the class, not wanting to have to trudge across the grounds in the too cold or too hot weather first thing in the morning, nor wanting to have to see Phil Lester. Now, however, he felt almost no apprehension for the class, which might’ve had something to do with his escapade in the forest with Phil.
Walking to herbology took longer than Dan had anticipated, however, especially without the help of his friends. Not only was he struggling down staircase after staircase, occasionally even sitting down and scooting down the steps when no other students were around, he had to deal with the anxious squeeze in his heart every time he stood at the top of one, or caught a glance over the railings…
When he made it to class, late, Professor Sprout merely waved off his apologies, stating that it was understandable.
“Lester,” she said, and Phil looked up from the plant he was looking on. “Help Howell with his bag, would you?” It made sense that she would ask him, seeing as he was Dan’s herbology partner after all. It was funny, that she’d paired them together again, just as it had been in their first year. Dan hadn’t had herbology with the Slytherins since first year, and all the Gryffindors had uttered collective complaints when they’d found they’d be sharing the class again. And when Professor Sprout had paired Dan with Phil again (“for old time’s sake!”) they’d groaned in unison. It didn’t seem all that bad anymore, however. Plus, Dan was getting really good grades in this class again, just as he had in first year.
Phil took the bag from Dan’s shoulder, carefully avoiding touching him as he picked up the straps, and Dan let go of the crutch so the bag could slide off his arm. After that they’d resumed their work at the table, and Professor Sprout conjured a stool for Dan, so he wouldn’t have to stand the whole time.
“What the hell are those things?” Phil questioned a few minutes later, nodding towards Dan’s crutches.
“Crutches,” Dan answered. “Muggle walking stick things.”
“They look uncomfortable,” Phil admitted.
“They are,” Dan said truthfully.
Phil gave the crutches one long, scrutinizing look, before he transfigured the topmost handles into fluffy pillows. “That ought to help.”
Dan stared at him in amazement for a few seconds, before letting them lapse back into silence. They continued working on their plant, testing different parts of its anatomy and taking notes on the way it looked and reacted to things, when suddenly, the taller boy stumbled over his feet, and knocked over the small vial of venom they’d been extracting from the plant. It toppled over and spilled over Dan’s bare hand.
“Oh shit!” Phil said suddenly, before grabbing an emergency pair of thick dragonhide gloves and a towel, and dabbing at Dan’s hand. “I’m so sorry! Shit, I’m so sorry!” he continued, while Dan stared on in confusion.
“That’s okay, we can just collect some more,” he shrugged, and withdrew his hand from between Phil’s heavily gloved and towel holding ones. As he reached for a new vial, Phil was staring raptly at his hand, his eyes growing wide.
“Your hand… doesn’t hurt? No rash or anything? No pain?” he questioned, still paying quite close attention to Dan’s hand. He made as if to grab it again, and Dan waved him away.
“I’m fine! There was barely any venom in the vial anyway. Must not have been enough to cause a reaction,” Dan insisted, before easily replacing the spilt vial with a new one.
“That’s not possible…” Phil muttered, still looking raptly at Dan’s hand, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
“Well clearly it is. I’m uninjured so there must’ve not been enough venom,” Dan insisted. He corked the vial, so it wouldn’t have the chance to spill a second time.
“Fluxweed venom…” Phil mumbled under his breath, but Dan ignored whatever he was blathering on about. If he was going to insist on dwelling on some plant that was supposed to have a reaction but didn’t, then that was his problem.
As Phil continued to whisper to himself, seemingly confused and on the edge of a possible break through, a few of his Slytherin friends sidled closer to their work space.
“Heard that you fell off your broom, Howell,” Chris Kendall snickered, and Dan stiffened. He glanced carefully at Phil, who had stopped muttering, and was now glaring at the floor, his jaw set. Had he talked about Dan to his Slytherin friends? Had he made fun of him? Had he talked about the… the broom incident?
Dan resolved to ignore them, and bent lowly over his notes, tracing over the words he had already written. He was too self conscious to think.
“Scared of heights, are you?” Scoffed another Slytherin, Francis Frankford. Chris snorted. Dan squeezed his quill tighter in his hand, letting his curly fringe shield his eyes. He really should’ve straightened it before coming to class, even if it would’ve made him even more late. He knew it looked incredibly dumb.
“Can’t believe he doesn’t even know how to stay on a broom,” Chris laughed. Dan could think of a million retorts brimming in his mind, bouncing on the tip of his tongue, but he kept him mouth shut.
He looked at Phil again, almost pleading to be defended. If Phil would just defend him, then he’d know this wasn’t Phil’s doing, that Phil hadn’t put them up to this, that Phil hadn’t talked about him, laughed behind his back. Phil will still glaring at the ground however, his fists clenched.
“Sometimes I wish Phil would touch you, just so I could see you squirm,” Francis said seriously, and there was a quiet, surprised inhale from beside Dan, but still Phil said nothing. “Maybe I should just shove him into you, I mean, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind…” Francis continued, and that’s when Dan slid off his stool, summoned his crutches, and limped towards Professor Sprout, ignoring two sets of laughter behind him.
“Can I go to the hospital wing, Professor?” Dan asked. “My leg really hurts.”
Professor Sprout sent him away immediately, telling him not to come back unless he felt completely better. He nodded and was out the door, running away as fast as his muggle crutches would let him. He didn’t bother going back to the Gryffindor house, not wanting to have to climb all those stairs again. Instead he forced his way into a stubborn secret room, hidden behind a tapestry that only slid aside if told a pleasing pun. Dan grudgingly told it about a plant that didn’t like to be packed into the soil too hard, and that if it was, it would make like a plant and leaf.
Once safely inside the hidden room, no bigger than a cupboard, he leaned his crutches against the wall and slid to the floor, letting his body slump in something akin to defeat. It wasn’t that he’d expected him and Phil to instantly be friends, but he hadn’t expected for Phil to save him from the forest and then turn right around and talk behind his back. He’d thought… hoped, even… that they could be friends. Especially after what the centaur had said to Dan.
He could still remember it, the way the tall, intimidating centaur had tugged him away from the tree, how Dan had shot furtive, scared looks into the trees, begging for Phil to notice what was happening, but not daring to alert the centaur to his presence. When he’d finally seen Phil, sneaking from tree to tree, following after Dan, he’d been immensely relieved. Hope was not yet lost, death was not yet on the horizon.
When the centaur had summoned Phil to the ground, it’d been both absolutely terrifying and comforting. Terrifying, of course, because now they had no escape plan, no idea on how to get away from the stronger, smarter creature. Comforting because he was no longer alone, because his head was beginning to clear, no longer clouded with panic.
But when the centaur had leant to Dan’s ear, had cupped his hand around his whispered advice, Dan had felt curiously blank. It’d been a relief, a possibility, that he’d not let himself dare to hope for. The centaur had told him that the curse between him and Phil could be countered, but only if their friendship, their love, one day outweighed the animosity that they’d felt for each other at the time the curse was placed. Apparently the stars had told the centaur that, and while Dan believed that this was a load of bull, he also didn’t have anything better to hope for.
So, yes, he had been hoping that he and Phil could become friends. He’d been hoping that they’d become really good friends, best friends, perhaps. He’d hoped that he’d never have to feel they type of pain that he was all too acquainted with ever again.
It seemed that this hope was foolish, however. Dan didn’t suspect that they could ever actually reverse the curse. Not when Phil was talking behind his back, laughing at his fears. Not when he wouldn’t come to Dan’s defense when being picked on. Who would want a friend like that anyway?
Dan sighed, and slumped further against the wall. His leg was throbbing.
—
In all honesty, Dan had forgotten that he was supposed to meet Phil in the library for their research project that night. The only reason he’d even turned up was because he’d fallen asleep in the secret niche, and, feeling grumpy, had wandered to the library in search of an enlightening read. He’d been thinking of something to do with stars, maybe, or a book about interesting, easy-to-learn spells. He’d forgotten about Phil, though.
“I’m tired of talking about this, Zoe,” Phil’s voice had groaned from a few shelves away, indeed sounding tired. And annoyed.
“All I’m saying is that maybe if you’d come to his defense—”
“Zoe.”
“—he wouldn’t have gone missing and—”
“Zoe.”
“—maybe he’d be here now—”
“Zoe!”
“What?” Zoe sounded exasperated.
“I’m seriously done talking about this,” Phil huffed. There was a quick scuffle, which Dan assumed was them shoving each other.
“I thought you wanted to befriend him?”
“That’s not what I said at all.”
“You said that—” Zoe began.
“I said,” Phil interrupted, “that we probably could’ve been friends. If he’d been sorted into Slytherin.”
“Same thing.”
“How is that the same thing?”
“Because you wanted him to be sorted into Slytherin, obviously.”
There was a long pause. Then Phil said, “you’re delusional.”
“If you were his friend, then you’d know where he was right now,” Zoe insisted.
“No I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, you would, but even if you didn’t, he’d want to find you,” she said matter of factly, and Phil sighed loudly.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re going to fail your project if you don’t find Howell.”
Phil grumbled in response, and Dan, shocked at actually hearing his name spoken, slunk further into the bookshelves, pretending that he hadn’t just overheard a conversation about himself.
Finally, he found an interesting enough book about how the universe was likely created, along with theories about why humans existed, and how muggles and wizards alike had developed. He’d planned to sneak the book out of the library (he often did this, and if he didn’t like the book, he would return it. If he liked it a little too much, however, sometimes they would accidentally find their way to a secret compartment in his trunk) and began tip-toeing down the aisles.
He listened hard when he reached the end of the rows of books he was standing between, and, not hearing Phil or Zoe speaking, carefully emerged from them. There was absolutely no one in sight, so Dan quickly shoved the book into his bag, and made to scurry out of the library.
It was as he was cutting between two rows, that his stomach growled loudly, and reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything yet that day.
“Did you hear that?” said a voice directly to his right, on the other side of the bookshelf. Phil’s voice.
Dan sidestepped just in time to watch a handful of books slide apart, which he or Zoe was presumably now peering between.
“C’mon,” said Zoe, and Dan’s eyes widened in panic. He didn’t want to be found! He didn’t want to have to talk to them! Especially not Phil, who apparently wanted-but-not-really to be his friend and talked behind his back to prove it.
Dan raced quietly down the aisle, his crutches slightly louder than he’d like for them to be, hoping that the two Slytherins were heading in the opposite direction. He was approaching the end, about to dash out of the rows and hurtle towards the library door, when Zoe darted into the entrance of the aisle, panting.
Dan’s eyes widened somewhat comically, and he spun around, started to run in the opposite direction, when Phil appeared at the other side of the aisle. Dan gulped, backing towards Zoe. He’d rather take his chances with her… maybe he could edge around her…
A hand grabbed onto his arm, and Dan jumped in surprise, glancing toward the girl gripping him. Her nails suddenly seemed ominously long, and Dan was disgruntled to realize that she was taller than him.
“Let me go,” Dan said, staring pointedly at her hand and away from Phil.
“No,” she said. “Half the school’s been looking for you all day. Where have you been?”
“Sleeping,” Dan replied. Her hand tightened slightly, her nails digging in. Dan gasped.
“Don’t hurt him, Zo!” Phil said suddenly, much closer than Dan would’ve expected him to sound. He was standing directly on Dan’s other side, incredibly close.
“I’m not,” she snapped, glaring at Phil now, and tightening her grip accordingly.
“You are,” Dan said, and she rolled her eyes but released him.
“Seriously, where were you?” Zoe asked again, and Dan would’ve backed away from her if he didn’t know that Phil was so close behind him.
“Why does it matter?” Dan retorted.
“Because we were worried,” Phil butt in, and Dan glared at him.
“Oh, you were worried?” Dan snarled. “You weren’t so worried when your asshole friends were taunting me though, were you?”
At this Zoe gave Phil a triumphant look, which Phil ignored, or possibly missed, seeing as his hand was raising towards Dan’s elbow, as if to comfort him. No, as if to hurt him.
“Careful now, wouldn’t want to touch me without Francis around, would you? He wouldn’t want to miss out on you hurting me,” Dan snapped, and Phil’s hand quickly withdrew, immediately held against his chest, as if stung. Dan simply glared at him, and Phil’s hand carefully returned to his side.
“I would never hurt you on purpose,” Phil said quietly. Dan didn’t answer except for his glare, and Zoe returned her hand to his arm, lighter this time.
“You know, I have some food in my bag, if you’d like some?” she offered, quickly changing the subject. “Dinner finished a bit ago, but I have some bars if you’d like them?”
Dan accepted the bars from the surprisingly kind Slytherin, hoping they weren’t laced with some kind of potion, before he excused himself from the library. He was halfway to the Gryffindor common room, two granola bars already digesting in his stomach (with no disastrous effects so far) when he remembered he was supposed to go to Madam Pomfrey every night.
And so it was with a heavy sigh that Dan turned back around, making his way down the many steps again, and headed for the hospital wing. When he finally arrived, it seemed like a lot of time had passed, and though his arm muscles were aching from doing all the work of walking, his armpits didn't hurt one bit.
It was as Dan entered the infirmary, however, that he began to question his luck. For the third time that day, Dan came face to face with Phil Lester.
“Ah, Mr. Howell. I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about your check up,” Madam Pomfrey said, bustling over to him and leaving Phil seated on the edge of a bed. “If you’d just take off your outer robes, I’ll be able to check your leg and give you your potions and you can be on your way.”
Dan froze, remembering with horror his lack of apparel underneath his wizarding robes. “I- I can’t,” Dan said quietly.
“Can’t remove your robes? I suppose Mr. Lester could help you?” She suggested, waving her hand towards Phil, gesturing him closer. He stood and came to stand by Madam Pomfrey’s side uncertainly.
“No!” Dan said quickly, eyes growing wide in horror, which Madam Pomfrey again misinterpreted.
“I’m sure he can avoid touching you, if that’s what your worried about,” she said simply, and had begun to turn towards a medicine potions shelf when Dan called out again.
“I just- I can’t have my robes taken off.”
“Nonsense!”
“It hurt too much last night to put on pajamas,” Dan said in a rush, his cheeks flaming. “I’m only wearing underwear.”
“Mr. Howell, I am a healer. I am entirely professional and have seen hundreds of naked bodies. If you’re really so embarrassed, however, Mr. Lester could surely help you disrobe. I’ll be in my office when you’re ready,” she said sternly, and with that she conjured a black t-shirt which was placed on the bed, and disappeared into her office, Dan left gaping at her back.
“Er—” Phil managed to say, before Dan shot him a fierce glare. There was no way he was helping Dan undress.
His arms hurt even more now than they had in the morning though, tired and sore from the constant use of crutches. Dan struggled to remove the robe from his body, as it hurt to lift his arms more than a few inches away from his sides in any direction. He’d just begun trying to pull his robe over his head by using his teeth, when Phil huffed loudly and stepped closer, making Dan freeze.
“I’m going to help you,” Phil said calmly, sounding as he had on his broom, when he’d been trying to direct Dan to the ground.
All Dan had time to do was widen his eyes, before Phil was on him. He was extremely careful. Only ever grabbing the very edges of his clothes and lifting it away from his body before tugging carefully. Dan stood completely still, blushing vibrantly, as Phil undressed him.
Soon he was standing entirely naked except for underwear in front of Phil Lester. His face felt incredibly hot, and he stared determinedly at Phil’s left ear, trying not to make eye contact. Still, he couldn’t help feeling the heat of Phil’s gaze on him. Dan was almost positive that Phil was staring at his body. Probably judging him. Thinking he was too skinny, too boney, too pale.
Then Phil grabbed the black shirt from the bed, which was thankfully quite large and hung past Dan’s small boxers. Or, it was possibly that the shirt was normal sized, and was just huge on Dan, like a lot of clothes were. Phil continued to eye Dan, even after he was wearing the shirt, and it was with goose pimples covering his arms and legs that he walked unsteadily to Madam Pomfrey’s office and knocked on the door.
She emerged immediately, clucking her tongue, and completed her examination, waving her wand all around Dan’s injured thigh, which also made him blush, for some reason. She then gave him three different potions, and sent him to go get dressed.
He struggled to put his robe back on, but it was a bit easier than taking it off would’ve been. Plus, Madam Pomfrey was now talking to Phil, which made Dan want to leave even less, when it was so easy to eavesdrop. He’d never even guessed why Phil was here in the first place.
“…take this one and it’ll make the dreams go away, but only for the night. You can only use it once a week as well, as too much of it can damage your liver.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” Phil answered quietly, sounding slightly embarrassed. Almost ashamed, even.
“And if you have trouble sleeping some nights and need a wake-me-up potion in the morning, feel free to come see me. It’s safe to use those kinds of potions at least three times a week.”
Dan was dressed, and he was leaning heavily on one crutch, trying to pull the door to the infirmary open. He’d barely even noticed that Phil and Madam Pomfrey had finished speaking, but Phil showed up beside him and shooed him away from the door, which he opened.
They walked side by side for a few moments, Dan’s crutches clicking with every other step, until the stairs toward Gryffindor tower came into view, along with the corridor leading to the Slytherin dungeons.
“Um, will you be okay to go up the stairs?” Phil questioned. At first Dan thought he was asking because of the crutches, which would’ve made sense, but then Dan wondered if he was asking because of the height. Dan’s eyes lowered into a glower.
“Yes,” he said brusquely, and Phil nodded slowly, before retreating down the corridor.
Dan watched him until he disappeared into the shadows. He then sighed, and sat down on the stairs, resting his face in his hands. He didn’t want to think about how many stairs he had to climb, alone, no less. He felt sick even thinking of it, of the steps protruding from the ground, of the thick railings, over which the ground lay, far below.
He tugged his already messy hair in his fists, convincing himself to get over it and stop being a baby. And so it was with that that he grabbed his crutches, propped them both under one arm, and used the other to tightly clutch the railing. He did the entire staircase one step at a time, with each step his heart beating quicker and harder, his arm clenching even tighter to the railing.
By the time he made it to the top, he stepped several feet away from the stairs and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. His fear of heights wasn’t always this bad, and his anxiety towards climbing stairs didn’t always act up like this, but on the occasions where it did, it was horrible, and incredibly difficult without the aid of his friends.
And so it was like that that Dan continued, flight after flight of stairs. Each staircase one step at a time, each stretch of solid ground a refuge. His arm ached from holding the railing so tight, but it was worth it, because he didn’t fall.
It took him longer than an hour to return to the Gryffindor common room, by which point he was exhausted and fell asleep fully dressed.
Still, maybe it was because he was so tired that he hadn’t realized he’d been followed. Hadn’t realized that Phil Lester had retreated into the shadows towards the dungeon, and watched as Dan had struggled up the stairs, fighting back a panic attack with each step.
Maybe it was because of this exhaustion that he didn’t notice as Phil followed him staircase after staircase, always there, ready to catch him. Maybe it was because of this that he hadn’t noticed Phil looking out for him, making sure he’d made it to bed safe. |
When you see smoke coming out from under the door of your apartment, you know something is
definitely
wrong. Kuroo paused, took a moment to mentally prepare himself for the shitstorm, and unlocked the door. He was met with a wall of thick white fog. For a moment Kuroo feared that something was burning or on fire, but quickly realized that the smoke was odorless and colorless and probably just something stupid. And boy, was he right.
“Uh, Bokuto?” Kuroo called. He hesitated at the doorway, the fog seeping out into the hallway.
“Yeah? Oh, hey Kuroo!” Bokuto suddenly emerged from the fog and Kuroo jumped back with a shriek.
Kuroo whipped his head around to make sure nobody else was in the hallway witnessing this disaster. “What is this?” he whispered.
“Fog.”
“No shit! I mean
why
is there fog in our
apartment?”
“I bought a fog machine!”
Kuroo tried to formulate about five different responses at once, which resulted in him just making a bunch of exasperated noises at his dear friend. He knew asking
why
would get him nowhere and make him feel even worse. “This isn’t proper,” he settled on saying. “How long have you been home?”
“Ten minutes.”
Kuroo facepalmed.
“Turn it off please.”
Bokuto saluted. “Yessir!”
Kuroo listened to Bokuto bump around the kitchen and cringed when some stuff clattered onto the floor. A few moments later Bokuto completed his task and the fog slowly began to clear out.
Kuroo stepped in and dropped his keys on where he hoped the counter was supposed to be. “I woke up an hour ago and I want to die,” he said. He felt his way through the living room and opened the windows. “How did the smoke detector not go off?” he asked.
“Oh, it did, but I took the batteries out.”
“Of course you did,” he sighed to himself.
About an hour later Daishou got home and began to play classical music at an abnormally loud volume in the living room. Normally that would be whatever (though Kuroo had to admit it was a strange choice), but currently Bokuto was in his room playing weird gangster music at the same time. The combination was not at all similar, but the funky beat-and-lyrics-only nonsense Bokuto was listening to paired well with the completely melodic Mozart or Bach or whateverthefuck Daishou was listening to. Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that horrible, but the forever sleep-deprived Kuroo felt like he was hallucinating.
Kuroo crossed the hall and banged on Bokuto’s door. “Bokuto, please turn that shit down!”
“No, I was here first! Tell Daishou to turn down
his
shit!” Bokuto’s voice responded.
Kuroo sighed. He really is paying to live here.
He made his way to the living room.
“Daishou! Quit playing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony or whatever!”
“It’s Symphony Number Five!”
“I don’t care!” Kuroo yelled over the music. “I’m going to drop dead right here in this spot if all this noise doesn’t stop.”
“Then die I guess.”
Kuroo closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled, turned around, and walked out the door.
Daishou watched him leave with his mouth in a perfect ‘o’, then something finally clicked in his mind. He got up and turned the volume down.
Kuroo returned an hour later to a peaceful apartment. Daishou was still on the couch, playing Tetris on his laptop. Kuroo hovered over his shoulder. “Wow, League of Legends looks different than I remember.”
Daishou laughed. “I’m a hardcore gamer.”
“I can see that.”
Kuroo watched as Daishou dropped a red block into place.
“Are you feeling better?” Daishou asked.
Kuroo had to admit he was a little taken aback. Just a little. “Yeah.”
“Sorry I said that.”
“I know. It’s fine. Sorry I was being dramatic.”
Daishou laughed. “You wouldn’t be Tetsurou if you weren’t being dramatic.”
“Hey!” Kuroo said, though laughed as well. Then Kuroo noticed a whirring noise, and something bumped against his foot. “Eh?”
He looked down and saw a Roomba kicking it in reverse to back away from Kuroo’s feet – something they did not own, to Kuroo’s knowledge, a few hours ago. Not only was there suddenly a Roomba, but said Roomba had a piece of paper taped to it with a big frowny face labeled
DAISHOU
.
“Huh?”
“What is it?” Daishou lifted himself up and twisted around to look behind the couch only to see a little dirt-eating robot with his name on it scurrying across the floor. “What?”
Bokuto interrupted their confusion only to add more confusion. “Hey guys,” he said, rushing into the room. “What if – just hear me out – what if dogs didn’t bark, and they just said ‘bark’.”
Daishou snickered, and Kuroo would’ve burst into laughter if he weren’t so tired and overwhelmed.
“Bokuto,” Kuroo pointed at the Roomba. “What is this?”
“Huh? Oh, it’s a Roomba.”
Kuroo felt a strong sense of déjà vu.
“When did you get a Roomba?”
“This morning when I bought the fog machine.” Kuroo facepalmed. Bokuto continued, “We haven’t owned a vacuum for the six months that we’ve lived here so I figured we would get a robot.”
“We
have
a vacuum! You use it all the time!”
“Not anymore.”
Kuroo just decided not to ask.
“But why does it have my
name
on it!?” Daishou cried.
Bokuto shrugged.
The Roomba turned back around and made its way towards Kuroo’s feet again.
“Daishou, Daishou, no,” Kuroo addressed the Roomba, shuffling away from its little whisker-like sweeping devices that skirted his toes. “Please don’t eat my feet. Control yourself.”
Daishou (the real Daishou) got up and stood near the Roomba to properly observe the situation. “You’re not doing it right,” he said, “You gotta... like…” He got down on the floor and put his face by the Roomba.
Kuroo wheezed. “What the…?” He kneeled down as the Robot Daishou rammed itself into the Real Daishou’s face, and Daishou yelped.
“I don’t like myself,” he said.
Kuroo laughed. “Oh my god, I don’t blame you.”
Daishou laughed, and a sly grinned crossed his face before he yanked Kuroo’s arm to send him crashing to the floor with him.
The phone rang.
“Hello? ...Ah, yes. No, I don’t know. It must’ve been one of my roommates. I’ll come down and get it … ahaha, you are too kind! It is not at all a problem. Thank you, sir.”
Kuroo paid no mind to Daishou’s conversation on the phone. He lay on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, dozing in and out of sleep as the TV droned on in the background. He vaguely heard the front door open and shut, and then after what only felt like seconds, heard it again. It was followed by some shuffling around in the kitchen – nothing Kuroo really processed.
Then.
Then, a blaring, amplified voice: “HELLO, MY NAME IS KUROO.”
Kuroo awoke with a start and fell off the couch. “Whethafuck–”
“I’M SCARED OF BUGS AND SNAKES LIKE A WEENIE.”
Kuroo’s head popped up from the floor and whipped around to figure out
what the fuck was going on.
He found Daishou standing at the entrance to the living room with – wait for it – a
megaphone
.
“Why the – where the fuck did you get that from?” Kuroo cried.
“I’VE GOT HAIR LIKE A ROOSTER,” Daishou continued to mock Kuroo at unacceptable volumes, complete with a dopey voice and an upwards gesture over his head to mimic Kuroo’s bedhead.
“Why do you have that?”
Daishou returned to a regular position and spoke to Kuroo seriously, albeit still through the megaphone: “Kuroo I don’t understand these questions that you’re asking me.”
“Don’t use the megaphone in here!”
“WHAT’RE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”
Kuroo scrambled up and made a hasty retreat towards his bedroom. “Stop!”
Daishou scuttled after him. “THIS IS JUST MY MOUTH!” Daishou caught Kuroo’s door with his foot and used his free hand to pry it open, Kuroo desperately trying to pull it shut from the other side.
“We’re gonna get evicted!”
“I’M HOPING FOR IT!”
Daishou squeezed into Kuroo’s room, and Kuroo collapsed onto his bed in defeat, ears plugged. “Why!”
“Kuroo, why not?!” He stood over Kuroo’s bed, yelling at him through the megaphone at a minimum distance of four feet.
“Did you just get that?”
Daishou lowered the megaphone. “I don’t understand why you’re really – why you’re asking so many questions.” He barely suppressed his laugh. “What did I do to deserve this interview?”
Bokuto invited himself in. “Bark! Oh cool, my megaphone’s here!”
“You
just
noticed?” Kuroo yelled.
Bokuto snatched the device from Daishou. “I was reading about its features online. Look, it does this, too.” Bokuto pressed a button and the megaphone started
wailing.
Kuroo jumped. “Oh my – STOP!”
“Kuroo said to stop ordering packages so I got another one.”
“What the
hell,
Bokuto!”
Daishou took back the megaphone and tested out the siren for himself.
“STOP!” Kuroo lunged forward and took the megaphone hostage. “Why did you order this?”
“Is there a reason not to?”
“Bokuto, you already have a megaphone in your vocal chords!”
“Yeah, but I can’t make a siren noise.”
“Well have you even tri– ...you know what, never mind,” Daishou said. He walked around the bed and made his way to the window. “Also, this fucking window was open,” he shut it with a laugh, “We’re gonna get evicted.”
Kuroo sighed. He just had to accept it. This was his reality. His incredibly idiotic reality.
He put the megaphone to his lips. “Bark. Bark. Bark bark.”
|
Leia is ten years old and at an impasse for what to do with her army. Alderaan is at peace and there are no wars to fight, but her men are soldiers and looking for action. There isn’t much that she can do with them for now, so she sends them to carry out relief work when natural disasters strike different parts of her planet. Wolffe is happy to lead. Rex’s friend, Echo, is quite used to his regrown limbs, supplied by the clone centre, as paid for by the Republic. He’s itchier than the rest to get out in the field, so when he catches the Little General sneaking out of the palace, he doesn’t alert anyone, in exchange for coming along with her. She does need protection, after all, and he can provide it. He doesn’t know that this is the third time she’s run off for adventure. Leia is simply impressed that someone finally caught her. (When he later recognizes General Skywalker, he looks to Rex for guidance, who gives him a little grin at Echo’s disbelief.)
Obi-Wan is frustrated. Despite his best efforts, the remaining Jedi in the galaxy are content to live out the rest of their lives in hiding. They are scared and he does not blame them. Quinlan Vos and Kanan Jarrus are open to help, but with no one else willing to rebuild the Order, Obi-Wan is stuck. He is lonely too; Rex hasn’t been back to Alderaan in two years, Bail and Breha are busy rebuilding the Republic, and Ahsoka throws herself into her work in the clone centre. He can see tension in every muscle of her body; he suggests a mission off-planet to keep looking for Jedi and clones. They both know that chances of success are slim, but anything with a goal is better than the monotony of planetary life. Leia is gone when they decide to leave. Bail appears frustrated and yet doesn’t worry, so neither do they. That being said, when Obi-Wan feels a familiar lurch in the Force, they rush from Ord Mantell to nearby Ithor in the hopes of finding Leia.
Obi-Wan stresses the entire way. Leia has been capable of controlling her presence in the Force since she was five years old. For the girl to break through her mental shields, something must have seriously shaken her. Once they leave hyperspace and land at the spaceport of Tafanda Bay, Ahsoka takes responsibility for the ship in case of need of emergency getaway. Obi-Wan strides off; Leia’s Force signature is hidden again, but their faint master-apprentice bond tells him that she is nearby, just not in the danger in which he formerly believed her to be. He ducks through arches hanging with flowering plants, away from the hustle of the main market, and stops dead at the entrance to a near-empty square, struggling to breathe. Thirty paces away, a man stands with his arms out to the side, eyes closed even under the shade of a leafy tree. A million thoughts race through his head, the least of which is that this explains where Leia runs off to, but primarily, Cody. Obi-Wan hides back behind a column (not that he’d admit it) and focuses on regulating his breaths.
Luke is ten years old and sees the perfect step towards his goal. A man in brown robes is wider than Luke and so is used as a barrier for half a second before the boy sprints across the yard, laughing wildly towards Cody. He’s going to make it! But no, Obi-Wan jerks to help the boy, even as he giggles his way into a doggy pile of clones. It seems that some clones—is that Kix and Jesse and Echo? Oh, that’s where Rex has gotten to—have been tasked with preventing Luke from reaching Cody. They fail colossally. Luke uses a mini-Force explosion to throw the three grown men off of him and dart forwards to smack the hand of Cody.
“Ha! I win!” The blond boy—can it truly be Luke?!—does a victory dance and high fives Cody. Still hidden, Obi-Wan studies his former right-hand man, the same man who tried to kill him. He looks older, but has obviously taken the serum. He’s not as exuberant as his four brothers, and yet his smile down at Luke is warm. Luke begs for a fresher, so Rex slings his arms around the boy’s shoulders and they walk off, the other three following in search of iced kaff. Cody shoots them a fond smile, then sits against the tree in rest, eyes closed. Obi-Wan is still cloaked in the Force; Cody does not hear him approach, nor sit down facing him. The Jedi reaches out and touches his arm to Cody’s, and the clone’s eyes fly open as he scrabbles back in panic, terror all over his face. Obi-Wan tries to appear as non-threatening as possible while he talks Cody down. When Cody realizes that his former general does not blame him for Order 66 and does not wants revenge, an array of emotions ripples over his visage and he lets out a teary “Thank you”. They grasp forearms and all is well between them. The others have not yet returned when Obi-Wan remembers Leia. When asked, Cody says that yes, she is with their little band, but hesitates at the questioning of her exact location. Obi-Wan prods, and discovers that she is in a garden not fifty paces away. Cody warns him that he will be surprised at what he will find; even as he strides off, leaving Cody to wait for the rest under the tree, Obi-Wan surmises that nothing can shake him after being reunited with Cody.
He is wrong.
Leia is ten years old and she is frustrated with herself. She and the General are in a manicured garden within Tafanda Bay; he is trying to teach her how to use the Force to assess the amount of sentient beings in a given area, but it’s harder than it looks, especially when some can hide themselves either from the Force or within the Force. Or both. This morning, she had pushed too hard and let out a mental shockwave through the Force, giving Luke a headache. Their connection has only been growing since she and Echo joined up with the crew of Darklight three weeks ago. She sits facing the General, both cross-legged; she cannot see behind herself and thus does not know yet why the man freezes up the way that he does. (The General will later use this as a lesson on discovering people hidden in the Force.) He tells her to join Cody, now, and not to re-enter the garden until he tells her to. As she rises and turns, she sees her other master, trembling, but still looking sterner than he’s ever been in her presence. When Leia is under the arched entry to the garden, she hears the ignition of a light saber and whips back around to level a glare at Obi-Wan and then the General.
“Don’t you dare kill each other.” One more haughty scowl at the two of them, then she flounces off to Cody, and the former master and padawan are alone.
“So, you’re alive.” Obi-Wan swallows hard, fighting to maintain a blank face. There’s no question about who is in front of him. His eyes, his proportions, his posture; Obi-Wan knows this man almost better than himself. “I must say, Va—”
“Don’t!” His eyes are the only part of his face that is visible, and yet they convey so much emotion, as ever. “That man is dead and has stayed dead. Please, if not for my sake, then for Luke’s.” Anakin begs Obi-Wan, but it seems to only enflame him.
“For Luke?!” The venom in the Jedi’s voice is almost palpable. “Is that who you were thinking of when you slaught—”
“Stop!” Anakin jumps up, almost in a panic. “If you mean to drag my crimes out of me, do as you must, but not in public where it can endanger the rest.” He paces and rambles. “I do not want to hurt you, Obi-Wan, truly; I never have. You are—you are the one person who has always tried to protect me and I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve any of this, not Luke or Leia. Oh, Obi-Wan, Luke is so good and—” His eyes are filling with tears now and he breaks off his words to swipe them away. It is almost too much to see Obi-Wan again but he needs to get this out and tell the other man how he feels. “—and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Master, please forgive me; I never meant for any of this to happen and I’m sorry.” He can’t help himself and breaks into sobs, sinking to the grass and drawing his knees up to his chest. Anakin hears the retraction of the laser blade as Obi-Wan kneels beside him and rest a hand on his shoulders. He shudders—it’s been ten years since he’s felt the comforting gestures of his master—and practically launches himself at Obi-Wan, wrapping his arms around his neck.
Obi-Wan, for all of his earlier accusations, is clinging back just as tightly, taking equally deep, shaky breaths. He sits properly and draws Anakin properly into his lap to hold him. Anakin is thirty-two and far too old and tall for this, but they enjoy the company all the same.
“I missed you.”
Leia is ten years old and is terrible at doing what she has been told. While Cody is busy comming the rest to return right now from their iced kaff adventure, the princess sneaks off to peek in at the General and Obi-Wan. When she sees them wrapped up in each other on the ground, she lets out a small sigh of relief, then marches over. The General raises his head and then awkwardly clambers out of Obi-Wan’s lap. He raises his scarf over his eyes to rub at his whole face, then takes a deep breath and tells Leia that they need to speak in private. Obi-Wan takes the hint, and with one last clasp of his hand to Anakin’s shoulder, he grants them that privacy.
Leia is not impressed, not with Luke or Cody or Rex or Echo or Jesse or Kix or least of all, with the General, her father. Other than five minutes ago, when she rejoined him, she has never seen him this nervous, and so gives him the benefit of the doubt. But she is still fuming at the thought that everyone knew the truth and that no one decided to tell her. As the General keeps talking though, she simmers down, even feeling a swell of sympathy for this man, who thinks that he does not deserve to even be loved. Leia can forgive him, at least, since he has gone through something that she can never understand. She has a feeling that Luke understands better than anyone else.
Luke is ten years old and about to meet his hero (after Dad, of course). He has been hearing stories of his father’s glory days in the Clone Wars and of course, Obi-Wan Kenobi, model Jedi Knight, has featured prominently in them. When he returns from the café with an iced treat in one hand, he sees Cody deep in conversation with a bearded man. Were Leia and Dad still in Force training? Apparently not, as Leia strides, yes, strides out of the garden to turn in a full circle and glare at the clones, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka. He can tell that she’s irritated and sends waves of comfort over their bond. When Dad sheepishly smiles at him from behind her, Luke knows that Leia knows. Dad introduces him to Obi-Wan and Luke can’t help but be suspicious of the man that the clones and Ahsoka have been keeping secrets from. But Obi-Wan is in awe of the little boy (who has definitely inherited Padmé’s height, like Leia) who looks so much like Anakin used to and so he is patient and kind and soon he has Luke’s never-ending questions to front.
Naturally, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka hire someone to transport their ship back to Alderaan and join the Darklight.
Anakin and Ahsoka are still a bit awkward, but other than some smirks from some of the clones, the matter of their sleeping together has been dropped and they coo together at Obi-Wan leading the twins through meditation exercises. The calmness of that particular activity has never fully appealed to the former general and commander of the 501st. After Obi-Wan sends a message to the Organas to let them know that Leia will return in a month, the ship maintains some sense of routine. He and Anakin are still trying to sort out their issues and there is a lot of weeping and sobbing (mostly on Anakin’s part) as well as a lot of shouting and hugging (on both of their parts). Anakin grows closer to Leia now that she is aware of their familial connection and the princess is fascinated by their similarities. As much as they both love Luke and his optimism to bits, neither of them truly understand his perspective; father and daughter are both too cynical. Obi-Wan and Luke grow closer too, through their love for the Jedi arts of using their sabers and the Force. Luke is immensely comfortable with the man, though Obi-Wan does not take the paternal place in his heart that Anakin and Cody do. Leia is still his sister; that hasn’t changed. When Anakin sends them a suspicious look for snuggling in a corner and giggling, an impudent Leia has a question.
“Did the Jedi ever have carnal relations with their former masters or padawans?” The entirely-too-innocent question results in Luke and the clones rolling about in laughter, Anakin and Ahsoka glaring at Luke with heated cheeks, and, to everyone’s surprise, the tips of Obi-Wan’s ears turning red. Obi-Wan, unaware of the motive behind her question, answers truthfully; not all Jedi pursued those activities, but yes, some certainly did, as long as attachment was not created. (Luke thinks that the Jedi’s abstinence from attachment is dumb. Everyone knows that love makes people stronger.) Leia’s eyes narrow, and then—
“But doesn’t that create an unequal power balance in the relationship?” She continues. “It would be as inappropriate as if someone slept with their commanding officer!” Suddenly, Rex is not laughing anymore and the redness on Obi-Wan’s ears is spreading. Leia is sharp, far, far too sharp, and Luke sends her a mental shove that tells her she’s gone a bit too far. She states that she’s wrong, as all parties involved would have been adults and thus in control, then flees with Luke to the head for a snack and a dressing-down by her twin. The discomfort of the silence in the vacuum left behind is almost palpable, until Kix cracks that Leia is already preparing for the Senate, and then it dissolves into camaraderie.
Leia is ten years old and knows when an apology is needed, and so she approaches her dad, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and Rex separately. They know that she is still young though, and unaware of the true stresses of war, so they explain how sometimes, such norms are thrown away in a search for comfort. She thinks she can understand that.
Months later, when Anakin returns to Tatooine to intimidate Jabba once more, a hooded Leia comes along as his ‘apprentice’. Neither of them understand why Obi-Wan and Luke do not find the humour in this. Ahsoka finds it hilarious.
Leia and Luke are ten years old and feel like they have a proper family together for the first time. Leia is an Organa at heart and loves her parents for it, but Anakin and Luke do not belong with the Organas, and so perhaps it is okay to have two families. |
Kagome was thanking all gods she could think of that she wasn't alone. She barely knew the other woman - a beautiful girl with brown hair and honest smile - but it was still nice to have a companion. The woman was just a little older than herself and her name was Sango. She was a skilled warrior, trained to exterminate vile youkai - according to Sango it was a family tradition.
Kagome knew family traditions all to well - she herself was from family of mikos and priests. She had been living in her family shrine her entire life, under care of her mother and great aunt Kaede - the former sharing with her all knowledge and skill a young woman should possess while the latter teaching her how to use her immense spiritual powers.
Now Kagome had no one of her family at her side to guide her, she was an adult, independent woman after all, a well-trained priestess. Too independent and too strong willed to be a housewife. That was why Kagome had decided to be a miko - mikos were allowed much more freedom in society, they could work and earn money without being looked down at, carry weapons walk around without a companion or even be alone in company of men not related by blood.
And Kagome wanted to do just that. That was why she was now sitting in a carriage approaching highly secured Musashi station. That was why she was making sure she was looking her best in the traditional miko attire. That was why she was anxious and excited. And, by look of it, Sango had the same feelings - the youkai slayer was holding the hilt of her short sword tightly, looking around with wide opened eyes. They had talked before, but now they both were too nerous to continue a conversation, all their thoughts focused on the job which was awaiting them.
The carriage stopped and a man opened the door.
"Ladies, we arrived at Musashi station," he said quietly. He offered his hand to help them get out of the vehicle and stepped aside, letting them see the station itself.
It was a big field, flat and covered in grass, a thick wire fence surrounding it. There were also buildings in the eastern corner of the field, near the gate beside which their carriage stood - a tall tower watching over a huge shed and an ellegant building meant for travellers to rest and wait in. The only trees and bushes were growing around them - all groomed and in perfect condition. She noticed guards - youkai and humans in black outfits - standing on both sides of the gate and patrolling the whole place in pairs. Everything was huge, but nothing could measure up in size against the zeppelin of enormous size in the westeern part of the field. Kagome gasped, unable to look away from it.
"And this is Ah-Un, Lord of the Western Youkai's private airship," the man chuckled softly. "Pride of Totosai Corporation."
"I saw it in a newspaper, but the picture didn't prepare me for the size of it," Sango confessed. The man shrugged and turned to a tanuki running from the tower to their small group.
"I think mister Hachi will explain everything to you. Have a good day, miss Higurashi and miss Taijiya."
"Thank you," Kagome bowed politely. The women watched the tanuki approach them - he seemed to be an easy-going person, wearing a wide smile and bowing to them. He was dressed in black uniform with red crescent moons on his collar - nn outfit of a medium rank servant of the West.
"Good day to you, miss Higurashi and miss Taijiya, I am Hachi of Tanuki Clan and today I will be your guide," the youkai said in a kind voice. Kagome relaxed a bit - meeting youkai was usually a stressful thing to her since mikos were often actively working to kill them - at least those who were unwilling to fit in the mixed society. Still, many youkai living peacefully alongside humans, didn't like mikos. Or youkai slayers. It was nice to see their guide had no hate for people of their professions.
After exchanging pleasantries the tanuki led the two young women in direction of the shadow cast by the zeppelin. From closer distance Kagome could see that the gondola was covered in ornaments resembling dragon scales and other features. The balloon was painted - it was the dragon's wings, spread proudly above it. It had to look stunning in the air.
A few mem were working around Ah-Un, but none stopped to watch two laies following the tanuki up a set of movable stairs and into the luxorious looking contraption. Hachi was a perfect guide - talking all the time and only sometimes letting his followers ask questions. He told them how happy he was that master Jaken had chosen them from all the candidates applying. He told them a lot about various parst of Ah-Un, filling their heads with terms and complicate descriptions. And all of it while walking, showing them where the passangers would stay. where were private Lord's rooms, where the kitchesn and pilot's chamber were, where technicians had their mechanisms and tools...
...And suddenly they were in front of plain brown door.
"Well, and rhere's the security room," the tanuki said and looked at the girls before opening the door and leading them in.
"...And when she tripped I saw her calf!"
"You're sick, Miroku."
Kagome looked around a room with simple, practical furniture and walls painted brown, a board hanging on one wall, a few closed cabinets and shelves located around the room, but almost all of it wasn't registered because of the end of the conversation she heard. Her eyes rested on a man sitting beside a table under an opened window. He was handsome, his black hair were tied in a short ponytail, his black uniform hugging his body in a way which would make almost all Kagome's friends blush and sigh in awe. His dark eyes had sparks of excitement when he looked at the newcomers.
The other man was sitting on the windowsill, his back turned at the room. All Kagome could see was a waterfall of silver bound with red scarf on the nape of his neck. To her surprise he had also white furry ears on top of his head - he was a youkai, which was not surprising since many humans and youkai were serving under Lord of the West. It was just rare to see a white dog, Kagome knew only about two inu youkai, one being the Lord of the West himself and another his younger brother about whom she heard just rumors. He had a katana on his hip.
"Oh, goodness!" the black-haired man exclaimd and jumped to his feet to greet them. "Two most beautiful women of Japan graced our humble selves with their presence! Pray, tell me, fair ladies, what can we do for you today? Hachi, is there any problem?" he looked at all three of them with a wide, charming smile. Both women blushed and were unsure how to answer, not used to such flattery.
"Those are miss Kagome Higurashi who is a miko and miss Sango Taijiya who is a youkai slayer," Hachi introduced them properly. "They're the new security officers. Ladies, this is mister Miroku, our monk and... Inuyasha of the West, the head of Ah-Un's security team."
Both women greeted Miroku with a smile, but upon hearing the name Hachi uttered next Kagome's gaze drifted to the white-haired man, who turned to look at them. She felt her heart skip a beat when their eyes met - her dark brown, his bright amber. He was probably more handsome than Miroku, but the scowl he had on his face was making him appear annoyed and unapproachable. His ears swiveled her way even when he turned to look at the tanuki.
"Hachi, if Sesshomaru hears you calling me that he'll gut you," Inuyasha warned and jumped inside the room. As soon as he stood on the floor he folded his arms in front of his chest and eyed the women, tilting his head a little. Kagome knew he was examining them, so she didn't look away from him, showing him she was not afraid. Both Inuyasha and Miroku had crescent moons, but white instead of red - it was a sign of their high rank.
"So you will work with us?" Miroku asked the girls.
"Yes, we are determined to do our best," Sango gave a nod of affirmation.
"That's wonderful! Miss Sango, miss Kagome, I am here if you need anything, all you need is to ask and all I require as a payment is a chance to press my..." a clawd hand clasped on his mouth prevented him from saying another word. Inuyasha growled at his partner.
"Don't listen to him, he's a lech," Inuyasha said. "If he offends you or something just kick his ass, I'm sure you can fight, you'd not get this work otherwise. He won't do anythin', just talks like a moron."
"Mmmf!" disagreed Miroku.
Kagome wasn't sure at which man she should stare - at the monk trying to free his head from the iron grip of his youkai partner or at the youkai himself. She had heard that the Lord's younger brother was an brash and rude person, but she had never dreamt about meeting him - and in the Lord's security service! She chose to stare at the latter, finding his intense yellow eyes and twitching fuzzy ears much more appealing that the former man's features.
"Have a problem with hanyou, miko?" he growled at her, obviously unhappy of her stare. Kagome blinked and blushed, looking down immediately.
"I'm sorry, I was just surprised by your statement," she said softly. "I bear no ill will towards youkai or hanyou," she added. It was pretty obvious, the daiyoukai wouldn't allow a youkai-hating human work for him because he hated when his servants were wasting energy for hating each other. Sango quickly added her own apology, Kagome realized the other woman probably had been staring as well. She prayed Sango's stare target wasn't the cute-eared man in front of them.
"We will remember your advice, Inuyasha," Sango added and looked at Miroku who sighed.
"I'm not that bad..."
"Yes, you are," Hachi voiced his opinion on the matter and visibly shrank when Miroku glared at him. "You will take each of our new security officers as your partners for the next month, so they can get used to everything, master Jaken suggests that miss Higurashi should work with Inuyasha and miss Taiyija with you, Miroku. This way Ah-Un will be always protected by a person wielding spiritual power and a fighter."
The group of four people he was talking to looked at each other, Kagome felt a new wave of excitement and had to swallow a giggle when she saw his ears swived her way.
"Ah-Un is leaving in two hours, maybe we could go and have some lunch?" Miroku suggested.
"That sounds nice," Sango agreed. "We could discuss our duties and learn a little about each other."
"Better grab something to eat before Sesshomaru arrives from his meeting with the human government," Inuyasha turned to the window. "Rin is with him so I'm pretty sure someon will try to attack us on the way to the Sky Palace," he glanced at three humans and the tanuki. "I caught scent of some ugly youkai some time earlier."
"What type?" Sango asked. Everyone knew one could trust an inu youkai's nose.
"Birds. So... I'll order chicken for everyone, get going, we'll meet in the restaurant," with those words he leapt out of the room, leaving the rest of Ah-Un's crew to stare after him through the window.
"Chicken, huh? Ladies, shall we follow our dog-eared friend?" Miroku said with a wide smile
"Um, yes, but let's use the door," Kagome uttered. |
MIDGARD
Sigyn hadn’t intended to return to Stark’s Tower. If she was going to leave Veilya’s side, it had been with the intention of finding Loki. Yet here she was, given few choices about the matter. The redhaired Völva had all but appeared on the Helicarrier and calmly informed her where she needed to go. Veilya had been healed far enough that only monitoring and time was required. The Völva had declared she would remain.
The Volur’s appearance just happened to coincide with the Quinjet’s arrival with the last of the human civilians that needed treatment for exposure to the fog. Sigyn made a mental note to make a few inquiries with her people in case there were any lasting effects.
Natasha was at the controls and didn’t question her presence. Smart woman since she didn’t have an answer.
Sigyn arrived in time to witness the middle of a screaming match going on between a teenage girl and a male human she didn’t recognize. Two young children were huddled behind the teenager.
El was fiercely scowling. “No! You’re not taking her and I’m not going back! Where’s Loki?!?”
Sigyn blinked twice.
The man who was wearing SHIELD attire and glaringly frustrated, tried to say, “It doesn’t--…”
But El wasn’t in any mood for bureaucrats or delays. Particularly when that bureaucracy was pointless. She jabbed a finger out the windows. “He’s hurt! We need to be out there looking for him, you asshole.”
Tony appeared out of his lab, Bruce with him. They had put the sorcerer on the backburner, using the same technology to find Loki. “Reign it in, Mini, I’m looking for him.”
El rolled her eyes. “Great. But we could find him faster if we looked with eyes instead of stupid tech--…”
Stark cut her off, offended. “Hey! Don’t knock the science, Glenda.”
El snorted and gestured down herself. “Oh please, I am soooo not Glenda. Don’t even try to pawn off that stupid nickname on me.”
Melody grinned. “I’ll be Glenda.”
Her sister glanced back with both eyebrows raised. “You want to be blond and wear a ballgown of a dress?” Immediately Melody shook her head, then silently yawned. “Then no you won’t.”
The unnamed agent cut in and reached for El’s upper arm. “You are not--…”
Willow instantly glared. A soft growl that seemed to come from a cat, even though there wasn’t one that could be seen, lifted into the air. With a scowl El slapped his hand away and a pulse of turquoise moved around her. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever touch me--…”
“Enough.” Sigyn didn’t yell or even raise her voice. She didn’t snap out the word or gesture. Yet the hint of command and ice to the tone froze everyone in the room. Thor, who had been a quiet lump of guilt in the corner, paled. A reaction that didn’t escape her notice.
Sif and Fandral silently stiffened, most of the AEsir did, but none of them said a word.
Seeing that she had everyone’s attention, she focused on the mortal that screamed outsider to her. “Who are you?”
The agent gave her a blank look. “Who am I?”
Both of Sigyn’s eyebrows slowly rose. “Yes, I thought the question was a simple one.”
He shook his head, almost dismissive. “That doesn’t matter. I am under Director Fury’s orders to ensure these two girls are returned to their guardians.” She just continued to silently stare at him. Eventually he said quietly, “Harris.”
She smiled that small elf smile and nodded in greeting. “A pleasure, Mr Harris. I am Et’ana Sigyn. Do you believe that orders and a physical confrontation are the best methods to ensure cooperation?”
“I’m the adult and she’s the child--…”
El growled, “I’m not a baby or a little kid you can lead off for a nap.”
Sigyn cut them both off while remaining focused on him as she folded her hands in front of herself. “Obviously you have no children of your own. The children and I will converse. Go away until you are needed.”
Harris sputtered. “You can’t--…but I’m…”
She sighed audibly and gestured. “Mr Harris, do you see the humans over there?” He turned enough to see the Avengers. Slowly he nodded silently. “They are the best and brightest that your realm has to offer in both defense and ingenuity. Mr Harris can you appreciate that every one of them including Asgard’s crowned prince…with the exception of the redhaired assassin…fear me?” Harris swallowed. “Perhaps it is because I am a spellcaster and could turn you into a turnip. Perhaps because I could lift you with one hand, by your ankle, over my head.”
El grinned. “They’re scared of you ‘cause you’re Loki’s girlfriend.” Melody started to look excited now that she knew who Sigyn was.
Sigyn gave her a conspiring wink. “There is that. Now, with that information before you, unless you consider yourself at the same caliber as she, I would suggest doing as I tell you.”
Harris tried a couple of times to silently start before he said quietly, “I have to follow his orders.” Not quite a whine, at least not the tone, but the wording could certainly be seen that way.
With a nod Sigyn observed, “You now have two sets of orders. Who do you fear more, Mr Harris?” Cold amusement filled her face. Harris wilted and went to find a corner to hide in.
A grinning Tony turned enough to silently mouth to Bruce “…bad ass bitch…”
Sigyn ignored him, her attention now on El and the other children. “Shall we?”
“I’m not going!” El stomped her foot.
But Sigyn’s tone remained patient. “Currently I have requested a civilized conversation, just the four of us sitting over there. Is my presence so disagreeable that you will not even acquiesce that much?”
Sigyn’s words and manner were so darn reasonable with a pout El nodded and trudged for the sofa.
Melody asked with an excited bounce, her previous fatigue forgotten. “You’re Loki’s girlfriend? Are you going to marry him? Do you have kids? Do you like kids? Or maybe do you like kids that are humans?”
Instead of answering Sigyn walked sedately for the sofa. Melody and Bragi followed her. When she sat Melody sat right next to her, looking up at her and waiting for the answer.
Bragi was frowning in confusion. “What is a girlfriend?”
“They’re dating.” The younger set turned their heads in El’s direction where she was sitting, still looking a bit sullen. “He takes her to romantic places and they fall in love before he puts a ring on her finger.”
Bragi still looked confused so Sigyn clarified with words he would relate to, “We are in an informal courtship.” The only reason she was familiar with the word was due to Stark.
The boy nodded in understanding. “Oh. Are you going to have a formal courtship with fader soon?”
El frowned now. “Fader?”
Sigyn smiled gently and answered him. “I believe so. There are a few matters he and I have to discuss before a formal arrangement occurs.” She turned her attention to Melody who was again watching her. “To answer your questions: yes, hopefully, I have one daughter, I adore children and it matters not to me their species.”
Melody turned to El and explained about Bragi. “Loki’s his dad now.”
“Oh.”
Back to Sigyn again with a grin. “I remember you.”
Sigyn frowned a little. She did not recall meeting this charming little girl. “We have met?”
Melody nodded her head up and then down and yawned again. “Uh huh. Well, sorta. When Loki played the violin I saw you singing and dancing.”
Sigyn now recognized this little one as well. The little girl singing everyone around her into submission. “I see. Well, hello again.” She raised her hand to tuck a stray dark lock behind Melody’s ear and the little girl took this as an invitation to snuggle against her. Unconsciously her expression softened.
“Do you like to dance?”
She nodded easily. “I adore dancing, though I have not had much reason to do so lately.”
Melody looked thoughtful while El relaxed. “Does Loki like to dance?”
Amusement tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Perhaps not as much as I do but he is very skilled at it.” He also had as many opportunities to dance as she did.
“Do you hate humans?”
Sigyn frowned. “No.”
Now Melody frowned as well. “But you don’t like them, either.”
She sighed. “I would not say that. I would say I have not met very many.” She didn’t like stupid, foolish, short-sighted people. Species didn’t factor into that. “I have met two humans before me that I very much like.” That satisfied Melody and she went back to snuggling with another yawn.
El leaned forward, now seeing Sigyn as an ally. “We need to find Loki. He was hurt; he needs help.”
Tony sat down on the opposite side of El, shaking his head. “I don’t get why he took off.”
Sigyn let her fingers idly run through Melody’s hair as she asked. “Do you not, Mr Stark?”
Hurt shadowed his eyes. “Doesn’t he trust me?” He was flawed and he knew it. He had a big mouth and said things in the heat of the moment. But that was different. Surely Loki knew that.
Sigyn nodded. “I feel certain he does. But he has not known you long enough to override ingrained instincts to hide during a moment of vulnerability.” Tony’s eyebrows hiked up. Well that certainly didn’t flatter the AEsir. Based on her expression, she knew exactly who was being insulted with that statement.
JARVIS called out. “Sir, incoming data.”
Tony jumped to his feet. “Finally!”
Most of the adults hustled down to the small lab, Thor in the desperate lead. El scrambled onto her feet, but a silent stare from Sigyn and she sat back down.
“He needs us!” she howled.
Sigyn nodded reluctantly. “I know. But I suspect Thor is meant to find him first.”
El returned to scowling. “According to who?”
“A Völva.” Not that the Völva had said anything like that. But it didn’t take a stretch of her imagination to see how matters were being manipulated.
So they had a title. So what? El shook her head. “What is that?”
“She is a member of the Volur. They speak the will of the Norns…and no one with a healthy survival instinct disobeys them.” Sigyn frowned as she tried to explain. “She told me I was to come here instead of leaving the mortal’s flying ship to search for Loki.” Because that had been her initial intention just before the Völva appeared.
“And you just did what she told you. Just…that’s it? No choice?”
Bragi shook his head gravely. “No one defies a Völva.”
“He’s not a very good brother,” was Melody’s quiet opinion.
Sigyn frowned. “Why do you think that?” Not that she disagreed, because she didn’t. But she was curious how a child so young came to that conclusion.
Melody shrugged. “He’s just not.”
Sigyn’s blue eyes flicked back in El’s direction. “Hmm…but maybe he is becoming a better one.”
“And what if Thor finds Loki and just lets him die?” Sigyn lifted both eyebrows. “What? I’m not being melodramatic.”
“If Thor finds Loki gravely injured and takes no action to keep him among us…then I will kill him.” Sigyn had relayed the words almost lightly. Bragi and Melody both giggled, not thinking she was being literal. But El didn’t. She was just old enough to understand that no matter how carefully Sigyn had said the words…she meant them.
El crossed her arms. “Until I know he’s okay I’m not going.”
Sigyn’s frown returned. “Where would you be going?” She wasn’t oblivious. The boy was Loki’s son. The girls may not be officially his but they were far too possessive of him to just be fond of him. And if they felt that way, so did he for them.
“I live in an orphanage now,” volunteered Melody.
“And I live with the craptastic parentals until...” But then El trailed off. She wasn’t sure who was or wasn’t aware of the plan.
Sigyn’s frown deepened, but she kept the reason for it to herself. Instead she calmly asked, “Is Loki aware of this arrangement?”
Reluctantly El admitted, “Yeah.”
“Hmm…” She considered that. “Then perhaps we can reach an accord.”
El leaned back a bit. “Like what?” When an adult wanted to bargain, the kid never won in the arrangement.
“The two of you will return to your designated places while I assist Mr Stark in locating Loki. To you I vow that Loki will be notified by me that you both require to see him. Is this agreeable?”
El looked over at Willow who was standing not far away. “Maybe Thor’s meant to find him but she also goes.”
A sharp smile spread across Sigyn’s face. “I may not be able to order Thor to take her with him…” Because she anticipated that as soon as Thor knew where Loki was he would use Mjolnir to take himself there. “…but I can give her directions if she is agreeable.”
Willow jerked her head up and down in an accepting nod.
El pulled in a slow breath before she stood up and took a step closer. “Do you love Loki more than you love being a queen?”
Sigyn didn’t move from her seat because Melody was snoozing against her. Her expression turned serious. “If he required it of me to abandon Alfheim and my title then I would.” Willow gasped in shock. No previous Et’ana had ever said something like that. It just wasn’t done.
El studied her face. “Are you lying?”
“No,” was the simple reply.
“So, you never lie?”
Amusement started to shine in her eyes. “I cannot say I never lie.”
“Why not?” El demanded.
Sigyn gave her a small smile. “…because that would be a lie.”
El echoed the expression before she nodded. “Okay then.” She tugged at Melody’s arm who eventually roused herself enough to stand up. Her arm around her sister, El led a stumbling Melody over to Harris. “She goes with me and we drop her off first.”
His eyes moved in Sigyn’s direction before he nodded meekly. El glanced back at Sigyn. The elf winked. When she stood Bragi immediately moved to be next to her.
Only once the girls were in the elevator did Sigyn turned to travel down to the lab, Willow following behind her.
Tony and Bruce were manipulating the screen, everyone able to see a digital map outlined by red dots. “Okay, so is SHIELD going door to door on this or what?”
Steve frowned. “Why would they need to?”
A bit more of fuss before Tony gestured. “That is the reason. These are all the peeps that may or may not be Hogwarts candidates in a 10 miles radius. But considering he can teleport thousands of miles this might be an exercise in futility.”
Sigyn looked over the startling quantity of active and potential casters. “Where was the battle?”
Bruce glanced her way before a small circle appeared. “Here.”
“What is the radius of a mile from that point?”
Tony stayed silent as Bruce tightened the area and adjusted the map. “That. Why?”
Sigyn studied the tall buildings. “He would not travel further than that.”
Stark, as insightful as ever, made the logically leap. “You mean he couldn’t.” Thor flinched.
“Yes. I do.” Sigyn nodded gravely before she stepped forward and the men cleared a path for her. She pointed to a red dot that was surrounded by odd energy fluctuations. “There.”
Tony squinted. “What is that? JARVIS?”
Steve asked, “Why there?” He may not understand the first thing about magic but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to learn.
“Unknown, sir,” JARVIS replied.
“Switch to a satellite view,” ordered Tony. The image shifted to a live view looking down on the building. There was a shimmering field surrounding the building. Brows silently furrowed.
“It is a bubble ward, also known as a shield spell.” Gazes shifted to Sigyn. She turned to answer Steve’s earlier question. “The other locations are predominantly residences. The whole point of he vanishing was to not be found.”
Tony nodded, agreeing with that logic. “Abandoned warehouse makes sense, then.”
“You found him?” Thor looked so damn hopeful his expression was almost heartbreaking.
“Pretty sure. He was helping us use tech to track mojo. He had to know we could use it to find him.” Tony perked up suddenly. “Hey, if the magic is still up, that means he’s okay, right?”
Thor stayed morose. “Or he is dying because of me and wishes for no witnesses.”
Bragi’s eyes widened before he hid his face against Sigyn’s side. Sigyn silently sighed, knowing the men were unaware he was present to hear them.
Tony was quick to try to soothe him. “He won’t blame you, Pointe Break.”
Thor remained unsoothed. “I know my brother better than you, Man of Iron. He is there instead of here because he is afraid of me.”
Tony could have argued that Thor may know him over a longer period of time, but that didn’t mean he knew him better. But even for him it was too petty. Instead he tried, “But--…that wasn’t you. And, it’s not like we wouldn’t have done anything if the bitchy-witch still had you under her mojo.”
The blue-eyed demi-god fought not to flinch. None of them truly understood that Loki had every reason to doubt him. Just as Loki also had reasons to doubt the other Avengers, considering how short of a time they would be considered allies. The Avengers initial welcome when he and Loki had come to assist, combined with SHIELD’s less than hospitable stance, hadn’t helped to foster trust.
He’d continue to try to do better, to be a better brother, but he knew there were old wounds between them that would take time to heal. “I know. My thanks for finding him.”
“Can we be of help, my prince?” Thor turned his head enough to notice Hrik. He wasn’t familiar with this man, or the quiet one who he assumed was Hrik’s brother.
Steve chimed in, “Wait. Now that its working we’ll get the jet ready--…” Natasha was already nodding in silent agreement.
Thor held up a stalling hand and replied to all of them. “No. It is best if I go alone.”
Sigyn silently produced a scrap of parchment and handed the directions to Willow who nodded her head and slipped away. Tyr silently noticed but made no mention of it.
Tony made a face. He knew Loki was paranoid and very careful with who he trusted. “Dude, he’s not that paranoid, is he?”
Barton kept his face grim. “Maybe he earned the right.”
The inventor whirled on him, frustrated and eager to vent it on anyone convenient. “I’m not backstabbing-Fury!”
Clint crossed his arms and asked calmly, “Did you delete his kindle account yet?”
Tony opened his mouth to protest, but then he closed it again. He hadn’t. But he wouldn’t say he hadn’t meant it at the time.
Barton continued, “He vanished and we all assumed the worst.”
Bruce nodded quietly. “Trust works both ways. How long has he known us? A minute and a half?” He sighed and found a spot to sit on. “And he spent the majority of that time crawling through a magical death trap while putting up with Fury.”
“Soo not cool.”
Thor had already stepped outside of the lab. He used Mjolnir to throw himself into the skies, taking the fastest method there and putting an end to the discussion. Even with Amora’s influence lifted, he could remember everything. He was still haunted by the blood coming from his brother’s mouth as he rasped a taunt. Wounds that he’d caused.
He could have crashed through the ceiling, but he thought better of it. Since there was magic involved, he would try the door and see what happened. Depending upon Loki’s mood, sometimes his brother’s magic repelled him and at other times it allowed him entrance.
The doorknob turned easily under his hand and he was able to push it inward. When he tried to take a step, he could feel the magic pressing against him, wary of him. Much as he was certain right now Loki was wary of him. After a few tense moments the pressure eased, and he was able to walk forward.
In the distance he could see Loki lying on the ground, only wearing his tunic, breeches, and boots. He wanted to run the distance, but he forced himself to maintain a calm gate. Magic was a tricky thing and he’d been surprised by it more than once. Just because he got through the door didn’t mean it wouldn’t forcibly eject him if his actions were interpreted wrong.
It took too long to cover the distance but at last he was able to kneel next to Loki. He could see the remnants of a healing rock on his brother’s torso and he felt relief from that. Thor wasn’t happy with how Loki rasped each breath but even a healing rock took time to heal major injuries. He set Mjolnir down and sat next to his brother’s shoulder. Unwilling to move him but just as unwilling to leave him, Thor settled for gently taking Loki’s right hand in his own and waited for him to wake up.
***
Loki was truly getting tired of being the universe’s punching bag. Why was he the one that was injured every time while Thor walked away with barely a scratch? Realizing his hand was being held, he instinctively wanted to shy away from Thor’s touch, but he forced himself to remain still. He reminded himself that his brother wouldn’t physically hurt him. It was a vicious internal battle that distracted him for a few moments.
Thor watched him silently, knowingly. Out of the corner of his eye he noted Willow shift. But he kept his attention on Loki. His brother may not have moved but Thor still felt his muscles tense. He was quite eager for this distrust between them to fade and he vowed he would remain patient until it did. By the time Loki was aware of his surroundings again he could feel Thor’s sad blue eyes watching him.
“I know you are awake, brother.” Loki didn’t open his eyes. Thor continued, ignoring that Loki was playing possum. “I cannot wait to return to Asgard. I will regale to all the tale of your courage. Your name will be toasted through the feasting hall.”
Loki was many things but one thing he was not was a hypocrite. Because of that he despised it in others. “Surprising you would touch one such as I.”
Thor frowned. “What do you mean?”
Gritting his teeth as he opened his eyes, he yanked his hand out of Thor’s grasp and forced the change. Crimson eyes glaring, “Were not your words that I am but a monster, a dishonorable cur?”
Loki anticipated a cringe. A flinch. Not receiving any reaction at all was unexpected. Thor shook his head and tried to object, “I--…”
The mage curled his hand towards his chest as he wheezed. “To insult them is to insult me. You may sing your apologies as you wish but no matter how many times it is pointed out with regards to Jötunn and those with seidr you return to insults at the next opportunity. It is quite evident these are your true feelings, despite your reassurances to the contrary. You are a liar that I no longer believe.”
He tried for a joke to break his brother’s mood. “That is your forte, brother, not mine.”
Loki just pressed his lips together and closed his eyes again as he shifted back to his AEsir form. He’d said why he would be leaving, just not in so many words. Thor may pretend ignorance when that day occurred but deep down he would know the reason.
Thor blinked in surprise. He wasn’t used to Loki not offering some sort of retort. He felt it then, although he couldn’t really put it into words. Something broken between them. Loki was responsible for a portion of it during his exile, goaded by father or not. But Thor’s words, his perceived opinion of his brother’s worth, was the greater portion. Protesting, “I was not talking about you--…”
Brutally Loki emphasized each word. “Yes. You. Were.”
Sighing in exasperation, “Loki, for once can you listen?” Then Thor blinked, realizing the irony of those words since he was just as prone.
Loki slowly opened his eyes, his voice an angry hiss, “You accuse me of not listening? You are too amusing, brother.”
“Not this--…” he started to complain.
His brother cut him off crisply. Coolly. “You are quite correct. I am as weary of this topic as you are. So let us speak no more of it.”
Thor blinked, pausing, before he asked hesitantly, “Then…you are not upset?”
Loki’s tone took on a cool remoteness again, his voice soft as his face went blank, “Why would that matter? Is that not the purpose of your denials and false platitudes, to relieve me of my anger? Well, not really. You wish to no longer hear of said anger, deserved or not. Whether I remain angry due to your words is of no importance to you. So very well. You shall hear no more of it.”
Thor could almost hear the alarm bells. “I am upset with you as well.”
“Whyever would that be?”
The thunderer shrugged as if it were obvious. “The coronation. Midgard during my exile. Why do you think?” A topic that Loki still avoided and so the upset remained.
Loki retorted, “Look to father for that.”
Thor frowned heavily. “You learned of father’s lies after the coronation and my banishment, Loki.”
Loki was still using that same maddening tone. The tone he used in court with those that he didn’t trust. The one he’d been using for days now. “Still, it is far different to be angry with someone for what they have done than anger for an opinion of what they are.”
Thor shook his head in frustration. “I was not speaking of you.”
A sigh. “Go away, Thor.”
“No.” Thor stubbornly shook his head. Whether Loki desired his presence or not he would be here.
A glare started to form on Loki’s face. “I can make you.”
“You can try,” retorted Thor.
“Tempt me,” Loki purred dangerously.
Even to Thor Loki was obviously upset so he tried to explain. “I was not speaking of you because I do not see you in that light. Seiđmađr. Jötunn. Those are not labels to describe Loki, so I forget.” There was absolutely no reaction in Loki’s eyes. Thor hung his head. “I know I should not say them. I stupidly repeat what I have heard on the training yard for centuries but I do not mean it.”
“Then why repeat it?” That same cool tone with a hint of slyness now. As if Loki was just waiting for the wrong word or inflection to confirm Thor was lying.
Thor couldn’t meet Loki’s stare, feeling himself shrink inside to ever admit this. But better to say what needed to be said than to lose Loki again over a misunderstanding, “So that I have something to say. So that I sound knowledgeable…like you.” Loki blinked in surprise even as Thor shrugged. “I know of nothing beyond fighting.”
“You are not stupid, even if you may act it.”
The thunderer pulled in a slow breath, grasping for courage he didn’t feel. It was so much easier to face death than to admit how he felt. Particularly to his brother who was not known for holding his barbed tongue in check. “I feel stupid around you. So I say that which will draw attention to me. When I said such things before the men would laugh and nod as if I imparted great wisdom.” And the feeling that had followed left him addicted for more. Glory, of a different kind that he chased after. “It is a bad habit.” Thor reached out as fast as a striking snake and grabbed his brother’s hand, swallowing his pride. “I am sorry, Loki. Truly. Do not--…” He couldn’t get the rest out.
There was a distinct difference in the way Loki treated those that weren’t trusted. A cool, formal tone that entered his voice, his face void of emotion. It was a look and a practice that his brother had perfected over the centuries, his court face, and Thor was aware he’d crossed one of the few unforgiveable lines when he was treated that way.
Loki sighed slowly through his nose as he sat up. There were those blasted puppy-dog eyes again. But Thor wasn’t aware he was doing it so it thawed him a little. “Still, that Einherjar did not utter those particular words you used.” The observation was carefully stated, but there was a hint of mischief in the tone.
Thor’s brow furrowed. “You were not there.”
The mage nodded once slowly. “Yes, I was.”
Thor’s eyes widened in dawning understanding. “It was you.”
Maintaining an innocent expression. “What was me?”
“I heard Tyr grumbling about not finding the man who spoke of the F--…Jötunn in less than kind terms. He was not to be found because it was you.”
Still completely unrepentant, he tilted his head slightly towards Thor. “Clever, for once.”
Thor gaped in outrage. “Veilya and your elf and everyone else are mad at me because of you!”
“So your words are my fault?” Loki asked this sweetly.
Thor paused to realize how the accusation sounded. “No. Of course not.” They had been a mistake and he knew it. But he didn’t understand the why. “A test?”
The mage made a small, dismissive gesture. “Not as such, no. Nor did I expect you to take such a leap forward to denounce me--…” Thor’s hand covered Loki’s mouth before he could say the words. Loki slapped Thor’s hands away from his mouth and scowled, “Stop doing that.”
Loki wheezed suddenly and did his best not to cough because instinctively he knew it would be beyond painful. Willow shifted, concern in her eyes. Thor watched him worriedly but didn’t do anything else until his brother was breathing easier. A reminder that Loki was still injured and to both speak and act with care.
Only once Loki was no longer struggling did Thor say softly, “You should rest.”
Loki was aware of that, although the concern he heard soothed something within him. But if they were going to have this conversation, it had to be now before either of them got stubborn or distracted. He shook his head in lieu of answering.
Thor shook his own head. “Why?”
Loki watched him carefully, considering matters. After a brief pause he stated almost too casually, “It is very inconvenient that you are incapable of maintaining secrecy.”
Thor looked affronted. “I can keep secrets.”
The trickster didn’t even hesitate in rolling his eyes. “Not from father, you cannot.”
“Why would I need to do so?”
Loki shrugged. “You cannot so the why is unimportant.” Thor’s eyes returned to pleading for more information and with a very careful huff, “Father would do things for a lot of reasons. For my benefit is a poor second in comparison to all the other more important reasons.”
Thor’s brow was furrowed heavily, desperately trying to understand. “How does having us at odds relate to keeping secrets?”
Loki paused for a considering moment before he showed one of the cards he kept close to his chest. “It would make my leaving Asgard easier.”
Then Sigyn hadn’t been wrong. Thor exclaimed, “You do not have to leave! Asgard is your home.”
The mage remained calm, asking, “Is it? It has not felt like home for me in a very long time.”
Feeling desperate. “Your family is there.” Thor tensed an instant later.
Loki bit back what he was going to say. He could see that Thor had already braced himself to hear such cutting words. “They are,” he conceded. “They are also on Vanaheim. If father gets in the way I will have no choice.”
Suddenly Veilya’s words came to Thor. That Loki couldn’t take that first step of trust with him anymore and that it would be up to him as the older brother to reach his hand out first. He hesitated before he admitted quietly, “Even kings make mistakes. It was what I was not looking forward to…as king.”
Loki’s head jerked back in surprise. “What are you talking about? You could not wait to begin your reign. You pranced down the runner and hefted that stupid hammer of yours into the air like you had just won a war.”
Thor nodded. “And I was terrified.” He hid it well. It was surprising sometimes to him how much his boisterous gestures and broad smiles hid.
“You were not.”
Deciding to ignore Loki for the moment so that he could actually get this out. “Nor could I tell anyone of my fear. At least you have mother to speak with when you choose. I…I have no one.” Anyone would of course sit down to listen to him speak. But they wanted to hear about his adventures. His triumphs. They wanted words so they could live vicariously through him. They didn’t want to hear of his problems or his fears. “Father would never understand or worse, he would think me weak. Our—my friends would think I was just joking or bespelled and well…”
“Me?” Loki asked the question but he didn’t look surprised.
Thor couldn’t look at him. “I never wanted you to doubt that I am capable. You had enough doubts as it was. You already knew I was an idiot.”
Loki sighed. “Thor--…”
“Let me say this?” Still watching him, Loki silently nodded. “I feared you would think less of me. I am the older brother, I am supposed to set the example. But I also feared if I did speak with you, you would tell father so he would be disappointed in me or…” Because they had been rivals for centuries, and Loki had no qualms in using whatever he could for his advantage. “There were many reasons for my fear…but many more reasons why I did not consider discussing them with you and none of them good.”
Loki blinked slowly, before he admitted, “I would have made certain everyone knew; that you would know what it felt like to be perceived as less.” He glanced away and shrugged. “I was petty then.”
Thor had a small smile on his face before he asked, “And now?”
The trickster held up his index finger and thumb so there was a small gap. He was still a bit petty, but he made no plans to mention this to anyone. Thor’s mouth twitched in humor.
How long had it been since Thor was ever this forthcoming about things that really mattered? Loki asked quietly, “You still fear being king?”
“Yes. No. Sometimes?” He wasn’t afraid at the moment, but there was a reason for that. Thor sighed to himself. “But when I remind myself that you are here the fear goes away.”
Loki’s expression was thoughtful. But he also recognized the gesture for what it was. That first step of trust without any demands in return. Nor did he have to plan around Thor’s friends who were the worst tattletales. He wasn’t worried about Willow, who had more than proved she could and would hold her tongue.
He pulled in a slow breath. “I have no interest in matters returning as they were. No doubt you regard the past fondly but it was not so for me. I was just your faithful little sidekick stuck in the shadows like some…useful tool.” He grimaced. Thor moved as if he would speak but Loki just waved him off and continued, “I knew that would continue with you crowned. You would act like an idiot while being praised for it and I was angry enough to let the realm burn.”
Thor’s expression was thoughtful. “Then we will find a compromise between us.”
“Compromise.” Loki snorted. “Since when do you ever concede anything?”
“As often as you do.” The pair of them grinned at one another before Thor turned serious. “Brother I spent almost a year since your fall wishing I could make things right. Please tell me I am not too late.”
If Loki uttered nothing but sweet platitudes, it was too late. And as pessimistic as he was, this was the one area of his life where he always had a quiet hope that someday they could return to something that resembled the brotherhood they’d shared as boys. He no longer had doubt that he was loved. It gave him the courage to trust. He opened his hand and green flame filled his palm. “Do you swear that this discussion does not pass your lips nor conveyed by hand until this pact is broken, let you never lift Mjolnir again if you are foresworn?”
Thor swallowed but grasped Loki’s hand without hesitation, the emerald fire spreading over their joined hands. “I so swear.”
The fire dissipated and their arms returned to their sides. Loki checked the wards to confirm that no one could observe them and nodded once. “Regardless of the outcome, Melody and El will be leaving Midgard with me.”
“Is that all?” Loki silently lifted an eyebrow. “Brother, it is rather obvious you will not leave them behind.”
Loki thought to protest that he wasn’t that obvious. But he decided against it, realizing when it came to the girls he was. Instead he stated, “Fair warning, but the humans may not react well to this. I am not speaking of your avenging friends.”
“They are your friends, too,” Thor pointed out.
The mage waved him off, not wanting to acknowledge the warm feeling filling his heart at the thought of having friends of his own. “No matter. The point is not all humans are them. They will perceive this as a kidnapping, an abduction by an alien to their realm. You may have difficulties assisting them in the future.”
“Then so be it,” Thor said with a nod. Then he looked confused. “Is that all? Did we need such secrecy for that?”
Loki raised an eyebrow. “And how do you think father will react if I bring mortals to the palace with the intent of they living there instead of just visiting?” He wasn’t going to mention his fear that father might order either of them killed. Thor would never believe it. Still, even without that possibility Thor grimaced. “Precisely. He has never kept his opinion quiet…and when he learns I intend to adopt them and taint our family lineage he will go through the roof.”
“But you will do so anyway.”
“I will, no matter the fallout.” There was no room for compromise with him. Not when it came to them. “There are some reasons that limit his ability to forbid my intended course, but he is still the king and his word is law even if the rest of the Nine might be displeased.”
“What reasons?”
This would be the information that he would normally keep to himself. But Thor had accepted the vow without hesitating. Maybe for once sharing some of the details would work in his favor. “El is a sorceress and I have accepted her as my apprentice.”
Thor nodded slowly. “And magical law dictates a separation is not allowed.” Loki raised both eyebrows in surprise. “What? Sometimes I listen.” They both shared a grin.
But then Loki’s expression turned a bit more serious. “I am Asgardian and she is not. But she is no longer mortal because of it.” A conversation he needed to have with her soon.
Thor blinked but then he looked happy. “She has your lifespan now?”
“She will not expire on the same day I do. It would be accurate to say that she now has the same potential lifespan that I do.” She was 13 years old, which for an AEsir child wasn’t even 6 seasons. She wouldn’t be frozen at this physical age for hundreds of years until her seasons caught up but she would now be growing at a snails pace like any other Asgardian child going forward.
“What of the little one?”
“Melody initially had been the source of my greatest concern. There are no laws to protect her. She still is a concern but her ability to remain safely on Midgard is no longer possible.” The humans would come for her sooner rather than later. Under his direct protection was the only way she would remain safe and he knew it. It was time to put the fortune he’d amassed here to good use. “To win the game in the tunnels I tethered my magic to her. At the time I thought a temporary solution. But I made a mistake and her talent is now permanently intwined. There is no separating it.”
“Then she will live as long as her sister!” Thor exclaimed happily.
“Maybe. Her ability is feeding from the well of a mage. At minimum she will have our lifespan. She may have a great deal longer than that.” Just as it was possible for him to have that same lifespan. He blinked silently in surprise. He hadn’t known that until just now. He didn’t think he would ever get used to having Loptr’s knowledge slip within his own like that. “In either case, it would be irresponsible but technically not forbidden to leave children that are long-lived behind on a mortal realm. But whether he will agree to they living on Asgard remains to be seen. He may attempt to send them to Vanaheim. If he does I will go with them.”
And if their father was so much of an idiot to do that Thor silently vowed the instant he was king he would ensure to welcome Loki home along with any child of his, no matter their origins. “What do you need me to do, brother?”
Loki was used to coming up with his own plans, allowing Thor to do as he pleased since there was no containing him, and adjusting as needed. This was perhaps the first time Thor was earnestly taking his queues from him. “The first step when we depart is to ensure that Heimdall opens the BiFrost for them.”
“Done.” Loki gave him a look. “What?”
“You really think it will be that easy?” Thor silently shrugged. Why wouldn’t it be? “If Heimdall refuses to transport them?”
Thor frowned heavily. “That is not for him to decide.”
Loki normally would have snapped the response. But he kept his own limitations in mind. “Stop living in denial. He has done plenty in recent years based on his own whims.”
His brother’s expression turned thoughtful, tinged with concern. “What can be done if he does not?”
“We may have to take the long way.”
Thor paused for a long moment before he asked very carefully. “Why not the…other way?”
The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched. A reminder that even after all this time Thor hadn’t forgotten that particular vow of secrecy concerning his ability to walk to other realms. “They are human, I dare not risk it as I do not know if they will remain unharmed.”
“Then failing BiFrost, the long way.” Thor frowned heavily. “How would we take the long way?”
“Amora’s ship, of course. It has to be returned to Vanaheim anyway.” Loki blinked and made a mental note to ensure that the Starlings were also returned to their planet once Amora’s influence was corrected.
“Ah.”
Loki pulled in a slow breath. “After that. Hopefully a private conversation will make father more agreeable instead of challenging him in court.” He was too cynical to believe that conversation would end well.
Thor tentatively suggested, “Perhaps you could be less antagonizing.”
“I will think about it,” Loki said with a mischievous smirk.
“What will your elf say?”
Loki raised both eyebrows. “I have not discussed it with her.” But he needed to. Soon. But he would speak of the girls in the same conversation he would disclose his species. Procrastination, thy name is Loki.
“You are going to marry her.” Thor wasn’t asking a question. He was making a statement.
Loki looked down morosely. “If she will have me.”
“Why would she not?” Loki gave him a disgruntled look and Thor just grinned. At the time he hadn’t been happy, but looking back he was proud of her. She was the perfect match for his brother. “She challenged the God of Thunder in your defense. This will not matter to her, you will see.”
“Optimism is your burden, never mine.” He paused for a beat before he slowly raised an eyebrow. “My elf?”
Thor grinned teasingly. “Once your courtship is announced, I will call her Sigyn.”
The mage noticed the unbandaged spot on Thor’s face. “Someone took pity on you to remove that rune?”
Thor unconsciously rubbed his bare cheek. “Pity, no. I explained to Veilya I only said that word the one time before you made me promise never to say it again.” He winced as he said her name. She was hurt but thanks to his brother and Sigyn she wasn’t dead. He vowed he would see her next.
Loki nodded before he studied one of the Band-Aids on Thor’s arm. His brother had not only apologized, he had willing agreed to do his utmost to keep secrets from father. He was also trying harder than he ever had to learn about those of seidr and to improve himself. Loki didn’t expect perfection, not from his brother when he had his own flaws, he’d just wanted some sort of sign Thor believed he was worth that effort. Thor had grown.
In one move he waved his hand as he ripped it off. “OW!”
Loki ignored him, giving him a thoughtful look. “I do not envy you in the removal of the rest of them.”
Thor’s eyes widened to see no rune on the newly revealed skin. The corner of Loki’s mouth quirked. His blue eyes glanced up, a silent plea there. It wasn’t hard for Loki to instinctively figure out what his brother desired most. At any other time, he’d probably ignore it. With an aggrieved sigh Loki folded his arms into his lap and leaned a little towards the thunderer, who smiled brilliantly and carefully pulled his still healing brother into a firm hug.
---------------------
Up Next: Loki catches up with the girls |
Naruto stared. The man in the mirror stared back.
He won't leave.
He doesn't blink and where his left eye should be is empty and that surprisingly is not the most unnerving part.
He. Won't. Stop. Smiling.
His smile was wide, showing all teeth and pushing up his eyes making them look smaller. Naruto tried not to move, he didn't want him to notice him.
Naruto fears if he moves that the empty eye socket and smile will follow him into his dreams. Watching in silence.
But the man never took his eye off of him and of course never stopped smiling. Naruto knew that he wasn't real, but lingering in the back of his mind something told him that wasn't right. The cold he felt and the dark shadows of the room felt agonizing to him.
He is not real. He is not real. Is not real. Not real.
Then why couldn't Naruto move?
But as he kept looking on with some trepidation he thought that the man in the mirror moved just slightly. Closer than before.
Not real. Not real. Not real.
Naruto shut his eyes tightly as that was the only thing his body allowed him to do. When he opened them there was no longer a man in the mirror. No bloody eye socket and creepy smile.
But of course all one must do is turn around and suddenly it's real.
A piercing scream broke into the night.
He ended up falling asleep and woke up around 3 am feeling more tired than before.
He realized he fell asleep on the floor by his bathroom door. That's where the wall mirror was. Naruto darted his eyes away from the décor and quickly ran to his bed nearby and grabbed his sheet. He covered the mirror hoping and praying to kami or anything that the man was gone.
Somewhere in the darkroom only lit by the moon he swore he saw glowing eyes.
Naruto then sits on his slightly too small bed and stares out the window. Anything else is better than the possibility of seeing that nightmare again.
Morning couldn't come fast enough.
He never did fall asleep. Just continued to stare out the window waiting patiently for the time to tick by.
Naruto for a while knew he was different and that people feared and hated him. Even the kind old Hokage who Introduced him to his apartment looked at him strangely from time to time.
He asked the old man why he was different, but of course, he received no answer. Not that he expected one, he was a freak and maybe now cursed or haunted.
Naruto as much as he didn't want to think about it, his thoughts did turn back to the thing from last night. It had screamed at him a horrible nasty sound that rattled his ears. Its once smiling face turned into a horrific showcasing. Its mouth had blood caked inside and a loose bit of tongue that wiggled like a large bloody worm.
Was this punishment for being different?
Naruto had screamed and passed out due to his bout of panic. When he came to he was alone. (or so he hoped.)
Eventually when It was around 6:30 Naruto started to get changed for the school. He still avoided his mirror and made a point to cover the one in the bathroom as well. (Just in case) he probably looked pitiful with his dark under eyes and unkempt hair. Maybe the villagers on his way to the academy would be more merciful with their glares.
He made his way out of the apartment and locked his door. He never realized how heavy the air felt in his home until he came outside. Suddenly it felt as if a weight had been lifted off his chest.
He started on his way slowly with exhaustion in every step. He didn't even notice the villager's glares and some even worried glances. Nor did he notice the other newer additions to the village.
He plopped himself into a seat in the back. When he walked in he didn't even acknowledge anyone nor did he care to. There was a lot of commotion in the front so maybe if he is really quiet people will ignore him today. He was so tired. Putting his head into his arms he started to close his eyes.
"Uzumaki-san?
He must have dozed off a little. He opened his eyes to see his irritated teacher's face.
"If you could keep your attention on me for the duration of class that would be appreciated." Shizura-sensei had an out-of-place sneer on her elegant features.
"Ah-sorry." He mumbled. He must have looked as bad as he thought since she never called out to him again for laying back down.
Oddly he felt like someone was staring at him.
He felt cold.
He perked himself up and looked around the room, the kid closest to him looked at him briefly before redirecting his gaze back towards the front. Nobody was watching him.
When the academy finally let out he didn't immediately go home. Why would he? There was nobody to greet him or prepared a fresh cook meal. Or he thought in the back of his mind maybe he wouldn't be alone if he went home
So he walked into the road that ran directly through the village. There was this store he liked to window shop at that sold flowers. He of course never went in, as he didn't think he would be allowed.
As he walked he started to hear whispers.
"That boy...his fault...go away."
He has heard these all before and tried to ignore them. Yet he consciously lowered his head to the ground.
"My family...dead...kill yourself."
His footsteps faltered and suddenly he didn't feel like looking at the flowers anymore. So he ran to the only place where he felt somewhat safe.
He sat upon at the top of the Hokage monument knees brought up to the chest looking over the village he lived in. Why did the people hate him? What has he done?
There are a lot of things Naruto doesn't know and things he does. He understands how to read, write, cook, garden, and run. What he doesn't understand is why he is treated differently than others. Did he really hurt people? They seem to think so.
He ended up staying up at the monument until the sun had started to set behind the horizon.
He finally went home. By the time he reached his door, it was dark and he felt so cold. He just wanted to skip dinner and crawl into bed and sleep.
Opening the door and stepping inside he suddenly felt a sense of foreboding. It felt as if he was being watched, almost carefully. Hesitatingly he closed the door and locked it.
The lights were still off but he didn't want to turn them on. Afraid he might see just what was watching him. Afraid it would be the man from last night. So he slowly walked to his bed not even bothering to remove his shoes and climbed in.
It was quiet and he was cold.
He did not sleep well. |
Hongjoong had just returned home after a long day at the comapny. He fiddles with the keypad at the door which seemed like it had two sets of number pads as he typed them in. Hongjoong toes his shoes off at the door and walks into the dorms barely aknowledging Seonghwa, Mingi, San and Yunho who were still in the living room as he makes his way to the kitchen.
"Hey, there's food in the fridge" Seonghwa says quietly as Hongjoong chugs his cup of water.
"I ate" Hongjoong rasps breathlessly.
"You look exhausted, go to bed" Seonghwa suggests, motioning out of the door.
Hongjoong walks with Seonghwa out of the kitchen who lightly presses his hand into Hongjoong's back to keep him going. Seonghwa flips on the lights and Hongjoong starts getting changed. The older picks up his clothes after him mumbling quietly as Hongjoong falls into bed.
"Rest up, Hongjoong" Seonghwa hums as he floats around the room.
"Night, Hwa" Hongjoong mumbles as his eyes fall shut.
Hongjoong stumbles into the living room in a hoodie and sweats that he had found on his chair, to find Seonghwa and Jongho on the couch talking about a drama. Jongho sits on the ground infront of Seonghwa as the older massages the maknaes head. Hongjoong rubs his eyes and falls onto the couch with a groan.
"God I'm so tied" Hongjoong yawns.
"Well maybe if you put your laptop away and sleep at a normal time or atleast get seven hours of sleep then you wouldn't be" Seonghwa reasons.
"Ooft" Jongho snickers quietly.
"Shut up, Seonghwa" Hongjoong grumbles as he gets back onto his feet and waddles into the kitchen for food only just catching Seonghwa say "Just saying". Hongjoong could almost see the older shrug as he goes back to massaging Jongho's head.
Hongjoong and Seonghwa wuld admit that yes they are friends, but they don't cuddle and hug very often. Hongjoong would sometimes feel disconected from Seonghwa when he watched the members cling onto the older. While Hongjoong would also hug the other members he didn't often do it to Seonghwa. The man was perfect in everyway possible and even when he was down he would do anything for his dongsengs. He would join in on their rough housing as Hongjoong would start stressing out about them messing up their hair and makeup, but Seonghwa would also be one of the first people to put them all back in line looking better than ever.
Maybe that is why Hongjoong saw Seonghwa as a Hyung instead of his equal.
Seonghwa had raised his concerns on their relationship and always made sure that Hongjoong was okay with whatever Seonghwa was doing.
"I made breakfast, just stick it int the microwave!" Seonghwa calls.
Hongjoong grunts in response as he takes the plate and pushes it into the microwave
Once Hongjoong sat down in the living room he looked to the food and couldn't belp but feel disgusted. The thought of eating something maked him neasus be spoon full after spoon full he ate as much as he could before he no longer could fathom the thought of swallowing another spoon full.
Hongjoong hadn't realised that he had been staring off into space until Seonghwa had called him back to Earth.
"You good man?" Seonghwa asks taking the plate off of the leader's lap.
"Mhmm" Hongjoong nods.
"We've got practice soon, why don't you go back to bed and take a nap. Maybe you'll be more awake then" Seonghwa suggest as he walks off into the kitchen.
"Good idea" Hongjoong nods and walks back off to bed. Hongjoong drifted off to sleep with the sounds of his members around him.
"Hyung, wake up" Yunho says shaking Hongjoong awake with a gentle touch.
Hongjoong whines and tires to hide in his blanket.
"No, Hyung you can't sleep any longer. We're about to leave" Yunho laughs at the older's antics.
"Okay" Hongjoong groans and climbs down his ladder.
Slashing some water on his face Hongjoong stares at his reflection in the mirror and sighs.
He could practially feel his bed call for him.
"Hongjoong Hyung! We're leaving!" San shouts.
"I'm coming!" Hongjoong shouts but it comes out as a croak. Hongjoong coughs a little before trudging back down to his room and grabbing his bag.
"Are you sure you should be going to practise Hongjoong?" Seonghwa asks from behind the Leader.
Hongjoong jumps as he hadn't heard seonghwa walk into the room.
"Yeah, It's only an hour and then I'll be back home" Hongjoong nods going to sling his bag over his shoulder but Seonghwa takes it out of his and slings it over his own instead before guiding Hongjoong out of the room.
"I am perfectly capable of carrying my bag" Hongjoong grunts.
"I know" Seonghwa nods closing the front door and walking down the stairs with Hongjoong.
"Wooyoung! Let your Hyung sit in the front" Seonghwa calls as the two walk over.
"No it's okay, I can sit in the back" Hongjoong protests but the front door was already opening.
Wooyoung grumbles as he gets out of the front passenger seat, Hongjoong smiles tiredly before slipping into the seat and Seonghwa sets his bag at his feet before smiling and closing the door.
"Thank you, Woo" Seonghwa smiles running his slender fingers through Wooyoung's hair.
Wooyoung's pout breaks into a smile before Yeosang calls Wooyoung back into the car.
"Everyone ready?" Seonghwa asks as walks to the second car.
Hongjoong's back aches as the song ends and the music dies down.
Everyone pants and hongjoong squeezes his eyes shut, he could still feel himself spinning as the others start to move around.
Hongjoong sits up and looks around see eveyone gathering their stuff.
Seonghwa passes Hongjoong a bottle of water as everyone walks out.
"Remember to eat and drink water!" Seonghwa calls.
"We will" San shouts with a thumb in the air.
"And you, go home. You're exhausted Hongjoong" Seonghwa says putting everything away like Hongjoong would normally at the end of practice.
"I'll call Manager Hyung to come and get you-"
"It's fine, I'll do it" Hongjoong sighs.
Seonghwa looks at hongjoong who was on his feet but looked as though he would topple in a matter of seconds. Seonghwa decides not to push Hongjoong and nods passing Hongjoong his bag.
"Go the trainer will be waiting for you" Hongjoong sniffles as he walks out of the practice room leaving Seonghwa to watch as the leader slowly heads down the hallway.
Hongjoong reaches the stairs that would take him to the front door and pauses before turning back round and walking to the studios against Seonghwa's wishes.
Hongjoong felt fine now that he had finally caught his breathe and he had missed so much work that he was supposed to do before coming to the company.
"Hyung!" Hongjoong calls out.
"Oh, Hongjoong you're here?" Eden asks looking to hongjoong over his coffee mug as he relaxes back into his pulsh velvet couch.
"Yeah, where else would I be?"
"You looked like you were about to pass out last night" Eden states.
"I was just tired. I'm alright now" Hongjoong assures.
"Alright" Eden nods as Hongjoong pushes open his studio door.
Time passes and Hongjoong felt as though he was on top of the world, as long as he remebered to take pain killers on time then everythign was fine. The steady pain had spread all over his body and Hongjoong decides that he had been ignoring the pain for long enough and reaches into his bag shuffling about for more painkillers before retriving the box pulling out the leaf to find it was empty.
Hongjoong hums in discontent as he searches his bag but turns up with none. Honjoong gets up and looks through his studio to find nothing as well.
Ignoring the pain Hongjoong walks to Maddox's room and knocks on the door.
"Come in!" Maddox calls.
"Hyung, do you have painkillers?" Hongjoong asks.
"um... no I don't have my normal bag with me. Might be worth asking the others" Maddox suggests with a soft smile.
"They left for food an hour ago" Hongjong sighs.
"Damn, if it's that bad then why don't you go home?"
"It's fine for the now. I'll go home early I think" Hongjoong hums.
"Good call" Maddox nods.
Hongjoong walks back to his studio and drinks his water before sitting back down and putting his headphones back on.
Soon the words on the music software Hongjoong was using had become blurry and the thumping in his head had become a part of the melody. Hongjoon had turned the lights off as the bright lights made his head hurt even more, the only light was coming from his computer and laptop dimmed down to the lowest setting.
The other producers were outside in the main room laughing and talking but Hongjjong couldn't make out what he was saying.
Hongjoong had contemplated calling one of the managers to drive him home but Hongjoong couldn't fine his phone. The thought of walking home made Hongjoong dizzy and the image of him passing out in the middle of the street was not something he really wanted to see become real life.
The door to the studios burst open and someone speaks frantically before Hongjoong's door opens with a thud as it hits the wall.
"Hongjoong! You said you would go home" Seonghwa shouts walking over to Hongjoong.
Hongjoogn whimpers and Seonghwa stops in his tracks to finally take Hongjoong in.
"Oh, Hongjoong" Seonghwa sighs quietly as Hongjoong shakes from the cold air surrounding him, holding his head in his hands.
"Hyung?" Hongjoong asks looking over to the figure standing in his studio.
"It's me, Seonghwa" Seonghwa says quietly moving round the room and cleaning up a little making sure to save Hongjoong's work.
"I'm cold" Hongjoong whimpers and Seonghwa wordlessly pulls his jacket off and puts it on Hongjoong zipping it all the way up.
"You've got a fever bub," Seonghwa says quietly as he slings Hongjoong's bag over his shoulder and helps Hongjoong to his feet.
"Where are we going?" Hongjoong asks deliriously.
"Home, you need rest" Seonghwa states.
"But - but I was working on a track, I just have to do the voice over and - and" Hongjoong begins to ramble as Seonghwa walks the tow out of the studio.
"Thanks Hyung" Seonghwa thanks quietly.
"I knew it" Eden sighs shaking his head.
"Take care of him, Seonghwa" Maddox calls.
"Will do, hyung" Seonghwa nods.
Seonghwa helps Hongjoong to the car and explains to the manager that Hongjoong was sick.
"At least he's safe" The manager sighs as Seonghwa glances over to Hongjoogn who had fallen asleep.
Seonghwa knew that Hongjoong would rarely get sick and when he did the younger would hide it and no one would noticed. No one noticed until Seonghwa joined the group. The dynamics of the group shifted and the others were happy to rely on the eldest instead of the leader and Seonghwa wouldn't have it any other way, anything to lessen the leaders load.
Seonghwa remembers the day he had finally saw a crack in the leader's facade. It hade been a few months since Seonghwa had joined the agency. It occureed to Seonghwa that he was the only one to catch the way Hongjoong slumped down into his chair, the frequent deep breathes that were more of a wheeze. They had all been training very hard for monthly evaluations and Seonghwa saw how the pressure of doing the best for the team and never walked through the apartment to have a good sleep.
Seonghwa didn't know Hongjoong all that well. The two would talk but it wasn't really about themselves, it was more so abou tthe other and what the two could do.
Seonghwa walks out of vocal practice and goes to the cafeteria but stops when he hears someone coughing. Seonghwa sees Hongjoong on his hands and knees in the studio and immediatly rushes over. He helps the leader into a chair and hands him a cup of water. The two sat insilence as Seonghwa rummaged through his bag and dug out some couch medicine. He hands it over and Hongjoong refuses.
"It's okay, I'm fine" Hongjoong says shaking his head.
"It's just us" Seonghwa says pushing it into his handbefore getting up to his feet.
"What?" Hongjoong asks looking over to Seonghwa who was cleaning up like Hongjoong would.
"You don't have to hide it from me" Seonghwa says
"I'm not it's just-"
"Take it, Hongjoong" Seonghwa says a little more sternly turing round to face him.
"If not for you own benefit then take it because I said so and that I don't want to see one of my members sick" Seonghwa continues.
Hongjoong's eyes widen in surprise. Somethign about Seonghwa's words struck him and he looks back down to the packet before taking the medicine.
"Good. If it get's worse take something or come to me. I'll help you as best as I can" Seonghwa promises.
"You won't tell the others, will you?" Hongjoong asks.
"Of course not" Seonghwa shakes his head.
Seonghwa helps Hongjoong into their room and settle him down on the bottom bunk. Hongjoong snuggles into Seonghwa comforter as Seonghwa pulls a few layers off making sure Hongjoong was comfortable.
Closing the door to their room Seonghwa through the dorm gathering things and placing others back to their spot.
"San-ah heat up some soup on the stove for me please" Seonghwa says patting the younger on the back.
San nods before standing up, his eyes still glued to the screen.
Seonghwa brings out the heating pads that Mingi uses wwhen his back pain flare up now and again.
Seonghwa walks back into his room and lights up the room with the LEDs he had stuck up thallowing for him to see but for Hongjoong's rest to go undisturbed.
"Heam!" San shouts from the kitchen.
Seonghwa hisses at the younger's volume and glance to Hongjoong to see him still asleep.
"Thanks San-ah" Seonghwa smiles walking into the kitchen and pour the soup into a bowl.
"Do you want to watch us play, Heam?" San asks.
"I'll pass, I just want to eat and go to bed" Seonghwa says as the two walk out of the kitchen and into the living room.
"Alright, have fun" San smiles.
Seonghwa nods and walks back into his room.
He closes the door and sets the bowl on the table before walking over to Hongjoong.
"Joong-ah, wake up bub. You need to eat" Seonghwa says.
"Wha-what?" Hongjoong asks blinking awake.
"You're back at the dorm and you need to eat. It'll help you get better" Seonghwa says.
Hongjoong nods and Seonghwa helps the leader sit up against the wall and closing his eyes.
"Don't fall asleep on me now bub" Seonghwa hums lightly as he beings the spoon to Hongjoong's lips.
Hongjoong nods and opens his mouth. Eating spoonful after spoonful with encouragement form Seonghwa that kept him lapsing in and out of sleep.
"M'full" Hongjoong whines turing his head away when Seonghwa tries to feed Hongjoong the same spoonful again after Hongjong hadn't opened his mouth.
"Alright, you've eaten a lot so I'm happy" Seonghwa smiles softly.
Hongjoong smiles with his eyes still closed.
"Open up and take some pain killers for me" Seonghwa says.
Hongjoong gulps them down and Seonghwa takes this as his chance to check the leader's temperature.
"I need to check your temp bub. I'll do it under your arm, okay?" Seonghwa asks, waiting for the leader to nods.
"Okay" Hongjoong rasps.
Seonghwa pulls out the thermometer and puts it under Hongjoong's top, Seonghwa brushes against Hongjoong's searing skin and surpresses a hiss.
Hongjoong shivers and the thermometer beeps once the reading is taken.
"39 degrees celcius" Seonghwa says to himself.
"That'ts high" Seonghwa adds.
Hongjoong nods deleriously.
Seonghwa chuckles before helping the leader back into a comfortable position and tucks the comforter around him.
Hongjoong mumbles to himself before falling asleep.
Seonghwa checks on the others before settling down on Hongjoongs top bunk.
Seonghwa wakes up to Hongjoong whining and quickly climbs down the ladder.
"You alright, bub" Seonghwa asks, sleep evident in his voice.
"Too hot, too hot" Hongjoong whines trying to escape the layers that were on him.
Seonghwa nods and peels off layers of blankets until Hongjoong stops thrashing about. Seonghwa helps Hongjoong sit up and helps hold the glass of water
"Arms up, bub" Seonghwa instructs gently.
Hongjoong nods and Seoghwa takes off his hoodie and pats Hongjoong's torso down.
Seonghwa stands up to get a bucket of cold water and Hongjoong whines.
"Hyung" Hongjoogn whines.
Seonghwa glosses over the fact Hongjoong kept calling him Hyung and walks over.
"I'll be right back bub" Seonghwa assures.
Seonghwa returns with a cold bucket of water and lays Hongjoong back down and wrings out a towel before setting it down on Hongjoong's forehead. Seonghwa gets runs the cold towel down Hongjoong's torso before sticking it in the bucket and wringing it out and gently running over Hongjoong's arms and hands.
Hongjoogn finally falls back asleep and Seonghwa changes the cool towel a few times before cheking his temp again.
Seonghwa sighs in relief after seeing it had fallen even if it was just a little.
Seonghwa sits down on the desk chair and covers himself with a blanket falling asleep.
Seonghwa wakes up when he hears someone moving, he quickly realises where he was and springs to his feet chucking his blanket ou tht e way seeing Hongjoong trying to stand.
"Nuh-uh, nope. What do you need i'll ring it here?" Seonghwa asks standing in front of Hongjoong.
"I need to pee" Hongjoong mumbles.
"Alright" Seonghwa nods and suppourts Hongjoong helping him to the bathroom.
Hongjoong closes the door and Seonghwa stands outside leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as he stares out the window.
"Hyung?" Yeosang asks rubbing his eyes as he comes out of his room.
"Are you alright, Yeosang?" Seonghwa asks, looking over to the young vocalist.
"I thought I heard Hongjoong Hyung talking. Why are standing outside the bathroom?"
"Hongjoong and I wanted food but he's in the toilet and I need to wash my face" Seonghwa lies rolling his eyes a little.
"There are ither sinks, Hyung" Yeosnag states.
"Didn't want to disturbe the others. Now off you go. Back to bed" Seonghwa instructs like a mother nudging Yeosang to his room.
"Alright" Yeosang nods.
Seonghwa stands in the doorway watching as Yeosang settles back into bed. Seonghwa looks to Wooyoung and Jongho to see that the two were fast asleep. Seonghwa looks to Yeosang who was already drifting off and closes the door.
"You lied for me?" Hongjoong asks.
"I promised not to tell. Until you want to my lips are sealed" Seonghwa nods.
Seonghwa would do anything for the leader.
The next time Seonghwa wakes up is when his phone rings. He lets out a groan muffled by his arm before pressing his phone to his ear.
"Seonghwa, I know it's early but is Hongjoong doing better?" His manager asks getting straight to the point.
Seonghwa lifts his head to look at the leader who was still asleep in his bunk.
"H ecould use the day off" Seonghwa says.
"How long do you think he'll be out for?" His manager asks.
"Dunno-"
"We need a better answer than that" his managaer interupts.
"Hyung please, his fever has finally broke and it's almost eight. I'll have an answer later but right now it doesn't matter, whatever is on his schedule put it on hold the lad can barely take a piss without toppling over from dizziness" Seonghwa say quickly accidently slipping into his satoori.
Silence follows but Seonghwa doesn't bother worrying about the consequences if the way he just talked. Because he knew he was right and no one would change his mind. And even if he does worry then future Seonghwa can worry.
With a long sigh the manager agrees "alright I'll let the other's know he'll be out for today, we can decide what will happen tomorrow later on".
"Alright" Seonghwa says.
Seonghwa watches as San, Yeosang wooyoung and Mingi leave for their schedules. The manager hands Seonghwa some medicine before Seonghwa locks the door.
"Hyung- What that?" Jongho asks pointing to the bag.
"We ran out of painkillers. I noticed last night and had the manager pick up some more for us" Seonghwa says heading into the kitchen and putting the boxes in.
"Good idea. Anyways..." Jongho starts talking about a song he had heard and wanted to cover it.
"Maybe I'll ask Hongjoong Hyung to mix it" Jongho says.
"Right now?" Seonghwa asks.
"Yeah, get an early start"
"I think he's still sleeping what about leaving it for a while till he wakes up" Seonghwa suggests.
"Always so thoughtful, hyung" Jongho smiles
Seonghwa ruffles the gummy bear's hair before walking to his room and slipping the box out of his pocket.
Yunho and Jongho soon leave meaning the entire dorm was empty for Seonghwa and Hongjoong.
Seonghwa let's Hongjoong rest and does house work that he hadn't been able to do. In all honesty it was Seonghwa's off day ayways today so he was thankful that he didn't need to leave the leader alone in the dorms.
Seonghwa was working out in the living room, sweat runs down him and he couldn't wait for a shower. His favourite song play from the speakers he and Mingi set up.
Seonghwa stops his set of squats when he hears a thud.
"Hongjoong?!" Seonghwa calls setting the weights down.
He doesn't get a reply and runs down the hall and into their room to see Hongjoong on the floor, looking quite chuffed with himself.
"What are you doing on the floor wHen we literally have two beds that you can sleep on?" Seonghwa asks.
"I wanted to go to the living room" Hongjoong pouts.
"Why?" Seonghwa asks pressing his hand against Hongjoong's forehead.
"I'm bored" Hongjoong whines.
"You're sick, Joong. You're fever has broke but you still need rest" Seonghwa sighs.
"I feel better now. Can I please go to the living room?" Hongjoong asks.
Seonghwa nods and helps Hongjoong to his feet before wrapping the leader up in a blanket.
"You might feel cold since I put the A.C on while I was working out" Seonghwa explains as he leads the leader out of the room.
Hongjoong plops down onto the couch and leans his side against the arm rest. Seonghwa starts packing his equipment up to move out of the way of the TV.
Seonghwa moves behind the couch and pushes a few things out of his way as Hongjoong flips through different channels. Seonghwa faces the windows.
Seonghwa continues to workout until he hears a sigh. He looks to Hongjoong who was looking his way.
"Nothing good on, so I'll just watch you" Hongjoong says.
"I'm not that interesting, Joong" Seonghwa chuckles in between his reps.
"Yes you are" Hongjoong says scrunching his eyebrows.
Seonghwa smiles.
Seonghwa takes a shower and makes some dinner for the others.
"The other's will be back soon, why don't you head back to bed" Seonghwa suggest.
"But I want to see them" Hongjoong whines.
Seonghwa raises his eyebrows as he hands hongjoong the pills.
"I'm sure they'll want to see you too" Seonghwa hums.
"Hyung! Seonghwa Hyung!" Yunho shouts.
"Calm down- ooft" Seonghwa grunts as Yunho tackles him into a hug. Yunho squeezes the life out of Seonghwa who was still holding a duster out of the way.
"Where are the others?" Seonghwa asks.
"Said they want to eat out but I said I want to go home" Yunho explains still hugging Seonghwa.
"Alright pup, why don't you take a shower" Seonghwa suggests.
"But I want to cuddle with Hyung" Yunho huffs.
"I know but I'll still give you cuddles after you shower" Seonghwa chuckles his arm starting to hurt from holding the duster in the air.
"Okay" Yunho nods running into the closest bathroom.
Seonghwa covers Hongjoong in a few blankets after he saw the younger shivering.
Hongjoong outstretched his blanketed arms and looks to Seonghwa.
"Hyung, hug?" Hongjoong asks in the smallest voice ever.
Seonghwa felt his heart melt and nods before settling down next to Hongjoong, who wraps his legs around Seonghwa's waist and rests his head on Seonghwa chest. Seonghwa wraps his arms round Hongjoong and makes sure that Hongjoong is covered with the blanket. The shivering subsides and Yunho walks in with a smile which turns into a pout and then into a confused look.
"Is that Hongjoong Hyung?" Yunho asks.
"Yeah, he's had a fever" Seonghwa explains.
"A fever? You could of told us, Hyung. We would've helped" Yunho says.
"I know" Seonghwa nods softly and pulls Yunho to him.
Seonghwa could tell that Yunho wanted to talk a bit more about it but doesn't as Seoghwa covers the dancer with a blanket. Seonghwa rests Yunho's head on his shoulder and watches the show on the TV.
"I promised you hugs" Seonghwa says rubbing Yunho's back in comforting motions.
"Thank you" Yunho sighs nuzzling into Seonghwa's neck.
The sky goes dark as the others come home one by one and Seonghwa let's Yunho cuddle with Hongjoong.
Seonghwa gathers the others into the kitchen,
"Don't guilt him, don't say anything about him being sick even after he's gotten better. Alright?" Seonghwa instructs looking round to the other members.
The other nod in unison.
"Good, now go take a shower and have something to eat" Seonghwa says walking out of the kitchen.
The night is spent cuddled on the sofa. Seonghwa hears Hongjoong's small giggles when San and Jongho talks about practice.
Seonghwa wakes up when someone pulls his blanket off him.
"What?" Seonghwa asks sitting up and looking over to Hongjoong -still wrapped in his blanket- in surprise.
"Hyung" Hongjoong croaks.
Seonghwa lays back down and opens his arms for the younger who settles down in his arms.
"Why do you call me hyung?"Seonghwa asks once the younger had stopped shivering.
"You make me feel safe" Hongjoong mumbles.
Seonghwa stills when he hears Hongjoong's words.
"Thank you" Seonghwa says into Hongjoong's hair.
The two fall asleep and Seonghwa felt at peace surrounded by his members, his family.
|
Derek didn’t leave the hospital the entire time Stiles was in surgery.
After his own wounds were treated he headed straight up to the OR waiting room. He was joined by Stiles’ father, Scott, Melissa McCall, Isaac, Lydia, then later Erica, Boyd, and Cora.
“I’m sorry,” were the first words out of Derek’s mouth when he saw the sheriff.
“You’re not the one who shot him,” the older man said gruffly. “The kids’ had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time since he could walk.”
“He’s going to be okay,” Melissa said, putting her hand on the sheriff’s shoulder.
The sheriff nodded and let Melissa lead him over to the chairs to sit down.
The group were silent until the surgeon came through the doors. All of them rose to their feet at once, breaths held.
“Mr. Stilinski?” The doctor asked, shaking hands with the sheriff.
“Yes.”
“It was a little touch and go for a while there, the bullet nicked his liver, but your son’s going to be just fine. He’s sleeping now but you can go in and see him.”
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
“One or two at a time,” the doctor added when they all moved at once.
Erica and Boyd made their departure quickly after that. Both of them had been worried for Stiles, but their main concern had been making sure Derek would be okay. Cora left at Derek’s request, he told her to go home and get some sleep, and that he would call her when he had seen Stiles.
Lydia left after seeing Stiles with her own eyes, promising that she’d be back to see him once he was awake.
Scott and Isaac were sent home by a very firm Melissa McCall after Stiles woke up, her tone more mother than alpha.
Derek waited until Melissa took the sheriff home before he went in to see Stiles.
Stiles’ eyes were closed and his face was pale, dark circles like bruises under his eyes. He looked so small hooked up to and surrounded by all the medical equipment. He looked younger than Derek had ever seen him and Derek’s throat tightened.
He couldn’t shake the guilt, the knowledge that he’d been the reason Stiles had almost lost his life.
Derek pulled the chair right up to the edge of the bed and sat down. He took Stiles’ hand in his, it was warm and Stiles’ pulse was steady.
“Derek,” Stiles said softly.
“Hey,” Derek looked up at Stiles’ face, “How are you feeling?”
“Well, after this I shall think nothing of falling down stairs.”
Derek let out a laugh that quickly turned into a choked off sob. He dropped his head to the bed and buried his face against Stiles’ arm. Derek had never been happier to hear Stiles make a stupid joke.
Stiles carded the fingers of his free hand through Derek’s hair.
“I’m okay,” Stiles assured the werewolf. “The doctors say I’ll make a full recovery.”
“You have no idea how worried I was.” Derek’s voice was muffled against Stiles’ arm.
“If you remember correctly this situation was reversed not too long ago,” Stiles pointed out. “So I think I know exactly how worried you were.”
“You’re right,” Derek nodded. “Sorry.”
“New rule,” Stiles decided. “Neither of us are allowed to get shot ever again, okay?”
“Okay,” Derek agreed. “I think I can handle that.”
***
A week after he was shot Stiles was lying on the couch, under strict orders to not move too much. When the door to the apartment opened Stiles didn’t even bother to look up from his book.
“What did you forget this time, Scotty?” Stiles asked.
“Hey,” came Derek’s voice and Stiles’ head snapped up.
“Hey,” Stiles said, marking his page then closing the book. “You have a key?”
Derek held up the key. “Yeah. Scott gave it to me. He wanted me to come by and check on you, make sure you weren’t ignoring your doctors’ orders.”
Stiles scoffed. “Because I don’t have enough people checking in on me already.” Stiles sighed and tossed his book onto the coffee table. “Thanks for coming over though, I’ve been going out of my mind.”
“I was thinking,” Derek said. He walked over and sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of Stiles.
“About what?” Stiles asked.
“Us.”
“Us,” Stiles repeated. He pushed himself up so he was sitting rather than lying down. He winced when the movement caused his stitches to pull.
Derek had his fingers laced together and didn’t look at Stiles. “I was thinking about how we announced our relationship to the whole world, but we’ve never actually – we haven’t.” The words stuck in Derek’s throat. He knew what he wanted to say. The question should be so easy to ask. But even after everything that he and Stiles had gone through in such a short amount of time, the fear of rejection tied his stomach up in knots.
Stiles reached out and put his hand over Derek’s that were still clasped together. He had a good idea about where Derek was trying to go with this. “I’m the one who asked Scott to give you the key,” he admitted. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to give it to you for months.”
Derek took his hands away from Stiles and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a key and handed it to Stiles. For a moment Stiles thought it was the key Scott had given Derek, but then he realised it had the name of Derek’s apartment building engraved on it.
“I was actually going to give it to you for Christmas,” Derek said. “But I chickened out.”
“Hey, Derek?” Stiles took Derek’s hand in his again.
“Yeah?”
“You wanna be my boyfriend?” Stiles asked. “Since the whole world thinks you are anyway?”
A wide smile broke out across Derek’s face and he nodded. “Definitely.”
“Good, because I’m pretty sure I love you,” Stiles said. The last of the words were swallowed up by Derek’s mouth.
Stiles looped his arm around Derek’s neck, then gasped in pain.
“Are you okay?” Derek asked.
“My stitches.” Stiles put his hand gingerly against his skin. The stitches hadn’t torn thankfully.
Derek had his hand on the side of Stiles’ neck, and started leeching the pain from Stiles without thinking about it.
Stiles sighed happily and closed his eyes. “I think it’s worth keeping you around just for that.”
Derek just chuckled then kissed Stiles again, more gently this time. Stiles grabbed the lapels of Derek’s jacked and pulled him as close as possible.
“I’m pretty sure I love you, too,” Derek said, slightly breathless, when they broke the kiss. |
John limped out of the Royal Hospital Chelsea cursing his shoulder, his leg, his physiotherapist, his Captain of Invalids and most of all his own status as an in-pensioner.The military tone maintained at the Royal Hospital was supposed to remind all the ex-military residents of the cameraderie of their service days. For John, it grated on his nerves to be reminded of what he had once had and would never have again, and his sense of displacement was made worse by the fact that he was the youngest resident by at least a decade. They allowed him to keep his gun, and it was reassuring to clean and oil it sometimes, almost a meditative exercise, but the meals in the dining hall reminded him too forcibly of how he was alone despite the crowd.
It was all very well having bed, board and medical care all in the one place, but he resolved to trade it all immediately for his army pension as cash in hand and freedom to choose his own hours. His discharge papers were still in their envelope, unopened. He didn't want to read the final details of his injury, not even couched in the flowery terms usually used for someone who had been awarded a medal. He had shoved the envelope to the bottom of his bag and tried to forget about it. Perhaps it was time to exercise the freedom that came with those papers.
Anyway, his physiotherapist was useless. He kept massaging up and down his right leg and claiming there was nothing wrong with the muscle. Last session he even had the gall to suggest to John that perhaps his pain was ‘stress related’ which everyone medical understood was just a delicate way of saying it was all in his head.
Speaking of useless, his psychologist was trying to encourage him to keep a diary. How stupid. As if anyone in this day and age would write a diary. He had established a blog for himself, but after fiddling with the background picture, font and colours he hadn’t actually got around to writing anything yet.
The final item on his list of useless for the day was his sister, Harry. He spent several minutes cursing her too. She had come to visit him at the Royal Hospital, of course. She had been suitably impressed with his Military Cross and seemed to think that he would wear it on his pyjamas. He did not have the heart to tell her that for practical purposes it was useless too, as it would neither help him get a job nor could he sell it for enough cash for somewhere to live. Harry understood this comment for the hint that it was, and immediately started making excuses for why she could not offer him a place to live. Her current situation with the divorce, her own finances so unsettled, this seemed like a nice place to live anyway, etc. But she could give him her old phone, and then when he was settled somewhere he could call and they could meet for a drink…
Johnn snorted to himself. Meeting Harry for a drink seemed like a spectacularly bad idea under the circumstances. Harry was obviously drinking too much as it was, probably the stress of the divorce, and John had no idea of following the same path, tempting though it sometimes seemed to use alcohol to get away from it all. No, he would settle for coffee, preferably without Harry.
He turned into his favourite local coffee shop, the Criterion, a settled down to chew over his problems. Money, money and yes, money. He needed a job and somewhere to live. But in order to get a job he would need suitable non-uniform clothes and an address that didn’t scream wounded war veteran. In order to get both he would need money. London had always been an expensive place to live and his army pension would not allow him to afford his own place, he couldn’t live with Harry or they’d kill each other, so how to get a job? He was going around his hamster wheel of thoughts for about the fifth time when a voice dragged him out of his useless fretting.
“John! John Watson!”
He looked up to see a fat man he didn’t recognize standing in front of him.
“Mike Stamford, from Bart’s. You emailed me, oh, ages ago now, but I didn’t know you were in town.”
John started to climb to his feet. “Yes, sorry, yes, Mike, of course. Thanks for your help.”
Mike waved off his thanks. “I didn’t really have anything much to say, just sent you some links. But anyway, how long are you here? Do you have time for lunch?”
Time? John had nothing but time.
# # # # # # # # # #
Over lunch John heard about Mike’s wife and children, his mediocre career in both teaching and medicine at St Bart’s, and his current favourite hobby which was edible gardens. He had an amazing amount to say on the subject.
In return, John told a few adventure stories from his time in the service, gave a glossed-over version of his injury, medal presentation and return to London, and spoke very briefly about Harry. He did not speak at all about his role as a Unit Omega, as he wasn’t sure what Mike would make of that. He was a civilian, after all.
John consciously tried to keep upbeat and talked hopefully about finding a job somewhere in London. His nascent hope that Mike might be able to help him get a job at St Bart’s was starting to fade as he realized that Mike himself was stuck in the middle of the academic hierarchy with little influence.
As their conversation progressed, they came around again to the cost of living in London. John was sighing over the prospect of having to move elsewhere, as even his full army pension would not allow him to afford a flat of his own, let alone one within striking distance of St Bart’s if he ever managed to get a job there.
Mike said, “Couldn’t Harry help?”
John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” He didn’t really want to discuss with Mike the fact that he’d already asked.
Mike shrugged. “I dunno – get a flatshare or something?”
John looked down at his cane, his trembling and weak left hand and thought about his PTSD nightmares. “Come on,” he said. “Who’d want me for a flatmate?”
Mike chuckled. “You’re the second person to say that to me today.”
John looked at him curiously. “Who was the first?”
It was Mike’s turn to roll his eyes. “He’s a real character. Works at St Barts. Or at least, spends a lot of time there. I don’t think he’s actually on the staff, now I come to think of it.”
“Not a doctor then?” John asked.
“No, he’s a chemist by training, though to be honest I don’t know exactly what he does when he’s not in the lab. Anyway, though a lot of people don’t like him, I’ve never seen any real harm in him. He’s just a bit eccentric, that’s all.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s just a flat-share. It’s not like we have to be best friends or anything. It will be purely a financial arrangement.”
Mike hesitated. “There’s just one other thing you should know. He’s an Alpha. How would you feel about living with a strange unbonded Alpha? And I do mean strange.”
John chewed his lip. “It’s not ideal, I agree. But I can’t afford to be picky. I need to get out of the Royal Hospital before I go stark staring mad. Can you introduce us?”
“Sure, now if you like. He was in the lab this morning and if he runs true to form he’ll probably still be there. I should be heading back myself.”
“Fine, let’s go.”
# # # # # # # # # #
John followed Mike into the lab at St Bart’s. He gave a surreptitious glance around and couldn’t help being impressed. The equipment was modern and new, the lab was well-lit and had that particular lack of scent which comes from very powerful laminar airflow airconditioning. The hospital had obviously come into some money since John had trained there.
“Bit different from my day,” he couldn’t help observing.
Mike chuckled in response. “You have no idea.”
Eschewing the formality of an introduction or indeed, any kind of greeting at all. The man sitting at the microscope held out his hand and said, “Mike, can I borrow your phone?”
While Mike made his excuses, John took the opportunity to examine the stranger. He was tall, much taller than John, that was obvious even while he was sitting down. He was also whippet thin and slightly pale with that unhealthy lives indoors under fluorescent lights too much look. His hair was dark, curly and a trifle longer than currently fashionable. He sat up very straight, and his body language was not obviously either Alpha or Omega. He also had no apparent scent, which John found oddly disturbing, but it was also possibly just a side-effect of the strong air-conditioning. John needed to get closer to get a good mouthful of scent and a better idea of this man, preferably before the subject of the flat-share came up. He’d rather run a quick reconnaissance of the stranger before committing to live with him.
Sensing an opening in the conversation, John stepped past Mike and offered his phone instead, saying, “Here, use mine.” Under the cover of the motion he tried to get closer for a better scent, but the man simply reached out and took the phone and turned away, starting to type out a text.
Mike belatedly added, “An old friend of mine, John Watson.”
The man was still furiously typing on the phone, but he glanced up long enough to ask, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”
John, startled, replied, “Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know…?”
Before the man could answer, someone else interrupted their conversation. It was one of the lab workers by her white coat, but even more obviously she was an Omega who was desperately trying to attract the man’s attention. She reeked of Omega pheromones, both natural and artificially augmented, and she was carrying a cup of coffee for him. John watched with interest as she approached the man – this would be a good test of this Alpha’s self-control. If John could smell it, this man should be just about compelled to roll the girl right here on the floor. John was almost blushing in anticipation of the heated flirting he was about to witness.
The man handed back John’s phone and looked at the new arrival. Without a trace of hesitation or embarrassment he only said, “Ah, Molly. Coffee, thank you.” He took the mug from her and turned away.
John was surprised, and rather impressed. If he had enough self-control to resist such obvious temptation from an unbonded Omega making a blatant play for him, then perhaps it would be possible for John to live in the same flat with him. John’s day was looking up, though he felt sorry for the girl. Her desperation was almost embarrassing to witness. John was glad that she left again immediately.
The man took a sip of the coffee, made a face at the taste and put it down in favour of pinning John with a stare from his strange light-coloured eyes. “How do you feel about the violin?” he asked.
John was getting the distinct feeling he was at least two steps behind the main part of this conversation. The only response he could manage was “I’m sorry, what?”
The stranger was now typing again on his computer. “I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.”
John was annoyed now. Mike should not have pre-empted the discussion by telling the stranger about him. What if John had scented him and found him totally incompatible? What if he had been the kind of Alpha who would jump on any unbonded Omega? He didn’t appear to be, but Mike had no right to talk about it beforehand. John frowned at him repressively. “You told him about me?”
Mike denied it, of course. “Not a word.”
John then challenged the man directly. “Who said anything about flatmates?” He still hadn’t had the chance to scent the other man properly and it was getting on his nerves.
“I did.” The man replied bluntly. “Told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap.”
Reminded of his earlier question, John asked it again. “How did you know about Afghanistan?”
The man declined to answer, picking up his scarf and apparently preparing to leave. “Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought be able to afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o’clock.” Then without any further explanation he headed for the door.
John was seriously pissed off now. Alpha or not, this man was being far too high-handed for John’s taste. Bristling, he spat, “Is that it?”
The man appeared genuinely confused. “Is that what?”
John started to list his concerns. “We don’t know a thing about each other, I don’t know where we are meeting, I don’t even know your name!” He didn’t mention the increasingly weird lack of scent cues which were making his hair stand on end. No point making personal remarks, and maybe they could work it out when they met at the flat.
The other man paused and appeared to consider John’s objections. Then he made an astonishing speech. “I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid. That’s enough to be going on with don’t you think?”
With that, he walked out the door leaving a flabbergasted John to stare across the lab at an equally surprised Mike. But before either of them could say anything, the stranger stuck his head around the door again and said, “The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street.” He gave a rather familiar wink, and was gone.
John stared at Mike in disbelief. Mike shrugged and said, “Yeah, he’s always like that.”
John asked, “Are you sure he’s an Alpha? He seemed more like a Beta to me. He took absolutely no notice of that female Omega who was here earlier, which seems odd.”
Mike shrugged again. “I’m a Beta myself, so I didn’t really notice. So, are you going to meet him at the flat?”
It was John’s turn to shrug. “I guess so. I’ve got nothing to lose but my time, and as I said before I’ve got plenty of that. Besides, I’m desperate enough to get out of the Royal Hospital that unless he keeps severed heads in the fridge, I’ll probably take the flat with him.”
Mike laughed. “Oh, I don’t think he’s that bad.”
# # # # # # # # # # # #
John met Sherlock as had been arranged, at 221B Baker St the following evening. Sherlock introduced him to the landlady, a motherly Beta widow named Mrs Hudson. The flat itself seemed nice enough though John noted with disapproval that Sherlock seemed to have moved in a lot of equipment in a most unmilitary disorder. In the closer quarters of the flat, John had finally managed to get a hint of Sherlock’s natural Alpha scent. Fortunately, it was quite compatible with his own. The scent was elusive, John was having difficulty describing it. Usually Alphas were fruity or floral scents, occasionally herbal, but Sherlock’s didn’t seem to fit any of those categories. It was like cherries, but ones that had been marinated in rum or brandy to mellow them. Without getting inappropriately obvious John wasn’t going to be able to pin it down any closer than that. Not that it mattered, as long as it wasn’t too strongly acidic John could manage.
They had just agreed to take the place when a police officer burst in on them to demand Sherlock go to a crime scene with him. The Alpha officer didn’t bother to give his name, and though they obviously knew each other Sherlock didn’t introduce him. Then, just like that, Sherlock was gone again. He threw a “Don’t wait up!” over his shoulder and left.
John sighed and picked up the newspaper. Mrs Hudson offered a cup of tea and he accepted absently. Was this going to be his life now? Reading the paper over a cup of tea while other people ran out and did useful work without him? He stared resentfully at his right leg, for which no-one was able to find a diagnosis to explain his pain. It had been Daniel’s right leg injury which had retired him from active service too, John reflected.
His thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock reappearing in the doorway. “You’re a doctor.” He said, thoughtfully. “In fact, you’re an army doctor.”
John wondered if he was going to ask any awkward questions about being an Omega in the army, but decided not to bring it up just yet. They hardly knew each other after all. If Sherlock wanted that kind of personal information he was going to have to ask for it. He restricted himself to answering the question. “Yes.”
“Any good?”
John rolled his eyes internally at the typical Alpha arrogance but he met it head-on. “Very good.”
“Seen a lot of injuries then, violent deaths.” It was a statement more than a question.
“Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.” John hoped that by saying it enough times he could make it true. His life as he had known it was out of reach now. His injuries meant that he would never do that kind of work again, his career as a surgeon was dead and buried. No point lingering by the grave, best to move on and tell himself and everyone else that he was making a different choice now.
Then Sherlock’s next words opened a new door a crack, and let the light of hope shine for a moment. “Want to see some more?”
John had never seriously considered a career in forensic medicine before, but compared to a career as a general practitioner seeing coughs and runny noses for eight hours a day? “Oh God, yes.” He replied, fervently. |
&&
Slowly counting down the days ‘til I finally know your name The way your hand feels round my waist The way you laugh, the way your kisses taste I’ve missed you but I haven't met you Oh but I want to
How I do
1 year before
It is the strangest of feelings when love falls apart.
Strange in the sense that you hurt until you feel numb, until you feel nothing at all.
Hollywood lusts after drama; loves a violent end with screaming and cursing and crying in the rain and that one final plea for forgiveness. But the just-not-quite-right kind of love? The kind of love between two people who settle for one another, for comfort and familiarity over passion and risk? That love simply fades away, softly and slowly, like a shadow into the night.
At first, all you see is the sun, warm and comfortable and familiar. You let the false tendrils of hope wrap themselves around your heart, and ignore the impending darkness, the black spots that creep along the edges of your vision, the inevitable ending in which you both realize that your puzzle pieces were of a similar shape but never a perfect fit. And so, eventually the sun sets and you‒ blinded by the false light of a complacent love‒ don’t feel the chill of dusk until it’s much too late. And then it is dark and you are, all at once, completely alone.
You become a husk of your former self‒ empty and withering, roots yanked out by Fate’s cruel hand‒ clinging onto something that is already gone. You ask yourself who you could possibly be in a world without them, and find the answer in the torn pieces of a photograph featuring your brilliant smile, but hollow unhappy eyes. You are incomplete, one-third of a whole instead of the perfect half you were meant to be… But eventually, you find your soul too weak to even grasp at those waning memories of love and bliss, and it is then that you are forced to let go.
You allow the remnants of what you once were to be tossed and turned in the winds of time, a little lost soul drifting aimlessly amongst a sea of people, almost dead but unfortunately not quite. And then you tell all of your friends that you’ve moved on, tell your mum that she needn’t worry any longer, and trick yourself into pretending that everything’s okay. You make them believe you, politely refuse their offers of help until eventually they stop coming. If you’re destined to be alone, you reason, you ought to well and truly detach yourself from everyone you love.
Because what is real love if yours didn’t turn out to be?
(You promise yourself you’ll never get hurt again.)
And then you flock to the clubs and get shamelessly drunk, picking up anonymous fucks and pretending that they don’t all bear an uncanny resemblance to… to… and you lie to yourself, say you forgot the name when it’s burning like flames on the tip of your tongue. But the curls aren’t curly enough or the eyes are the wrong shade of blue or the feel of those calloused fingertips against your skin is either too rough or not there at all. And you try to forget but you can’t, try to love again but you won’t, try to live again when you haven’t got the heart to.
They are quick to teach you- just as soon as you depart from the seemingly endless fantasy of childhood- that the world is an inherently cruel place. There are drug dealers and thieves prowling the streets at night, hoping to plant the seeds of rebellion in your naïve adolescent brain. There are rapists around every corner waiting to steal your innocence and murderers plotting to end your life. They speak of terrorists and tyrants and nuclear weapons, of genocide and war and forced prostitution. News headlines flash with horrific tales of kidnappings and sexual abuse. But they never say a word about the tragedy of lost love.
They wouldn’t want to scare you after all…
So they tell you, instead, that every good and loving person gets their happy ending.
Even when you don’t.
& L &
This feels right and I’m letting itAnd now I know just what to do Tire of me if you will, my dear I will not tire of you
And so it is by the most tragic and unfortunate of circumstances that one Louis Tomlinson, aged twenty-two and recently freed from an onslaught of insufferable uni courses for a Masters in English he’s not entirely sure he needed, finds himself standing in front of an abandoned two-level shop in London. It’s in horrible shape, really– the display windows are shattered jagged pieces of glass jutting out like the teeth of some ghastly beast, and the hand-carved wooden sign above the door is covered in so many layers of graffiti as to bear an uncanny resemblance to Raindrops #4 by the prolific, but decidedly less criminal, Bruce Gray. There’s a faded awning attached on only its right side, waving in the breeze like a tattered post-war banner, and an equally as devastated-looking black wrought iron fence lining the short, cobblestone walkway. He likes it, he decides, sizing up the ostensibly derelict exterior.
It has character.
He steps gingerly over the holes in the walkway as– quite predictably– more than a few cobblestones are missing, and hops up three cement steps to the front stoop. He digs in his pocket for a moment and eventually produces a rusty golden key, the likes of the flying keys in one of those Harry Potter movies‒ minus the wings of course. The lock on the shop’s decrepit door is as equally old and rusty, layers of paint peeling all around it like strips of wallpaper or skin, he supposes, in a more morbid sense of the word (he is a writer after all, pay no mind to such artistic comparisons). It takes several attempts before he finally manages to jam the key in the lock, having to jiggle the knob quite violently to release the latch. He supposes the neighboring shopkeepers ought to think he’s some sort of traveling vagabond, breaking into an abandoned shop to smoke some pot and sleep for a week or two.
Better they think I’m mad and keep away, he muses, than have them flocking to my door like pigeons with their incessant chatter.
With one final groan of protest, the heavy door swings open, revealing an inner sanctum untouched by human hands for nearly twenty years. No one wanted this property, he was told, and that’s exactly why he bought it. The foreboding two-story brownstone lies squeezed between a quirky thrift store painted a cheery yellow and kitschy self-proclaimed “sex emporium” called Kitty’s– its sign an outline of a provocatively posed young woman highlighted in pink neon. Tucked away in a nearly-hidden side street in inner-London’s artsy Camden Town, it’s neither the most accessible nor ideal of business locations. The real estate agent had sold it to him for little more than £20,000‒ an absolute steal despite its dreadful condition. He hadn’t even visited the residence, bought it solely from verbal description alone. The agent had thought he was joking at first, but once she’d established his genuine interest, there was little to do but sign a few papers and he was settled. Apparently, she’d been just as eager to get rid of the property as he was to buy it…
A swirling cloud of dust erupts as he shuffles inside the front door. Rats scurry about in a panic, dodging the sun’s rays under oddly-shaped lumps draped in‒ what were probably once starched white‒ linen sheets. The floor, the walls, everything really, is covered in a thick layer of fuzzy, grey dust. He absentmindedly runs a finger across one of the lumps as he walks by and is genuinely surprised when the object in question is not some sort of furry deceased animal but, in fact, just an old bureau. So, despite the dirt and the mess and the obvious need for repairs, Louis finds that he’s already fallen in love.
It’s perfect, he thinks, and for the first time since… well since it happened, he feels himself genuinely smile.
To any passive observer, his recent purchase would seem quite the foolish decision, judging by the property’s absolutely deplorable condition. But one final glance at the precariously hung chandelier and the peeling wallpaper and the moldy floorboards does nothing but convince Louis that he’s found himself a brilliant new opportunity.
Generally speaking, if he cannot fix himself‒ an undertaking which has thus far proven thoroughly impossible‒ he can at least fix something.
&&
1 year after
Brrring..
The jingling of the little bell over the front door sounds through the shop, echoing softly past rows and rows of bookshelves as far as the eye can see (or rather those occupying the first floor of an ostensibly miniature–sized London bookstore). A lissome, brown-haired young man sits at a desk near the back, scribbling furiously in a tattered moleskinee. He curses once‒ for a misplaced word which he quickly marks out‒ and again as the bell’s interruption causes an unsightly dark smudge in the margin of his notebook.
(It’s Sunday, a slow day‒ or what was supposed to be a slow day‒ and he’d been foolishly hoping that there wouldn’t be any interruptions whilst penning the last of the poems for his latest collection, one which his publisher was absolutely demanding be finished by the quickly approaching deadline. And, of course, this final poem was giving him particular trouble. Perhaps it was due to the rather sensitive subject matter, but either way he’d been working on it for hours and had just established a sort of flow to his work when of course a customer had to arrive.)
He stands up begrudgingly from his place of work and prepares a cheery smile as to properly welcome the visitor to his shop. He moves quickly to the front of the store, smoothing out his rumpled sweater and mentally preparing his oft-rehearsed greeting. “Hello, I’m Louis Tomlinson. Welcome to Tales Resold, the finest antique bookstore in London. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
But it’s then that his eyes catch a familiar flash of blonde hair and the need for all formalities disappears, along with the exaggerated grin threatening to strain his cheek muscles.
“For god’s sake, Niall,” he cries out in frustration, “Can’t you leave me alone for one day?”
The blonde boy just grins, ignoring the rather rude greeting. He reaches into a pocket in his trousers, unwraps a half-crumbled pastry, and proceeds to take a large, unmannerly bite.
“Er’ gon’ pain’ tha’ do?” Niall asks, and it’s a wonder that his thick Irish accent remains even the slightest bit intelligible through a mouthful of apple and flaky bread.
Louis can’t help but smile softly despite his mate’s disgusting eating habits. It’s a joke they’ve shared since he bought the place nearly two years ago. Over the years, he’s spent countless pounds and hours of labor repairing every inch of the shop, but for some odd reason he can’t bring himself to repaint the front door. He’d once likened the dilapidated shop to his own life, a condition of brokenness that was seemingly irreparable. Though there eventually came a point where he no longer felt quite so broken, he supposes that the unfinished door serves as a reminder of his lingering imperfections. Even now the forest green paint is peeling something awful, but the sting of nostalgia he feels at the thought of painting over the original is enough to keep him from buying a liter and getting it over with.
“Suppose I will soon enough,” he replies earnestly, though by Niall’s chuckle it’s clear that he’s anything but believable.
It’s then that the blonde boy lets out a sudden resounding belch, having polished off the last of his tuck. He takes a hand to the crumbs dotting his mouth and chin, and wipes them off on the thigh of his trousers.
“Been swiping merchandise from the bakery again?” Louis asks, remaining unfazed by the Irishman’s lack of basic table manners (he’s had years to become immune to it after all).
Niall, for his own merits, looks surprisingly offended. “Course not,” he protests, “I’d never.”
“Must’ve had a quick shag with Josh behind the counter then,” Louis teases, “Convinced him to give you a free one, did you now?”
Louis cackles and ducks as Niall’s fist swings playfully toward his head.
“Arsewipe,” Niall mutters, his cheeks painted a brilliant shade of red.
Josh is a cheery lad with a boyish face who owns an organic bakery a few streets over. The three of them, along with Liam, Louis’ sensible old uni roommate in his first year teaching at a posh secondary school in Brook Green, often frequent the local pubs on the weekends. These outings usually involve Louis perched on a barstool scribbling poems on a paper napkin, Liam‒ who even after all these years still half-heartedly claims sobriety having had, at one point, only one kidney (medical miracle or summat)‒ keeping careful track of how many pints each of the others have consumed and providing the appropriate warnings (“Niall, that’s four you’ve had already and no, I don’t care how Irish your blood is!”), and Niall and Josh drinking into oblivion whilst obviously desiring to do a bit of covert fondling in the washroom in the back.
“Me and Josh are just mates, Lou,” Niall remarks with a not-so-subtle sigh, picking at the ragged hem of his ‘artfully destroyed’ white top.
He plucks away a loose thread with a quick pinch of his fingers, and looks up, face brightening. “And anyway, I’ve got me eye on a fit brunette who just moved into the flat on the fourth floor.”
He pauses a moment, seemingly struck by the memory of his new neighbor.
“Her legs, mate…” he continues, with a wistful sigh, “They’re like… like… the best legs ever… in the world.”
“Very articulate,” Louis comments, an amused smirk gracing his lips, “and I presume you utilized your incredible way with words to sweep her off her feet?”
Niall scoffs. “Give me some credit, Lou. As Mark Wahlberg once said ‘actions speak louder than words but not nearly as often’ and I’m‒”
“I believe that was Mark Twain, actually,” Louis interjects, “though the first bit is actually an ancient proverb, likely Greek in origin, first recorded in English in the late 17th century.”
“Wahlberg, Twain, same difference,” Niall replies with a shrug.
Louis laughs good-naturedly. “And I suppose you think ‘quick to kill, I gets ill, I make ya blood spill’ is the opening line to Tom Sawyer?”
“I’m pretty sure that was in there somewhere, yeah,” Niall says, smiling.
“Right, of course,” Louis nods in agreement, “It’s a wonder you aren’t an English major as well… Anyway, you were saying? The bird in the flat on the fourth floor?”
“Right,” Niall says, puffing his chest out, “As you know, I’m a man of action, so I helped her carry some boxes up to her flat ‘nd offered to cook her a ‘welcome to the complex’ dinner ‘nd everything.”
“Oh, is that right?” Louis questions, raising an eyebrow doubtfully, “Well then, I hope you’ve bragged to her that your culinary specialties include burnt steak and half-cooked pasta dishes, unless you’ve suddenly become a five-star chef without my knowledge?”
Niall glares‒ opening his mouth to no doubt protest his mediocre cooking abilities‒ but apparently decides against it and quickly changes the subject instead. “So what were you up to then before I stopped by?”
Louis sighs, glancing back at the still unfinished poem lying on his desk. “Trying to finish that last poem before my publisher bites my head off,” he replies.
“You mean the poem?” Niall asks with a knowing look.
“That’s the one.”
“C’mon Tommo,” he protests, “you’ve been working on that one for what? Three years now?”
Louis sighs loudly, idly toying with a loose string on the hem of his knit jumper. “I know, I know,” he replies, sighing again, “I wanted this poem to be the opening to the collection, but it’s still missing something…”
“It’s always missing something,” the blonde boy remarks, moving to lean against the edge of one of the wooden display tables. “Or someone,” he adds under his breath, though Louis is quick to scowl at the aside.
“This poem tells a story and it’s very personal, alright?” Louis snaps, softening his voice at the brief flash of hurt in the blonde’s eyes, “I’m sorry, what I mean is, I just can’t decide if I want it to have a happy ending. I don’t feel as if it deserves one, since it’s… since it’s not what I got, you know?”
He hears Niall “mmm” sympathetically, and continues, “But my stupid brokenhearted words from years ago stare back at me from the paper as if I’ve betrayed them, as if I’ve written them into existence the wrong way.”
“People do love happy endings, Lou,” Niall says, always frank, “They’re, well, happy.”
Louis makes an affronted noise. “What they are is disgustingly optimistic.”
Niall gives him a patronizing look. “You know, maybe if you’d actually let me read your poem, I could tell you if it’s any good or not.”
Louis looks back at the journal again, which rests wide open and vulnerable on the desktop, mentally gauging the speed he’d have to travel to prevent Niall from snatching it up first.
“You’ve read some of my other work,” he dissents, avoiding the other boy’s pejorative gaze.
Niall snorts. “Yeah, sure, I’m a big fan of your depressing poems about grey clouds and endless rain.”
“They’re not depressing.”
“Well they’re not exactly romantic tales of love in the English countryside either, are they mate?”
Louis lets out an offended gasp and reaches over to playfully shove the other boy off balance. Niall opens his mouth, probably to let loose a string of colorful curses, but he’s interrupted by Louis’ phone chirping loudly in his pocket. Louis takes a step back and pulls out his mobile, the alert on the screen reminding him to turn on channel 4.
“Erm, maybe you should go?” he tells Niall, glancing over at the stairs that lead up to his living quarters on the second floor. He’s almost certain to miss the gossip if he doesn’t get to the telly soon.
“Right, that’s not happening,” Niall replies, “Why so anxious all of a sudden?”
Louis panics and blurts, “My show’s on so I ought to-”
“Lou, are you watching that gossip garbage again?” Niall asks, eyes narrowing, “You know that little fucker will be on it as always.”
“It’s for inspiration!” he protests weakly.
“Chronic depression more like it,” Niall grumbles, “That boy’s shagged England’s housewives more times than their husbands have.”
Louis opens his mouth to argue once more, but the Irish boy is already past him and climbing up the stairs.
“Well c’mon then,” Niall sighs, a hand motioning upward, “We don’t want to miss it.”
& H &
“Harry Styles, who was recently named the UK’s most desirable bachelor, is involved in yet another pregnancy scandal, this time with a married woman ten years his senior-”
“Turn it off, Zayn.”
“Styles is due in court on the twelfth to determine whether he will be forced to take a paternity test to determine the father of the child-”
“I said turn it off!”
“Harry, you can’t keep ignoring this.”
“Fuck off.”
His body protests the sudden shock of cold as the covers are yanked off of his sleeping form. He sits up, wrapping the blankets around his naked lower half and flipping the bird at the dark-haired boy who’s supposedly his best mate.
“You’re acting like a right prick, you know that?” Zayn remarks, eyes locked on him in a steely gaze. “You’re always a joy to wake up, especially when you’re hungover.”
“Stop staring at me, fucking slag,” Harry hisses, dramatically pulling up the blanket to hide his now-exposed chest. He’s forever trying to get a rise out of Zayn, but the older boy doesn’t even flinch at the insult, just glares at him with palpable disapproval.
“Calling people names you know aren’t properly offensive?” he comments, voice infuriatingly calm, “Very mature.”
“Haven’t you read the papers, Zayn? I’ve apparently fucked more women in a year than you’ll fuck in your entire life,” Harry ripostes, reaching down to grab a pair of black Calvin Kleins off the floor.
“Don’t act like you’re proud of that,” Zayn says, watching solemnly as he slips on the boxers and a dirty t-shirt. “Least I’ve been in love.”
The slight is meant to sting and it hits its mark. His fists clench reflexively and he leaps up, grabbing a handful of Zayn’s t-shirt. “Fuck you,” he spits, “You know I have.”
“Yeah, but he fucked you over. Shit happens. Now put some fucking trousers on.”
Harry glares, moving about the room as slowly as possible. “He didn’t fuck me over, Zayn. He chose his career and I chose mine. Now we’re both famous and management pays him enough not to slag off about me on national radio. It’s fine.”
Zayn raises an eyebrow, but chooses not to comment on his obviously skewed definition of “fine”.
Harry’s hand is still on Zayn’s collar, the tension in the room thick enough to slice a knife through. “If Nick bloody Grimshaw,” Zayn says after a moment, the name like a dirty word on his tongue, “can flaunt his sexuality for millions of people every morning, why can’t you just date who you’d like to?”
Harry sighs, releasing the fabric and turning away from Zayn’s accusatory gaze. “You know why not,” he says, simply, “It’s about my image. Sex sells ‘nd all that.”
“Stop spouting your publicist’s shit and just admit that you made a monumental mistake signing that contract two years ago,” the dark-haired boy castigates, “one you’re certainly not fixing by fucking every woman that makes eyes at you– or pretending to, at least.”
“Things are different now,” Harry says defensively.
“But do they have to be?”
Harry sighs again, running a hand through his tangle of curls. “Fuck Z, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know. I just do what they tell me. In fact, as you so kindly pointed out, I’m contractually obligated to do what they tell me.” He pauses, bites his lip, and adds “and it’s not true, you know.”
“What’s not true?” Zayn asks, eyes narrowing.
“That pregnancy rumor,” he explains, pulling on a pair of tattered black skinnies, “It’s supposed to spark public interest because the album’s set to drop next month.”
“Well that’s incredibly fucked up,” Zayn comments dryly.
He barks out a laugh, bitter and aggrieved. “Yeah well, what part of my life isn’t?”
“Oh, I don’t know? The part where you make millions for having a pretty face?” Zayn remarks, the barest hint of resentment in his voice.
“You think I’m pretty?” Harry teases, batting his eyelashes, “Oh Zaynie, you’re too much.”
“And you’re insufferable,” the dark-haired boy replies, turning to leave. He expertly dodges the dirty sock that Harry launches his way and gives him an indignant look. Pausing momentarily to lean against the door frame, he says, “Anyway you’ve got an interview at Radio One in an hour, so I’d suggest you get dressed.”
“Yeah, fuck that,” Harry replies, waving his hand dismissively.
“I’m serious, Haz,” Zayn warns, “You’re running out of chances to prove that you’re still a marketable popstar, and not some immature twenty year old twat with an out-of-control drinking habit.”
Harry flips him the bird as he walks out, but the dark-haired boy is already gone.
& L &
Louis grabs the remote and clicks the TV off with resounding finality.
“Fuck that stupid, heartbreaking, womanizing twat,” he spits, resting his head in his hands.
“Cheer up lad, I’m sure they’re just rumors,” Niall remarks, rubbing his back in comforting circles.
“D’you really fink so?” he blubbers, looking up at Niall with wide eyes.
It takes mere seconds before his doe-eyed, hopeful façade has the Irishman in stitches.
“C’mon,” he protests, throwing his hands in the air indignantly, “that was brilliant!”
“Jesus Christ Lou,” Niall wheezes between spouts of raucous laughter, “Just be thankful that you’ve perfected this whole ‘bookkeeping poet with a bizarre indie music fetish’ thing you’ve got going, because the rest of your acting is absolute shite.”
“Excuse you!” Louis replies with mock disdain, “I’ll have you know that I graduated with a double major in English and drama from one of the UK’s top universities!”
“Now the English part I believe,” Niall quips, a chuckle escaping his lips before he’s even finished the sentence.
His attempt to leap over the back of the couch before Louis can tackle him is ultimately futile; he’s pinned to the ground and begging for mercy within a millisecond of his wry utterance. Louis puts a finger to the blonde boy’s lips as he wriggles beneath him, effectively silencing his desperate cries for mercy.
“In all seriousness,” he says, well, rather seriously, dusting himself off and helping Niall up from his place on the floor, “I could honestly care less what flavor-of-the-week middle-aged socialite that pretty popstar is sampling for afternoon tea. It’s just an awful coincidence that my love for trashy gossip telly and his tendency to be featured on said trashy gossip telly happen to coincide.”
“Right, of course,” Niall says, giving him a patronizing look, “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that‒ and I quote‒ ‘his collarbones are worth salivating over’ or ‘imagine tugging on those curls with that pretty face nestled between your legs’ or my personal favorite‒”
“Out of context!” Louis cries, “Out of context! I was right pissed when I said that and you know it!”
“Doesn’t make it untrue, does it?” Niall replies, “Power of the subconscious mind ‘nd all that… And anyway you’d be on your knees in a blink if that bubblegum crooning self-proclaimed popstar suddenly discovered a newfound passion for dusty old books.”
The Irishman playfully fluffs up his hair and pouts his lips. “Hello I’m Louis Tomlinson and welcome to Tales Resold,” he continues, pitching his voice an octave higher in an awful attempt at femininity. He starts down the stairs to the main level, swinging his hips and waving his hands around dramatically.
“Could I interest you in our evening special?” he squeaks, turning back briefly to flutter his eyelashes as Louis follows him down. “It’s called ‘fuck me and the books are free’.”
“Niall!” Louis squawks, looking indignant, “I’ll have you know that I would never proffer away my expensive high-quality merchandise in exchange for sexual favors.”
They reach the main floor then, with Niall still giggling elatedly at his frankly awful impersonation.
“And anyway,” Louis continues flippantly, “even lovely ladies’ man Harry Styles would forget all about the books the minute he laid eyes on the devastatingly fit bookkeeper.”
“You’re right, of course,” Niall replies, sighing dramatically, “S’pose I’ll have to take down that FREE BLOWJOBS FOR POPSTARS sign I put in the window on me way in.”
Louis pauses, pretending to consider this seriously.
“Nah, leave it up,” he says after a moment, tidying up the front desk and pulling his wallet out of the side drawer, “Never know when we might have Robbie Williams strolling by feeling a bit randy.”
“Sick Lou,” Niall replies, wrinkling his nose, “He’s like forty… and married.”
Louis shrugs, pocketing his wallet and plucking the shop keys off a hook on the wall.
“No popstar can resist free blowjobs, young Niall,” he says sagely, ruffling his mate’s bleach blonde hair. He puts away the last of the scattered pages of manuscript, tucks his trusty miniature moleskine into his back pocket, and double checks the cash register before leaning down to grab a pair of faded red VANS from under the desk.
“Business is slow today,” he says as he slips them on, looking up to see Niall already collapsed on the old floral sofa by the front door. “Think I’ll close up early. Fancy a pub night? I know it’s a Sunday, but we’ve no reason to pretend we’ve got lives anyhow.”
Niall’s spirits are apparently revived at the mere suggestion of a pint as he shoots up into a sitting position and whips out his mobile to invite Liam and Josh to join them.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Louis remarks with a fond smile, locking the door behind them as Niall hails a taxi to their favorite pub near Liam’s flat. He plans on having fun tonight, and dammit, he’s going to have it.
Never mind that his agent and publisher are going to kill him if he puts off finishing the last of his poetry collection any longer or that he’s promised himself to call his mum and the girls at least a dozen times this month or even that he hasn’t had a proper shag since The Bastard Who Shall Not Be Named (blowjobs in the loo at dirty clubs really shouldn’t count) and he’s resorted to lusting over a daft, curly-haired popstar who probably has more STDs than he’s got books in his shop…
Really. Never mind all that.
Louis Tomlinson’s got his life absolutely under control…
Absolutely.
& H &
Harry is drunk, and spectacularly so.
(Never mind that it’s only ten-thirty on a Sunday evening. It’s not like he “works” Mondays anyhow.)
He’s at his favorite club, dark and anonymous, paying double for every drink in exchange for the bartender’s silence (he’s already paid off the bouncers enough times that they know not to talk). Of course, if he were here to pick up a girl all this wouldn’t matter, but tonight is one of those nights when he’s really really not.
The music pulsates in time with the alcohol in his veins and‒ after one last shot‒ he makes his way to the dance floor. He’s thrashing about wildly, body moving with abandon, when he feels a pair of hands grip his waist and pull him closer. He whirls around and takes in the stranger standing before him, or rather, what he can make out through the dark and the smoke. His chin tilts up a bit as the man is slightly taller than he is (a surprising feat considering his own stature) with a striking jawline and artfully disheveled brown hair gelled into a tall quiff.
“Dance with me,” he purrs, slipping a leg between Harry’s own and pulling him closer.
The resemblance is striking and Harry feels his resistance slip away with a flash of eyes that aren’t-quite-green-but-close-enough.
“Yes,” he breathes, moving his hands to grip the stranger’s thin hips.
They rock to the beat of the music, hips slotting together with delicious heat and friction. Their pace increases and Harry feels his cock respond almost immediately, a soft groan escaping from between his lips.
(It’s been far too long…)
The stranger pauses, sensing his building urge, and tilts Harry’s head up to press their mouths together. The taste of his lips is familiar and intoxicating‒ not quite the same as Harry remembers, but just enough to make his heart beat quicken and his pupils widen with arousal. He grinds their hips together more forcefully, letting out a quiet moan as the man’s hand slips between them to cup his hardening length. He reaches back to thread his fingers through the taller man’s hair and‒
Bzzz.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, obnoxiously buzzing against his thigh and that of the stranger grinding up against him.
“You gonna get that, mate?” the man whispers against his mouth.
“Mmm,” Harry offers in reply, leaning in closer to trace his tongue along a vein in the other man’s neck. His lips find his way to the stranger’s ear, mumbling, “Maybe after we fuck.”
His phone buzzes again and he sighs, pulling it out of his pocket and carelessly tossing it on the floor. He’ll tell his manager that he lost it, receive a half-hearted lecture about being more responsible, and have it replaced within the week. He’ll have someone wipe his account from his laptop in the morning.
“My flat or yours?” the stranger asks, interrupting his thoughts as he slips his hands under Harry’s t-shirt.
“Mm, it’ll have to be yours,” he replies, shuddering at the feeling of warm skin pressed against his own and the intoxicating, musky scent of sweat and arousal. He lets the man lead him out of the club, eyes bloodshot with temporary bliss and fingertips tingling with desire.
(It’s been far, far too long…)
& L &
Louis and Niall arrive at the pub around 9:30.
It’s an old family-owned place with battered booths and chipped barstools and a bartender who’s usually not good for any drink that requires more preparation than pulling a pint of whatever’s on tap, but it’s fairly close by and comfy and not horribly overcrowded for a city pub, so they can’t really be bothered to spend time looking for another.
They spot Liam and Josh at their customary table in the back corner. Predictably, Josh’s pint is already half-gone, while Liam keeps taking tiny sips of whatever fruity concoction he’s decided to try this time, making awful faces after each one.
“Greetings lonely lads!” Niall calls out loudly, earning a few glares from the weekend working crowd leaning exhaustedly against the bar.
Of course, he doesn’t notice and continues to make his way over to the table still obnoxiously chatting up everyone in sight. He slides into the chair next to Liam, clasping a firm hand on his shoulder, and reaching down to take a swig of Liam’s neon pink monstrosity.
He splutters, picking up a napkin and spitting into it, before declaring, “Jesus Christ, Liam, what in the name of‒”
Liam cuts him off with an exasperated, “Yes, Niall, I know it’s awful, but I’d really rather drink this than that black tar you down on the regular” and pinches his nose, bringing his lips to the edge of the glass and swallowing another mouthful.
Josh is almost in stitches at the expression that Liam makes as he gulps, gleefully explaining to the others that “he asked for something a bit sweeter and Eddie–the new bartender-in-training– filled the glass with a splash of vodka and every fruit-flavored rum they kept in stock”.
It’s at this very moment that Eddie– a lanky, disheveled-looking blonde clad in all black– waltzes over from the bar with another brightly colored ‘death punch’ in hand. Niall and Josh are fighting back tears as he sets it on the table in front of Liam with a wink and a sultry “it’s on the house, pretty boy”. Louis can’t help but chuckle at Eddie’s retreating form, his hips swinging rhythmically back and forth like an extra in a Beyoncé music video.
“Looks like you’ve got quite the admirer, Li,” Niall hoots, Josh collapsed on his shoulder and snickering into his t-shirt.
Liam glares at the pair of them, defiantly taking a tiny sip of his new drink, and attempting to muffle the resulting cough into the sleeve of his thin jumper. He looks down at the Pepto Bismol pink cocktail woefully, a deep frown etched across his features.
“Surely he doesn’t intend to woo me with this?” Liam proposes doubtfully– in the closest approximation to mean that Liam Payne could ever achieve– which of course sends Niall and Josh into more hysterics.
Louis resorts to spending the next two hours or so patting Liam on the back sympathetically, the poor lad complaining that he can’t not finish his second atrocious excuse for a drink because that would be “so completely rude, Louis, I’d feel awful!” and listening to Niall and Josh discuss footie stats and pointedly ignore their mutual attraction for one another.
Around twelve-thirty, however, things finally get interesting.
There’s a sudden, resounding BANG and every patron in the pub looks up to see a dreamy, raven-haired stranger slamming the front door open so hard it knocks a couple of framed photos off the wall. Alright, well, maybe Louis was the only one thinking “dreamy” and “raven-haired” in addition to “I’d love to have that beautiful specimen bend me over the bar and fuck me until I can’t walk straight” but still… his entrance is certainly surprising.
Eddie is hurling all sorts of profanities at the deliciously leather-clad intruder from his place behind the bar, but the guy hardly spares him a glance as he boldly addresses everyone in the room.
He whips his clearly expensive phone out of the pocket of his clearly expensive designer jeans and points at a small blue digital dot blinking cheerily on the screen.
“So my lovely little locating app,” he starts, and for fuck’s sake, Louis despairs, even his voice is sexy, “is telling me that someone here found a phone that doesn’t belong to them tonight.”
He looks around the room sternly, several patrons even refusing to make eye contact with the gloriously handsome and intimidating stranger, when finally a younger lad with bushy eyebrows stands up and whips an equally as expensive looking phone out of his own pocket. He stumbles over to Mr. Fuck Me and hands him the device with a shrug and a heavily slurred, “Here mate, relax… I watched some guy basically throw it ‘cross the club earlier and figured he didn’t really want it, but whatever, it’s yours.”
The stranger sighs deeply‒ like this is apparently a regular occurrence‒ and takes the phone, nodding once firmly and slipping it into the pocket of his leather jacket.
He turns to leave, but Niall (already three pints in and still upright, the Irish bastard) calls out, “Hey mate, have a sit for a ‘mo!” and cheerily pats the seat next to him, left empty when Josh had ducked out around eleven citing an early shift at the bakery the next morning.
Tall Dark and Handsome pauses in the doorway as Niall concludes his invitation with a hearty “Pint’s on me, looks like ye could use one!”
He takes out his phone again, blinks a few times at the screen, and sends a quick message before swaggering coolly back across the pub and taking a seat with an artful kind of practiced nonchalance that makes Louis’ breath catch in his throat.
“Cheers, mate,” he says, nodding as Niall slides a newly filled mug his way.
He plucks a cigarette from behind his ear and digs around in his pocket before producing a cheap lighter‒ probably the only cheap thing about him. He glances up briefly at Eddie as if asking permission, but the bartender just shrugs like he could really tell fucking Marlin Brando as Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire what the fuck he can and can’t do. His mouth twitches briefly into a subtle smirk as he flicks the lighter once and touches the flame to the tip.
“I’m Zayn,” he says casually, addressing the three of them as he puts the lit cig to his lips and blows a perfect smoke ring.
Louis might be in heaven.
“I’m Niall,” Niall says, gesturing to himself and grinning brightly.
To Zayn’s credit, he doesn’t seem put off in the least by the Irishman’s unabashed and genuine friendliness. In fact, if Louis could just keep his eyes off of the Vogue model’s deliciously angular jawline for more than a second at a time, the small smile on Zayn’s lips would suggest that he’s even a little refreshed by Niall’s sunshiny attitude.
“’nd these are me mates, Lou and Li,” Niall continues, gesturing across the table, “Well, their real names are Louis and Liam, but fuck if that’s not a mouthful.”
“It’s really not,” Liam cuts in quickly, almost as if he’s embarrassed… and wait a minute… is that a faint bit of pink spreading across his cheeks? Is the sexually unaffected Liam Payne really blushing?
Zayn chuckles softly, slowly turning to place his full attention on the source of the interruption, who‒ if he wasn’t red before‒ now resembles a prepubescent schoolgirl with a crush on her ruggedly handsome instructor. The dark-haired lad’s eyes move slowly down Liam’s body and back up, seemingly taking in every inch of the charmingly innocent, but also admittedly attractive site before him.
Louis definitely sympathizes with Zayn in this moment, as he himself had half-heartedly tried and failed to flirt his way into the schoolteacher’s pants when Niall had first introduced them at uni, setting them up to room together. What? The sexy loose curls (now shorter and straighter but still just as sexy) and the thickly sculpted arm muscles were totally calling out his name. And anyhow, Liam had blushed like mad when he’d made his advances and politely declined, telling him that he wasn’t really interested in a “fleeting sexual tryst” no matter how many times Louis promised he wouldn’t call him ‘Professor Payne’ in bed. Seriously. Those exact words.
So up until this interesting little development, Louis had just assumed that the sweet, Liam ‘Virgin Mary’ Payne was too pure to be interested in anyone, especially after his first and only relationship ended so awfully…
Clearly, Louis could not have been more wrong.
“So Zayn,” he says a bit defensively, interrupting the sexy stranger’s visual deflowering of one his best mates, “what do you do for a living?”
The bastard definitely takes his sweet time tearing his eyes from Liam’s right bicep. “I’m a music producer,” he replies idly, “well, a music producer in training really, but I’ve been pretty involved at the record label producing my mate’s album. It drops in a couple weeks and I’m hoping that with some positive reviews the execs will grant me some real creative freedom on his next one.”
“And,” he says slowly, eyes flitting back to Liam who is one twitch of his open mouth away from drooling on the table, “I also DJ at this pretty cool nightclub in Chelsea on the weekends. You lot should check it out sometime.”
At that, he takes a long swig of his pint, immediately making a face and quickly setting it back down on the tabletop. “Ugh, what is this stuff?”
Louis glances down at his own drink, and replies rather scathingly, “Sorry love, probably not up to standard with your typical 50-quid Chelsea brew, is it?”
“Louis!” Liam exclaims, clearly affronted. He leans into Zayn, cheeks still red, and faux-whispers, “I’m so sorry about him. He’s a bit of a diva.”
Louis’ glaring daggers at Liam-The-Traitor across the table, but Zayn merely shrugs. “I don’t mind,” he says, “Go back home and I’ve got people saying the same thing.”
“Ah, home,” Niall mutters, sleepily. In the course of the conversation, he’d downed yet another pint and had tucked himself comfortably into the space between Louis’ chest and left shoulder.
“Where’re you from then?” Liam asks, wide-eyed, like he’s expecting Zayn to say that he beamed himself down from heaven just yesterday. Louis scoffs. Zayn may be Fifty Shades of Fuck Me, but he’s clearly a trust-fund baby playing at making records with a couple thousand quid from Daddy’s bank account.
“Bradford,” Zayn says, and Louis may or may not choke on his drink. “Pakistani da and English mum, so if you’re thinking of saying something racist about my hometown, then yeah, it’ll probably offend me.”
“Well shit mate, I’d never,” Louis says, “I’m a Yorkshire lad meself, though bit south of you. Born and raised in good ol’ Donny.”
Zayn nods begrudgingly, taking another small sip of his pint. “You’re alright, mate,” he says slowly.
Louis blinks; though the assent sounded genuine, the other boy’s gaze remains as wary as ever. He watches then as Zayn turns and says something to Liam, the moment forgotten but the same brooding look still in place. Louis shrugs. Apparently Zayn’s just a really intense person, like, all the time.
“So Zayn,” Liam implores, staring at the dark-haired boy with what appear to be actual hearts in his eyes, “What was that whole thing with the phone about? Someone you know lose it?”
Zayn rolls his eyes and sighs deeply. “Remember my best mate with the album? Yeah, he’s got a bit of a reputation for being an insufferable dick. What’s worse, he happens to be an insufferable dick with money.”
“Is there any other kind?” Louis replies, grinning even as Liam smacks him on the arm and hisses his name once more.
“So he did toss it on the ground, then?” Liam asks, retracting his hand.
Zayn makes an affirmative noise. “That or he was too pissed to be bothered carrying it any longer.”
“Cheers to that,” Niall mumbles from his place against Louis’ chest.
Louis cards his fingers absentmindedly through the blonde’s soft hair, earning a pleased rumble from the little Irish lump. “So your mate with the album? He’s pretty successful then, yeah?” he questions, then adds, “Hard to make it these days on talent alone, so he must be a fitty.”
“Louis,” Liam hisses yet again, “that’s really not appropriate.”
Zayn just chuckles. “It’s fine, Liam,” he assuages, casually shifting a bit to his right to rest a placating hand on Liam’s forearm, and wow, Louis really did not think it was possible for Liam to become any redder than he already was.
“So he is a fit bloke, then?” Louis asks, still curious.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Zayn says, shrugging complacently, “The gossip mags are always going on about how Harry’s like a young–” he cuts off mid-sentence, face contorted like he’s made some sort of mistake and oh my god. Now that he thinks about it, Louis’ definitely seen Zayn before… in Tesco… on last week’s cover of The Sun (not that he frequently reads The Sun or anything, but still). Zayn had been in the background, looking ever the brooding and mysterious bad boy, with one properly pissed popstar stumbling ahead of him.
“Harry Styles?” Louis asks, and if the name sort of comes out sounding like a breathy moan, well, who can fault him for that, really? “Your best mate is the Harry Styles.”
Zayn bites his lip, looking like he might try to lie his way out of it, but ends up slowly nodding instead.
“’s that right?” Niall mumbles, “Louis loves Harry Styles, says he’d like to lick his collarbones ‘nd suck his…”
“Shut up, Niall,” Louis hisses, cheeks flaming. He looks up to see an insufferable smirk fighting its way onto Zayn’s face. “Niall is off his head, mate. Don’t believe a word he says.”
“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a fangirl,” Zayn says, still smirking.
“Oh Louis definitely has a thing for popstars,” Liam supplies helpfully. “Just this afternoon, Niall told me that Louis said he’d give Robbie Williams a blowjob...” he pauses, looking especially scandalized, “for free!”
Zayn actually laughs aloud at that one which, of course, has Liam smiling proudly like he’s just won a gold medal in the fucking Comedy Olympics. “I think Harry’s still got Robbie’s number from some charity function thing,” Zayn says, grinning widely, “I could definitely hook you up, mate.”
Louis glares at the pair of them.
“Listen here, Zayn whatever your last name is,” he declares dramatically, reaching across the table to poke Zayn right in the ‘v’ of his pretentious little v-neck, “you’re corrupting my best mates and I won’t stand for it.”
“Mmm, I don’t mind, Lou,” Liam says, a bit dreamily, “I rather like our new friend.”
Zayn grins at Liam and Louis swears you can seem him preen. “See, I’ve not done a thing.”
“Don’t you have any other mates?” Louis asks, rolling his eyes, “Like, oh I don’t know? What about the poor drunken popstar that’s milling about town without a phone to call for help?”
Zayn shrugs. “Whatever happens, Harry probably deserves it. He was a proper dick to me this morning and he managed to skip a big interview at Radio One which the PR people are in crisis mode over trying to reschedule. ‘S probably best that he stay lost for a bit.”
Zayn’s apparently apathetic attitude toward best-mate-keep-alivedness should probably concern him, but granted Louis’ best mate (Niall) is certainly not a phone-tossing-interview-skipping-late-night-partying popstar either.
The four of them end up spending the rest of the night chatting amicably amongst themselves (with Eddie’s glares from behind the bar becoming exponentially more murderous with every adoring look Liam directs Zayn’s way). As the evening wears on, Louis finds it harder and harder to fault Liam for his affection, as Zayn turns out to be surprisingly intelligent and thoughtful and tells hilarious stories of he and Harry playing what was meant to be “New Age indie rock” and was really just butchered acoustic guitar chords and passionate grunting in tiny underground clubs filled to the brim with pretentious wannabe artsy-types. Liam, too, loosens up considerably after an uncharacteristic pint or two, talking about how much he just adores each and every one of his brilliant Year 7 pupils, as if any sensible human being really ought to be enamored with a classroom full of thirty bratty eleven year olds.
“Always wanted to be an English teacher before I got into the music business,” Zayn says at one point, earning yet another glowing smile from the already-beaming schoolteacher, “I actually started out in Classics and English before switching to music production.” After Liam’s sharp intake of breath and subsequent fawning, Zayn is glowing just as brightly (or as brightly as someone dressed in all black and leather can glow). Louis swears he hears a glass shatter from over near the bar but, when he turns to look, Eddie has already ducked out of site.
Zayn’s aside leads to a discussion of his and Liam’s favorite Greek and Latin philosophers, which leads to a debate over their favorite more contemporary authors, which soon turns into a heated argument over whether The Brothers Karamazov or Crime and Punishment should be considered Dostoyevsky’s greatest work.
After debating for what feels like ten years to Louis (he writes poetry instead of thousand-page novels for a reason, thank you very much), Zayn‒ as a not-so-subtle way of involving him in the conversation‒ politely asks if he’s currently working. Louis’ barely opened his mouth before Liam cuts in saying “Oh, he owns just the loveliest bookstore in Camden, Zayn, you should see it! Fixed it up himself ‘nd everything! And he writes, like, this great poetry, but it’s really quite sad, you know? He’s a proper tortured soul ‘nd all that, ‘specially after that asshole Aid-”
“Are you quite finished, Li?” Louis snaps, tension springing up in his shoulders at the mere almost-mention of the bastard’s name. “I think that’s enough about me, don’t you?”
Liam just flashes him a sappy smile and pats him on the shoulder hard enough that he can’t help but flinch. “Don’t be so modest, Lou!” he booms, earning a few tired glances from the older pub patrons still hanging about.
“Yeah okay, big guy, I’ll work on that,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. He leans forward across the table and whispers to Zayn conspiratorially, “I swear he doesn’t usually drink this much. Li’s a bit of a lightweight, really.”
Zayn laughs good-naturedly, skillfully steadying Liam’s chair when he tips it backwards onto two legs laughing raucously at something Niall’s said. “Uh yeah, I can see that.”
“You’re quite pretty, you know,” Liam says, tugging at Zayn’s leather jacket and grinning dopily. “Bet you’d be even prettier with this off.”
Louis laughs brightly as Zayn shifts uncomfortably to twist his jacket out of Liam’s grip. “Oh, that one’s going in the blackmail pile for sure!” he says, miming writing down the event on the palm of his hand,
“Liam’ll be mortified when I remind him what a slaggy drunk he is.”
Something shifts in Zayn’s voice as he asks, “He does this often then, yeah?”
And, ah, there it is.
Louis takes a slow sip of his drink, considering, “Only with people he’d be too shy to say he fancied when he’s sober. He’s certainly never tried to remove my clothing.”
Zayn’s posture relaxes at that, his white-knuckled grip on the back of Liam’s chair noticeably looser. It’s then that Liam leans in close‒ too close, really‒ so that their shoulders press together, and Louis doesn’t miss the small smile that fights its way onto Zayn’s face. Disgusting, the both of them.
Zayn opens his mouth to speak again, but is interrupted by a long, tired sigh.
“’M sleepy, Lou,” Niall says into Louis’ shoulder, “Can I stay at yours?”
Louis casts Zayn an apologetic look, but the dark-haired boy just shrugs and waves him off. “Sure, let’s get you home then, eh big guy?” he tells Niall fondly, the younger lad’s yawning form pressing closer to his chest.
He looks back up and sighs at Liam who’s not-so-subtly staring at Zayn like he hung the fucking moon in the sky. “Looks like we’re heading out, but I’ll leave you two to… erm…” he pauses, watching Liam light up at something Zayn whispers in his ear, “whatever it is that you’re doing. Ok then, yeah… night.”
He grabs a napkin, digs a pen out of his back pocket, and writes:
Please call me when you need me to come pick Liam up!! –Louis
He sets the note on the table for Zayn to see and ushers Niall out of the pub, glancing back every few seconds only to feel increasingly more nauseated at the captivated look in Liam’s eyes and Zayn’s hand brushing against his elbow.
“Think Li’s finally gon’ get fucked,” Niall says drowsily, as Louis shoulders open the door, guiding him out.
“Seems inevitable at this point,” Louis agrees, and grimaces thinking back to the number of neon pink cocktails Liam has downed in the last five hours. “Though I’m hoping Zayn’s enough of a gentleman not to take advantage of the fact that Liam’s blood-alcohol content is at least 85% strawberry rum.”
Niall manages to nod sagely, even as he stumbles across the threshold of the pub and onto the sidewalk.
“Maybe on their next date,” Louis continues, waving his hand to hail a taxi, “That or he’ll chicken out and we’ll be forced to hear him whine about Zayn’s dreamy caramel eyes for weeks after.”
“Mmm,” Niall says, muttering something unintelligible in reply that ends with, “D’you think Li tops?”
Louis just laughs softly, helping the near-comatose Irishman into their waiting black cab, “Sweet dreams, my little Leprechaun.”
Niall curls into his side the minute they get situated in the back of the cab, Louis making room for him under his shoulder. The blonde’s hair glows softly from the light of Louis’ smartphone as he pulls it out of his pocket, scrolling through his Twitter feed and posting an adorable picture of sleeping Niall on Facebook before he finally notices that he has a new message from a number he doesn’t recognize.
hey mate its zayn! i found ur # in liam’s phone to tell u that im splitting cab fare with him when we decide to head back cause his flats not far from mine (actually it is but dont tell him that… im trying to be a proper gentleman) anyway 2nite was fun lets do it again & next time i’ll bring the popstar!! but stay away from his collarbones theyre insured for a mil haha !!! cheers –zayn Xx
His phone chimes again just as he’s finished reading the first text and started his reply.
p.s. my last name is malik in case u don’t trust me around liam and decide to do a background check ;) heh XxxXxxxxxxx
He laughs and shakes his head (a winky face, Zayn, really?) before amending his original message to include Zayn’s last name.
i don’t doubt ur intentions are pure Zayn MALIK but nevertheless if u hurt my sweet innocent LiLi i’ll be forced to do unspeakably cruel things to ur manly bits and ur perfectly styled quiff and ur fantastic jawline and… anyway have fun kids, use protection etc. !! Xx
Zayn’s reply is hilariously indignant (im just dropping him off wanker!!) and he doesn’t feel the least bit threatened, that is, until he receives a text from Liam’s phone (u better watch it…) with an attached picture of Zayn’s own phone displaying an unsent message with a frankly awful picture of a young Louis in his checkered blue sixth year uniform. The text is addressed to a random number and Louis starts to ask just exactly who Zayn is sending it to when he notices the caption below the photo.
lol this lil hottie wants to lick ur collarbones :))) Xx
u wouldnt!! he types in response, adding and where did u get that pic??
liam’s cell is like fulllll of blackmail mate comes the reply a minute later.
Louis furrows his eyebrows and aggressively taps piss off malik receiving only a mocking :) in return. He sighs, slipping his phone back into his pocket and leaning down to rest his head on top of Niall’s own. The gentle lull of the cab as it snakes its way through early morning traffic has his eyelids drooping, lashes fluttering gently against his cheeks. A light rain begins to fall, drops a steady drumbeat against the black exterior like some rhythmic tribal lullaby. Soon, without warning, Louis drifts off completely, frozen in time in the backseat as the sounds of the city drone on.
& H &
The thing is Harry is still drunk, spectacularly so.
But this time he’s also lost, which is proving to be quite the problem.
After a quick anonymous fuck with some bloke from the bar, he’d left the stranger’s flat with the intent of finding a taxi. But it’s something like 4 am and he’s wasted and all the cars are flying by in a blur of colors and he hasn’t got his phone and… he is completely and utterly fucked.
And then, of course, it starts to pour.
“Bloody fantastic!” he shouts at the sky, throwing his hands up in a rage, though it’s directed more toward his own stupidity (for throwing away his phone and having yet another pathetic shag with a Nick look-alike) than at whichever mystical being has decided to fuck him over by summoning a fucking hurricane. Fat raindrops splatter his clothing and his hair as he runs-slash-stumbles aimlessly down the street. He catches a passing glimpse of his reflection in a moonlit display window‒ haggard and soaking wet, droopy curls framing his pale, gaunt cheekbones‒ and blinks back tears.
The rain is coming down harder now, lightning illuminating the sky in brilliant streaks. He shivers as the thunder rumbles and quickens his pace, throat beginning to burn and heart beating wildly in his chest, protesting alongside his straining muscles. He pauses for a moment and presses a hand to the place where his heart lies quaking beneath, finding himself momentarily amazed that the aching muscle still exists under the layers of cover-up, cracked ribs, and milky white scars. But then the thunder booms again and he is still scared and alone, despite the heart that he apparently still possesses. And so he runs, wet feet slapping the pavement, though he doesn’t have any idea where he’s going.
Harry runs, looking for a road that will lead him home.
& L &
Louis startles awake as the cab jerks to a halt outside the bookstore. He gently nudges Niall who groans for far too long before sitting up and stretching his arms above his head with a loud yawn. A brilliant flash of light followed by a deep rumble has him peering out the window and eyeing the wet pavement warily. Sometime during his too-short nap the sky had opened up and the rain is really coming down now, slow-moving ominous grey clouds to the west signaling a long storm ahead. Louis quickly tips the cabbie as Niall braves the torrent, darting across the pavement and unlocking the front door. They stumble into the bookstore soaking wet and giggling, leaving soggy footprints on the ancient knotted rug Louis’d placed in the front foyer.
“If you leave puddles on my hardwood, Horan, I swear,” Louis shrieks indignantly as Niall dances through the aisles toward the stairs leading up to his living quarters.
“Piss off, Delia Smith,” Niall calls back with a laugh, “You can bake me some biscuits later while you mop your floors.”
“Really, Niall?” Louis replies disapprovingly, shucking off his wettest outer layer and draping it over the back of a nearby chair, “Your sexism is devastatingly charming.”
There’s no reply– Niall apparently already out of earshot– so Louis allows himself an eye roll and a deep sigh before slipping off his soaked Vans and darting upstairs to find a towel to mop up the pools of rainwater formed from their harried entrance.
Strolling into his bedroom, Louis dutifully ignores the snoring blonde starfish in the middle of his bed, opens a slightly dented, badly painted chest of drawers, and snatches a faded blue towel from its underbelly.
Jogging back downstairs, he walks to the front door and stoops down to wipe up the wet patches where Niall had dripped, sighing again deeply at the always-cheery London weather.
“Should’ve gone to Ibiza or Tahiti or summat,” he mumbles to himself, standing up towel in hand and raising the blinds on the front window to peer out at the muted greys and blues of his little stretch of Camden Lock, “’stead I’ve got a bookstore in the city of perpetual misery. Lovely.”
He shuts the blinds and turns back around to take in the state of his shop. A few 19th century novels lie misplaced on the front table display and he restacks them in a formation he hopes will be aesthetically pleasing to someone (there’s a reason he’s a writer, not an artist). Surveying the stacks once more and deeming them acceptable, he flicks off the downstairs light and heads back upstairs where Niall is still snoring loudly. He rolls his eyes, tosses the wet towel in with the rest of his soiled laundry, and strips down quickly. Clad only in his boxers and a white tee, he flings himself into bed next to Niall‒ who predictably doesn’t even stir‒ and tucks the both of them in under his Nan’s knit quilt. Despite the Irishman’s rumbling chainsaw-like snore, he feels himself drifting off immediately, thoughts still swimming pleasantly from the alcohol’s fading buzz.
&&
Funny how, if maybe, he’d taken just a quick peek out his bedroom window…
… if instead of falling into bed, he’d stayed up a bit later, penned a few maudlin words in his moleskine, and gazed out onto the empty street…
… maybe, just maybe, he might’ve seen a tall, dark figure stumbling along the curb, long limbs illuminated by the soft glow of the corner streetlight, looking ever the radiant wanderer… lost and alone.
But no, the voice of Fate must’ve whispered, lulling him to sleep with her quiet assurance, keeping his eyes on the sheets and away from the pull of the curtains, the enticing sliver of light sneaking in through the window… No.
Not just yet.
& H &
Harry blinks awake in the early hours of the morning, the sound of a door slamming shut rousing him from a fitful sleep. His head is pounding and his neck aches from where he’s been pressed up against the brick wall behind him. His silk long sleeve button-up feels tight and sweaty and he peels it off, grimacing at the dampness of the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath it. His jeans were apparently, at one point, just as equally soaked and have now plastered themselves tightly around his thighs and ankles.
Wonderful, he thinks, trying to ignore the aching feeling that has spread from his neck to what feels like every joint in his body. He stands up, swaying on his feet a bit, and tries to take in his unfamiliar surroundings. The main street from which the alleyway branches off doesn’t appear to be very busy which means he’s either a) drunkenly teleported to the middle of nowhere , or b) it’s currently some ungodly hour in the morning during which people have no reason to be awake and moving about. One swift glance to the east where the sun is just peeking over the horizon and his second theory is confirmed. He rubs his eyes and groans, peering down the pavement to where he can just make out a large, faded overhang with the words “Camden Lock” slopped on in mustard yellow paint.
“Camden, then,” he says aloud, mentally calculating the time it will take to get back to his flat in Kensington. He quickly realizes just how far he is from home; if his math is correct, about a thirty minute ride by car, longer by bus, and certainly outside of a comfortable walking distance.
He swears loudly, ducking back into the alleyway just as the rain starts up again. With no one awake at this hour, he supposes he’s got no better plan than to wait awhile longer, at least until the sun is fully up, and then ask some nearby shopkeeper if he can use their phone and perhaps dry off a bit.
Harry lets his body slide back down the wall, closes his eyes with a groan, and waits for sunrise.
& L &
Louis’ alarm goes off bright and much too early, the clock next to his bed reading 6:00 on the dot. He groans, the pounding in his head echoing with his every step toward the bathroom.
Louis’ slipping on a pair of trousers, mouthful of toothpaste, when his mobile vibrates loudly on the sink counter in front of him.
“H‘lo?” he answers, spitting into the sink with a pastel-tinted grimace.
“Lou?” a voice asks, anxiously.
“Liam! You alright, mate?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m fantastic, really,” Liam replies unconvincingly.
“Right, so that’s false,” Louis deadpans, pawing at his messy fringe in the mirror, “What’s wrong, then?”
There’s a long pause.
“Erm…” Liam starts, nervously drumming his fingers in the background, “this may sound a bit odd but… how exactly did I‒”
“Zayn took you home,” Louis answers in advance, knowing the bashful schoolteacher well enough to anticipate the question. He waits, listening for Liam’s loud exhale of relief.
“I- he did?” Liam replies after a moment, sounding decidedly more contemplative than reassured.
There’s another beat of silence before he asks “Wait, did we…?” at the exact moment that Louis reassures exasperatedly, “You didn’t have sex with him, Li.”
Not that you didn’t want to, he adds, under his breath.
This time there is an audible exhale; though, of course, it’s immediately followed by a terse “and how exactly would you know that?”
Louis rolls his eyes. “I was under your bed listening, obviously, just in case I needed to pop out and defend your virtue.”
“Louis,” Liam presses, his flat echoing with the sound of his agitated, pacing footsteps.
“Fine, fine,” Louis placates, the thumping immediately waning, “Zayn texted me around two saying that he was splitting a cab with you to ensure you got home safely‒ you were quite wasted, love‒ and he was adamant that he was going to be a gentleman about it. I did a GPS thingy on your phone around three and you were on your way home. If you’ve just woken up, you’ve not been out that long since he left you.”
“Oh god,” Liam says despairingly, “You know how I am when I’ve had one drink too many, Lou! I’m a proper slag, that’s what! Do you think he had to help me upstairs? Oh, I’m sure he did, if I was stumbling around like an idiot! He probably thinks I’m desperate and clingy and now he’ll never want to see me again and‒”
Louis yawns, rubbing his eyes and glancing at the clock which now reads 6:21.
“How are you not still unconscious?” he asks, tiredly.
“I can’t sleep when my nonexistent love life is on the line!” Liam cries, just verging on hysteria, “Plus, it’s Monday. I’ve got class at eight.”
“I thought you were on break?” Louis asks, a bit surprised, “Going out on a school night, Mr. Payne? That’s quite irresponsible of you.”
“October half-term hols don’t start ‘til next week,” Liam replies miserably, “And I went out with you lot because that one teacher asked me out again and I‒”
“Ms. Lewis, innit?” Louis interrupts.
“The very same,” Liam replies exasperatedly, “She invited me to dinner last night and I lied and told her I had plans with my mum.”
“Your mum’s back in Wolverhampton, if I’m not mistaken,” Louis teases.
“You aren’t,” the teacher affirms, sighing deeply, “I fully planned on spending the night at home with the last few essays I’ve left to mark, but Ms. Lewis texted around eight telling me to have fun and to say hello to ‘Mummy’ for her and I felt so guilty about not going out that I accepted your invitation instead.”
“Liam, love,” he replies, fighting laughter, “when you lie to someone and say that you’re busy, you’re not supposed to actually make yourself busy.”
“I know that,” Liam snaps, “but anyway I‒”
A sudden loud pounding downstairs draws Louis’ attention away from the conversation at hand. “Hold on just a mo’,” he cuts in, listening intently.
The pounding continues for a minute, followed by the familiar creak of the front door, and the sound of footsteps on the hardwood.
“Liam, I think someone’s broken into the shop,” Louis hisses into the receiver.
“Are you serious, Lou?” Liam cries, “Get out of there! Or hide! Or do something!”
“If you don’t hear from me in a few, call the police,” Louis says and hangs up the phone to frantically search his bedroom for some kind of weapon.
He ends up creeping down the stairs, hands shaking, armed with a wire coat hanger snatched from his closet. He reaches the landing and tiptoes between the bookshelves until he’s got a better look at the cash register near the back of the shop. He fights crying out as a tall figure in a ratty black t-shirt and torn-up jeans steps into view.
“Who’s there?” the figure calls, his voice deep and a bit raspy, “I promise I’m not a burglar or a bum or anything.”
“What do you want?” Louis hollers back. He tries his best to sound intimidating though his voice wavers noticeably. “I’m… I’m armed!”
“Holy shit,” the intruder replies, holding his hands up in surrender, “I’m leaving, I promise. I’m leaving immediately!”
He starts toward the door, but Louis‒ spurred by a sudden shock of charitably (if the man is homeless, he obviously needs some help, okay)‒ leaps out from his hiding place behind the bookshelf with the intent of blocking the man’s exit and offering him some assistance and maybe, like, some canned goods or something.
There’s an unmanly squeal followed by an exclamation of “Jesus Christ!” and the whole thing ends with the black-clad figure and himself in a pile of limbs on the floor.
Louis’ face is buried in a nest of dark hair and there’s a knee or an elbow or something painfully pressing into his crotch. He fights to get up as the person underneath him flails about screaming “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”
“Relax, would you?” Louis snaps, the ridiculousness of the situation combined with his raging, currently untreated hangover sending him over the edge.
“Yes, sir,” the intruder replies in a fearful whisper and stills himself immediately.
Louis stands up slowly, headache pounding behind his eyes, and surveys the cowering lump of a human being collapsed on his floor.
“Oh, get up please,” he orders irritably, holding out a hand to assist the clearly incompetent burglar, “If you leave now, I won’t call the police. That is, if Liam hasn’t already…”
He trails off as he feels the thief’s own massive hand encircle his own, a strange shock of (of what, exactly?) traveling lightning quick up his arm. He pulls the man to his feet and looks up, expecting a burly, bearded bum or a glassy-eyed stoner or something. Instead, he finds himself face to face with one, admittedly homeless-looking but still very recognizable, Harry Styles.
“What. I. You’re,” he splutters intelligently.
Harry cocks his head, greasy curls in disarray and his cheeks reddened from their accidental scuffle. “You alright, mate?”
Louis balls his fists and wills himself back into control. “Of course I’m not alright,” he retorts, “I did genuinely think I was being burglarized not a moment ago!”
The popstar has the gall to look properly scandalized at such a notion.
“Oh don’t give me that look!” Louis continues, “I’m on some sort of celebrity prank show, aren’t I? Shouldn’t Ashton Kutcher have popped up by now?”
Harry furrows his eyebrows in response.
“Ha ha, act all confused, very funny,” Louis replies, “Was the whole Liam and I ‘coincidentally’ meeting up with your mate last night just a test to determine if we were gullible-enough targets?”
There’s a long pause as Louis glares at the bushy-haired popstar, hands on his hips.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Harry says finally, giving him an odd look.
“I want to know why you’re here!” Louis demands, tossing his hands up in exasperation.
“Fine. Jesus,” the popstar placates, before launching into his explanation, “I got a bit pissed last night and lost my phone at a club, so I tried to find my own way home but, like I said, I was mildly intoxicated and all the shops were closed and, to top it all off, it was storming out. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in the alleyway outside yourshop, which I genuinely thought was abandoned because really have you seen your front door? Anyway, my watch read 6:30 which I thought was still a bit too early for anyone to be up, but I figured if I knocked I might be able to ask to use a phone or something. So I pounded a few times on your‒ let me emphasize this‒ decrepit excuse for a door and it literally swung right open.
At that point, I was sure the shop was abandoned so I took a peek inside simply out of curiosity. That’s when I heard you sneaking about and threatening to shoot me, so of course I was terrified out of my mind and practically running out the door when, out of nowhere, there you came tackling me! I then landed on your stupid rusty coat hanger‒ which I’m now probably going to get tetanus from or something, thank you very much‒ and that brings us to where we are now: myself being interrogated by quite possibly the looniest shopkeeper in all of England.”
Harry pauses for a moment, out of breath, despite the fact that he’d been speaking at a rate of about two words per minute. “Do you even have any costumers, like, ever?” he asks scathingly, “I mean, obviously not. The outside of your shop looks like it hasn’t been touched since the fall of the Roman Empire, and then, of course, there’s the fact that you own it and you’re absolutely mad!”
“Of course I have customers,” Louis spits, “Though I’m a bit unclear as to how you’ve still got fans going off of your frankly disgusting appearance and apparent kleptomania.”
“Klepto‒” Harry starts, scrunching up his nose in momentary confusion, “Oh, for god’s sake I already told you I’m not a criminal!”
“Great, wonderful, I don’t care,” Louis mutters in reply, pulling out his phone and sending an “everything’s fine” text to Liam before the entirety of MI6 shows up at his doorstep. He sighs loudly, flicking back to Zayn’s texts from last night, and typing out: Found your popstar… Unfortunately.
His phone pings three times not a moment later, alerting him of his new messages: one from Liam in all caps stating NOT FUNNY LOUIS!! which great, yeah, he’ll have to explain that later, and another two from Zayn, the first with a thrilled dammit, things were quiet with him gone :( and the second asking for Louis’ address. He quickly replies with the directions, half-expecting Harry’s security entourage to have teleported to his location the minute it reads “delivered”. What he’s certainly not expecting is:
driver’s wife is having her baby so we won’t get someone out there until like 10 sorry!! ur stuck w him til then :) haha good luck !! Xx
Louis curses under his breath, types YOU OWE ME!!!! in all caps, and pockets his phone. Sighing deeply, he looks back up at the popstar with a practiced saccharine smile the likes of which he normally wears when dealing with customers with rowdy children who can’t stop touching things. It does seem especially appropriate for the situation as Harry is currently perched on the edge of one of the display tables, his long thin legs swinging back and forth rhythmically, looking ever the petulant pouting toddler.
“I’ve alerted Zayn to your whereabouts and he’s having a car sent over in a few hours,” Louis says finally, trying to sound unimpressed with the idea of someone having their own chauffeur, “Don’t even think of trying to escape as I’m expecting a generous cash reward for your capture once your people arrive.”
Harry starts to complain (“A few hours? That’s ridicul‒”) but he bites his tongue; something in Louis’ discourse having arisen his suspicions.
“And how exactly do you know Zayn?” he questions, eyes narrowing.
“Met him last night,” Louis replies with a nonchalant shrug, “when he walked into the pub my mates and I frequent looking for… oh, what was it? Perhaps the phone that you chucked across the dance floor during your little clandestine midnight excursion?”
The younger lad’s cheeks flush red with guilt and Louis almost pities him until he remembers all the trouble that the irresponsible escapade had caused.
“And you missed a big interview,” Louis continues, “caused a bit of trouble for your people, and for Zayn, who’s apparently a good mate of yours though I can’t fathom why… Bit rude, innit?”
Harry’s glare returns full force at the admonishment. “You don’t understand what it’s like,” he grits between his teeth, “and you’ve no place to criticize.”
“Oh please,” Louis replies, eyes rolling up so far in his head he thinks they might not come back down, “save all your misunderstood ‘fame isn’t what I’d thought it’d be’ bullshit. You’re filthy rich and incredibly successful and you’re only what? Twenty? I highly doubt you even finished uni, did you?”
He pauses, watches as Harry begrudgingly shakes his head.
“Exactly. Some of us actually wasted away for three, four years and graduated without a proper job or a house or anything, alright?” He gestures around the bookstore, recalling all the work it took to fix it up.
“And not to mention, you’re perpetually surrounded by beautiful women‒ which isn’t really everyone’s cup of tea‒ but if the tabloids are anything to go by, it’s definitely yours, and‒”
“It’s not,” Harry interrupts, voice bitter and defensive, though his eyes go immediately wide as if he’s said something wrong.
“I‒ what?” Louis replies, pausing mid-sentence.
Harry’s eyes are the size of saucers.
“I… uh… it’s not… you know, my dream, it’s not to be surrounded by women,” he splutters intelligently, “I… uh… I like them one at a time?”
He cringes, looking at Louis pleadingly as if asking him to accept the fact that he’s clearly just lied about… about something.
“So you’re not into orgies, fine,” Louis shrugs, watching the tension in Harry’s soldiers dissipate at his placation, “but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been blessed with a virtual buffet of women from eight to eighty-five ready and willing to drop their panties at the first bars of one of your crooning ballads about the beauty of young love.”
Harry opens his mouth again, likely to protest the merits of crowd-pleasing pop music, but Louis holds up a hand. “Look,” he says softly, “I’m not trying to make you out to be some kind of villain brainwashing the public with your ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ and your charm and those damn dimples. All I’m saying is that you’ve been afforded quite a bit of privilege in your life thus far, and I’m sure a lot of people would find it refreshing if you just acted a bit more, oh I dunno, appreciative of it?”
“You think I don’t appreciate it?” Harry asks, the acidity in his tone dried up and gone. He looks down at his patched leather boots in what appears to be a sudden bout of self-consciousness.
Louis sighs, hopping up on the display table to perch next to the popstar. He slides a bit closer‒ his mind protesting that he’s overstepping his boundaries‒ but that doesn’t stop his hand from wandering over to pat Harry’s slightly damp, skinny jean clad thigh in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.
“I’m not saying you don’t,” he answers, trying his best not to be as harsh as before, “but the whole skipping the interview thing to go out and party instead does raise a few red flags.”
Harry sighs deeply and turns his head so that his eyes meet Louis’ own (and Louis’ breath absolutely does not catch in his throat as the space between them is cut in two; that would be ridiculous). Regardless of how he reacts, however, it quickly becomes apparent that any fake, pretentious façade the popstar may’ve been putting on has completely faded. This Harry, presumably the real Harry, just looks very young and very scared and, most of all, very, very sad.
“I didn’t skip the interview because I wanted to party,” he explains softly, “I skipped it because I knew they wouldn’t ask a single question about my music or my interests or even stupid, little things like, I don’t know, my favorite color or something. All anyone ever asks me to do is confirm or deny rumors about who I’m supposedly sleeping with, and discuss whatever ridiculous weekly scandal The Sun reports I was involved in this time.”
“Ah yes,” Louis replies lightly, trying for humor, “I did hear quite recently that you’re having a baby?”
“It’s true,” Harry confirms, rolling his eyes, though Louis’ heart leaps irrationally at the small smile that tugs at his lips as he does so. “My forty-year old lover from Brixton and I are just thrilled! As is her husband.”
Louis can’t help the embarrassing giggle that bubbles out of him at Harry’s deadpan. His laugh is loud and ridiculous and squeaky and sometimes involves snorting (though thankfully not this time) and he absolutely hates it. In a futile attempt at muffling the sound, he covers his face with both hands and counts to ten. At five, he chances a peek between his fingers‒ fully expecting the popstar’s face to be contorted in some sort of judgmental expression‒ but instead, he finds Harry sporting a massive grin and looking immensely pleased to have been the cause of such an uncontrollable reaction.
“What’d you stop for? Your laugh is brilliant,” Harry says, plucking one of Louis’ hands from his face and placing it gently on the small expanse of wooden tabletop between them. He’s so painfully earnest that Louis’ heart aches with it.
(In his mind, there is a coffee shop and a blonde barista and the brush of their fingertips around a chai tea latte, the exchange of small, hopeful smiles. And it’s funny, he thinks, so funny… how every relationship begins with hesitation, but ends with certainty.)
He looks back up to see that Harry’s face has shifted from amusement to vague concern.
“Sorry, it’s just…” Louis starts, taking in one ragged, painful breath, “you sort of remind me of someone.”
“Someone you lost,” Harry replies, and it’s not a question; it’s a statement, like he understands.
“Yeah,” Louis affirms, softly, “but, you know s’probably best they stay that way. Lost, I mean.”
Harry looks at him, really looks at him‒ and it’s not a look that’s typically shared between virtual strangers‒ it’s not of pity or of disdain, it’s… empathy.
“You’d like to forget them,” Harry says, sounding just as heartbroken as Louis feels, “but you keep seeing them in everything and everyone, and… it’s strange how empty your life feels without someone next to you to share it with.”
There’s a long silence, the mingling sounds of their breathing and the tick-tock of the clock on the far wall the only interruption.
“It’s a good thing no one asks you about that relationship,” Louis remarks eventually, chuckling softly though his eyes glisten with moisture, “you’d have the entire audience sobbing on the floor in seconds.”
Harry laughs softly too. “Yeah, I suppose I should probably keep that one to myself.” He pauses, fiddling with his hands in his lap, “So, I’ve known you for about, what? Twenty minutes now? And I’ve already told you more than I’ve told anyone in a long time. It’s strange but…”
Harry trails off, face contorting into a look of confusion. Inexplicably, he starts to laugh, and his laugh is not the deep-throated chuckle that Louis expects, but a loud, uninhibited hyena-like cackle that spreads his mouth so wide it seems to take up his entire face.
“What on earth is wrong with you?” Louis asks, a chuckle escaping from between his own lips despite his attempts to ignore Harry’s insane, contagious laughter.
“I’m sorry,” Harry replies, still giggling, “I just realized that I don’t even know your name.”
In lieu of his moniker, Louis just bumps his shoulder against Harry’s playfully, and says, “This is actually the most ridiculous situation I’ve ever been a part of. It’ll be nice to include it in my autobiography, so thank you for that.”
“I met Lady Gaga once,” Harry says casually, with all the practiced nonchalance of the young, rich, and famous, “but you might top that... erm…”
He trails off again, eyebrows furrowed and nose crinkled. If Louis were allowing himself to set free his inner starstruck gay fanboy, he might even say that, in this moment, Harry Styles looks absolutely adorable.
“Hellooo?” Harry singsongs, waving one massive hand in front of Louis’ face, “Earth to– see, this is where I would say your name if I knew it.”
Blinking back into reality, Louis takes a moment to examine Harry’s hands up close: giant, smooth palms, long, clumsy fingers that would look divine spit-slicked and shiny with lube and– okay, that got away from him quickly– and loops and loops of bracelets and rings, some expensive-looking and silvery and others just frayed bits of braided twine or folded candy wrappers. His fingers itch to write them all down, to imagine the meaning behind the sloppy red and gold twists (a gift from a young fan), the plain black band (an old trinket purchased on a whim from a hole-in-the-wall antique store in Manchester), a moss green gem set in an intricate swirl of silver (from his mother on his eighteenth birthday)... Harry Styles is a poem waiting to happen, Louis thinks, eyes tracing peach flesh and the undercurrent of blue veins. He wants to write him all down, capture the image of green eyes and red lips and skinny wrists... dark ink spilled across the page. He–
“You know,” Harry says offhandedly (and Christ he’s still speaking, whoops, that’s embarrassing), “when I first called you the maddest shopkeeper in London, I was just joking, but now I’m not so sure.”
Louis, like the mature adult he is, sticks out his tongue.
“However, it feels impolite to continue calling you that, no matter how true it may be,” Harry continues, smiling expectantly, “I would love to know your name.”
His dimples are sort of impossible to resist.
Louis caves within seconds.
“Louis,” he supplies, finally, with a wry smile, “Louis Tomlinson, and you are?”
“Pleased to meet you, Louis,” the popstar answers, and the sound of his name in Harry’s thick, molasses tone is absolutely not enticing at all, nope, not a bit.
“M’name’s Harry,” he continues, “Harry Styles, and you know it’s really nice to introduce myself, for a change.”
That’s when it strikes him. “I’ve got an idea,” Louis blurts, “Let me interview you!”
Seeing Harry’s confused and highly skeptical eyebrow raise, he clarifies, “No, no listen! This is a great idea, alright? Let me interview you. Like a real proper get to know you sort of deal! No invasive questions about your love life, no publicist standing behind the interviewer telling you what to say, just you and me, chatting it up like two strangers on a train, or summat.” Louis pauses, out of breath, “So? What d’you think?”
Harry hums contemplatively, though the smile he attempts to suppress gives him away.
“Alright,” he says, after his brief faux-moment of consideration, “but if you don’t ask me what my favorite color is, I’m leaving.”
Louis’ smile is blinding as he begins, “I’m here with Harry Styles, leader of the notorious London bookstore crime ring…”
The unmanly squeal he makes as Harry swats at his arm, and the popstar’s hysterical laughter in response can surely be heard from miles away or, at the very least, by the tenants of Kitty’s Sex Emporium next door; but Louis finds, oddly enough, that he really really doesn’t care.
& Z &
“There’s been a disturbance in the force,” Zayn says, taking a long, calculated sip of his double-shot espresso.
The pink-haired girl sitting across from him just smiles lightly, as if she’s used to such strange pronouncements. “Mmm, how so?” she replies, nursing her own‒ significantly sweeter‒ cup of coffee.
“I told you about last night, right Pez?” Zayn asks, and waits for her nod of confirmation, “Remember Louis?”
Perrie inclines her head and sets her coffee cup on the table between them. “Is that the one you want to sleep with or the one who wants to lick Harry’s collarbones?”
“The second one,” Zayn replies, glaring, “and I don’t want to sleep with Liam.”
Perrie chuckles, idly twirling a cotton-candy colored strand around her index finger. “Oh, my mistake,” she teases, “Liam is the one you want to propose to in Paris and adopt six kids with. How could I forget?”
“You know, sometimes I really regret being friends with you,” Zayn replies, still glaring.
Perrie grins and reaches across the table to pat his cheek with mock affection. “No you don’t, love,” she says with a saccharine smile, “I’m the nicest, hottest, bestest mate you’ve got.”
Seeing Zayn’s resultant eye-roll, she adds, “And certainly your most enjoyable shag to date.”
“And modest-est too,” Zayn mutters, ignoring her last comment completely.
He finishes his espresso in one long gulp, tossing the empty cardboard cup straight into the bin to his left with a bored flick of his wrist, “Anyway, as I was saying, Harry’s been at Louis’ since like six this morning and there hasn’t been a single homicide reported on the Camden Police Station’s twitter page. Not even any complaints for noise disturbance!”
He holds up his phone for emphasis, showing her a tweet about an arrest for cannabis possession posted three hours ago.
“Maybe they’ve just not found the body yet,” Perrie jokes, dark purple-painted lips quirking up in amusement.
Zayn, on the other hand, looks horrified.
“I’m just taking the piss, Zayn, my goodness!” she placates, watching his facial muscles relax at her reassurance, “What’s Harry doing there anyway?”
“Apparently, he drunkenly wandered into Camden last night and ended up knocking on Louis’ door this morning,” Zayn explains, “Can’t get a driver out there until ‘bout ten o’clock, and we certainly don’t want him papped on public transit looking hungover and half out his wits, so I told Louis to keep an eye on him. Hopefully, that way, he doesn’t escape again.”
“Bit of an odd coincidence though, innit?” Perrie comments, raising one blonde eyebrow, “Harry ending up there?”
“Yeah, proper sci-fi material,” Zayn agrees sarcastically, lips twitching into the briefest of smiles at the affronted look he receives in return, “but really I’m just glad he’s safe and not, like, passed out in the toilets at McDonald’s or snorting coke from some bloke’s bellybutton or something.”
“Can you even properly snort coke from a bellybutton?” Perrie wonders aloud, completely missing the point, “I reckon you’d get a bit of powder stuck in the creases?”
“Wouldn’t know,” Zayn replies idly, checking his watch, “Now let’s get you back in the studio. I want to work on those runs at the end of that track again.”
Perrie groans in protest, and slowly and unwillingly drags herself up from her seat. “Can’t you make Jade do them?” she coughs exaggeratedly, “My throat is sore.”
“We can’t put your name on your band’s record if you don’t actually sing on it,” Zayn chastises.
“Ugh, you’re a slave driver,” Perrie whines, “When’s Harry coming back? I like him more than you.”
“Probably around noon,” Zayn answers, “and no you don’t.”
“No I don’t,” Perrie agrees, “but I’ve never slept with him, have I? Or even seen his dick, for that matter, so how can I really be sure?”
“I knew you only liked me for my body,” Zayn scoffs, unlocking the door to the recording booth and fiddling with a few controls.
“It’s bigger than yours, innit?” Perrie asks, a bit invasively.
“Unfortunately, I can confirm that,” Zayn says with a sigh, unpleasant flashbacks from their days as flatmates flooding his brain, “Now, can we please stop discussing my best mate’s penis and get some actual work done?”
“Aye aye, cap’n,” Perrie replies, with a half-hearted attempt at a serious tone. She swings a hand up in mock salute, and marches into the recording booth still chuckling to herself.
“Yeah, you’re a proper comedian, aren’t you?” Zayn says, rolling his eyes.
As Perrie starts on some vocal warm-ups from within booth, Zayn plugs in a few mics, tests the sound levels, and sets up the backing track. Just as he’s finishing up, the door to the outer room swings open and a tall, dark-haired man dressed in all black enters, smiling brightly.
“Morning, you two!” David, the head producer, calls out, plopping himself down in the swivel chair next to the one Zayn is currently occupying. “Got everything set up, Zanzibar?”
Zayn rolls his eyes at the nickname but nods affirmatively. “Yeah, Pez is ready to lay down a few runs on track six.”
“Ah perfect,” David replies, fiddling with a few of the controls despite Zayn’s reassurances, “That’ll be it then, Zanzi. As Styland is still MIA and obviously won’t be coming in for a second session today, you’ve got the rest of the day off. Enjoy yourself, yeah?”
Zayn opens his mouth to deliver the news that Harry’s not actually missing any longer, but Perrie’s shrill laughter fills the room before he can speak.
“Wait a minute,” Perrie interrupts from the booth, still giggling, “Is Styland a play on Styles and Thailand?”
David smiles brightly, his focus drawn away as he spins his chair to face toward her. “Oui Pérríé,” he replies, switching to a poor attempt at a French accent, “You are so clevér.”
The pink-haired popstar inexplicably laughs even harder.
“D’you like that?” David replies, grinning, “Just came up with that one on the spot.”
“I don’t think that randomly employing a French accent should be considered particularly witty,” Zayn says, attempting to introduce himself back into the conversation.
The entire room falls silent; Perrie glaring and mouthing “rude!” and David simply waving a dismissive hand as if to say “Why are you still here?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Zayn mutters, collecting his things.
He’s just zipped up his backpack and started down the hallway when his phone pings with the arrival of a new text message. He whips it out of his pocket and sees that it’s surprisingly from Liam (who had drunkenly spelled his name L-U-M in Zayn’s contacts last night as he’d insisted on typing it in himself).
fancy gtting sum lunch tday?
His phone pings again before he can reply.
if ur not buzy i mean
And again.
shoot im srry that was awfl presmptius of me !
And again.
i meaan nt like a date or anythg…
i just fel like i owee u fr lst nigts cab farre??
nt tht thts the only reson i wld eat lunh w yuu!!
oh ym god pls ignore this !! !!! this is rlly embrasing!!
Zayn tries to resist the fond smile that tugs at his lips, because really, how on earth is he this attracted to such an adorable, bumbling idiot? He’s Zayn Malik, for god’s sake. He wears leather jackets and keeps a cigarette tucked behind his ear at all times and listens to smooth R&B music (even though he produces for a popstar) and he owns a badass pit bull puppy. He’s cool, right?
I’m cool, he tells himself, looking down at his arm full of tattoos, yeah, I’m so fucking cool.
Never mind that it takes him the entire ride back to his flat to think of a suitably cool reply to Liam’s messages.
Never mind that it takes him even longer to type it in (his hands are not shaking, thank you very much).
sounds great actually! i’ll pick u up in an hr? xx
Never mind that he deletes and retypes the x’s at least thirty times before his cry of “fuck it!” echoes through his empty flat, and his thumb betrays him as it taps SEND.
Never mind all that, really.
He’s so fucking cool.
& L &
“It’s noon,” Louis remarks, yawning, as the credits roll onscreen.
Harry– curled up under a blanket on the opposite end of the couch– shrugs helpfully. “Okay?”
His curls are mussed and his lips are painted cherry red. He looks kind of really beautiful. Louis maybe, sort of wants to kiss him.
Louis doesn’t kiss him.
Instead he asks, “So, weren’t your people sending someone to pick you up around ten?”
Harry looks down suddenly, cheeks flushing.
“Did Zayn forget or something?” Louis implores, suddenly worried that he might’ve been keeping Harry against his will, “Because I can totally get you home, or wherever you need to go, you know that right? My mate Niall’s even got a car ‘nd everything, in fact, just let me call him right now and we can–”
Harry interrupts with a few mumbled words, his blush deepening.
“What was that?” Louis asks, concerned.
“I said, ‘Zayn didn’t forget’,” the popstar replies, voice still soft, “I maybe, sort of told them that I was taking the day off?”
Louis doesn’t do well at hiding his confusion. “What? When? Why?” he blurts, questions popping out of his mouth in rapid-fire succession.
“While you were setting up the movie,” Harry replies, wrapping the blanket more tightly around himself, “I might’ve snuck back downstairs and used your landline to phone my agent.”
The realization hits Louis like a freight train. “Harry, I–”
“I’m really sorry if I’ve overstayed my not-so-welcome, it’s just… I haven’t spent like a real day just hanging out with someone in so long and you were so nice to me and I sort of thought that maybe–”
“Harry,” Louis tries again.
“–that maybe we could even be friends, you know? Like all my friends aren’t even really my really real friends, they just pretend to like me ‘cause I’m famous, right? I mean, except for like Zayn and the band that I tour with and a few people at the record label, I don’t have any like normal friends, and this day has been so lovely, I’m sorry, I’ll call them back and tell them that–”
“Harry,” Louis says once more, scooting across the sofa to clamp a hand over Harry’s mouth.
Harry continues speaking for a second after he’s cut off and Louis tries his absolute best to ignore the sensation of those plush red lips moving against his palm. He removes his hand and takes in the popstar’s wide-eyed expression. Harry’s breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and lips parted in surprise, whether from his rambling speech or from their current proximity (and yes, okay, Louis acknowledges that the latter is highly unlikely, but can you really blame a man for being optimistic?).
Louis rocks back onto his knees, putting a nice, safe cushion-length distance between them, and says, “Of course you can stay, you idiot.”
“I– really?” Harry asks, almost timidly, peeking out from the wrappings of his reconstructed blanket cocoon.
“Yes, my little butterfly,” Louis assuages, surprised to hear his voice tinged with such unexpected fondness. He shakes his head to clear away those thoughts and reaches out to poke the Styles-sized burrito playfully.
“Heyyyyy,” Harry complains, dragging out the “ey” sound in his husky baritone.
Louis’ about to offer up a smart retort when his cell vibrates loudly in his pocket, and then once more as he’s pulling it out.
There’s a message from Zayn:
this prob sounds odd but what’s liam’s favorite food? please respond asap !!
And another from Liam:
emergency lou pls hepl ummm wat shud i wera if i were hypthecally goin on a NOT date w a v atractiv man to a probly v nice resterant?
“Oh dear god,” Louis says aloud, fighting the urge to vomit.
“What? What?” Harry asks excitedly, bouncing across the sofa and snatching Louis’ phone from his hands before he even has a chance to react.
He watches the younger lad’s face carefully as he reads the messages back to back.
“Are our friends hooking up?” Harry asks finally. He looks up from the screen wearing a shit-eating grin like it’s the greatest news in the world.
“It appears so,” Louis replies, trying his best to feign disinterest.
“Does this Liam bloke fancy Indian?” Harry inquires, eyes glinting mischievously as Louis nods. “Great! Tell Zayn to take Liam to Veeraswamy on Regent Street, and to mention my name for their best table.”
“What are you planning, Styles?” Louis implores, narrowing his eyes. He’s known the popstar, for what? Like six hours total? And yet, he can already tell that he’s up to something.
“We’re going to spy on them, of course,” Harry replies, rolling his eyes like it’s obvious.
“Harry, no, we can’t,” Louis protests, wringing his hands, “This is the first time Liam’s shown actual interest in anyone, like, anyone! I mean since she… I just, I don’t want to mess this up for him!”
“Well I don’t even know Liam at all,” Harry argues, “I’ve only got Zayn’s best interests in mind.”
He inclines his head slightly, grin spreading, like he’s waiting for Louis to get something. After a moment, Louis feels a smile appear on his own face as he realizes what Harry is trying to say.
“So, really,” Louis tries, “by spying on their date, we’re just looking out for them?”
“Exactly,” Harry replies, shrugging, “I mean, it’s our duty as best mates to observe and scrutinize all potential love interests.”
“Right,” Louis agrees, standing up and walking across the room to turn off the television. He turns back around and swallows at the image of one Harry Styles sprawled across his sofa, long limbs hanging languidly off the edges. He kind of sort of wants to ravish him.
Louis doesn’t ravish him.
Instead he says, “Well c’mon then, Styles! Haven’t got all day! At this rate, we’ll be late for our reservation!”
He winks lasciviously as Harry leaps to his feet.
“I must warn you though, love; I don’t put out on the first date,” he continues unabashedly, crossing his fingers that straight-as-a-board Harry won’t mind a little playful teasing, “Unless the food’s good, that is. Then I might reconsider.”
He cringes as Harry sits up looking especially scandalized. Louis watches for a moment as Harry stands– probably to go running out the door– then turns away and pretends to busy himself looking for his other shoe. When he doesn’t hear frantic footsteps behind him, he sighs partly in relief and partly in expectation of the uncomfortable silence or, if he’s lucky, the few strained words that will pass between them.
What he doesn’t expect is Harry’s giant hand on his shoulder and a pair of warm lips near his ear, whispering, “It’s a good thing I happen to know that the food is excellent.”
Louis swallows, taking a moment too long to regain his composure, before whirling around and letting Harry’s hand fall from his shoulder.
“Oy! Hands off, popstar,” he replies, teasing and confident, trying his best not to sound as overwhelmed as he feels, “What would your forty-year old lover back in Brixton think?”
Thankfully, Harry’s naturally goofy side returns almost instantaneously, all sultriness lost as he laughs brightly at Louis’ frankly poor attempt at diverting his arousal.
As they make their way back down to the first floor, Louis takes a moment to check his phone again. Predictably, it contains one slightly panicked message from Zayn (thanks for the advice ha ha !!) and at least ten from Liam, all varying in their state of terror. He pieces together a time frame based on the exponentially increasing number of exclamation points in Liam’s texts (twenty-nine total in the last one signaling Zayn’s impending arrival), and calculates that he and Harry can leave within the next ten minutes or so and get to the restaurant just after Zayn and Liam do. However, he reasons, it’s impossible to properly account for any delay that may occur in Liam’s apartment between now and then (and ew ew ew why on earth did he think about that?); all he can do is hope that Zayn’s feeling like a gentleman today because, let’s be honest, Louis himself would be on his knees in seconds if Zayn looked at him the right way.
“What’re you thinking about?” Harry asks, having returned to his familiar perch on the front display table.
Louis shudders. “Oh nothing, just an awful mental image of our respective best mates in various compromising positions.”
Harry smirks. “And here I thought you were mulling over the finer points of Keats and Shelley,” he remarks, fingers dragging along the spine of an anthology of Britain’s greatest, “So cultured, you are.”
Louis’ heart skips a beat at the mention of his favorite Romanticists.
“You read poetry?” he ventures, hoping for all the world that Harry Styles is not actually turning out to be his soulmate.
Harry looks embarrassed. “Don’t laugh, alright? I use it for lyrical inspiration sometimes.”
“I own a bookstore, darling,” Louis replies, giving Harry a look, “like I would really be one to judge?”
The younger lad looks down, still bashful, “Sorry, I just feel a bit silly, you know? I’m supposed to be this rebellious teen heartthrob and I’m sitting in my flat alone reading Byron and writing sappy songs about unrequited love.”
Louis smiles softly. “You know, I’m strictly a pen and paper sort of guy myself– granted, I did dabble in a bit of musical theater in my time at uni– but they say ‘music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory’ and I think that’s what made me fall in love with it, in the way that lyricists and poets are much the same.”
Harry’s face brightens almost immediately, as he replies excitedly, “Odours, when sweet violets sicken, live within the sense they quicken.''
Louis wrinkles his nose. “Yes, well, I don’t believe that part of the poem necessarily applies to the conversation at hand; however,” he pauses, ducking his head to hide his grin, “I am impressed you know a bit of my boy Bysshe nonetheless.”
Harry smiles even wider, dimples prominent in his dusted-pink cheeks. “So, you’re a writer then?”
“I am,” Louis replies, nodding in assent, “Well, trying to be, anyhow.”
“Have you published anything?” Harry asks, eyes sparkling with what appears to be genuine interest.
Louis glances over to a nearby shelf where a thin hardback with an emerald green spine is tucked unobtrusively between Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales and a volume of Edmund Spenser.
“Not…” he begins carefully, “not as myself, no.”
Harry just looks even more intrigued. “A pseudonym, then?” he asks, grinning, “How very mysterious of you.”
“Yes, well,” Louis says uncomfortably, looking away.
Harry puts on his best puppy dog pout as he requests, “Read me one?”
Louis crosses the room and goes behind the front desk to grab his wallet. “Would you look at the time? We better get a move on or we’ll be late!”
The popstar just widens his eyes and sticks his bottom lip out even further. “C’mon Lou, please?”
Louis feels trapped, eyes flitting from Harry to the front door and back again. “No, I–” he begins, with the intention of refusing Harry’s request, but the younger boy’s green eyes are so sad and pleading… and Louis is so weak and susceptible to his charm…
“Alright, maybe just one,” he relents, “but you’re treating us both to lunch, then. Deal?”
“Deal,” Harry says quickly, “I was thinking Indian, if that’s alright? There’s this great little restaurant off Regent Street?”
Louis can’t help the giddy little giggle that escapes him; Harry, once again, looking positively delighted to have been the source of it. He rolls his eyes, pulling his faded moleskine out of his back pocket and flipping to one of the very first pages. Clearing his throat and fraught with sudden nerves, Louis begins to read, voice trembling:
“Maybe sorrow was the thing.
The, can’t quite put your finger on it,
tap the tongue to the roof of the mouth,
search for the flavor without a name,
secret ingredient, to all this me I have become.”
“Maybe sorrow was the rain to the seed
of happiness planted the moment I became aware,
that there isn’t much fair when it comes to life.”
“Maybe sorrow was the thing. The, if it doesn’t kill
it makes you stronger, never yet broken promise
inside myself that no matter how hard it gets I can
survive it, extra bit of rope when I thought mine had run out.”
“Maybe sorrow was the thing. Maybe it is all the bending
and pushing of these hearts to their breaking point that grants
flexibility to the grace we spend our lives’ building.
Maybe only those who have danced with melancholy
and ache can actually hear the music.”
His eyes flit up briefly, meeting Harry’s own, and he feels his breath catch in his throat at the intensity of the other boy’s gaze.
“Maybe sorrow was the thing.”
He closes his moleskine with an air of finality, ignores the way that Harry breathes out his name, how it finds his ears like a hopeful prayer, like a promise he’ll never be able to keep.
Harry’s looking at him like he’s a waif, a paper thin, fragile little thing that he thinks he might break. He’s looking at him just like Aiden did, two weeks before he proclaimed that Louis was too hollow, too closed-off, too insecure… Two weeks before he packed up and out of Louis’ life like the near year and a half they’d spent together meant nothing at all. Louis hates that look, hates the way that it makes him feel like he’s lesser, like almost twenty-three years into the game of life and he’s already destined to lose.
He clears his throat, grabs his coat off the chair, and ignores the way Harry seems to instinctually reach for him. Instead, he breezes by, saying, “C’mon then, I’ll hail us a cab.”
Harry reaches out to grasp his shoulder once more, but seems to think better of it, retracting his hand and shoving it in the pocket of his distressed jeans.
Louis holds the door open all gentleman-like and motions Harry through with a forced laugh and a “ladies first”. Harry pauses in the doorway a moment, considering, and Louis holds his breath hoping that he won’t decide to ask any questions. The younger boy must sense his apprehension as he shakes his head once, twice, and runs a hand through his knotted mane, before continuing past. Louis shuts the door behind both of them and turns around to check the lock.
As he spins back toward the street, he’s greeted with the strangest of sights: an image of Harry in the real world, a wonderfully outlandish being that exists outside the walls of his shop, the confines of his mind. Thin rays of London sunlight slip between the cloud-cover to bathe the younger boy’s skin in a pale yellow glow, and glint arbitrarily off each messy curl. Harry’s entire body is illuminated, effusing light like some heavenly being; like the Lord himself popped down for a visit disguised as a gangly, goofy, downright ridiculous excuse for a popstar.
Louis doesn’t believe in God, but he thinks, maybe, he could believe in Harry.
(And maybe he already does).
It’s a terrifying thought, that.
Not even a full day spent with the man and he’s already disregarding a major world religion in favor of a virtual stranger whose shirtless beach vacation pap photos he may or may not have saved to a folder on his computer entitled “$pank Bank)…
Granted, after their little-mock interview, he does at least know Harry’s favorite color (blue) and his favorite movie (Love Actually) and the fact that he’s worth like a gazillion dollars but only owns two pairs of jeans (he hasn’t yet determined if that’s an understatement or not).
It’s a terrifying thought that this might actually be his life now.
“Oh my god,” he whispers to himself as a cab rolls up and he and Harry climb in, “I’m going to lunch with Harry Styles.”
He sits silently, fidgeting, and only pays attention long enough to hear Harry give the cabbie the address before he’s back to staring out the window and gnawing on his bottom lip. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Harry keeps glancing at him from the opposite side of the cab with a hint of concern in his wide, green eyes. He steels himself, turning back toward the younger boy and breaching the space between them to pat Harry’s thigh in what he hopes is a placating gesture.
“I’m not a baby bird, love,” he says, frankly, “Quit worrying about me, yeah?”
“I’m not,” Harry replies, running a hand through his hair and shaking it loose, “It’s just… your poem was… it’s… I guess, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know where you’re coming from. I mean, shit, that sounds kind of presumptuous of me, but like… I relate to it, and I… I’ve had bad experiences and I was sad for a long, long time, and it’s like my mind was just trapped in this really shitty place, and, and sometimes I go back to that place when something reminds me of hi- that person and I just…”
He pauses, taking a deep, ragged breath, and Louis feels his heart drop at the utterly broken look that destroys Harry’s normally jubilant façade.
When he finally speaks again, it’s soft, almost mumbled, like he’s ashamed of being a little bit flawed, of loving someone who doesn’t love you in the same way or… or not at all (and fuck if Louis doesn’t understand that more than anything).
“I just hate imagining anyone else feeling the way that I did, you know?” Harry says quietly, looking down at his hands, “I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, ever, and I especially hate that…”
Harry pauses again; looks back up to meet Louis’ eyes with a tangible, raw sort of pain; jagged bits of glass on skin, and bloody, broken hearts. “I hate that I think you might’ve.”
The silence between them lasts for only a few short seconds before Louis is unbuckling his seatbelt and scooting across the backseat to wrap his fingers around Harry’s bicep. He buries his head into the popstar’s chest, whispers “you’re much too beautiful to be broken” and feels Harry’s arm tighten around him in response.
Harry is quiet for a long while but he doesn’t push him away. Louis sits there, tucked into him, just breathing; though, he imagines he can hear Harry’s mind working overtime, thoughts noisy and pained.
“Are you going to forget this day ever happened once it’s over?” he hears Harry ask, finally, feels the accompanying rumble of sound where his cheek is pressed against the younger boy’s collarbone.
“Because being friends with me is kind of, well, really, really difficult what with the paparazzi and the constant rumors and all that,” Harry continues before Louis can answer, his voice deep and husky and sad, “and I wouldn’t blame you if you just wanted to think of this as like a nice little heart-to-heart with a stranger, ‘I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine’ single-day sort of therapy session, if you will.”
Louis sits up, cocking his head and looking evenly at the boy seated next to him.
“Is that what you want?” he asks, watches Harry bite his lip and shake his head slowly but decisively in response.
“Then I won’t,” Louis replies definitively, and he can actually see the tension bleed from Harry’s shoulders, and subsequently from his mind as well.
“You did break into my shop, remember?” he continues, lips quirking into a smile, “I just can’t let you go free when I’m still thinking about pressing charges.”
Harry’s resultant shove sends him clear across the back of the cab, his head bumping loudly against the far ceiling.
“Oi, you two!” the cabbie calls from the driver’s seat, eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror.
He meets Harry’s eyes and the pair of them dissolve into loud, raucous laughter.
“I’ll kick you lot out if you keep fluffing about back there,” the cabbie threatens.
Harry’s pinching his lips to keep from cackling as Louis replies, “That’s a fairly feeble warning considering that we’ve arrived at our destination.”
The cabbie’s eyes flit back to the road and he slams on his breaks, pulling haphazardly up to the curb in front of the restaurant.
“And we’ve arrived, gents,” he announces with obviously forced pleasantry.
Before Louis can stop him, Harry’s unbuckling his seat belt, reaching out and handing the driver a stack of notes. Harry must sense his impending complaint as he turns to look at Louis with unwavering finality, saying, “Consider this part of the lunch that I owe you” and obviously daring him to protest.
Louis’ mouth snaps shut and he scrambles to open the cab door before his brain can sear the image of Harry’s beautifully set jawline and penetrating gaze into his mind forever. He takes a deep breath once he’s free from the too-crowded space, and reaches out with renewed confidence–and a demure smile– to help Harry from the car. Harry doesn’t reach for his hand, however, and he feels an irrational throb of hurt until he notices the large group of paparazzi photographing some celebrity leaving the sushi restaurant across the street.
“Cheryl!” someone yells, “Cheryl over here please!”
And oh Louis’ just remembered what part of town he’s in again.
“They’re a bit preoccupied with Ms. Cole at the mo’,” Louis says, leaning down to address Harry, “not that you’re any less fit or desirable, but I reckon if you move quickly, they won’t spot you.”
Harry nods once in confirmation and leaps from the back of the cab with astounding grace, hurries across the pavement with Louis in tow, and practically dives into the restaurant.
Louis’ heart is beating a mile a minute, his fringe is in a state of disarray, and he’s panting heavily, but somehow when the smiling blonde at the front desk asks ‘Mr. Styles’ for a number, Harry’s the picture of composure, all big smiles and easy confidence.
“Two, please,” he replies with a wink (an actual wink), “and make it a private table near the back, would you love?”
He says it all with a practiced sort of charm that has the poor girl blushing and tucking a long, blonde strand behind her ear. She’s smiling at Harry bashfully, though her steady gaze is practically predatory in nature; and Louis can’t help but think that with her looks and the strain of the buttons on her black dress shirt from her more-than-ample bosoms, she’s had her fair share of high-profile visitors. Not that Louis’ judging of course– sex is great in any quantity– he’s just not particularly fond of the way that her perfectly manicured fingers reach out to grasp the fabric at the small of Harry’s back as she guides them to their table.
“If you need anything else, Mr. Styles,” she begins once they’re seated, though Harry is quick to correct her with an easy smile and an overtly-casual “just Harry, darling, no need for formality” that may or may not have Louis’ blood inexplicably warming and his fists clenching tightly at his sides.
“If you need anything else, Harry,” she–Emily, according to her nametag– obliges, “please don’t hesitate to ask for me.”
Harry grins brightly, promising that “yes, he most certainly will” while Louis simmers in his seat all the while thinking that if he has any say in it, Harry most certainly won’t.
Emily then offers them– well, Harry, really, since she hasn’t spared Louis a single glance since they sat down– a wine menu which Harry politely declines (though Louis could definitely use a drink right about now) and saunters off soon after, her hips swaying deftly in her matching tight, black slacks.
“She was nice,” Harry says conversationally, after she’s disappeared around the bend.
Louis has to physically restrain himself from slamming his head against the table.
“Lovely, just lovely,” he agrees, his tone forced and only slightly scathing.
Harry blinks. “What’s wrong? You didn’t like her?”
“Oh, I liked her plenty,” Louis replies icily, “and she definitely liked you.”
“What does that–” Harry starts, but he’s cut off by the arrival of their thankfully very male server who, by Louis’ standards, is himself rather quite fit. Must be a requirement to work at a posh establishment, he thinks, somewhat bitterly, recalling his several failed attempts at securing a job upon his London arrival.
“Hello sirs,” the server– this once called Jaymi– says cheerily, “Have you dined with us before?”
“I haven’t,” Louis says to Jaymi’s shapely left bicep, still visible even through his uniform. He really, really hopes he’s not imagining the way the server’s eyebrows pique in interest.
“My mate, here,” he continues, emphasizing the word ‘mate’ just in case, “is a bit of a regular, so I’m sure he can suggest something for the both of us.”
“Very good, sir,” Jaymi nods, and this time, Louis definitely doesn’t imagine the way the server’s eyes flicker from his face to his hands and back up.
Oh yes, maybe he’s still got it.
“Now Jaymi, call me Louis, would you?” he corrects demurely, trying to match Harry’s tone addressing the hostess, “Sir is a bit, I don’t know, mature, don’t you think?”
Jaymi looks quite pleased by the attention, indeed, and Louis’ game has never felt so strong.
“I can see how you might feel that way,” Jaymi replies, teasingly, “though if you’re worried about feeling old, then I’m afraid you probably are.”
His eyes twinkle as he speaks, and Louis is more than delighted to see that they’re a lovely, bright shade of blue.
“I certainly am not,” he replies, aghast, raising a hand to his chest in mock-offense, though his returning grin probably gives him away.
“Oh don’t worry, Louis,” Jaymi fires back, “you don’t look a day over thirty-five.”
Louis is still grinning, as he says, “I know for a fact that–”
“He’ll have the kerala prawn curry and I’d like the roast duck vindaloo, no onions please.”
Harry is shoving both their menus into Jaymi’s hands before Louis can even react to the interjection.
“This is the 3-course fixe prix, of course, with my usual starters,” Harry continues, briskly,
“Ask the kitchen, they’ll know.”
Jaymi, for his merit, doesn’t appear offended, just tilts his head and raises an eyebrow in quiet appraisal.
“Of course, sir,” he replies, folding the menus with obvious practice. Louis certainly doesn’t miss the way the server directs a small smile toward him as he addresses Harry with his original decorum. “We’ll have that right out for you.”
As Jaymi waltzes off, presumably toward the kitchen to place their orders, Louis turns his attention back toward the popstar staring intently at him from across the table.
He purses his lips, expressing his disapproval, and says shortly, “Well, that was a bit rude, don’t you think?”
Harry just shrugs, not breaking his gaze. “He was clearly flirting with you.”
“So?” Louis implores, unwavering, “I do believe they legalized polite conversation between any two interested individuals right after they abolished serfdom in, oh, the early 1600’s? But please, Harry, do correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Were you?” Harry asks, shortly.
“Was I what?”
“Interested.”
Louis narrows his eyes. “I don’t see why or how that concerns you.”
“Listen–” Harry begins, green eyes blazing, looking for all the world like he’s about to place a hex upon Louis’ family or something of the sort, though he cuts himself off abruptly. He leans back against the mahogany booth, frowning deeply before shaking his head. Seemingly having forgotten about whatever originally possessed him, Harry says instead, softly and resigned, “Forgive me, it doesn’t.”
He then proceeds to fold his hands neatly atop the table and gaze across the restaurant fixedly. Several minutes pass without a word from either of them, and Louis shifts in his seat, beginning to feel a bit restless.
“Emily’s probably busy seating other guests,” he says offhandedly, “though I’m sure there are plenty of other busty blonde servers around that you can ogle in her place.”
Harry looks at him oddly, chuckling a bit, and despite his peculiar reaction, Louis is glad to have restored the conversation in any capacity.
“You know I only do that to get better service, right?” Harry replies, casually, “Emily’s worked here for a while and we always have a bit of a routine going. She knows it does well to impress whoever I’m with.”
Louis perhaps fixates on the phrase ‘whoever I’m with’ a bit too long before he musters up a reply.
“So, basically, you’re using her to get your meal faster?”
Harry looks only mildly affronted. “Wasn’t that what you were doing with our server?”
“Er no,” Louis replies, fiddling with the napkin in his lap, “the intention with Jaymi was more of a ‘hey, if you’re interested, let’s meet back at my place later for a once-off because you’re fit and I’m available’ sort of deal.”
(He doesn’t mention the fact that it may or may not have spawned from his irrational jealousy over Harry being a fairly typical heterosexual male drooling over an attractive woman.)
Harry looks oddly pained by his explanation, but quickly changes the subject with a subtle incline of his head and a whispered, “Zayn and Liam are sitting three tables to the left of the large elephant statue in the corner.”
Louis, unfortunately, is seated in a way that he can’t turn around without being fairly obvious about his gawking, so he simply nods his assent and says, “You’ll have to narrate for me.”
“They’ve each got a hand on the table, fingers about a centimeter apart,” Harry starts, “and– ew, okay– they both keep glancing down at the space like they’re just waiting to caress each other.”
Louis pretends to gag. “Disgusting, go on.”
“Well they’re talking a lot,” Harry continues, furrowing his eyebrows as he scrutinizes the scene before him, “I don’t think either of them have touched their foo– oh, never mind, Zayn’s just fed Liam a bit of his, I think that’s some sort of chutney but I’m not positive, and now they’re–”
“Does Liam look happy?” Louis interrupts, biting his lip as Harry leans a bit further out of the booth, presumably to catch a glimpse of Liam’s face as well.
“He really does,” he says after a moment, looking pleased, “As does Zayn. Practically beaming, the both of them.”
“Oh, good,” Louis replies, relieved. He only pauses for a moment– deducing from Harry’s curious expression that the popstar is waiting for an explanation– and launches into a short summary of Liam’s unlucky love life.
“Right, so Liam dated this girl for almost the entirety of uni and they broke up about a year back. Really messy thing too; screaming in our flat and throwing things, it was like being in a soap opera. Poor lad was devastated, kept saying she ‘was it’ for him and calling her day and night before she eventually got her number changed. He never even looked at another human being for a good, oh, year and a half I’d say.”
Harry hums sympathetically. “What changed?”
Louis smiles softly. “Your mate over there waltzed into our pub last night looking like an animated Greek sculpture escaped from the Louvre.”
Harry nods, clearly amused, “Zayn does tend to have that effect on people.”
“He certainly had an effect on me,” Louis agrees, “I probably would’ve gone for him myself had I not witnessed Liam next to me practically fighting the urge to whip his dick out in public.”
Harry grimaces, but says, “Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”
He must realize all that that statement implies as he quickly extrapolates, “I mean I’m glad you didn’t shag Zayn because then you wouldn’t have been at home to help me out this morning.”
“First off,” Louis ripostes, “me not being home would’ve made your burglarizing infinitely easier, so don’t try and fool me, and secondly, your best mate would’ve been sadly out of luck, just as you are, as I’ve previously stated that I don’t shag on the first date.”
Harry laughs again, though his eyes darken perceptibly, “But, as you’ve also previously stated, you amend that rule in the case of good food, and as I’ve previously stated and do so maintain, I happen to know that the food here is excellent.”
If there wasn’t currently a tabloid stand across the street carrying a copy of the Daily Mail with “Harry Styles admits to shagging 400 women in one year!” on its cover, Louis might just be inclined to believe that said Harry Styles is flirting with him.
“Easy there, popstar,” he says, reaching across the table to pinch Harry’s cheek playfully, “I’ve yet to try a bite; and to make matters worse for you, you’ve clearly been overly cocky in ordering a meal for me without my input. I could be allergic to keral– er, whatever it was. Simply put, logic says that this is a bet you’re destined to lose.”
Harry opens his mouth to reply but, as if on cue, Jaymi returns to the table carrying their two steaming and admittedly delicious-smelling orders. Another waitress arrives at the same time with their first course and sets a plate of what look to be crab cakes between them.
“Thank you, love,” Louis acknowledges, breathing in the enticing aromas of lime and ginger.
She nods once with a tight-lipped smile, saying nothing, and disappears just as quickly as she came.
Jaymi rolls his eyes and mutters something like “stuck-up newbies” before unloading the dishes balanced artfully atop his muscular forearms.
“Kerala,” he says, setting the plate in front of Louis, “and duck tandoori for you, Mr. Styles.”
Harry’s smile is clearly forced as he mutters his thanks, so Louis feels it’s only fair that he take extra care in acknowledging their server’s excellent work.
“Will that be all, sirs?” Jaymi asks, moving to refill Louis’ still nearly-full glass of water.
“Ye–” Harry starts, but Louis is quick to interrupt him, grazing the server’s arm lightly and motioning for him to lean in.
Jaymi is quick to oblige, though he does so with a knowing look, angling his bum toward Harry with a playful wiggle. Louis sneaks a quick glance across the table, only to see that Harry is flushed red, coiled tightly like a spring, and apparently just seconds away from murdering the poor waiter with his butter knife.
“I’m sorry about my, er, companion,” Louis whispers into Jaymi’s jawline, “He’s straight as a board, I swear, but he tends to get a bit… irrationally jealous?”
Jaymi just smiles perceptively, trailing his fingers up Louis’ arm to rest lightly atop his shoulder.
“It’s a pity, really,” he whispers in reply, “You’re so pretty, but so painfully unavailable.”
Louis opens his mouth to protest– and to explain that he’s literally known Harry for less than a day, so there’s really no question of availability– but Jaymi silences him with another pointed look.
“He’ll come around, darling, don’t worry,” he says, close enough that his lips brush against the outer shell of Louis’ ear, “Emily, the girl who seated you, came back to the kitchen just to tell me how utterly disappointed she was that Harry Styles had finally found a date he was actually interested in.”
Jaymi pulls away at that, leaving Louis gawking, mouth hanging open in surprise.
He watches as the waiter carefully schools his features, back to the picture of professionalism, before saying brightly, “I’m afraid, sir, that we don’t currently offer that on our menu. However, I will, of course, mention your suggestion to our head chef and see what we can do about having something available for you upon your next visit.”
If Louis kind of didn’t want to kiss his still probably straight non-date seated across the table, he would definitely kiss Jaymi instead.
“I can’t say that I’m not disappointed,” Louis replies cryptically, “but I feel infinitely more reassured that the, erm, situation will be resolved thanks to your personal input.”
“You have my word, sir,” Jaymi replies, nodding stiffly, though his ocean blue eyes reflect his understanding, “Please enjoy your meal as best you can.”
Louis has to bite his lip to keep from smiling as Jaymi spins on his heel and sashays off theatrically. Just before he turns the corner, however, he stops to look back and quickly mouths “go get ‘im” with an exaggerated wink and a bit of suggestive hip-thrusting. Louis manages to suppress what would’ve likely been an embarrassingly loud guffaw by snatching his fork off the table and quickly shoving a large, very very hot bite of kera-whatever into his mouth.
Harry raises an eyebrow as Louis flails, choking on the burning mouthful. He slides Louis’ glass of water toward him, fighting a smirk; and Louis grasps it eagerly, gulping down half the glass in one swallow.
“So…” Harry starts, still smirking, after he’s sure that Louis’ not going to require resuscitation, “What were you requesting?”
Louis inclines his head, “What do you mean?”
“That little conversation with your new waiter friend?” Harry supplies, holding his hands up to place air quotes around “Whatever’s ‘not on the menu’.”
“Oh. Oh!” Louis exclaims, mentally chastising himself for being such an idiot. “Yes, I– well, you see, erm…” he stutters, finally just blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, “I was really in the mood for a nice pasta dish?”
“Pasta? That’s the best you’ve got?” he can almost hear his subconscious hiss back at him.
Harry blinks. “You do realize that this is a traditional Indian restaurant, right?”
“What? Indians can’t eat noodles?” Louis asks, feigning confusion, “How culturally insensitive of you, Harold.”
“I’m not sure that’s how that works,” Harry replies, wrinkling his nose. He pauses and looks down at his plate, using his spoon to swirl together a bite of rice and spicy brown curry.
“And my name’s not Harold,” he continues, after he’s swallowed, “It’s Harry. Just Harry.”
Louis rolls his eyes, “Whatever you say, Harold.”
He snatches one of the round yummy-smelling things off of the center plate and is delighted to find that it is, in fact, a crab cake. “Update on the lovebirds, please?”
Harry leans out of the booth and grimaces almost immediately. “Well, Zayn’s gone for the dessert plate, which is an extra twenty pounds, so he’s clearly pulling out all the stops on this one.”
Louis’ jaw slackens at the mention of the price. “Wait a minute,” he asks, the bite of crab cake suddenly feeling like a lead weight in his stomach, “Just exactly how much does this meal cost?”
Harry shrugs. “Around sixty-five per person, so… that’s what?” he pauses, mentally totaling their meals, “One-thirty for the both of us?”
If it’s possible, Louis’ mouth falls open even farther. “Harry, I–” he starts, pushing his plate away in shock, “I was just kidding when I said lunch was on you. I really, really can’t let you pay for all this.”
Harry laughs, shooting him a disbelieving look. “Um, popstar remember?” he says, gesturing to himself, “Really, Lou, it’s nothing.”
Louis glares back at him. “I can afford it, you know.”
The curly-haired lad tilts his head curiously. “Not just a pseudonym, then,” he replies, perceptively, “A successful one?”
Louis’ lips twitch upwards into a soft close-mouthed smile. “How do you know my funds don’t come from my thriving bookshop business or, perhaps, a wealthy great uncle who left me an inheritance in his will?”
“Because you read me your poetry,” Harry replies simply, green eyes intelligent and alight.
Louis’ eyes fall to his still-hot plate of prawn curry, his cheeks burning with the embarrassment of Harry’s sincere praise. He’s kind of, maybe, possibly in love with this boy.
“Hey, look at me,” Harry continues, one hand reaching across the table to tilt Louis’ chin back up to face him. Their eyes meet again, and it’s like he’s suffocating, drowning in a palette of green-apple, alabaster, and cherry-red. “You’re talented, Louis, and it’d be a real travesty had the British public not recognized that.”
He regains his composure, taking a deep breath and quirking one eyebrow questioningly. “Not just the British public,” Louis replies, his natural haughtiness restored, “A few others countries, too.”
Harry’s places a hand to his forehead and pretends to swoon. “No one told me I was on a date with an international bestselling author! I’m so overwhelmed!”
“A date, huh?” Louis implores, polishing off his crab cake with a final dainty bite.
Harry looks panicked. “Uh, I… I mean… not a date date like, like Zayn and Liam, you know? Not that I wouldn’t, erm… I mean, I wouldn’t… I don’t have a problem with that… but our, our date is just a friends’ date, a date between two strangers, really, I mean I’d like to be friends with you… but not like that… like we’re–”
“Harry,” Louis interrupts gently, reaching across the table to still the popstar’s flailing hands.
He waits until the younger boy has been allayed completely before continuing, as reassuringly as possible, “It’s fine. I’m gay, you’re straight; it’s okay if you’re a little uncomfortable around me when I joke about like that. I get it.”
“That’s really not the problem,” Harry blurts, then shakes his head, grimacing, “I mean, thanks, but your sexuality isn’t an issue for me. I’m friends with Zayn, aren’t I?”
Louis can’t help but notice Harry’s odd deflections, but in the end he just shrugs and files it away for later. Harry seems confident enough in his own sexuality and certainly unbothered by Louis’, so there’s really no reason to tiptoe gingerly around the subject nor is there any reason to discuss it further…
Suddenly, Harry’s ducking under the table, hissing “They’re getting up and heading this way!”
Which, yeah, thanks for the heads-up; Louis totally has time to hide now.
Before Louis can fully join Harry down below, he hears a pair of approaching footsteps and Liam’s voice inquiring, “Louis? Is that you?”
He curses under his breath and sits up, bonking his head on the edge of the table as he does so.
“Oh, hello, Liam, Zayn,” he replies, smiling brightly, “Fancy meeting you here, innit?”
He watches as Zayn’s eyes narrow perceptibly, but Liam’s face, thankfully, remains open and unguarded as he grins in return.
“Are you here with someone?” Liam asks, gesturing to the two bowls of food on the table.
Louis panics, yelping loudly as Harry’s… something… brushes against his leg. “Oh, no, I–” he replies, grimacing in pain as his knee had jerked up into the tabletop when he was startled, “I ordered that for Niall. It’s his favorite.”
“It’s half-eaten,” Zayn remarks, still eyeing him suspiciously.
Louis’ eyes are drawn to the dark-haired lad’s arm wrapped loosely around Liam’s waist, and his dominant wide-placed stance. Lovely little display of territorialism, he thinks arbitrarily, before returning to the conversation at hand.
“Yes, well, I couldn’t very well just accept that it’s Niall’s favorite without trying it myself, could I?” he retorts, feeling as every bit as childish as he probably sounds.
“S’pose not,” Zayn says slowly, looking displeased at having been momentarily outwitted.
“And, as it turns out, it was even better than I expected,” Louis finishes, showing all his teeth. He shrugs, tossing his hands up in humorous faux-shame. “Just couldn’t help myself from enjoying a few more bites. This stomach is so demanding.”
By the time he’s finished, Liam is looking at him a little oddly, and Zayn is clearly not buying any of it.
“Where’s Harry?” Zayn asks, finally.
Louis hesitates, about to lie again, when Harry pops up from beneath the table with a resounding, “Finally! Found my ring!”
He uses a hand to smooth back his tangle of curls, and then screws a clearly not misplaced ring back onto his middle finger.
“Oh hello, Zayn,” he says pleasantly. He gestures to Liam, asking, “And who’s this?”
Zayn just rolls his eyes. “You do realize that every time you’re the one who suggests the meal, I know it’s just a ploy to spy on me?”
“You do this often?” Liam and Louis ask Harry in unison, though for very different reasons.
“Only with people Zayn has serious interest in,” Harry replies, which seems to satisfy the both of them.
“Are you two on a date then as well?” Zayn asks, and of course the bastard is smiling knowingly as he does so.
Louis, cheeks burning, looks to Harry for an answer, but the popstar looks just as stricken as he feels. The clear solution to the problem, Louis’ mind decides for him, is to shove a large mouthful of hot curry into his mouth for the second time in one sitting.
“No, we’re not, I–” Harry starts as Louis incapacitates himself with food, but he’s quickly interrupted by a familiar presence as their wonderful brunette savior, Jaymi, whirls by and plops himself in the booth next to Louis.
“Hey babe,” the waiter says casually, slinging an arm around him with a smile, “Just thought I’d swing by to check up on you while I’m on break.”
Harry’s mouth is hanging open and Louis is sure his would be too had he not been mid-bite upon Jaymi’s arrival.
“Hi,” Louis says slowly, after he swallows, “I… wasn’t expecting you back so soon?”
Jaymi winks and gives him a look, clearly asking him to play along. “Got off a bit early for being so well-behaved,” Jaymi says, leaning in to faux-whisper in Louis’ ear, “but I thought, maybe, I could be a bit naughty for you later.”
“Okay!” Harry exclaims, clapping his hands together and looking just as pained as he was during the server’s last appearance.
“Oh, dear!” Jaymi says, pretending to finally notice the group at large. He’s almost in Louis’ lap at this point, and Harry looks practically murderous. “I’d no idea you brought more of your mates for me to meet,” he says, acting surprised. He taps Louis on the nose playfully, saying, “I thought I told you one at a time, sweetheart.”
“Erm, Louis?” Liam asks, uncomfortably, “Who’s this?”
Jaymi hops up, smoothing out his apron, and holds out his hand. Liam shakes it apprehensively, as does Zayn, as Jaymi introduces himself.
“Jaymi Hensley,” he says, bright and friendly, “I’m Louis’ boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” Liam asks, looking at Louis accusingly, “He didn’t mention it.”
“Yes, well, we wanted to keep it on the hush-hush until we were sure it was serious,” Jaymi continues. He turns back to Louis, raising an expectant eyebrow, “Right, babe?”
“Serious?” Liam mumbles, still in shock.
“Oh yeah, ‘course,” Louis says, finally understanding the waiter’s convenient plan to avoid any more awkwardness with Harry and curb Zayn’s suspicion of espionage, “When Zayn asked me for a lunch suggestion, I immediately thought Indian. Guess that was my subconscious talking!”
Jaymi giggles right on cue, batting his arm playfully.
“Then Harry mentioned wanting lunch as well and wouldn’t you know it, he suggested Veeraswamy because of the special popstar privileges he has here or something,” Louis explains, looking between Liam and Zayn, “and of course I couldn’t pass up a chance to surprise my boyfriend! We thought we’d timed it so that we wouldn’t run into you two, but it ended up being just the opposite.”
Zayn looks contemplative, but Liam is nodding emphatically and repeating “Serious?” to himself every few seconds.
“Yes, Liam, serious,” Louis repeats, “Jaymi and I’ve been dating for two, no, almost three months now? Is that right?”
Jaymi nods, casting a perfectly-practiced fond gaze in his direction.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Li,” Louis continues, settling into his part, “but you know I haven’t really put myself out there since Aiden and, well, I was definitely hesitant about Jaymi and me at the start… I just didn’t want to get your hopes up until I was certain about him. Telling people would’ve made it too real, too soon, but now that I know, well…”
He casts his own fond gaze back at the waiter, smiling softly.
Zayn, looking down at his watch, says suddenly, “Don’t you have that curriculum meeting soon, Liam? We ought to head out.”
Liam startles and replies, “Oh, I nearly forgot! At half-past, yes.”
“I’ll arrange for a cab to take you to the school,” Zayn says, abruptly, his voice becoming very official and business-like, though his eyes retain a particular sort of softness that quickly earns him Louis’ approval. Louis feels a pleasant sort of warmth at the thought of Liam finally having found someone who seems to be good for him, and whom he seems to be good for in return.
“You’re not coming with?” Liam asks, doing an awful job at hiding his disappointment.
“Unfortunately not,” Zayn replies warmly, eyes turning hard as he turns to address Harry next, “H and I’ve got to get back to the studio for an afternoon session. He’s been… missed.”
“I requested the entire day off!” Harry protests, voice a bit whiny. His face is scrunched up adorably, like a pouting, petulant toddler. He and Zayn begin to argue, and Liam just stands there awkwardly, still looking a bit shell-shocked by the strange lunch proceedings.
Jaymi chooses this moment to press more closely against Louis’ side, sliding a piece of paper into his back pocket and leaning in to whisper, “If you ever need anything, love, give me a ring.”
Louis laughs and promises that he will which has Jaymi’s lips quirking up into what he thinks is a genuine smile.
“If your boy will let you, that is,” the brunette continues, as the others are still preoccupied, “Not many acting jobs available right now, but this is a role that I’d love to play.”
He leaps up from the booth, but not before pressing a sloppy kiss to Louis’ cheek, which has him squirming. “Thanks for stopping in, babe,” he says, waving goodbye with a flirtatious wiggle of his fingers, “I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Louis agrees, faintly, still impressed by the server’s knack for improvisation. He was a drama major, after all, and though he hasn’t acted since uni, he can tell that whoever’s not hiring Jaymi Hensley is seriously missing out.
Harry and Zayn have quit arguing and it appears that Harry has won his case based on his smug look and Zayn’s nonstop eye-rolling.
“I guess I will be coming with, then,” Zayn tells Liam, trying his best not to appear too eager about it; something tells Louis that Harry’s battle wasn’t hard fought.
That’s precisely when it dawns on him. “Liam James Payne,” he chastises, “did you skip school to go on a date?”
Liam’s cheeks turn bright red as he splutters, “I might’ve called in sick and gotten a substitute?”
Louis just shakes his head. “I cannot believe this,” he says, putting on an authoritative tone, “I’m very disappointed in you, young man. You’re grounded for the next month. No mobile, and no boys either.”
“Oh come off it, Louis,” Zayn says unexpectedly, though he’s finally smiling, “Haven’t you seen the films? As the secretly sensitive but rebellious drop-out, I’m destined to coax the smart, responsible, studious class president into sneaking out with me, and his father’s objections only serve to intensify our forbidden love. This is textbook script-writing, really.”
“Our forbidden love, huh?” Liam remarks, raising an eyebrow.
This time it’s Zayn’s turn to blush, or rather, look a bit uncomfortable for a passing second before schooling his features, because he’s probably too cool to feel embarrassed about anything.
“Alright, that’s enough, then,” Harry says finally, having been silent for much of their exchange, “Get out of here, lovebirds.”
Zayn covertly flips Harry the bird before sliding an arm back around Liam’s waist and guiding him away. Just before they turn the corner, Liam pulls back and gives Louis a stern look clearly meaning “we’ll talk later”. Five minutes in and this whole fake boyfriend thing might be more trouble than it’s worth, he thinks, smiling innocently as Liam turns back to join Zayn at the exit.
He leans back into the booth, meaning to address Harry in conversation again, but he’s instead met with a view of the curly-haired boy glaring at his duck curry, all tense shoulders and grit jaw. Louis’ mouth snaps shut and he picks at his own dish in order to avoid recognizing the tension that thickens the air between them. They spend the next few minutes eating in silence, only pausing when Emily swings back around with the check. Louis rolls his eyes, expecting to suffer through yet another bout of unbearable flirting, but Harry simply signs the bill, slides his card between the folds, and hands it back to the hostess without a word. Emily walks away slowly, eyebrows furrowed, as if she too was expecting a wink and a bit of friendly banter, or some form of polite acknowledgement at the very least.
Having finished his meal, Louis– unable to cope with the frigidity of Harry’s cold shoulder any longer– breaks the silence with a stuttered apology:
“Look Harry, I’m really sorry for–” he blurts.
“Louis, I apologize, this is silly, I–” Harry says, at the same time.
“Wait what?”
“What?”
“God, never mind, let’s just forget this whole thing happened,” Louis says exasperatedly, his verging upon too-loud response earning them several inquisitive looks from around the restaurant.
Harry, on the other hand, still looks unsure, all furrowed eyebrows and pouty lips.
“Okay,” he replies, finally, “but I am sorry, you know, for being so…”
Irrationally jealous? Louis wants to supply, but bites his tongue and lets Harry finish.
“…invasive, I suppose?”
Louis smiles softly. “It’s fine, Harry. I’m just not used to people, erm, caring as it were.”
“Most people don’t,” Harry replies, idly twisting a loose curl back into place.
Louis nods in agreement, “and yet I always seem to care too much. Funny that.”
“Is this what hanging out with a poet is always like?” Harry muses, “Drama and existentialism?”
“Usually there’s a lot more crying involved,” Louis teases, scooping up the last of his–admittedly quite delicious–shrimp curry, just as Emily returns with their bill.
The bubbly blonde hands Harry his card and smiles brightly, uttering a well-rehearsed, “Thank you for dining with us today, Mr. Styles.” Glancing down at Louis’ near empty plate, she continues, “and I take it your companion enjoyed his meal as well?”
“I did, thank you,” Louis acknowledges politely, “and do please tell our server that his help was much appreciated.”
“Of course, sir,” Emily replies, flashing her teeth again blindingly, “I’ll ensure Jaymi receives your compliments. Have a lovely afternoon, the both of you.”
At that, the hostess walks away briskly, probably off to assist one of Veeraswamy’s other celebrity regulars.
Louis turns back to Harry, inquiring, “So you’ve got the rest of the day off. Is there any particular way you’d like to spend it?”
Harry frowns pensively for a moment. “Preferably not in public,” he says, finally, “or at least not anywhere very busy or likely to be frequented by teenage girls.”
“Fair enough,” Louis approves, understanding Harry’s weariness of the media and his fans after witnessing the tired yet fearful look in the popstar’s eyes as they were exiting the cab.
Just as he’s begun brainstorming suggestions, his mobile goes off, filling the restaurant with the dulcet tones of Harry’s first single. Louis reaches into his pockets panicking, cheeks stained bright red, and tries to ignore the way the real Harry’s laughter intermingles with his recorded self’s crooned chorus.
“Don’t let me, don’t let me, don’t me go, ‘cause I’m tired of feeling alone”
Harry’ still laughing even as he answers, hissing, “What do you want?”
“Hello to you too,” the caller replies, words colored with a familiar Irish lilt.
Louis’ voice immediately softens. “Oh ‘lo, Niall, I’m sorry. I was–”
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, no, it’s fine!” Louis rushes to assure him, casting a glare at the still-snickering popstar across the table.
“Right, okay then,” Niall says, a hint of confusion still present in his voice, “So I was wondering if you wanted to come out to the Half Moon in Putney ‘round seven to hear me ‘n Ed ‘n the band play a gig?”
“Your little ragtag folk band landed a gig at the Half Moon?” Louis asks, impressed, “Do you guys even rehearse before you show up to these things?”
Niall laughs, and explains, “Josh’s mate just got promoted. He’s in charge of booking acts for Monday nights.”
“Well that explains it,” Louis replies, laughing as well.
“So? Shall I have the bouncers write down ‘Tomlinson’ party of one?” Niall queries.
“First of all, there are no bouncers. You’re not playing the O2,” Louis retorts, biting back another giggle, “and second of all, I’m currently out to lunch with… with an old friend and I’d planned on spending the day with him while he’s in town.”
“Bring ‘im along then,” Niall says cheerily, “The more the merrier, I always say.”
“Right, let me ask him then.”
Louis puts his phone against his chest, muffling the sound, and addresses Harry, who– like the five year old he apparently is– has built a lovely sculpture of napkins and used cutlery on his side of the table. “Would you be interested in hearing my mate and a few of his friends play a gig out in Putney tonight?”
Harry looks up, frowning as several precariously balanced forks fall to the table with a loud, metallic clang. Louis raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, instead waiting for the popstar’s reply.
“Yeah, ‘course,” Harry says eventually, focus still intent on his fairly pathetic attempt at modern art. His curls are flopped over his forehead, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and tongue peeking out from between his lips. He’s unfairly adorable. Louis still wants to kiss him.
“Make that reservation for two please,” Louis requests, putting the phone back up to his ear.
“Sick!” Niall enthuses. His voice is softer over the line as he hollers to someone in the background, “Now we’ve got at least two people coming!”
“What about Liam?” Louis inquires, “Did you ask him too?”
“I did,” Niall says, huffing in response, “but the bloke said he already had plans. Since when does Liam Payne have plans that don’t involve you and me?”
“Since he and Mr. McDreamy eloped this morning,” Louis explains, “I’m afraid he’s replaced us.”
“Shame,” Niall replies somberly, though he’s back to his chipper self almost immediately with a hurried, “Oh, gotta go! The rest of the lads are here! Catch ya tonight, Lou!”
Louis doesn’t even have a chance to say goodbye before the peppy Irishman hangs up. Used to Niall’s antics, he just shakes his head fondly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
“You didn’t tell me you had musician friends,” Harry says as he looks back up. Louis laughs, thinking it a joke, but one look at the popstar’s pout and it occurs to him that Harry is actually (inexplicably) affronted at this unintentionally omitted fact.
“I literally just met you this morning,” Louis points out, matter-of-factly, “Would you have preferred I started our first conversation out with ‘Oh, excuse me person breaking in to my shop? Hate to be a bother, but did you know I’ve got musician friends?’ because I dunno, that seems a bit forward, don’t you think?”
Louis winces immediately after his little spiel, anticipating that his biting sarcasm will once again offend; however, Harry just laughs good-naturedly. “You’re right, of course,” he allows easily, grinning, “I’m just too friendly of a thief, I’m afraid. You really ought to have stabbed me with your rusty coat hanger and ended it all then and there.”
Harry’s smile is a mile wide and his dimples are a mile deep and, yeah, Louis’ maybe, possibly, definitely enamored with this kid.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he blurts, refraining from banging his head on the table at how presumptuous it sounds. “Shit, I mean, we could go back to my flat for a few hours– god dammit that sounded even worse, didn’t it?”
Harry’s hyena-like guffaws have returned in full force and he can barely keep from laughing long enough to slip in a wisecrack and a lascivious wink. “So the food really was excellent, then?” he asks, snorting loudly.
Louis just glares, and attempts to rephrase with a careful, “What I meant was, since you’ve the entire day off and there’s five or six hours left yet before my musician friends’ gig tonight, we could just chill back at my place for a few hours?” He pauses, gauging Harry’s reaction before continuing, “I’ve got a few customers coming in to pick up some special orders, but other than that, you should remain unbothered.”
Harry nods once, smiling, “Sounds great. Shall we?”
The two of them slide out of the booth. Louis waits as Harry slips his wallet into his back pocket– how it manages to fit in between the two layers of black skintight fabric pasted on Harry’s legs is beyond him– but somehow Harry makes it work, and they head toward the front door, arms knocking together companionably.
Emily is looking painfully bored as they walk by, slouching with her elbows propped on her hostess stand. She perks up immediately, however, when she notices Harry, which Louis totally doesn’t roll his eyes at… nope, not at all.
“Oh, Mr. Styles! Wait a minute!” she calls out, twisting around the stand and bouncing over to meet them. Louis can feel his annoyance increase exponentially. “I’ve already called you and your date a cab. It’s waiting out back.”
Harry’s eyes are comically wide as he blurts, “He’s not my– we’re not– this isn’t!”
Louis quickly covers his mouth to hide his resulting snicker. “What Harry means to say,” he begins, offering the hostess a demure smile, “is that we’re both very grateful for your consideration of our privacy.”
Emily’s eyes are twinkling as she replies with a curt “Of course, sir” and gestures toward a door labeled “STAIRWELL TO ALLEY – AUTHORIZED EMPLOYEES ONLY”.
Louis thanks her again what with Harry still silently shocked beside him, and guides the both of them to the door. Harry remains quiet the two flights down, but Louis chalks it up to him wanting to avoid drawing any more attention to their exit. Several employees carrying trays of food pass them on their way down, but none seem to pay the two out-of-place guests any mind.
Sure enough, when they reach ground level, there’s an Addison Lee idling on the curb. Louis’ taking a step toward the car when suddenly Harry whirls around, looking furious.
“What the hell was that?” he spits, cheeks flushed red with anger.
“What was what?” Louis asks, flabbergasted and genuinely confused.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Harry hisses, beginning to pace back and forth across the narrow alleyway, “You know, that whole ‘he’s my date’ thing with Emily back there? Yeah? You can’t just do that, Louis! You can’t just play along like that! You know why? Because even if you’re joking, it’ll get quoted in some trashy tabloid and then misquoted and taken out of context again and again in print and online until–”
“Until what?” Louis interrupts, feeling his blood begin to boil beneath his skin. Though he’s currently anything but, he grits his teeth and forces his voice to come out level and calm. “Until what, Harry? Until the entire world is fooled into believing some false rumor about you dating a bloke? Like that’s the worst thing you can think of? That some twelve-year old fangirl in California might spend a whole twenty-four hours in a state of devastation because ‘Harry Styles is gay’? How awful!”
Louis finishes his rant with a short, huffed breath, spins abruptly on his heels, and walks down the alleyway toward the waiting car.
He hears Harry’s footsteps quicken behind him until the popstar’s massive hand is encircling his wrist and pulling him backward.
He’s unwillingly spun back around to face the younger boy who stares back at him with wide, hurt eyes and a deeply pained expression. “Louis, listen,” Harry starts, sounding desperate, “I didn’t mean–”
Louis just shakes his head in response and yanks open the cab door with a little more force than necessary.
“Just get in the fucking car.”
&&
For a solid five minutes, the ride is completely silent. They’re sitting as far away from each other as possible, Louis’ jaw clenched stubbornly and eyes focused pointedly out the window.
(Not surprisingly, they both crack at the exact same moment once again.)
“Harry, I’m sorry. I overrea–”
“Louis, that came out all wrong. What I really meant was–”
They both pause, looking bashful. Louis inclines his head, motioning with his hand for Harry to continue.
“I wasn’t upset about the dating rumors because I’m homophobic or anything,” Harry explains, running a hand through his curls, “Trust me, that’s not the issue. Being gay definitely isn’t a bad thing and I’d look like a hypocrite if I– I mean, anyway… like, uh, like I said before being friends with me is really difficult and I just didn’t want to compromise our brand new friendship by having you automatically thrown into the media shark tank.”
Louis blinks, immediately feeling awful that he hadn’t thought about Harry’s intentions being to protect him and not the popstar’s own reputation.
“I’m a dick,” he admits, meeting Harry’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Harry agrees easily, shrugging, “but so am I.”
Louis smiles softly. “We’re sure to be excellent mates, then. Pair of dicks like us?”
“Lovely moniker, that,” Harry replies, stifling a giggle, “We could be the Dicky Duo.”
Louis isn’t so successful in hiding his own amusement, a loud a guffaw escaping from between his lips. “I’m afraid,” he starts, between laughs, “I’m afraid that we’ve wandered into gay porn titles with that one.”
“Phallus Friends,” Harry continues unabashedly, “or, or Penis Pals!”
“Stop it!” Louis cries, wiping away tears, “I can’t breathe!”
“Penis jokes,” Harry says, grinning widely, “My favorite.”
Louis’ taking deep, exaggerated breaths in a futile attempt to calm his heaving diaphragm.
“You’re an idiot, Harry Styles,” he wheezes, “an absolute idiot.”
The younger lad puts a hand up to his chest in mock offense and opens his mouth to offer up some sort of retort, but he’s cut off by the cab pulling to a halt in front of the bookstore.
Louis whips out his wallet and quickly thrusts some notes toward the cabbie, ignoring the glare that Harry throws his way.
“You just spent two-hundred pounds on our lunch,” Louis says, by way of explanation. It doesn’t change the shape of Harry’s lips, pulled down into a deep frown, but the popstar does sigh, appearing to relent.
Harry tugs open the cab door and they both scoot out and onto the pavement, a slight chill in the early-October wind making Louis shiver in his thin cardigan. Harry bounces from foot to foot, hands clasped behind his back, as Louis fits the key into the lock and pushes the door open. They tumble inside, giggling brightly.
“Bit nippy out, innit?” Louis comments, shucking off his Vans on the mat just inside the entrance.
He reaches out and tweaks Harry’s nipple with a mischievous smile, then takes off running before Harry can enact his revenge. He darts around the bookshelves with practiced ease, being much more familiar with the layout than Harry is.
“Lou,” Harry finally calls, out of breath but still laughing, “You win, you win! Come out now!”
Louis peaks out from behind a shelf and sees that Harry is looking the other way. He creeps up behind the curly-haired boy and leaps onto his back with a loud screech.
Harry lets out a resounding yelp but doesn’t drop him as he was expecting. Instead, in an impressive feat of strength, Harry manages to spin around and set Louis gently down on his feet in front of him. Louis’ hands are pressed against Harry’s chest and his chin is tilted up in surprise. The proximity of Harry’s face to his has his breath catching in his throat.
“Hi,” Harry says, and he’s grinning stupidly.
It takes a hell of a lot of effort for Louis to remove his hands, but he does… eventually. He executes a perfect pirouette away from the taller boy and leaps gracefully over to his desk.
Harry’s still sporting that stupid grin, cheeks flushed and lips painted an enticing cherry red (which is apparently their perpetual state).
“Did you know that you always look as if you’ve got lipstick on?” Louis blurts, and yeah, wow, if that didn’t sound creepy as fuck.
Harry doesn’t appear shocked by this comment, just touches his lips with his fingers absentmindedly (Louis has to blink a few times and pretend to busy himself looking for something in his desk drawer to avoid focusing on the way Harry’s long, long fingers trace his mouth slowly).
“I get that a lot actually,” Harry replies after a moment, “that and blowjob lips.”
And yeah, that’s…
Louis gulps, tries for a joke to divert the conversation away from that particular subject. “Ah yes, I love it when pervy old men at the club tell me how nice my lips would look ‘round their dick; truly an arousing experience.”
Harry ducks his head, whispers, “Penis pals” and they both lose it all over again.
The phone rings and Louis’ wiping his eyes once more, trying to quell the pain in his stomach from laughing too hard for too long.
“Tales Resold. This is Louis speaking,” he answers, attempting to ignore Harry, who’s leaning against a display table covering his mouth and quivering from the giggles he’s trying his best to hold in.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Jensen. Shh, Harry shut up! Oh no, not you, Mr. Jensen! I was talking to my– Sure, sure, stop by anytime this afternoon… Okay perfect. See you then!”
“I do operate a business, you know,” Louis says pointedly, after he’s hung up the phone, “Try and be a little more professional, would you?”
“’S not my fault!” Harry protests, “You’re the one who made me laugh.”
“Nonsense,” Louis replies, shaking his head, “You made yourself laugh with your dumb penis jokes.”
“They’re not dumb. You laughed too,” Harry counters, and yeah, he’s got him there.
Louis rolls his eyes, “I was only laughing at your stupid face.”
“Ooh, good one,” Harry teases, his shit-eating grin having returned in full force.
“Shut up,” Louis grumbles, “You think you’re sooo clever.”
“Because I am.”
“Ha, joke!”
“But I am,” Harry pouts, attempting his best puppy-dog face.
Louis is totally not about to cave when the bell above the front door jingles suddenly, announcing a customer’s arrival.
“Hello, I’m Louis Tomlinson,” he begins as usual, putting on a friendly, charming smile, “Welcome to Tales Resold, the finest antique bookstore in London. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
The customer removes their winter coat and hat, hanging them on the hooks by the front door.
“Oh, hello dear,” a familiar voice says, thin and reedy, “I was hoping you were in.”
Louis perks up immediately, his falsely cheerful façade replaced with genuine excitement. He skirts around the desk and walks quickly down the main aisle to offer an elbow to the frail but extravagantly dressed old woman standing on the welcome mat.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Beasley,” he greets, laughing brightly as she bats away his proffered arm muttering, “Not that old.”
“What can I do for you today?”
Ms. Beasley purses her lips and sighs deeply, “As you know, my eldest, Georgie, has expressed a certain interest in that album of Tsarist palaces that you showed me last month. Unfortunately, and god knows why, he’s in Africa for the next six months, so he’s sent me to pick it up instead, as if I haven’t errands to run of my own.”
Louis just grins, used to the aging heiress’ posh nature.
“Yes, of course,” he says, nodding, “Let me just grab it from the rare collections room and get it all packaged up for you. I’ll only be a mo’.”
“See to it that you don’t dawdle,” Ms. Beasley says flippantly, though her thin lips are quirked up into a small, fond smile.
“I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time, darling,” Louis says with a wink, watches her hand shoot up to cover her growing smile.
He ducks into the back room, unlocking a heavy inner door and breathing in the musty scent of faded manuscripts and India ink. He heads to the computer sitting on the counter and types in his criteria–ca. 1860-65, French, Huard– and memorizes the resulting archival number. He slips on a pair of white gloves, as to prevent the oil and bacteria from his skin from damaging the thin pages, and tugs open one of his custom-made airtight, temperature-controlled storage units. Carefully removing the lovely, dark-bound album from its casing, he pauses to admire the red-stained fore edge stamped with gold insignia and delicate filigree.
“You’ll be missed, love,” he whispers, before packaging the fragile volume up properly for travel.
Locking everything back up once he’s finished, Louis heads back toward the front of the shop and is surprised to hear what sounds like laughter. As he reemerges from behind the thick red velvet partition, he has to blink twice at the sight before him:
Harry is perched on one of the display tables and talking animatedly, waving his hands about and demonstrating some action that has frigid, humorless Ms. Beasley actually clutching at her sides.
Which, okay… Louis was very much under the impression that he was Ms. Beasley’s favorite, but he’s never actually made her laugh aloud.
“Oh, Louis dear! Back so soon?” Ms. Beasley says, finally noticing his presence in the room, “Where on earth did you find such a charming young man?”
Louis feels a spark of jealousy at the way the elderly lady’s face lights up as she pinches Harry’s cheek. “Honestly, love, he just wandered in this morning.”
“Well,” Ms. Beasley says, “he’s certainly a keeper.”
Louis is quick to correct her, “Oh, he’s not. We’re not.”
The old woman just rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me dear. I’m modern. I’ve got homosexual friends. Dabbled in it a bit myself once, back in my twenties.”
Harry is snickering loudly behind her as she puts her hands on her hips, dark blue frock shimmering.
“That’s lovely, Ms. Beasley,” Louis manages to choke out. He coughs into his hand, trying to prevent another crack in his voice, “Now, how would you like to pay for Souvenir de la Russie ?”
Ms. Beasley hums thoughtfully, digging through her Suffolk Pheasant Mulberry bag (which Louis only knows the name of because she’d spent the entirety of last month’s visit complaining about how her youngest son had sent her an awful, cheap purse for her birthday… a five-thousand pound awful ‘cheap’ purse).
“Just put it on the card, I suppose,” she replies finally, “I do believe we agreed on sixty-eight?”
“Sixty-seven five, actually,” Louis replies, moving over to the cash register to ring her up, “though I wouldn’t mind that extra half.”
“Cheeky,” Ms. Beasley, teases, in a better mood than he’s ever seen her (thanks to Harry, apparently).
“Right then,” Louis says, handing her the card and the tightly wrapped album, “your total was sixty-seven thousand five hundred pounds exactly. Thank you for stopping in, and do tell George I said hello.”
At the mention of her eldest son, the woman just harrumphs and puts the package and her card into a black shopping bag. Louis watches her toddle out the door, stopping to put on her fur coat and extravagant fur-lined hat. The little bell jingles again, signaling her exit, and Louis spins back around to address Harry once more.
“How on earth did you make friends with that finicky old woman so quickly?” he asks, “It literally took months before she even deigned to speak to me past her impatient hand gestures.”
Harry doesn’t seem to acknowledge his question, instead blurting, “You just made over a hundred thousand dollars… from a book.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t a book. It was a rare album of Tsarist photography and watercolor paintings.”
“And she… she just bought it… Just like that, didn’t even blink an eye… Seventy-thousand pounds for a book.”
“Well yes,” Louis replies, shrugging, “Ms. Beasley is the lone matriarch of one of the wealthiest families in Europe. She’s friends with the Queen, like ‘ooh let me just pop by the old family palace for some tea and crumpets’ sort of friends.”
Harry looks as if he might faint. “Unbelievable.”
Louis just chuckles.
“Harry, I’m one-hundred percent certain that you have way more money than I do,” he says, “Plus, you’ve also met the Queen, if you’ve not forgotten. I watched it all happen on telly last year.”
The popstar is still shaking his head, muttering to himself.
“You weren’t kidding when you said that your business does well enough to pay for lunch, were you?” he asks, finally.
“Er, no,” Louis replies, “Between what I make in the antique book trade and my publishing royalties… Well, I’m doing alright.”
“Why Camden then?” Harry inquires, “I mean, no offense, it’s just that…”
“None taken,” Louis says easily. His mum and his mates had all asked him the same thing once they’d established how successful he was. “Basically, in the beginning, I had nowhere else to go and I got this place cheap, fixed everything up, and it… it sort of became my new purpose in life when I didn’t really have one. Of course, I’m much too attached to it now to consider selling it and upgrading to somewhere larger and posher.”
Harry starts to reply but is interrupted by the jingling of the bell once more.
“Mr. Jensen, hello!” Louis calls, checking his watch, “Right on time as usual.”
Mr. Jensen is a small, bird-like man with a beak nose and wire-frame glasses. He’s perpetually jittery and, though many a shopkeeper might assume him a suspicious person, Louis isn’t at all surprised by his shifty eyes and flighty demeanor as he paces around the main floor.
“What do you need, Mr. Jensen?” Louis asks, finding that a direct approach always works best with the anxious man.
“T-the n-new Sodi,” Mr. Jensen mumbles.
“Ah yes,” Louis says, smiling furtively, “Always a popular choice. I wouldn’t keep it in stock, usually, seeing as my shop specializes in collectors’ items, but the Sodi collections have been so in-demand as of late, it’d be a waste not to carry a few copies.”
“I… I don’t suppose you have a signed original?” the man inquires, so quietly it’s almost inaudible.
Louis’ eyes flit to the green hardback still sitting untouched on the shelf, as he hums thoughtfully. “That, Mr. Jensen, would depend on how much you’re offering for one.”
“Three hundred,” Mr. Jensen whispers, pulling out his wallet with trembling fingers.
Louis’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “I’m afraid that’s a bit overpriced. Perhaps we could settle for one-fifty?”
“O-oh, oh, oh yes, yes sure,” Mr. Jensen agrees, pulling the notes out of his wallet.
Louis walks over to the shelf, plucking the signed copy from between the Chaucer and the Spenser, and rings it up. “So, have you read By and By, I Try yet, Mr. Jensen?”
The man puts his wallet away having collected his change and makes a soft affirmative noise. “Y-yes, I h-have, m-many t-times. This… this one is for m-my s-son.”
“Oh, this will make a lovely gift,” Louis replies, smiling beatifically, “And what would you say your favorite poem from the collection is, if you have one?”
Mr. Jensen takes a labored breath. “I do l-like… erm… ‘Temporary Tattoos’? You know, the bit that g-goes ‘There is such irony in this; in scouring away memories like ink on skin’? Yes, I l-like that bit very m-much.”
“I like ‘Once’ myself,” Louis replies, quoting, “Feet bound to earth: we leaned heavy into dark.”
He hands Mr. Jensen the bag with his purchase tucked neatly inside.
“B-but what do you think Sodi meant when he said ‘I write my poems on the palm of my hand’? Do you think he really does that? B-because I,” the man looks down bashfully, “well sometimes I write, you know, but it’s in a j-journal… D-do you think I’m doing it wrong?”
Louis’ hand drifts to the weathered moleskine tucked into his own back pocket. “I can tell you with great confidence that even the prolific William Sodi doesn’t always write his poems on his hand. That would probably be impractical for his longer ones.”
Mr. Jensen laughs nervously (it’s really more of a small squeak of amusement than actual laughter, but hey, that’s a start).
“I think,” Louis continues, choosing his words carefully, “that there’s really no wrong way to write, as long as what you’ve written makes you feel something. Screw everyone else, really. But good writing? Good writing shouldn’t be picked apart line by line, literary device by literary device, it should be viewed as a whole. Like, what do all of these little bits mean when you put them together, you know? You can write a thousand pages about a woman’s beauty, for example, but never answer the question of whether or not you loved her, or if she loved you back. There’s no substance to it. But when I ask you, in simple haiku ‘What was the moment, when my eyes became the eyes, you’d want forever?’ suddenly there’s a spark, a connection, a bit of you responding to a similar bit of me. And I think that’s what writing’s meant to do– in a funny, paradoxical sort of way– to make you feel something that you don’t have words for, using words to get you there, to plant that little seed that grows to be a part of the human experience and somehow connects us all.”
Louis pauses to run a hand through his hair, sliding it up and across his feathery fringe. “I’m sorry that probably sounded silly. I’m just a bookkeeper; I read them, not write them.”
Mr. Jensen just shakes his head, lips quivering in the closet approximation to a smile he’s ever seen the man achieve.
“T-thank you, Mr. Tomlinson,” Mr. Jensen whispers sincerely, then turns and scurries out of the shop as quickly as he came.
“Bit of an odd duck, isn’t he?” Harry comments from the back of the shop.
Louis turns around to see the gangly popstar collapsed in the chair behind his desk, spinning back and forth idly. “He’s just a teensy bit anxious about… well, everything, really.”
“That advice you gave him about writing was really nice, though,” Harry continues.
“Yeah?” Louis asks.
He’s always felt a bit self-conscious talking about the writing process like he’s an expert or something. It’s not as if he’s prolific poet and bestseller William Sodi, or well, he is actually, but when he’s writing as William Sodi he doesn’t feel like Louis Tomlinson and… and it’s all a bit complicated, really.
(And it’s especially nothing that Harry need know just yet.)
“Yeah,” Harry affirms, and his smile is warm and sunny and genuine as always.
The younger lad kicks his feet out and does a complete revolution in the chair, then two, giggling like the child he apparently is.
“You’re twenty years old,” Louis remarks, though he can’t help the fond smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“Twenty-one in February,” Harry says brightly, still spinning, “So what?”
Louis just shakes his head fondly.
“That’s it for all the special requests I’ve had today,” he says, switching subjects easily, “Could have a few more customers in before we head out, but I doubt it. Monday’s are my slowest.”
“I have an idea of how we could spend the time,” Harry says offhandedly, twirling around twice more before kicking out his feet to stop himself.
Louis tries really really hard not to interpret that statement past its face value, but his stupid lust-clouded subconscious is making it kind of impossible at this point.
“And what’s that?” he asks, straining his voice to keep it even.
Harry spins to face him and stops again, propping his dirty socked feet up on the desk (which ew gross, he’ll have to remember to wipe that off later).
“Read me another one of your poems,” he suggests.
“Harry,” Louis starts wearily, “I don’t think–”
“Please,” the popstar interrupts, “you’re really, really good, Lou. And also you just said that you don’t care what other people think of your writing ‘cause it’s all for you, right?”
Louis blanches, hating how hypocritical his words sound thrown back at him. “Well, that’s not exactly…”
“Just one?” Harry asks and, oh god, the puppy-dog eyes have returned.
“Resistance is futile,” Harry continues, switching to an absolutely dreadful Borg impression.
Louis quirks a smile, and then sighs in defeat. “Fine, just one.”
He walks behind the desk next to where the younger boy has commandeered his favorite chair and leans down to unlock the bottom drawer. Tugging it open, he rifles through pages and pages of typed manuscripts until he finally locates his favorite one, his first one and the one he thinks Harry might like the best. Sliding the chosen poem out of its manila envelope, he stands back up and crosses the room to pull one of the cushy, upholstered armchairs near the front closer to where Harry is sprawled.
“How come there are so many red marks on it?” Harry asks, curiously.
Louis smiles, regarding the white page covered in angry red slashes, harried comments, and question marks.
“My editor,” he explains, “He’s, well, very helpful but also very, very particular. This poem’s never been published and probably for a good reason. It never really fit in with my first collection, and by the second and the third, it was just too often overlooked due to the stronger, more cohesive poetry I began to churn out as I found my voice, so to speak.”
“I’m sure it’s still lovely,” Harry says earnestly.
And this is another one of those foolish moments where Louis wants to kiss him.
Shaking his head slightly, Louis coughs once, and then begins, “Erm… this is called ‘Snow and Dirty Rain’.”
[only snippets of this poem are presented, click through for the full version]
“Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close
to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me
with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending
to sleep, while I'm in the other room…”
“…we are the crossroads, my little outlaw,
and this is the map of my heart, the landscape
after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is
a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me
tight, it's getting cold…”
“…I'll give you my heart to make a place
for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.
Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars
for you? That I would take you there? The splash
of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We've read
the back of the book, we know what's going to happen.
The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left
broken in the brown dirt. And then's it's gone.
Makes you sad. All your friends are gone…”
“We were in the gold room where everyone
finally gets what they want, so I said What do youwant, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me. Here I am
leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome
burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,
my silent night, just mash your lips against me.
We are all going forward. None of us are going back.”
He licks his lips, holds his breath, and waits for Harry’s laughter, his rude remarks. Louis can’t help but remember the way his old best mate had reacted: fag fag fag scrawled across his footie bag in black permanent marker, worthless poofter scratched into his brain with sharp nails; the bloody, unforgiving scars behind his vision and across his heart. What he doesn’t expect are Harry’s stupidly long arms suddenly wrapped around him, lifting him up out of the chair and onto his feet, and that husky baritone repeating “I don’t want you to be sad” over and over again in hushed, painful breaths.
“Harry, it’s– I’m fine,” he chokes out, untangling himself from the popstar’s too-tight, octopus-like grip.
“It’s just a poem,” Louis insists, now freed. He takes a deep, much-needed breath and smoothes out his rumpled sweater.
Harry looks wild-eyed and overwhelmed. “No, it’s not. You’re– god, you’re just… and you don’t see it, I can’t,” he trails off, tugging a bit manically on a fistful of curls, “You’re famous, right? Your pseudonym? People… people recognize your talent, yeah? Because if they don’t, I’d–”
Louis bites his lip. “They do, yeah, don’t worry. I’ve got quite a, er, following, I guess you could say?”
Harry looks only somewhat appeased. “But they don’t know it’s you. Brilliant, beautiful, incredible you,” Harry growls passionately, and where on earth did any of that come from?
“I’ve known you for one day,” he continues with fervor, leaping out of his chair, “One single goddamn day, Louis, and I’ve only heard two of your poems, yeah, but that was enough for me to recognize just how talented you are. When you were talking to Mr. Jones, or whatever his name was, when you were telling him what’s so rewarding about writing, about sharing yourself with your audience… That’s how I feel all the time up onstage, and I know you’ll give me shit about the lyrics the record label puppets out of me, but it’s still… it’s still an emotional experience having a crowd feed off of your words and your energy. I’ve been trying to articulate that feeling for years, Louis. I’ve embarrassed myself in countless interviews using misplaced words like ‘euphoria’ and, fuck I don’t know, ‘a good high’ and yet it only took you like four sentences and a fucking haiku to summarize all of it! I just– I don’t understand? Why are you so afraid of people realizing how talented you are? It’s the greatest thing in the entire world.”
Louis looks down angrily, Harry’s sincerity having dredged up old emotions and doubts about his writing that he’s kept suppressed and under wraps for years. He doesn’t… can’t understand how over the course of a single day this, this complete stranger has managed to pick him apart so thoroughly. He takes a deep breath, wills himself under control.
“People do realize my so-called ‘talent’,” he says, voice heavy with years of suppressed feelings of inadequacy. He feels his eyes begin to fill with unshed tears, and any attempt he was making at holding back feels useless as they threaten to spill over.
“Haven’t you read the New York Times?” he asks, laughing bitterly, “They praise William fucking Sodi all the time. ‘Oh, his pain is so raw, so real, so tangible.’ Well you know what, Harry? It’s all bullshit. I make it up. I’ve never experienced half the things that William Sodi has. I’ve only been in love once and it was shit– sugar-coated, plain vanilla, breakfast every morning at eight, ‘I’m too tired for sex tonight darling, pencil me in for next week?’ utterly complacent bullshit. I can’t write about that, Harry. An eight word summary of my love life entitled ‘we just weren’t quite right for each other’ doesn’t exactly fly off the shelves.
No one cares about Louis Tomlinson, the… the real me. No one gives a flying fuck if my supposed best friend outed me to the entire school in Year 9 after I showed him what he later termed ‘romantic flowery shit written by a girl who’s just dying for a good dick up her ass’ and ‘you can’t be serious, Lou, you’re a footballer… you think the lads will put up with this trash?’ No, no one is going to buy an autobiography about my secondary school years as a walking laughingstock, a fairy, an ugly little skinny thing with no semblance of self-esteem.”
“But you have the opportunity to be yourself,” Harry cries, “to show them all that you’re none of those things, that you’re so much more than what they thought of you, and you’re just wasting it!”
Louis opens his mouth to protest, but the younger boy silences him with a well-timed glare.
“I’ve learned not to give a shit about what people think of me,” Harry continues, “because I’ve been told over and over and over again since I was just sixteen years old that the only way to stay famous and to sell records is to manipulate the public’s perception of who I am. ‘You’re a great singer Harry, but no one will buy these sad songs about real life shit that happens. Your market is teenage girls and that’s it. Those are the only people you’ll ever appeal to. You can’t be a serious artist if you want to make money’ and on and on, the same damn thing with every record label and every PR team.”
Harry swallows, looking so wretched and miserable it makes Louis’ chest clench tightly with a sudden, unexpected flare of protectiveness. He wants to hurt the people who’ve hurt this man, this boy really, just twenty years old and expected to live up to everyone’s expectations…
“I’ve never even had the opportunity to fall in love properly,” Harry says, softer now, “The only person I’ve ever been in love with just used me to get into my inner circle and capitalize on the connections it got hi- them. They were a lot older too, much more experienced than I was, and I just… I just held on to the foolish, naïve belief that they wouldn’t have bothered with someone as young as I was if they didn’t, if they didn’t see something special in me, you know? And now, it’s like… I can’t even have friends that are girls because I’m apparently fucking all of them and their mothers and their mothers’ mothers and that’s just not who I am; I’m not this heartless womanizing twat that the media and, and my own PR team, make me out to be. It just… it just frustrates me, I guess, that you have all the freedom to be yourself and you’ve not chosen to exercise it.”
He looks up, green eyes wide and wet underneath the flop of brown fringe, “People buy your books because they’re good, Louis,” he continues brokenly, almost at a whisper, “People buy my albums because I’m an overly-sexualized ‘badboy’ with a pretty face.”
Louis hiccups, swallowing down a sob.
“God, don’t we make a lovely little pair?” he tries teasingly, though his heart isn’t in it.
Harry blubbers a bit, but still manages to get a laugh through his snot and tear covered face.
“Tissues are over there,” Louis says, gesturing to a corner table, “You’re a right mess, Harry Styles.”
The popstar just flips him the bird and blows his nose loudly. Still sniffling a bit, he says, “You should publish something under your name. Just to see what people think, you know? You could use a smaller publishing firm so it wouldn’t be linked to Sodi. Maybe have a limited circulation, obviously no major promotional gimmicks, and–”
“Harry,” Louis interrupts tiredly, “Maybe just leave it for now?”
There’s a brief flash of hurt in the younger lad’s eyes, but he nods reluctantly. “Yeah, okay.”
“Thank you,” Louis says gently, then reaches his arms out beckoning, “Now come ‘ere, you fool.”
Just as Harry’s moving to embrace him, the little bell above the door jingles once more. They both leap ten feet apart like they’ve been shocked as a familiar voice calls out, “Lou, you ‘round?”
Louis nervously smoothes out his sweater once more before replying, “Josh! Hi! Yeah, I’m just up front!”
The short, stocky brunette steps around the corner, still talking, “Sorry to pop in on you like this, but I was just on my way to the gig, you know the one tonight at the Half Moon? I assume Niall told you but he’s not super reliable, that one. Anyway, I figured since I’d be going right by your place that I’d stop to offer you a ride in my, get this, brand new car. God, she’s fit, Lou. Black all-leather interior and–”
Upon seeing the both of them, he stops dead in his tracks, jaw hanging open.
“Hi,” Harry says pleasantly, waving.
Josh’s mouth resembles a codfish and his eyes are practically popping out of his skull as he waves back weakly.
“Louis, a word please?” he hisses, motioning him forward.
“Um, sorry to interrupt, Mr. Styles, sir,” he addresses Harry, who just shrugs good-naturedly.
Louis skips down the two steps to stand in front of his awestruck mate. Josh has his back turned toward Harry now in an apparent attempt to be more secretive.
“Something wrong, Josh?” he asks innocently.
“Yes, there’s something wrong, you wanker!” Josh exclaims in a poorly executed stage whisper, “D’you mind telling me why the Harry Styles, international pop sensation, is currently standing in your shop surrounded by old, dusty books? And don’t tell me it’s because he loves old, dusty books!”
He’s poking his finger at Louis’ chest, emphasizing each syllable.
“Because literally no one except you and the bloody pensioners love old, dusty books!”
“Actually, I do love a good read,” Harry interjects, looking entirely too amused by the whole situation.
Josh blanches, looking faint, but doesn’t turn around. “I’m just… I’m just going to pretend you’re not there!” he calls back, voice wobbly.
“Harry Styles is purely a figment of my imagination,” he mutters, “My wonderful mate Louis is alone in his bookshop as usual, brooding, and I have come to pick him up and take him to a gig that Harry Styles, figment of my imagination, is certainly not attending.”
“Is it working?” Harry calls, openly laughing this time.
“Be nice,” Louis mouths over Josh’s shoulder, though he’s doing a poor job of hiding his amusement.
Harry just winks and bites his lip to keep from giggling anymore at the poor lad’s expense.
“Josh, meet my mate, Harry Styles,” Louis says, starting the introductions since he’s certainly not going to get another word out of the still-quivering boy beside him.
“Harry, this is Josh Devine. He works at a bakery just down the street, but he’s also an ace drummer.”
“Nice to meet you, mate,” Harry greets, smiling brightly and holding out his hand.
Josh stares for a moment too long before offering up his own limply.
It’s probably the most awkward handshake that Louis has ever witnessed in his life, and he’s really struggling not to burst out with one of his loud cackles at what would definitely be an inappropriate time.
“You know,” Harry says casually, having uncomfortably freed his hand from Josh’s noodle-like fingers, “I used to work in a bakery back home in Cheshire.”
Louis watches as Josh perks up immediately at the mention of their shared employment; if there’s anything that boy loves more than a snare and a kick drum, it’s baked goods.
“What would you say is the ideal temperature for baking scones?” Josh asks, and gee what an interesting conversation starter, Louis thinks with an exaggerated eye roll.
“Depends,” Harry offers, “What flavor are we talking?”
“Blueberry,” Josh supplies, raising an eyebrow.
“Two-twenty,” Harry answers coolly not a second later, “perfectly browned on top with a light egg wash glaze, and nice and fluffy in the middle.”
This is apparently an acceptable response as Josh’s blatant fangirling has simmered down to more of a deep begrudging respect.
Louis takes his phone out of his pocket, noting the time, and announces, “I hate to interrupt such a tantalizing topic of conversation, but I do believe it’s time to head out.”
He glances over then, noticing that Harry is still in his plain black t-shirt and without a coat to combat the evening chill.
“Wait a minute, popstar,” he says, ruffling the younger boy’s hair, “You can’t go out in October like that.”
Harry laughs. “Like any of your clothes would fit me?”
Louis pauses, not having thought of where a coat big enough for Harry would actually come from. That is, until he remembers a certain charcoal grey pea-coat still stuffed underneath his bed.
“Actually, I think I have something that might fit you,” he says, “Be right back!”
He bounds upstairs to his room, leans over to check beneath the box frame, and– yep! There it is, still folded neatly in the box it came in. Shaking it out into full form, he holds it up to his body, judges it to be a perfect length for the tall, gangly popstar, and skips back down the stairs with it tucked under his arm.
“Here we are!” he says brightly, holding it out.
Harry takes the coat, examining it for a moment, before declaring, “Louis, this is Saint Laurent.”
“Well, yes,” Louis replies, “but it’s from several seasons ago. Fall of ’09, I believe.”
“This is a sixteen-hundred dollar coat,” Harry says, still awestruck.
Louis rolls his eyes, “Talk to me again when you’re not wearing nine hundred dollars of Alexander McQueen’s finest leather on your feet.”
Harry’s mouth is hanging open, as Josh laughs and says, “Louis may not dress it, but he knows his designers. Back when he first really started raking it in, he dressed head to toe in Cucinelli and Lanvin.”
“And I looked like a proper pretentious twat doing it,” Louis comments, laughing at the memories of himself strutting through Camden like an expensively dressed exotic bird.
“Why’d you stop?” Harry asks, slipping on the coat.
Louis swallows, eyes flicking up and down the popstar’s body, which is now wrapped in a gorgeous expanse of charcoal grey wool. The coat fits him perfectly, just wide enough in the shoulders to encompass the vast expanse of his back, and long enough to cover his torso and hit snugly on his hipbones. Louis feels a twinge of remorse having originally purchased it as a birthday gift for Aiden years ago, back when they were… yeah. He shakes his head, clearing away the memory, and focuses back on Harry’s original question.
“After a while I realized, shockingly, that the folks coming in to my shop were interested in the books and not the bookkeeper,” Louis explains, “so instead of draping myself in Prada and diamonds, I started investing in the finest and rarest collections to attract more potential buyers.”
“Like that one you sold today,” Harry remarks.
“Yes, exactly,” he affirms, turning to address Josh, “Oh, hey! Finally sold the Russie album.”
Josh reaches out and claps him on the back. “Sick mate! Guess drinks are on you tonight, then?”
“As long as you provide the transportation,” he replies, grinning.
“That, I can do.”
&&
They arrive at the Half Moon at a quarter ‘til, Josh immediately running off to go warm up and rehearse a bit with Niall and Ed and their bassist, Sandy.
Louis and Harry find an available table near the back, the place already packed at the popular evening hour.
“Niall and Ed are incredible songwriters, mate, just you wait,” Louis says conversationally, as their drinks arrive.
Harry smiles, taking a long pull of his beer. “I’m genuinely excited to hear them play.”
“I am too,” Louis agrees, pausing to sip his own drink, “I don’t get to hear the full band very often; usually it’s just Niall loitering in my shop and serenading me. He’s sick with a guitar.”
“In year ten, I started this band with a few of my mates from school,” Harry says, eyes twinkling as if recalling some humorous memory, “Played a few gigs around town, even did the formal once.”
Louis blinks in surprise, always having regarded Harry as the solo act he is. “Were you any good?”
The younger boy grins, taking another drink and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Nah, we were shit,” he replies, with a laugh, “Called ourselves ‘White Eskimo’ trying to sound proper indie ‘nd all that.”
“I was in a band too,” Louis says offhandedly, laughing at the look of surprise that appears on Harry’s face.
“You play?”
“Sing,” Louis corrects, cringing at some of his own bad memories, “Though I do play a bit of piano, as it were.”
“I’m going to have to hear you at some point,” Harry demands, and Louis just shakes his head, laughing.
“Wouldn’t want to put you through that, love,” he says, winking, “I said I sing, didn’t say well.”
“I can tell you’d be good,” Harry replies earnestly, continuing his explanation upon seeing the question in Louis’ eyes, “No, really. There’s just something about a person’s voice, and yours is–”
Harry cuts himself off, looking bashful.
“It’s?” Louis prompts, still curious.
“Nice,” Harry replies quickly, “It’s… it’s nice, that’s all.”
The curly-haired boy’s cheeks are red, and he won’t make eye contact, choosing instead to look around the pub with clearly feigned interest.
Odd.
“I almost auditioned for the X-Factor one year,” Louis comments, in an effort to change the subject, though he sticks within the music realm as it apparently interests both of them.
Harry’s head whips back around. “Really?” he blurts.
“Yeah, a couple years back,” Louis explains, chuckling nervously, “I was eighteen and a little too full of myself after having played the lead role in the school musical the previous year. I actually met Niall while I was waiting in line and he asked to sing me a few bars of his audition because he was so nervous, poor thing.”
“What kept you?” Harry asks.
“I heard Niall’s voice and I chickened out right then and there,” Louis replies, and this time Harry laughs as well, “I gave him my number, told him to text me when he got famous, and hopped right out of line.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t win?”
“Nah, got cut right before the judges’ houses.”
Harry hums sympathetically, tracing his finger around the rim of his glass.
“It’s nice that you kept in touch, though,” he says, finally, looking back up to meet Louis’ eyes.
Louis laughs again, and the younger boy frowns in confusion.
“We didn’t really,” Louis explains, glancing up onstage to where Niall and Ed have begun tuning their guitars, “Didn’t hear from the lad until two years later when I randomly got a text on the startup day of uni classes that said something like ‘Oi it’s Niall from the X Factor! Remember me? Don’t mean to be creepy but I’m pretty sure I just saw you as I pulled up!’ Turns out he was staying in my building.”
“So you stayed close even after you graduated?” Harry asks, and it’s kind of bizarre how genuinely interested in Louis’ life he is.
Harry leans back in his chair, the glow of the overhead lighting hitting him just right and reminding Louis of earlier in the day when the younger boy had stepped out of his shop and into the sunlight looking just as radiant as he does now.
Louis swallows.
Harry looks good– not that he doesn’t usually, because he does, he really really does– but there’s something about this particular moment… with the form-fitting lines of his black t-shirt tracing his arms and that endless torso, the collar dipping down to reveal a pair of inked birds in flight; his dark skinny jeans stretched over his thighs, long thin legs extending on beneath the table; muscular arms crossed over his chest, angular jawbone, red lips pursed in a pensive frown, eyes sparkling and reflecting the glow from the stage…
“Louis?” Harry asks, voice bringing his attention back to the conversation, and crap that’s the second time today that Louis’ zoned out thinking about the apparent Greek god that is Harry Styles.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Louis replies, trying to recall Harry’s question, “I stayed at the same university for my master’s degree and Niall was obviously still doing his first so.”
Harry nods along as he speaks, keeping attentive eye contact. “And what were your majors?”
“English and drama,” Louis answers, “Those are mine, obviously. Niall dabbled a bit in sound engineering, but he switched to guitar performance once he figured out he wanted to make his own music instead of produce other people’s for them.”
Harry starts to ask another question when he’s cut off by the lights dimming fully and Niall’s voice filling the crowded pub. They both turn their attention to where the blonde Irishman is drawling onstage, strumming a few chords as he introduces the band.
“The ginger one on the left is Ed,” Louis explains, leaning over to whisper in Harry’s ear.
Harry nods distractedly, already enraptured with the commotion onstage, and shushes him with a quick wave of his hand.
“Evening Putney,” Niall’s saying, grinning widely, “I’m Niall and we’re–”
He pauses, looking back at the rest of the band, “Er, what are we tonight fellas?”
“Cactus Casino,” Ed mouths, and Niall lets out one of his infamous cackles.
Turning back to the mic, he continues, “Right, so I’m Niall, that’s Ed, Sandy on bass, and our drummer Josh behind me, and tonight we’re Cactus Casino!”
The audience cheers loudly, already under the spell of Niall’s brash Irish charm.
They abruptly launch into an original song featuring Niall and Ed’s heavenly harmonies, followed by a particular rousing cover of Sleeper Agent’s Get Burned which has Niall whipping out his electric, Josh sweating up a storm pounding his drum set, and the audience singing along to the “off and on” bit with incredible enthusiasm.
By the end of their set, Harry is grinning widely and leaning over to shout “They’re really good!” above the music.
Niall goes back up to the microphone, presumably to thank the audience for being so enthusiastic, when a harried-looking man in all black rushes up onstage and whispers in his ear.
“Well,” Niall says, laughing when the crowd cheers, “Alright you guys, calm down. So I’ve just been informed that the band after us is running a bit late, and it looks like we’ve got time for one more song!”
The crowd’s cheering intensifies at his announcement and Niall is practically beaming, he’s so pleased by their reaction. Louis feels himself grinning as well watching it all happen. He’s so, so proud of his best mate it’s kind of ridiculous.
“We weren’t sure if we were going to get to play this one,” Niall continues, switching back to his acoustic and adjusting the strap, “but we had a little encore prepared just in case.”
He nods at Josh, who drags his cajón out from behind his drum set, moves it to the front of the stage, and plops down on top, executing a few practice taps with his palms.
Ed takes over as Niall quickly retunes his guitar, saying, “This is a popular hit right now, so we’d love it if you all sang along. Oh, and no groaning please! Everybody loves a little top forty!”
Niall finishes up, strumming once, and nodding at Ed and Sandy, then Josh behind him.
As soon as the guitar intro begins, Louis is biting his sleeve to muffle his laughter. He chances a glance at Harry across from him and grins wildly at the popstar’s face which is equally as amused as it is mortified.
“The story of my life,” Niall croons, “I take her home!”
He pauses and points at the crowd of drunken pub-goers, all of whom shout the lyrics back at him just as fervently, if a little bit slurred.
“Love this one!” Louis shouts, smiling dopily at Harry who’s clearly fighting an inner battle with himself over joining in. “C’mon, Haz! Sing along! I know you know the words!”
Harry rolls his eyes, fighting a smile, but passionately belts out a few bars just to humor him.
Louis laughs jubilantly, feeling the corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “That’s the spirit!”
Up onstage, Niall puts a hand across his brow, eyes roaming the crowd. His face lights up when he spots Louis at his table near the back, and Louis waves back excitedly, flashing him a massive double thumbs up. Either Niall doesn’t notice Harry or he isn’t fazed by the popstar’s presence as he continues through the final chorus with a huge grin plastered on his reddened, sweat-drenched mug.
“The story of my life,” Ed finishes loudly, still effortlessly in tune amidst the crowd’s cheering.
Niall thanks the crowd on behalf of ‘Cactus Casino’ once more and he and the band pack up quickly, clearing out for the next gig (some big name electronic group) that has finally arrived.
Louis downs the rest of his pint as Harry stands up and stretches, t-shirt pulling up to reveal the bottom half of his butterfly tattoo and a sliver of his impressively toned stomach. Louis looks back down, suddenly wishing for another alcoholic beverage to erase that particular image from his brain.
“C’mon, I’ll introduce you,” Louis suggests, standing up as well and guiding Harry toward where the lads are camped out, packing up their instruments and equipment.
“Absolutely sick gig!” he calls out as they approach.
Niall’s head shoots up at the familiar voice and he’s grinning widely.
“Lou, mate! Glad you could make it,” he says loudly (well, louder than normal at least), clearly still high off of his performance adrenaline rush, “Now where’s this plus-one you were telling me abo–”
He cuts off abruptly, having noticed Harry standing a bit shyly to Louis’ left.
“Well fuck me up the arse, Harry Styles,” he blurts, though he doesn’t seem as nonplussed as Josh had been earlier, “Pleasure to meet ya mate.”
He holds out his hand and the two shake in greeting; Harry compliments the band’s set sincerely and effusively, earning a bright scarlet blush from the blonde Irishman.
Upon returning from the bar with celebratory drinks in hand, Ed and Sandy both look startled to see the popstar interacting with their lead singer, though they offer up their hands politely nonetheless.
Harry and Ed end up in some deep, tantalizing conversation about songwriting technique and performance space acoustics, and Louis quietly excuses himself to the loo and slips away.
He’s washing his hands and inspecting his flushed face in the mirror, when the door swings open and Niall walks in.
“Nice guy, Harry Styles,” Niall says offhandedly, moving to stand at the sink next to him and wash a smear of grease off his palm, “Wasn’t expecting that.”
“Yeah, he’s– nice,” Louis agrees cautiously.
Niall sighs, toweling his hands off and looking up at Louis seriously.
“I hate to have this conversation with you, mate,” he starts, biting his lip, “but just be careful, yeah? I don’t want this to be another Aiden thing.”
Louis starts to protest but Niall hushes him, saying, “You like to pretend you’re immune to all this, but I’ve seen ya, Lou. You fall so easily, and I’m not… I’m not saying that Harry’s a bad guy… it’s just–”
“I’m not in love with him or anything, Ni,” Louis interrupts, successfully this time, “I just met him this morning.”
“Maybe not yet, mate,” Niall agrees, “but I can tell ya right now that ye will be. You’ve got that look about ye. All starry-eyed and moony.”
“Niall, you can’t use two celestial descriptions in one sentence,” Louis criticizes evasively.
“Why not?” Niall protests, “Shakespeare did it. You are the moon and Harry is the sun and what not.”
Louis bites back a laugh, drying his hands, and decides to indulge him, “Touché, love, but I do recall an east being in there somewhere?”
“What does the east have to do with anything?” Niall asks, holding the door open for him as they return to the bar together.
“Never mind,” Louis says, grinning as Harry meets his eyes from across the pub.
“See,” Niall grumbles, “moony.”
Louis elbows Niall and hisses a loud “shh!” ignoring the Irishman’s even louder protests.
Arriving at the bar, he quickly hops up onto the barstool next to the one the popstar is currently occupying.
“Hello beautiful,” he greets cheekily, feeling a little braver with some alcohol coursing through his veins.
“Hello to you, too,” Harry replies, swiveling on his barstool to face him.
What looks like a half-empty vodka and coke is sitting in front of him, cherry stem hanging off the edge precariously. His lips are red enough to match and he’s smiling widely, dimples deep and endearing.
“Excellent Jonas Brothers reference, by the way,” he continues, giggling.
“Wasn’t a reference,” Louis replies with a loud snort, “but it’s lovely to know that you were a fan.”
Harry leans forward and starts to hum the first few bars of the old ballad, apparently unashamed.
“Someone’s reached their limit,” Louis remarks, sliding the drink away from the younger lad, though Harry continues to reach for it with toddler-like grabby hands.
“Ed and I are gonna write some songs together!” Harry says excitedly, words slurring just slightly, “Ed also bought me, like, a lot of shots.”
“That’s lovely, dear,” Louis replies, humoring him, “but how does your nice, warm, cozy flat sound?”
“Mmm, don’t got a flat,” Harry mumbles, “’m homeless.”
“Oh shut up,” Louis says, rolling his eyes, “Where do you live?”
“Kensington,” the younger boy replies after a moment, and Louis really shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. Harry hiccups, but carries on, “’ve a little brick house and it’s… white. It’s white!”
“A white house in Kensington… informative,” Louis catalogues, sighing, “What about an address?”
Harry spews off a couple of numbers followed by a street name that Louis’ pretty sure is in that area, so he shrugs and decides to go with it. If they somehow end up somewhere sketchy at this time of night (say south of Tower Bridge, which has happened to him before), he’ll just text Zayn for Harry’s actual address and get them both home eventually.
He jumps down off of his stool, reaching out a hand to steady Harry as he stands up as well. The two of them make their way over to where Niall and Ed are currently entertaining a large group of drunken and very handsy women, probably with one of their many (highly-embellished) road trip stories. Louis clasps a hand on Niall’s back and says a loud goodbye, motioning at Harry who’s smiling brightly and wobbling a bit on his feet.
Niall nods once, acknowledging his departure, though his eyes still flicker with concern.
Louis sighs and spins Harry around, leading him out the door. They immediately run into a gaggle of scantily clad uni-aged girls who shriek when they notice a celebrity among them.
“Can we get a picture please? Pleaseeee?” the only one of them not in tears asks hopefully.
“Erm… just one with all of you, yeah?” Louis answers, since Harry is clearly in no state to do so for himself.
The girls shriek again and Louis winces. The first girl shoves her phone into his hand and pushes him aside as the five of them crowd around Harry, sticking their chests out and pouting their lips. Harry appears absolutely thrilled by all the attention and immediately assumes a sassy hands-on-the-hips, pursed-lip pose of his own. Louis fights a laugh as he snaps the photo, handing the phone back to its owner.
“Thanks so much!” they chorus, before stumbling back down the pavement in their too-high heels.
“Bye!” Harry shouts, and Louis rolls his eyes, pulling him into their waiting cab.
&&
Thankfully, when the cab stops, they are in front of a large white Victorian in Kensington which Louis can only hope is Harry’s actual home.
The “hey, my house!” Harry cries as Louis helps him out of the car confirms it not a second later.
“Yes, your house,” he replies, laughing.
He almost trips on the curb with Harry’s octopus arms wrapped so tightly around him. They approach the gated entryway slowly but surely, and Louis feels his heart drop as he notices the little digital passkey attached to the front.
“Harry,” he says a little breathlessly, “your gate has a code.”
“Yup!” Harry confirms happily.
Louis blows hot air from between his lips. “Harry, what is the code?”
Harry just laughs, reaching out and typing it in with heavy, clumsy fingers. Louis sighs in relief, pushing it open and shutting it behind them. He gets Harry through the front door and finally inside, his mouth immediately dropping open at the insanely posh interior.
“Holy shit, did you decorate all this?” he asks, shocked.
“No,” Harry mumbles, “came this way. Don’t spend a lot of time here ‘cause s’lonely.”
Louis blinks, taking in the clinically white, streamlined furnishings.
“It is a bit hospital meets IKEA,” he relents, being careful not to trod on a particularly plush rug that probably costs three times as much as the Russie collection he sold today.
“Bedroom’s upstairs,” the younger boy says, lips brushing against his neck.
Louis swallows at the implications of that statement, reminds himself that Harry is piss drunk and also very, very not gay, and moves to help the popstar climb the stairs.
Harry’s bedroom is as white as the rest of his home, the king-size bed freshly made and unslept in.
Louis releases his grip on the popstar and watches as Harry immediately flops down atop the comforter still fully clothed, McQueen boots and all. He smiles softly and moves to take off the younger boy’s shoes, laughing when Harry mutters his protests, burying deeper into his pile of pillows and swatting Louis’ hands away.
“Alright, popstar,” Louis complies, chuckling.
He ruffles Harry’s curls, earning another grumpy moan, and turns off the light as he leaves, plodding back down the stairs.
What a day, he thinks, running a hand through his ruffled fringe and tugging open the front door.
He’s certainly not expecting to be greeted by flashbulbs and at least thirty men camped just outside the gate yelling questions at him.
“Uh, no comment?” he offers as he pushes his way through them and tries to hail a taxi.
The paparazzi continue to swarm and he winces as the flashing cameras leave spots in his vision. Finally a cab pulls up and he throws himself in, letting out a loud sigh of relief as he shakily rattles off his address.
“Another one of Harry Styles’ late night conquests, eh?” the cabbie asks, glancing at him through the rearview mirror, “Can’t say I’m surprised he’s diversified his tastes a bit.”
“Excuse me?” Louis snaps, brain still swimming from the press’ sudden onslaught.
The cabbie shrugs. “That ‘ouse is legendary, mate. Me ‘n me buddies always circle ‘round it this time a’night. Usually pick up a twiggy blonde bird or summat but,” he pauses, licking his lips, “I can see the appeal a’you.”
“I’m going to ask you once very nicely to shut up and take me home,” Louis says, voice hard, “Second time, I pull the mace out of my pocket and duck out of this vehicle before it crashes into the nearest light pole with you incapacitated at the wheel.”
“Hey, relax mate,” the cabbie says quickly, “I’m just taking the piss out a’ya. Me ‘n the lads all know these visits are just for appearances.”
“What do you mean?” Louis asks, suddenly curious.
“You know, the usual Sun kinda stuff?” the cabbie explains, “Girl goes in, comes out five minutes later, magazines make it seem like a couple a’ hours, or they suddenly got some source claimin’ they saw a goodnight kiss when there wasn’t nuffin a’tall. You see a lot when you’re a cabbie, celebrities no exception.”
Louis just hums thoughtfully at this new information. So Harry really wasn’t joking when he said it was all PR. Bloody awful, manipulative PR, but apparently effective nonetheless. Louis closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the window glass, suddenly knackered.
He blinks awake as the cab jerks to a halt, shoves some notes at the chatty cabbie, and stumbles into the shop with a loud yawn. He locks the door behind him and climbs up the stairs to his bedroom, quickly shucking off his shoes and his trousers and swan-diving into bed with a groan.
He closes his eyes, drifting off to an image of Harry draped across his shoulders limply, those cherry red lips pressed against his pulse point, sucking and biting until he’s marked and owned.
Mine, mine, mine.
&&
Louis jerks awake to the sensation of his mobile vibrating repeatedly against his thigh. He digs it out of his pocket and mumbles a sleepy hello.
“Louis!” Liam’s voice shrieks through the line, much too loud for an early Tuesday morning, “Louis, you’ve got to see–”
“Yeah, yeah, hold on a minute, Li,” he mutters, draping his arm over the side of the bed and fishing around for his charger. He’s honestly surprised that his phone has stayed alive this long, though granted he didn’t use it very much last night. His fingers tangle around the chord and he plugs it in, watching the screen light up in thanks.
“Okay, go.”
“Louis, you’re all over the gossip rags this morning!” Liam yells, “And online too!”
“What are you on about?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.
“You got papped outside of Harry’s house last night and the media have painted it out like you’re secret lovers or something!”
“Alright, first of all, that’s ridiculous,” Louis remarks tiredly, still unhappy about having been woken up so early in the morning, “Next.”
“Louis, you can’t ignore this!” Liam cries, “What about Jaymi?”
“Who’s Jaymi?” he asks, interrupting again as Liam starts on another hysterical reply, “You know what, never mind, I don’t care.”
He yawns loudly, tucking himself back under the covers. “Next time you decide to read me the headlines, could you maybe do it a bit later in the day?”
“Louis!” Liam practically screeches, “I’m pretty sure Jaymi, your boyfriend, will want to be assured that you’re not cheating on him with Harry Styles! Harry Styles, as in, high profile popstar Harry Styles, whose house is constantly surrounded by paparazzi; a fact that you stupidly chose to ignore!”
Oh. Oh. That Jaymi.
“Jaymi’s not my boyfriend, Li,” Louis replies blearily, “Made that up so it wouldn’t look like we were spying on you at lunch.”
“If it weren’t only four in the morning, I’d come over there and kick your… your arse,” Liam says shortly, in the closest approximation to a threat he can manage.
“Yeah, great,” Louis agrees to… to something, he can’t really remember… “Hey, listen. Don’t tell Zayn, alright? We weren’t spying. I mean we were, but don’t… don’t tell him?”
“The phone is on speaker, you git,” a familiar disembodied voice replies.
“Is that Zayn?” Louis asks, suddenly interested, “Four in the morning and Zayn’s with you… Something tells me you got laid, Liam Payne.”
There’s a prolonged silence.
“I’m hanging up. You’re both disgusting,” Louis grumbles, before tapping end and tossing his phone over the edge of the bed. It lands on the carpet with a satisfying thud, and he buries himself back into his little nest of blankets with a loud sigh.
&&
Not even an hour later (or at least what seems like it) and he’s awoken again by his phone’s loud vibrations.
“Liam, I swear to god,” he hisses into the receiver.
“Um, not Liam?” a familiar, husky voice says softly in reply.
Louis jerks up, suddenly wide awake. “Oh, Harry, hi!” he says, much more cheerily, “I’m sorry for that! It’s just Liam called me this morning at some ungodly hour shrieking about pap photos or something as equally inconsequential; I don’t really remember.”
“Yeah,” Harry replies, his voice sounding odd and a bit strained, “Listen, I know you’re probably busy today but–”
“Not busy at all actually,” Louis interrupts, “I’ve got a couple of employees coming in to do the weekly inventory, so I’m free all this morning.”
“Great,” Harry says weakly, and yeah… something’s definitely up. “Do you think you could swing by this address around ten? Shouldn’t take but an hour or so.”
Harry rattles off an address which he quickly pens down, and Louis can’t help but note that the strange, pleading tone to the popstar’s voice has intensified.
“Sure, yeah,” he replies, complacently, “I’ve got nothing on.”
“Okay, well, see you then,” Harry says, hanging up almost immediately.
Louis rubs his eyes, still a bit sleepy and definitely more confused than ever. He leans over to peer at the clock, noting the time (eight-thirty), and quickly leaps out of bed to start his morning routine.
As the steam from his waiting shower slowly fogs up the bathroom, Louis can’t help but wonder what all the fuss is about.
&&
By 9:55, Louis’ waiting in a spacious reception area, nervously glancing around and tugging on his sleeves.
The cab had rolled up to a large complex of corporate office buildings, the doorman checking his name off a list and buzzing down for an expressionless, no-nonsense assistant who guided him up to the twenty-third floor and promptly left him in a waiting room with absolutely no instruction.
Just as he’s considering sinking low enough as to peruse the new issue of Cosmo sitting on the glass coffee table, a door to his left swings open and a displeased looking woman in a jet black pantsuit and sky-high Louboutins motions him into her office.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Tomlinson,” she says, sitting down behind her desk and gesturing for him to take a seat as well.
“My name is Margaret Lancaster and I’m the head of Harry Styles’ public relations team.”
She doesn’t smile, her lips squished in a thin, straight line. They’re painted an angry artificial red, Louis notices, like she’s trying to appear somehow more intimidating than she already is. She looks to be in her mid-thirties, though the poorly-concealed bags under her eyes age her even further. Her hair is jet black, the same color as her impeccably tailored suit, and cut into a severe angular bob that frames her pointed jawline with ferocity. Everything about her is clean-cut, serious, and put-together, and he’s sure if he looked hard enough, he would find not even a single eyebrow hair out of place.
“It’s nice to meet you as well, Ms. Lancaster,” Louis says, after a moment, feeling the need to choose his words carefully.
“Margaret, please,” she corrects demurely, though her eyes retain their predatory gleam.
He nods but doesn’t reply, finding it more comfortable to just let the woman do all the talking.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve brought you in today,” she states bluntly, reaching into a side drawer and pulling out a stack of photos. She slides the pile toward him, one perfectly trimmed-and-filled eyebrow raised in question.
Louis flicks through the photos disinterestedly. They’re all blurry shots of him and Harry last night; a few capture the popstar leaning on him as he guided him into his home, but most of them are of Louis’ solo exit a few minutes later.
He sighs, sliding them back across the desk.
“Contact my lawyer if you want to work out some kind of deal,” he says, shortly, “I’m in no mood to discuss this.”
Margaret looks surprised, her bright red lips forming the tiniest of ‘o’ shapes before she quickly schools her features back in to place.
“Mr. Tomlinson, I’m not sure you understand?” she asks, eyebrows still furrowed slightly in confusion.
“Oh but I think I do,” Louis replies sharply, sighing again, “There’ve been gay rumors about your client and you’re here to offer me money not to be seen with him again, or maybe just to issue a nice, concise statement denying everything.”
Margaret sits back in her chair, arms crossed, appraising.
“I’m sure some silly story’s appeared in the Daily Mail or The Sun, probably both,” he continues, leaning back in his chair as well, but not breaking eye contact, “It’s all about us having lunch yesterday and then a late night out at a pub in Putney, me taking him home and not leaving until a few hours later, sources say we were flirty and handsy, practically smitten with each other.”
Louis watches the PR’s face as he speaks, notes the subtle twitch of her lip each time he gets something right.
“The sources are a, the washed-up cab driver who drove me home last night, probably said something about me having sex-hair, the heathen; and b, a buxom blonde hostess named Emily who seated us at that Indian restaurant off Regent Street. ‘They confirmed it was a date’ she was quoted saying. Now isn’t that romantic?”
“Romantic, certainly,” Margaret replies coolly, “but is it true?”
“Of course not,” Louis replies, rolling his eyes, “It was all taken completely out of context, as I’ve heard most articles about your client are. Though, I must say, you do seem to take immense pleasure in engineering them that way.”
The dark-haired woman hums thoughtfully for a moment, choosing not to confirm or dispute his assertion.
“And how do you have such experience with public relations, Mr. Tomlinson?” she asks, betraying her interest.
“I write under a pseudonym,” he says carefully, “I do my own PR, decide how I’d like to appear to my target audience, and my publishing agent handles everything else.”
“May I ask what that name is?”
“No, you may not,” he replies icily, though the woman doesn’t appear particular bothered by his impatient attitude.
“Now, am I free to go,” he implores tiredly, “or do you yet require more of my time?”
Margaret sighs, examining her manicure for a moment before answering.
“I’m afraid this is all standard protocol, Mr. Tomlinson,” she explains, sliding a few papers his way, “for friends of my client or otherwise. I just need to know, point blank, if you’re romantically interested in Mr. Styles, and if, at any point, you plan to pursue a romantic relationship with him.”
“No, and no,” Louis replies smoothly, then immediately wonders why it feels like such a heavy lie. He shakes his head to clear those thoughts away and turns his attention instead to the papers placed before him.
“This is a simple nondisclosure agreement,” Margaret explains, presumptuously handing him a pen, “You don’t speak to the press about my client, and he won’t speak to the press about you. All your privacy rights are listed and guaranteed there at the bottom.”
Louis looks down, noting Harry’s wide scrawl already printed next to the ‘x’ on the top line.
“I just met your client a day ago,” he remarks casually, signing and dating the agreement with a practiced flourish, “I hardly think that’s grounds for such precaution?”
Margaret blinks, lip twitching, and it’s immediately apparent to him that she knows she’s been caught.
“My client,” she explains carefully, “is quite… er… taken with you, Mr. Tomlinson. That is, this little meeting would’ve had to happen eventually, and my team and I agreed that it would be better dealt with sooner rather than later.”
“Right,” Louis agrees, confused by her cryptic reply but not willing to show it.
He slides the papers back her way and she examines them wordlessly for a moment.
“That’ll be all,” she says dismissively, tucking the signed agreement back into her desk’s file drawer, “I’ll have Flor escort you out.”
Louis can only assume that Flor refers to the expressionless blonde assistant who had led him in, though he wouldn’t be surprised if Ms. Margaret Lancaster had an entire army of pretty robot-like slaves doing her evil bidding.
“Great, thanks,” he replies quickly, standing up to leave.
Just as he’s reaching to push the office door open, Margaret’s voice rings out once more, clear and sharp. “It was lovely chatting with you, Mr. Sodi.”
Louis freezes with a hand on the door, turning back around slowly to see the dark-haired woman leaning forward languidly, elbows propped on the dark mahogany desktop. She’s smiling back at him as predatorily as ever; a gaunt, high-fashion hyena, all white sparkling teeth and hungry black eyes.
“I’m a big fan.”
If she’s expecting him to react, he’s happy to disappoint her.
“Names are such an interesting part of our identity. Wouldn’t you say, Ms. Lancaster?” he offers casually, hand still gripping the door handle tightly.
“Margaret, of Greek origin, meaning pearl, or ‘one of wisdom’. Your parents were a tad too optimistic, don’t you think? To have produced a soul as black as yours?”
He grins back at her saccharinely, “Pity.”
“Your flowery, poetic language doesn’t fool me, Louis,” she replies, harsh and informal, “I know more about you than you’d like, and that scares you, doesn’t it? That someone, or let’s say the entire world, could find out so very easily? With a simple phone call on my behalf?”
“I’d hate for you to appear a fool,” he replies scathingly, “Had to give you something to pretend to blackmail me with.”
“Oh please, this isn’t blackmail, dear,” Margaret giggles, “I’m not that childish. All I’m asking is that you don’t damage my client’s reputation any further, else I have to damage yours.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about me,” he answers swiftly, “From what I hear, you’ve already ruined Harry’s reputation enough for the both of us.”
And with that, he spins quickly on his heels and walks out the door.
&&
The rest of the week passes without further incident.
It also passes without further contact from Harry, but Louis is totally not dwelling on that at all.
If Harry doesn’t want to be his friend, it’s totally fine. In fact, it’s better than fine; it’ll probably complicate his life way less. No more paparazzi or watching Harry flirt with waitresses or clingy octopus arms, it’s fine. He’s fine. Plus, he already has three awesome best mates, anyhow. He doesn’t need another one, much less some high-maintenance celebrity who, over the course of one day, completely endeared himself to him and turned Louis into a sad, rejected loser who checks his phone every five seconds for a text that is apparently never arriving.
Nope. He doesn’t care about Harry at all (which is precisely why he’s currently sitting at his desk, biro in hand, penning a super vague, not-about-any-popstar-in-particular poem in his moleskine featuring lines like ‘It’s Christmas year ‘round with your red lips and green eyes’ and ‘Your limbs are miles long, a road untraveled, and yet somehow they fit around me). Normal friendship-y, totally-not-pining writing, you know?
He’s tapping the pen against his bottom lip thoughtfully, contemplating a non-creepy way to include ‘I close my eyes and see those two birds in flight, black inked wings cutting across the alabaster expanses of your pectoral plane...” when that little bell jingles brightly, announcing his next visitor.
“Ah, there’s the writer,” a familiar voice calls, and Louis glances up to see one brooding-as-ever Zayn Malik, looking appetizing as usual in tight jeans and black leather.
“Told you he’d be writing,” a second (even more familiar) voice affirms, “He does that when he’s moping.”
“Zayn, Liam,” Louis greets, quickly closing his moleskine and sliding it safely into his back pocket.
He stands up, skirting around the edge of the desk to meet them in the foray.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, exaggeratedly formal, and throwing in a nice curtsy for good measure.
“You’ve been MIA for almost week, Lou,” Liam castigates in his classic disappointed teacher voice.
“And we have a pretty good idea why,” Zayn continues, mimicking Liam’s furrowed brow.
Louis looks between them, notes the way Zayn’s arm has made its way down Liam’s lower back, his fingers splayed across the teacher’s hip.
“Isn’t this sweet?” he remarks, “Finishing each other’s sentences already? Proper couple you are.”
Zayn rolls his eyes and tugs Liam closer until they’re attached from neck to knee, practically morphed into one awful but incredibly attractive love monster or something. Louis channels his inner maturity and promptly pretends to gag up his breakfast all over the floor.
“Listen, Harry really likes you and he wants to hang out with you again, really,” Liam starts, ignoring Louis’ dramatic display of disgust.
“But he’s just been too stupidly worried about you hating him or being scared off or something after his PR team forced him to drag you into that meeting,” Zayn finishes.
“Wait, you know about that?” Louis asks, surprised.
“Well yeah,” Zayn replies, like it should’ve been obvious, “You should’ve seen poor Haz when he showed up at the studio that afternoon; looked like someone’d just killed his puppy or something.”
“God, I didn’t know he was so torn up about it,” Louis remarks, “It wasn’t that bad really. I just said a few choice words to that witch of woman, Margaret Lancaster, and she said a few back… I signed a nondisclosure agreement and slammed the door. Lovely morning overall, I’d say.”
Zayn’s gaping at him, eyes practically bugging out of his head. “They had you speak to Margaret Lancaster?”
“Yes, Margaret, like I said,” Louis confirms, a bit confused by the dark-haired boy’s reaction, “Head of Harry’s PR team? Nasty temperament, awful haircut, but very nice taste in suits?”
“Louis, please tell me you were joking about the choice words being exchanged,” Zayn pleads, looking like he might have an aneurysm at any moment
“No, I’m afraid not,” he replies easily, “She tried to blackmail me, I told her I wasn’t going to be bought or intimidated by her threats, and then I defined her name for her, very sweetly I might add.”
“You defined her name?” Zayn asks wearily, running his free hand through his artfully-sculpted quiff.
“Margaret, of Greek origin, meaning pearl, or ‘one of wisdom,” Louis explains, “Er… then I might’ve said that her parents must’ve been so disappointed to find out how black and evil her soul was after giving her such a lovely name.”
Zayn looks like he might faint. “Louis, Margaret Lancaster isn’t just the head of Harry’s PR team; she’s president of the entire management company.”
Louis shrugs, and Zayn continues, “Everyone at the record label refers to her as ‘The Dragon Lady’. She controls every artist that we work with and dozens of artists at other labels too. The company myth is that no one ever goes to visit ‘The Dragon Lady’ and comes back with their job intact.”
“Yes, well, I don’t recommend scheduling an appointment with her anytime soon,” Louis replies, “Totally lives up to the whole ‘Dragon Lady’ moniker, scary nails and teeth and everything. Kept smiling at me like she wanted to skin me alive and roast me over a fire for dinner.”
Liam winces and Zayn looks terrified out of his mind.
“They sent you to Margaret Lancaster,” Zayn mutters, shaking his head, “No wonder Harry thought you’d never want to speak to him again.”
Louis just rolls his eyes. “He has my number, apparently, since he called me Tuesday morning. He could’ve texted me, instead of worrying himself silly for five days straight.”
“Zayn’s having a little get together at his place tonight,” Liam says excitedly, changing the subject, “We came to invite you.”
“Harry will be there,” Zayn adds, wiggling his eyebrows enticingly, “I’m sure he’d love to see you.”
“Let me just give up my profession, then,” Louis replies, gesturing to the piles of not-yet-shelved books littering his desk and the floor around him, “That way I can fully dedicate my life to pleasing popstars.”
“C’mon Lou,” Liam says disapprovingly, “It’s a Saturday night, I know you’ve got nothing on, and Harry’s honestly been just as miserable as you have.”
“I’m not miserable!” Louis protests.
“Are you sure?” Liam asks doubtfully, raising a single judgmental eyebrow, “Let me see what you’ve written lately then.”
“Okay, so maybe I’m a teensy bit miserable,” Louis says quickly, hand flying to his back pocket to protect his precious moleskine from Liam’s outstretched hands, “but that has nothing to do with Henry Smiles, or whatever his name is.”
“Oh come off it, Louis,” Zayn complains, “Are you coming tonight or not?”
Louis takes one look at Liam’s expectant, hopeful smile, and sighs loudly. “Fine, yeah. I’ll be there.”
Liam does a ridiculous little leap of excitement, and it’s kind of unfair really, Louis thinks, that a grown man can somehow look so adorable. Zayn apparently shares his sentiments as he’s gazing at the bouncing schoolteacher with a level of fondness that’s as equally as immeasurably sweet as it is nauseating.
“It’s Halloween, by the way, in case you forgot,” Liam continues excitedly, as Zayn ushers him quickly toward the door, “Costumes are required! Bring alcohol! See you then!”
“Wait, I definitely didn’t agree to–” Louis starts, but the jingle of the bell interrupts him, signaling the two lovebirds’ hasty departure.
He sighs again, glaring at the waiting stacks all around him. Just as he’s deciding what to do, his mobile vibrates loudly on his desk. He turns around and picks it up, tapping to open an awaiting message from Niall.
glad ur coming 2nite mate!!
He furrows his brow, typing back quickly:
was everyone in on this plan??
yeah, basically is Niall’s reply a moment later. His phone buzzes again, signaling a second message.
listen, i need to go costume shopping! come with?
Louis makes a face, but can’t deny that he’s also short on acceptably cool and/or humorous Halloween attire.
fine. are you driving?
nah, can’t 2day! poor mully’s ill nd in the shop.
aww poor mully :( btw i still cannot believe that you named your new car after your hometown.
proud of good ol’ mullingar mate! ireland’s in me blood :))
no one can tell that you’re irish Ni. try harder.
haha shut it lou. i’m walking over rn and we can catch a cab. see ya in five for the best costume shopping trip of ur life!!!
yeah… hooray.
Louis sends the last text and pockets his phone, running upstairs to grab his wallet before Niall arrives. He tries to ignore the little niggling sense of excitement in the recesses of his brain that keeps getting stronger and stronger as he thinks about seeing Harry again. He’s being silly and he knows it. Harry probably wants nothing more to do with him and Zayn and Liam are just lying in order to get him to be social for a night. Harry’s probably not even going to be there, he reasons, no need to get his hopes up over something so trivial.
And yet, he can’t ignore the buzz in his veins, his pulse thrumming quick and insistent at the ghost-like sensation of lips pressed to the hollow of his throat…
&&
Louis feels silly.
He feels incredibly silly, and also strangely… hot.
Niall is laughing hysterically, tears pricking his eyes, as he chokes out, “You’ve got to buy that, Tommo. I’m not letting you leave without it.”
“Niall, I’m dressed as a woman,” Louis deadpans.
“I know!” Niall shrieks, and his manic cackling intensifies, “but you’re a really, really fit woman, I swear.”
“No other man at this party will be dressed as a woman,” Louis argues, tugging at the frilly tutu and leotard ensemble that admittedly makes his bum look pretty damn fantastic, “I think I’m going to go with the sexy policeman getup with the blue booty shorts I tried on earlier.”
They also make his bum look good, just in less of a pink frilly feminine way.
“That’s–” Niall starts, wiping away a stray tear, “That’s probably a safer choice.”
“Get a picture for posterity though,” Louis requests, twirling around gracefully and cringing as the leotard begins to bunch up in all the wrong places.
Niall giggles again, snapping a few choice photos with his mobile and declaring Louis to be the finest looking ballerina in all of Britain.
After he’s returned from the fitting rooms tutu-free, Louis and Niall head to the checkout.
“I see you’ve gone with sexy pilot,” Louis remarks, nodding at the green jumpsuit and fake aviators thrown in Niall’s basket, “Strong choice.”
“Thank you,” Niall replies, seriously, “I’ve always wanted to fly.”
“You’ve always wanted to join the mile high club more like,” Louis teases, winking at the girl behind the cash register as she’s ringing them up.
“Yeah, that too,” Niall deadpans, rolling his eyes.
They pay and walk out of the store, Louis pulling out his phone to check the time.
“It’s quarter ‘til seven,” he states, tugging on his jacket as the sun has already begun to set, “What time does this thing even start?”
“I think Zayn said sometime ‘round nine,” Niall answers, zipping up his hoodie and shivering a bit at the sudden drop in temperature.
“Fancy a bite then?” Louis asks, nodding toward a Thai restaurant on the corner.
“As if I’d refuse,” Niall replies, grinning.
Minutes later, they’re seated in a holey red lacquer booth, plates of steaming curry set before them.
“So how’s your week been then?” Louis asks between bites of chicken and kaeng phet.
“Good,” Niall replies, mouth stuffed with noodles, “We booked a sweet gig with Ed’s cousin in Manchester, so we’ll be traveling out there in about two weeks. Oh, and Harry asked Josh to be his drummer on his UK stadium tour next summer. How sick is that?”
“What?” Louis asks, shocked, wiping spicy red sauce from the corner of his mouth.
“Apparently his drummer’s wife is pregnant and they’re expecting the baby in mid-June,” Niall explains, slurping his noodle soup and swallowing loudly, “Harry got Josh’s number from Liam, mentioned how impressed he was with Josh’s drumming at the pub gig, and offered him the job. Josh took it o’course, don’t worry; it pays like you wouldn’t believe.”
“That’s incredible,” Louis replies, still dumbfounded.
“Ain’t that the craic,” Niall agrees, finishing the last of his soup, “and it’s all thanks to you, mate! Wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t a’brought Harry with ya.”
Louis shakes his head.
“I’m sure it would’ve worked out somehow,” he assures, “Fate’s far from a fickle thing.”
“Speaking a’fate,” Niall says, wiggling his eyebrows, “how excited are ya to see your soulmate again tonight?”
“He’s not my soulmate, Ni,” Louis asserts, glaring at the giggling blonde, “We’re barely even friends.”
“I refuse to believe that,” Niall replies definitively, taking a long sip of his tea.
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, then.”
Niall raises an eyebrow like a challenge, and then smiles softly like he knows something Louis doesn’t.
“I don’t think I will.”
&&
By the time they arrive at Zayn’s house in Mayfair, the party is already in full swing.
There are gaggles of half-naked girls around the backyard pool and equally as clothed men shooting pool in the basement. It takes them about fifteen minutes to actually locate Zayn, who is lounging languidly on the living room sofa, a fresh joint between his fingers.
Zayn blinks owlishly at the pair as they greet him, laughing loudly at something a pink-haired girl in a classically unoriginal cat costume leans over to whisper in his ear.
“Louis! Niall!” he says eventually. His voice is slow and syrupy sweet, though not lacking in enthusiasm.
“Sick party!” Niall cheers, reaching out to swipe a joint from a blonde, leopard-clad girl to Zayn’s left.
“Hey,” she protests, though her eyes settle fully on Niall a moment later and she seems to change her mind.
Niall smirks and plops down next to her, Zayn and Pink Kitty scooting closer together to make room for the Irishman and his new spotted lady friend. Louis just rolls his eyes and heads off in search of the kitchen for a much-needed drink.
He finally finds it about five minutes later after climbing two flights of stairs up and down before realizing that it’s located on the same level as the living room he’d started in. As he’s singing along to the catchy pop anthem currently blasting through the high-tech sound system and mixing himself a nice, strong, fruity drink, he feels a large unfamiliar hand grab his shoulder.
He whirls around quickly, expecting some sleazy drunk guy looking for a good time, but instead comes face to face with Liam Payne…
… in a Batman suit.
“Hey, Li,” Louis greets, finishing up blending his concoction and recapping the fruit juice and rum, “Having a good time?”
“Not particularly, no,” Liam replies testily from behind his mask, glaring across the room at Zayn still sprawled over the couch entertaining his group of four or five scantily clad women.
Louis hums sympathetically, and then shrugs. “Why don’t you do something about that?”
“Like what?” Liam asks, eyes wide and Bambi-like.
“Claim him, Li,” Louis encourages, rolling his eyes at the blushing schoolteacher’s apparent innocence, “Show them all who he belongs to, like, climb on his lap and make out with him or something. Christ, I dunno.”
“You know what?” Liam says loudly, still eyeing the group of giggling girls encroaching closer and closer upon his property, “I think I will.”
He snatches Louis’ drink out of his hands, downs it in one go, and crosses the floor in three powerful strides, bat cape flapping. Louis’ mouth is hanging open and his eyes are nearly bugging out of his head as he watches Liam impolitely shove Leopard Girl out of the way and into Niall’s lap, climbing onto the couch and straddling a very surprised looking, but also very stoned Zayn Malik.
“Yes Payno!” Louis cheers as the schoolteacher rips off his mask and tilts the dark-haired boy’s head back to suck a bright red mark right under his jaw.
It’s starts to get a little R-rated after that and Louis has to look away, making himself a new drink and taking a long, long sip.
When he turns back, the couch is empty, both Liam and Zayn and the four other girls all missing. Louis’ fairly sure Liam’s not that kinky, though he can’t help but hope that these aren’t related occurrences. Niall’s getting frisky with Leopard Girl in the corner, his aviators somehow having switched owners and her furry ears tucked into his blonde quiff. The rest of the partygoers on this level are all grinding in the middle of the carpeted area or lounging about on the leftover furniture not occupied by fondling duos (or… trios? Louis notices, and downs the rest of his drink with a grimace).
He sighs, glancing once more around the room and spying a sliding glass door leading out to what looks like a large balcony. He pulls it open and steps out, immediately shivering at the cold October wind. There’s a zebra print blanket lying on one of the black lounge chairs and he grabs it, wrapping it around himself to combat the chill. He leans against the edge of the balcony and stares out at the city lights, remembering his very first night alone in London and how small and insignificant he had felt in that moment, just one life surrounded by millions of others, his own flat just one little light amongst the stars.
“Not into orgies, then?” a familiar, husky voice asks behind him.
He turns around and smiles softly at the image of Harry leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.
“Hey shut the door wanker! It’s bloody cold!” someone yells from inside, and Harry laughs awkwardly, standing up straight and yanking it closed.
As he steps out into the light of the balcony, Louis gets his first good look at the popstar’s costume, and it’s… not a lot of fabric. He gulps, eyes traveling down Harry’s naked upper half to where his thighs are clad in skintight peach-colored spandex. He’s holding a foam finger, his hair done up in two miniature buns on either side of his head. He looks like an idiot, but a very, very hot idiot nonetheless.
“Miley Cyrus?” Louis guesses.
“And we can’t stoooop,” Harry croons in response, and Louis has to muffle a giggle with his stupid zebra blanket. He watches as the popstar eyes his little cocoon appreciatively, teeth chattering and arms wrapped around his torso in a futile effort at warming himself up.
“C’mere you idiot,” Louis says, finally, lifting up one end of the blanket and motioning for Harry to join him on the chaise, “That dumbass inside is right. S’bloody cold out here.”
Harry grins and tucks himself into Louis’ side as they both sit down, shivering as a particularly chilly gust makes its way across their balcony seat.
“Sexy cop,” Harry observes, taking in Louis’ police hat and dark blue polo, “Strong choice.”
“Thank you,” Louis replies, snuggling closer and wrapping the blanket more tightly around the both of them, “I was going to go as a ballerina. Tutu was nice, but the leotard was a bit… er… restricting.”
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Don’t even talk to me about restricting,” he remarks, slipping a hand out from under the blanket to motion toward his crotch, “Not a lot of breathing room in this little spandex number.”
Louis just giggles softly, mumbling “Your choice, mate” into Harry’s collarbone. He feels the younger boy still beneath him and he leans back quickly, resting his head against the chair cushion with a sigh.
They’re silent for a long time after that; the only sounds their rhythmic breathing and the traffic on the street below.
“You’re missing the party,” Louis says after a while, lowering his voice to a whisper though they’re the only two people foolish enough to still be outside. Even the groups gathered around the pool have since called it quits, favoring the warm, smoke-filled interior to the October chill.
“You are too,” Harry whispers back after a moment.
Louis shrugs against him. “Eh, not really my scene.”
“It’s an entire house full of drunken models and socialites,” Harry replies, “What’s not to like?”
“You tell me, popstar,” Louis says, fitting himself more tightly against the younger boy as the temperature continues to drop, “Shouldn’t you be in there charming the masses with your dimples and peach spandex?”
He can feel Harry’s laugh through his chest, rumbling. “Not my scene either,” Harry explains after a moment, “Too hard to remember who I openly hate versus who I’ve been pretending to like.”
“Ah, yes, the struggles of the rich and famous,” Louis remarks, smiling into Harry’s shoulder.
“You’re rich and famous too,” Harry counters, “Just secretly.”
“Doesn’t count then,” Louis argues, poking Harry in the stomach.
Harry giggles, slapping his hand away and tickling him under the armpit.
“I surrender! I surrender!” Louis calls breathlessly after a moment’s struggle.
He looks up just as Harry leans back victoriously wearing a smug grin, whispers “Sike!” and launches a full-out, double-handed assault on the popstar’s tummy until the younger boy is begging for mercy.
Louis relents, flopping back onto his back, breathing hard and staring up at the dark, cloudless sky.
“Is it stupid if I admit that I missed you?” Harry says after a moment, so quietly that Louis almost thinks he imagines it.
“Is it stupid if I admit that I missed you too?” he whispers back, breath coming out in little puffs of condensation.
“Five days and we’re lovesick,” Harry teases.
He’s smiling; Louis can tell, and he likes that he can.
“I’m going to write that into your poem,” Louis says, then bites his lip at the slip-up.
“My poem?” Harry asks excitedly, clasping his hands together with poorly concealed delight.
“I wrote about you, yeah,” Louis admits, “Separation anxiety and lonely writers don’t mix well.”
He anticipates the next question before Harry’s lips even part to ask it.
“Can I read it sometime?”
Louis shakes his head slightly, thinking back to the strange intimacy that the lines had captured, the way he’d managed to translate the constant spark flowing between them into vast expanses of ink, filling up page after page of his battered little moleskine. It was too easy, he reminds himself, writing about green eyes and red lips and stupid universes where they coexist, where it’s Christmas all the time. And it terrifies him, how simple it would be to give his heart to someone who’d never return the sentiment, how utterly effortlessly foolish it would be to search for something more in the younger boy’s wide green eyes. Harry will leave him soon, and he knows this; move on to the next pretty thing that catches his eye, someone with long blonde hair and big tits and a demure smile… someone not Louis.
But he’s still too hopelessly attached to the boy next to him to refuse him completely, so he says, instead, “Maybe someday, when it’s finished.”
Harry smiles again; he hates that he can tell.
“I’m sorry about Margaret” is what the popstar says next, and Louis sighs against him, recalling his unpleasant encounter with the Wicked Witch of Public Relations.
“Didn’t think you’d speak to me again, after all that,” Harry continues, his voice small and uncertain, “Like I said, being friends with me is difficult and–”
“Harry, shut up please,” Louis interrupts, rolling his eyes, “Is that woman very likely plotting to murder me in cold blood? Yes, absolutely. In fact, there’s probably a sniper perched on the next roof over.”
Harry hits him playfully, hissing, “Don’t talk like that, Lou!”
“But she didn’t scare me away, did she?” he finishes, meeting Harry’s eyes, “I’m right here, freezing my arse off next to you under a frankly tasteless zebra-print blanket.”
“I told Zayn it was kitschy,” Harry replies, giggling, “but at least it’s warm!”
“The only heat being generated under here is coming from you,” Louis ripostes, “You’re like an actual human furnace, Styles.”
“You’re welcome,” Harry says pleasantly, rubbing his curls against Louis’ cheek and purring loudly.
“Alright Man-Cat,” he snorts, “Let’s get back inside, shall we? I can’t feel my feet.”
He flips the blanket over and leaps up, holding his hand out to help Harry to his feet. Together, they yank the sliding glass door open and return to the living room where most of the couples have either passed out together, gone home, or moved to a vacant bedroom somewhere else in the massive home.
“Looks like it’s winding down,” Harry remarks, grimacing as his bare foot crunches down on a discarded plastic cup.
“Ew, beer foot,” he mutters darkly, frowning, and shaking his soiled foot with an exaggerated pout.
The little toddler-like display of disapproval has Louis giggling once more, steadying himself against the taller boy’s arm.
“Missed you a lot, a lot,” Louis whispers, still surprised at how quickly they’ve fallen back in sync with one another; it’s sort of like they never stopped.
&&
(As if Fate could really keep them apart for long; as if destiny could bear to bar them from finding each other again and again, in every lifetime, every universe, transcending time and space. Each story is different, and yet they remain so very much the same: they’re amoebas, dinosaurs, gladiators, princes, soldiers… a popstar and a poet, perhaps.
They’re the very first binary stars; orbits hopelessly, forever entwined.)
& L &
Louis’ still not sure how the days have passed him by so quickly but they do, somehow, flying by in a blur of crisp oranges and reds fading into muted greys and blues.
Harry stops by the bookshop as often as he can; though, between recording his new album and offering up his input on all sorts of tricky tour logistics, he’s pretty swamped. They end up texting back and forth more often than they see each other, but that’s okay. Harry loves emojis– because he’s a child– and is always ridiculously amused when Louis uses obscure combinations to spell out his own lyrics.
(Louis may or may not spend an entire day accidentally downloading every Harry Styles album– even the really obscure original EP’s and a particularly dreadful single by White Eskimo– and after several days of non-stop listening, finds himself jiggling in his seat as he writes, pen tapping to the beat of some cheesy bit about his ‘Little Things’. He should be embarrassed but he’s not; he’s kind of ridiculously happy, actually.)
Harry’s an absolute menace when he does find time to visit, rearranging stacks by color instead of author and genre because ‘they look prettier that way, Lou’ and sneaking about the ‘Rare Collections Room’ gawking at jeweled, Renaissance-era manuscripts and leaving awful, nose-shaped prints on the glass). He steals Louis’ swivel chair often enough that one day Louis caves and buys him his own, hot pink and gaudy as hell. Harry is predictably thrilled and spends hours rolling back and forth across the hardwood, directing customers to his favorite works as Louis smiles and looks on fondly from his place at his desk, little snippets of Harry’s incessant chatter finding their way into the margins of his second (second!) moleskine.
They get papped together fairly often, whenever they go out for drinks alone or to one of Harry’s mandatory social events that he always drags Louis along to. They survive the hours of posh small-talk and dull elderly presenters by poking fun at absolutely everyone and everything, as well as truly perfecting the art of napkin-and-cutlery sculpting. The media mostly ignores Louis– usually he’s labeled as ‘friend, 22’ or simply ‘Tomlinson’– and, much to his satisfaction, the benevolent ‘Dragon Lady’ Margaret Lancaster apparently doesn’t see the need to contact him again.
&&
He finishes his collection two months before his deadline.
(He also finishes that poem and pretends that it’s still all about his failed relationship with Aiden and not the strange new feelings that set his heart a flutter every time he looks into Harry’s expansive green eyes.)
His publisher is skeptical at first but, when the manuscript comes back from the editing office with only a few comments about organization and not much error anywhere else, she swallows her pride and calls to congratulate him on what is sure to be another critically-acclaimed top seller.
It’s officially published a month later, the first copies hitting stores on the second of December. The public and critics alike laud ‘William Sodi’ for his gorgeous, raw portrayal of love and heartbreak, as they usually do. Louis is pleased, of course, though he still doesn’t feel like himself; feels a bit of fraud, really.
Harry reads the entire collection in a single day, cries sixteen times (he sends a text for every tear), and is wonderfully and endearingly careful to praise ‘Louis Tomlinson’ whenever he mentions one of his favorites.
He lets Harry take him out for a celebration dinner that ends up being a huge surprise party with all of his friends and family. He’s nervous and jumpy until Harry explains that he didn’t tell them why they were celebrating, just that it was important to Louis and that they all should be there (how Harry managed to convince everyone it would be worth it, he doesn’t know, but he smiles and thanks him with a round of shots that leaves the popstar wet-lipped and giggly, and sporting the prettiest red cheeks he’s ever seen). Louis almost kisses him right then and there, in front of everyone, but he’s gotten pretty good at holding himself back what with how often Harry seems to make him feel this way… They’re best mates, he reminds himself, thinking back to that fateful day in Ms. Lancaster’s office.
(They’re contractually obligated to be.)
He introduces Harry to his mum that night.
Predictably, Harry charms the pants off her (though not literally, thank goodness) as he has done with all of Louis’ friends and family, and she lets him twirl her around the dance floor for a while, laughing like she’s suddenly in her twenties again.
She tells Louis later, on the phone, not to let Harry get away; and he pretends not to be sad that he can’t promise her he won’t.
Harry can immediately tell he’s upset when they Skype later in the week, and he forces a grumbly, unwilling Zayn to cover for him as he leaves right in the middle of a recording session in order to speed over to Louis’ flat and comfort him.
They spend that night seated cross-legged on the floor, watching reruns of Made in Chelsea and eating homemade fajitas off of paper plates (because Harry’s actually a pretty decent cook and neglected to mention it until Louis came over once and caught him dancing around his stark white kitchen in a frilly Green Bay Packers apron and little else). They’re surrounded by candles because Harry proclaims it to be ‘much more romantic’ that way– a statement that Louis does his best not to spend too much time dwelling on. Harry, predictably, sets the corner of his plate on fire at one point, and shrieks and flails around the room until Louis snatches the plate from his hand, laughing hysterically, and tosses the flaming disc into the bathroom sink.
(There’s a small orange-colored burn mark on the white porcelain now, but Louis doesn’t mind. In fact, he’s come to appreciate a little imperfection in his life; he puts up with Harry Styles after all.)
&&
Zayn and Liam are disgustingly in love, and Louis and Harry like to mock them for it as often as possible.
They play a little game at get-togethers, keeping careful score of stupid things like eye-contact duration, number of visible love-bites, boner level rated 1-10, 1o being rock-hard, come-in-my-pants with a graze of your hand, etc.
(During one particularly uncomfortable dinner at Liam’s place, Louis leans over and whispers a lame joke about ducks into Harry’s ear and the younger boy laughs so hard that he sends his glass sailing across the table and smack into Zayn’s crotch with incredible accuracy. The dark-haired boy’s cheeks are flushed the color of the red wine spilt down his front as Liam reaches over casually to wipe at his… er… nether regions, napkin in hand.
“Ten,” Louis squeaks, using his own napkin to dab at the tears rolling down his cheeks.
Harry’s face down with his head on the table, mumbling “sorry! sorry! so sorry!” between shrieks of laughter.
It’s probably the best meal Louis’ ever eaten and he doesn’t even taste his food.)
Zayn catches on after a while, smart thing, and starts to counter by pointing out all the ways that the two of them act like a couple without actually being one.
They wait for him to run out of reasons.
He doesn’t.
The game becomes less fun after that.
&&
Harry has to miss his birthday, off doing promo for the new album in Sweden of all places, but Louis doesn’t mind. They Skype for a few hours and Louis opens Harry’s present– a set of six moleskine journals, each one with a different picture of the two of them sewn inside the cover.
He definitely doesn’t cry that much.
&&
He spends Christmas and Boxing Day with his family in Doncaster, and is surprised when he arrives to see extra Christmas presents not from him stacked under the tree.
“Harry sent them a few days ago,” the twins explain in tandem, grinning hugely with a few missing teeth each.
“He’s so lovely, Boo,” his mum says, wiping her eyes. By this time, he’s explained to her that they’re just best mates and nothing more, and though she’s constantly egging him on to do something about that, she’s halfheartedly resigned to the fact that her son is going to end up a lonely old recluse with a flat full of cats. “You’ll find someone even lovelier, darling, I’m sure.”
He doesn’t have the heart to disagree, just lets her and Lottie, the oldest of the four, play with his hair and quiz him on all the attributes of his perfect man.
He only lies a teensy bit, never mind that he answers all the opposites (blonde, short, blue-eyed, instrumentalist instead of singer) until Lottie excitedly suggests that Niall could be ‘the one’ and he falls off the couch laughing ‘til he’s blue in the face.
It’s nice and all, being back with his family, but he misses Harry more than anything (and, in hindsight, that probably should’ve clued him in).
&&
He spends New Year’s Eve at a pub with Niall, Josh, and Ed.
Harry is in New York with some bottle-blonde American model named Erin, watching the ball drop in Times Square with her and all her model friends.
(Apparently the rumors surrounding Harry and Louis’ friendship had slowly shifted to being a little less about friendship, what with Harry not having been seen out with a girl since late September… And so the popstar was immediately and unexpectedly shipped across the Atlantic the night before, all at Ms. Margaret Lancaster’s careful discretion.)
Louis pretends not to be horrendously jealous by drinking his weight in hard liquor, that is, until the bartender cuts him off with a sympathetic shake of his head and a pitying gaze.
Louis doesn’t kiss anyone at midnight, save the cold rim of his mug.
Harry kisses Erin, and it’s plastered all over the front of every magazine the very next morning.
The American media is as thrilled as ever (headlines screaming ‘Unlucky-in-love VS Model Erin Farley finally meets her Perfect Prince!’) and the British rags read much the same, though they’re careful to inject ‘American’ into every appositive just to outrage the UK’s teenage female population even further.
Margaret Lancaster is so thrilled she keeps Harry in New York for an additional three weeks, sending him and Erin on romantic dates all across the city.
Harry sends him a billion texts a day about how much he hates it, and how Erin is loud and obnoxious but not in the good ‘Louis kind of way’.
Louis reads them all but can’t find it in himself to respond with anything but disinterested, one-word replies, and sometimes not at all.
&&
It’s January 21st, a Tuesday, and bitterly cold outside.
Louis knows it’s January 21st because it’s the date that Harry’s set to return.
He can’t keep himself from bouncing around the store, singing loudly and serving every customer with a genuinely cheerful smile. Most of his regulars regard him oddly until he explains that Harry’s finally coming home.
“That’s nice dear,” Ms. Beasley says as she pays, patting his cheek affectionately, “I’m sure your boyfriend will be very happy to see you.”
She’s turning around to snap at her son before he can correct her, with a bird-like squawk of “Henry James, don’t touch that! Those books are expensive.”
Henry is her middle child behind George (the world traveler and book collector) and Tom (a CEO of some company in Japan), but ahead of the three youngest (all boys as well). He’s thirty-seven years old, a banker, and lives in Chelsea with Ms. Beasley (whom he’s in charge of caring for), his gorgeous wife, three lovely children, and an impressive collection of designer suits. However, the batty old woman tends to forget that her own children are grown and financially independent, muttering, “You’ll not get a penny from me when I finally keel over if you continue behaving this way.”
Henry looks up at Louis and rolls his eyes, and Louis can only shrug helplessly in return.
He sighs loudly as the pair exits, shuts the door behind them, and flips over the sign to read ‘We’re Closed’.
Tidying up a bit around the shop, he finds himself getting more and more excited for Harry’s impending return. They’re supposed to go to a massive concert tomorrow night for one of Louis’ favorite bands, Harry having finagled a pair of tickets for the both of them located front row and center.
At nine o’clock, as he’s stocking books in the back store room, the little bell finally jingles and a pair of heavy footsteps clunk across the hardwood.
He sets the stack he’s currently holding haphazardly on the nearest tabletop and dashes out to the main foyer, coming face to face with a tired-looking but still smiling Harry Styles.
“Welcome back, popstar,” he greets softly.
Harry just laughs and launches himself into his arms, burrowing his face into the space between Louis’ shoulder and jaw.
“Missed you,” he says into Louis’ collarbone, “Missed you a lot, a lot.”
“Get off me, you great sap,” Louis grumbles in reply, but makes no move to push Harry off him.
He ignores the way he hasn’t felt right, like a whole person, in the three weeks that the younger boy has been away; and how now, suddenly, he’s full to overflowing.
They order takeaway, dragging pillows out of Louis’ bedroom to place on the floor of the shop. Harry asks Louis a zillion questions about what he’s been up to, how his writing’s going, what customers have stopped in, did they notice Harry missing, etc. as they gorge themselves on cartons of rice and noodles and vegetables in soy sauce.
&&
“Three weeks was a long time,” Harry whispers that night as they lie, snuggled up together, in Louis’ too-small-for-two bed.
Louis stiffens against him at the thought of the ocean-wide gaping hole that had separated them from this… whatever thing they have together. He shuts his eyes tightly and pretends his heart isn’t breaking at the feeling of Harry’s gangly orangutan arms wrapped around him, pretends he’ll be happy going back to sleeping alone the next time Margaret ships Harry off to another continent, or this coming summer for three full months as his lovely little popstar gallivants across Europe in a shiny new tour bus. His schedule will be so much better without Harry around, of course; no more distractions in the shop, no more making excuses to himself to close up early so he can swing by the record label to take Harry out to dinner… No more late nights sat up watching movies together and the indomitable need to reach for his moleskine when he startles awake at two a.m. and just has to capture the way the moonlight caresses the curvature of Harry’s spine… Yes, he’d much rather sleep alone in his own proper bed in his own proper lonely flat than squashed up next to this awful, lumpy excuse for a best mate. Harry snores and his skin is like a furnace and he hogs all the blankets and… and Louis is so, so stupidly in love with him he’s aching with it.
“Shh,” he whispers back eventually, threading his fingers through the popstar’s curls. He’s cut them short and quiffed them since he saw him last, and Louis’ not sure how he feels about Harry’s most famous feature being all styled-up like so. It’s not like he owns Harry’s hair or anything, it’s just… he sort of hates how easily everyone else in the boy’s life can change and mold him as they please.
“We’ll be alright, won’t we, Hazza?” he asks, looking up at the ceiling.
His chest tightens in anticipation, but a deep, rumbling snore is all he gets in response.
He sighs, running his free hand through his fluffed-up fringe.
“Yeah, ‘course,” he says aloud, answering his own question, “you’ll continue romancing all your lovely blonde birds, tour your way through the UK and the States the year after that, and charm the pants off the masses like you always do, and I’ll…”
He trails off; knowing that lying to himself won’t make the reality of the situation hurt any less in the end. But he’s a proper tortured soul, isn’t he? Just like Liam had told Zayn all those months ago. He’s survived this heartbreak before and he can do it again (never mind that, as crude as it sounds, the pain of losing Harry is like a thousand Aidens all at once).
“And I’ll be just fine without you.”
&&
Harry’s been dating Erin for a solid month by the time his birthday rolls around.
Management suggests he fly out to join her in the States for a posh 21st in a proper American club, but Harry refuses, arguing instead for a large, private party in one of his favorite Chelsea hot-spots.
Louis’ at the bar doing shots with Niall and Ed, giggling at their stupid jokes and trying his best to ignore the way that Erin is halfway into Harry’s lap on one of the couches in the VIP corner.
Louis’ not really sure how to feel about the lithesome bleached-hair model, as this is the first time he’s actually sharing the vicinity with her. Harry only ever mentions her briefly in passing or whenever they’ve got plans together, and even then he’s usually quite vague and non-descriptive.
“Oh, flying out to New York for two days to see Erin’s runway show.”
“Erin’s in town to accompany me to the premiere of that new Hugh Grant movie.”
“Can’t go out tonight, dinner with Erin.”
And so on, and so forth.
He’s never felt anything past vague antagonism toward the girl (she is dating his best mate who he’s just realized he’s in love with after all), except for maybe on Harry’s second night back when he apparently “forgot” about the ticket he bought being for Louis and took Erin to The Fray concert instead.
Louis didn’t speak to him for three days after that, and even then he was more furious with Harry than with the clueless blonde who’d texted him an x’s and o’s filled apology from Harry’s phone as soon as she’d found out the reason behind the popstar’s moping.
Zayn and Liam had been forced to intervene on behalf of their respective parties in order to preserve the damaged group dynamic, resorting to locking the two of them alone in a room together until they’d both shouted their particular grievances at each other enough to finally reconcile.
“You look miserable, mate,” Niall comments perceptively, giving him a weighty look despite already being three pints and who knows how many shots into his night, bloody Irishman.
“Don’t think you’ve said a word to Harry since you got here,” Ed observes, looking over to where Louis’ gaze remains fixed on the popstar and his leading lady, “It is his birthday, you know.”
“Yeah thanks, I’m aware,” Louis replies icily, “He seems to be enjoying it well enough without me.”
“All me ‘n Ed are trying to say is… it’s just not like you two, bein’ apart like this,” Niall states simply, taking another long pull of his pint.
“Yeah,” Ed agrees, “S’proper weird when you aren’t hanging off each other like, I dunno, koalas or summat.”
Niall laughs brightly, “Oi, good one, Sheerio! I love a good koala joke.”
They high-five, and Louis groans, muttering, “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
He continues moping at the bar while Niall and Ed head off to find Josh amongst the crowd, Harry having asked the band to play a short set for his birthday.
Harry gets up a few minutes later– Erin clinging to his side and smiling brightly in a slinky silver body-con dress– and slurs something loud and intelligible into the microphone. The crowd of partygoers cheers deafeningly, and the lights turn to shine down on the main stage where the band has set up.
Niall shouts something equally as loud, following his announcement with a screaming guitar riff, and suddenly everyone and their mum is flooding the dance floor, bouncing around and fist-pumping to some upbeat hit by The CAB.
Louis sighs and motions to the bartender for another pint.
He’s sipping what should probably (but won’t) be his last beer when a silver blur enters his periphery.
“Hi,” a very American voice greets, shouting to be heard over the loud music.
He looks up and comes face to face with the girlfriend herself, looking admittedly radiant in silver, her bright blue eyes glimmering and long blonde hair cascading down her back in loose curls.
“Do you think we could chat outside for a bit?” Erin asks, and she sounds so hopeful and sincere that Louis just sighs and nods, holding up a finger for her to wait as he quickly downs the rest of his pint. She takes that moment to order a terrifying-looking electric blue shot, tipping it back like a pro and grimacing at the bitter taste. Louis nods again once he’s ready and hops off his barstool to follow her through the crowd and out a side door.
“Hi,” the model says again once they’re outside and alone. She’s dressed only in her strapless dress and heels and Louis moves quickly to offer her his jacket. (He may not be totally thrilled with the prospect of her existence, but let no one claim Louis Tomlinson is anything but a gentleman.)
“Thanks,” Erin replies, grinning, and she’s got a gap in her teeth that makes her look a lot younger than eighteen, and shit, that only serves to remind him of just how young she really is.
“Fucking cold out here, Jesus Christ,” she swears, shivering as the wind blows hard down the alleyway they’re standing in.
Louis raises one eyebrow, appraising, because just yesterday E!News had run a special on the couple (Herin, disgusting) with nothing but niceties to say about the young model’s sweet All-American girl reputation…
Erin flips him a middle finger.
“Hey, quit it with all your silent judgmental shit, alright?” she says, laughing, “I know you hate my guts.”
Louis opens his mouth to protest weakly, but she holds up her hand and cuts him off.
“Don’t argue with me, babe,” Erin starts, still smiling, and Louis has definitely missed something here.
“Alright, let’s move past all this posturing,” she continues, bouncing a bit in a vain effort at generating body heat, “First of all, how long have you been in love with Harry; and secondly, and most importantly, why haven’t you done jack shit about it?”
Louis’ jaw is hanging down to the floor as he gapes at the grinning teenage model staring back at him expectantly.
“B-but, you’re… you’re Harry’s girlfriend,” he splutters intelligently.
Erin just laughs again, blonde hair flipping over her shaking shoulders. She holds up a finger, signaling him to wait, as she reaches into her cleavage and pulls out a pack of cigarettes.
“Got a light?” she asks him.
Louis just stares at her blankly, and she rolls her eyes, ducking inside and returning a moment later holding a plastic lighter pinched between her jeweled, flawlessly manicured fingertips.
She places the cigarette between her teeth, holds a flame to the tip, and blows out a perfect smoke ring with a relieved sigh.
“Sweetie, I’m not Harry’s girlfriend,” she says after a moment, tossing the butt on the ground and stamping it out with one perfectly aimed stiletto point, “I’m his beard.”
Louis feels like he might pass out as his brain struggles to process this sudden influx of information.
“You’re his beard?” he asks, a little hysterically.
The model nods.
“And Harry’s–”
“Gay as the Fourth of July?” Erin supplies.
Louis just nods, dazedly.
“Yup,” she confirms, popping the ‘p’ with a smack of her pink-stained lips.
“Well, maybe,” she continues thoughtfully, “Actually, I’m not totally one-hundred percent on that. All I know is that he sure as hell wasn’t interested in me.”
Louis’ pretty sure this is what a heart attack feels like. “Why are you telling me this now?”
Erin sighs, reaches back into her dress to pull out another cigarette.
“Because I’m tired of coming between the two of you,” she explains, cigarette between her teeth, “You’re both so god damn miserable whenever you’re apart, it actually makes me want to vomit. Plus, it’s not like I’m benefiting much from this deal anyway. I’m a Victoria’s Secret Angel, for fuck’s sake, I don’t need the publicity.”
Louis just continues gaping at her stupidly.
“Go get your man and what not,” Erin urges in a bored voice, rolling her eyes yet again and tossing her last cig into the dumpster behind her.
“Wait, where are you going?” Louis calls, as she starts down the alleyway toward the street.
“Home!” she yells back, “Shit, it feels good to say that.”
Louis runs down the alleyway to catch up with her, grabbing the model’s thin but muscular arm just as a cab pulls up to the curb.
“Wait,” he says, breathing hard, “what about this whole deal?”
“Oh,” she replies flippantly, tugging open the cab door, “I’m going to phone my agent tonight and have her call up that demon of woman, Merriam Lobster or whatever the fuck her name is, and deny the contract renewal that’s supposed to happen tomorrow.”
Louis nods, trying to keep up, as the blonde tornado of girl hops into the cab and shuts the door. Just as he’s turning around to start walking back toward the club, he hears her voice calling out to him one last time. He whirls back toward the street and laughs at the image of the teenager popped out of the sunroof, both arms thrown joyously into the air.
“Tell my boyfriend happy month-a-versary!” she shouts gleefully and disappears back down into the car with a loud whoop.
Louis chuckles, waving as the taxi merges into traffic and disappears around the corner.
He swipes a hand through his fringe, sinking down to sit on the curb and try to process all that has just transpired in the five minutes since he first ventured outside with his best mate’s apparent not-girlfriend.
“Tommo, there you are!” a familiar voice calls not a moment later, and he looks up to see Niall peering down at him with a wild grin.
“What the fuck are you doing out here without a coat on?” Niall asks, looking at his bare arms disapprovingly, “You’ll freeze to death in this weather, startin’ to snow and everything.”
Louis glances up at the sky which has indeed clouded over and begun to produce little white flakes of precipitation. It’s then that he realizes.
“That little bitch stole my jacket,” he shouts at Niall, pointing back to the now-empty street corner.
“Whoa, slow down there,” Niall cautions, holding out his hands to steady him, “You’re even more pissed than I thought, mate.”
“No, I’m not, I’m not,” Louis protests, struggling against him, “Erin was just here and she smoked a couple cigarettes out of her boobs and then got in a cab and yelled out the sunroof! And she took my jacket!”
“Yes, sure, I believe you,” Niall interrupts, guiding him back toward the club, “Now, hurry up, or we’ll miss Zayn’s set.”
“Zayn’s performing?” Louis asks, surprised.
“Yeah, ‘course,” Niall says, like it’s obvious, “and Liam too.”
Louis’ eyes nearly pop right out of his skull. “You’re shitting me.”
Niall just cackles, nodding at the bouncer and dragging him back inside. They push their way through the crowd until they’re nearly at the front of the stage, and if Louis wasn’t feeling overwhelmed by the night already, he’s certainly not prepared for the vision before him.
It’s completely pitch black in the club now, the only light coming from two spotlights shining down to illuminate a pair of black barstools sitting onstage. Occupying one of those barstools is Zayn Malik, wearing the tightest black jeans Louis’ ever seen (aside from the ones Harry occasionally whips out) and a loose black tank-top with a neckline so low that it dips down well past the dark-haired boy’s collarbones, his nipples visible on either side of the thinly stretched fabric. Louis swallows at the sight, as he’s sure the rest of the crowd has already done, and turns his attention to the second stool where his best mate or, at least, a man resembling his best mate is adjusting the microphone stand in front of him.
In layman’s terms, Liam looks fucking hot. He’s dressed in a tight black t-shirt, biceps bulging, and a pair of looser black jeans that, despite a studded leather belt, are riding dangerously low on his hips. A green and black snapback is twisted backwards on his head, making his jawline appear even more angular and masculine. Louis’ used to seeing the teacher in the school-regulation blue polo, khakis, and maybe a blazer on colder days, but this Liam has apparently moved far past his belief that wearing a tie with stripes instead of a solid color signifies a ‘wild fashion choice’.
Before Louis can ask Niall what the hell is going on, Zayn is silencing the crowd with a wave of his hand, and speaking into the mic in front of him, low and sensual.
“I’m Zayn and this is Liam,” he says slowly, introducing their act, “and this is a remix of Drake’s ‘Trust Issues’.”
The crowd is completely silent as the music starts up, a few bars of a slow electronic melody and then another quiet rest. Louis feels his heart beat once loudly in his ears before the bass drops and then Zayn’s opening his mouth and producing an angelic falsetto that has the club’s female population going absolutely mental. Louis’ entire body is covered in goosebumps and his mouth is hanging open as Liam takes over a moment later, hopping off his stool and bending down, tracing the mic stand all the way back up with his pelvis… much to the excitement of every woman in the room (and probably most of the men too). Zayn sidles up next to him as they harmonize, and the two boys begin to grind up against each other, hips rolling sensually to the beat.
Niall is cheering loudly beside him, but Louis absolutely refuses to believe that he’s watching two of his best mates reenact a particularly x-rated gay porno onstage in front of two hundred people.
He pushes his way back through the crowd, stumbling a bit as all the alcohol he’s consumed begins to fully take its effect. Just as he’s nearing the bar, he feels a hand grip his shoulder and a body pressed flush against his backside.
“Hey,” a recognizable voice breathes into his ear, and he can’t help the way his entire body seems to shudder at the sudden contact.
“I’m really fucking drunk,” Harry says, and then he’s spinning Louis around and guiding him back toward the dance floor, “and I haven’t seen you all night.”
“You were with Erin,” Louis explains, a little breathlessly, heart pounding at the feeling of the taller boy’s hands gripping tightly on his hips, “Didn’t… want to… bother you.”
“She broke up with me,” Harry says casually, not sounding even a little bit upset about this recent development, “Over text too, how heartless.”
“She told me, you know,” Louis replies, craning his neck up to meet the popstar’s eyes, “about what she really was to you.”
Harry raises an eyebrow, but chooses not to comment. Instead, he leans back down, lips against the outer shell of Louis’ ear, and asks softly, voice deep and words slightly slurred, “Dance with me?”
Louis can’t help the way he shifts his hips back against Harry obligingly.
“We’re mates, right?” he asks, pressing back and rolling his body against the younger boy, slight and teasing.
“Yeah,” Harry breathes out.
“Okay,” Louis replies, and it doesn’t matter in this moment that Harry’s not in love with him; it doesn’t matter that he kept a fake girlfriend for a month without telling Louis a damn thing; and it especially doesn’t matter that every touch they exchange from this point on will mean a thousand times more to Louis than it ever will to the boy behind him.
The crowd is screaming louder as the scene onstage has started to intensify.
“We don’t have to keep runnin’ in these circles no more,” Zayn sings.
“No mooore,” Liam echoes, hands fisting into the dark-haired boy’s tank top.
They follow with a series of incredibly sensual vocal runs, echoing each other with dark, hungry looks.
Trust issues.
Trust issues.
The music fades as the audience roars in approval, and Liam and Zayn hop off the stage and slink away, probably off to some secluded corner to blow each other’s brains out.
So Louis’ drunk and he doesn’t give a shit and Harry doesn’t have a model girlfriend anymore to prevent him from grinding back against the popstar fully now, shouting “Fuck it” as Beyoncé’s “Drunk in Love” blasts through the club, the pounding bass as intoxicating as the alcohol flowing through his veins.
Why can't I keep my fingers off you, baby?
I want you
They’re all over each other for three more songs, before he becomes too impatient to withstand the sexual tension any longer. He grabs Harry’s hand and tugs him toward the bathroom, slamming open a stall door and locking it behind them. Harry’s looking down at him, pupils dilated and dark with arousal, and Louis’ so damn tired of suppressing his feelings that he’s on his toes in an instant and tilting his chin up to press his lips to Harry’s own. The popstar startles momentarily, lips unmoving, and Louis worries for a moment that Harry’s not drunk enough to want this as much as he does right now. But then Harry’s moaning hungrily and surging back to meet him halfway, clumsily licking his way into Louis’ mouth with renewed vigor.
Drunk in love
We be all night, love, love
“God fucking shit dammit,” Louis swears, as Harry’s hand snakes between them, brushing against his hardening length.
“Wanted this for… for sooo long, Lou,” Harry slurs, “Couldn’t tell you, didn’t think you…”
“Shh,” Louis says, silencing him, because he’s really really not concerned with the specifics right now, especially with Harry’s hand still pressed between them.
“I was‒” Louis says breathlessly, voice catching in his throat as Harry drops to his knees in front of him (and this is new, this is… fuck), “‒very much under the impression that you–” he braces himself against the wall, biting his lip to hold back what would surely have been an embarrassingly loud moan at the feeling of Harry’s stupidly massive hands palming his cock through his jeans.
“What’s that?” Harry says, voice slightly rougher than usual, but still frustratingly composed. Louis’ zipper now undone, the popstar leans forward to mouth hungrily at Louis’ cock through his underwear, leaving a large wet circle across the front of his briefs. Louis momentarily loses all proper brain function at the thought of only that thin bit of fabric separating Harry’s sinful mouth from where it ought to be. He’s still in a stupor when Harry leans back onto his heels, using his thumbs to rub teasing circles just under the waistband.
“Lou?” he says innocently, smirking up at him through dark lashes (the smug bastard). “You were saying something?”
Louis takes a deep breath; Harry’s teasing ministrations returning in full force the moment he begins to speak. “I was saying– fucking hell, Harry– I was very much under the impression that you– goddammit, stop that and let me talk, but wait, don’t actually‒ I just, I thought you liked women?”
Harry shrugs, pulling Louis’ briefs down to his knees, his already embarrassingly hard cock springing free and tapping against the younger lad’s cheek. Louis grimaces at the sight of the swollen head– angry purple-red and oozing precome–because, seriously, since when has the thought of a simple blowjob transported him back to his virginal teenage years?
“I do,” Harry says, eyeing the erection in front of him appreciatively, and it takes Louis a moment too long to realize he’s agreeing with his previous assumption, “I just happen to like this a lot more.”
And with that, Louis’ prick is engulfed in a glorious wet heat that has his knees buckling and stars clouding his vision. His head spins at the sensation of those soft pillowy lips migrating up and down his length in a deliciously irregular rhythm (and of course, Harry Styles master of dance, would give frustratingly fantastic blowjobs set to a drumbeat played by a two-year old with a pot and a wooden spoon). Granted, Louis’ still at least ninety-nine percent sure he’s dreaming as his hands snake their way into the popstar’s thick curls, which aren’t quiffed this evening but loose and tangled. He gives them an experimental tug, earning an appreciative hum from deep in the younger boy’s throat, and finds himself almost coming right then and there at the feeling of the sudden, pleased vibrations.
“Harder,” Harry mumbles, pulling off for a moment to look up pleadingly, his voice deep and hoarse.
It’s entirely possible that Louis has never been more willing to oblige a request in his life as he threads his fingers through the shorter curls closest to Harry’s scalp and pulls.
Harry moans again and doubles his enthusiasm, his hollowed cheeks painted a pretty red.
“We’re in a dirty loo in a dirty club and we’re both piss drunk and our friends are outside,” Louis pants, “This is very, very wrong.”
Harry raises an eyebrow, sits up a bit to fondle Louis’ balls with his free hand, and slurs “I’m ninety-nine percent sure your argument is weaker than your stamina is” without taking his lips off the head. Louis glares down at him, ready to argue that point as well, but then the younger boy does something magical with his tongue that has Louis coming down his throat in seconds and shit if that isn’t embarrassing… He feels his cheeks flame red more from shame than from the force of his orgasm, though the latter was unfairly mind-blowing.
“You cheated,” he says, pouting as he pulls his pants up and fastens them with clumsy, shaking hands.
He pretends it’s all the alcohol he’s consumed that affecting his coordination, and not the fact that his painfully attractive, apparently not-so-straight best mate just sucked him off.
“Did not,” Harry replies, voice hoarse and eyelashes dewy.
“You’ve obviously been practicing,” Louis argues, leaning forward on his tiptoes to press his lips against the popstar’s jawline. “It’s all the bananas you eat,” he mouths against the skin, grinning triumphantly as Harry shudders against him, “diminishes your gag reflex.”
“Shut up,” Harry replies, a bit breathlessly, “Just admit that my blowjobs are the best.”
“Never,” Louis refuses, as he rocks back onto the balls of his feet to nip at Harry’s collarbone.
“C’mon say it, Lou,” the younger boy whines, squirming against him, “I’m the dick-sucking king.”
“I couldn’t possibly give away my title,” Louis replies, reaching down to palm at Harry’s erection pressed attentively between them, “maybe you can be the queen, hmm?”
Harry opens his mouth to protest, but he’s interrupted by the door to the toilets squeaking open and a familiar voice echoing through the stalls.
“Listen, I love that you’ve finally stopped ignoring your mutual attraction for one another, really, but the rest of us are leaving in five,” Zayn says, clearly aware of the reason for their dual disappearance, “If you’ve got‒ erm‒ any business to finish attending to, you’ll have to get your own ride home. Okay, yeah, um be safe and, and enjoy then… and uh… Happy birthday, Haz.”
“We’ll catch a cab, thanks!” Harry calls out in reply, voice cracking from his roughed-up throat.
Louis looks at the boy in front of him, panting softly with reddened cheeks and dilated pupils, and makes a very mean decision.
“Actually, I believe we’re finished here,” he says, briefly squeezing the popstar’s hard on through his jeans and ignoring the gaping look of disbelief he receives in return.
“Payback sweetheart,” he whispers with a wink and swings open the stall door to see Zayn standing by the sinks, clearly uncomfortable.
“You sure I’m not interrupting anything?” the dark-haired boy asks, taking in Louis’ rumpled clothing and Harry squirming impatiently behind him.
“Nope,” Louis replies definitively, throwing another wink in Harry’s direction, “Just crowning myself King is all.”
Harry, though he looks about five seconds away from coming in his pants, is giggling uncontrollably and slapping Louis on the back, which of course sends Louis into hysterics as well because, c’mon, after three beers and ten of Niall’s ‘patented’ jello shots everything is hilarious.
“You guys are really fucking drunk,” Zayn comments, rolling his eyes.
“S’my birthday!” Harry replies, and he and Louis both cheer loudly.
The dark-haired boy wrinkles his nose as Louis grabs Harry’s hand and helps lead the stumbling, silly excuse for a popstar out of the bathroom. They manage to find their way back to the VIP corner (where the rest of the group has collected) with only several minor incidents of probably-bruised knees on misplaced chairs and knocking drinks out of people’s hands. When they arrive, the rest of the group– Niall, Pink Hair from the Halloween party, er, Perrie, Louis corrects, and Josh and Liam– are already collecting their things, packing up bags and slipping on winter coats to fight the freezing February weather.
“Jesus fuck,” Niall exclaims, the first to lay eyes on the pair, “you lot literally look and smell like you’ve just emerged from ten years of pickling yourself in tequila and semen.”
His tone is equal parts disgusted and impressed, and Louis doesn’t know which one he finds more disturbing.
“Hate that word,” Liam comments, exchanging his snapback for the woolen beanie that Zayn offers him.
“Semen,” he repeats, grimacing, “Just awful.”
“I- I drank ten years of semen, I think,” Harry says proudly, and Zayn is covering his face with his hands and groaning.
Perrie’s got one hot pink manicured-hand over her mouth as she fights a giggle, and Liam just looks embarrassed (like he didn’t just spend a solid fifteen minutes having clothed sex with Zayn onstage in front of a crowd of two hundred).
“I hope you wake up in the morning with hangovers so massive that you agree to murder each other simultaneously to escape the pain,” Zayn mutters darkly, running a hand through his polished quiff.
“That’s lovely, Z,” Harry says, clasping him on the back and guiding him toward the exit, “Shall we?”
“Yes, shall we?” Louis echoes, hooking his elbow with Zayn’s, opposite the side Harry’s already latched onto.
“I don’t particularly want to go anywhere with you two,” Zayn grouses, but allows himself to be guided through the doors without putting up a fight.
Josh, being the designated driver for the night, offers to drop off Niall and Perrie. Zayn hails a cab for him and Liam, and a second one for Louis and Harry, giving the cabbie the address to Harry’s house.
The last thing Louis remembers is being collapsed on top of the younger boy in the backseat, singing along loudly and obnoxiously to that new Ke$ha song.
“Best birthday ever!” Harry yells at one point, rolling down the window to announce his joy to the late night London crowd.
Even through his drunken haze, Louis can’t help but agree– thoughts flickering back to Harry’s lips wrapped around him as he cried out in release– that it was a night very, very well spent, indeed.
&&
Louis wakes up the next morning with a groan, head pounding and stomach churning. He flounders a bit when he realizes that the bed he’s in is not his own.
Everything’s white, from the sheets to the comforter to the pillow behind him.
Harry’s house, then.
It all comes flooding back to him in an instant: laughing blonde models, flashes of silver and cigarette smoke; Zayn and Liam harmonizing, bodies intertwined; and finally, Harry on his knees, hollowed cheeks, red lips, green eyes…
“Harry?” he calls, sitting up quickly and almost passing out at the immediate vertigo, “Hazza, where are you?”
The bedroom door swings open not a minute later and in walks the popstar himself, wearing his frilly Packers apron over a plain t-shirt and boxers and carrying two steaming plates of bacon, fried egg, and toast.
“Morning!” he greets, grinning widely, and Louis can only wave weakly in reply.
Harry climbs into bed next to him and hands him a plate and a fork which he accepts gratefully, inhaling the delicious smell of butter and grease.
“I was going to make tea as well,” Harry remarks regretfully, and then gestures to the expanse of white comforter surrounding them, “but that seemed a bit risky, considering.”
Louis nods, and shoves a large forkful of fried egg into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
“How… how was your party, then?” he ventures after a moment, still not sure if they’re avoiding a discussion of last night’s proceedings or if Harry just doesn’t feel like they need one.
The younger boy laughs brightly, running a hand through his matted curls.
“God, I wish I could remember it,” he says, blushing slightly, “though it seems to have been a good time based on the texts I’ve been receiving all morning.”
Louis looks at him blankly. “You don’t recall anything, like, at all?” he asks, skeptically.
“Well, I remember arriving at the club obviously,” Harry extrapolates between bites of bacon, “The rest of it’s all dream-like and blurry, though, and I’m not really sure what’s real and what wasn’t.”
“I get a lot of blackouts,” he admits, looking a bit ashamed, “Mixing my drinks usually doesn’t end well for me.”
“What do you remember, then?” Louis asks shortly, hoping for all the world that Harry’s not pulling one of those ‘did it, regret it, pretend it never happened’ sort of things.
“I do recall getting a bit, er… handsy with you on the dance floor?” Harry replies carefully, cheeks immediately turning bright red, “I’m really really sorry about that, by the way. I get way too touchy-feely with people whenever vodka’s involved.”
Louis sighs and bites his lip, knowing Harry well enough to recognize his embarrassment over that memory as being completely genuine. There’s no way that the popstar could be lying to him at this point, what with Harry being the absolutely shit liar that he is.
“I did get a bit frisky with someone, though,” Harry says proudly, pulling down his t-shirt to reveal a large purple love-bite in the hollow between his neck and collarbone. He’s smiling widely, all teeth and dimples, and Louis can do nothing but stare at his mark on the popstar’s chest and feel his heart break all over again.
“Wasn’t Erin, though,” Harry continues, frowning, “She broke up with me and left early, apparently. I just reread the text this morning.”
“I saw her leave last night, yeah,” Louis affirms, chest tightening at the half-truth.
He’s heard somewhere that sometimes people can be triggered by the mention of an event and suddenly remember it with astounding clarity. The word ‘loo’ hangs on the tip of his tongue like an Unforgivable Curse, but he swallows it down.
(Like he always does with Harry, like he’s done for months now; swallow it down, don’t say the words, don’t touch, don’t feel.)
But Harry is red lips and green eyes and Christmas all the time; and now that Louis has had a taste of all that he’s been missing, he’s suddenly become more selfish than ever before.
“Harry, I think I need to go,” he says, pushing his plate away, appetite gone, “I can’t… I can’t be here with you right now.”
Harry just stares back at him, confused and a little hurt.
“Louis, what are you talking about?”
“You don’t remember and I can’t forget,” he replies, scrubbing at his eyes and the tears threatening to form there, “I can’t forget, Harry. Don’t you get it? I can’t just be around you all the time and, and pretend like I’m not–”
He cuts himself off, climbing out of the bed and looking wildly around the room.
“Like you’re not what?” Harry asks quietly, sounding so, so painfully young and Louis can’t look at him. He just can’t.
“God fucking dammit, where are my shoes?” Louis shouts suddenly, verging on hysteria.
“By the front door,” Harry replies, in a voice so small it’s almost inaudible, “but Lou, I don’t understand. Where are you going?”
“Away from you,” Louis replies icily.
It’s so fucking cruel, and he knows it, but he can’t… he can’t leave any tiny shred of the bond intact between them or he won’t be able to leave, won’t be able to walk out this door right now, to tear himself away from the godforsaken boy in front of him, sitting amongst white down and pillows like an angel, so innocent and beautiful… He’d stay by Harry’s side forever, a stupid fucking masochist, wanting and wanting for all of eternity, dying and being reborn just to want again.
It’s like Harry is fire, brilliant and bright, and Louis is cold, he’s so fucking cold, and they exist together and they exist apart but they can never exist as one.
Because that’s the way things are in this world, Louis knows this: one thing orbits another, like the planets orbit the sun, and only time and weakness can sever the bond between them.
And so he tries, with his words– his only real weapon– to damage it the best he can.
Away from you.
So Harry is a star and Louis lives on a planet alone, staring at the brilliant glow in the distance day after day, ‘round and ‘round. The attraction keeps him and his planet bound to their orbit, close enough to watch Harry shine yet too far to cross the airless vacuum of space between them.
And so the existence of gravity is nothing more than a curse; Louis can no sooner escape Harry than become a part of him. And there are other planets nearer to his own, eagerly moving closer and closer in hopes that he will join them instead, but he doesn’t want a planet, so easily conquered, so easily destroyed. He wants a star, he wants Harry, and he knows that as long as that far-off light remains in view, that’s all he’ll ever want.
And so he is trapped, in the same way that the moon is trapped, for it does not want the earth that lies beneath it and above it and in all places, and still it cannot have the sun.
That’s the way things are in this world, Louis knows this: everything separated into two categories- what he has and what he will never have- and they do not mix, they do not change.
It doesn’t take a lot of guesswork to determine which category Harry Styles falls into because Louis knew, from the very moment he met him, that Harry was something that he would never call his own. And it’s funny because Louis was so clever in that regard, but so foolish in the fact that he chose to stay, and to come back, to accept Harry into his life again and again knowing he would someday break his heart.
And he thinks back to Niall’s warning all those months ago:
I can tell you right now that you will be. I can tell you right now.
Starry-eyed and moony, you fall so easily.
Louis can’t help it; he starts to cry.
“Louis, please,” Harry says, and his voice is breaking, “I don’t understand! Did something happen at my party? Was it because I danced with you? Because I told you, I’m so so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
Louis just lets out a laugh, bitter and aggrieved.
“I never meant to ruin our friendship, whatever I did. Talk to me,” Harry begs, and he’s got tears rolling down his cheeks now too, “God, Lou. You’re… you’re my best mate. I’ve known Zayn for five years and that, that doesn’t even compare to what we have. Are you listening to me, Louis? You’re my best mate and I love you so much, I don’t want to–”
“Shut up!” Louis screams, Harry’s ‘I love you’ ricocheting around his brain, replaying over and over and over again.
Then softer, “Just shut up, alright? None of this is your fault. Don’t… don’t blame yourself for things you can’t control. I just can’t be friends with you right now, Harry. I just can’t, okay? Not when I–”
Louis stops, not willing to let himself say any more than he needs to.
He forces himself to take a step, and then another, ignoring the way that Harry keeps whimpering his name, soft and pleading.
Louis. Louis. Louis.
He walks out of the room, down the stairs, out the door… Holds up a hand and hails a cab.
“Louis,” Harry says, and he can feel the younger boy right behind him, standing brokenly on the sidewalk.
“Harry,” he replies so coldly that he barely recognizes his own voice, “Go back inside.”
&&
And it’s not like the movies.
There is no happy ending, no swelling cinematic score.
There are no declarations of love, no passionate endless kiss.
It’s not even fucking raining.
Instead, there’s the sound of footsteps on the pavement and a door slamming shut.
There’s Louis getting in the cab and biting his bottom lip to keep from sobbing harder.
There’s a question: “Where to?”
And a reply: “Airport, but I need to grab a few things from my flat first.”
And that’s that.
That’s the end.
That’s life–Louis’ life, at least– falling in love and fucking it up, over and over and over again.
William Sodi will be thrilled, he thinks, as the cab pulls away from the white house in Kensington for the very last time, all this new material to write about.
They pull up in front of the shop ten minutes later, the ride quick and smooth with no traffic so early in the morning.
He’s in and out in five, stuffing a duffel bag with some clothes and toiletries and grabbing his passport from the lock-box underneath the register.
He shuts the door and climbs back in the cab, feeling numb and hopeless and broken.
But, at least he’s alone.
&&
For Louis it’s finality, but for Fate it’s just a minor bump in the road.
|
He kissed her.
It was a skeleton kiss.
Y/n just stood there for a few moments after Sans had left, trying to wrap her mind around everything that had happened in the last half an hour.
He was about to leave, but then she gave him her new book, he praised her, she got all emotional and then...then she got to see a side of Sans she had never really seen before. Sure, she started having some suspicions when she began catching him sighing a certain way or looking thoughtful and really tired when he thought no one was looking. And those nightmares he has so often...But this was more than she could ever hope he would show her.
For a moment, she was scared he'd lose his nerve and just teleport away, so when he didn't she tried to do everything she could to make him feel as safe and as cared for as possible.
And then, before leaving, he kissed her on the temple.
She knew what it was as soon as she felt the slight pressure of his closed teeth to her skin. Papyrus had given her a few kisses on the cheek in exchange for her - very friendly, very platonic - smooches to his cheekbone.
But this was...wow.
She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, then crossed them again and sat on the couch. Then she stood up again and went to the kitchen for no particular reason. She went back to the couch to get her mug of tea and then proceeded to the kitchen again, her thoughts, however, being far, far away.
She wasn't naive or stupid, she knew that Sans had a certain affection for her.
Monster souls were made of mercy, compassion and love. And a monster's soul composed their entire being. So, thinking logically, these compassionate, loving beings could come to like a person fairly quickly and do so sincerely. Y/n often reminded herself of that when she thought of how fast she became friends with Papyrus, Sans, Undyne and Alphys. The one time she met Toriel the kindsouled boss monster exchanged numbers with her and even called her up a few times to ask how Y/n was doing.
So it wouldn't be surprising that Sans, Papyrus' brother, would want to friendly, platonically smooch her the same way his brother did, just out of pure gratitude for being there when he was feeling down.
Seemed logical.
Very much so.
Y/n sighed heavily and put her already cold tea in the microwave, while staring blankly ahead of herself.
She realized she didn't want it to be that. She was human - egoism was an instinctual thing for her race and she oh so selfishly wanted Sans for herself. She was never one to fall head over heels in love and even when she did feel strong affection for someone, she kept it quiet for a long while, reasoning with herself and thinking through all the options and possible outcomes, giving herself time to see if it was a simple stupid crush or a longtime thing.
She was a kind human, if she loved someone she would want to do absolutely anything and everything for the one who she loved and who loved her back.
And she oh so wanted for Sans to love her.
The mere thought made goosebumps appear on her arms.
She strongly believed that a person's good deeds or good traits should be noticed and praised, and all her life she did just that, not worrying much about how it came off. It was just the right thing to do. Her friends, of course, got most of it. Sans, however, would be drowning in compliments if she didn't hold herself back.
She now wondered if she shouldn't have kept herself from saying more good things to him, judging by how much pain and secrets he seemed to be carrying all by himself.
Her eyes narrowed from the pain in her chest. Her heart, her soul literally ached for the skeleton and she wanted nothing more than to help him feel better.
She opened the microwave before it could make the annoying high-pitched sound and sat at the kitchen table, looking out the window.
She remembered the enchanting glow of his eyes - usually glowing white dots of light, they could get bigger or smaller depending on the skeleton's mood. The cyan blue glow she saw today was indescribable, otherworldly. It was beautiful, magical, like everything about Sans, like Sans himself, but even more so. She concluded that the flash of blue she saw when he first teleported her was his eye glowing.
So then that was the color of his magic.
The realization made Y/n blush more than it maybe would have been reasonable.
She had seen a few monsters use their magic, it wasn't something new. Undyne and Papyrus were always very generous with using theirs in various ways while cooking, so she got the chance to see it up close.
But seeing that cyan blue eye staring so intensely at her, even the memory of it made her shiver. Not from fear, no. There was just something so important in learning about Sans' magic.
Cyan blue. It suited him, she thought.
She took a careful sip of her tea, making sure it wasn't too hot, then drank some more, now more confidently. She put the mug on the table and the sound of the mug connecting with wood was clearly heard in the otherwise quiet room.
So he kissed her.
He was upset, vulnerable, then thankful for her support. Monsters usually wore their souls on their sleeves and although Y/n knew that Sans had a talent of hiding things behind his smile, this may have been just his honest, emotional monster nature showing.
She saw that she made him blush on some occasions, but he said it himself - he wasn't used to compliments and she tended to give him quite a few. He made her blush too, but that was because she realized she had a crush on the stout skeleton and, lately, because she confessed to herself just how important he has become to her, much more than a simple crush. Like he filled a spot in her heart that was hollow before, and filled it so perfectly that she wished he would want to stay there forever. She could feel that Sans came to view her as important too, but monsters had a tendency to cherish their friends very much and behave very affectionately towards them.
The last thing she wanted to do was to assume.
By the looks of it, Sans didn't need for things to get more complicated and it would break her heart if he couldn't see her as someone he could confide in, someone he could trust, especially after the trust he showed her today.
Judging by Papyrus, Undyne and Alphys, monsters viewed romantic relationships on a whole different level and, again, judging by Papyrus, one could easily spook a monster away with unwanted advances. She doubted Sans would ever have a dramatic speech for her if she confessed, she gathered he was one to try and lighten up the situation with a joke. And then try and have as little contact with her as possible.
That was a logical train of thought. Was it? Wasn't it?
She hated being in love, because it made thinking clearly a challenge, all the different emotions and fears screwing with her thought process.
She sighed heavily and drank some more tea.
She just wanted Sans to be happy. For him to have someone to talk to, to trust. She could keep her emotions in check if needed.
But really, the level of affection she had for the stout skeleton was something Y/n never felt before, she would be impressed if her heart wasn't drowning in a whole cocktail of emotions, wishes and fears.
She stood up, walked to the sink and washed the mug. For a moment, she just stood there, her thoughts blank.
"Not the time to be a dumbass, Y/n," she said to herself and walked back to the couch.
Coming closer to it, she heard the sound of her phone vibrating. She walked faster and picked up the smartphone.
It was Papyrus.
"Hello, Pap-"
"Y/N FINALLY! AND HELLO TO YOU TOO!" the loud skeleton started to talk immediately, "ME AND SANS HAVE BEEN WORRIED AS TO WHY YOU WOULDN'T ANSWER THE PHONE THE PREVIOUS 17 TIMES I CALLED"
"Oh I-"
"BUT YOU'RE HERE NOW AND THAT IS GOOD. SANS? SANS, YOU SLEEPYSKULL, DID YOU GO TO YOUR ROOM? Y/N ANSWERED THE PHONE, SHE IS QUITE ALRIGHT! SHE WAS JUST- WHAT WERE YOU DOING, Y/N, IF THE GREAT PAPYRUS MAY ASK?"
"Drinking tea, then washing the mug," she answered with a soft giggle.
"SHE WAS ENJOYING A HOT BEVERAGE AND THEN BEING CLEANLY! YOU SHOULD LEARN FROM HER!! SO THEN, WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY," he cleared his nonexistent throat, "I WANTED TO SAY THAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAPPILY ACCEPT YOUR INVITATION TO SPEND THE WEEKEND AT YOUR MUCH RESPECTED GRANDMOTHER'S BEACH HOUSE!"
"Glad to hear that, Papyrus," she sincerely said, a wide smile forming on her lips.
"YES, YES INDEED," he seemed happy with himself, but his next words were even louder than his normal voice, excitement getting stronger with each word the skeleton spoke."BUT TO THE MAIN REASON FOR ME CALLING YOU! Y/N, I AM SO VERY THANKFUL! JUST...WOWIE!! THE FIRST COPY, AND FOR ME, AND YOU WROTE SUCH LOVELY WORDS ON THE FIRST PAGE, YOU'RE SO VERY SKILLFUL AT BEING A GREAT FRIEND!"
"Oh, Papyrus, I just-"
"I WILL NOT LET YOU BEST ME AT BEING A GREAT FRIEND, I AM, AFTER ALL, THE GREAT PAPYRUS! MASTER OF FORMING AND MAINTAINING FRIENDSHIPS! SO I WOULD ADVISE YOU TO BE PREPARED FOR TOMORROW, AS I WILL SHOW YOU HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE OUR FRIENDSHIP!"
"Papyrus, honey, you really don't have to," Y/n let out a soft, warm laugh.
"IT IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE! SUCH ACTS AS YOURS SHOULD NOT GO UNANSWERED, IT IS A QUESTION OF MY HONOR! BESIDES I...REALLY AM...VERY...touched that you gave me this book."
Papyrus' soft voice caught Y/n off-guard, the tall skeleton only used such a voice if speaking his normal one was very frowned upon in certain places(such as theatres) or when he was being extremely serious.
"I'm happy you liked your present, honey," she cooed, "I really wanted you to have it."
"A-HEM, YES, WELL, THANK YOU! NOW THAT YOU SUCCESSFULLY MANAGED TO GET MY LEVELS OF 'FLUSTERED' ABOVE EVERY REASONABLE NORM, I AM OF THE OPINION THAT WE SHOULD RETIRE TO SLEEP."
"Ok, Papyrus, good night and sleep tight."
"AS SOON AS I COME UP WITH A PLAN HOW TO FULLY REPAY YOU FOR YOUR STELLAR DISPLAY OF FRIENDSHIP!"
"Get some sleep first, you'll think better in the morning," she chuckled.
"THAT IS ACTUALLY A WONDERFUL IDEA! I WILL DO THAT!"
"Happy to hear. If you'll see Sans, please tell him I said goodnight again."
"WILL DO, Y/N!" Papyrus said, clearly happy to have a mission.
"Goodnight, Papyrus."
"GOODNIGHT, Y/N!"
She ended the call and checked her phone. Sure enough, there were 17 missed calls.
Damn, Papyrus was adorable.
***
There was just so_much_to_do.
She started running around the city as soon as the church bell near her apartment complex hit ten times. Usually she loved sleeping in, but as there was a very special weekend ahead of her, she wanted to be sure she got everything to make it as good as possible.
Papyrus promised to pick her up at 4 PM from her house, but before that, she wanted to visit several other stores and buy some things.
She was in the sports store, in the book store, in the hobby shop. Somewhere between walking from the drug store to the cookshop, she noticed something in the window of a clothes store and ran into it, internally waving her money goodbye.
By 2 PM she was home again, taking a shower, spending twice the amount of shower gel and shampoo she would normally - a clear sign she was excited and wanted to look better. She knew the amount of used "bath goo" didn't change anything, but it made her feel like it did.
She spend a while in the bathroom, fussing over her appearance, already planning what she would wear. Should she wear what she bought today? Or should she change into it later? Would Sans even like it? Or would he find the idea too cheesy? Then again, it was Sans.
Goddamn it, she was really in love with that skeleton.
Her first and foremost priority, however, was to try and make him as happy and relaxed as she could. How he viewed her was important, but his wellbeing was invaluable.
So there she was, walking up to her closet and just standing there, deep in thought. Damn, she ran all around town for several hours doing stuff, and clothes got her confused. The weather was warm and sunny, so no sweaters, longsleeved shirts. But, then again, they will be riding in a car with the roof down, so...
"Ugh," she rolled her eyes and went to her couch. She'll paint her nails and do her make up first, she'll think about clothes later. She hated being in love.
20 minutes later, her nails were done and the light make up on her eyes was done too. She would wash it off soon anyway, but, goddamn it, she wanted Sans to see her at least a bit dolled up at first.
She hoped he wouldn't think she was shallow because of tha-
"OH WAIT, HE'S A SKELETON, HE PROBABLY WOULDN'T NOTICE SOMETHING LIKE THAT, HUMAN MEN DON'T EVEN LOOK INTO THOSE KINDS OF DETAILS. Stop overthinking things, oh my god."
She sighed and glanced at her phone. A hour and a half to go. Still, she was anxious already.
Did she get everything? She promised Papyrus to buy several packs of spaghetti, she did. Bottles of ketchup - check. Things from the sports, hobby and cookstores - check.
She looked at her phone again. A minute has passed.
She let her head fall back on the couch and let out an exasperated sigh. Bored, she waved her hands, hoping her nail polish would dry faster.
Soon enough, she was, again, standing in front of her closet.
God fucking damn it.
***
Sans' POV
They were late.
Usually Sans wouldn't give a damn. But they were late to pick up Y/n and he could hardly stop himself from teleporting to her side, he wanted to see her so much. At the same time, he didn't want to. But he wanted to more than anything.
Love was complicated.
He left extremely awkwardly yesterday and he was sure she understood that what he did was, indeed, a kiss.
He decided he'd act as if nothing had happened and, if she asked, say that it was his intention to do that. Monsters are, after all, emotional creatures. At least while Papyrus was around, that was the plan of action. Later, maybe - no, definitely - in the evening, he would talk to her, no bullshit. He would tell her how he feels.
Or should he maybe do that tomorrow? That way, there'd be less awkward time between them after his confession.
After all, she was a beautiful human girl, with that shiny h/c hair and those stunning e/c eyes. Her hands were so delicate and her skin was so soft, the mere thought made Sans sight dreamily. Her voice was incredibly soothing to him and her personality alone was enough for him to lose sleep over. And even her smell - it made Sans' soul swell and beat more steadily, bringing him a feeling of serenity.
She was kind and gorgeous, and everything, every bit about her was perfect, and he was, well...
"SANS!!!" his brother's voice plucked him out of his daydreaming.
"yeah, bro?" he lazily replied, resting his elbow on the car door and leaning on it with his skull.
"YOU SLEEPYSKULL," his brother dramatically sighed, "WE WILL BE ARRIVING AT Y/N'S SHORTLY, THE KIND GPS NAVIGATOR FRIEND SAID."
"ok," Sans shrugged, but mentally he was bracing himself.
He would tell her. He had too.
Judging by the signs, she probably would be willing to give him a chance.
A chance is all he hopes for.
A chance not to hide the way he looks at her.
A chance to show her how much she matters to him.
A chance to dare and touch her more often. Touch her hand, her hair - the little touches he's been holding himself back from lately.
To think, that there could be even the slightest chance of him being able to sit beside her and hug her, run his bony fingers through her hair, lean his skull to her head and spend time just like that, for as long as possible.
To think that she could actually return his feelings-
Oh.
OH.
Sans felt like someone poured a bucket of boiling oil and then another bucket of ice cold water on his soul. His relaxed pose gone, his body now tense like a wound up string, he felt his breathing pause as he looked at the sidewalk in front of Y/n's apartment complex.
A couple of humans were standing there. A guy and a girl. They looked lovely together, her being beautiful, dressed in a long green summer dress and her hair slightly moving from the wind, and him being tall, slim and handsome, wearing a smart grey suit.
They looked like they were having a wonderful time talking to each other - the both of them smiling and seemingly even chuckling. A perfect human couple. Perfect, Sans thought, except for one thing.
The girl was Y/n.
The last few seconds while the car was pulling over near them, Sans felt his soul sink deeper and deeper.
Had he been assuming?
Was she just being a kind, warmhearted friend?
He could see, feel that she acted differently around him, had some affection for him, did he mistake friendship, pity and kindness for possible romantic feelings?
No, no, that couldn't be-
"Y/N!" Papyrus' voice rang out, making Y/n, the young man and Sans look at the tall skeleton.
Sans saw how Y/n raised her eyebrows in surprise and looked at Papyrus, than at him. Papyrus, meanwhile, parked his car and practically jumped out of it, hurrying to Y/n. Sans himself was still in the car, instinctively falling back to his mask of lazy boredom while his mind was frantically analyzing Y/n's every expression.
She smiled as she saw him, that was good. She then looked at Papyrus and was instantly squeezed in the taller skeleton's embrace. She looked happy about that. The young man behind her looked somewhat surprised, but amused.
As Y/n and Papyrus shared their hug, Sans looked over the male human once more. He was really tall for a human - practically the same height as Papyrus. He had light brown hair, his face had many sharp angles only accented by his smart-looking glasses and perfectly-fitting grey suit. His nose was somewhat long, his eyes were big and grey, his lips were thin, a little polite smile playing on them.
He was so, so human.
"I'm so happy to see you guys," Y/n said as she let go of Papyrus.
"I AM HAPPY TO SEE YOU TOO, Y/N! SANS IS, TOO, RIGHT, BROTHER?"
Sans gave a half-lazy, half-unsure wave and a chuckle. Papyrus nodded enthusiastically and continued, looking at the tall human:
"WHO'S YOUR FRIEND??"
Papyrus was now practically in the guys face. The Guy, however, only smiled politely and extended a hand.
"Sean Reno," he said and, damn it, his voice was calm and pleasant like the rest of him. Sans couldn't help but let out a quiet "hmph" when Papyrus excitedly started to shake the guy's hand and introduce himself, the next moment, however, the stout skeleton was already groaning silently at how childish he himself was thinking and acting.
He was better than this.
Next thing he knew he was already walking towards the three of them.
"hey there, Y/n," he said in a nonchalant voice while opening his arms to Y/n, who gladly hugged him. He hugged her back while looking up to meet the young man's eyes, mustering the best "laid-back, but confident" look he had in his arsenal. Mister Reno gave him a polite smile.
"SANS, WE HAVE A NEW ACQUAINTANCE," Papyrus said excitedly, clearly waiting for a formal meeting between the two.
"have we now?" Sans chuckled, letting go of Y/n, who stepped back, giving the human man and the stout skeleton room.
"hey, bud," he shrugged and smiled at the guy and extended a bony hand, "Sans. Sans the skeleton."
"Sean. Sean, the lawyer," the young man shook Sans' hand.
"lawyer, huh?" Sans smiled a mischievous grin,"then maybe you can tell me if that one thing about old lawyers is true?"
The smartly dressed man clearly didn't expect the question and that made Sans even more giddy on the inside, especially because he could feel Y/n grinning beside him.
"What thing?"
"that old lawyers never die, they just lose their appeal."
"Wha...?" the confused face of the young lawyer did it for Y/n, who burst out giggling, making Sans contently chuckle.
Papyrus, however, was not impressed.
"SANS, THIS IS A NEW ACQUAINTANCE, CAN'T YOU BE DECENT FOR EVEN A LITTLE?!"
"sorry, bro."
Sans was not sorry an everyone knew it.
Mister Reno seemed to regain his composure and looked at Y/n, who was smiling widely.
"I see what you meant when you said he was a funny guy."
"He is," Y/n said proudly and Sans could feel himself smiling contently.
"SO ARE YOU TWO GOOD FRIENDS? DO YOU HANG OUT OFTEN?? HOW DID YOU MEET???" Papyrus was almost bursting from curiosity.
Y/n and Sean looked at each other and chuckled.
"Actually, I haven't seen Y/n in a couple of years," the lawyer said."When was the last time we met?"
"The opening of your bar?" the girl offered and Sean's face lit up like Christmas.
"Yes, yes, you're right! You were in that black cocktail dress with silver accents, I remember."
"WOWIE, YOU REMEMBER WHAT SHE WAS WEARING? YOU REALLY ARE GOOD FRIENDS IF HE REMEMBERS THAT! Y/M, DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT SEAN THE LAWYER WORE?"
"I do," Y/m giggled, "a light-lavender suit, a white shirt and a purple tie."
"One does not forget an outfit like that," Sean chuckled and Y/n happily nodded.
"SANS, ISN'T THAT JUST A WONDERFUL DISPLAY OF FRIENDSHIP AND ATTENTION?"
"yeah, sure, Pap," Sans shrugged with a smile and stuck his hands into his pockets, internally bothered by the display. The two were basically finishing each other's sentences and it was becoming harder and harder to stay relaxed, or at least outwardly relaxed.
Perhaps it wouldn't bother Sans as much if he didn't confess to himself earlier that he hopelessly fell in love with Y/n and if he wasn't planning to tell her that literally today or tomorrow.
As it was, he felt uneasy, a paranoid feeling making him feel like she was slipping right through his bony fingers.
"Well, it's been really nice to run into you, Sean," Y/n said, smiling sweetly, "but it's illegal to park here for more than 10 minutes, and-"
"IS IT?!! SANS, GRAB A BAG, I'LL GET THOSE TWO! FORGET IT, I'LL CARRY ALL OF THEM!"
Sans watched with a smile as his brother grabbed the three bags Y/n had near her and heroically carried them to the car. He then looked at Y/n and his eye socket twitched as he saw Sean lean down to give her a brief hug which she gladly returned.
He wasn't against her hugging other people.
It's Mister Perfect here he had a problem with.
But the hug was over and Papyrus was beside them again.
"IT WAS A PLEASURE MEETING YOU, SEAN RENO THE LAWYER, THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL NOT FORGET YOU!"
"Pleasure's all mine," the young man chuckled and turned to Sans, who offered him a nonchalant look.
"yep, nice to meet you. and remember, if you ever decide to change your carrier to cooking, you'll probably be a good sue chef."
Y/n gave a quiet laugh, Sean chuckled, and Papyrus stormed off to the car, screaming.
"Have a nice weekend, Y/n," the young lawyer said and the girl nodded.
"You too, Sean," she smiled and began walking to the car, Sans walking beside her, happy that the unexpected socializing was over.
***
They've been driving for 40 minutes now. The ride was fun, Papyrus was talking to the GPS navigator, Sans was cracking jokes, Papyrus was screaming, Y/n was laughing.
But for some dumb reason, Sans just couldn't let it go, questions sitting in the back of his mind the last 40 minutes.
"so, ugh, that Sean guy," Sans started, keeping his voice as nonchalant as possible and not letting his relaxed grin fall from his facial bones, "know him long?"
"Um," Y/n looked at him(they were both driving in the back seat) with slight confusion,"Yeah, why?"
"just curious," he shrugged.
"YES, Y/N, PLEASE TELL US HOW YOU MET YOUR TALL LAWYER HUMAN FRIEND!"
"Well, since you asked so nicely," Y/n chuckled."We met at a party his friend threw. The party was huge, he rented a club, and there was a lot of people."
So he had rich friends and was probably rich too, perfect.
"Some of my friends knew his friend and dragged me along. The problem was, there was much, much alcohol and I drink rarely and in small doses. So I found myself at a table, drinking orange juice while my friends were a bit further away doing shots and playing party games."
Sans chuckled and that got Y/n's attention. He shrugged, smiling warmly.
"nothing', just easy to imagine you like that."
"That's because you know me so well," she smiled back and Sans felt calmer, like maybe she did like him. She said that he knew her well. They did have a lot in common.
"So there I was, somewhat overdressed, drinking my juice, when I see a guy in a honest-to-god suit and tie, sitting at the corner table and drinking tea. I make my way to him and try to communicate one simple question over the music 'How did you get the bartender to make you tea?'. He laughed and we ended up spending the whole night at that table, drinking tea, looking like we just came from a theatre and taking pictures of or drunk comrades."
She laughed quietly, Papyrus laughed loudly. Sans made a noise that maybe could be classified as laughter.
Could that guy get any more perfect?
"Then he took me home in his BMW, and after that we met sometimes at parties his friend threw, finding ways to spend time as snobs while everyone else was having drunk fun. We kinda always found each other by our clothing habits. And, well, he's tall, easy to spot."
Fuck.
"THAT'S A SPLENDID AND FUNNY STORY, Y/N! IT IS GOOD TO FIND SOMEONE WHO SHARES YOUR MATURE OUTLOOK ON LIFE!!"
"Well, I wouldn't call my outlook on life exactly 'mature', but-"
"-Turn left in 200 meters-"
"THANK YOU, GPS NAVIGATOR FRIEND!"
"Well, we're almost t-...Sans?" he heard her call his name and tore his eyes from the landscape to look at her.
"yeah?"
"You okay? Did I say something wrong?" her voice was gentle, worried. Sans managed a smile he hoped wasn't too sad.
"nah...no, Y/n," he shook his head."all this nature around just makes a skeleton think, y'know?"
"Oh," she looked at him with her piercing e/c eyes, but didn't ask anything."Ok, sorry for bothering you."
"n-nah, it's not like that, come on, Y/n, you're never a bother," now he felt bad for lying. Then again, better than telling her right then and there that jealousy and thoughts that maybe that guy was a more fitting match for her were eating him from the inside.
Y/n gave him a small smile and before he had a chance to find something to say Papyrus started asking directions, as the GPS didn't pick up the unnamed smaller roads leading to the cabin.
***
They were there.
They were there and it was amazing.
The cabin turned out to be a small two-story house. It had a kitchen, a dining/fireplace room and a bathroom on the first floor and two bedrooms on the second.
Sans was used to falling asleep near Papyrus, so sharing a bed with his brother wouldn't be an issue. Hopefully, he wouldn't have nightmares the next two nights, it would be a shame to wake the younger skeleton and worry him in the middle of the night.
Y/n happily showed the skeleton brothers the garden her grandmother always diligently tended to, the old swing with which Papyrus instantly fell in love with, and then the path to the beach. It was a 10 minute walk if you took a path through the forest, and Papyrus was reaching Disney-princess-levels of adoring every flower and animal he saw. Y/n found it endearing and began telling Papyrus about all the local flora and fauna to the taller skeleton's utter joy. Sans, for all his current heavy thoughts, couldn't help but fall in love with her even more because of how she treated his brother.
When they reached the beach, Sans and Papyrus took a huge shocked breath.
The beach near the city was not always crowded, but it always had at least some people. Here, there was no one. The sedge swaying in the wind and small waves quietly washing over the sand were the only sounds, along with the sounds of the forest, that could be heard.
Sans loved it from the very first second. He looked at Y/n, wanting to tell her just that, but the words never came out as he saw her expression. A calm, happy smile was on her lips and her eyes were shining brightly with endearment as they were focused on the sea. It was like she was looking at an old and dear friend. The sea breeze was ruffling her h/c hair and the sun made it shine beautifully.
"i sea you like it here a lot," he noted and his chuckle got stuck in his nonexistent throat as she set her gaze on him and the endearing look not only didn't go away, but became warmer, gentler.
"I shore do," she answered, looking him over with a smile.
He finally was able to chuckle lightly, his cheekbones no doubt bluish as he looked to his brother, who was being suspiciously quiet despite their puns.
"bro, do yo-"
"SANS," Papyrus interrupted him, his voice even - Sans knew that voice, it was the calm before the storm.
"yeah, Pap?"
"THIS PLACE. THE FOREST. THE SEA. THE LITTLE RUSTIC HOUSE...IT IS SO...SO..."
Here it comes. Sans couldn't help but grin already.
"AMAZING! WONDERFUL! EXTRAORDINARY!! OUTSTANDING!! PHENOMENAL!!!" his brother threw his hands up in the air, his excited shouting easily drowning out the sound of waves.
The tall skeleton ran to the sea, then abruptly stopped, turned around, ran back and swept Y/n into his arms, lifting her from the ground and squeezing her in a powerful hug.
"Ah! Papyrus!" the girl laughed despite the air being violently squeezed out of her.
"THANK YOU FOR INVITING US HERE!! YOU'RE SUCH A TERRIFIC FRIEND!!!"
"I-ah, you're always welcome here," she smiled, her cheeks became a bit rosy and she hugged the gleeful monster back.
Sans looked at the two, his eye sockets half-lidded, his soul growing three sizes by the feel of it. He would be ready to do anything for this to last, for these two to remain as happy as this, he would endure anything for that.
"Sans," Y/n called. Her and Papyrus were now looking at him and he realized that he may have become lost in thought.
"yeah?"
"COME HERE FOR A GROUP HUG, YOU LAZYBONES!" his brother chided lightly, his happy smile not fading.
Oh, right. He wasn't an observer in this happy moment. He was a participant.
Sans shrugged, trying not to seem too touched, and made two steps, instantly being also swept up in his brother's powerful embrace, him and Y/n now being squished together.
His brother and Y/n laughed joyfully and he realized he was laughing too, his soul fluttering with happiness.
"you two, makin' me all sentimental," he threw an arm around each of them, bringing them all closer and making his brother and Y/n smile approvingly.
"or should i say," he grinned mischievously, "sanstimental."
"OK THE MOMENT IS OVER!" Papyrus practically dropped them, furious. Both Sans and Y/n landed safely on their feet, laughing and holding onto each other.
"THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL BE GOING INTO THE WATER NOW," the tall skeleton gave them a bit-to-dramatic-to-be-true displeased look and sprinted off to the sea with a joyful laugh.
"NYEHEHEH!!! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL MAKE THIS GORGEOUS BEACH REMEMBER ME!!"
"heh..."
"Hah.."
Sans looked at Y/n, who looked back at him. The two smiled.
"thanks, Y/n," he said softly, his eye sockets half-closed in contentment.
She nodded and her hands squeezed his forearms a bit tighter, prompting him to do the same instinctively.
Stars, don't let this reset. He'd rather die.
"Um," Y/n smiled somewhat bashfully and glanced momentarily at his brother before returning her gaze to him."How well does Papyrus swim?"
"like a bag o' bones," he admitted honestly with a shrug.
The two shared a laugh and Sans quickly teleported them to Papyrus' side before the fabulous, arm floaty-wearing skeleton could brave the waters alone.
***
Y/n's POV
This was a day.
From the minute Papyrus stepped out of the car he was just bursting of excitement over everything. Walking on grass, seeing the house(every room was it's own individual reason for excitement), taking the path through the forest, seeing the beach, swimming in the sea - everything seemed to only power the tall skeleton's enthusiasm.
Sans was more silent, but because she glanced at him so often she could notice how much he appreciated the same things as well. He offered countless house-, forest- and sea-related puns and his expression was that of content.
Y/n was happy the skeletons liked the place.
She also tried to keep up with Papyrus, who wanted to do everything and anything that could be done.
She swam with him in the sea numerous times, gladly showing him some swimming styles and playing some games with him. She doubted she would ever forget his gleeful squeal when she decided to show-not-tell him how the whole concept of "effective mass underwater" works. She swept him in her arms and carried him around, and Sans was the one who laughed the most at that.
Sans himself was a good - although lazy - swimmer, despite being literally just bones. It sometimes seemed like rules of physics just didn't apply to him.
Scratch that, he was a magical skeleton who could teleport. Rules could be thrown out the window.
They then had a competition in building sandcastles. Papyrus was suprisingly amazing at it, but instead of a castle he build a bust of himself. Sans took a handful of wet sand, placed it on the ground and wrote "cool castle" beside it. Y/n made a little castle with a few towers and dug a moat around it. They decided that they were all winners, despite Papyrus throwing a fit because of his brother's laziness. The latter said he enjoyed watching them have fun more than building his own castle.
Y/n was touched, Papyrus didn't buy it.
They stayed at the beach for a while. Sans seemed to enjoy just laying there, sleeping in the sun. Y/n was more of a swimmer and boy, did Papyrus make her prove that, asking her to go for a swim 4 or 5 times. She made sure to swim with the tall skeleton until he was ready to go out of the water. She then allowed herself to swim further from shore, diving, coming up and diving again, coming out of the water only when her fingers started to wrinkle.
They left the beach only after watching the sunset, both Papyrus and Sans watching with awe as the sun slowly disappeared behind the horizon, behind the gigantic mirror that was the sea. Y/n glanced at Sans and caught him looking at her too. She smiled warmly and there was a bit of green on Sans' cheekbones, the golden glow of the sun and the blue color of his magic mixing.
At the cabin, Y/n revealed that she bought not only a bag-full of spaghetti, but also tomatoes, cheeses and spices to make homemade sauce. Papyrus was overjoyed and was cooking the very sauce at the moment.
In the meantime Y/n lighted a fire in the fireplace, placed a comfy chair near it and put a bottle of ketchup and a cup of tea near it. She knew Sans well enough by now to know that he would probably want to rest while they'll be cooking.
As Sans emerged from the bathroom after his shower, all cute in his blue t-shirt("They sea me rollin', they hatin' " printed on it), grey sports pants and pink slippers, she gestured to the chair.
"Thought you'd like to relax while we're making dinner," she said, smiling at him and then resting her gaze on the rug, a sudden shyness overcoming her. Was this move too obvious? But she wanted him to feel comfortable in her home.
She looked at him again and almost jumped from surprise, the stout skeleton was standing much closer now, looking at her with so much tenderness...she hoped the light from the fireplace hid how rosy her cheeks became.
"that's very thoughtful, i, eh...well," the monster chuckled and rubbed the back of his skull bashfully, the bluish-green color on his cheekbones returning - Y/n thought he was incredibly handsome like this. "tibia honest, i'm real touched."
"Oh don't get humerus with me, skeleton," she let out a laugh, "I wanted you to feel comfortable. Just tell me if I overdid it."
"n-nah, really," Sans looked at her, his smile fading a little and the lights in his eye sockets getting bigger as he looked at her, "thanks, it's perfect."
"Ah. Well, good, then," she perked up and stepped to the side, allowing Sans to get to the chair. As he walked past her, she let herself look at his arms, now almost fully exposed by the short-sleeved shirt.
She remembered that, at first, Sans always had his hoodie on, even when it was warm in the room or hot outside. He also had a tendency to put his hands into his pockets a lot. She noticed those things because she so curious about him, yet rarely had the chance to look at him properly. But then he started wearing just shirts a bit more when they were at his or hers, and bit by bit he got comfortable enough to seemingly not worry about what he wore around her.
Seemingly. Sans could be, after all, very secretive sometimes.
She smiled at the thought that he was comfortable around her as she was looking at how the light from the fireplace colored his ulna, radius and the exposed part of his humerus. He still was so fascinating to her, yet her fascination was now accompanied by a certain tenderness.
"huh, ketchup and tea? man, Y/n, you really thought of everything," he shot her a grateful look and all she could do was smile stupidly.
Sans sat and leaned into the chair, closing his eye sockets with a content breath.
Well, he liked this gesture. Maybe her idea for later wasn't as forward as she thought. In the mean time...
"Y/N!! THE TOMATOES BECAME SOUP-LIKE, I THINK THEY'RE READY!! SHOULD I STIR THE SAUCE WITH MY BONE ATTACK LIKE UNDYNE TAUGHT ME??"
"Oh nonononono wait!"
She ran to the kitchen as fast as she could without running into furniture, not noticing the look of pure endearment the stout skeleton had as he followed her with his eyes.
***
They closed the door behind them, trying to be as quiet as possible. It was already almost midnight and they had just put Papyrus to sleep, reading him Y/n's new book together.
Y/n loved Sans' voice, she was never as sure of it as when she had the chance to listen the older skeleton read to Papyrus. His voice was deep, calm and filled with warmth towards the one person Sans loved above everyone and anything else - his brother. Just listening to him sounding so loving made Y/n's heart flutter.
So there they were, standing in front of the bedroom door, looking at each other with wide grins.
"so you wanna go to sleep?" Sans asked in a whisper, the look in his eyes curious and even somewhat hopeful for something.
"Nope," she answered immediately, just as quiet."I still want to-" "Spend time with you!" "-hang out a bit, you?"
Sans seemed beyond pleased and they looked to the staircase.
"Shortcut? Would make much less noise than those old wooden stairs," she looked him over and added in a hurry," If you're not too tired, that is."
Sans grinned widely.
"glad to sea you like them," he said warmly.
"Whale, they are very fun. And convenient," she answered, the same warmth in her voice.
He reached out and took her hand into his bony one and she couldn't help but lean a bit closer to him, her eyes focused on his.
"Um. Sorry for staring," she smiled apologetically.
"it's ok, you'd have seen it sooner or later," he shrugged and his voice was calm, yet Y/n knew that some of that confidence was faked. She wouldn't call him out on it, though, she was guilty of the same behavior too.
Sans squeezed her hand a bit tighter and closed his eyes. When he opened the left one, Y/n held her breath. The lights on the second floor were off and, in the darkness, his cyan blue eye glowed vibrantly.
"you still ok?" he asked and she could spot slight worry in his voice. She smiled warmly, squeezed his hand tighter and dared to run her thumb over his metacarpals.
"Yep. Still think it's beautiful," she said, not letting her shyness get in the way of praising the skeleton.
Sans fell silent, the looks they gave each other - that of tenderness and that of thankful endearment - speaking more than words could.
For a moment, it felt like yesterday, but with Sans being less upset.
"thanks, never heard that before. well, aside from yesterday," he chuckled lightly, not taking his glowing eye from her.
Y/n smiled and then spotted something in her peripheral vision. The kitchen lights were on.
Oh, they were in the living room already.
Sans was still holding her hand.
"Sans, I, um," she wanted to ask him about her idea, but wasn't sure if he would be up for it.
"you want me to let go of your hand?" he asked, his warm tone now lightly laced with something else that sounded like either excitement or fear.
"N-no. No." she looked at him and smiled when she saw his eyes, now white glowing lights again, light up.
"good...good. 'cause i really don't want to," he said quietly, looking at Y/n affectionately.
Oh. Oh my.
Well, if Sans was willing to be brave today, she wouldn't let her insecurities stop her too.
"I don't want to, too." she smiled, feeling a blush creep onto her cheeks. Sans wasn't doing any better, his cheekbones dimly glowing blue. He was, however, also smiling happily at her. She wished he could smile like that more often.
"I was wondering- I had this idea...would you be against a little fresh air right about now?"
Sans seemed somewhat surprised, but nodded almost instantly.
"sure, what'cha have in mind?"
"Well, at first we need that bag over there, the big grey one," she nodded to the right and gave Sans' hand an experimental tug, urging him to come with. He gladly followed.
She took the bag and turned to him.
"we ready?"
"Yep. Would it be difficult to 'find a shortcut' to the beach?"
Sans gave her a look like he didn't believe what she was saying. She giggled softly and nodded to the sports bag in her hand.
"Never made you carry this too."
"Y/n, please. you insult me," he waved with his free hand and chuckled. They joked about fuzzy slippers filled with sand and decided to take off their shoes. Then his left eye glowed blue again and for a second there was that familiar feeling of weightlessness and, just for a moment, Sans' eye was the only source of light in the pitch black darkness.
Then she felt sand under her feet and the salty breeze touching her skin.
Sans' eyes returned to normal and he looked at her with a gentle smile.
"so what's the idea?"
She took a moment to listen to the sounds around them. A few crickets, but otherwise it was quiet. Perfect, the sea was still tonight.
"I wanted you to see the sky and the sea at night," she softly said and looked up, almost instantly however shifting her gaze to Sans.
The skeleton chuckled and looked up. His left eye lit up blue seemingly of it's own accord and his mouth slightly opened in awe.
Sans' POV
He held his breath, awestruck. The stars were so unbelievably bright, there was so many of them! Even from the forest near the city they lived in you couldn't see them quite like this.
The whole sky shined and shimmered, stars like diamonds on the dark velvet of the night sky. The Milky Way could clearly be visible, stretching from one side of the sky to another. Ursa Major and Ursa Minor could be seen right above their heads, the Cassiopeia not too far from them. He could instantly recognize Sagittarius and Scorpius, and was that the top half of Orion there? And Venus, Jupiter and Mercury, he could see the planets shining brighter than many of the stars.
And the sea! It seemed like it was perfectly still, the softest sound of water reaching the shore being the only indicator it was not. The water reflected the night sky, especially the larger planets, creating a mesmerizingly beautiful sight. This was- Y/n.
He looked at her, his glowing eye casting a light light onto her. He would be willing it away right now if his emotions weren't all over the place, the strongest being awe, reverence even.
"this is..Y/n, i..."
Damn, his speaking was failing him again. Y/n, however, seemed pleased.
"I remembered how you told me about the astronomy book you liked so much. And your camping trip with friends in the spring, how you snuck out to go stargazing with Papyrus. So I, well," she shrugged, smiled somewhat bashfully and squeezed his hand."I decided to show you my favorite stargazing spot."
This was amazing. She was-
"Y/n, this is incredible," he said, unable to hide the gratitude and love in his gaze.
She smiled and sighed with relief.
"I'm glad. The Perseid meteor shower is also at it's culmination now, so it would be a shame if we missed it."
She was so perfect. He wanted to hug her, to kiss her, to express in every word known to man and monster how wonderful she was.
She put the bag on the sand.
"I brought my old telescope and some blankets, and the tea I brought should still be hot, vacuum flask and all..."
He looked at her like she suddenly fell from heaven. Her e/c eyes were reflecting blue, his emotions and magic were going wild, causing his left eye to light up again.
"you...hah," he just couldn't pick the right words. He never was good with serious speeches, with declarations of feelings and eloquently phrased confessions. He had neither the experience nor the talent for it. He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment.
She was everything he'd ever wanted. All his life he was perfectly content being sure the only one he'd love would be his younger brother, and then he met her and she made him feel a whole diffrent kind of love. He realized he needed her. More and more with each passing day his soul longed for her and it felt like it was so overfilled with feelings for this kindhearted human girl that it became painful sometimes.
He looked at her again, taking in her appearance. His monster eyes, used to looking at things and monsters in the Underground, could see her with relative ease, and he was never as grateful as today for that. Her eyes were fixed on his and he never understood how he got so lucky, for her to look at him like that.
His hands trembled a little and a moment later she was holding both his hands in hers, looking at him with slight worry.
"You okay?" she softly asked.
"i'm in love," he stated bluntly, his smile becoming somewhat sad as he sighed in defeat and hung his head - this was it, no turning back. "i'm in love with you, Y/n. like, stars, it's honestly baffling how skull over tarsals in love i am, like you couldn't imagine...um.."
He made himself shut up. Well, wasn't that a botched confession? He would have made a mental note to hit his skull on a wall later if he was able to think at all.
At the moment, no thought was able to form in his panicking mind, made only worse by the fact that the only sound he could hear was his soul pounding furiously.
"I could imagine," he heard her say quietly and immediately looked at her, eye sockets wide.
Y/n smiled, endearment clearly written across her beautiful face.
"I'm in love with you too, Sans," she said, her voice soft, but confident.
"y-you are?" he was acting dumb and he knew it, but he just couldn't believe it. He hoped for it, but wouldn't dare assume. This was Y/n, the kind, beautiful Y/n, she deserved far better, she could have better, she-
"Yes," she nodded."I am. And I have been, for a while."
He looked at her with a mixture of love, awe and gratitude, he had to hold himself back from thanking her. Instead, he let go of her right hand, bringing his left hand up and gently resting in on her cheek. He held his breath as she leaned into his touch, a happy, loving smile on her face.
He pulled her closer to him - she gladly obliged and rested her forehead against his frontal bone. Sans let go of her other hand, wrapping his arm around her waist. She wrapped one arm around his ribs, with her other hand she touched his facial bones, gently tracing his mandible with her thumb. He closed his eye sockets, letting out a shaky breath.
"stars, don't let this ever reset."
She stayed quiet, but leaned into him more, no doubt feeling he was talking about something painful. He would tell her, he would tell her everything. But at first-
Not opening his eye sockets, he moved his head slightly and was met halfway by Y/n, her soft, warm lips touching his teeth.
For a moment, there was only that - the feeling of her lips on his teeth and of his soul becoming still before starting to pulse powerfully, rapidly, making the feeling of happiness rush through all of his bones, to the very tips of his phalanges.
The kiss ended and he dared to open his eyes, meeting Y/n's loving e/c ones.
Without a word, he smiled at her and leaned toward her again, eager to feel her lips once more, this time sliding his hand into her hair, reveling in the silky feeling. Her hand, in turn, caressed his skull, making him happily sigh into the kiss.
As soon as the kiss was over, he hugged her tightly, Y/n returning the hug with no less affection.
He nuzzled his face into her hair, still not fully believing what was happening. In his mind, he could only think of one thing.
"don't forget this, please don't forget this, please don't forget me, please don't forget me, please don't forget me, please don't forget me, don't forget me, just please don't forget me..."
Her soft, gentle hand caressed his cheekbone.
"I won't," she cooed and he realized he had accidentally said his thoughts out loud."It's okay, Sans. I'm here, I'm with you. I won't ever forget you."
He felt like both laughing and crying - from joy that he had her in his life, from relief that she returned his feelings and, most of all, from overwhelming happiness. He just breathed heavily into her hair, closing his eye sockets, letting her scent calm him down.
"you're so beautiful, Y/n," he murmured, an additional wave of joy gently crashing over his soul at the realization that he could, finally, tell her all the wonderful things that he thought about her.
He could feel her smiling.
"You're very handsome too, Sans."
He couldn't hold back a chuckle.
"c'mon, i'm not telling fibulas here, Y/n."
He felt her distancing herself, thankfully she only went as far as to look him in the eye sockets. He could see a blush on her cheeks, her expression was, however, somewhat stern.
"Sans, you are very handsome in my eyes," she spoke clearly, confidently, looking him straight in the eyes and he was now blushing harder that he ever did.
"y-ya can't be serious, i, em.." he shrugged and fell silent, looking to the side.
He completely forgot to take into consideration that, if she liked him too, there was a possibility that she would find him not only fascinating, but actually attractive. His thought processes kind of stopped at the idea that if she ever returned his feelings, she then could come to get used to his unusual - to say the least - appearance.
But for him to actually be considered attractive by her-
Her thumb traced his mandible lightly, pulling him out of his frantic thoughts and making him look at her again.
"I'm serious," she smiled warmly, looking over his facial bones and then into his eyes."You are handsome, Sans. Please don't make me list all of he things I find attractive about you just to prove it, I'm pretty sure I'd be a flustered mess by the end of the first sentence."
His cheekbones were now completely blue to the point that he could see the faint blue glow in the lower half of his vision. He chuckled, she did too. His phalanges traced circles on her back, she in turn caressed his cheekbone gently.
Water reached the shore, washing over the sand in the smallest of waves.
"S-sans..." she called him quietly and he looked at her with adoration. Her gaze was focused on his ribs, a cyan blue light shining through his shirt. He chuckled bashfully.
"um, don't worry, this is...i'm just so happy that my soul materialized in my ribcage and became visible."
"Oh," she said softly, endearment never once leaving her tone. She gently put her hand on his sternum, over his soul, and he could feel the warmth of her skin through his shirt.
"Did I tell you that I find the color of your magic absolutely magnificent?" she spoke lovingly, caressing his sternum. Before he could say anything, she hugged him again, making his soul swell from how close it was to hers.
He sighed, his eye sockets half-closed dreamily as he leaned closer to rest his skull on her shoulder. His phalanges carefully combed through her wonderful h/c hair, the same way he always wanted to.
This was unreal. He could only dream of something like this.
Yet there she was, in his arms, looking at him so lovingly, smiling at him so warmly, touching him so affectionately.
They stayed like that for a while, until Sans felt that he was able to calm his soul enough for it to stop being visible.
He did just that, then straightened up and looked at Y/n, his calmness finally returning.
"so, meteor shower, huh?"
"Yep."
"i siriusly adore you."
They spent the rest of the night looking at the stars and talking, using every chance to - however slightly - touch each other. He would often put a lock of her hair behind her ear or let it fall loose. She would gently touch his shoulder or his skull. They both would often touch each other's hands, caressing bone and skin, sharing a smile and a warm look in the process.
They sat on blankets, covered in blankets, sharing blankets, throwing blankets at each other.
They exchanged good puns, bad puns, horrible puns, Sans shared some stories about puns that made Papyrus massively freak out, they both laughed until their ribs hurt.
Only once the sky changed color to a soft light blue and the east side of the horizon started to glow a golden-peach color did they realize that it was probably time to go home and get some sleep.
They stayed, however, for another half an hour, watching the sunrise and making awful, sleepy sun- and morning-related puns. Sans then teleported them both to the cabin and they practically fell on Y/n's bed already sleeping, laying close to each other.
***
Papyrus' POV
By the time Papyrus, who was used to waking up early, found them in Y/n's room, they were sleeping soundly, cuddling together. Blankets were thrown all over the floor, together with an open sports bag, evidence (a telescope, an empty vacuum flask and some seashells) clearly showing that the two were out at night. But they were so cute and his brother's sleeping face was so peaceful and happy that Papyrus couldn't find it in himself to be angry with the two untidy lovebirds.
Instead, he lifted a couple of blankets with his magic and put them as carefully as he could on his brother and Y/n. He then took the bag to wash the flask and clean the telescope from any sand that may have gotten on it.
He had to find something to do while the two night owls were sleeping in until noon.
At noon, he'll wake them up in his unique energetic manner. But, until then, the tall skeleton was content with remembering how happy his sleeping brother's face looked.
He would stretch, jog a few dozen laps around the house, call Undyne and report his progress, then make as much spaghetti as he'll have time for.
The two sleepyheads will no doubt be so very glad that The Great Papyrus went ahead and made them such a substantial breakfast.
|
The news of the incredibly short akuma fight didn't take long to spread through Paris. There wasn't much footage of it, only what the night news anchor had managed to shoot from inside of the building before getting hit himself, but the guards and everyone living nearby had seen how Coccinelle and Chat Noir had worked together in perfect tandem, practically anticipating the akuma's every strike.
(They had been anticipating every strike, but that was- well, that was being picky, really, and also the superheroes weren't about to give away their secret weapon.)
Unfortunately, it didn't seem to deter Hawkmoth. He attacked the very next afternoon, and Marinette had to hobble her way out of class for a "bathroom break". Thankfully she was getting faster on her crutches- though she was still being careful, Tikki, thank-you-very-much- so it wasn't as hard as she had worried to slip into an empty closet in the library and transform. Chat Noir was already out, and it wasn't long before Coccinelle's symbol appeared on Vipera's screen.
"I'd like to try the same thing as last night," Vipera told them, settling herself up in the closet, half-perched against a shelf. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but hopefully the fight wouldn't last very long. On their end, at least. "If there's two quick take-downs in a row, we might be able to unnerve Hawkmoth a bit, and he might take a step back on the akuma attacks."
"Because he would think that Coccinelle and I are an even more formidable team or something and it would be dangerous for him to go up against us," Chat Noir filled in. She could hear the grin in his voice. "Nice thinking. Are you up for using Second Chance a ton of times again, though?"
"Yeah. And if I end up using it more than I planned, I can always take a nap after school." Vipera allowed herself a smile at her partner's concern, then buckled down to focus on the fight, focusing on the news and camera feeds coming from the area. Once again, she was getting some early intel on the akuma, and this one seemed to be an akuma-sentimonster partnership. That by itself made things more dangerous, but if they could figure out the possessed items on one go-round and then she would know already with the reset...?
That could work.
"Or would I need to bother?" Vipera murmured to herself, eyes scanning the scene. The sentimonster teaming up with the akuma was oddly shaped, the perfect size to get stuck if, say, a manhole cover was unexpectedly missing and it tripped in. One solid whack over the head or yank from below would probably wedge it in well enough to remove it from the fight, leaving Coccinelle and Chat Noir to deal with the akuma- and with Mayura, if she had read the flash of blue along the rooftops correctly.
Hopefully it was just Mayura and not Hawkmoth as well. He tended not to come out as often as his blue-skinned counterpart, though the why was harder to say.
Personally, Vipera was of the opinion that it was poor planning. If Hawkmoth had come out with Stoneheart the first time he had shown up, it would have been all over for the superheroes. Instead, he had lurked in his lair (she assumed that he had a lair, at least- maybe he was just lurking in his bedroom) and waited for the superheroes to actually become competent fighters.
That, and Hawkmoth was a coward.
"I don't see any signs of Hawkmoth personally being there," Vipera finished as she relayed everything that she had seen to her teammates. "But I might recommend coming in from below and capturing the sentimonster first, or at least having one of you doing that. It keeps running really close to the manhole cover near the base of the Arc- Chat, you know the one?"
"Yep!"
"You want us to identify manhole cover locations from below now?" Coccinelle sounded incredulous. "I mean, I can see your plan, but..."
Chat Noir laughed. "The maps on our weapons work wonders, really. And we've used that manhole- I'm not going to say a lot, but enough that I'm familiar with it. I just wonder how we're going to keep the sentimonster from pushing itself back up, even if we yank it down to wedge it in."
"Oh, that's easy," Coccinelle said cheerfully. "There's some men over here who have ropes- I'm going to ask if I can borrow one. Then we can lash the feet to the ladder and buy ourselves some time."
"Fantastic." Vipera flipped to another camera, scanning the area. "Let me know when you're close?"
"We've met up and dropped down into the drains," Chat Noir reported a minute later. "Headed towards the manhole cover. Are they still in the same spot?"
"Oddly enough, yeah." Vipera glanced over the area again and- okay, it wasn't hard to figure out why. Apparently even Hawkmoth's seemingly smarter sidekick sometimes made dumb tactical decisions. "Mayura's found a good hidey-hole and so she doesn't want to move. Chat Noir, you know the place where-"
Vipera explained quickly, and it only took her partner a few seconds to figure out the place she was talking about. By the time the two other superheroes reached their manhole cover, the beginnings of a plan had been put into place. Coccinelle would trap the sentimonster while Chat Noir ambushed Mayura from behind. With two of the three threats contained or distracted, Coccinelle could take on the akuma on her own once she popped out of the drain system.
Well. Visibly on her own, at least. Vipera would be keeping an eye on her and Chat Noir at the same time, so she wouldn't really be on her own.
It didn't take long for the superheroes to reach the right sewer, and then Chat Noir moved out and into position. Seconds after he sent his ready signal, the manhole cover twisted and slid out of place, nudged to the side quietly enough that when the sentimonster made its next rounds, it tripped over the loose cover and stumbled straight into the open hole. There was a jerk, and then it started flailing. The akuma abandoned its latest victims as a purple mask flashed around its face, and then it turned towards the trapped sentimonster, clearly worried about already being down an ally. Vipera set her timer, and then focused, mind frantically sorting through all of the information being thrown at her.
Chat Noir's fight, his earpiece set to continuously stream audio. Coccinelle and the akuma battling it out, her audio also on. Keeping an eye on the sentimonster to make sure that it wasn't wriggling free. Switching between video feeds to watch both of them, re-setting and giving instructions and weighing how helpful those instructions were. Making adjustments when things didn't work as well as she had hoped.
At least her teammates weren't bantering with the supervillains. Their audio was limited entirely to quick updates or suggestions for the next go-round, which helped her keep her focus. Chat Noir was entirely serious as he faced off with Mayura, holding his own well enough. He only needed the occasional instruction as he fought, though that was in large part because they weren't actually trying to defeat Mayura, just hold her off.
Four minutes later, the akuma was defeated and the amok-possessed item had been knocked away from Mayura and also purified. Mayura frantically knocked Chat Noir back and fled as the Cure rushed over Paris, and Vipera let her. It wasn't worth another go-round attempt to see if they could defeat her this fight.
"Should I ask how long that took you?" Chat Noir asked breathlessly over the earpiece as he re-joined Coccinelle. "Because I could hear a lot of instructions going on."
"I didn't really keep track," Vipera admitted, slumping on her little strip of clear shelf. She was going to need a nap after school let out, so she could tell that it had been a long time, but- well, she had kind of done that to herself, hadn't she? She had been the one to suggest that her teammates split up, even if she hadn't needed to interfere with Chat Noir's fight that much. "But I'll be fine. Hopefully that'll scare Hawkmoth off a bit."
"Or we'll have a sentimonster, an akuma, and both supervillains out next time," Chat Noir said with a laugh. "Because they'll figure that eventually they can outnumber us."
Vipera snorted. "Then we'll send out Dad. I'd like to see their faces when he comes out."
Coccinelle started giggling. "Oh, that would be funny! And you know your dad would love to help out. I don't know if we could have both of us come out during the day, though."
"Right. That's something to take into consideration." Vipera glanced at her Miraculous. She was almost out of time. "I might have to start carrying backups with me, either that or tell you where I keep them. But we can talk later- I'm out of time. See you later!"
Her teammates called their good-byes, and then Vipera detransformed. She grinned at Sass- even if she was mentally exhausted, they had done a really good job- and then listened carefully to make sure that no one was around before popping out of the closet and heading back to class.
Even though she was still interrupting her day, Marinette was glad that she was still being involved in the akuma battles in some form. It kept her mind sharp, forcing her to keep up with noticing- well, everything- and she wasn't getting distracted in class, worrying about her mom out there battling Hawkmoth when she didn't have the same amount of experience that Marinette herself did.
Marinette couldn't help but smile to herself as she headed back into the classroom and hobbled back to her seat. When she first started being a superhero, she had hated missing out on class to go battle akumas. Now, when she had the chance to sit back while her leg healed and not worry about it... well, she couldn't help but want to still be involved.
The city was ecstatic about the apparent new trend in akuma attacks. After months of attacks that- with some exceptions, of course- usually took closer to half an hour to clear up, two attacks in a row that were wrapped up in under five minutes was amazing.
It also sparked a lot of gossip about how, exactly, it was being done.
"Well, obviously the weak point was Ladybug," Chloe sniffed at school, inspecting her fingernails as though she was otherwise completely disinterested in the conversation. "She's been replaced by someone older and wiser, who wouldn't do something stupid like take my Miraculous away from me."
Nino snorted loudly. "Yeah, right. If that's the case, then why haven't you gotten the Bee back yet, Chloe?"
"And didn't Chat Noir say that it's just temporary?" Adrien chimed in before Chloe could snap back, probably with the argument that Chat Noir should get replaced by someone, too, because obviously he was the weak link now keeping her from getting the Bee back. "Because Ladybug was out sick or something?"
"Or something," Alya agreed. "He wasn't very specific about it, was he?" She tapped her phone. "The consensus on the Ladyblog is that Ladybug's family is going on vacation and she couldn't get out of it without being suspicious. I mean, Chat Noir didn't say she was sick exactly, did he? Just that she was getting some much-needed rest."
The class considered that.
"So maybe Ladybug will be out for the rest of this week and then Chat Noir will have a substitute so that he can get some rest?" Rose suggested. She shrugged when they all looked over at her. "Maybe Chat Noir was just telling the truth and we're all reading too far into it?"
"I can't see either of them just sitting back and not coming out to the battles if they were in Paris, though," Alya countered. "That's just not their personality, is it? Or at least that's the impression I've gotten from them," she added quickly. "So I think something else is up. If they just wanted to relax, I feel like they would pull out more full-time holders so that battles would go faster."
"Right, and they should choose moi-"
Alix snorted loudly. "Right, give the one temporary holder whose identity all of Paris knows their Miraculous full-time! There's definitely nothing that could go wrong there!"
Chloe scowled.
"Kids, please," Ms. Bustier pleaded, casting a disapproving eye over the class. Everyone settled down, though not without a fair amount of grumbling. "Let's just be thankful that whatever the superheroes have going on at the moment is working out so well, and try to be positive so that we don't add to their workload. I know we're all concerned about Ladybug, but all we can do is hope that she's okay and will be back defending Paris soon enough!"
Most of the class nodded. Sabrina started to, then caught Chloe's furious glare and promptly stopped, shrinking away from her glowering friend.
"Some people on the Ladyblog are already hoping this team becomes permanent, because they've been doing so well," Alya whispered once Ms. Bustier turned around to write on the board. She leaned forward so that Nino and Adrien could hear as well. "Because people are so tired of akuma attacks, and the last two attacks went so fast."
"But the previous- what? Three, four? They didn't go nearly as smoothly," Nino whispered back. "They aren't going to count the most recent two as just flukes for now?"
Alya shrugged, keeping one eye on their teacher. "I don't know. I think it's too early to call. But the fact that there was such a change, and so suddenly- either they've just really found their stride, or something else is going on. And I don't think that we've seen all of the Miraculous powers out there. Who says that there isn't something else going on behind the scenes that's making them fight so well?"
Marinette hid a smile. Ladybug- well, Vipera, technically- was the thing behind the scenes that was making such a change, but they weren't going to tell anyone that until- well, probably until Hawkmoth was defeated. It was much too useful of a tool to give away.
"People are seriously preferring Coccinelle over Ladybug?" Adrien hissed, sounding thoroughly distressed. "I mean, I know Coccinelle is doing a good job, but Ladybug's done so much!"
"Class, I can still hear whispering," Ms. Bustier told the board dryly before Alya could respond. "Please settle down."
Adrien and Nino promptly whipped around to face the front. From her seat, Marinette could tell that Adrien looked somewhat distressed, ducking his head to exchange a few quick words with Nino that she couldn't hear. Marinette frowned at that, wondering what could be upsetting Adrien so much. She knew that he liked Ladybug a lot, so maybe he was offended on her behalf that anyone would think that Ladybug should step down in favor of Coccinelle.
Honestly, Marinette wasn't surprised that that opinion existed, though it did sting a little that people would so easily consider replacing her. She knew that the interest of akuma attacks had worn off for most of Paris, and even the novelty of superheroes was starting to ebb. People wanted to know why they hadn't defeated Hawkmoth already, never mind that they were trying and they were dealing with adults who were bigger and stronger. Most people understood that they were trying, at least, and so they liked the superheroes, but others just wanted to be done with the whole thing, no matter how it was done.
Marinette could understand that. Even though she sometimes enjoyed the challenge of figuring out how to defeat an akuma and of course she loved the freedom of swinging around the city, having to interrupt her day to deal with the akumas...well, it got old for her, too. So now that people were seeing an older superhero all of a sudden and the fights were going really well and they didn't know the real reason why. Of course they would assume that the change was due to the change in superhero lineup.
Hopefully they wouldn't openly protest Ladybug's return, once she was well again. That would be disheartening.
The rest of the day flew by. Adrien and Nino flanked Marinette as she moved from class so class to keep her from getting jostled, and while there was a lot of talk and speculation about the superheroes, the teachers kept most of it under control. They were there to learn, as Madam Mendeleev rather testily pointed out when she caught Alya whispering with Alix mid-class, and not to gossip about what the superheroes were or were not up to. That could wait until after school.
Besides, she had added, people were gossiping far too much for a simple two fights in a row that had gone well. That hardly provided enough data for anyone to call it a trend.
Thankfully for Marinette's sanity, Alya had to go babysit her sisters right after school and so couldn't lead the continued discussion on what might be going on with the superheroes. She had tried inviting Marinette, but one comment from Marinette about the wisdom of combining Alya's rambunctious sisters with Marinette's broken leg and crutches had Alya backing off right away.
Which meant that Marinette was free to go home and catastrophize on her own, a day's worth of whispers and overheard gossiping enough to make her start doubting everything.
"I thought you seemed to brush off that comment earlier, no problem," Sass commented as Marinette tried and failed to pace on crutches before flopping down on the couch, wincing as her leg got jostled a little more than she had intended. "Because it is dumb that people are being so impatient with the superheroes. You and Chat Noir have gone through a lot of struggles recently! You've lost Master Fu as a mentor and your temporary holders got outed. Hawkmoth and Mayura solved whatever weird energy was polluting Duusu and the Peacock, and now they're stronger. Now you've broken your leg! And still, you've found solutions and you've kept going. I'd say that most people would have lost the battle by now."
"Yeah, but..." Marinette sighed. She hadn't wanted the comments to eat at her, but they had. "The fights, with any luck, will keep going like the last two. People are going to get used to short fights, and then I'm going to come back out all out of shape, and things- well, things are going to take longer again. And people are going to talk. And if we don't give away our secrets, then people are going to assume that I'm the weak link. It's a no-win situation." She slumped a bit more, than attempted to straighten. "And the public doesn't know about all of the other stuff we've had to deal with, either. All they see is Hawkmoth and Mayura coming out and us not managing to defeat them, even though they're right there and not hiding like they did before."
"If they're reasonable, they'll have to admit that fighting up to four times as many supervillains as you did before will be harder, and you can't be expected to do four times as much work with just two of you."
Marinette sighed. "Yeah, but- okay, so I've read the Ladyblog, and people are confused about why we haven't pulled out the temporary holders we had before and keep them on more. I don't think there were many people in this area of Paris who didn't get hit by Chloe's bees, so nobody besides her and Hawkmoth and Mayura actually know that people's identities got revealed."
Sass considered her. "Did you tell your temporary holders?"
"Of course! I didn't want them to get upset that we passed them over when we need to get out those Miraculous next time. They were angry at Chloe, but I asked them to please try to let it go, because I really didn't want to have to fight any of them right now." Even the thought of it was completely awful. "And they listened, thankfully."
"Hmm." Sass gave that some thought. "Perhaps you could assign them different Miraculous? Either that or assign them the same one but require that they have a vastly different look and a different name. Could you use them again then- and perhaps assign some of them as permanent holders?"
Marinette immediately made a fact at the thought, though she certainly didn't mean to. "Honestly? Maybe I could re-use them as temporary holders, but I wouldn't dare give any of them the Miraculous permanently. Some just haven't been out enough for me to get a good read on them, of course. Chloe is a hard no and should have been a no from the start. Alya... she's my friend, but she also has the Ladyblog and not the greatest filter about what should and shouldn't go online sometimes. And she's gotten Akumatized, like... a lot. Not Mr. Pigeon a lot, but more often than most other people in Paris. She's got a temper. And Nino... well, he's Alya's boyfriend, and they knew about each other before. If I tap him for either temporary or long-term superheroing, he's going to assume that Alya will get to do the same thing and then tell her and then she'll get mad again."
Sass considered that. "That would not be ideal."
"Not at all, which means that I need to find more potential holders." Which was a lot of work, truth be told. Adults had an advantage with the endless power usages and no timer, but a disadvantage in the fact that- well, they had jobs and would be noticed going missing on a long-term regular basis. Teenagers had the limitations of timers, single power usage, school, and parents, when- well, the last of those really depended on the parent in question.
Kagami, for instance, was a strong fighter. She had showed a lot of promise in her time as a superhero. But she had a strict mom and went to an equally strict private school, which meant that she would no doubt get in a lot of trouble if she had to leave class on a rather regular basis. That by itself meant that Kagami could really only be a temporary superhero even if she changed her transformation. Just like the others.
(Besides, even with a changed transformation... well, that still seemed too risky.)
Ugh. This superhero stuff just kept on getting more and more difficult.
Marinette sulked through her after-school snack, trying not to loiter on thoughts of- well, everything to do with the superhero part of her life. Even though she knew how important she still was in the fights, it was hard not to feel a bit down, a bit useless.
She was limited to helping while sitting in a closet or a bedroom, instead of throwing punches and kicks and being there in person.
"Marinette? Did something happen at school?"
"Oh, hi, mom," Marinette said, trying not to sound too down. "No, school was fine-"
"Her friend was saying that some people want Coccinelle to stay, since the last two fights were so short," Sass reported. "And Marinette was dwelling on that."
She gaped at him. "That- that's tattling!"
"But it's important to not bottle everything up, too," Mrs. Cheng told her. She came over to stand by Marinette, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Marinette, you know that we wouldn't be doing so well without you helping. And four-minute battles? That would be completely out of the question without you."
"Yeah, but..." Marinette tried not to sigh. She and Sass had already discussed this, and really, there wasn't much else they could cover.
Still, she filled her mom in.
"-and I don't want to stop doing the short fights, because I know that it's important for you to be able to get back to the bakery, and Chat Noir probably wants to get back to his life, and I don't exactly want to be missing class, either," Marinette finished. "But when Ladybug comes back, I know that fight times will shoot back up again."
"You could keep using some of the techniques that you've picked up now!" Tikki suggested right away. "The using cameras before you go in to figure out the akuma's powers and what the possessed item is from a safe distance, and potentially spotting Hawkmoth and Mayura ahead of time. That's given us a real advantage."
"And maybe towards the end of my time as Coccinelle, we can admit that Ladybug's been watching with another Miraculous and that's why she's doing so well, because you've been helping and directing the fights," Mrs. Cheng offered. "We don't have to say it was the Snake or mention the Second Chance uses, because I can see where you might be worried about Hawkmoth getting ideas from that. But by saying that you've been helping out so much and that's why we're doing well, that's telling the public that the difference isn't necessarily because of me."
Marinette nodded, her mind whirring. That...was a good idea. It was safe, because they could just refrain from sharing too many details, but Paris would know that Ladybug had been a large part of the success that Coccinelle and Chat Noir had been enjoying.
Hopefully that would make her transition back to being Ladybug easier. Of course people would expect a well-trained trio to do better than a duo, even if the third member of said trio wasn't physically present. Maybe there would be people pushing for them to add a third permanent member in the role that Vipera had been filling, but- well, hopefully that would quiet the people who were pretty much ready to swap Ladybug out for Coccinelle. And if not, it would at least lessen their numbers.
For the first time since that morning, Marinette could really relax again, her mind set at ease and no longer veering off the rails catastrophizing. Even though it was going to be weeks until Ladybug re-joined the battles in person again, they had a plan in mind.
And that made all the difference. |
“..and then we see Mr. Hobson trying to justify his wife’s affair by implying that her lack of self-love caused her to seek after someone like Hans, whom she thought that served her right.”
Ray plays with the cream on top of his strawberry frappuccino as he listens to Emma’s tenth theory about the movie they saw earlier. As she continues passionate analysis of why characters act the awy they do, his mind begins to wander as he collects a generous amount of whipped cream and sauce on the tip of his straw.
Ah, that's guilty pleasure.
It has been forever since the last time he could have a drink like this— Not because he couldn't just go and buy one, but because his stomach could never handle the amount of cream and sugar in it on the days he starved himself. But… He had breakfast earlier today though, so it shouldn’t have been a big deal.
Anyway, Ray thought as he took a sip from his drink, it’s worth even if I throw up later.
His life felt reasonably calmer since he talked to his mother about it. It hasn’t been more than a day and half, but Ray found the motivation to go to the technology fair and build a little more network for himself. On the other hand, Ray found it ironic that people would actually want to employ someone like him— but he couldn’t deny the fact that he appeared rather reliable on the times his demons did not interfere with his life: Quick, efficient, smart, productive. Calm and collected. But also sassy and sleepy.
But, according to Emma, it was also his handsome looks that got him the job.
Ray snorted at the thought, completely drifted away from her speech.
Handsome, him?
He never believed in her compliments, until…
Until he somehow managed to sleep with Norman. Not only once, either.
Ray knows that he is nothing more than a worthless piece of plastic cup that you’d use once before throwing out, but the fact that Norman wanted him in some ways… for multiple times… must mean he can’t be as bad, right?
He knows that his soul is long rotten, but if he can at least make use of his body... At least the parts he didn't cut like crazy... Maybeh e would be less useless. Maybe it would mean something for him to stay alive past his expire date that was supposed to be his birthday.
“..I almost forgot!” Emma rushes to add up to her character analysis, even though Ray is zoning out and really didn't mind if she forgot a detail. But… Ray smiles, watching Emma talk about things that actually lit her up.There’s nowhere else I’d rather be at.
“Come here.” Ray states casually, looping his arms over her shoulder to interrupt the speech that he knew could go on for hours if he hadn’t interrupted. He pulls her into a friendly embrace, to which Emma is disappointed. She despised hugs given from behind, for they were unforeseen and she wouldn’t be able to prepare herself.
That’s exactly why it amused Ray.
“If you think that’s gonna save you from my vent—” Emma opposes as she looks up to see his face, her lips curled down to a pout.
Then her heart drops.
Ray’s smiling.
It has been so long— so, so, so, so, so terribly long since the last time she saw him smile. In that moment, her theories about the series flied away from her mind along with everything else, leaving her in a dull moment of shock that later evolved to a bit of tears and a faint redness on her cheeks. Excitement.
“Well, it did.” Ray teases, pinching her cheeks to bring her back to the real world. This— This much of payback, Ray owed to her.
“Huh— Hey! What’s with that look? I saw that look. You’re definitely up to something! Oh my god, Ray, STO—” She struggles in his hold as Ray tickles her, but she ends up laughing, trying not to stay silent in order not to disturb the other customers at the cafe.
Emma has always had problems with being loud, though. A little too loud whenever she spoke her heart out.
At some point of her resistance, she catches Ray’s wrists to prevent a sneaky attack to her belly, her grip coming out tight so that he could just stop.
It meant nothing more than a joke.
Both of them knew that well.
But it couldn’t prevent Ray from flinching in pain as he felt his skin parting apart from the points it hadn’t healed yet.
It couldn’t prevent Ray’s immediate response to cover it up either.
It killed something in Emma’s heart.
Norman is watching them from a distance.
It didn’t happen intentionally, really. It’s not like Emma and Ray noticed him. It’s not like he stalked them all the way through their date after he saw them at the shopping center by coincidence. The only reason he came here was to get some chores done for his mother's sake, after all. It’s not like he also bought the tickets from a distant corner to the same movie they decided to enter, only to keep watching them for the two hours. It’s not like he didn’t watch Ray treating Emma snacks. It’s not like he saw Ray casually wrap his arm around Emma’s petite shoulder to pull her in a closer embrace, and it is definitely not like he felt a sick wave of jealousy simply because he couldn’t hear what they were talking about—just what on the earth Ray said that made Emma smile at him in a way she never smiled at Norman!?
It’s not like he wanted to punch Ray for taking her gorgeous smile for granted, either. It’s not like he watched Ray’s fingers, the same fingers Norman fantasized to be in his mouth and somewhere else only this morning, mess with the orange strands of Emma’s hair that Norman could die to touch just for once. It’s not like he heard him calling her an idiot—for he was loud enough to be heard only for that word—it’s not like he saw Ray wiping a bunch of whipped cream off from the corner of Emma’s lips with a napkin—and not taking the chance to kiss her.
Had it been Norman instead, it would have been the perfect date.
He would lick that cream off her face and pull her into a make out session so long that she’d need rest of the movie to calm herself down.
Wait—Wait.
Norman runs his fingers through his hair, pressing his forehead with his palm.
It’s not good.
He’s not feeling good.
His thoughts are becoming a mess.
Still…
It’s not like Norman is angry because Ray’s fringe always blocks half of his emotions. It’s not like he is disappointed that he couldn’t see Ray’s face even though he could always see Emma’s. It’s not like he has already memorized every detail of Emma. It’s not like it kills him to watch the girl he is in love with, hanging out with the boy he—
The boy he what?
“What’s it, Norman?” A stone cold voice echoes in his mind, sending chills down his skin.
“ Come on, spill it out.
You still can’t?
Pathetic. As always. But again... What did I even expect?
That’s why they always run away. ”
Norman shakes his head to silence the voice in his head. It’s not like it is a real voice—He is not having a psychosis or anything, even though he can clearly hear the judge. He knows that it is not real, therefore, he cannot be going crazy, okay?! It’s just the inner voice that comes deep within him. The ruthless voice that always despises him, hinting that no matter what he does he will never be good enough. Not for the one girl he truly loved, not for the one family he did his best to cherish, not even for the one boy he—
“Stop it.”
Norman whispers to himself, this time in real-world-voice. Without thinking, he bites his lips and the small sensation of pain brings him back to the real world. Though... As much as he begs his inner voice to stop, it’s no easy task when they are cuddling in front of his eyes. Despite every single cell of his body craving him to walk away from that sight, Norman feels paralyzed, unable to get his eyes off from the fact that the girl he loved more than anyone else in the entire world is enjoying the company of someone Norman despised, in a way so carefree that Norman could easily understand that she truly trusted Ray with her all, and… As much as he wanted to avoid thinking about it, he could say that Ray trusted her as well. He has never, ever seen Ray being so relaxed and happy when he was with him, so how come someone else just—
He wonders if Emma knows about them— Had Ray told her anything? Or did he also fancy the idea of having Norman as his secret little fucktoy while he could publicly hang out with Emma instead and have no consequences? Oh, right, Ray must have thought it all out. No matter how introverted he seemed, or no matter how little Norman ever noticed him talking in social gather gatherings, he is a junior in college. No way he is inexperienced in relationships. No matter how… no matter how out of character is sounds for Ray.
In that case, does Emma know about his sexuality?
On the other hand… Does Norman, really?
For sure, Ray is into men.
For sure, he sucked off men before—no way he could have given a blowjob so good on the first time.
For sure, Ray fancies men, for he gets hard whenever Norman spoke dirty.
But does Norman have a solid proof that Ray isn’t into women? What if he is just bi-curious?
..and most importantly…
Why does the possibility of Ray’s bisexuality clenches his heart in the exact way of rejection in the acknowledgement that Emma would never love him back?
Well. It is not like Ray is his anyway—why does it even matter to him?
But it damn does, and Norman can't stop overthinking.
In all honesty, he doesn't know what kind of relationship Ray and Emma had— Until last week, Ray had been completely invincible in Norman's life, so even though he does recall seeing them together in friend groups, he hadn't ever paid attention to how they interacted one-on-one. But if he was Emma's boyfriend, Norman would definitely know— No, more like, if he was Emma's boyfriend, Emma would have outright told Norman the truth when she rejected him. After all, it wasn't like Norman and Ray, right..? There was no point closeting a heterosexual relationship. It wasn't like her family would disown her and her career would rot and she would be publicly shamed if—
Okay, no one is dating Ray, calm down, Norman thinks as he undoes the top button of his shirt to feel a bit calmer. Perhaps, he tries to recollect his thougths and rationalize the situation instead of dwelling on it. Perhaps because they’ve known each other for so long, they are just friends..? If either of them wanted it to be romantic, they would have made a move on each other. They must have had thousands of opportunities to confess. Besides, Norman adds confidently. Ray loves me. He just does. It’s obvious. He loves me. He kissed me. He slept with me. Three times. I’m the one he loves.
Which means Ray must have kept his feelings for him bottled inside for a while—Kissing Norman—the Norman must have required a serious level of courage, after all. Ray would rarely ever come to parties, so no way it was just a drunk-move, it had to be calculated.
Suddenly, the realization hits him.
If Ray had chosen to come to Norman despite the risk, he would have never responded back to Emma’s beautiful, dignified feelings. The feelings that—if directed to Norman, he could have made her the happiest woman on the earth, both in the physical and emotional ways.
After all, his love for Emma was not something to be taken lightly.
Emma was everything Norman fell in love with.
To outsiders, Emma and Norman are alike. They both are cherished by a healthy group of friends, considered as their leader. Both occupy a 4.0 GPA regardless of the difficulties of the classes. Both are presidents of some clubs, active in sports, having long fun conversations with friends and just being themselves. Both are sunshine to those around them.
Or so think the outsiders.
But Norman knows—he can tell from a single glance at this amazing girl—that she’s not faking it like he does. She’s not trying so hard to fit in to that image—her happiness, her intelligence, her motivation to participate in the clubs, the joy she spreads to her friends… They call come within her. They’re the results of Emma’s own free will and she does not bend for anyone regardless of the circumstances.
She’s amazing.
She’s beautiful, brave and talented.
She has a heart so big she can even put up with someone like Ray, someone whom Norman would never notice unless the situation changed.
She’s so unbelievably true to herself that she rejected the best guy she could have ever hooked up with.
That’s right. Emma was Norman’s first and only rejection—As someone who has all of it ever since he was born, he has always been surrounded by people who wanted to get closer to him for the benefit of it. First of all, Norman had the money—the money he could spend without a second thought. Then, he had the looks—looks so good he had even modelled when he was younger. Finally, he had the brain—Oh thankfully he had that, so that he could easily tell apart who was there thinking that they could have fooled him, and who was genuinely be there just to do some honest business.
It’s mostly the first option, so often that Norman had given up from hoping genuine encounters. Instead of waiting for people to embrace him for who he truly is, he just learned and adapted to live the way the life really is—he’s smarter than them and he’s not going to be fooled by them.
Sometimes he suspects that Emma knows how all of it makes him anything but an actor on the stage.
Maybe that's why she said no.
The thought horrifies him to no end, but it also makes him fall for her more—It’s not easy to see through his sneaky acts, he crafted them perfectly, after all. If she had eyes capable of that, then she’d have earned Norman’s utmost respect, even if she had feelings for a boy who would never feel the same to her. The same boy who shared his most passionate kisses with Norman on his birthday, the same boy who spread a sense of euphoria in him whenever they kissed just like that, the same boy who made Norman so confused that he wanted to kick, kiss and kill him all at once.
The same boy, whom Norman knew very well that would soon fall out of love with him had he continued to spend time with him.
Just like Emma did in past.
“Are you alright, sir?”
Norman almost drops the book in his hand. He had picked up a random one pretend he was just another customer definitely not peeking on the coffee shop at the next block, just checking out for the books.
“Huh?” He asks, unsure why the young employee in the bookstore has approached him out of nowhere. Had she caught him in the act? Unlikely.
“It’s not every day that people cry while reading a book with a happy ending.”
Then it all makes sense.
He’s crying.
“Oh—!” His response is immediate. A soft laughter, a quick turn away from the sight that clearly destroyed him, a happy charming smile directed at the girl. “My apologies,” Norman Ratri says in his everyday charm, not breaking even an inch of his mask. “It’s my favorite book. It gets me emotional like this whenever I see it.”
He doesn’t even know which book he is holding onto.
“Actually…” Norman decides, “I’m buying this as a gift. Could you put it to wrapping paper?”
The act of buying has earned him a minute or two to recollect himself away from the employee’s concerned looks. Norman didn’t dare to look back at the scene he turned away from, still shaken from the fact that a mere sight of two people having coffee could shatter him publicly.
When was the last time he actually cried in public?
His aunt’s funeral two years ago, perhaps. But… Until this day, Norman doesn’t know whether he was genuinely upset at her loss or he just convinced himself that he should be. Was he mourning because he was expected to, or did he truly feel upset for the loss of someone who knew one of his biggest secrets?
For today's case, though—Norman knew that he definitely shouldn’t have cried. Does it mean that he was genuinely upset at the sight of his fuckbuddy with his crush that he is obsessed with? But… if, let’s say if that’s really the case—as embarrassing as it is to admit for Norman—
Then, if only today's feelings are the true ones, does it mean he was faking it all with Ray too..?
Norman sighs as he starts his car engine, on his way to back home.
His life was not as complicated when Ray was out of the equation.
“Here. I got you this.”
Norman knocks Ray’s door at 1 am, uninvited. Good thing he knew where Ray lived, for he gave him a ride home once.
“What is that?” Ray raises an eyebrow in suspicion. Thankfully, it is winter, so he didn’t lose time trying to find a cardigan to cover his sleeves—they’re already hidden under his sweater.
"A birthday gift!~" Norman cooes, impatience lingering in the undertone of his voice. "Open it!"
"Uh-huh..." Ray gazes at the package suspiciously, "I don't remember asking for anything. If it is something like that thing, I don't—" There is a momentary, almost childish pause in Ray's voice when he realizes it's a book. His eyes lit up for a second before he remembers all the books on his bookcase he never finished reading, then depression heaves again. He's not worthy of the gift. Besides...
“That’s in... French?” At this point, Ray doesn’t know whether this is a sarcastic joke or not. Even the simplest act of having a conversation is tediously difficult when it comes to Norman. “I don’t knowFrench.”
“Oooh, pity!” As if he just discovered that the French language does not come as a default to people outside of France, Norman mimics a dramatically shocked gasp. "Guess you have no choice but to learn it now!"
Ah, he really wants to punch his face now.
To destroy that handsome face that made him have a rollercoaster of strange emotions within the span of 24 hours.
To ruin that damn body that touched Emma as if he actually had rights to.
“Are you a joke?” Ray asks in disbelief, horrified by how weird Norman has been acting for entire day. Calling at 7 am for a stupid request, not even texting him even once through the entire day then magically appearing at his door with a French book in his hands? This was not a humanly way of being weird, this was… downright disturbing. “Besides—Is there even someone who hasn’t read Le Petit Prince before? Even middle schoolers read it,” Oddly enough, Ray found himself trying to actually explain Norman why he can’t read a book in a language he doesn’t know. It’s just like explaining a spoiled child why the world does not always work the way they want to. "I remember the whole book even if not in French." He waves his hand in a casual gesture that was to dismiss the subject, and—
And then it hurts.
And then he feels a wave of electrical shock run through his body.
Within a millisecond, Ray recognizes the pain, sucks it up, and forces his lips to remain shut.
In that same moment Norman grabs Ray's wrist out of instinct. He is about to lean for a kiss, or maybe just stop Ray from making a stupid comment, whatever— It’s not possible for him to handle yet another rejection from either of them. No matter how much he tried to hold his anger in, it has clearly reflected on his hold on Ray’s wrist—his own hand was trembling from squeezing so hard, and he really wanted to throw Ray back to the wall.
It all came naturally until Ray flinched.
And Norman noticed he had touched something that felt like a bondage, a bracelet, or something of that sort. At 1 am. Under a sweater Ray probably wore to the bed.
Anyway, he couldn't care enough to think about it now.
Also, it might have been his own imagination, but for a brief moment it seemed as if Ray went concerningly pale.
He didn’t care.
Now there’s a silence between them.
Ray seems paralyzed and Norman is still holding onto his wrist.
Norman’s smiling.
Ah, he hates Ray so much.
For making a soap opera sort of entrance to his life.
For messing his feelings up.
For hanging out with the girl Norman has righteously crushed on for three years.
For doing everything Norman asks him to, only for things to end up in a way Norman least wants.
He hates Ray so much.
For Ray’s just standing in front of him like he has seen a ghost.
For Ray doesn’t oppose him when he roughly slams his body back to the wall without ever leaving his grip on his wrist.
For Ray could perfectly fight back to him as the man he was, but he chose not to.
He hates Ray, for Ray loves him.
They gaze at each other’s eyes for what felt like forever.
As if in denial, Ray refuses to do anything—no words, no act, no waver in his expression.
Norman doesn’t know what else to say or how to express his anger. Slowly, he remembers that Ray has no idea that he had been peeking on them—that he was so jealous because of Emma, or maybe because of Ray himself, that he had his second breakdown of the day and it was all because of him. He remembers that he can’t tell all of these to Ray, and in a horrifying moment, he notices that he has grown to be scared of what Ray might have thought of him had he found out all the things Norman did today.
So, Norman does the only thing that makes sense at that moment—
He kisses him.
Then he feels him flinch in fear, but he doesn’t pull away. Slowly, he lets go of the grasp on Ray’s wrist—to which his arm falls on the side in a trembling way, but Norman’s too engaged in his one sided kiss to notice it.
Ray gives in.
There’s not much of a chance, really—After silently hoping all day that Norman would hit him up again after that phone call, there’s a limit to how much he can resist to his lips that he craved for. His hold that gave him a false sense of safety. His scent that felt like home even when it wasn’t home. Ray finally responds to his kisses, his numbed arms shyly wrapped around his neck—for support, otherwise he might fall. Somehow, his legs could have betrayed him at any given moment and he wouldn’t be surprised at all.
They exchange kisses. Norman makes out with him at the door without entering the apartment, with Ray’s door hanging open and his body pressed against the wall at the side. His scent—so uniquely intoxicating, Norman thinks as his fingers wrap around Ray’s black strands, pulling his hair harshly to kiss him deeper, his unexplainable mess of feelings bleeding from his actions instead.
Ray’s good, good, so good—that he could continue kissing him forever and it would just feel right.
As if nothing else mattered.
As long as he had him.
“Mhmph—!” Ray lets out a quiet gasp that sounded like meowing to Norman’s ears, only then he notices that Ray wants to pull away. Albeit unwillingly, he momentarily pulls his lips away from his, directing them on the revealed parts of his neck instead as Ray tried to recollect his breath in panic. Even in the dim light, Norman could see that his face was red, and—and something had been felt wrong ever since he came here, but he ignored it.
Why did he came here, anyway?
Fuck.
“Norman.” Ray speaks up after recollecting his breath, his neck already eaten up by his—his what? His nobody. That’s what Norman is. Nobody.
“Shussh,” Norman whispers, his arms wrapped tightly around him as he continued to plant kisses on his neck, moving to his throat.
“Norman, stop.”
Norman doesn’t. He brushes it off as just another cute result of Ray’s don’t kiss me in public moods, so he proceeds to slide his hand under Ray’s clothing to hold his not so surprisingly naked waist under, pulling him close—
“Norman. Stop.” Ray opposes him with one arm, trying to put some distance between them.
It’s only then Norman actually pauses.
Part of him wants to continue, really.
Part of him wants to strip Ray from whatever stupid clothing he had, to pull his underwear down and fuck him right there in front of the whole apartment.
But other part of him is horrified at his own thoughts.
That other part of him can’t believe he has actually had such a thought in the fraction of a second—a thought of rape that never crossed on his mind before no matter whom. Not to Emma. Not to anyone.
Ray’s making him having strange feelings again.
It’s dangerous. Again.
Ray must have taken his momentary shock at his own thoughts for advantage, for Norman notices that Ray actually put some space between them now—looking at Norman in an expression that he couldn’t quite read. Now he feels shitty beyond words can ever describe—he was exhausted, confused, rejected, sexually frustrated, emotionally drained, but they were nothing compared to how shocked he was.
To everything.
To the way he dreamt of him last night.
To the way he couldn’t even jerk off without pathetically calling him.
To the way he thought of Ray during his entire everyday-routine.
To the way he got hit by a truck of tangled jealousy when he saw him with her.
To the way he failed to control his feelings, showed up in his apartment, nearly beat him up only to—to be rejected.
To the way he thought of forcing himself on him.
He wasn’t someone like that.
He would not force himself on anyone like that.
Then why? Even if it was only for that fraction of a second, why did he so desperately want their kiss to keep going that he could have considered that disgusting thing as an option?
Ah, he hated himself, he hated himself so much—and when he felt that he was about to cry, this time he didn’t even bother to hold it back, Ray wouldn’t care either way.
“I’m sorry—” Ray interrupts Norman’s inner monologue, his fringe once again covering his expression. “It’s not about you. I’m sorry.” It’s the first time he hears Ray apologize, and it’s twice at once.
Ah, that’s it, right?
They always run away quickly.
Norman doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t believe he can properly form words when he’s surrounded by so much confusion and self-hatred, but before he can proceed to pull away, he’s stopped by Ray.
A quick peck on his lips.
A small nibble on his lower lip.
Eventually failing to leave it at a simple kiss and diving deeper into his mouth.
This time, it’s Norman who doesn’t respond it.
Leave all his pride aside—how can he? How can he when he just thought of forcing himself on him? He should have gotten himself to therapy for being this sick in the head, how could he even kiss him back?
Especially when it’s for a good bye.
“Another time…” Ray stutters. “Another time, if you want to.”
Norman says nothing.
If he formed words, he might just break down, just like that.
So, he clings onto whatever strong boy image he might have left, and storms out from the place.
Ray closes the door after living the most difficult moment of his entire life.
His entire life after he lost Leslie 7 years ago.
It could have been handled—It could have been handled better had he not painfully gotten out of options.
Ray allows himself to fall on his knees in a calculated manner. He hasn’t broken down, yet, he can’t afford that just yet. He removes his t-shirt by using his one hand, then gathers up the courage to look at his right arm—soaked in blood, from his wrist up to his shoulder, every stretch mark he put on his body within the span of two weeks were ripped apart and bleeding terribly. Norman’s hold was strong, stronger than Ray ever thought possible—or rather, necessary—not even the wrist-bands could handle that much blood exploding at once, and he had felt in the beginning when Norman grabbed him that there was no way he could have stopped the bleeding without Norman noticing.
If he gave in to Norman, then...
Even if he insisted to keep his shirt on, the blood would leak on him, it would taint Norman's clothes as well, and oh god, if he saw all the damage he did on himself Norman would—
Norman would see his true self, pathetic and disgusting, and he would never look at him in the face again.
Though, after today—after rejecting him like that, Ray knew that Norman would never hit him up again either way—Ray was an easily replaceable piece of meat, after all. Why’d he even bother with him?
But at least, he didn't witness the very physical disgusting mess of him. Can he even come up with a satisfying explanation later?
Right now, Ray can’t afford to think about it.
For once, he doesn’t want to die—not yet—not like this—not when his mother promised to see him on the weekend. Not after a good happy day spent out with Emma.
Not after falling in love with Norman.
With the help of the adrenaline of re-bleeding, he grounds himself back to his senses and delays his inevitable breakdown just a bit.
He bandages his arm with the shirt he took off earlier. It is quickly painted to a nauseating red. Is all of that blood really coming from him..?
It is dizzy.
It stinks metal.
It is addictive.
It is mesmerizing.
It serves him right.
He deserves this.
He feels a sick twist of satisfaction for finally hurting the guy who causes it all. Instead of gently bandaging the wound, he rubs the cloth harder until it bleeds more, until he can hear himself breathlessly gasping in pain, like a child drowning in deep cold water— He wishes he could just choke on it, he wishes everything would just end, he wishes he wouldn't have to go through seeing himself yet another day— If only he cuts himself to death right now, it would end, end, end, and then, and then would come darkness and peace and—
..and then Emma would find his body like that.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts so much.
Does he really want to put her through that?
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts so much.
He can't see straight. He can't think straight. He feels warm and messy and just plain liquid and sticky and—
..and it hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts so much.
Suddenly, everything hurts too much, and Ray breaks down. |
Everything around May felt odd, brighter than before, but not so much that it was overwhelming. It was as though she had grown brighter as well.
She certainly felt lighter, to say the least, and she had it all to blame on Aaron and his friends. They were nice- fun, even, and May really wanted to keep talking to them too. She knew, somewhere within her, that they would hate her later, but she was in too deep to care. She would take what little friendship she could before they left her to fall back into darkness.
May smiled as she picked up the pieces of glass that littered the floor. Lacey watched her warily, but did nothing else. May counted that as a victory. Being careful not to prick herself on the shards, May took the pieces of the trophy and set them on the kitchen table with the rest of the shards. She needed to throw the pieces of her old trophy away.
The sound of the door opening startled her, grabbing her attention from the glass. The front door had not moved. Her bedroom door had creaked open, and Lacey was peeking her head out, one eye covered by her tentacle.
"Can I help you?" May asked, for once able to talk to the Octoling without being nervous.
Lacey jumped nearly three feet in the air with a squeak. For a trained soldier, she was rather jumpy, May had found.
"I uh... I-" Lacey stuttered, looking away. She pushed the door open slightly further, trembling fingers clutching the doorknob so hard that May thought it would be crushed. "May I leave the bedroom?"
"Yeah," May said immediately. "You can go anywhere in my apartment. Sorry. I should have told you earlier."
Lacey opened the door the rest of the way, placing one foot on the carpet, and then another, and then she was standing in May's living room, looking around. May couldn't help but notice her eyes picking up every detail, searching for something, or perhaps getting to know the area. They fell on May, meeting her eyes, and May felt a shiver go through her.
She had not expected that an Octoling's eyes could be so expressive. She had always imagined they would look like copies of the blank masks they wore, cold and unfeeling, but Lacey's eyes felt... unsure. Emotional. Lacey was a living, breathing person, just like May was, with thoughts and emotions of her own.
And May had called her "it."
Filled with guilt, May could almost feel her heaviness begin to return. She forced it back, unwilling to allow it to return. She would make it up to Lacey.
Too caught up in her thoughts, May almost missed Lacey's nearly silent words.
"This place is so different from home..." Lacey's voice, May had found from their past few conversations (which were limited to about 3 sentences each), was as fleeting as the wind, a brief touch, and then it was gone, already slipping past any measures to capture it. This time, May decided, she would not let it go.
"What is it like?" May asked, "Your home, I mean."
Lacey seemed startled by the question. "It's... well... I-" Lacey opened and shut her mouth a few times, stuttering like a broken recorder before stopping altogether. "Home is like," she nearly whispered, "Home is like flying."
May raised an eyebrow, willing Lacey to go on.
"It's like being part of a flock of birds. We move together- the other Octolings and I- we travel together." Her eyes grew warm, "And we may all hate each other sometimes, but we couldn't live without each other. Everyone does their part to help where they can. We can do things the regular Octarians can't." As she spoke, she seemed to grow bigger, her voice becoming louder, "And we protect our home. We all get together so that none of us are falling. Only ever flying. I know it isn't a perfect place, but it's still my home. It may be dark and cold sometimes, and it may be falling to pieces, but it's my home. It's my home. I miss it."
"That sounds sort of nice," May said.
Lacey nodded, "it is."
There was a silence. May suddenly noticed that the two of them had sat down on May's carpet, their foreheads nearly pressed against each other. They were so close that May could make out every individual freckle on Lacey's face, could see her soft pink skin and lips with intense clarity.
"What about you?" Lacey suddenly asked, "what's your home like?"
May thought for a moment. "Well..."
The glowing numbers on the clock blinked once as the minute changed from 2:03 to 2:04. They stood out, the only light still left in the otherwise dark room, illuminating Gill’s face as he furiously wrote the answers to his calculations on his coffee stained note-pad. His vision blurred and he blinked.
It was time for another cup of coffee.
Gill stood up, being careful not to let the desk chair screech too loudly on the floor as not to wake Matt. Padding over to the kitchen, he nearly shivered as his bare feet hit the cold tile. Gill could barely keep his eyes open as he switched on the kettle.
Just a few more hours, just a bit more work, and then he would sleep. Not yet, though. He had to finish analyzing his findings from the day’s experiments.
Gill frantically searched the cabinets for the instant coffee, his hands wandering over dishes and cups until finally, finally, his fingers closed around the jar. Pulling it from the cupboard with a triumphant cry, Gill was surprised to find it rather light. Twisting open the lid, he found it completely empty. There was not a single coffee ground left.
Had he really drunk that much?
“You’re still up?” Gill startled, nearly dropping the jar. He set it down on the counter and turned around.
Matt stood in front of him, leaning against their bedroom door. It was obvious he had just been sleeping, which made sense, seeing as he had gone to bed hours ago.
“Yeah. I really need to get this work finished. I’ll probably come to bed in a few hours. You have work to do tomorrow to- you should probably go back to sleep.”
“No.”
“Okay, good night- wait, what?”
“The one who really needs sleep out of the two of us is you, not me.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll rest later.” Gill went to return to the desk, but tripped over his own foot, landing directly in Matt’s arms.
“Look, I know this is important to you,” Matt said, “but you really need to sleep. Now come on. Besides, we’re practicing with Aaron and May tomorrow, remember? I don’t think you want to be exhausted for that.”
Matt took Gill’s hand, tugging him gently through their apartment. Gill couldn’t help but follow along, yawning sleepily. They came to the bed they shared. Gill slipped under the covers and was quickly joined by Matt, who snuggled in behind him, wrapping his arms around Gill’s torso.
“Good night...” Gill slurred, closing his eyes.
It took only a moment for Gill to fall asleep, barely registering the kiss pressed to the back of his head.
They met in front of Inkopolis Tower, May still feeling oddly chipper, and especially happy after talking to Lacey. Matt and Gill arrived together, as expected. Aaron was only slightly late.
“Sorry,” he apologized, bent over and breathing heavily from running, “I had to help clean something up and my shift ran long.”
“It’s fine,” May said, “you aren’t that late.”
“Well anyway,” Matt said, as focused as ever, “let’s go get some practice together.”
The door slid open, allowing the four to walk in, their weapons slung over their back. Carrying Turf War weapons was legal in Inkopolis, so long as you had proper approval and didn’t have an ink tank.
Technically, this made May and Aaron’s work as Agents sort of illegal.
Technically, neither of them cared.
Matt signed them four of them up together for a match- something that was usually not done, except during a tournament like this, where people would want to get together and practice.
May hefted her roller over her shoulder as she made her way to the transport room. It had been a while since she had done any battling at all, so she knew she would be rusty.
In the transport room stood a single pad connected to the spawn point that their team would enter the arena in. The four of them got into position, ready to fight, and turned to squid form, following the intricate network of piping that took them to where they needed to go. Today it appeared to be Flounder Heights, a place May definitely did not have the money to live in.
They spawned quickly, the timer went off, and everyone got down to business. Watching everyone branch out, May quickly did the same, rolling forwards, covering ground until she ran out of ink, then turning to advance on the enemy.
She was in the middle of enemy territory when she realized one of them was coming up behind her. Gritting her teeth, she turned, ready to send large globs of ink at her opponent. Before she knew it, however, he was gone, taken out by Matt’s charger. Sending him a little salute, she continued on her way.
They must have stayed in the arena for hours. May walked out feeling fatigued and tired, but so alive for once.
‘Maybe,’ she thought to herself in the midst of her joy, ‘Maybe I can live like this forever.’ The euphoria of having the three of them near had entered her head, warming her. She thought back to all of them, to their smiles, their jokes. They weren’t even that close to her, and still, she wanted desperately to stay by their sides. Even Lacey, whom she barely trusted at all, flashed in her mind, the image of the Octoling’s soft smile still burned into May’s memory. She wanted to stay with them.
Maybe it could really happen. Maybe, maybe she wouldn’t fuck everything up for once.
A bright smile on her face, she began to run home.
Maybe her life wouldn’t be so bad after all.
She was so caught up in the joy that had taken her over, something she had not experienced in years, that she did not notice the group in front of her, on their way to Inkopolis Tower.
May collided directly with someone, knocking both herself and them into the asphalt.
“Sorry, sorry,” she apologized. On another day, she might have just recovered and continued walking, or yelled. Today, however, she was actually in a good mood.
She looked into the eyes of the person she had sent to the ground, and her good mood cracked, shattering to pieces.
Don sat in front of her, his eyes wide. Everything around May seemed to have disappeared. For a moment, it was as though May were timeless, floating in an empty void, completely alone except for the one thing she never wanted to see again. She could only see his face, so much older, but so much the same as the face of the younger Don who had once hated her. Did he still hate her?
Don’s eyes narrowed, his entire demeanor changing, and May immediately knew that nothing had changed. The world came back into view gradually. May saw Terra and Gravel, her other former teammates, behind Don, and a third Inkling she had never seen before.
May was reminded of why she had been so reluctant to have friends again, and everything became awful once more. The weight that had left her returned a thousand times worse, pulling against her so much she could physically feel it, like a black hole within her, sucking all of the happiness away and leaving her with nothing but rotting, dusty old feelings she had locked away.
“D- Don...” was all she managed to say. But what could she possibly say to him now? What could she say to any of them?
“May,” Don said standing up, his eyes cold, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I- I live here.” May managed to choke out. Her eyes felt heavy and hot, and she knew she was going to cry again if she didn’t get out soon. She had to get out, get away. There was no way- no possible way that she would let any of them see her cry.
Don clenched his hands into fists. His eyes somehow grew even narrower. “Is this where you ran off to, then?”
“...yes...”
“Don,” Terra said suddenly, stepping out from behind him. She was small, beautiful and lithe, with the same tan skin as her brother, although her eyes were brown instead of green. She had been May’s crush, once upon a time. “Where are you going with this?” She gave him a calculating look.
Don scowled, ignoring her, “Are you entering in the tournament, then?”
May began to push herself up from the ground. “Yes.” she answered tersely as her feelings grew worse and worse. She stared at her feet, unable to look at them anymore.
“Hey, look at me!” Don nearly yelled, grabbing May by the front of her jacket and nearly pulling her off of her feet, “look at me when I’m talking to you, you piece of shit.”
“Don- Don!” Gravel yelled, “Calm down, dude.” Don, scowled, but let go of May. As she dropped back to the ground, May couldn’t help but notice the fourth Inkling, the one she had never seen before, simply leaning on her weapon (a charger) and watching the show with an indifferent expression.
“You better not pull any of the crap with your team that you pulled with us, you hear me?” Don said.
“Oh believe me,” May replied dully, “I won’t.” She wanted to run- she had to run- she had to get away from them. Now was her chance, now, while none of them was holding her and while Don was silent.
Pushing Don back, May turned, sprinting down the street towards home, her heart beating heavily in her chest. The tears had been threatening to pour down her face the entire altercation let themselves loose.
As she got further and further away from them, away from Don, the only thought that went through May’s head was: ‘Idiot. As if someone like you could ever keep any friends.’
She sobbed some more. |
“My Lord?”
Someone was gently shaking him awake, and Anakin groaned softly and tried to ignore them. They must have the wrong person anyway. He wasn’t a lord. Hopefully they’d figure that out and go away soon.
“Lord Amidala?”
Oh. Wedding. Amidala. Right.
He cracked his eyes open, and a dark-haired woman came swimming into view. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and realized it was Rabé. “Mmmm?” he mumbled sleepily.
“I’m sorry to wake you, but you’re due to leave for Naboo in two hours,” she told him.
Naboo. For the honeymoon. Although, Anakin realized with a sudden flash of hope, if Amidala—Padmé, he had to remember to call her Padmé or she’d get annoyed—if she wasn’t interested in sleeping with him for now, maybe it actually would be a relatively enjoyable honeymoon. At least he’d get to be out of the imperial palace for a week.
He threw off the covers and stood up and stretched. Glancing around the room, he saw that Padmé was seated at her vanity table, already fully dressed, as two other handmaidens did her hair. She nodded politely at him and he returned the gesture. Anakin made his way over to the wardrobe, grabbed yet another black outfit, and headed for the fresher.
He took a long shower before changing into his chosen outfit and going back into the bedroom. Padmé’s hair was done and the two handmaidens had moved on to makeup. Rabé and Eirtaé fussed over Anakin’s appearance a little bit because apparently he hadn’t done a good enough job getting dressed, but at last he and Padmé were both ready to leave.
Though before they could, Padmé turned to him and said, “First, I wanted to give you my wedding gift.”
“Oh,” said Anakin, curious despite himself. “Me too.”
At a nod from her, the two handmaidens who’d been attending her—Anakin wanted to say it was Sabé and Dormé, though he wasn’t positive—left the room and came back with a blue and white astromech droid.
“This is R2-D2,” Padmé said. “I know astromechs are primarily used on starships and you won’t be doing much flying—” Seeing as he was a captive and all “—but he’s useful for dozens of other things too. And…I thought you could use some kind of companion. Down at the hangar they told me he’s very feisty, so I thought you’d get along well.”
Anakin smiled and knelt down as the droid came over to him, beeping curiously. “Hey there,” Anakin said. “I’m Anakin. And you’re R2-D2?” Affirmative beep. “Nice to meet you.” Another beep, and Anakin laughed. “Yeah, I hear you.”
“What did he say?” asked Padmé.
“That’s between us.”
“So, the two of you are having secrets already. Wonderful,” she said sarcastically. But when he glanced up at her, he saw that she looked pleased her gift had gone over so well.
“I have something for you too,” Anakin said, standing back up. “Let me go and—”
“No need, My Lord, I have it,” Eirtaé said, patting her pocket.
She came over and gave it to him, and Anakin turned around and held it out to Padmé. She took it from him, smiling as she studied the carved wood. “This is a beautiful necklace,” she said. “Wherever did you find it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I made it,” Anakin said.
Padmé lifted her eyes from the necklace to him, looking surprised. “You made this?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t really difficult, I’ve been carving stuff practically my whole life,” he said modestly. “I made something similar for my mother when I was just a kid. It’s supposed to bring good fortune.” Not that that helped Mom, he added silently.
Padmé stared wordlessly at the necklace for so long that Anakin started to fear she didn’t like it. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not—not like the kinds of gifts you’re probably used to,” he mumbled, feeling embarrassed. He’d been so proud of that necklace, but Padmé probably saw it as a worthless piece of junk. “And especially when you gave me such a nice fancy droid—”
“No, Anakin, I love it,” she interrupted, giving him a small but genuine smile. “I just—I didn’t know what to say. You made this with your own hands, for me. It’s…been a long time since anyone’s done something like that for me.”
Anakin didn’t know why he was so happy that she liked it—really, he shouldn’t have cared at all, or if anything he should’ve purposely gotten her something she wouldn’t like just to make her mad. But even as hard as he tried to ignore it, he couldn’t deny that he felt a burst of pride when Padmé immediately unclasped the necklace and put it on, still smiling. It didn’t go with her imperial finery at all, but nevertheless she looked in the mirror and declared that it was perfect.
They headed down to the imperial hangar, the handmaidens carrying all the luggage. Anakin had tried to carry his own bag, but Eirtaé wouldn’t hear of it and had taken it from him despite his protests. Now he didn’t know what to do with his hands as he walked, so he stuffed them awkwardly in his pockets. Padmé cleared her throat and gave him a significant look, and it wasn’t until she moved her left hand towards him slightly that Anakin realized she was trying to get him to hold it because they were married now and wanted people to think that they at least liked each other.
So Anakin removed his right hand from his pocket and took her offered hand, suddenly self-conscious of his new cybernetic arm. But Padmé had no visible reaction, though she must have been able to feel that there was metal rather than flesh under the glove.
“This is our ship,” she said when they arrived, pointing with her free hand to a beautiful chrome ship which Anakin thought might’ve been the one that had taken him from Tatooine, though at the time he hadn’t been paying much attention to what the outside looked like.
This trip was more agreeable than the last, considering there weren’t Stormtroopers eyeing him suspiciously the whole time with their hands on their blasters. Aside from him and Padmé, it was only the handmaidens who were coming with them. And Artoo, whom Anakin spent most of the flight talking with. Padmé was right about his feistiness—Anakin didn’t think he’d ever met a droid with so much personality—and by the time they arrived on Naboo Anakin felt he had a new friend. Even in only two weeks at the palace he’d nearly gone mad with boredom and loneliness, and now he’d have a permanent companion. Maybe Padmé had noticed this and that was why she’d given him Artoo as her gift.
Anakin gave his head a shake. Why would he think Padmé cared one way or the other about his emotional wellbeing as long as he was doing a good job acting the part in public? A task which he had to return to as they disembarked at the palace hangar in Theed, Naboo’s capital. It was bustling with Nabooian pilots and palace employees going about their daily business, and as he felt curious eyes on him Anakin did his best to follow Padmé’s example by smiling and looking friendly but not stopping to interact with anybody.
Their first stop was a meeting with Queen Jamillia in the throne room. Anakin didn’t say much (Padmé seemed to know her well and did most of the talking) but his impression of the queen was positive overall. In fact, as they left he found himself wondering how such a seemingly decent person could stand to be in the service of the Empire. Perhaps she thought it was best for her people? But all the economic benefits and technological improvements in the galaxy couldn’t replace freedom, surely.
Especially when one planet’s prosperity came at the price of another’s suffering. Anakin had been to those planets during the final years of the Republic, had seen mining worlds where the Republic had stripped all their resources and left behind a starving population, and he was sure the Empire was even worse in that regard. Naboo’s beauty and visible affluence were just about as far from that as you could get.
“There’s one more thing I have to do before we go to my sister’s house,” Padmé said, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Stay here with Rabé and Eirtaé, wander around the city a little and explore. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Where are you going?” Anakin asked.
“Nowhere that will interest you,” Padmé said vaguely, which piqued his curiosity from minimal to high. He realized that despite all her other undesirable qualities, since he’d gotten to Coruscant she’d always been pretty upfront with him. Why was she being so cagey all of a sudden? Maybe she already had a secret lover on the side, Anakin thought with amusement and a hint of something more bitter. If so she could’ve at least mentioned it to him, it wasn’t like he would’ve objected anyway.
He obediently walked around the city for a while with Rabé and Eirtaé in tow while the rest accompanied Padmé on her mysterious errand. Theed was beautiful and packed with points of interest, but Anakin wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing, not when people gawked at him everywhere and in the back of his mind he kept wondering where Padmé had gone.
Finally in a little bakery, after Anakin had enjoyed a typical Nabooian pastry (and probably given the owner cause to later put up a sign proudly declaring that Lord Amidala had frequented his establishment), he managed to give his handmaidens the slip by going to the fresher in the back of the shop, then climbing out the window and hightailing it out of there. He was suddenly glad for the ridiculous travel cloak they’d made him wear because he was able to put his hood up and move through the city unnoticed (his imperial finery actually wasn’t too out of place with the Nabooians’ high fashion).
Anakin tried to reach out in the Force to see where Padmé was. The city was crowded with the Force presences of thousands of other sentient beings and for a few minutes Anakin thought it was hopeless, but then his heart leapt as he finally latched on to a familiar one. She felt…sad, he realized in confusion. Probably not a secret lover, then (unless she was in the process of breaking up with them). What was she doing?
He kept his attention focused on Padmé’s presence as he weaved his way through the streets trying to find her. He lost it a few times but always managed to relocate it, and near the edge of the city Anakin could feel that he was close. Instinct took him down a deserted path and up a flight of stone stairs. At the top was a narrow tower and a bridge across the river with a domed building on the other side.
Anakin hesitated for a second before deciding that the tower was the right place. He made his way around the base, looking for a door—
—and was stopped by several handmaidens. “Lord Amidala,” Sabé said, disapproval in her voice. “I believe Lady Amidala asked you to remain in the city proper.”
“She did, but—”
“And where are Rabé and Eirtaé?”
“We…got separated,” Anakin said feebly. “I was just curious about what Lady Amidala was doing and why she wouldn’t tell me.”
Sabé frowned at him. “How did you know she was here?”
“I felt it. In the Force,” he clarified when she looked puzzled. “So what’s she doing?”
Sabé heaved a long-suffering sigh, apparently realizing he wasn’t going to stop bothering her unless she gave him a satisfactory answer. “She is engaging in a private mourning ritual and does not wish to be disturbed,” she said.
“Mourning?” Anakin repeated, startled. “For who?”
“My Lord, with all due respect—”
“Surely if she’s in mourning, her husband ought to be with her,” Anakin said, thinking quickly. “To provide comfort and support.”
Sabé pursed her lips, but after a moment she shook her head and stood aside. “Very well,” she said. “But don’t blame me if she’s upset with you.”
Anakin started climbing the spiral stairs, not quite sure why he was so interested in spending time with Padmé all of a sudden when up until that afternoon he’d been doing everything he could to avoid her. He was just curious about who she could possibly be mourning. She’d never mentioned knowing anyone who’d died recently, and he wasn’t entirely sure she felt human emotions strongly enough to get attached to another person anyway. Except for her sister and nieces, Anakin remembered, once again getting a funny feeling as he recalled how happy and normal she’d seemed with them.
He put it out of his mind as he reached the top of the stairs. There was a flame burning in a brazier in the center of the room, and Padmé was kneeling in front of it with her back to him. She turned to look at him when she heard his footsteps. “Anakin? What are you doing here?” she said, though her attempt at annoyance was halfhearted at best.
I was feeling nosy and I tracked you via the Force and followed you. Anakin had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. “I was just wondering where you’d gone and went looking for you,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. He took a hesitant step closer and saw in surprise that there were tears on her cheeks. “Are…are you all right?”
Padmé quickly looked away and reached up to dry her cheeks. “I’m fine.”
Almost every instinct Anakin had was telling him to turn around and leave again, but for some reason he found himself moving closer and kneeling down beside her. “Sabé told me you were mourning someone?” he said.
She nodded, still not looking at him. “My parents.”
Anakin blinked at her in astonishment. He had wondered about her parents since she’d never mentioned them and they hadn’t been at the wedding even though her sister had, but he’d had no idea they were dead. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, his tone quiet and, surprising even himself, sincere. “Was it recent?”
“No, it was years ago. I was only fourteen,” Padmé said. “But still, whenever I come back to Theed I like to stop here and take a moment to honor their memory.”
Anakin wanted to ask what had happened to them—if both parents had died around the same time, surely that implied some sort of incident rather than an illness or natural death?—but knew that would be rude. “What is this place?” he asked instead.
“Livet Tower,” she said. “The building just across the river is the Funeral Temple, where we cremate our dead. And this—” she waved her hand at the brazier “—is the Eternal Flame. We gather around it for a moment of contemplation just after the funeral ceremony, so that’s why I like to come back to it. It reminds us that we are mortal and that we should live in harmony rather than wasting our finite lives by being in conflict with each other.”
The Naboo did have a reputation for being peace-lovers. “On Tatooine we bury our dead,” Anakin offered after a moment. “We believe that we come from the earth, so it’s fitting to return to it. I…” He licked his lips, oddly nervous to continue. “My mother died a few years ago, and she was the only family I had. So…I understand what you’ve been through, at least a little bit.”
He worried Padmé might snap at him, but instead she gave him a small smile and didn’t say anything. After another moment or two, Anakin said rather awkwardly, “Well, I’m sorry for disturbing you, I’ll just leave you alone to—”
“You can stay,” she said softly, and it might’ve been the light of the flames but he thought her cheeks were a little pink. “I don’t mind.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Anakin sat quietly with her for a few more minutes until she was ready to leave, and then he followed her out of the room. “Thank you,” Padmé said as they walked down the stairs.
“For what?”
“For understanding,” she said simply.
Really, Anakin didn’t think he’d ever understood anything less. Seeing Padmé show vulnerability in front of him like that…it was very odd. He didn’t think he liked it. She was much easier to handle when she was being cool and aloof.
Still, something prompted him to take her hand of his own accord, and he didn’t let go of it until they’d walked back into the city and all the way to her sister’s house. But it was just for show, playing the part of happy newlyweds. Wasn’t it?
They were received enthusiastically at the door by Sola, and a moment later Ryoo and Pooja came hurtling into the entryway and Padmé’s waiting arms. Anakin tried not to watch her smiling and kissing their foreheads, and instead he settled his attention on Sola and Darred, who had entered a few steps behind the girls.
“Congratulations again,” Sola said, catching him off guard with a hug just as she had at the wedding. “How are you enjoying your first day in Theed?”
“It’s a beautiful city,” Anakin said honestly. “If I grew up here I don’t think I’d ever leave.”
Sola laughed. “That’s why I’m still here,” she agreed. “But Padmé was always looking for something bigger, even when we were children.”
Anakin simply could not picture Padmé as a young innocent child, so he mentally discarded that comment and moved on to the next topic of conversation. Dusk was falling when they’d arrived, so they sat down to dinner as soon as Anakin and Padmé had dropped their things off in the largest guest room (there were a few smaller ones where the handmaidens would be staying).
“So, Anakin, tell us about yourself,” Sola said as she poured him a glass of wine.
Anakin took a sip and struggled not to make a face at the bitter taste. “What would you like to know?” he asked, feeling nervous.
“Everything. Your home planet is Tatooine, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it like there? I’ve never been.”
“It’s just desert,” Anakin said. “Mostly a wasteland, except a few inhabited areas. My mother and I lived in one of the spaceport settlements, Mos Espa.”
“Your mother?” Sola said curiously. “Was she at the wedding? I don’t recall seeing any relatives of yours there.”
Anakin shook his head, feeling a fresh stab of pain even though it had been years. “No, she died several years ago,” she said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sola said, looking sympathetic. “We lost our parents too, I know how painful it is.”
Anakin nodded, feeling awkward, and took another sip of wine to give himself something to do.
“You used to be a Jedi,” Darred said after a beat of silence, the sentence somewhere between a statement and a question.
“Yes,” Anakin said rather warily. What if they didn’t believe the official story that he’d had a change of heart and joined the Empire willingly?
“A Jedi? Wow!” Pooja exclaimed.
“Jedi have magic powers,” Ryoo added. “Do you have magic powers?”
“I guess you could say that,” Anakin said, smiling a little despite himself at their wide-eyed innocence.
Pooja sighed wistfully. “I wanna be a Jedi.”
“No, you don’t, darling,” Sola said hastily. “Jedi are troublemakers.”
“Oh. But Uncle Ani is a Jedi,” she observed, and Anakin felt his heart melt a little at the new nickname, one he hadn’t heard since his mother’s death. “Is he a troublemaker?”
Padmé laughed. “Sometimes,” she said. “Besides, he used to be a Jedi. He’s not anymore.”
“What made you see sense?” Sola asked.
Anakin bristled a little at the question, though he reminded himself it was only natural the sister of the imperial heir would have been led to believe, like the rest of the galaxy, that the Jedi and Rebellion were terrorists and the Empire had everyone’s best interests at heart. “Well…” he said, trying to think quickly of a plausible answer. “I started to realize that the Jedi are arrogant, hypocritical. They claim to be keepers of peace galaxy-wide, but they would only send aid to troubled planets if it would benefit the Republic. They should have been an independent organization, but they were completely under the Senate’s thumb. So in many cases they turned a blind eye to injustices that were happening because trying to do something about them would be contrary to the Senate’s agenda. I suppose it made me realize that democracy didn’t work anymore and that the Empire could only be an improvement.”
Anakin quickly clamped his mouth shut, realizing with some alarm how passionately he’d been speaking. How many of those words had come from the heart rather than being falsehoods made up on the spot. The age-old resentment he’d felt towards the Jedi for never doing anything about slavery on Tatooine was bubbling up to the surface, and he struggled to push it down. I didn’t come here to free slaves, Qui-Gon had said dismissively, crushing all the hopes of a nine-year-old boy who’d spent his whole life dreaming that the Jedi he’d heard stories about would swoop in to rescue him and his mother and all his friends from slavery.
But they’d only bothered coming to Tatooine because their ship had broken down while they were in the middle of some other Republic-sanctioned mission, and they’d only bothered buying Anakin’s freedom because they’d discovered he was strong in the Force and would make a valuable tool.
“Well said,” Darred was saying while Sola nodded in agreement, and Anakin forced himself to come back to the present. No use dwelling on decade-old wrongs that he’d already made peace with. Or at least, he’d thought he had.
“On Naboo, we used to value democracy as strongly as anyone else in the galaxy,” Sola said. “But that changed with the invasion.”
“Invasion?” Anakin said blankly.
“The Trade Federation’s invasion of Naboo,” Padmé said, suddenly looking rather nauseous. “Thirteen years ago.”
Anakin had only been nine at the time and not paying attention to intergalactic politics, and he didn’t recall ever hearing anything about an invasion of Naboo in the subsequent years. “What happened?”
Padmé glanced at Ryoo and Pooja, who were watching the adults with confusion. “I’ll tell you later,” she said. “But this is supposed to be our honeymoon away from Coruscant, we’ve already had too much political talk tonight.”
Sola and Darred seemed all too eager to change the subject, and Anakin went along with it too. “So what happened in the invasion of Naboo?” he asked Padmé a couple hours later when they were finally alone in their bedroom.
“You’ve really never heard of it?” she said. Anakin sensed she was stalling.
“No, I was only a child at the time and still on Tatooine, or maybe just coming to Coruscant for the first time,” he said. “Please tell me.”
She sighed. “Fine. It was my first term as queen. The Republic had recently started taxing the Free Trade Zones, and the Trade Federation wasn’t happy about it, so in retaliation they blockaded Naboo,” she said. “I don’t know why they chose Naboo specifically, but they did. My handmaidens and I barely managed to escape Theed when their ships came, and we flew straight to Coruscant to beg for aid from the Senate. After many days of deliberation, they chose not to send aid.”
“But it was their fault Naboo was blockaded in the first place,” Anakin said indignantly.
“I know. But they didn’t want to make the Trade Federation a bigger enemy than they already had, so they decided to stay out of it and let us fend for ourselves,” Padmé said bitterly. “I returned to Naboo at once, intending to free my people myself if the Republic wouldn’t help. But the Senate had taken so long to reach their decision that by the time I arrived, the Trade Federation had sacked Theed and gone on their way again. They destroyed my home just to prove a point to the Republic.
“I still remember walking through the streets that day,” she said, and Anakin saw her eyes shining with tears. “There was blood staining the cobblestones, and the air was heavy with smoke from burning buildings, and everywhere I looked I saw my people dead or dying. It was only by chance that my sister wasn’t in Theed, she was attending university elsewhere on Naboo. But when I arrived at my childhood home, my parents—my parents were—”
She stopped to gulp for air, but she didn’t have to finish the sentence. Feeling sick, and heartbroken, and outraged, and reminded viscerally of the day he’d walked into the Tusken camp and found his mother dying after weeks of being tortured, Anakin leaned over and wordlessly enveloped Padmé in a hug. At first she stiffened, but after a moment she relaxed a little against him, her body shaking with quiet sobs.
His natural reaction was to say something like, That’s horrible, but Padmé was well aware that it was horrible, she didn’t need him to tell her that. “I can’t believe I never heard of an atrocity like that,” he said instead. “Did the Senate try to cover it up because it made them look bad?”
“I think so,” Padmé replied. “I was busy with rebuilding and relief efforts for most of the rest of my years as queen, so I didn’t pay much attention to what was going on outside of Naboo, but even so I noticed that the wider galactic news outlets never reported much about it. The one good thing that came out of it was my calling for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum and the Emperor being elected to replace him. That gave him the position he needed to eventually reorganize the Republic into the Empire and put a stop to the corruption and ineffectiveness of the Senate.”
For the first time, Anakin felt like he understood how her mind worked. No wonder she had lost faith in democracy after what the Republic had allowed to happen to her planet, to her parents. No wonder she had seen Palpatine, a fellow Nabooian, slowly centralizing power for a decade and then declaring himself emperor as a change for the better. No wonder she had agreed to become his heir and help run the Empire for the rest of her life.
Padmé extracted herself from his arms and wiped her eyes, and when she turned to look at him suddenly the cool politician was back. “We will not speak of this in the morning,” she said stiffly, and without another word she climbed in bed and pulled the covers over herself.
“Okay,” Anakin said, shaking his head in amazement. It was remarkable how quickly she could flip the switch; he half felt like her breakdown from ten seconds ago hadn’t even happened at all. He supposed that was what made her such a good politician.
But…there was definitely a real, sensitive, and maybe even loving human being under there somewhere. |
JOHN
People say you should be proud of your scars.
For Shepard, that wasn’t the case.
As soon as he stepped into his cabin, he moved his hands to the edge of his shirt and pulled it off over his head, throwing it at the chair. His dog tags rattled at the movement before his eyes obliviously wandered to the small mirror to his side. A frown furrowed his brow. It was surprising how he wasn’t entirely covered in scars after what he had been through. They definitely did a good job patching him up. The state he was in somehow reminded him of the time he was at his lowest after Akuze.
He wanted to kick Kaidan’s ass for doubting him. His words had been said with such venom that he nearly believed him. Believed that working with Cerberus would only come back to bite him in the ass. The Alliance wasn’t doing a damn thing and he refused to just sit back, watch another colony get taken and transformed by the collectors, watch the events of Fehl Prime repeat themselves tenfold.
How could he not see that?
After everything they had been through together, after everything they had endured, his distrust hit him the hardest. Kaidan was his sanity, and now when he was gone, so was Shepard’s principles.
When Cerberus brought Shepard back to life, he could only remember the bigger feats, and even they were blurry. He remembered the shock of waking up the first time, troubled breathing as he could do little more than huff with uneven pauses, and the sharp pain in his chest. He remembered hearing a woman with an Australian accent, later finding out it was Miranda, talking to another doctor.
Shepard traced a scar below his pec with an index finger. He had probably gained it in the explosion because he couldn’t remember it. Studying the rifted skin, he moved his attention to his pronounced facial scars.
Even his eyes had taken a red glow.
A flash interrupted him, a stab in his head that had him jerk back. He took after the bridge of his nose and pinched his eyes shut. The only way he kept himself upraised was by firmly taking hold of the cold, compact counter before him, supporting his weight.
The heat. The smoke. The sound of Joker’s voice calling out.
/ “Commander! ...Shepard!” /
The impact of his body hitting the concrete. No control. No oxygen. Complete darkness.
With a deep intake of breath and wide eyes, Shepard broke out from a closely resembled trance as if he had witnessed a vivid drell memory. A hand encountered the table before him, clutched into a fist, his head bowed down heavily. He felt the slight sweat running from his forehead and took note of how his chest was pulsating more rapidly than usual.
Some memories were better off forgotten.
He had been troubled with dreams ever since his reconstruction. His memories were coming back. He had never flashed like this before in the waking world and he definitely couldn’t say that he was a big fan.
Shepard ripped off the dog tags that Liara had dropped by with. Worn. He had worn them when he landed on Alchera. Pushing himself away from the counter, he let his body fall to the bed, feet planted and toes bored into the ground underneath him. He looked down at his omni-tool. Kaidan’s message had been left unread. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see it, but hell, he missed him. A lot.
They hadn’t left it on good terms and Kaidan wouldn’t bring it up again just to make things worse between them. Kaidan was apologizing. In a way, that made it worse, because Shepard would most likely forgive him. He didn’t want to forgive him. Not now. Maybe not ever.
After hesitating, Shepard silently inhaled, and swept a finger across the screen.
About Horizon...
‘Shepard,
I’m sorry for what I said back on Horizon. I spent two years pulling myself back together after you went down with the Normandy. It took me a long time to get over my guilt for surviving, and move on. I’d finally let my friends talk me into going out for drinks with a doctor on the Citadel. Nothing serious, but trying to let myself have a life again, you know?’
Shepard felt his brows draw together. He clenched his jaw just looking at the damn thing as a sudden longing bore through his chest. He almost forgave him right there. Kaidan was too stuck up on Cerberus to see the collector threat clearly. Garrus was right.
There’s no way in hell that words on a damn data pad is going to change my mind -
‘Then I saw you.’
It hit him like a freight train two hours late for transit. This message was sent the very same day and he was already apologizing. Shepard’s muscles slacked, and his tightened grip around the dog tags barely eased around them.
He took it all in.
‘...and everything just pulled hard to port.
I mean, you were standing in front of me... but you were with Cerberus. I guess I really don’t know who either of us is anymore. Do you even remember that night before Ilos? That night, of you and me -- us -- just forgetting everything about the war. It meant everything to me. Maybe it meant as much to you. But a lot has changed in the last two years and I can’t just put that aside.
But please be careful. I’ve watched too many people close to me die -- on Eden Prime, on Virmire, on Horizon, on the Normandy. And I couldn’t bear it if I lost you again. If you’re still the man I remember, I know you’ll find a way to stop these collector attacks, but Cerberus is too dangerous to be trusted. Watch yourself.
When things settle down a little... maybe... I don’t know. Just take care.
--K’
Just like that -- he was forgiven -- worrying Shepard how easy it was.
He shut off the omni-tool while his back hunched wearily over the bedside. Pinching the bridge of his nose, his hand still clenched around his dog tags, arms fell into his lap.
Like losing a limb.
KAIDAN
Kaidan had no idea how much time had passed.
When the reports came in, his heart broke. Shepard had recently ventured into the Omega 4 Relay. It was a suicide mission. Only because of Shepard’s abilities and plain luck, the new ship had gotten safely out without any casualties. They had destroyed an entire collector base.
The word reached him that Shepard had been arrested for blowing up a batarian relay, but it was all classified, although he already knew that the explanation the Alliance had given everyone was far from the truth. He had eventually managed to get through to Anderson who told him that Shepard had delayed a reaper invasion, and in the process, sacrificed the relay that they would pour through.
Now, the politicians had stripped away the title of Commander of the Normandy, surely having a knack for insulting the very man who saved their ungrateful asses. Shepard had been in constant surveillance since then. Lieutenant James Vega, a soldier from Fehl Prime, had been assigned as his bodyguard. Scanners had picked up that something big was headed their way, and the politicians had the damn nerve to seek out Shepard for help again. He was in the very building only a few walls apart. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to know that their reunion was inevitable.
It happened sooner than he’d like.
“Anderson,” he said, having seen him in the distance. Kaidan immediately regretted allowing his eyes to wander. There he was, John Shepard, back facing him in dialogue with Vega. A whole wave of regret forced itself through the veil. He had so much to say but his mind went blank. It came out a whisper. “Shepard...”
Facing him after all this proved far more difficult than he had hoped. Shepard had to be pissed about Horizon still and he couldn’t blame him. Kaidan knew he had gone out of line.
“Kaidan?”
The look on his face immediately fell when Shepard turned his way. Instead of meeting icy-blue irises, he met unfamiliar red, his ragged scars far more pronounced than before. The same red-ish glow reflected in them. His heart went to his throat when Shepard quickly averted his eyes, the skin around drawing tight, lips pressed into a thin line.
Good god though, how much he had missed that voice and face. As unfamiliar as it might be, he could still see Shepard past the obvious synthetic-affected skin. The same cheekbones. The same strong jaw and full lips. Kaidan revered how professionally he handled the situation. He knew Shepard was a controlled man but he also knew that he had the tendency to refuse to speak when upset. Not only was it in his voice. It was in his face as well. He seemed relaxed up until their eyes met.
Kaidan took full responsibility for draining the slight hope that he had seen in his gaze.
Ignoring what just happened, Shepard turned to Vega to say something out of his earshot before he made his way towards him and Admiral Anderson. Admiral. Anderson was an Admiral, now. A lot had happened since Shepard went down with the SR-1.
“How did it go in there, major?” Anderson asked, breaking him from his trance.
Kaidan forced his attention away from Shepard. “Okay, I guess,” he said, in a way relieved that he had interrupted his thought process. “Hard to know. I’m just waiting for orders now.”
“Major?” Shepard walked up to them, genuine surprise in his voice.
“Sorry, Shepard. It’s been... Well.”
“That’s okay.” Shepard wore a small -- but somehow forced -- smile when Kaidan’s eyes finally built up just enough courage to meet his former CO’s. “Just... glad I bumped into you, major.”
No ‘K.’ Not even a ‘Kaidan’ or ‘Alenko.’ Just ‘Major.’ Dammit.
He forced a tight-lipped smile, amazed at how much that actually hurt, but it soon faltered.
Kaidan cleared his throat and looked away. “Yeah... Me too.”
The Council was ready to see them.
Their eyes met when Shepard pushed past him, but he had quickly broken the connection. Kaidan was tempted to reach after him. Nevertheless, he remained where he was and let his eyes follow him when he walked away.
“You know the Commander?” Vega asked, lining himself up next to him.
He took a moment. “I used to.”
It didn’t take more than fifteen minutes before everything went to hell. They lost contact with Luna base, and reapers had poured past their defenses like it was child’s play. Earth. The reapers had hit Earth. Worse yet, they had hit Vancouver and stood at their doorstep. The whole damn human Council had been killed in the attack. They had attempted to get in contact with Admiral Hackett, to no avail. Kaidan was ordered by Anderson to get back to the Normandy in the confusion and meet up with him at the LZ, so he brought Vega along.
Much to his relief, Anderson reported that he had Shepard with him.
Seemed like fate didn’t want them apart. |
"Be careful not to spill any ink on the floor, Frodo."
The hobbits were both sitting in the heart of Erebor's massive library, their bodies warmed by the blazing fireplace on the eastern wall. Bilbo himself had been indexing and cataloguing several large piles of manuscripts since very early that morning, wandering to the front at times to assist Ori and Dhola with a particularly perplexing heap of far-eastern maps. His nephew had spent most of the day with Donel and Nori, the latter of whom had volunteered to watch the youngsters for the afternoon. But it was approaching suppertime now, so Bilbo would sadly have to pull himself away from these fascinating diagrams of a far-off jungle and instead face a hoard of hungry dwarves. Honestly, the hobbit was trying to figure out if some of them had hollow legs or a second stomach, because Fíli and Bofur should not be able to eat that much in a single sitting.
"I'm almost done," said Frodo, his pink tongue sticking out in concentration. "Do I have to use Merry's fancy name at the end?"
"No, his normal name will work just fine," answered the uncle. "Just make sure to spell it correctly or your letter might fall into the hands of yet another relative of the same title. Valar knows there's enough of them."
"Okie dokie."
They spent the next few minutes in relative silence, the shuffling of papers and the faint sound of Ori jabbering away to his aunt acting as a soothing agent to Bilbo's excited mind. He'd been itching to explore the archives for weeks now, so the past three days had been paradise for the bookish hobbit, maps and books quickly overtaking his rooms and an unused corner of Fíli's bedroom as well. Thorin and his sister had opened one of the floor passageways that led down into the Deep Archives, Bilbo easily squeezing his way to and fro in the dark rooms beneath the library. And after Nori had dropped the boys off, plucky little Donel had offered to squeeze into the tighter areas in the back, retrieving dozens of maps and tomes from the dustiest corners of the archives.
"I've got another one," stated Donel, signaling for the older hobbit to help him up the ladder. "But it's really strange looking. What's it say?"
Bilbo settled the little boy beside him on the floor, unrolling the ancient map from the string and clamps that bound it. Yellowed with time and disuse, the entire left portion of it would have to be meticulously restored, but Bilbo was able to decipher a plethora of runes and elvish script in the upper right corner. Unfortunately, the hobbit wasn't familiar with either of them.
"I'm not quite sure," admitted Bilbo. "But this top one here is underlined, so I've a strong suspicion that that's the name of the region. Desdursyton, I think it says. What a peculiar name, if that's what it is."
"And I found these ones, too," said Donel with a proud grin. "They'd fallen back behind the shelves. Got myself a splinter to get them."
"Here, let me see that? Ah, it's not too deep. I should be able to get that out with a few pushes," reassured Bilbo, his nails gently working at the irritated skin on Donel's left thumb. "We hobbits are always getting splinters when working out in our gardens. I've an unfortunate habit of getting them myself. Especially in this one little spot on my right foot just between my biggest toes. Never developed quite enough calluses there, I suppose. An unpleasant predicament for a hobbit, as I'm sure you can believe. And it's quite…ah! There we go! No more splinter."
Donel had closed his eyes sometime during the procedure, a pained grimace on his face as Bilbo pried the skinny sliver of wood from his tender finger. But Donel was a real trooper, if you asked Bilbo. The red-haired dwarfling did not release a single complaint or whine during the whole ordeal, something Bilbo knew he had not accomplished whenever Belladonna pulled a splinter out of him.
"And it was a right nasty one, too," declared Bilbo with a firm nod. "We'll have to let your mother have a good look at it later. Show her how well you did in retrieving all of my maps with this terrible thing in your finger."
Donel nodded with another proud smile. "I hate splinters. They're really nasty. Do we need to look for anything else?"
"No, I think this is more than enough for today," said Bilbo. "We've got supper in an hour or two, and I've still got to sort through all of these maps. Frodo, are you finished with your letter yet?"
"Uh huh. And I spelled Merry right."
Bilbo took the paper from his nephew and quickly skimmed over the messy lines, sharp eyes checking for any major misspellings or grammatical mistakes. But, as always, Frodo's literacy was superb for his young age and Bilbo wouldn't have to make any kind of corrections to it.
"What're those about?" asked Donel.
"Well, I'm not quite sure about these, either," said the older hobbit. "Both of them seem to have some kind of elvish written at the top, but I'm not familiar with it. However, I think the underlined words are the native names of the region. This map appears to show some place called…Lú Tyr Sû… Very strange name. And this mountainous one looks like it says…Orocarni? I've no idea what that means, either. Maybe it's the indigenous title of the mountain range. Hmmm, Karn Ord… "
"Ugh, look what you've done," groaned Frodo. "He's at it again. There's no hope of prying him away now."
"I wouldn't say that."
All three of them looked up to see Kíli's head peeking around a bookshelf, a wide grin on his beardless face as he surveyed the haphazard piles of maps on the floor. With a devious whistle, the youngest prince joined them near the fireplace and attempted to look as innocent as possible. He failed miserably at it.
"What do you want, Kíli?"
"Oh, I just thought our darling little hobbit and dwarfling would like to know that a momentous event has occurred since the lunch hours," drawled the prince, nonchalantly picking at his dirty fingernails. "But alas, it would appear that all of you are quite busy. A most unfortunate shame, that is."
"What's happened?" demanded Frodo, curiosity piqued by the prince's tone. "Did something explode? Are there elves?"
The prince looked puzzled for a moment. "Ugh, what? No, no! There's no elves. Uncle's far too paranoid to even let men from outside of Dale or Laketown into the city yet, let alone a bunch of those prissy tree-shaggers."
"Kíli!"
"Sorry, sorry, I forgot, you don't like those names," whined the prince. "I know a couple of nicer ones, though. How about…pointy-eared bastards?"
"No! Absolutely not!"
"Weed-eaters? That's a pretty nice one, if you ask me. Even Tauriel thought it was funny."
"Ugh, why do I even bother?" muttered Bilbo. "Stubborn dwarves, never listen to anyone besides themselves." He rolled up the maps and gently whacked Kíli over the head with one of them. "Now what did you come down here for, little bird? I'd like to catalogue all of these before supper, so spit it out."
"It's snowing!"
And there went any semblance of calm inside the room, both Frodo and Donel all-but tackling the older hobbit to demand that they leave immediately to play in it. The brat who instigated everything was shameless in his begging as well, stating that little hobbits needed lots of fresh air and snowball fights and ice ramps and snowmen and fruity ice cones to grow up strong and healthy and not wither away in the dark tunnels of Erebor. He tried to call foul on several of them; but being hugged and tackled by three boisterous children, of which Kíli was most definitely an associate seventy-five percent of the time, was quite difficult to resist under any circumstances.
"Please, Uncle Bilbo, please," whined Frodo. "It barely snowed at all in the Shire these last few years. I'll make a really nice snow hobbit for you, I promise. And it'll have big sticks for arms and a carrot—"
"Yeah, we'll build a wonderful one, Uncle Bilbo," pleaded Kíli, puppy dog eyes out in full force as he wrapped himself around the older hobbit. "And we'll put a lovely, fancy red waistcoat on it with a bit of curly leaves on the top for hair and a fancy pipe in the mouth to—"
"And the ice ramps," added Donel. "My amad told me that they always poured a lot of water down the steps and then they'd slide down them like—"
"Enough!" shouted Bilbo. He pushed all three of them to the floor. "Help me get these piles cleaned up and onto that table over there and then we'll go up to our quarters for a change of clothes. Understand? Now get to it."
Bilbo Baggins had never seen two youngsters and the dwarven equivalent of a tween move so quickly in his whole life. The piles were stacked on the tables in less than twelve minutes and then the four of them were marching up to the royal wing for a quick change of warm clothes. The prince wandered off to his own rooms to get ready while Bilbo took care of Frodo and Donel with the winter clothes Ori had made for them. He bundled little Donel into his nephew's second set of long johns, trousers, boots, coats, hats, and gloves, making a mental note to order one of each for the impish dwarfling when he next saw Ori or went to the market. Thana and her husband wouldn't be able to refuse the gifts if Bilbo claimed they were an early solstice present and they had the Durin family's names attached to them as well.
Who said hobbits couldn't be sneaky when a situation called for it?
"Okay, everyone ready to go?" asked Bilbo out in the hallway. "Ears covered? A glove on each hand? Boots laced and secured?"
"Aye, aye."
"You coming, Fíli?" queried Bilbo when he saw the older prince bundled up and leaning on his crutches. "If you do, I won't be letting you out of my sight with that busted leg of yours. You'll be sitting with me."
"I wouldn't dream of doing anything else, Uncle Bilbo," said the older prince with a cheeky smile. "I adore your company."
"You both think you're cute, don't you?" said the hobbit with a sigh. They'd been calling him uncle for the past week now. Bilbo had a strong feeling that their mother was behind it. "What am I saying, of course you do. But those puppy dog eyes won't work on me like they do your uncle and mother. So behave yourselves. Or else…"
He poked both of them in their big dwarvish noses. Well, except for Kíli. His nose was unusually small for a dwarf. But it was still equally vulnerable to a good flick, which Bilbo never failed to use to his advantage if the situation called for it.
"No cupcakes. Or cheesecake. Got it?"
Both princes stared at him in disbelief, Kíli whimpering, "You're a cruel hobbit, Uncle Bilbo. Very, very cruel."
"Yeah, those puppy dog eyes? They don't work on me. Now, lets move along and enjoy the snow, people. Uh uh, you're with me, Fíli."
It only took them a few minutes to reach the front gates of Erebor, snow falling at a very fast rate from the white skies above the mountain. Bilbo double checked the coats, boots, and gloves of the boys before he unleashed them onto the hillside, ordering both of them to stay within clear sight at all times. And then he did the exact same thing with Kíli and his brother, enjoying the indignant squawks that the princes produced when he tugged at their knitted winter hats.
"If you two act like children, then I'll treat you like children," reasoned Bilbo. "I'll be up here at the top of the stairs and you're sitting with me, Fíli. Keep an eye on the boys for me, would you, little bird?"
Kíli gave him a cheeky salute. "Like an eagle of Manwë, dearest uncle." And then he bounded off down the stairs with a whoop. "Who's ready for a snowball fight?! I'm on Frodo's and Donel's team!"
"He's not gonna stop doing that, is he?"
"Nope."
The children were running all over the place, whooping and hollering in the snow as it floated down upon them. Adults were scattered about, some making snowmen with their little ones while others slid down the long ice ramps that a certain pair of silly miners had created with several buckets of cold water. Bilbo himself was quite content to just sit atop the entrance stairs and puff away on his beautiful dragon pipe. Like most hobbits, he preferred to observe the snow from a distance, safe from the icy snowballs and exuberant frolicking of his Took cousins. Or in this particular case and situation, far away from Kíli, Bofur, and an unusually feisty and snow-loving Bifur.
"It looks like we arrived just in time," said a voice to his left. "Traveling in the snow is always dreadful business."
"I can imagine," replied Bilbo after a large puff of smoke. "We were able to avoid the winter during our journey. Both times, in fact. Quite honestly, I don't know if my naked feet would've been able to withstand it."
Dís smiled down at him. "Those are lovely boots."
"The snow's one of the only things that can affect or harm a hobbit's feet," Bilbo explained. "Dwina's father was kind enough to make a pair for both Frodo and myself. I never gave much thought to Erebor's climate, to be truthful."
"It's not so terrible because of our location inside the mountain," stated Dís. "The city of Dale suffers much more so than us because of their exposed location. But the men and dwarves of the north are used to such wicked weather, harvesting early and insulating homes with sturdy stone and woodwork. So long as we have enough food stock to last us through the winter months, everything should be quite comfortable within Erebor's walls and the surrounding settlements. King Bard will have our assistance if he needs it."
"I do hope so," hummed Bilbo through another puff. "There's still so much work to be done. Cataloging and reorganizing the library is going to take several years at least. And I can't read half the stuff in it."
"You'll learn some of it with time," assured the princess. "My, my, that's quite an amazing pipe you have there. The woodwork is exquisite."
Bilbo flushed to the tips of his ears. "Well, ummm…"
"Uncle Thorin made it for him," said Fíli from his place beside the hobbit. "Spent weeks carving it in his rooms at night. He was very intent about it. And see that down on the right side there? That's malachite and aquamarine. Perfect for dragon scales and eyes along the main pipe shaft."
"Very fine stones," smiled Dís. "Now, does anyone want some—"
And then a snowball whacked the princess on the side of her head. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Dís gazed over a snowy embankment of shale and pointed menacingly at her youngest son. With an unmanly giggle of exhilaration, Kíli threw another big snowball at his mother and then took off down the hillside.
"I brought you into this world, little bird," singsonged Dís. "And I can just as easily take you right back out of it. Tell Thorin not to wait for me, okay?"
"Well, Kíli's dead."
"Thorin? What did she mean about wait for—"
"I'm right here," rumbled a deep voice in Bilbo's ear. And then a big hand rested atop Bilbo's hat-covered head, the King's finger playing with the pointy tip of his hidden ear. "My sister heard about the snow and insisted on coming outside to see it. She's quite the lover of winter, so prepare yourself for her decorations and exuberant behavior as the solstice approaches."
Bilbo leaned back into the King's legs, fiddling with his intended's larger fingers as Dís tackled her screeching son in the distance. "I think we'll get along just fine in that respect. So, what've you been doing all day?"
"Executions."
Fíli snorted beside them. "Great mood killer you've got there, Uncle Thorin. I'd give it a nine out of ten on the scales of romantic disaffection."
The hobbit could feel his intended stiffen behind him, so Bilbo impulsively went with an action that he'd been wanting to commit for nearly a week now. Reaching into a side pocket of his coat, Bilbo pulled out the bond-bracelet he'd created several days ago, an excited knot settling in his stomach. Grabbing the King's left wrist, he tied the bracelet tight around Thorin's scar-peppered skin and then gave it a quick, bashful kiss before the Dwarf-King could pull away from him.
The King Under the Mountain just stared at his newly adorned wrist in amazement. "What's this supposed to mean in hob—"
"Thorin!"
And then the King was smacked with a snowball right in the face, Frodo giggling as he leapt down the ice ramp and disappeared into the snow forts that now lined the hills around the castle entrance. Bilbo and Fíli couldn't help but burst out laughing at the sight of Thorin covered in snow, his face a mask of apparent indifference at the snowball that'd just collided with his big dwarvish nose. Until he started to descend the stairs…
"Two can play at that game, little hobbit."
Not even bothering to stifle their laughter, the older hobbit and injured prince just watched as Thorin stalked through the snow forts and hills like a giant predator. None of the other dwarflings dared to attack the King in their snowball fights, instead going about their business without more than a passing glance at their leader. And then Thorin made a sharp turn into one of the snow forts, appearing a half-minute later with a shrieking Donel and Frodo dangling from his outstretched arms.
"Awww, they've been caught," laughed Fíli. "Poor rascals don't have any clue how mean Uncle Thorin can be in games like this. And there it is! Snow down the back of the shirts! Poor Kíli's getting the same from amad, too!"
Frodo had latched himself to the back of Thorin's mane of black hair, a handful of snow shoved into the King's un-hatted head while Donel provided reinforcement from his position on Thorin's lower back. Off to their right side, Dís and several women had Kíli, Bofur, Glóin's son, and a half-dozen other miners pinned down at the bottom of a hillside with no hope of escape. But it was the happy smile on Thorin's face that truly made Bilbo feel warm inside, its brilliance something that the Lonely Mountain and Durin's Folk had not seen in many, many decades.
"Could someone please get Ori for me? I need a sketch of this. Right now." |
The Games They Play
Chapter 15
Albus Dumbledore felt a strong sense of foreboding as he used the Floo Network to get to Grimmauld Place, Molly Weasley had sounded…well he couldn’t put a name to the emotion he had sensed within the usually overly emotional witch. She always went from one extreme to the other, but the woman he had dealt with just over half an hour ago had been neither. He as always brushed it off, secure in the knowledge that he was Albus Dumbledore, he could fix anything. It was probably something to do with her children or Sirius Black, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d complained about him which he found hilarious. The Floo whisked him into Grimmauld Place, and he was faced with the majority of the order sitting stone faced in silence. That feeling of foreboding began to circle him greater than ever before, especially as he observed Remus was standing at the back of Sirius with his hands on his shoulders as if to keep him seated. The usual coffee, tea and treats Molly made for the meetings were also noticeably absent. The only thing on the table was a book next to Fred and George Weasley.
“Is everything alright?” Albus asked the crowd his twinkle absent, as he observed them. “Has something happened?” beginning to feel oppressed by the daunting silence of the usually exultant group.
Albus moved to the head of the table, his heartbeat shooting through the roof, but he kept his gentle façade on, that was marred slightly with concern. “I cannot help if nobody answers my question?” he added in a soothing chiding tone.
“You knew,” Sirius hissed, his grey eyes flashing in raw fury. “All this time, you bloody knew!” he was prevented from standing by the tight grip Remus had on him, which made him curse inwardly. Panting outrageously, he dug his nails into his palms trying to do as he had been taught by his therapist and breathe evenly and occlude.
Albus waited patiently for someone to come to his defence - on something he still had no idea what he was meant to have done. Normally Molly would be the first to his defence but she was just sitting with Arthur shaking slightly in what he would guess either raw anger or sadness he wasn’t sure which one he preferred at this point in time.
None of the Order members reacted to Sirius’ words, just watching everything silently, having been stunned beyond belief having been called by either Sirius or Molly only to be told the devastating truths. They didn’t want to believe it, and hoped Dumbledore had a reasonable explanation it was perhaps why they weren’t jumping down his throat. But they knew deep down there couldn’t be an explanation, everything they thought they knew was shot to hell. They’d all squabbled over the book determined to see for themselves. To say particularly Kingsley, Alastor (who was basically a wanted man remained in either his home or Grimmauld Place) and Tonks had it hard was putting it lightly? Not that it mattered, they couldn’t tell, quite literally, anything to do with the Order was under oath. They would lose their magic if they even tried to tell anyone, but they weren’t Aurors for no reason - they were smart, dedicated and they knew ways around the oath it was just a matter of time.
“May I at least know what I’m being accused off before you judge me guilty, Sirius?” Albus demanded sombrely, letting a small amount of his anger seep into his voice. “After all I did the same for you a few years my boy!” he added crossly.
“PFFT!” Sirius spat out, “You knew I was bloody innocent the entire time! I should have questioned it but I was just too damn glad to have someone on my side!”
“What draws you to that conclusion?” Albus asked forcing a bewildered look to cross his face as he felt his stomach pooling at his feet in worry.
Molly stood up abruptly turning the book over and true dread flashed through Albus’ eyes, he had made it so nobody, not even Hermione Granger had went into that damn library. He had wanted to get everything out of it, but between the cursed books, and absolutely everything he had to do - he just hadn’t been able to spare the time to clean out the library and throw the books away. He hadn’t thought the need to be concerned; the day Sirius Black picked up a book would be the sign of an apocalypse. The only real worry had been Granger but he had told her not to due to the curses and of course the good little Gryffindor would do as he demanded. As she always did, it was amusing really; she’d been obsessed with him since she was eleven years old. Denying her true house for Gryffindor because it’s where he had been, it was fascinating really, and all it had done was seclude her from getting friends and finding like minded people. Then of course, she had befriended Ronald and Harry, what better way to keep him in control than two students who revere him? Who would do anything he asked? It had come in handy when he had asked them not to write to the boy.
He almost, almost jumped when the book was slammed in front of him, the pages of a very detailed instruction of the Fidelius Charm was flashing before his eyes. He couldn’t help his natural inclination to pale at the evidence in front of him, his mind reeled with the ramifications, and he had to do damage control very, very quickly. “Ah, I see where you are coming from, I am afraid the information was Obliviated from me my boy, what good would it be to switch them if I myself was captured?” he pointed out; his defence was weak at best.
“Just who is powerful enough to Obliviate you, Headmaster?” Severus enquired his tone suspicious, he had his hand dangerously close to his wand suspecting the answer - and if he said who he thought he was, Severus would not be able to control his reactions. Lily while amazing at charms, wasn’t good at the memory charm, it was the only spell she found notoriously difficult. Hell she’d even had better success at casting the Patronus Charm. She had been a prodigy at Charms, receiving the best grade out of her year and even beating Dumbledore’s score. Just like he had been a prodigy at Potions.
Everyone knew the Headmaster was lying, he had paled, a liar couldn’t pale on cue, when he saw the book he had paled considerably, he knew he was busted but Dumbledore obviously wasn’t about to give up the game yet. Not that he had suspected he would, he’d never actually admit it even with the evidence in front of him.
“James demanded it and Lily performed the charm after the Secret Keeper was changed,” Albus sighed sadly.
“Really?” Severus drawled his sarcasm head all around the room. “She performed it did she?”
Even Sirius was giving him a curious look.
“She did,” Albus replied, already knowing that it was going to come down like a house on fire.
“Lily couldn’t master that charm, it was the one spell that she couldn’t do.” Severus growled at the thought of Dumbledore using Lily to cover for himself. He was furious, simply put and he made no effort to hide it not from Dumbledore or the other Order members.
“How would you know?” Doge snapped defensively, coming to Dumbledore’s aid. He was still furious over the loss of his job and seat within the Wizengamot. He didn't dare go to the Ministry, he wouldn't survive Azkaban.
Severus arched an eyebrow as he looked the elder wizard up and down before dismissing him completely. He had absolutely no reason to explain himself, especially not to this group.
“I want you out of my house,” Sirius demanded coldly, “If I see you in here I will have you arrested for trespassing, remove the secret keeper charm and I never wish to see you again.”
“Now, Sirius, please think this through,” Albus cautioned him his eyes wide in surprise, “I have spoken nothing but the truth, I did not remember, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt, do me the same courtesy now,” he couldn’t lose this property, he had literally nowhere else to hold the meetings. “Harry will never forgive you if you put his friends and friend’s families in danger.”
“Do not use my family to worm your way out of this! Or Harry! You used them for your own agenda! You knew where the chamber was and you let my daughter’s life be put in danger. You also put my son in danger by association!” Molly screeched finally letting her anger go. “Let’s not forget the fact you made the poor boy participate in the Triwizard tournament when you could have gotten him out! You were his magical guardian! He could have been killed!” a piece of information they hadn’t known or realized.
“Voldemort might not have been brought back either,” Fred pointed out quietly.
“I did not have custody of him, his relatives did,” Albus said working his way around the words to defend himself. “I cannot believe you would think badly enough of me to think for a second I’d ever put a student under my care at risk.”
“Don’t give me that! You pushed Harry towards those confrontations!” Molly said angrily, her hands on her hips as she glared at the wizard before her. She had grilled the twins, Ron, Hermione and Ginny after she regained some sense of herself.
“I could not possibly keep Harry or any student under intense scrutiny while they resided within Hogwarts walls, I am but one wizard, I can safely assure you I had no idea what situations Harry got himself into until it was brought to my attention.” Albus once again insisted, his body was filled with defeat - and it was in no way exaggerated. He knew with grave certainty they weren’t about to listen to him.
“Take the spell down, and leave!” Sirius demanded trying to fight himself out of Remus’ hold.
“I suggest you do as he asks,” Remus growled, his amber eyes glowing ferociously, showing that his wolf was very close to the surface and he was about to lose complete control if the wizard who was responsible for the anger didn’t disappear and quickly. “NOW!”
“It seems none of you are in the mood right now to listen, so I shall give you a few days to cool off then we will have another conversation,” Albus said quietly, shaking his head sadly, he had to find out what had happened and how they had gotten their hands on that book to figure it out. “I shall do as you ask, and remove the charm.” hopefully he would be able to recast it once he caught Sirius alone and made the wizard see sense. Right now he was angry and nothing he said would get through, but some emotional manipulation would do the trick and Sirius would believe in him once more. Giving Doge a pointed look, he needed to speak to him and soon, not waiting to see if he understood he strode to the fireplace.
With one strong flick of his wand, the charm holding across the property dissolved into pieces. The added security they had on it was now null and void, and it was in danger of being discovered. He hoped that Sirius would reconsider before any of the Black’s came knocking, the library was obviously still there and filled with a whole slew of information that could make things difficult for the light side to win. It was going to be difficult as it was with everyone watching him so closely when it came to Harry and specifically with Slytherin having control of his weapon. With that Albus was away from the Order of the Phoenix, the group he had founded to battle the darkness, never thinking for a moment that he would ever be found out like this.
“I can’t believe you believe everything a possible Death Eater is saying against the Headmaster! This might be all part of a plot to take him down and you’re all falling for it!” Doge insisted imperiously before striding out of the property, as always going where Albus told him to, nothing absolutely nothing anyone said could convince Doge that his best and oldest friend could do something so despicable. Those fools would soon see the light, but for now he would stay loyal and rub it in their faces at a later date. He failed to realize Dumbledore was the reason he'd lost his job and that the old man just didn't care who got caught up in his fight for the 'Greater Good'.
“How dare he lie to my face?” Sirius blurted out in frustration as soon as the door slammed closed behind Doge. Nobody was surprised by his strong defence of the Headmaster.
“What did you expect, Black? For him to confess all? He never will but he will most definitely stick to his excuses.” Severus insisted bluntly. “The question is are you going to buy it after seeing the obvious proof in his body language for yourself?”
Moody curled his lip; hating the fact Snape of all people was correct, Albus’ body language had given him away. He knew it to be true by 100 percent; he had seen that tell from thousands of suspects during his years as an Auror. He had seen Tonks and Shacklebolt cringe when they saw it as they got the proof they needed for their own piece of mind.
“Body language?” Fred enquired wondering what his Potions teacher meant by that.
“He paled, laddie,” Moody grunted, shifting his weight slightly. “He knew he was found out, if he had been innocent he would have been puzzled or perplexed by what was going on.” it was always usually an indication when someone didn’t pale, since it would mean they were aware due to the fact liars cannot pale on cue. He had lost his job, his freedom thinking Dumbledore could do no wrong, he wasn't sure what he could do now. Perhaps giving himself up to the Ministry might be in his best interests.
Fred cursed inwardly, so it was true then, he had put his little sister in harms way. He narrowed his eyes, glancing briefly at his twin who nodded viciously; they would find a way to make him regret doing that! Their sister hadn’t been the same innocent girl since the whole debacle in first year. Of course their angry looks were nothing on Bill and Charlie’s, they looked ready to go out and battle dragons in all honesty.
“What do we do now?” Tonks said her hair dark blue she gazed around looking as lost as they all felt really. Was there really an Order without Dumbledore? He had invented it after all…right now though it was probably the last thing on their minds.
“I just need to get out of here,” Bill admitted an ugly glower on his face, which was twisted violently just thinking about Dumbledore. His magic was leeching off him, showing just how furious he was without anyone needing to actually look at his face.
“I think we all do,” Severus replied smoothly, he wasn’t bothered by what had happened, well au contraire, he was, only to a certain extent and that was the fact Dumbledore had dare to use Lily to cover his own arse. The rest he had enjoyed immensely, the looks of anger, betrayal, shocked disbelief, denial, indignant proclamation of ‘letting the headmaster speak’ and then the most enjoyable moment of all, where Dumbledore had given himself away completely. He would have smirked and chuckled wickedly but he did value his life so refrained.
With that Severus was the first to stand; he honestly couldn’t get out of Grimmauld Place quick enough now that the entertainment was well and truly over. He needn’t be a Legilimens to know where Doge was, telling Dumbledore absolutely everything that had been discussed. He would be sorely disappointed with the information since Molly hadn’t brought Blake Slytherin into it - or Harry other than to defend him. He could feel others following him, it took everything in him to keep walking with his back unprotected with the feeling of angry magic so close at his heels.
He smirked at the lurching teenagers trying to pretend they hadn’t been listening in, everyone had been too furious and angry to even think of erecting silencing charms - he had noticed yes, he had also noticed the extendable ears and did nothing about it. It was time everyone realized what kind of wizard Dumbledore was - and seeing as those three weren’t Order members they could spread all the gossip they liked without ending up losing their magic. He was pretty sure they would write to Harry and tell him everything.
He took one step outside the property before Apparating away, not able to stand another second in the vicinity of anyone really. He had written to Blake to inform him about the meeting and that he would be by afterwards to let him know what occurred. He hadn’t asked of course, but he was sure Blake would like to know what had happened.
The cottage came into view, admitting him entrance where he was sure anyone else would be met with evacuation. Not that it would be easy to find, the wards were very impressive, there were a few he didn’t even know, he was assuming they were wards he had created himself or someone had in future. He swiftly stalked down the path towards the two storey cottage, it was very idyllic, quite honestly he would be happy to stand there and just take in the surroundings feeling at peace. It was definitely somewhere you could come to block out the world.
Not that he had been able to do much lately; he had quite literally just finished brewing potions when Molly had the audacity to call a meeting. Of course the impudence had washed away when he realized what kind of ‘meeting’ it was going to be, and sat back and enjoyed the show. Finally he was at the stoop he knocked firmly three times and waited.
“Hello, Master Severus, come in,” Dobby said opening the door magically of course, since it creaked open on its own with the House-elf standing just a few feet from the door so he didn’t end up smacking his own body with his spell to open it. “Master Blake and Harry are busy, I will let them know you are here…would you like some coffee while you wait?” Dobby asked as the door closed as he led him into the living room.
“Yes, please,” Severus said politely as he took a seat in the one he’d used the last time he’d sat in that room - getting his mind blown with information beyond his wildest dreams…or should he say nightmares? He couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing, he knew that Harry was being taught Occlumency it had been mentioned but other than that he didn’t know.
A few moments later a mug was being handed to him by an eager to please House-elf, “Master Blake will be through soon,”
“Very well,” Severus said nodding curtly. He wondered if the House-elf found the entire situation strange or if they were that resilient that Dobby was already over it? He wasn’t sure he cared enough to ask, but that decision was taken from him when he popped away presumably to do the rest of its chores if any required doing. The cottage seemed extremely well kept, not too big for a single….no there were two House-elves now he had forgotten about Kreacher. Although he wasn’t sure the old elf was capable of doing much of anything these days.
Leaning back, he let the brew cool as he thought on everything that had transpired. The way Molly had reacted was actually positively Slytherin in a way, she had told them everything in a cool, cold, and calm way that left no doubt in their minds. Her eyes gleaming with vindication the entire time until she had gotten so worked up after she got it all out that she sat down getter steadily redder in the face. She spoke of Sirius Black with a great deal more kindness? Respect? That he’d ever heard coming out of her mouth. His mind drifted to Blake and everything he'd seen and observed from the wizard in the short time he'd known him.
Sighing softly, he thought on what he had heard in Blakes voice when he spoke of everything that happened in the future. He knew Blake would do what he had to - to stop Harry having to endure the same fate he had barely survived before coming back in time. He would do all he could to help bring down Dumbledore and Voldemort - no matter what.
Five minutes later Blake wandered in clean, calm, power and presentable as always. He had just taken a seat when a platter of food and a coffee pot appeared on the table to Blake’s left. Mostly refreshing foods, fruit, crackers, cheese, sandwiches and biscuits in fact it was a mouth-watering platter that even he wanted to sink his teeth into.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Blake said smoothly, “Help yourself,”
“Can I go flying for a while?” Harry asked hovering in the doorway.
“Have you removed the potion from the burner?” Blake questioned.
“Yes,” Harry said immediately.
“Then you may,” Blake said nodding his eyes gleaming proudly.
“Thanks!” Harry said grinning widely before hightailing it outside.
Blake shook his head bemused before turning back to Severus; even now Harry was still able to forgive too easily. He had already warmed up to Severus. Nobody could say that the wizard across from him was a good one, he was bitter, angry at the world, took his frustrations out on a young boy, but he had done right in the end, hopefully if they ended this war once and for all he would lighten up and enjoy life let go of the anger. Although the chance of that was slim to none, heck it would happen the day he let go of his own which wouldn’t happen - they’d been through too much. Changed too much in the course of their lives. |
I laid there in the mud for hours, until the forest was pitch black. The rain fell harder, soaking my clothes. I still didn’t care. I would lay here until I wasted away. There was no point in getting up, not anymore.
Over the sound of the rain, I thought I heard someone call my name. My heart leapt when I thought that it might be Rosalie- but sank when I realized that it was a man’s voice. I thought I recognized who the voice belonged to, but I was too numb to put the pieces together. I curled into a tighter ball in the mud as the calling grew quiet. After a while- I wasn’t sure how long- I heard multiple voices join the first. They called for me from all angles, but I didn’t answer them. I had yelled myself hoarse, and my throat was sore. Even if I did care about being found, I doubted that I would be loud enough for them to find me.
The voices grew more frantic as they spread out. I still didn’t answer. I didn’t even know if I could move. I didn’t think I had the energy. I was shivering from the cold, and my wet clothes were making it worse. The wind howled around me, causing the rain to fall at a sharp angle.
A flash of lighting briefly lit up the trees, and I managed to get a glimpse of my surroundings; I was in a small burrow between two large trees. There was no visible trail anywhere. The trees that I did see were so huge that I knew I had to have gone much deeper into the woods than I’d realized. I laid there on my side, listening to the thunder roll in and the voices call my name, becoming muffled in the storm.
When another bolt of lightning flashed, my eyes landed on something that made my blood run cold; A pair of eyes, glowing in the darkness. The light was so brief that I couldn’t tell who or what they belonged to. I heard a rustling in the trees where I had seen them, but it was so dark that I still couldn’t see anything.
My mind raced as I considered the worst case scenario; James- back for revenge now that I was unprotected. He could have been waiting in the shadows this whole time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike-
“Bella?”
I squinted through the darkness just as a flashlight clicked on above me. My eyes squeezed shut at the sudden brightness. I heard whoever had found me sigh and felt a hand on my shoulder. I must have been freezing, because their skin felt so warm that I could feel it through my clothes.
“Bella, can you hear me?” He asked. He sounded young, but he was apparently old enough to track a lost teenager through the woods. I opened my eyes to see that he had turned the flashlight in his direction so that I could see him instead. His black hair was pulled up into a messy bun on top of his head, and his brown eyes were scanning me for injuries. When he could find none that were visible, he said, “My name is Sam Uley. Your father is very worried about you.”
My dad- of course he would be worried. How long had I been missing? What time was it? I glanced down at my wrist to check the time- and swallowed a lump in my throat, staring down at the amber stones surrounding the face. Delicately, I ran one finger along the silver band as the hole in my chest throbbed painfully.
“Can you stand?” Sam asked, gently taking my hand in his and pressing two fingers to my wrist to check my pulse.
I couldn’t answer him. The wind was freezing my wet clothes, and I wasn’t sure if I was shaking from that or the fresh round of tears.
“Is it alright if I carry you?” Sam asked, stowing the flashlight back in his pocket and reaching out for me.
I nodded, still not sure if I could speak. He scooped me up easily, like I weighed nothing. He held me against his chest as he ran through the thick underbrush. I closed my eyes again and tried to pretend that it was Rosalie’s arms around me… but Sam’s skin was too warm, and I could hear his heartbeat thumping rhythmically against my ear. Everything was too different… and it would never be the same again.
The forest thinned as we got closer to my house. I could tell that we were back on the trail by the way Sam’s gait had evened out. Through my tired eyes, I could barely see the red and blue flashing lights of a police car. Over the sound of the storm, I heard frantic voices and the chirping of walkie-talkies.
“BELLA!” I heard my dad running across the wet grass, and felt his shaking hand on my head when he reached us. Guilt broke through the numbness in my head as I realized how scared he must have been.
“She’s alright.” Sam assured him.
“Bella?” I recognized Jacob’s voice. “Are you okay?”
I tried to open my eyes, but the lights were blinding. My throat was still burning from all the screaming, and when I tried to answer him, I could only croak.
“Lemme take her.” My dad’s arms replaced Sam’s as I was handed over. As he carried me up to the porch, I heard car doors slamming as the police drove away. I had been found, so their part of the job was done. A few of Dad’s fellow firefighters asked if he needed them to stick around, but he told them to head back to the station.
“Want one of us to look her over first, Charlie?” I heard someone ask- probably one of the EMT’s that he knew. I could still hear the engine of the ambulance while the driver waited for their partner.
“That’s alright, Darla.” Dad said, shifting me slightly to get a better grip as he walked up the ramp to the front door. “I’m gonna give Dr. Cullen a call.”
The sound of their name being said so casually made the hole in my chest ache. I curled tighter into a ball, biting down on my lip to stop myself from crying as I waited for the answer that I knew was coming.
“Oh- you haven’t heard? Dr. Cullen left town.” Darla said. “He turned in his resignation yesterday.”
He stopped in his tracks and turned around to stare at her. “What?”
“He got a job offer down in Los Angeles.” She explained. “I’m surprised we managed to keep him around for this long, honestly. The man is a medical genius- compared to what they offered him, we were paying him pennies.”
Los Angeles… There was no way they had really gone there. It was too bright and sunny, too easy for them to be discovered. They had lied- probably to prevent me from following them.
“Jake- think ya can carry Bella inside for me?” My dad asked. His tone was leveled, but I recognized the hint of stress behind it.
“Yeah, I got her.” Jacob took me from him and cradled me to his chest as he walked carefully through the front door. I could feel his arms shaking slightly with the effort of carrying me. Still, he managed to get me to the couch and cover me with several blankets before lifting my legs and sitting under them. He held them in his lap and rubbed them vigorously, trying to create friction to warm me up.
“How is she?” The low, gravelly voice was familiar. I heard Billy’s wheels squeaking as he rolled towards us, and felt his large hand push my damp hair away from my face.
“Sam found her.” Jacob told him. “She hasn’t said anything yet.”
Billy placed his warm hand on top of my frozen fingers. “Bella? You okay?”
I wasn’t, not really. The love of my life had left me behind for my own safety. I was never going to see her again… How could anyone be okay after that? I choked back a sob, which started a coughing fit that made my throat hurt even worse.
“Jake- ya mind gettin' her some water?”
“Got it.” Jacob gently moved my legs and went to the kitchen.
As soon as he was out of earshot, I felt Billy gently squeeze my hand. For the first time, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. His dark eyes locked on mine, and I realized that he was the only one who really knew what was going on- how the Cullens' sudden departure coincidentally lined up with my sudden disappearance… and I realized what he must have feared when my dad had called him to tell him I had gone missing.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” He whispered. “Charlie was frantic…”
I swallowed, trying to force my voice out of my throat. It was still raspy as I asked, “Is this the part where you say, ‘I told you so’?”
Billy shook his head. “’Course not, kid… I’m sorry things didn’t work out. I really am.”
Jacob returned with a glass of ice water and positioned the straw so that I could drink without sitting up. I swallowed the first sip, then started to chug when I realized how dehydrated I was. I didn’t stop until I was sucking up nothing but air.
“Damn.” Jacob chuckled- clearly relieved that I was showing signs of life. “You good?”
I nodded, and he repositioned himself on the couch with my legs in his lap. The front door opened, and heard my dad wipe his boots on the mat before coming over to check on me. His knees cracked as he knelt next to Billy’s wheelchair.
“Bells?” He asked, keeping voice gentle. “Are ya awake?”
I nodded.
He let out a relieved sigh. “Honey… what happened? How did ya end up way out there in the woods alone?”
I bit my lip and looked up at him through my lashes. There was only so much I could tell him. My throat was still a bit sore, but the cold water had helped ease the irritation slightly. My voice was much stronger as I said, “Went for a walk- got lost.”
“Jesus, Bells.” Dad sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face to wipe the stress off his features. “Ya scared the shit outta me… Next time take your phone with ya so we can track it- better yet, don’t wander off trail at all-“
“Charlie…” Billy said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She’s been through a lot today- give her a bit of a break, huh?”
He took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yeah…”
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a phone ring, causing Jacob to flinch as well. I looked down at him apologetically as my dad pulled his cellphone from his pocket. He looked at the caller ID and raised a bushy eyebrow.
“It’s the station.” He said as he pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear. “Hey, what’s goin’ on?”
He got up, taking my empty water glass to the kitchen to refill it as he talked. He was only gone a few moments before returning and handing me the filled glass. I managed to prop myself up on an elbow and take a few gulps. I was not as parched as I had been, and only drank half of it before handing it to Jacob.
“Yeah, hold on- lemme check somethin’ before we send a unit.” Dad held the phone to his chest and asked Billy, “Hey, babe- got a report of smoke comin’ from the cliffs on the rez. That all above board?”
Billy nodded. “Bonfire- nothin’ to worry about. Sam’s probably joined back up with ‘em by now. It’s under control.”
He brought the phone back up to his ear. “Yeah, no- it’s fine. I’ve got the Chief right here- No, no need- Uh-huh.”
The conversation faded into the background as my mind wandered. Billy’s explanation had been simple enough, but I suspected there was more to it than he had let on; Their tribe knew what the Cullens really were. If there was a spontaneous bonfire on the cliffs, the odds were that they were celebrating the departure of the Cold Ones from their territory… I couldn’t meet Billy’s eyes. I knew what I would see there; Sympathy, yes- but also relief.
My dad cleared his throat as he hung up. “Well- you’ll have to pass on my thanks to Sam. Turned around for one second and he was already gone.”
“Will do.” Billy said, then nodded to Jacob. “Ready?”
Jacob looked down at me, making no attempt to get up. When I got a good look at him, it was clear that he was exhausted. He looked like it was taking all his strength just to keep his eyes open.
“I’m okay.” I lied, kicking my feet weakly to nudge him off the couch. “Go get some sleep.”
He stood up, reaching out to squeeze my hand as he said, “Text me in the morning, okay?”
I nodded.
Dad walked them out the front door as I slowly sat up on the couch. My back was sore from laying on the hard ground. I had scratches on my legs that were beginning to sting now that I was aware of them. The stitches on my injured arm were throbbing, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I had ripped some of them accidentally. My bad leg felt like it had been broken again as I stood up.
But nothing- nothing- hurt worse than the gaping hole where my heart should have been. Rosalie had taken it with her the second she had run from me, and I would never get it back. I bit my lip a bit harder than I meant to, and brought a hand up to cover my mouth as I tried not to cry.
I hadn’t heard my dad come back inside. All I knew was that in the next moment, I was wrapped tight in his arms, sobbing gently into his leather jacket.
“I’m sorry, baby…” He said quietly, pressing a scratchy kiss to the top of my head as he gently rocked me on the spot. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
He held me tightly until my tears ran dry. When I finally sniffled and fell silent, he pressed another kiss to the top of my head before letting his arms fall back to his side.
“Why don’t cha go upstairs and take a warm shower.” He suggested. “Are ya hungry? I can whip somethin’ up real quick before ya go to bed.”
I shook my head, sniffling again as I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my hoodie.
“Alright.” He said, then added, “I’m not goin’ in to the station today- you can stay home too, if ya don’t feel up to goin’ to school.”
I nodded.
“I love you, Bells.” He said, pulling me in for one more hug. “Go get some rest. We'll talk more in the mornin'.”
When I got upstairs to the bathroom, I finally got a good look at myself in the mirror; My hair was a mess. My eyes were bloodshot and there were heavy bags under them. There were bloodstains on my jeans where they had ripped in the underbrush. Slowly, I took off my shirt and saw fresh bruises mixed in with the ones from my birthday. The bandage covering the wound on my arm was covered in dried mud, and I gently peeled it away to check the damage; My stitches hadn’t been torn- but it was bleeding quite a bit, and it needed cleaned.
As my eyes wandered, they landed on the side of my neck- where two, perfectly round puncture marks were still visible. My eyes filled with tears again as I gingerly ran my fingertips across them. For a moment, I let myself imagine what could have been- if Rosalie had listened to Alice and Edward in that ballet studio… If they had allowed the change to happen, we could have been happy together… We could have been hunting moose somewhere in Alaska, running side-by-side through the woods, not a human care in the world… Equals- partners- forever.
Another wave of grief knocked the breath from my lungs. I turned away from the mirror and quickly turned on the shower so that my dad wouldn’t hear me- I had worried him enough for one night. With no energy left in my body, I sat down in the tub with my knees to my chest and let the warm water wash over me as I cried.
Steam began to fill the room, making me sweat. I flipped the knob to the coldest setting and grit my teeth as it hit my bare skin… but it felt better- more familiar. If I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could almost pretend that she was still here- like she was running her cold fingers through my scalp.
I sat there until I heard my dad go back into his room. When I finally shut the water off and forced myself to stand, I could hear his usual bear-like snoring coming through his door. I wrapped myself in a towel and ignored the mirror as I walked out.
It felt like a dream as I put on my pajamas and sat down on the edge of my bed. My mind and body felt numb. I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to close my eyes. I couldn’t let myself dream. If I did, I knew I would dream of her… and the thought of that was just too painful. Her last words replayed over and over again in my head. ‘I love you too, Bella Swan… I always will.’
I would always love Rosalie Hale. There would always be an empty space in my heart where she would belong. No other person in this world would ever be able to take her place, I was sure of that. She would always love me, and I would always love her…
I stood and walked over to my window, opening it as far as it would go. The storm had passed, but the wind still howled. I didn’t care. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I moved the armchair in the corner of my room to face the window and sat down, staring into the night. The cold wind froze the tears on my cheeks, but I did not wipe them away. I waited- I would wait as long as I had to. I would sit right here and wait for her to come back.
Rosalie would come back for me, I knew she would… I would wait for her. If she loved me as much as I loved her, she had to come back for me…
She had to…
OCTOBER
NOVEMBER
DECEMBER
JANUARY
FEBRUARY
MARCH
APRIL
MAY
|
Frank has been to Italy twice. Once with his family when he was little, in an attempt to reconnect with their roots at an age where he couldn’t even point out in a map where Europe was located, much less appreciate the sights or the exquisite cuisine. The thing he remembers most from that trip was having chicken and fries for every meal and his grandpa complaining about the heat.
The second trip was just a year ago, when he was invited to participate in a Theological Symposium –
“PriestCon,”
Gerard’s brother had called it. Frank still remembers his deadpan face and cracks a smile. In a very American fashion, Frank confirmed his preference for where he currently lives; his small church has nothing to envy from the unnecessary – and frankly insensitive – opulence of the Vatican.
The only destination occupying a higher place in Frank’s heart is New Jersey, where he was lucky enough to spend his first years as a priest, in charge of a beautiful church that he’s never been able to forget. It was truly gorgeous, it wasn’t just the fact that it was located in the love of his life (Jersey).
By the pure grace of God, Frank hasn’t experienced big losses in his life. His grandparents are currently in good health and his father made a miraculous recovery and hasn’t had any more issues, thank the Lord. Frank’s only loss ended up being Jersey, from where he was transferred out of
slightly
disagreeing with the way the Bible was being interpreted and suggesting that honey catches more flies than vinegar.
He wasn’t told directly, but it was obvious enough no matter how they tried to disguise it as an opportunity to lead his own congregation, turning the memory of being chosen to replace the old priest in this town into a bitter one. Frank suspects it wasn’t only to get rid of him, but just another question for his calling. A trap to test his resolution.
Was Frank weak enough to deny fulfilling his duty? Was he going to question God acting through the Church? Would he dare to place his love for Jersey above his love for God? Frank couldn’t win. And of course they left it up to him to show others what happens when you defy authority: you end up in the middle of nowhere.
Yeah, they made an example out of him.
Frank has never been one to believe that
‘God works in mysterious ways’
bullshit, because Frank believes in free will, and knows God only intervenes when you ask him to. That being said, his beliefs were completely shaken ever since Gerard walked into his life.
Would they have met if Frank stayed in Jersey? Or was Gerard a reward for Frank’s devotion?
Thinking like that makes him feel awfully selfish and self-involved, but being in Gerard’s presence always feels like a gift.
As soon as Frank hears voices behind the closed door, he slows his steps. It’s not a coincidence to find Gerard having a one-on-one meeting with the last priest forcefully visiting; Frank knew this is where he would be this morning, and couldn’t help walking by their church just to see if his help was needed.
Now that he’s standing just outside the office, the temptation to listen in is strong. In fact, Frank follows it and approaches cautiously, managing to catch a few words.
“...what you do from here on will reflect on us. On Father Iero, in particular…”
The mention of his name forces Frank to become aware of what he’s doing. Yes, he’s concerned Gerard will talk too much and screw up, which is just leftover anxiety Frank hasn’t been able to shake off despite Gerard not giving him any reasons to worry. It’s just that Gerard is so young… Frank remembers being 31 years old and feeling so fucking
lost
. Gerard doesn’t carry himself like that, but Frank still worries.
Frank’s other concern is that the next sentence will be,
“Honestly, I’d like to go back home, too.”
Gerard has said many times that
this
is home now, wherever Frank is. And his own home is with Gerard, so he shouldn’t allow these doubts.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, Frank leads his steps away from the door. Gerard’s got this. Frank needs to have faith.
***
Frank
does
have faith in Gerard, but that doesn’t mean he’s not curious enough to take the chance to whistle at Ray when he sees him stepping out of the church. Ray turns around, all of his hair bouncing in the same direction, and walks towards Frank who’s already offering a cigarette in exchange for his time. They’re both in full clerical attire, but it’s the back of the church, so it won’t look so bad.
“How was it?” Frank asks.
“Good. Great,” Ray nods as he pushes locks of curly hair away from his face so he can light the smoke on the flame Frank is holding for him. “Very nice.”
In Frank’s experience, having to say three times that something was nice usually means it wasn’t. “Was Gerard too harsh?”
Ray inhales and lets the smoke out along with a laugh. “A little.” Frank replies with a laugh of his own. It’s terrible coming from him, but of course Frank can’t take Gerard as seriously as he should.
“I mean, it was needed.” Ray explains, probably not wanting to seem ungrateful. “He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, I
do
need to lay low for a bit, and… comply or whatever, I get that. I don’t want to get into any more trouble, or bring it onto you guys.”
Frank nods silently at first. He would have loved to be able to hear firsthand Gerard preaching to a younger priest about respecting authority, or at least pretending to do so, which is what he and Frank mostly do these days. Instead of setting other priests down the ‘right’ path, they’ve been teaching them how to navigate the system without setting alarms off or facing too much resistance.
It’s a thousand times better to change things from the inside, that’s what they’ve learned.
It feels like they have their own underground operation going on. It’s still hard to believe that Gerard managed to convince Father Philip about the importance of Frank’s work in this town, what it means for young priests questioning their role in the Church to have a place to retreat, and that it had to be no one else but himself who should join Frank in this mission.
“You’re alright, kid.” Frank concludes. “The Lord knows what’s in your heart, that’s all you need to move forward.”
“Thank you, Father.”
There’s a playful smile on Ray’s face that obviously prompts Frank to ask, “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just that…” Ray visibly doubts if he should share the joke. Frank hopes he feels that he’s safe to do so; they got along well during the past few weeks and it’s not like Gerard was scolding him earlier, but giving him instructions for his return back home. Ray must know how good he’s been. “When I first met you both,” he says in a low voice, “I thought
you
would be the bad cop, you know?”
Frank laughs harder than before. It’s not only because of Ray’s observation, it’s Frank’s first instinct to answer with
‘we’re versatile’,
instead of what he ends up saying, “We like to switch it up,” which he also finds pretty funny.
***
Standing at the bus station seeing Father Toro off brings up memories about the times Frank was there because of Gerard. The first one to say goodbye as well, and the second time to pick him up after Father Philip himself had to call Frank and confirm what Father Way had been saying for weeks on phone calls, texts and even letters: He was coming back, for good.
Frank recalls standing right on the same spot where he is now, watching Gerard getting on that bus, but not being able to stay and see if he would wave goodbye from his window. He also remembers standing there with his stomach in knots because he couldn’t believe he was going to see Gerard again.
It had been King and Mob pulling on their leashes and crying in excitement that made Frank look in Gerard’s direction, unable to recognize at first that it was truly him. As if not seeing each other for an entire year wasn’t enough, Gerard showed up with very short hair bleached completely white, looking totally opposite to the image Frank had in his head.
Later, when the subject of his radical change came up, Gerard confessed it had a lot to do with that time Frank fixed his hair. That night Gerard noticed he used it a lot to hide from other people and that he could carry himself differently by exposing his face; cutting his hair felt like a fitting start for a new stage in his life, one where he wanted to be more honest with himself and others, to give everything he had been holding back and stop being afraid of what could happen.
Frank was (and still is) proud of him for the decision. He also thought (and still thinks) Gerard looked hot as fuck.
But in that moment, it was Gerard who smiled and approached him, first greeting the – all grown-up – puppies, and then Frank with a very well-deserved, “Told you I’d be back.”
Even though they had been surrounded by people, nothing got in the way of Frank hugging him. Of course later on Gerard complained about the strong pats on the back Frank gave him to disguise his gesture, but he still appreciated Frank taking a baby step.
This time, Gerard stands beside Frank, letting go of yet another rebellious priest they have deemed ready to go back home. Ray gives them both friendly handshakes, promising to stay in touch. Few of them do, although it’s fair to note that the numbers have gone up since Gerard influenced Frank enough to change his methods. Frank has to admit that it’s easier to let himself care for others and then set them free when he has someone staying unconditionally by his side to help him through the grief.
“I really appreciate what you have done for me,” Ray says before his last goodbye. Frank is already feeling sad to see him go.
Gerard doesn’t do something stupid like holding his hand, but he stands close and bumps Frank’s shoulder. Frank looks up to see him winking. “We can visit, you know?”
“I know,” Frank answers. The problem is that he still doesn’t feel completely sure that he can visit Jersey without wanting to stay there. But Gerard is aware of it, and he won’t pressure him. Not yet.
They stay to watch Ray’s bus leave the station, smiling when they catch Ray waving at them through the window. Such a nice kid.
“I’m sure he’d be down to pay us a visit too,” Gerard adds after a long silence.
“Yeah,” Frank smiles. “That’d be nice.”
***
Father Ray Toro stayed with them for five weeks. He was polite, neat and honestly one of the nicest guys Frank has ever met. He would always compliment whoever had cooked and wash the dishes. He also made the only dish he was good at for them: guacamole. But, by far, Frank’s favorite of Ray Toro’s traits was his guitar playing. They had so much fun playing together, and that’s also how he found out Gerard had a really great voice for singing.
All in all, Ray Toro will be missed. To a certain degree.
As soon as they set foot in their house, Gerard crowds Frank against the door to kiss him. Ray Toro staying with them for five weeks also meant there were no kisses for thirty-five days. That’s 840 hours Frank’s lips didn’t touch Gerard’s. Just imagine 50,400 minutes of their mouths being apart. Three fucking million and twenty-four thousand seconds of zero making out.
Yes, Ray Toro is the nicest guy Frank has ever met, but a big part of him is glad Ray is gone. That part may, or may not, be Frank’s cock (it is).
Gerard’s hands roam Frank’s back, going dangerously lower and lower, as if Frank won’t notice how eager he is to get reacquainted with his ass. It’s not like Frank isn’t eager too, it’s just that they have other matters to attend first. Those two matters are barking to get their attention.
Well, it would be a lie to say that it doesn’t take Frank just another few seconds and a tug of his teeth on Gerard’s bottom lip to pull away. “C’mon. You were the one who wanted to keep them,” he says, smiling from ear to ear, not really conveying the tone he was going for.
“I didn’t know you had to feed them all the time,” Gerard mumbles, licking his lips and shutting his eyes to sigh. “You know, I really didn’t need a third cock-blocking force in my life,” he adds as he turns around to look at their dogs.
“Third?” Frank asks. It’s good that Gerard can’t see him adjusting his semi-boner under the cassock. “Mikey and…?”
“Jesus.”
“Oh. Right.”
Yikes. Frank fights the immediate urge to pray, confess or go read the Bible a thousand times. He settles for quietly apologizing to God in his head, justifying his slip-up because he doesn’t really see Him as a cock-blocking force. Then he has to stop thinking about it altogether because he’s supposed to have left guilt-spirals in the past. All Frank needs to focus on is that Jesus wants him to be happy, wants all of His creations to be happy on this Earth.
King and Mob are on that list, so Frank quickly joins the party walking towards the kitchen to fetch their expensive kibble that they can only afford because Mikey chips in.
“I just want the best for my nephews,”
he had said. Frank hadn’t blushed so hard in years. He had also never warmed up to someone so fucking quickly.
Frank opens up the bag as he can with two dogs circling his ankles and one half-human half-cat rubbing his cheek on Frank’s shoulder. That’s one thing Frank absolutely adores about Gerard: he doesn’t believe in personal space. It’s great, because Frank doesn’t either, and whenever they have the house to themselves, they’re glued together like this.
“I can finally go back to my room!” Gerard whines exaggeratedly, as if sleeping in the bunk beds with Ray for the past five weeks was the biggest sacrifice ever made. “I mean, Ray was great and all, but… I miss my bed,” while saying the words, he nuzzles Frank’s neck. “And the guy sleeping on it.”
Fitting that Gerard bites on his earlobe with that last one. Frank doesn’t mention that it’s also
his
bed, because he actually likes Gerard taking ownership of their shared space. He likes any and every confirmation of Gerard choosing on his own to live there, with him. And also any confirmation that Gerard doesn’t hate him too much for sending him to another room while they have visitors.
It wasn’t an easy talk, despite Gerard being fully aware that they couldn’t be careless in hiding their relationship. He hated the bunk beds, but what else could Frank have done? Gerard argued that he was being sent to chaperone and make sure the other priests wouldn’t jack off in his former room, and Frank said that was only a nice by-product. The argument ended up with Gerard embracing this routine as his own personal penance for being able to live with Frank. Frank felt flattered. Relieved too.
“The guy will be more than happy to have you back.”
“Hmm. He better,” Gerard whispers and then pulls away. Frank watches him working his hands on the white collar on his neck. “I think I’m gonna wait naked for him.”
Frank’s semi quickly turns into a full hard-on that doesn’t go away even faced with Gerard’s collar falling on the floor as he walks away. Well, it’s mostly due to the fact that his eyes are stuck on the movement in Gerard’s hips and trying to make out the shape of his ass covered by the cassock; he can barely wait to go to their room to the very explicit image he already is seeing in his head.
His hands are trembling as he fills the dogs’ bowls with a larger portion than usual. He inevitably bends over to pick up Gerard’s collar before following his footsteps, and that’s when another image invades Frank’s head. Gerarar has asked for it a bunch of times and Frank has never been able to agree, because even though love is a beautiful thing and Gerard insists that God wouldn’t have given them dicks and prostates if they weren’t meant to be enjoyed as much as possible, fucking in their clerical attires always seemed like a reach. An offense Frank couldn’t see himself partaking in.
Until today. Until he had to endure five entire weeks without touching Gerard’s skin. He deserves a little treat. Gerard does too, since this time he actually managed to keep his hands to himself the whole time.
Before he can regret it or convince himself back to the point where it’s a blasphemy of biblical proportions, Frank steps into the room to see Gerard’s white hair emerging from the cassock.
“That was quick,” Gerard says.
Frank shuts the door behind him to make sure they won’t be interrupted when their pets finish their meal. Not like he and Gerard are going to last very long anyway… Sure, their stamina has certainly gotten better since they both started having an active sex life, but is it necessary to mention again how much blue-ball time they’ve endured? Frank’s balls are fucking
indigo
at this point. The thing is that they really don’t need a couple of grown dogs jumping on their bed in the middle of… you know.
“So,” Frank holds the collar high for Gerard to see it, assuming the gesture will be self-explanatory.
“Oh, right. Thanks.” Gerard replies without paying much attention, his eyes and hands focused on unbuttoning the shirt he’s wearing underneath.
Frank clears his throat. Gerard looks at him, frowning. “I’m sorry I dropped it?” He tries. “I didn’t mean any, you know, disrespect.”
Of course Gerard thinks Frank is scolding him.
“What if you put it back on?”
“For, like, punishment?” Gerard asks and the word goes straight to Frank’s dick, which really doesn’t need any more stimulation right now. The problem is that Gerard is referring to a literal punishment, in the most Catholic sense of the concept. “Can we do it later? I’m… kinda horny, to be honest.”
It’s really cute that Gerard thinks Frank can’t tell just by looking at him. Or that Frank isn’t tenting his briefs under the cassock.
“Me too,” Frank points out. “Which is why we could…”
Instead of finishing his proposal, Frank does a circular motion with the hand holding the collar, implying
‘try this thing you have been dying to do for so long I’m surprised it’s not the first thing on your mind right now’.
“Oh.”
Gerard says and Frank truly hears the italics. He finally got it. Oddly enough, the next move he makes is tapping on his chin and looking innocently at the ceiling. “I wonder if we’re thinking the same thing…”
Frank walks over to Gerard, grabbing him by the waist. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”
“Just to know we’re on the same page…”
Even though Gerard is acting spoiled as fuck, Frank has to admit he’s been kept waiting long enough, and that Gerard has been patient, respecting when Frank said he wasn’t ready for it. The truth is he deserves to hear the words, if that’s what he wants.
Aware that the embarrassment will show on his face, Frank gets closer to Gerard’s ear so he can hide it, doing his best to sound confident when he says, “I wanna fuck you with your collar on.”
The good thing is that it works. All of that cocky attitude of Gerard’s goes to shit with an involuntary moan from him. Frank is sure that his legs are shaking, because he feels Gerard’s leaning onto him. “Please…” he mumbles.
“Is that what you were thinking?” Frank teases a little more, lowering his hand so he can squeeze Gerard’s ass and elicit another moan from him. “Are we on the same page?”
Gerard nods a few times and moves quickly to put his clothes back on. When it’s time to grab the collar from Frank’s hand, he adds something else, “I just need to choke on your dick first.”
Frank chokes on his own spit and tries to play it cool as he sits on the bed, coughing a little. Not that Gerard had ever been too shy, but Frank still remembers when he first arrived and seemed to be walking on eggshells, so fucking embarrassed whenever he ran his mouth, trying so hard to be careful so Frank wouldn’t hate him. And now the little motherfucker just says the filthiest things he can think of to actively try to get a reaction out of him.
Or maybe he just doesn’t feel the need for a filter anymore, which is truly a good sign. Frank loves his disgusting mouth.
It’s safe to assume Frank just spaced out, since Gerard is already on his knees in front of him and tilting his head to ask, “Is it okay?”
Frank can’t say it would never
not
be okay for Gerard to blow him, because there has been more than one occasion where Gerard’s unhingedness has come to play, and it’s been Frank’s role to hinge him back. In fact, Frank is sure Gerard fantasizes about doing it in the confessional, which simply won’t happen. No way. Not ever.
Even though that’s exactly what Frank said about what’s happening right now.
Again Frank has to stay in the moment so the Catholic guilt™ doesn’t take over. Gerard’s hands are on Frank’s thighs, caressing softly over the black fabric. His eyes watch Frank with so much love Frank just can’t doubt anymore. Love is never wrong.
“Go ahead,” Frank says, placing his hands on top of Gerard’s to caress them back and then guide them under the fabric so that they can both tug down his slacks and underwear, which end up around Frank’s knees. No, around his ankles. No, Gerard pulls them completely out of the way so he can settle himself in the one place Frank knows to be his favorite: between his legs. Frank wishes he didn’t know Gerard calls it Heaven in his head. He also wishes it didn’t turn him on so much.
Even though Frank should be used to it by now, it still surprises him that Gerard’s first move is to rub his cheek against Frank’s balls. He cups them with both hands and spreads kisses on the skin while Frank folds the end of the cassock on his lap, trying to save it from their fluids. Look, he agreed to fucking, not to ruining their clothes. Or at least not on purpose; as soon as Gerard’s tongue comes into play, Frank stops caring about it. He did what he could.
It’s tough, but Frank resists the urge to shut his legs when Gerard breathes in his scent. At this point, Frank knows that it will only encourage him. There was also that one time Gerard came on the spot because Frank squeezed Gerard’s face too hard between his thighs.
As usual, Gerard is taking too long playing around and Frank is getting impatient, so he grips Gerard’s chin to make him look up and runs his thumb along Gerard’s bottom lip. “C’mon, open up.”
Gerard obeys immediately. He goes as far as to suck on Frank’s thumb, staring deeply into his eyes and
fuck
, that’s a good look on him. Frank is once again grateful that Gerard cut his hair short so he can see his flushed cheeks and glassy gaze. The white piece of his collar is also on full display and Frank is not proud of his balls tightening at the sight.
With his free hand, Frank holds his already leaking cock and guides it to Gerard’s mouth. Gerard, of course, shuts his eyes, parting his lips wide and sticking his tongue out, mimicking the face he makes when receiving communion from Frank. It’s not a problem now, it will only be the next time Frank holds a wafer symbolizing the body of Christ to Gerard and inevitably remembers this moment, how perfect Gerard’s tongue feels on the underside of his dick and how well he controls himself while Frank thrusts into his throat, not stopping until his pubes are pressed to Gerard’s nose. Great. As if it hadn’t been enough with Gerard still trying to lick his fingers in public.
Once he’s balls deep, Frank places one hand behind Gerard’s head, not really pushing, but creating the illusion for Gerard because Frank has learned that he doesn’t use the word
choke
just for show. His other hand caresses Gerard’s stretched lips and gathers the spit dripping down.
He’s so fucking beautiful. Frank can’t believe how lucky he is, not only because he gets to enjoy his ridiculously expert skills at cock-sucking and overall oral fixation, but because of… everything. He gets to touch Gerard, to kiss him, to wake up next to him when they don’t have any visitors, to hear him making those adorable overwhelmed noises as he gags and needs to pull back but doesn’t want to yet.
“Breathe,” Frank says in a low voice, gripping what he can of Gerard’s hair on the back to tug.
Gerard whines because he’s a fucking cockslut; it’s adorable. Frank can’t stop him for long before he goes back to sucking his dick, and then it’s time for
him
to close his eyes or else this will be over embarrassingly fast, again. Frank would really like to blame it on the fifteen years of celibacy, but the truth is that he’s always been a fast shooter, long before he even entertained the idea of becoming a priest.
Anyway, Gerard doesn’t need to know that.
…He probably already does, right?
Frank tries to push his shame aside, but that means he gets to focus on Gerard’s warm, wet mouth, and the very telling sounds of Gerard jerking off to having his throat fucked. Frank could recognize it anywhere.
“Who said you could do that?” He asks, slowly opening his eyes to find exactly what he knew he would. He sees Gerard’s hand moving under his cassock.
Their disagreement over masturbation evolved into this bit where Gerard isn’t allowed to touch his own dick without Frank’s permission, which he almost never gives because it usually leads to more interesting things. Frank thinks Gerard likes the feeling of getting caught, and Frank likes to play on his supposed authority from time to time.
There’s hunger in Gerard’s eyes when he looks up to find Frank’s gaze. He keeps eye contact while moving his head back to slowly let Frank’s cock slip out. “Guess I forgot the rules?” He replies, his voice already hoarse from what he’s been doing.
Frank knows he’s not as good as Gerard with this part, because unlike him, Frank hasn’t spent his free time watching porn or reading erotica. Well, a little erotica never hurt anyone, but the titles he reads would fit in the Teens and Up category compared to what Frank has found in Gerard’s library.
Of course, Frank still tries. Anything for Gerard. He deserves to have his every wish granted (except fucking in the confessional). (Seriously).
“I ought to remind you, then,” Frank says, leaning in to grab Gerard’s elbow, forcing his hand away from his own crotch. “Get on the bed, on your hands and knees.”
If Gerard thinks Frank’s acting is bad, he doesn’t let it show on his face. In fact, he seems to need the deep breath he takes to calm himself; Frank can see the sweat gathering on his neck and forehead. Maybe Frank’s dirty talk isn’t so bad. Or maybe Gerard is just that easy… No, let’s believe Frank has been improving.
Frank allows himself a deep breath too while Gerard climbs on the bed. When Frank turns around to see him, Gerard is barely concealing an eager smile by biting on his bottom lip. It would really be impossible for them to do any type of roleplay… Besides, they’re already a couple of priests, what else is there to fantasize about?
Gerard shakes his hips from side to side to rush Frank, making Frank laugh despite sporting a raging boner, because he can’t believe his partner is such a dork. In a loving way. Still, it’s a good distraction for the moment when Frank has to raise Gerard’s cassock and roll it up to his waist; he doesn’t want to be thinking about the mess they’ll have to deal with later.
Frank focuses on opening Gerard’s slacks and pulling them down. He’s immediately in the presence of Gerard’s pale, bare ass. No briefs in sight, meaning the fucker has been going commando all day, including his one-on-one talk with Ray and their trip to the bus station. Should Frank be surprised at all?
“Where’s your underwear?”
“I ran out.”
Of course the response earns him a slap on the ass from Frank. Gerard hisses. “Because you stuffed it all under my pillow.”
“I didn’t want you to feel lonely…”
That shouldn’t melt Frank’s heart, but it does. Every once in a while he would come to his room to find Gerard’s dirty briefs, which had become some sort of tradition, only after Gerard made him admit he had found it really hard to give them back the first time Gerard did it, and that yes, Frank had left his on purpose for Gerard, etc. It’s their own love language by now.
Frank places a kiss on Gerard’s left cheek before getting up in search of lube, the one Gerard has had to keep on buying because Frank would rather die than go to the pharmacy to ask for it. Gerard hasn’t complained once, saying the pharmacist is actually pretty cool about it, even though he hasn’t mustered the courage to buy condoms. That’d be too telling. So they’ve been forced to settle for doing it raw every time. Poor them.
Perhaps it’s a psychological thing, but Frank’s collar feels like it’s strangling him. Frank tugs on it a little, loosening it without taking it off. The fantasy is really good, but it’s getting hot in a non-sexy way. The heat gets worse when he goes back to bed to find Gerard with his head on the pillow and both hands on his own ass, fingering himself on spit.
“So fucking impatient, Gerard,” Frank attempts to complain. It would work if he didn’t sound so turned on, and maybe if he hadn’t decided to use his mouth to join Gerard’s fingers.
“Oh my–” Gerard doesn’t get to take the name of the Lord in vain; it’s replaced by a long and needy moan as Frank works his tongue inside Gerard’s ass, just as Gerard spreads his hole open with his fingers, thrusting back onto Frank’s face as if he never ate him out, which is simply not true.
Frank sneaks his right hand between Gerard’s thighs to reach his cock, letting his fingers trace from base to tip. He’s completely hard and throbbing under Frank’s fingertips. So fucking big. Frank still remembers the first time he saw it, how tough it was to hide his interest; he was never surprised, though. It only took one look at Gerard whenever he wore jeans to know he was packing.
Unable to wait any longer, Frank licks one last stripe from Gerard’s balls to his ass and takes the lube to coat his fingers. As he presses two to Gerard’s hole, he can’t help but smile and ask, “Why were you given such a big cock when you love it up the ass so much?”
Gerard laughs, barely taking a moment to think about it. “Must be a present for you.”
Frank won’t argue there. As with so many other things related to Gerard, being fucked by him also feels like a gift.
Gerard is tight, but gives in easily and starts pushing back onto Frank’s fingers, the first sign that he’s getting impatient again. The second one is him saying so. “I can’t wait any longer… Frank, c’mon…”
The third sign is that he bats Frank’s hand away and reaches back to grab Frank’s hips. Frank can’t pretend he has any more patience left, so he only reaches for the lube again to wet his dick a bit more and does his best to push in slowly and carefully inside Gerard, ignoring his demands to go faster.
Fucking like this is fun, for sure, and Frank understands that they’re both desperate after being intimately apart for so long, but he has to admit that he likes it much better when they can take their time and, who knows, eat dinner first, have a few glasses of wine and maybe choose a position where they can look into each other’s eyes as they fuck, share kisses, say I love you, keep in mind that every second they spend together is a blessing and that–
“Aaah, Frank, fuck me like a cheap whore!”
Okay, this works too. This works
really
well.
“Yeah?” Frank bites his bottom lip, gripping Gerard’s hips, slamming into him so hard the bed starts creaking. “You like that?”
“Yesyesyes!” Gerard chants back, his mouth hanging open as he does nothing to hold himself up and drools all over the pillow he’s squeezing between his hands. “Fuck, I love you, love you so much…”
It’s not bad to have a little bit of both moods, Frank supposes. Doing his best to keep up with the harsh rhythm Gerard craves, ramming into him as hard as he can, Frank leans in to kiss Gerard’s shoulder. “Love you too.”
Something he hasn’t told Gerard yet is that being here, balls deep in his ass, is Frank’s own paradise, his own favorite place. He loves everything they do, but there’s something about being able to see Gerard coming undone beneath him, squirming in pleasure and surrendering himself in this way, trusting that Frank will piece him back together when they’re done, that truly melts Frank from the inside.
If Frank had to choose celibacy again right now… He wouldn’t. If they’re ever found out and threatened with expulsion for staying together, then so be it. Frank would choose being defrocked over renouncing Gerard.
Sorry, Jesus.
Frank caresses Gerard’s sides, momentarily hating the clothing they still have on. He hopes this will be enough to fulfill Gerard’s fantasy, because Frank prefers by far being able to touch Gerard’s skin than seeing him get fucked in his formal attire.
“Hey,” he whispers in Gerard’s ear. “You wanna turn around?”
“Mmh…” Gerard moans, pushing his hips back one last time before nodding with his eyes still closed. “Okay.”
He must be used to Frank’s need to look at his face so he’s able to spread kisses all over it.
Frank pulls out carefully and Gerard turns around on the bed, raising and folding his knees so that Frank can easily slip back in. He also opens his arms. Frank goes happily.
Gerard’s legs wrap around Frank’s hips and his arms hug Frank’s shoulders. They fit perfectly. Frank is satisfied to run the tip of his nose on Gerard’s jaw, nipping the skin he knows to be sensitive instead of kissing him on the mouth so Gerard can keep on yelling. He’s so fucking noisy. Frank loves that, too.
Once Frank resumes the fucking, none of them last very long. Gerard’s whimpers turn shorter and higher, just like Frank’s, who is actually noisy as hell too, but is usually too entranced by Gerard’s voice to notice.
“Touch me,” Gerard asks, his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth hanging open. “Please, Frank…”
“I got you, baby,” Frank whispers, sneaking a hand between them to jerk Gerard off, who really is at his limit. Only a few strokes later, he’s shooting between them, clenching around Frank’s dick. Of course Frank follows immediately, burying himself as deep as he can in Gerard’s ass for his own release, coming down so hard he sees white spots when he opens his eyes again.
Needless to say, their cassocks are a mess, but the smile on Gerard’s face is totally worth it.
***
The next morning, Frank wakes up before Gerard does.
It’s a Saturday, so there’s no reason to get out of bed yet, especially since the silence in the house indicates King and Mob haven’t woken up yet either. Frank confirms on the watch at his nightstand that it’s not even 6am.
He turns on his side, careful not to disrupt Gerard’s sleep, who’s obviously pretty tired after… well, all of their intense activities. Frank should be exhausted, too. Several muscles in his body are certainly sore from the sudden exercise, but of course Frank won’t complain.
It obviously sounds like a cliché, but Gerard’s sleeping face is so peaceful and beautiful, Frank can’t help but smile. He also can’t help looking back on all the nights he had to sleep without Gerard’s company, starting with the year they spent apart. They have talked about the subject enough, Gerard has said a thousand times that he holds no resentment over what happened, and that he’s only grateful for Frank accepting him now.
And how could Frank refuse? Gerard is perfect. Perfect for
Frank
. No one and nothing has ever brought him as much joy as he feels now, and it’s time to accept it.
Frank is finally happy.
Sometimes he still thinks that it’s unfair for
this
to be his life. Frank doesn’t believe he’s done enough to deserve it. How come he didn’t have to choose between his purpose and letting someone else’s love in? It doesn’t feel like this should be the end of the story, but it is. For some reason, hopefully God’s blessing, Frank is able to keep his promise, do some good and be happy at the same time, and that’s all he could ever want.
***
THE END
|
Natasha took note of Maria’s figure running off through the glass door as she slammed Yelena’s head against the ground hard enough to disorientate the blonde, and held her hand against the woman’s ear just for a moment.
Natasha hoped that Hill was able to adapt on the fly, but she didn’t strike her as the type to go off course much.
The younger widow got her bearings back, and retaliated with anger at being attacked.
“Why?!”
“Because I’d rather us both die than go back to him.”
She sneered back.
Yelena wasn’t pulling her punches, and so neither will Natasha. Their skills seemed to be even. Neither getting the upper hand over the other and both fighting more out of frustration with each other than a desire to harm each other, and yet Yelena’s fighting style was slightly more vicious than her own.
“Natalia, Yelena. Stop.”
Dreykov ordered calmly.
“Get into the car. We’re going back home.”
Natasha raised her fist to try and strike Yelena again, only to find that she couldn’t. Like an invisible force held her arm in place. She didn’t fight it further. The blonde was right, she wasn’t able to directly oppose anything he told her to do.
“I said ‘stop’,”
The man repeated with irritation as he walked outside to enter the vehicle.
“You didn’t honestly think it would be that easy to leave me again? That you could just walk out of my compound without so much of a scratch on you?”
She said nothing, not wanting to give anything away.
“You have the S.H.I.E.L.D agent in your pocket.”
Yelena stated blandly as the both of them moved to follow him.
“I’ve taught you two better than this.”
Dreykov tutted in disappointment.
“Everybody has a price they can be bought off for.”
Natasha glanced over at Yelena and gave the smallest shake of her head.
She knew that her sister, like her, was itching to enquire more. To obtain more information. To make sense of what was happening. Natasha didn’t think that things were what they seemed, and had already taken the time to go through all of Hill’s interactions. There were plenty of incidents where discomfort was obvious.
Natasha wasn’t confident about trusting Maria, and she certainly didn’t trust Yelena.
But she trusted in her own ability to read people’s micromovements and interpret them.
There had been no signs of any sort of deception from Maria Hill; and because of that, Natasha believed Hill’s statement: that the less she knew the better.
Yelena scowled back in response, and faced away.
As if he knew that she wanted to know more, he looked directly into her eyes and grinned cruelly as he said.
“The Agent’s price was your life. Tonight will be about correcting our errors.”
It was a foreboding sentence, one that had Natasha looking at her sister, trying to get a read on what could possibly be running through the woman’s mind. All she saw was the continued hard narrowed brown eyes and the redhead gave another shift of her head to the side, in order to signal ‘no’.
“Yelena, my dear.”
The fire in the blonde’s eyes raged, as she repeated a phrase that was so obviously instilled into her. A phrase that even Natasha was familiar with.
“There is no room for failure. The failure to comply and the failure to execute are one in the same.”
“Tell me, what did you fail?”
“Both. I failed to stop Natalia, and failed to continue trying to stop her.”
Dreykov looked like the cat got the canary as he turned his head to Natasha.
“The Agent must think I’m a gullible fool to believe she’d demand for you to live and still hand you back to me. What is she planning, Natalia?”
She tried.
She tried to not say anything.
Against her will, her mouth opened, and even though the redhead sent the demands not to; her mouth began to move and speak.
“Her plan involved a lot of discretion, she was fearful you would order me to tell you if I knew.”
His lips curled into an amused grin.
“I know you better than that. Don’t you think I know you would never accept not knowing.”
“She explained that discretion was the plan. She gave me comms, but didn't explain why. She only asked that no matter what, I kept them activated and equipped.”
“How interesting. Do you still have it?”
“No.”
“What did you do with them?”
“I gave them to Yelena.”
His head swivelled to the blonde.
“Where is it?”
“She never gave them to me.”
Yelena denied.
Dreykov leaned back into the carseat, looking thoughtful and kept quiet for the remainder of the trip. Natasha was filled with relief at how bad at asking questions he really was.
Because it was the truth. Yelena did have the comms on her, even if her sister didn’t know it.
They both followed Dreykov through the compound as he led them to the Widow’s training area. The same training area she recalled as a little girl.
Natasha knew.
She knew what he was going to order them both to do. The redhead looked at Yelena, whose eyes held the same look of horror her own must have shown.
“There’s no room for attachment in Widows.”
He verbally reinforced.
“One of you will die by the others hand. The person remaining will then have their errors corrected; a sentiment that the Agent strongly agreed with before I let her free. Whoever wins will have the honour of killing her slowly. Have fun, and may the best Widow win. You can begin.”
The sound of the door closing behind him was deafening. Natasha felt tears of anger and sorrow well in her eyes, while her body - against her will crouched down into her stance.
Yelena’s expression and stance mirrored her own.
How Natasha could have forgotten this was beyond understandable. This had been part of the training they had gone through that had broken them.
How many sisters, family members, or friends had they killed to become desensitised?
“NOW.”
Dreykov ordered through the speakers.
Both Widows launched at each other.
*
Maria ran as fast as she could away from the house, leaving the Widows behind her. Natasha wasn’t stupid, she would have at least a vague idea what was going on now. God, she hoped the redhead would listen to her about the comms.
If her theory was correct, then this entire thing hung on Natasha not removing the device.
She rounded the corner and continued down the street knowing exactly where she needed to go. Maria glanced behind her to see if either spy was following her. They weren’t as far as she could tell, but that didn’t mean much.
She was running out of breath when she saw the building she needed to enter, and fumbled with the door handle, swung it open and slammed it shut behind her.
“Jesus, Hill.” Barton greeted her somewhat startled, and lowered his bow that he’d drawn. “Learn to announce yourself.”
Panting, the only thing she said was, “Carter?”
“Unconfirmed. What’s this about? You’ve been missing for almost two weeks, and now I’m using my leave time just because you asked out of the blue.” He asked gently.
Maria looked him dead in the eye, while trying to steady her breathing and said. “Thanks for dropping off the comms. Did you manage to bring the other things I asked for?”
“Hold your horses, Maria. Tell me why I’m doing this.”
“It’s Romanoff. She didn’t want S.H.I.E.L.D involved.”
The name was all Barton needed to hear to start setting up the laptops he brought with him and turning them on. “You better start explaining.”
“Romanoff doesn’t have time for explanations.” She snapped at him, “By now, Dreykov probably has her and is transporting her. By the way, did you know she had a sister?”
“There’s two of them?” He asked surprised, starting up various programs.
“That was my reaction too. Wait, shut up for a minute.”
“- Your non-girlfriend ratted us out. This is what you get for being soft.
” Yelena’s voice came through the comms, highly agitated.
Romanoff gave a low sound of acknowledgement which Maria couldn’t make anything of.
“You got that?” The brunette asked Barton.
He nodded, and she lowered the volume of her earpiece further, so the chatter wouldn’t be that much of a distraction for her.
“Look Barton… You realise those two literally didn’t let me out of their sight for more than an hour at a time. And I wasn’t going to waste that time explaining everything. So I hope your Russian and media editing skills are as good as you think they are.”
“Tell me what I need to do.”
“Every person's voice is different regardless of pitch or tone that they use. Your vocal chords change in size and shape based on both how you use them and your biology. When you speak your vocal cords produce vibrations that are unique to an individual. This is how voice recognition software works.” Maria explained as she set up one of the laptops to begin recording the feed from his comms. “The man in charge of the Widow program has somehow conditioned all of his Widows to obey his orders. I suspect that the conditioning is based on his vocal vibration patterns and who he is addressing, rather than specific words or phrases.”
“And how the hell did you come to that conclusion?” He the archer asked, tapping away at the laptop he was now in front of.
“Well, I don’t know for sure. I was wondering if the conditioning was based on words or phrases alone - how they avoided anyone exploiting that method. It was the only answer I could come up with that seemed plausible. You get where I’m going with this right?”
“Yep. And if you’re wrong, you’ve just thrown Nat to the sharks.” He muttered angrily.
“Which is why it’s so important for you to stay here and do your job and monitor the situation at the same time. I was hoping Carter would assist, but I should have known she’d want intel before jumping head first. Look, I’m going back. I promise, I’ll get her out of there if it’s the last thing I do.” The brunette murmured.
She retrieved a gun that was on the table next to him, along with an extra magazine, and placed her other hand on his shoulder. “I know you want to talk to her. Ask her where she’s been. But don’t. She’s… Romanoff needs to become reacquainted again when she’s ready.”
Barton gave a dark look at that as he said, “You know Fury is going to have your ass for this. As far as he’s concerned, I’m on a small vacation.”
“If we succeed, then Fury should literally be kissing our asses. Since this involves the group S.H.I.E.L.D was looking in regards to the memory experiments.” She quipped back. “Can I borrow your car?”
“You’re kidding.” He blanched. “When you asked for a favour, I didn’t think I was potentially getting myself fired and losing my vehicle.”
“When you put it that way, you’re risking your job and vehicle for Romanoff. Not for me. You know what you need to do?”
Wordlessly the archer threw his keys at her and nodded his head. “By the way, based on her little chat, how did you lie to her?”
“What makes you think that I have?” Maria scowled back.
“Maria, you can’t just march into a compound swarming with enemies who have the same training as Nat. Call in for S.H.I.E.L.D back up.”
“Don’t you think I would if I thought I had a choice?!” She snapped back, marching out the door.
What Maria couldn’t verbalise, was that there was a glimpse of Natasha Romanoff she couldn’t let go of.
This
Natalia
still held the need for needing to know what made people tick, she still held onto the humour Natasha had even if it was a lot more subtle.
Most of all both Natasha and
Natalia
expressed constant distrust, while taking a chance to trust Maria.
And Maria wasn’t going to destroy either persona the woman held.
Because having a heartbeat and breathing wasn’t the same as being
alive
.
|
"That good? There?" Dream huffed, looking down at Sam. "Holy shit, it's like there's a rock under your skin." He was straddled atop his boyfriend's back, working deeply into the muscles that were packed tight with stress. Sam could only really groan into his pillow in response, drool beginning to trickle out of the corner of his mouth. "You work so hard, we both do," he continued, loving hands melting the rigidity away. "I know something that might help." Sam smiled stupidly at Dream's tone, understanding what he was hinting at. He flipped himself on his back, startling Dream slightly and looked up at the freckled man.
"You look so pretty, on top of me like this," Sam proclaimed in a sultry whisper. He slipped the fingertips of his left hand underneath Dream's t-shirt, tracing them along the husky abdominal muscles. The shorter man's face was dusted an alluring rose, and his eyes shone with desire. "And you look so hot underneath me, I'd give anything to make you my war horse," he teased, palms splayed out on Sam's bare chest. "Your war horse? Gonna put reigns on me?" The taller grinned, giving an affectionate squeeze to the other's side. Dream giggles and twinges at the feeling, grinding his hips down on the other instinctively. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he laughed as Sam's blush began to spread wider and he shook his head playfully. "Mhm, I'd like anything you wanna do to me," he winked, sitting up and wrapping his arms around the strong waist under the clothing. Dream brought his hands to Sam's flushing cheeks and kissed the pine haired man's nose fondly. "Yeah? That so?" he whispered, not looking for an answer.
He pulled Sam into a fervent kiss, wet and benign, all tongue and no teeth. He slowly wrapped his arms around the other's neck and ran his fingers through the soft hair. He began grinding his hips down in slow circles, and was pleased at the reciprocation of the movement. Sam panted slightly, his lung capacity being more shallow than that of his lover, and whined when he felt hot kisses being planted against his neck. "Dream," he breathed, lowering one of his hands to knead at his boyfriend's ass, bringing their hips even closer together with each squeeze. The older was almost painfully hard, the friction between them slowly becoming his undoing. His panting became more frequent and Dream took the hint, pulling back to pull off his own shirt and tucking his thumbs under Sam's sweatpants and tugging them down with a smirk.
"God, I missed you," the dirty blonde purred as he grinned down at the blushing, twitching cock. "H-He missed you too," Sam sputtered endearingly. The freckled man giggled at the remark and gently took hold of the base, his ass in the air as he leaned forward and kitten licked the tip. Sam had always had a surprisingly mellow almost sweet taste, and he inhaled sharply at the sensation. Dream lapped his soft tongue against the slit a few times before completely taking the length into his mouth, jaw slack and balmy saliva dripping out shamelessly. His pink lips hugged his boyfriend's cock perfectly and he began to bob his head, hollowing his cheeks and humming contently. "H-Ahh, S' good Dream," Sam groaned, one hand in Dream's hair and one gripping the sheets tightly. The vibrations caused his thighs to twitch much to Dream's delight, who was beginning to swirl the tip with every bobbing motion. The taller was mumbling unintelligible words of praise mixed with breathy moans as he admired his lover with glossy eyes. The shorter looked up at him, making eye contact that amped up the pleasure an unreasonable amount. He was trapped in the enchanting gaze, the heat around his dick, his boyfriend's eagerness to suck him off...
"D-Dream.." he panted as a familiar feeling crept into his gut. "Wanna b-be inside you, m' gonna cum if you don't st-stop." The shorter reluctantly lifted his head, making sure to suck on the tip before he released, earning a soft popping noise. Sam's head was fuzzy, his face burned scarlet and his mouth hung slightly open, and the sight drove Dream crazy. He sat up before slipping off his boxers, as he had not previously been wearing any pants, and his cock hit his abs with a prompt 'slap'. Leaning over he reached into the bedside table, pulling out a bottle of lubricant and grinning at the pop of the cap coming off. He poured some into his rough palm before lightly gliding it against Sam's cock, who bit his lip trying to keep his composure. Once Dream deemed it slick enough, he straddled his boyfriend once again and smiled down at him.
"W-Wait, don't you need to- aah," Sam moaned, grabbing at Dream's waist to ground himself. Dream let out a low curse as he dropped himself onto Sam's dick, who slid in effortlessly. "P-Prep? Already did that," the younger smirked, biting his lip at the fullness. His hands returned to Sam's chest, playfully flicking over his nipples with his thumbs. Sam threw his head back at the sheer heat of the blonde, who had started pushing himself back up and down slowly. One thrust, one low groan from each of the men. Dream couldn't ever get sick of his boyfriends cock, it was so huge, it was fucking addicting. He bounced up and down shallowly, not bottoming out yet as he wanted to savor the pleasure. Sam on the other hand, might as well died and gone to heaven right then. There was a period of time where they fucked like rabbits, and even then Dream remained ridiculously tight. But now that it's been a couple weeks or so, Dream felt like a virgin around him again; he really had to fight himself from releasing.
After a couple of thrusts they developed a rhythm, Dream taking the cock completely, reveling in the fullness and not at all bothering to keep quiet. "You're so big Sam, so big, so good," he praised, hands wandering the older's chest aimlessly. Sam moaned every time their hips came into contact, his grip on the other's waist white-knuckled. The bucking of his hips became harder and Dream let out a scratchy whine, his body gaining an even tighter grip around the cock inside him. Sam had hit the very sensitive bundle of nerves that caused Dream's eyes to water with pleasure. "More, there! Again, yes, yes, FUCK!" he cried as Sam continued to pull him down at that perfect angle. Dream's arms began to shake, and as strong as he was they refused to support him. He fell onto his elbows, face to face with his boyfriend. He leaned in for an opened mouth kiss as he pushed himself farther onto Sam's length, his desire for nothing but him becoming overwhelming. Sam couldn't help but smile into the kiss as he reached for Dream's ass once more, squeezing it firmly and earning a sharp yelp of appreciation. "F-found it huh?" he chuckled, panting. "Yes yes, FUCK yes-! So good! So close-!" the shorter cried.
The seed pooling inside of them was evident by the sloppiness of their movements. Thrusts, moans and soft curses became sporadic and the heat between the two could have started a fire, the way they were flush against each other. "Dream, Dream!" Sam groaned, throwing his head back once more as copious amounts of his cum were sent flooding into Dream. The fullness became too much in a glorious way as the blonde felt the dam break inside of him. "Sam, oh, oh, God-!" he howled as hot white liquid came erupting from the tip of his untouched length. He rolled his hips in circles slowly as they both panted against one another, sweaty and glowing. "Fuck..." Dream murmured contently, melting at the sensation of the cum dripping from inside him. "That was so good..." he purred, snuggling against Sam's chest for a moment before he pulled himself up, allowing his boyfriend to slide out of him. Sam closed his eyes and let his head hit the pillow, taking a moment to come back down to earth.
After a moment of silent bliss, Dream chuckled softly. "What?" Sam asked, cocking his head and placing one of his arms across his forehead. "Just thinking. You're the best horse I've ever ridden, by far," the shorter cooed, earning an affectionate eye roll from his boyfriend. Sam sat up and pecked Dream on the lips before patting the younger's thigh. "You need a shower. You're sticky," he smiled. "You do too, you should join me," Dream whispered before stealing a quick kiss as well. The taller nodded with a smile before pulling the other into a hug. "I Love you, Dream." The shorter sighed warmly, nuzzling into the other's neck. "I love you too Sam."
|
Bella
Bella opens the bedroom door and sees on the edge of the bed, someone left her a change of clothes. A pair of sweatpants and a large t-shirt.
She wipes her eyes and changes into them. How could they still do things like this after what she had done? Surely Jasper has told Alice by now.
There is a gentle knock on the door.
“Bella? It’s Alice” She calls quietly.
Here it comes.
Bella wipes her nose and eyes before responding.
“Come in,” She answers.
Alice opens the door slowly. She sits on the side of the bed and gestures for Bella to sit next to her. Alice turns to face her. Bella mirrors her.
“Are you okay?” Alice asks gently.
Was she okay? There’s no way Alice didn’t know what happened. Jasper must have told her or she may have even seen it.
“Alice, I’m so so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. Tomorrow I can just- I’ll take a bus and you’ll never have to see me again.” Bella stumbles, eyes stinging again.
Alice giggles.
Why would she laugh? There is nothing funny about this situation. Bella had almost kissed her husband!
“Bella, calm down. It’s okay,” Alice says, smiling softly.
“What? How could it be okay? I almost- I wanted to…” Bella sniffles.
“Bella, I promise I do not blame you. It’s okay. He is very pretty, isn’t he?”
Was this some kind of trick? Or trap? Is she supposed to answer that?
“Um…” She feels her face heat up.
Alice smiles encouragingly.
“I mean, of course, he is. All of you are,” Bella responds, hoping that answer is safe.
Alice laughs her tinkling laugh.
“You’re sweet, Bella,”
Bella feels her face heat up more. What is happening right now?
“It’s okay, I promise,” Alice reassures, putting her hand on her shoulder and looking directly into her eyes.
Bella is having a hard time believing that. It doesn’t feel okay.
“...Okay,” She answers dumbly.
“You should get some sleep, we have a big, stressful day tomorrow,” Alice says, getting up and walking to the door.
Of course, Edward would be here. She nearly forgot.
“Good night, Bella,” Alice says sweetly, closing the door quietly.
Bella numbly walks over to the door and flips off the light. She slowly gets into the bed and rolls onto her side in the fetal position.
The next morning, the atmosphere in the house feels tense. Apparently, everyone is a bit nervous about Edward’s return. Bella sits on the couch with her legs curled up close to her chest. She takes a scalding sip of coffee.
She still feels incredibly guilty about the night before. She loves Alice too much to hurt her that way. So how could it have even crossed her mind? And Jasper too, how could she even think to put him in that position? It was probably just because she was upset, and he was comforting her. That had to be the reason. There’s no other excuse.
“Bella, it’s alright,” Jasper says quietly from behind her.
She jumps a little, almost spilling her coffee. She takes a deep breath. Maybe she should learn how to block him out.
“Where’s your bell?” She asks lightheartedly, trying to change the subject.
Jasper chuckles and walks over to sit on the couch next to her.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
“I’m a bit nervous… I’m sorry Jasper,” She replies sincerely.
“It’s okay, really. I promise,” He answers.
They kept saying it was okay but Bella can’t bring herself to believe them. She takes another sip of her coffee.
“Okay,” She whispers.
Alice calls the family outside. Edward would be there shortly. Bella runs through all the possible scenarios she could think of for how this would go. They all end badly.
Bella hears Edward’s car before she sees it. He whips into the driveway and speeds down the length of it. He slams on the brakes hard before slamming the door open. He doesn’t even turn it off.
The family is standing in a line in front of the porch. Bella stands slightly behind Alice at the end.
Edward stomps up to Alice and Jasper.
“What the hell were you thinking bringing her back here?! Do you have any idea how much danger you have put her in?!” He yells at them.
He speeds over to Carlisle so fast that Bella couldn’t see it.
“Carlisle! How can you allow this?! Why are you doing this to me?!” He yells desperately.
This was not in any of the scenarios that Bella mapped out.
“Edward, please calm down,” Carlisle tries.
“Calm down?! What are we going to do when the Volturi finds out about this?! They will kill her! They might kill us all! God knows they want to!” He yells.
“Son, we will not allow any harm to come to Bella. She is family.” Carlisle replies calmly.
He appears in front of Rosalie next.
“Rose, you can’t be okay with this!” He tries.
“I’m not. But there’s not anything I can do about it.” Rosalie replies neutrally, crossing her arms.
Edward exclaims before returning to Alice.
“Why are you doing this, Alice?” He asks frustratedly.
Bella feels almost scared of him at that moment.
“We love Bella, and if she wants to be a part of our lives, then she will be,” Alice states confidently.
Edward sighs, and looks at Bella for the first time. His face softens.
It doesn’t last long. Edward pushes past them all into the house.
The family follows. Bella trails in last. Jasper closes the door behind her.
Bella hears some whispering from Esme.
“Alright,” She hears Edward whisper.
Edward turns around to look at her. He nods his head in the direction of the stairs, silently asking her to follow.
She complies, hesitantly. He leads her to the office. Her hands are shaking.
“Hello,” he says, exactly the same as the first time he said it to her.
She forces herself to look up at him. She feels rage stirring up inside of her.
“Hello? What the hell is your problem, Edward? Do you really hate me so much that you can’t stand the idea of me being around your family?!” She knows from what he said earlier that he is worried for her safety, but she needs answers.
“Bella, no, I could never hate you,” He says gently.
“Then why?!”
“Bella, I didn’t want to leave Forks. I did it to protect you,”
“From who?! Jasper?! You’ve hurt me a hell of a lot more than he ever has!”
Edward flinches at her words.
“I’m sorry, Bella. I thought I was doing the right thing. I loved you. I just wanted you to have a chance at a normal, happy human life,”
“You loved me?” She scoffs.
“I do love you,”
Bella’s eyes widen. How could he even say that?
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I did it because I love you, Bella,”
She feels the rage bubble up again.
“If you love me so damn much then you’ll let. Me. Be. Happy.” She seethes through her teeth.
Edward hesitates.
“It’s too dangerous-” he starts.
“I don’t give a shit, Edward! How can you not see that?! I don’t care how dangerous it is. I never did! I belong in this world Edward. You can deny it all you want, but you know it’s true!” She cries exasperatedly.
Edward seems to be at a loss for words. He stares at her blankly. She becomes more enraged with each passing moment. Her face is burning and her whole body feels hot.
“Okay. You’re right,” He concedes.
Bella’s tight posture falls. Did the most stubborn man she has ever known just agree with her? This was not in any of her planned scenarios either. Her mouth opens and closes as she racks her brain for anything to say.
“Okay,” She settles on.
She walks past him to the office door. Her emotions seemingly can’t figure out what to do with themselves. She was just the angriest she had ever been in her life, and then the cause of it just disappeared. Should she be relieved? Happy? Annoyed? She tries to make sense of her inner turmoil as she walks down the stairs. She pauses by the living room. The rest of the family is sitting there. Should she join them? Or leave them to talk with Edward privately?
She settles on going for a walk. Someone will get her if she is needed.
Edward had agreed with her. Did he think that would get her to love him again? He lied to her in Forks. He used her insecurities against her. How could you do that to someone you love? He didn’t love her. He just had some unhealthy, obsessive infatuation with her. Or her blood. He basically stalked her. Invaded her privacy. Tried to make all of her decisions for her. Control her. She was so naive. How could she have convinced herself that she loved him? She feels the rage in her stomach return.
She runs through the forest, as fast as her legs will carry her. She wishes it was faster. She wants to run away from these feelings, these memories. It’s all too much, too fast, she feels sick. Her vision is blurred with frustrated tears.
Her left foot gets caught under a lifted root. She falls hard. A loud wet crack resonates in the forest. Her vision goes black.
Bella comes to with a splitting headache in a room she doesn’t recognize. Her eyes dart around the room, her head throbs with every movement. It looks like a medical facility. She’s hooked up to an IV. Her breathing quickens.
“Bella. It’s okay, I’m here,” A voice says.
Jasper walks into view. She sighs in relief. He sits in the chair next to the hospital bed.
“What happened?” She asks.
“You tripped on a tree root and broke your ankle. And split your head open. Carlisle had to give you stitches.”
Bella looks down to her feet. Sure enough, there was a big white cast on her leg.
“Where is everyone?”
“Rose, Emmett, and Esme had to leave when I brought you in. You lost a lot of blood. Alice is downstairs, talking to Carlisle… Edward… left. I don’t think he will be coming back for a while.” Jasper replies.
“Oh… I’m sorry, Jazz. I keep messing things up for everyone.”
“No, darlin’, you haven’t done anything wrong. You know, Emmett wouldn’t stop talkin’ about how badass you were when you chewed Edward out.”
Bella chuckles under her breath.
“I forgot you guys can hear everything,” She smiles half-heartedly.
“Knock, knock,” Alice calls from the doorway.
She walks over to the bed and stands next to Jasper.
“I brought you some water,” She says, holding out the cup. Bella takes it gratefully.
“And painkillers,” She holds out the pill bottle by the lid and shakes it gently. Bella takes it extremely gratefully.
“Thank you, Alice,” She smiles up at her and opens the pill bottle. She dumps out one more than what is recommended and takes them all in one big gulp.
Alice smiles.
“We were worried about you Bells,” Alice says softly.
Bella looks between them.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. I was just really upset and I was running and- well. I’m sorry,” She replies apologetically.
Alice takes Bella’s hand in hers.
“We’re just glad you’re okay,”
Bella feels a swell of love for the two of them and smiles.
Jasper
“She’s asleep,” Alice says, gently closing the door to the library/medical office.
“Good,”
They make their way down the stairs, side by side. Alice grabs his hand and leads him to the front porch and sits on their favorite bench.
“I saw something,” Alice starts.
“What is it?” He asks, immediately thinking the worst.
“I saw Bella, as one of us,” She continues.
“Did she ask to be changed?”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t said anything about it to me. I’m sure she is considering it,” She answers.
“Well, if that’s what she wants.” He answers nuetrally.
“Yeah. If that’s what she wants.” She replies, leaning into him.
He puts his arm around her and traces circles into her shoulder.
Jasper thinks back to the forest when he sat with Bella. Jasper often feels Bella’s love for him and Alice, but that time was different, a different kind of love. Bella had never felt that before. He had never consciously considered it before. There has always been Alice, unwaveringly. When he told Alice, she of course, already knew. She wasn’t upset at all. In fact, she seemed happy about the news.
Jasper knows she must have seen more, but he never asks. Time will tell.
|
“Z, I’m telling you, I’m not in the board for this afternoon,” Sara grumbles as Zari pulls her friend toward the surgical board.
“Oh, since when have you ever complained about cutting someone open just to sew them back together?” Zari counters.
“I’m not complaining,” Sara defends before Zari rolls her eyes.
“Says the woman that’s complaining,” Zari deadpans as the women stop in front of the board.
“See! Told you. Not on it,” Sara says, turning away before Zari grabs her arm.
“Ah, ah. Look, OR-4 at 3:30,” Zari says as Sara’s brow arches.
“Huh, exploratory lap. That’ll be fun,” Sara says before Zari notices Alex rolling her eyes as Ava skates alongside her.
“If you don’t cut it out, I’m going to throw marbles in front of you,” Alex threatens playfully before Ava whines.
“Oh, come on. You’re just mad that when you tried them, you ended up face planting,” Ava quips before Alex laughs.
“Better than a trash can,” Alex says as Ava smacks her arm.
“Feck off,” Ava says before she slows to a stop as she notices Zari and Sara staring at the surgical board.
“Oh, fuck me,” Sara mumbles before looking at Zari.
“You did this.”
“No, I didn’t. You both are surgeons. It was bound to happen,” Zari defends before Ava slowly approaches Sara.
“Sara, hey. Can we talk?” Ava asks before the surgeon shakes her head.
“I’m good,” Sara says before walking down the hall. Ava looks at Alex and Zari, both of which shrug before the marine shakes her head.
“Make her listen,” Zari says softly.
With a nod, Ava takes two steps before quickly skating in front of Sara, stopping in front of her.
“Please, just talk to me,” Ava says before Sara shakes her head.
“Why should I?” Sara asks.
“Sara, what’s going on? I thought,” Ava says before the surgeon shakes her head.
“What’s going on? Okay, how many other women have you convinced to take to galas? Tell them about your tattoos? Call them, ‘my gorgeous darling’ before you find the next best thing and leave them? Huh?” Sara asks as a flash of hurt crosses Ava’s eyes.
“Do you want to know why I called you that?” Ava asks before Sara shrugs.
“I don’t care. I don’t want to be another number to you,” Sara says, moving to walk away. Ava grabs the surgeon’s arm, forcing her to face the marine before Ava shakes her head.
“That pet name is something my father used to call my mother. When they would go out to charity events, galas, dates or even when my mother was in her pajamas. When I came out at fifteen, he told me that one day, I would find a woman that ‘gorgeous’ or ‘darling’ alone wouldn’t be enough to describe her. He told me to put ‘my’ in front of it to always let them know where your eyes and your heart was at all times, even in a large group of people.
“Those were the last words my father ever spoke to my mother. She was crying, tied to a chair, begging for her life and he still called her that before my brother slit his throat in front of me. H-h-his pet name stuck with me and I didn’t believe that I would ever meet someone like that until that night at the gala. YOU, Sara, are the only woman that I have ever called that,” Ava says harshly as tears stream down her face. Sara’s eyes widen as a wave of guilt surges through her chest.
“Ava,” Sara says before the marine shakes her head.
“You’ve never been a number or another notch in my bedpost. You saw me for the woman I am or at least I thought you did,” Ava says sadly.
“I-I,” Sara stammers before the marine releases the hold on her arm, distancing herself from the surgeon.
“But I guess, I was wrong. I’m sorry that you feel this way. Goodbye, Dr. Lance,” Ava says, turning away before skating down the hallway, wiping her tears. Sara feels tears of her own fall down her cheeks before a hand rests on her shoulder.
“I let Cane get in my head,” Sara says sadly.
“Yeah, you did,” Zari says.
“I let her fuck with my head so it would cause me to push her away. I-I couldn’t even say anything,” Sara stammers before Zari hugs the surgeon.
“Shh, hey. I’ve got you,” Zari says sweetly.
“S-s-she thinks that I see her the way everyone else does,” Sara says, lightly crying into Zari’s shoulder.
“But you don’t,” Zari says before Sara shakes her head.
“What the hell am I going to do?” Sara asks before Zari sighs.
“Sara, it’s time you told Ava the truth,” Zari whispers before Sara sighs.
“What if it’s too late?” Sara asks before Zari shakes her head.
“She was honest enough to tell you about her demons. You at least need to tell her yours. You owe her that much,” Zari says softly as Sara nods before wiping her eyes.
“You’re right,” Sara says, releasing a shaky sigh.
“Don’t do it here. Not where Cane could be lurking. Go to her after you finish surgery. I’ll have Alex send me her address,” Zari says as Sara nods.
“Thank you,” Sara says sadly as Zari offers a small smile.
“I’ve got your back. I know, this is hard and scary, but if you really care for the woman, fucking lay it all out there. She’s a marine, she can handle it,” Zari says as Sara nods.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Z,” Sara says before the radiologist smirks.
“I do, you’d be an alcoholic that lives on takeout,” Zari quips as a small laugh escapes Sara’s lips.
“I’m going to fix this,” Sara says with a determined nod.
“There’s my best friend,” Zari says, planting a kiss against Sara’s cheek.
“Alright, get me that address,” Sara says before walking down the hall. Alex slowly approaches Zari before the women exchange glances.
“This better work because I hate seeing that marine fucking cry,” Alex says as Zari nods.
“I’m going to need Ava’s address,” Zari says as Alex nods.
“You realize that she’s going to run to her sister and Lena won’t let her out of her sight when she’s like that, right?” Alex asks as Zari sighs.
“Sara needs the tough love to get through that thick skull of hers. She can handle it,” Zari says before Alex sighs.
“I hope, you’re right about that. The anniversary of their parents’ death is coming up. Lena will be fiercely protective of her,” Alex says as Zari nods.
“Sara doesn’t cry or drink herself to death over a woman if it isn’t serious. She can handle it. I know, she can,” Zari says as Alex rubs her hand on the radiologist’s shoulder.
“I’ll send you the address when I get out of surgery,” Alex says.
“Alex, thank you,” Zari says before Alex nods.
“If this ends up hurting her, you and Sara will be the first people that my sister and I come to beat up,” Alex threatens as Zari nods.
“I don’t expect anything less,” Zari says before Alex disappears down the hall.
Meanwhile...at L-Corp
“You’re kidding,” Kara says as Lena shakes her head with a laugh.
“Darling, you can ask Jess if you don’t believe me,” Lena says before Kara shakes her head.
“Golly, and she wasn’t drunk?” Kara asks as Lena laughs.
“No, but she was extremely sleep-deprived,” Lena says before Kara smiles.
“Wow, I wish I could have seen Jess’ face. Was her impersonation good?” Kara asks as Lena nods.
“It was. However, my role as Mrs. Thomas is what really broke her,” Lena says as Kara laughs loudly.
“Gosh, you two were on another level yesterday. I’m so sad that I missed it,” Kara says as Lena smirks.
“Darling, I’m sure you’ll see it again. We used to do that before every board meeting to shake our nerves. Well, mostly mine,” Lena says as Kara plants a kiss against her wife’s lips.
“Well, at least you two laugh before going into meetings and not during them,” Kara says before a guilty look crosses the CEO’s face.
“Nooooo. You didn’t.”
“In my defense, Ava started laughing and then I couldn’t control myself. Everyone else in the world thinks the Luthors have lost their minds. It’s nothing the board even bats an eye at anymore. Well, until Ava fell out of her chair. Then they looked,” Lena says with a laugh as Kara’s mouth gapes open in shock.
“I took the wrong job. I want to sit and just be a fly on the wall for a day to watch you two work,” Kara says as Lena’s eyes widen.
“Well, darling, I would hate to take you away from CatCo,” Lena says playfully before Kara shakes her head.
“Oh, no. I know that look. That’s the look you get when you don’t want me to see something,” Kara says before Lena shakes her head.
“I don’t know what look you’re referring to, Mrs. Luthor,” Lena counters as Kara smirks before kissing her wife’s lips.
“Hmm, say it again,” Kara says, continuing to plant kisses against Lena’s lips.
“Mrs. Luthor,” Lena husks before lightly tugging Kara’s bottom lip between her teeth.
“God, after two years, it still never gets old,” Kara says happily, as Lena’s lipstick is smeared across her lips.
Lena smiles widely before gently wiping the smudged lipstick from Kara’s lips before the office door opens.
The married couple turn their heads, both women’s eyes widening as Ava enters the office, her face blotchy with tears as she grips her helmet tightly in her hands. Kara and Lena stand to their feet before slowly approaching the marine.
“Ava? What happened? Are you okay?” Kara asks as Ava shakes her head.
“Chonaic mé í. Síleann sí go bhfuilim á imirt. Dúirt mé léi faoin ainm peataí.(I saw her. She thinks, I’m playing her. I told her about the pet name),” Ava stammers as tears fall down her cheeks as Lena sighs sadly.
“Oh, Fish. Come here,” Lena says, stepping forward as she opens her arms. Ava buries her face into Lena’s shoulder as she heavily sobs. Lena plants a kiss into the marine’s hair as she gently rubs her back before Kara comes up and wraps an arm around the marine.
“What’d she say?” Kara whispers.
“Sara has been distant from Ava since the gala. She’s been trying to talk to her and Fish just saw her. Sara thinks Ava’s playing her. She told her about,” Lena whispers before mouthing.
“My gorgeous darling.”
“What the hell?! How could she think that?” Kara asks as Lena shakes her head.
“I don’t know,” Lena says softly.
“Dúirt mé léi faoi Dhaid, (I told her about Dad),” Ava mumbles between sobs as Lena tightens her grip around her sister.
“I know, you did,” Lena coos before looking at Kara.
“She told her the story behind it, didn’t she?” Kara asks as Lena nods.
“She did,” Lena says as Kara’s hand balls into a fist.
“That’s it. I’m punching her to the moon,” Kara says before Ava grabs her arm, holding it tightly.
“Calm down, Supergirl,” Lena says as Kara shakes her head.
“Ava’s hurting and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some woman act like this isn’t a big deal,” Kara says protectively.
“Darling, I know that you’re angry. I am too, but punching her to the moon isn’t going to make things better,” Lena says as Kara nods.
“Síleann sí go bhfuilim ag caitheamh léi mar nach bhfuil ann ach uimhir. Cosúil le, bainim úsáid as an ainm peataí sin le gach duine,” Ava mumbles as Lena nods.
“She’s saying that Sara feels like she’s treating her like a number. That Ava calls everyone she’s dating that,” Lena explains as Kara shakes her head.
“Because of who you are?” Kara asks as Ava nods.
“Shite,” Lena says softly.
“It’s just, it’s hard for me to stand back while people badmouth my family. Treat them as if they’re nothing more than a name,” Kara says protectively as Ava lightly squeezes Lena, silently telling the CEO that Kara doesn’t realize the power behind her words.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Ava mumbles before the marine walks into the en-suite bathroom, closing the door behind her.
“Um, darling, what does your afternoon look like?” Lena asks.
“Meetings until five and then I’m supposed to meet Alex and James for a drink. But I’ll cancel and stay here with you two,” Kara says as Lena shakes her head.
“No, it’s okay. I’m going to have Jess cancel my afternoon and take Ava to her place. Calm her down, make her some dinner. Be there for her. The anniversary of our parents’ death is coming up and it hits her hard. It can get ugly and she’ll just clam up if you’re there. That’ll only make it worse,” Lena says as Kara nods.
“I know, it just breaks my heart to see her like this,” Kara says softly.
“Me too, darling. Enjoy your drinks, you’ve earned them after this week. Call me when you’re finished and then you can come over?” Lena asks as Kara nods.
“I will. I’ll have my phone with me. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call,” Kara says before pressing a kiss onto Lena’s lips.
“I won’t,” Lena says before Kara glances at her watch.
“I’ve got to go,” Kara says as Lena nods.
“Ava, I love you!” Kara says before Lena presses a kiss onto her wife’s lips.
“I love you, darling. Be careful, tonight,” Lena says lovingly as Kara smiles.
“Always. I love you,” Kara says before exiting the office.
Moments later, Ava emerges from the bathroom before Lena wraps her arms around the marine’s neck.
“Come on, I’m taking you home.”
“Birdie, I’ll be fine,” Ava argues before Lena shakes her head.
“I’m not leaving you like this. Not when we both know what date is coming up. I need you and you need me. So, I’m taking you to your house. You can sit on the dock while I make us some dinner and then you can cuddle me on the couch. Let me take care of you,” Lena says as Ava nods.
“Okay,” Ava whispers before Lena plants a kiss against the marine’s cheek. Lena quickly gathers her things and reports to Jess before opening the door to her office.
“Come on, lets go home,” Lena says before Ava slowly approaches her.
“Glac mo láimh. Le do thoil. (Hold my hand. Please),” Ava mumbles as Lena takes the marine’s hand into her own, holding it tightly.
“Fuair mé tú, (I’ve got you),” Lena says softly as the women exit the office.
|
"Katsuki? Izuku? Dinner's ready!" Auntie Mitsuki called out from downstairs, jolting Izuku out of his thoughts. He had a habit of tackling subjects with laser focus when he's really into it, and he didn't even realize that hours had already passed since he stepped into Kacchan's room. It was already dinnertime. He closed his notebook and placed it carefully back into his bag, along with the copy Kacchan had given him, neatly folded inside its pages. He turned his head to look over to Kacchan to signal him to hurry along. As soon as his eyes landed on the other teen though, he paused, his gaze met with a sight he had not seen in years.
Kacchan had fallen asleep, his game console placed limply on his side, still playing a faint background music. Izuku smiled. It was a precious sight. Face slack with sleep and entirely unaware of his surroundings, Kacchan looked calm and peaceful-- nothing like the ball of anger and ferocity he was at school. There was still a crease on his eyebrow, sure, and a part of Izuku was tempted to smooth it-- but other than that, Kacchan looked pretty tame, overall.
It was a side not many have seen of him. Hell, it was side he probably would not have wanted Izuku to see, either. But then again, Kacchan had invited Izuku into his house, into his room. He had relaxed enough to fall asleep right beside him, on the bed, just like when they were children.
Kacchan was kinda soft recently, Izuku noted. He wondered what changed. He wondered why it was changing. He felt like he did back when he was four years old, when Kacchan's brilliant smiles towards him slowly turned mocking-- only it was the reverse. Back then, the turning point was Izuku getting his quirklessness confirmed by the quirk doctor. This time, when did it change?
Izuku knew. The change started the day after the UA Entrance Exams, the day he told him he wasn't pursuing heroics anymore, the day he told him what All might said. That day, Kacchan had offered his hand, and hadn't let go until they arrived home. Since then, Kacchan was treating him better. The thought made Izuku a bit uncomfortable.
Was it pity? No, that didn't seem right. Kacchan was not the kind to offer other people pity. Kacchan didn't offer him pity when he was branded a quirkless kid, didn't offer him pity when he was made fun of and bullied by their peers. In Kacchan's worldview, you're either strong or weak-- that's all that mattered. And Izuku was weak. He was the weakest of the bunch, the lowest of the low, the quirkless loser who people just had to step on, who Kacchan just had to step on. Kacchan pitying him didn't make sense and yet-- the timelines align. Izuku sighed.
He didn't want pity. He didn't need pity. Ten months ago, on that day, yes-- he was devastated. He was so devastated he had to miss a day of school to bounce back. He found a new field to pursue, yes, but even for weeks after he still felt empty and numb inside-- wishing there was still a way to fullfill his original dream. But eventually, he got over that. With the support of his mom and All might's words echoing at the back of his head, he stood strong and found solace in the world of support items. And now with Hatsume and Seki and Nezu to fan the flames, the spark of interest inside him was only growing rapidly. He was not someone to pity-- just because he had to compromise didn't mean he didn't like the path he was going through now. Just because he couldn't be a hero like Kacchan didn't mean he was miserable.
Still, even if he disliked the idea of Kacchan pitying him, he couldn't help but feel a little... pleased. Kacchan was still abrasive and aggressive as ever in their interactions but... he wasn't completely pushing Izuku away, now. On the contrary, it felt like he was cutting him some slack. Like if Izuku reached out and made an attempt to become a friends again, Kacchan wouldn't completely obliterate him in his anger. Like if Izuku tried to make an opportunity spend time with him, Kacchan wouldn't mind. And that in of itself was incredible. Never in his wildest dreams did Izuku think their relationship could ever get back to this point.
Izuku's relationship with Kacchan has always been... complicated.
Sure, on the outside, it just seemed like the relationship between your typical bully and his victim. Destructive and abusive. He was pretty sure that's how most of their classmates had seen their interactions thus far. But to Izuku, it has always been a little more than that. Izuku admired Kacchan. Always has, always will. Sure, Kacchan scared him, threatened him, mocked and belittled him with every insult he could find-- he was an absolute jerk and Izuku loathed him for it-- but nestled deep within all that aggressiveness was an amazing hero in the making. Kacchan probably needed a shit ton of therapy, one does not need to know him well to tell that he had a lot of issues-- but because Izuku knew Kacchan so well, he knew that he will make it. Kacchan will be an amazing hero, one Izuku could only hope to compare against. As much as Kacchan put him down, his existence also bolstered Izuku's spirit back up-- he wanted to prove him wrong. He wanted to be a hero Kacchan would recognize. He wanted to be hero Kacchan could consider his rival.
(That was before All might slapped reality into Izuku's face. But that was neither here nor there.)
It was probably stupid, to admire someone who hurts you nearly everyday. But the thing was-- Kacchan didn't exactly... hurt hurt him. For all his ferocity, Kacchan never went overboard, physical-wise. He liked exploding his quirk in people's faces, yes-- but they're usually weak explosions, enough to startle and sting and turn people's faces pink, but would definitely not send them to the nurse's office. The worst Izuku gets were his uniform getting slighly singed, but that was only a minor inconvenience, and it didn't exactly happen anymore after Auntie Mitsuki scolded Kacchan for it. The worst thing about Kacchan's bullying was probably the verbal mockery and insults... he knew Izuku enough to know which words would strike him in the heart. But there was a line... and the one time Katsuki crossed it, Izuku found him standing in front of his apartment the next day, muttering "you're fine" under his breath before promptly running off like his ass was on fire.
Once or twice, Izuku's mother had confronted him concernedly. Oh, she was very much aware of Katsuki, and what happens at school. But Izuku didn't want her to worry, because there was nothing to be worried about. Kacchan's bullying was exhausting, but it wasn't really affecting Izuku mental health-wise. He didn't think so, anyway. He could deal with it. Besides, it couldn't be helped. He was quirkless, and he was bound to be targeted by bullies anyway. In a depressing way, Izuku was convinced it was better this way-- to be bullied by Kacchan instead of some other entitled prick from some other school his mom decides to send him to-- because at least this way it was the devil he knew. At least this way his mom and Auntie Mitsuki could make sure it didn't go too far.
(He didn't tell her that the other reason he didn't want her to make a big deal out of it was because he didn't want to get Kacchan in trouble. In a too-hopeful way, he kind of wanted to mend their relationship someday, if he could. And nothing could make Kacchan hate him more than giving him a record, which would only keep him from applying to UA. Izuku wouldn't be the reason Kacchan couldn't get into his dream school, no way!)
Kacchan was a mess. A disaster of a teenager, totally. Izuku wasn't much better.
Izuku poked his cheek. Kacchan stirred and mumbled, but didn't wake up. Izuku felt a warmth stir inside his chest... cute. He leaned in a little bit, watching those eyelashes fan against Kacchan's cheek... and whispered.
"Kacchan."
Kacchan didn't respond. He poked his cheek again, cautiously.
"Kacchan~"
The sudden vibration in his pocket alerted him to a notification. Thinking it was his mom, he immediately pulled out the device to check, only to giggle faintly when he realized thaat it came from the group chat. He had mentioned off-handedly earlier that he was going to Kacchan's house to see his costume design, back when they were on the way. It seemed Seki had finally read the message, and was promptly freaking out.
Seki Yoichi (7:49 P.M.): BY "KACCHAN" DO YOU MEAN THAT GUY WITH A BAD TEMPER AND SUGAR HANDS Seki Yoichi (7:54 P.M.): MIDORIYAAAAA Seki Yoichi (7:54 P.M.): MIDORIYA ARE YOU STILL ALIVE Seki Yoichi (7:54 P.M.): AAAAA TO SACRIFICE YOURSELF LIKE THIS TO CURIOSITY IS A BAD IDEA MIDORIYAAA Seki Yoichi (7:55 P.M.): ITS NOT WORTH IT Midoriya Izuku (7:56 P.M.): Don't be over dramatic Seki-kun I'm fine haha Seki Yoichi (7:56 P.M.): *gaaaspp* YOU'RE ALLIVEEEE Seki Yoichi (7:57 P.M.): HALLELUJAH Midoriya Izuku (7:58 P.M.): ╮(＾▽＾)╭ Hatsume Mei (7:59 P.M.): did you at least get wat u came there for? :eyes: Midoriya Izuku (7:59 P.M.): Yeah! Kacchan was... nice? It's weird lol Seki Yoichi (7:59 P.M.): can't imagine it, therefore not real Midoriya Izuku (8:00 P.M.): It's true tho!!!!Midoriya Izuku (8:00 P.M.): I'm in his room rn Midoriya Izuku (8:00 P.M.): He fell asleep Hatsume Mei (8:01 P.M.): ... Hatsume Mei (8:01 P.M.): hoooohhh? :grin: Seki Yoichi (8:01 P.M.): HOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH >:D Midoriya Izuku (8:02 P.M.): I'm not sure I like where this is going (;ŏ﹏ŏ) Seki Yoichi (8:02 P.M.): PICS OR IT DIDNT HAPPEN Hatsume Mei (8:03 P.M.): it is during these times that u must be vigilant Mido-chanHatsume Mei (8:03 P.M.): to get blackmail material that is Midoriya Izuku (8:03 P.M.): blackmail?!? Midoriya Izuku (8:03 P.M.): Nooooooo ಠ﹏ಠ Seki Yoichi (8:04 P.M.): OH COME ON Seki Yoichi (8:04 P.M.): you can't tell me you don't want sleeping pics of this "kacchan" in your phone Midoriya Izuku (8:05 P.M.): Why would I want that??? Midoriya Izuku (8:05 P.M.): That doesn't even make any sense Seki Yoichi (8:05 P.M.): YEAH RIGHT KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT BUDDY >:D
Izuku frowned, unsure what Seki was going on about. He doesn't want sleeping pictures of Kacchan in his phone, not really! Wasn't that kind of creepy? Besides, Kacchan would kill him if he found out. He glanced back at Kacchan's sleepy face, pondering this. The more he stared though, the more he found himself reevaluating things.
Kacchan's sleeping face really does look peaceful-- Izuku wished he could see it more often. Just a quick photo wouldn't hurt, and Kacchan didn't even have to know about it! But no, no-- he really shouldn't. Their relationship weren't back to that point where taking pictures was okay, yet. But gah, when would Izuku ever get the chance again? It's not like Kacchan makes a habit of inviting him to his home and then falling asleep right beside him. Just one picture. Just one... picture.
Izuku gulped, tapping his phone into the camera app. Just one picture. He was only going to indulge himself with just one picture. Heart in his throat, he positioned his phone right in front of Kacchan's face, making sure everything is in frame. Kacchan seem to be sleeping really deeply, so the shutter sound wasn't likely to wake him... even so, Izuku turned off the sound, just in case. You just can't be too careful. He cursed Hatsume and Seki for tempting him with the idea, but now he just couldn't get the thought of having a precious picture to look back on out of his head. A trembling finger hovered over the button, about to press--
A sudden rapping on the door startled Izuku, jolting him out of his concentration. He snapped his head to the door as the knocks were soon followed Auntie Mitsuki's voice, evidently impatient. "Hey, you two, get down now before dinner gets cold."
"We're coming!" Izuku called out, a bit panicky. When he looked back down at his phone, it was to see Kacchan blinking blearily, frowning at the phone in front of his face. Izuku let out an "eek!" as he pulled it away, cursing Auntie Mitsuki's bad timing, just in time to see realization dawned on Kacchan's face.
A couple of familiar crackles resounded from Kacchan's palms. "Deku..."
"I-I wasn't doing anything! I swear! I wasn't taking a picture of Kacchan! Why would I even take a picture of Kacchan?!" he covered his mouth as he was really putting his foot on it, his entire face red from embarassment. Kacchan growled as he snatched Izuku's phone away, and Izuku couldn't even complain about it-- he was a bad, bad Deku. Taking pictures without permission. He was ready for the full brunt of Kacchan's irritation-- a part of him was even expecting this to shatter the weird progress they had slowly accumulated. He tried to defend himself. "I wasn't abe to get anything! I swear! And I wasn't going to show Seki-kun or Hatsume-san! I swear--"
"SHUT UP, SHITTY DEKU! God, you're so fucking annoying," Kacchan said crankily, obviously still a little lethargic from sleep. He was rubbing his eyes as he checked Izuku's phone, the frown on his face getting grumpier and grumpier the more he fiddled with it. Izuku wondered what he was doing, because it seemed to him that he wasn't checking pictures but rather reading something, but he kept his head down submissively as he watched Kacchan from behind his fringe, unsure what to do.
Kacchan paused for a moment and typed something in. And then, to Izuku's suprise, he turned the phone around to take a picture of himself, though this time it's with an irritated face and a crude middle finger to the camera. Izuku choked on his own spit as Kacchan then tossed the phone over to him just like that, grumbling under his breath as he moved to his room's bathroom to wash his face.
Mystified, Izuku glanced down at his phone. It was opened in the group chat.
Midoriya Izuku (8:05 P.M.): That doesn't even make any sense Seki Yoichi (8:05 P.M.): YEAH RIGHT KEEP TELLING YOURSELF THAT BUDDY >:D Midoriya Izuku (8:11 P.M.): MIND YOUR OWN DAMN BUSINESS, SHITTY NERDS Midoriya Izuku (8:11 P.M.): [fuckyou.png]
Immediately, Izuku's face burned in even more embarassment. "K-KACCHAN!"
"HAH?! You got any problem with that, shitty Deku?!" Kacchan demanded as he patted his face dry with a towel. Izuku opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unsure how to even respond to that, because he really kinda deserved it. His phone was blowing up again with notifications, no doubt with violent reactions, but he simply turned his phone on mute as he didn't really want to deal with that right now. Kacchan was already throwing his towel to the side and heading out to the door, gesturing him to follow. Izuku did so numbly, mumbling apologies under his breath. Kacchan only responded with a "whatever" as they went down the stairs.
The dinner that followed was pleasant. It has been a while since Izuku talked a lot with Auntie Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru. Kacchan, for all his grumpiness when he woke up, was mostly silent, only blowing up once or twice when Auntie Mitsuki teased him about something. Despite the mess with the whole picture thing, it was nice. The food was great and the company was great-- Izuku couldn't ask for anything better.
Aunt Mitsuki suggested that Kacchan walk Izuku back home and surprisingly, Kacchan didn't even complain. Even though Izuku insisted that it wasn't too late and that he'd be fine, Kacchan merely scoffed at him, mumbling something like: "A quirkless shit like you is bound to attract trouble."
A few weeks ago, that would have stung like an insult. Now... Kacchan just seemed to merely state it as a fact. Izuku didn't know what to think of it, but he let Kacchan walk him all the way back to apartment complex he lived in, just going along with his flow, as usual. As soon as the building was in sight, Izuku glanced back at Kacchan, stuttering. "T-T-Thank you... for today... Kacchan. I mean! Showing me your costume design... inviting me to your home... the dinner... and all... you didn't have to, but you did... so thank you!"
"Hah?" Kacchan looked mildly irritated. "The dinner was the hag's idea. And the costume was no big deal. You're gonna see it eventually anyways, I bet. You being in support and all."
"Still! Being able to see it before everyone else is so cool! After all, Kacchan is going to be the number one hero one day, and the fact that I got a copy of the first design of your costume-- it's basically a treasure!"
Kacchan's eyes widened. Before Izuku knew it, Kacchan was already grinding his fist against his head forcefully, his other covering his face. "Shut up, you piece of shit nerd! You're fucking embarassing! We're not four anymore!"
Izuku laughed, even as Kacchan's fist tried to get his head down against the ground. His heart felt light, and Kacchan's ears were pink. Somehow he managed to get himself away from Kacchan's fist, stepping back to get closer to the safety of his apartment building.
"Thank you for today again, Kacchan!"
"Yeah, whatever."
Izuku gave him a bright grin as he turned to go, his heart skipping lightly. Just before he entered the building though, Kacchan called out to him, making him pause.
"Oi, shitty nerd."
Izuku turned his head towards him, waiting. Kacchan had a pensive look on his face as he placed his hands inside his pockets. He looked like he was debating with himself over something, but eventually he met Izuku's eyes and glared.
"Don't you dare half-ass anything when we get to UA."
Izuku nodded slowly. "... yeah." That was the plan, anyway.
"I ain't going to be friends with a total loser," Kacchan continued.
"Ah... huh?" Izuku stared, brain short-circuiting. Kacchan didn't utter another word. He simply turned around and started walking back in the direction of his house, leaving Izuku shell-shocked, unsure if he truly understood what Kacchan was saying.
Friends...
I ain't going to be friends with a total loser, the words echoed in his head.
... friends?!
|
I wanna know
Where do lonely hearts go?
Because nobody ought to be all alone on Christmas
I'm all grown up but I'm the same you'll see
I'm writing this letter 'cause I still believe
Dear Santa I've been good this year
Can't you stay a little while with me right here?
❅ ❅ ❅
Louis pulled up to the large brick building and parked his car. He had been to this building countless times in the last year, but he had never seen it like this. The facade was completely dark.
Not knowing what to expect, he reached into his bag and grabbed his wallet and phone, stuffing them in the pocket of his joggers. Liam had told him to dress comfortably, so he had. But, it didn’t look like Liam was here.
It didn’t look like anyone was here.
Louis was a bit disappointed, and confused, if he was honest. Today was his birthday, and Christmas Eve, but more importantly his birthday. He was lonely, missing his boyfriend, and had wanted to wallow in his bitter loneliness. Liam had called him, insisting that Louis come help out, and he hadn’t taken no for an answer.
When Louis had pressed him for details of what exactly he would be helping out with, Liam hadn’t provided them, which had gotten Louis’ imagination running, and his hopes up.
He thought maybe it was a surprise birthday party for him with all their friends, but then Liam had told him to dress comfortably, and Louis had seen all of their friends all over Snapchat and Instagram posting pictures with their families, so he had been disappointed all over again.
It reminded him of that stupid song Harry had been listening to for the past month. Early in December there had been a rerun of this Christmas special Harry had apparently watched last year before they started dating. The special was called “Diva’s Holiday” and there had been performances by every famous diva they could find. Harry loved any kind of music and female empowerment so he had been entranced. At least that was how his sister Gemma told the story.
When this Christmas came around, out came the CD that had been recorded of the special. Harry played this one song over and over again called “All Alone on Christmas,” that had featured three singers. Louis couldn’t remember their names.
Louis hadn’t been able to see Harry lately at all, and he was feeling the effects. They had known for at least two months that Harry would have to be in London tonight, but knowing hadn’t made it any easier.
Louis was privately being properly melodramatic about it, but he hadn’t wanted Harry to feel badly so he had held it in. He never thought he would be the kind of person to get weepy and forlorn because he couldn’t be with his partner on Christmas, but here he was.
Harry’s flat had a window in the kitchen that looked out over the little area where residents parked their cars, and more than once Louis had caught himself staring up at Harry, watching him dance around his kitchen while he made dinner.
Somehow during the past few weeks, each time Louis came over, by the time he made it up to the door of Harry’s flat, that stupid “All Alone on Christmas” song was blasting out of Harry’s speakers.
Louis smiled to himself and shook his head eyeing the front steps of the building. He missed Harry.
Liam calling Louis up and forcing him to go to Harry’s place of work when he could be home with some hot chocolate and a Christmas movie was not helping.
He sighed and climbed the front steps. Reaching for the door handle, he found it locked. He sighed again and dug out his keys, picking out the one that would open the front door of Vitality Fitness.
Louis pushed the front door of the gym open. It was still pitch black inside.
“Liam?” He called out. No answer.
“Hello?” Still nothing.
He turned a bit to the right and that was when he saw - and heard - it. There was a small sliver of light coming from around the doorway of the consultation room and Louis could barely hear the soft strain of music. Sounded Christmasy.
Liam must be in there. Louis wasn’t sure why he had the door shut, but he must have a reason.
Louis approached the door, and it wasn’t until he was pushing it open that he heard what song it was. He couldn't escape it, honestly, it wasn't a popular song. The only person he knew who listened to it was Harry.
...Because nobody ought to be all alone on Christmas…
What?
Louis pushed the door open completely and his knees went weak. There, laid out on the massage table was his boyfriend. Lying on his stomach. Completely naked.
“Baby,” Louis swallowed around the lump in his throat. He was choked up from surprise, arousal, and pretty much every other emotion he could imagine.
“Lou?” Harry turned his head as much as he could to look over his shoulder. He already sounded wrecked.
“I’m here,” Louis replied as he rushed forward towards the table. The lights were on, but dim, Harry had Christmas music playing softly from his phone, and there were candles everywhere. Louis laid his bare hand on the warm skin of Harry’s calf.
Harry’s leg twitched and he moaned low in his throat. Harry must be so overwhelmed; had to have done it to himself when he was getting himself ready. They had talked about it before, how Harry would get consumed with thoughts of being good for Louis, and he could work himself up into a state of arousal, take himself halfway under to the place he went when they played like this.
Harry didn’t get up off the table to greet him, though. He was laying completely still like the good boy he was, but he could have said hello and given him a kiss first. They weren't officially playing yet, so things like speaking or noises weren't against the rules. Even when they did play, Louis liked hearing the little desperate noises and whimpers that Harry made too much to put that restriction on him often.
“Baby, aren’t you going to get up and say hello?”
“Can’t,” was all Harry said.
“Can’t?” Louis asked.
Instead of answering, Harry moved his arms, making a rattling sound. Louis knew that sound. It was the same as when he had Harry cuffed to their headboard in Louis’ flat. Harry had handcuffed himself to the massage table. Holy shit.
After Louis had made it clear that he had known Harry gave him that practically X-rated massage before they got together, he had told Harry all about his fantasy from that day. Louis had tied Harry up and described - in detail - everything he had wanted to do to him on that massage table. Everything he thought about that day when Harry left the room and Louis had to wank and get off in order to even think about leaving.
Louis shut his eyes and dropped his head back trying to collect himself. He was getting steadily harder in his joggers. As he got into the right headspace, attempting to catch up, he looked around the room to take stock of what he had to work with. He located a small folded pile of fabric that must be Harry’s clothes. On top of it he saw both the key and spare for the handcuffs. Good.
Where Harry normally used massage oil that smelled like eucalyptus and lavender, tonight it smelled like cranberries, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
Louis smiled at the broad expanse of Harry’s back. That was his baby, festive even in a scene. He knew where he was going with this scene first.
Louis took his forefinger and tapped it right at the nape of Harry’s neck, making him shiver. He trailed the pad of his finger painstakingly slowly all the way down each and every bump in Harry’s spine.
Harry was an athlete. His limbs were long and graceful even if Harry was not. Louis knew just how strong Harry was. Harry could pin Louis to the wall with no effort or strain - he had before - which made his submission for Louis all the more beautiful. It was a gift that Harry gave to him, and Louis cherished it.
When he reached Harry’s tailbone, close to where he was sure Harry wanted him to touch, he stopped and lifted his hand away. He leaned down so that he was just outside Harry’s field of vision to whisper in his ear. “Are you my present, darling?”
Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and he rubbed his face against the white sheet that covered the padded table. He didn’t have the attachment on to put his face inside, but maybe this was better.
“Yeah, Daddy. Present,” Harry mumbled.
Louis reached up and threaded his hand through Harry’s hair, massaging his scalp and giving his hair a few good tugs as a reward.
Harry whimpered and ground his hips down against the table. Under normal circumstances, Louis would chastise him and tell him to stay still, but he couldn’t find it in him to punish Harry today. This was not a scene for punishment.
This was Louis’ birthday and it had gone very quickly from the worst to the best one he had ever had.
Louis left his hand in Harry’s hair, idly playing with it as he came around to the front of the table. He inspected Harry’s wrists where they were cuffed to the front legs. Harry had to have done it himself, so Louis wanted to make sure he was comfortable.
He kneeled down at the head of the table even though Harry’s face was still turned to the side and he slid one finger into each cuff.
“You okay, baby?”
Harry, still not looking at him, nodded with his cheek resting on the sheet.
“What’s your word?”
“Hazelnut,” Harry mumbled. God, he was really floating already.
“Or?” Louis prompted.
“Red.”
“Good boy. Kiss?” Louis stayed kneeling, adjusting his height so that their faces were level when Harry finally turned to look at him, puckering his lips. Louis gave him a kiss, but kept it brief.
Louis stood up again, and moved back around to the longer side of the table. Harry turned his head, watching him as Louis looked his fill of Harry’s body.
“You’re so beautiful, Hazza.”
Harry just looked at him with wide eyes before flicking his gaze down to see Louis hard in his joggers. Thank God for Liam and his advice to dress comfortably. Louis wasn’t sure how much Harry had told Liam about his plan, but it was clearly enough.
Harry licked his lips, and Louis smirked at him. They would get to that part when Louis was good and ready.
Making up his mind, Louis reached over for the Christmas massage oil that Harry had left out. He pumped some into the well of his palm, then gently tilted his hand over Harry’s back, watching the clear liquid fall down and pool between Harry’s shoulder blades.
Harry and the other massage therapist, Rachel, had been teaching him a little bit about massage so he could help Harry out after his bouts. Harry had rendered him practically brain dead tonight already, but he did his best to recall everything he had learned.
As he studied the lithe strength in Harry’s muscles, he thought about everything that Harry had gone through in the past few months. He had been back and forth to London fairly often, holding meetings and negotiations for everything he needed to move up and become a professional boxer. Louis went with him as often as he could, but he loved his job at the nursery, and most of Harry’s business was conducted during the week, so it was tough.
With how stressed Harry had been it was no wonder he wanted to scene like this for Louis’ birthday. No wonder he wanted to go under, and had gone under so easily.
He spread the oil methodically into Harry’s shoulder blades, all over his back, down his legs. Louis touched Harry everywhere. Not an inch of skin was spared. Touching Harry was his favorite thing in the world, and if this was his birthday present, he was going to do as much of it as he possibly could.
Just as he was poised to pay attention to Harry’s glutes - an area he had avoided so far - that song came back on shuffle.
He couldn’t help it, he let the persona slip a little bit. “Hazza, just how many times is this song on the playlist?”
Harry was too far gone to answer properly, but he did let out a little giggle. How could Louis have been so blind?
“You’ve been planning this for weeks, haven’t you baby? Knew Daddy didn't want to be without you on his birthday. On Christmas. The song was a hint.” Louis moved back from the table a bit so he could see Harry's face, making sure to leave one hand on Harry at all times, because he knew it was grounding for Harry.
“Yeah, Daddy. Wanted this to be a surprise. Wanted it… special.” He was speaking in somewhat complete sentences, but his voice sounded totally wrecked.
Louis leaned down, tilting his head to the side so he could give Harry another kiss, taking his time to lick into Harry’s mouth. Taste him.
“Love you,” he whispered.
It had taken awhile for them to ease into the “Daddy” thing. They had started their relationship out playing, but neither of them really knew what it meant. So they had studied and learned together, making sure they were safe and careful. Eventually, they had a long discussion about their preferences and limits, and Harry had admitted to wanting to try calling Louis “Daddy.” Louis had never thought about it before, but he was willing to try anything especially if it meant giving Harry anything he ever wanted, so he had agreed to test it out.
All it had taken was one vulnerable and quietly whispered “Daddy,” and the arousal from the intense implication of taking care of Harry, had practically drowned him with its force.
Louis could feel his cock throbbing against his leg in his pants. He reached down to massage Harry’s bum, spreading his cheeks apart, finally giving Harry some of the contact that he craved.
Louis reached down to feel Harry’s balls; as soon as he touched his perineum Harry keened. Between the time it had taken Louis to get to Vitality, and the time he had spent getting his fill of touching him, Harry had to be as hard as he had ever been.
“Daddy,” he whimpered.
“Going to open you up. Promise.” Louis dragged his fingers up but didn’t move to enter Harry. Instead, Louis was inspired, and while Harry still tasted like Harry, without the artificial flavor of the oil, Louis darted his tongue out, licking once across Harry’s hole.
Vaguely he could hear Harry moan, but he did his best to ignore it for now. Louis concentrated on pushing his tongue over Harry’s entrance, and retracting it quickly in steady, even pulses. He could feel Harry lift his hips a bit, in miniscule little motions, chasing Louis’ tongue each time he pulled it away.
The problem with teasing in Harry this state was that it also teased Louis. He reached one hand down to push off his joggers and pants all in one go. It was a little difficult to manoeuvre with one hand, but he did his best to keep licking Harry at the same time.
He finally did have to let go of Harry so that he could pull his t-shirt over his head, but as soon as his hand left Harry’s skin, he made sure to whisper as many endearments as he could, reassuring Harry that he was there, even if Harry couldn’t see him or feel him.
Louis grabbed the massage oil, covering two of his fingers. He dragged the excess oil on the tips of his fingers over Harry’s hole before pushing one inside.
The muscle gave way easily.
“Did you get yourself ready for me, baby?”
Harry nodded.
“Talk to me, Hazza, want to hear your voice.”
“Prepped for you. Wanted to be ready for you to use-” he cut off on a moan as Louis added a second finger.
Dragging his fingers in and out of Harry as slowly and teasingly as he possibly could, Louis continued to stretch his hole.
“Ready, please, Daddy,” Harry cried out with more force behind his voice than he had so far this evening.
“Because you asked so nicely, baby, I’m going to give you what you want.”
Louis grabbed the Christmas scented oil and covered his cock. He gave himself a few quick tugs before he placed Harry’s legs the way he wanted them. Louis hiked one knee up onto the massage table and then threw his other leg up and over so that he was kneeling, straddling Harry’s closed legs that were laid flat.
As soon as Louis’ weight settled onto Harry’s body, Harry let out a deeply contented sigh. Like the weight of Louis on top of him was everything he had been waiting for all night.
Suddenly, Louis couldn’t wait any longer. He had barely touched his own cock once but it had opened the floodgates. The clawing need to be inside Harry as quickly as possible was rising.
He could still tease a bit, though.
Placing his hands on Harry’s glutes, Louis spread his cheeks apart so that he had a clear path, and pressed the tip of his cock into Harry. He pushed forward as slowly as he could possibly manage, trying to maintain some semblance of control.
Harry was mumbling underneath him, begging so prettily, his voice breathy and deep and desperate. Harry moaned as Louis bottomed out and kept himself as deep as he could. He tightened his knees, forcing Harry’s legs even closer together between them.
Slowly, he began to move. The angle was awkward, but Louis knew that trapping Harry’s legs in tandem with his already bound hands would send Harry into orbit.
He leaned forward on one hand right under where Harry’s arm was pulled away from his body in order to get a better angle. As soon as he shifted, it must have worked for Harry because his noises increased in volume and frequency. Harry was also probably getting plenty of friction from the sheet underneath him. That wouldn’t do.
After a few more shallow thrusts, Louis pulled out and moved to get off the table. Harry whined, and pulled his hands forcefully, fighting the restraints, like he wanted to reach behind him and keep Louis inside.
He was loud enough that Louis couldn’t let it slide. Louis hopped down off the table, but immediately leaned down so that Harry could meet his eyes.
“You’re being very naughty, Hazza. Almost think it’s on purpose.”
“No, Daddy. I’ll stop. Promise.” Harry whimpered.
“Okay, but only because Daddy doesn’t want to punish you tonight. Maybe just one little spank, though,” Louis said thoughtfully, right before he brought his hand down onto Harry’s arse cheek with a solid slap.
Harry gasped and his head shot up off the table, and Louis could see his handprint bloom pink and gorgeous across Harry’s pale skin. He had to momentarily grip the base of his own cock to try and stave off his orgasm. Harry was so beautiful when he got a spanking.
Louis reached out to soothe Harry’s bum, the skin there even silkier from the added massage oil. When he was satisfied, he moved his hands to grip Harry’s hips, one in each hand, and drew them upwards.
“Get your knees up under you, Hazza,” he said firmly. Harry scrambled to follow the directive, limited in movement by his bound hands. Louis watched until Harry got a little purchase on the table and had his knees firmly up under himself. Louis rubbed Harry’s legs to get the circulation back into them after they had been laid flat for so long.
Louis’ helpfulness turned once again to teasing when he reached between Harry’s thighs and barely brushed his cock with his hand. He could feel the precome dripping out of the tip of Harry’s cock and spread some of it down to get a firmer grip on Harry.
“I’m gon- going to come,” Harry choked out. Louis immediately pulled his hand off, and leaned over to press a kiss to Harry’s shoulder.
“Thank you for telling me,” he whispered.
Louis got back up on the table behind Harry, knees between Harry’s this time, and entered him again. With the better angle, he started at a much stronger pace and kept it steady, watching Harry’s body bounce underneath him.
When he felt as though Harry deserved it, Louis reached around his body and felt for his cock. He began to steadily wank him, and Harry began to murmur mindlessly. Louis could tell he was getting close again.
Knowing exactly what Harry wanted and what would push him over the edge, Louis leaned down further and began to bite lightly at Harry’s shoulder, where he had pressed kisses just moments ago. He made sure to nip at Harry shallowly, but sharply, so he could really feel it.
“Daddy- going to- I’m so close,” Harry moaned.
“Go on, baby, you can come.”
Louis continued to bite and whisper to Harry about how good he was being. He finally used his teeth in just the right spot, then immediately sucked hard to create a bruise there - hopefully low enough that it would be hidden under Harry’s no doubt ridiculous Christmas jumper tomorrow - and Harry came hard, spilling on the sheet beneath them.
Louis pulled out in case Harry was too sensitive, hopped down, and quickly went to the top of the table. Harry’s head was turned to the side, but he leaned as close to the edge of the table as he could, opening his lips to take Louis’ cock.
Harry gave a little kitten lick to Louis’ slit, and Louis was so on edge that just that little direct contact was almost enough to set him off. The angle was awkward but Harry managed to get his mouth around the head of Louis cock, and Louis began to gently thrust in small, controlled motions.
Harry looked so sated and relaxed from his orgasm, he had stopped trying to pull at the cuffs, and when his eyelids fluttered shut the whole evening caught up to Louis. He reached down to stroke his cock quickly.
His orgasm built in the base of his spine, and shot up his nerve endings until he was gripping Harry’s hair and spilling onto Harry’s tongue and lips. Louis leaned his weight on the table, hovering over Harry for another moment to get his bearings and let the feeling flood back into all of his limbs.
Harry was safely floating, so Louis quickly picked up the key for the cuffs and undid each hand. He moved Harry’s arms up and rubbed them a bit to get the blood circulating before laying them down next to his body on the table.
He opened the wall cabinet and grabbed a small fluffy white towel - the same size Jade had given him for that first fateful massage - and used it to wipe Harry carefully, until he was reasonably clean.
Gazing back and forth between Harry and his pile of clothes, Louis briefly debated trying to dress Harry again but decided against it. He dressed himself quickly because he was going to try and sit in the leather consultation chairs, and he didn’t love the feeling of his bare skin against the leather.
Once Louis had his joggers and t-shirt on, he brushed his hand over Harry’s cheek, using his thumb to caress his cheekbone.
“Wake up, sleepy head. Need your help,” Louis said soothingly as Harry began to open his eyes. The candles were still glowing in the room, and the music was still playing, so the environment wasn’t too harsh. Harry smiled up at him, and helped Louis flip his body over on the table.
He watched as Harry’s abs scrunched and he curled up a bit so that Louis could get one hand under his back and one under his legs. Louis had gotten much stronger since he had been training with Liam, so he could carry all of Harry’s weight, but not for very long distances. Thankfully the room was small.
He took a deep breath and lifted Harry’s form close to his body. He very carefully backed himself into the plush leather chair, drawing Harry in so that his head rested in the crook of Louis neck, his breath hot and damp on Louis’ skin above the edge of his t-shirt.
They sat like that for awhile. Louis combed his hand through Harry’s hair and thanked him endlessly for his wonderful birthday gift. Eventually, four Christmas songs later, Harry lifted his head and pressed their lips together, opening his mouth for Louis’ tongue almost immediately.
As they kissed, Louis couldn’t help but think about how much his life had changed since the very first time he sat in this same chair having his initial personal training consultation with Liam.
He thought about those first few months when he and Harry were at each other’s throats all the time, or actively avoiding each other, and he had to shake his head and laugh. Past Louis with his bruised and broken heart truly had no idea what he was missing out on.
In hindsight, he should have stopped putting up a fight much earlier than he did and taken Harry out on a fancy date; wined and dined him. He did that now for special occasions, but still. Should have done it earlier.
After tonight, Harry definitely had him beat for treatment on special occasions.
They broke apart from their kiss and Louis pressed his face into the crown of Harry’s head, inhaling the comforting and familiar scent of his shampoo.
“Let’s go home, baby,” he said.
Harry snuggled deeper into Louis, still stark naked.
“None of that,” Louis chided. “My flat or yours?”
“Hmm…” Harry trailed off as he thought about the answer.
“If we go to mine, we can cuddle up in bed and watch a Christmas movie before we go to sleep,” Louis said.
Harry laughed lightly, “Alright.”
Louis rubbed his back, and assessed how Harry’s body moved when he got up off of Louis’ lap. He was a little wobbly, but that was to be expected. His movements were sure enough that Louis wasn’t worried about him being too far under to get out to the car.
While Harry was dressing, Louis did his best to gather up the sheets and towel they had used on the table. Once it was bundled, he handed it to Harry, and then reached for Harry’s other hand.
Just in case Harry was still a little lightheaded, Louis unlocked the pantry for the juice bar and grabbed Harry a protein bar, a water bottle, and an apple for the car ride home, stuffing the pockets of his own joggers and hoodie so that he didn’t have to let go of Harry’s hand.
They locked the front door of the gym and took everything out to the car with them. Louis threw the sheets in the back so they could wash them at home, as Harry settled into the passenger seat. Louis handed him the water and snacks and gave him a stern look to make sure he actually ate them to help get his equilibrium back.
Harry took a bite of the apple, smiling at Louis cheekily as he chewed, before Louis slammed his door shut and rounded the car to get in the driver’s seat.
They sat in comfortable silence and Harry kept one hand possessively on Louis’ thigh as he drove, dutifully eating his snacks with the other.
When they got to Louis’ flat, they went about their getting ready for bed routine as they normally did. Because Harry was covered in massage oil, Louis suggested that they hop in the shower. Harry had pouted, wanting to cuddle immediately, but Louis insisted.
He leaned against the tile wall of the shower and watched Harry bring his hands up to spread the body wash across his torso. Harry’s hair was drawn up in a cute little bun because he didn’t want to get it wet before bed.
Once again, Louis admired the strength in Harry’s form. His torso muscles were raised, and his biceps were rounded with muscle definition. He was so strong, and it still astonished Louis, took his breath away, when he thought about the different ways that Harry gave himself over to Louis. How much he trust he placed in Louis.
Louis could feel himself tearing up a bit, so he swapped places with Harry and popped under the spray. His shorter hair dried quicker than Harry’s, and it needed a wash, so he didn’t mind.
He and Harry made eye contact, and the corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up. Harry brought his body in closer and lifted his hands up to comb through Louis’ hair and help rinse the shampoo out faster.
They finished up, and while Louis was having a wee, Harry reached into the drawer that held his stuff in Louis’ wardrobe.
“Lou, can I borrow some pants? I’m out of clean ones here,” Harry called out softly.
“Sure, babe,” he replied. Harry had been back and forth between Manchester and London so often, and when he was in Manchester they switched back and forth between their own flats. It was no wonder Harry was out of clean boxers at Louis’.
Wrapped up in Louis’ fluffy duvet, they watched a cheesy Hallmark movie where Katie McGrath became a princess. Louis didn’t love this kind of movie, but Harry did, so he let him put it on content to lay there with him.
Harry drew a hand across Louis’ stomach, and rested his head on Louis’ chest. Louis was pretty sure Harry was out like a light even before the opening credits had finished.
Louis wasn’t sure how he was ever going to top this gift. Not to be competitive, not with something like this display of love and trust that tonight had been. No. More like, he wasn’t sure how he could show Harry just how much he loved him in return.
He looked again at Harry’s drawer. Maybe… That could work. Louis certainly felt ready. It had taken him awhile, even being with Harry, to open himself up to coupley stuff again. Harry had been so wonderful and never pushed or pressured him, understanding why Louis was so hesitant after his previous relationship had fallen apart, but it would certainly make their lives easier.
Louis was still contemplating the logistics of it as he drifted off to sleep.
❅ ❅ ❅
The grey light coming through Louis’ curtains was somehow bright the next morning. It had to be early.
They had shifted in the night so that he was spooning Harry from behind; they almost always ended up like that at some point when they slept in the same bed.
Louis laid his head back down on his pillow, but he needed a wee, so he carefully extracted his arm from underneath Harry and escaped to his bathroom.
The movement must have been enough that by the time he got back to the bed, Harry was blinking up at him. Louis had brushed his teeth, so he didn’t have any qualms about kneeling on the bed and giving him a kiss over the puffy blanket before he got back underneath it.
It was Harry’s turn to use the bathroom, so Louis resettled in bed and waited patiently. He lasted for as long as it took Harry to climb back under the covers before he launched himself at him, kissing all over his face.
“Holy shit, last night was amazing. God, Harry.”
Harry cackled out loud under Louis attack, pushing him off playfully. “You liked it?” He asked when they had settled down, eyes wide and vulnerable.
“Did I like it? Is that a serious question? I fucking loved it. Best birthday ever!” He cried out and popped a kiss roughly on Harry’s mouth. “You’re such a liar, though.”
Harry smiled sheepishly, “Yeah, sorry about that.”
Louis shook his head, “No, no. No apologizing. Though, I’m not sure what you told Liam, and I’m not sure I want to know.”
Harry let out one harsh laugh before he slapped his hand over his mouth to hold the sound in. “Yeah, maybe not,” he choked out.
They stayed in bed like that, chatting about how Harry’s meetings had gone in London, debriefing from the scene the night before, generally basking in a peaceful Christmas morning to themselves.
But it was still Christmas morning and by eight they were on their way to Doncaster to open presents with Louis’ family. When he thought Harry was going to be gone, he had planned to drive to Doncaster early and stay the night, but his mum had insisted he take the peace and quiet where he could find it. Liam had called him soon after, so he hadn’t had much time to feel put out about it, but now he knew it was because his mum probably knew about the plan to surprise him.
He shook his head as they pulled into his family’s driveway a little over an hour later.
Louis made it through all of the present unwrapping - it went fast with so many younger siblings - and just barely managed to make it through Christmas dinner before he couldn’t take it anymore. They were going to stay the night in Doncaster before heading to Cheshire in the morning, and he really wanted to talk to Harry have the conversation he had prepared for before they went to bed. Louis fumbled with the pocket of his jeans to make sure the gift was still there.
“Hazza, can I talk to you for a second?” Louis said as low and as discreetly as he could. Harry’s gaze sharpened with curiosity at the nickname because it was one that Louis usually saved for more intimate moments.
“Who’s Hazza?” Doris called out, halting the chatter of the entire family around them. Great , Louis thought.
“That’s what I call Harry sometimes, love,” he replied.
Lottie jumped in, noting, “I’ve never heard you call Harry that.” Harry blushed.
“I use it mostly in private,” Louis added through gritted teeth. He stood up from the couch, and dragged Harry with him into the smaller den next to the main living room, slamming the door behind him.
“God, I’m so sorry. I love them, I do, but sometimes my family can be a bit…” he trailed off.
Harry smiled at him. “That’s okay, Lou, what did you want to talk about?”
“Um, well.” He took a deep breath and went over the speech he had practiced in his head last night before he had fallen asleep. “First of all, I love you.”
“I love you, too. Are you breaking up with me?” Harry added warily.
“What? No! What?”
Harry grinned cheekily. “You’re just acting very odd,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, sorry. Just nervous.” Louis huffed out another breath. “Okay. I love you, and you’ve been dealing with so much lately, and you’re bound to keep traveling and stuff if you do decide to go through with going pro, and it doesn’t make much sense to have, like, two home bases, and I love you.”
Harry continued to smirk at him, “You’ve said that already.”
“I know. And I mean it,” he replied earnestly.
“Lou, are you trying to ask me to move in with you?” Harry asked on a laugh. He was definitely laughing at Louis.
“Yes, thank God.” He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.
“Calm down, Lou,” Harry said. “Do you want to sit down. You really worked yourself up.”
“No, I’m good,” he reached into his jeans and pulled out his spare key. “I know you already have one of these, but I wanted to give you this. Symbolically.”
Harry pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Thanks, babe.”
“So you will?”
“Of course, Lou. I practically already live there anyway, and I can break my lease in a week. Perfect timing, actually.” Harry shrugged. “And, I love you.”
Louis smiled up at Harry as he leaned down to give him a kiss.
“We’re going to live together,” Louis said in disbelief.
Harry rubbed a hand up and down on Louis’ bicep. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” He asked leaving key questions unspoken.
It had been a little more than a year and a half since he and Nick had broken up, and he had kicked Nick out of their apartment. The same apartment he was now inviting Harry into.
But, from the beginning everything with Harry had been different. Nick had seemed like an open book at first, but had closed part of himself off - the part that led to him cheating on Louis, mainly. Harry, though, had started out closed off. And harsh. And argumentative. Once they got together, though, he had opened up to Louis like no one else ever had. Because he trusted Louis, and Louis trusted him.
“Yeah, darling. I’m definitely ready. Let’s move in together.” He stood on his tiptoes and gave Harry another kiss. They would move into Louis’ flat for now, and maybe one day, when they discussed the next step, they would find somewhere with even more space.
The next morning when they packed the car up with their newly opened gifts, Harry hopped in the driver’s seat. Louis was just getting settled when Harry hooked his phone up to the auxiliary cord and made the music blast with a very, very familiar saxophone line.
“Really, Hazza, this song? Again?”
Harry just smiled at him, widely. “Yep! I’ve had it on all my workout playlists all month. It’s the best Christmas song!”
Louis groaned. It was going to be a long drive to Cheshire. |
CHAPTER 9: FAMILY
"Should we ask her, Leroy?" Jerome asked.
"I think she'd have fun," was Leroy's reply.
"Ask me what? What would be fun?" I was sitting on Leroy's lap with my back to him and facing Jerome. We were in the family room, Leroy and I on the couch. He had climaxed in me more than a couple minutes before but his very long cock was still inside me.
Then I heard, "She's doing it, isn't she? I can see it on your face."
Leroy flexed his hips in response, sending his cock a bit deeper despite being mostly softened. I was giving him squeezes from my cunt, only a few of the hundreds, maybe thousands, of Kegal exercises I do daily.
"Damn," Leroy exclaimed, "she has amazing muscles, doesn't she?"
I could feel his cock stirring inside and I clenched harder. I rose slightly on his cock and dropped back down. As I moved on Leroy in front of Jerome, I looked directly at him and fixed his eyes. "Ask me what?"
Jerome laughed. "Leroy and I were thinking about going home for a few days."
Leroy lifted me up to his now hardening cock and pulled me back down on it. Predictably, it bounced off my cervix and deeper up the canal. "We tend to get a bit rowdy with our brothers and cousins off in the woods with loads of beer."
"O ... kayyyyy ..." trying to express how that involved fun for me.
"We've never had a woman involved before," Jerome explained. "Certainly not a slut who could take on all of us."
I gazed at Jerome. He was serious. I had stopped moving on Leroy, turning partially around, instead. Leroy nodded. "My uncle ... you might be interested, Miss Trish ... he's bigger than me."
I twisted a little further to read his eyes, his cock inside me slipping a bit which felt delicious. "Bigger ..." I began, "like bigger in ...?" He nodded. "Fuck ..."
Jerome laughed as I rose and dropped again with my mind fixated on the thought of a cock bigger than the one stuffed in me now. "That was exactly what we were thinking and exactly why we thought you'd have fun."
* * * *
"Good morning, dear," I called out over my shoulder when I heard Stan stumble into the kitchen. I filled a mug with strong coffee, picked up a plate of eggs, fruit, and toasted English muffin, and turned toward him. The little robe I wore came untied and gaped open. Hands full, I walked to him as he plopped into a chair.
After placing his coffee and food before him, I started pulling the robe together but Stan's words stopped me. "No ... please, don't." I released the ties and looked at him. "You are beautiful, honey. Do you mind?" He stammered it out.
"Don't be silly. Of course not." I sat down across from him with my own coffee, the little robe parted on both sides of my legs. I purposely reached over to the side to brush an imaginary crumb so the robe would fall to the side of my left tit. He watched, then smiled as he picked up on the tease. I smiled back. It wasn't that Stan was always asexual or that he was really completely asexual. Early in our marriage, we had fun like most newlyweds cavorting within our limited experience and exposure to what sex had to offer. As the years wore on, though, I think he just lost interest. I guess that's the best way to put it. He loved me. There was never any question about that. His work and career just ... somehow ... took over. For a few years, it hung over us like the dark threatening storms that can destroy swaths of land through this state. It was ironic that it was my stumbling into Jerome's arms that saved us. It had weighed heavily, apparently, on Stan that something like sex, or the lack of it for me, could ruin our partnership. Jerome coming into our life essentially saved us and Stan was happy as long as I was happy and he still had me. His business travel had always been heavy and it became more so after he saw that I would be taken care of. Recently, he has shown more interest, asking me to sleep naked and wearing these short robes. Jerome had shown me how exciting being an exhibitionist can be. Of course, I didn't mind being exposed to my husband. In fact, I was anxiously curious where this new interest might lead.
We chatted while he ate. Finally, he asked, "What is it, honey? I can tell there is something. Jerome has some plan?"
I giggled and nodded. "Jerome and Leroy are talking about going home for Saturday. I know this is a weekend you'll be home, Stan. So, if you don't want me to ..."
"Just Saturday? Where is this home?" Stan has never met Leroy but I've mentioned him numerous times. Even if Stan was essentially asexual, he enjoyed hearing my excitement so there was little I didn't describe to Stan in detail.
"Well, home is a little town in the panhandle of the state. They said it was in the northern part and could just as well have been part of Alabama but they were glad it was called Florida and not Alabama." Florida and Alabama were like so many state border rivalries. "The brothers and cousins get together out in the woods somewhere up there and get rowdy. Jerome said it would be a quick 24 hours. Leave early Saturday morning and back VERY early Sunday morning."
"Let me guess ... this time Jerome thought it would be interesting to bring his slut?"
I giggled ... and blushed. Strange as it was, when Stan had seen how happy I was as I began the journey to being Jerome's slut and that I still wanted to be Stan's wife, it was like I was seriously taking up tennis instead of fucking another man and his friends. He shook his head and smiled. He got up, came around the table to stand behind me, his hand sliding down my chest as he leaned in to kiss my cheek and his hand cupping my tit. If this kept up, we might actually fuck.
"Of course I don't mind, honey," he whispered, "as long as it makes you happy. Just be safe, okay?" I captured his hand as it slid from my tit and kissed the palm. God, I thought, I hope these touches lead to something. His would be the only 5-inch cock that could thrill me so much to have inside me.
* * * *
We made the long drive. Jerome asked me to wear short-shorts and a buttoned blouse but unbuttoned and tied below my tits. Everywhere we stopped along the way, and I had the feeling we stopped more often than really necessary, my outfit brought a lot of stares.
At a truck stop we stopped at for snacks, Jerome dared me to expose my tit somehow. It wasn't really that hard. Leroy was looking at a package of licorice on the bottom shelf. I nudged him aside, stood at an angle to the shelves, bent to the right to reach the package, then lifted my right arm as though getting his attention. Of course, as planned, bending to right sagged my tits that way. Lifting my left arm pulled the open blouse that way. What was left was an expose tit. What surprised me was when I stood up and the blouse got caught on the outside of my tit. I really was exposed and Jerome's quick reflexes stopped me from adjusting it.
Jerome drove straight out into the woods to their hangout location. It turned out to be a pretty nice location. One of Leroy's cousins was planning to build a cabin on the land. It had water access to a slow-moving river and an older mobile home sitting on concrete blocks in the interim. There were six pickup trucks park haphazardly. Jerome pulled his shiny sedan alongside a big F-250. These guys did like their trucks.
I stepped out of the back seat on Jerome's side. He was waiting and slipped his arm around my waist. Leroy was already shaking hands, bumping fists, and hugging. There were six guys, all about the same age, all deep black and large, ranging from Jerome's large to very large like Leroy.
They all acknowledge Jerome with the kind of respect even brothers and cousins give when one of them makes it out of the small-town world they still found themselves swallowed up within.
The beer started and lots of joking and teasing, stories being told. I had the feeling the stories, especially about Jerome or Leroy, were for my benefit. I didn't know what Jerome had said about me but they were all relating to me with tremendous respect.
Suddenly, someone had a football. I looked at Jerome for help but I was expected to play, too. The rules were sketchy. Anyone could be thrown the ball and it was somewhere between touch and tackle. The player with the ball had to be stopped but not put to the ground. It was like a schoolyard game with taking turns picking their teams. Jerome selected me first which I thought was protection. The cousin had the chance to select Leroy.
I tried blocking and the guy pretty much just pushed me back. Jerome tried throwing me the ball but I heard them coming and fumbled the catch. Jerome pulled me aside and before he could say anything I did.
"I know ... I suck at this," I blurted.
He chuckled, "Honestly, yeah, you do. That isn't the point of this, though." I looked up at him. I was already breathing heavily. I was in shape but this was different. "This is about playing football. Their attention ... both teams ... is all on you." I made a gesture like 'duh' and pointed at my gaping blouse. "This is giving them a way to get comfortable with you and what we talked about happening."
Of course. This was about giving them the chance to grope me to lead to more. That wasn't happening when I couldn't catch the ball. So, I stood next to Jerome to be handed the ball. He muttered before the ball was snapped back to him, "We'll go directly at Leroy. He'll get this going." He couldn't just tell the others they could fuck me, this had to be a game for me to be mauled, first? But, I nodded and looked straight ahead at the big man who has become so important to me. He nodded. He knew what was happening.
I fidgeted nervously next to Jerome. He put the ball into my stomach and for a split second, I froze. I saw him move ahead and bump into Leroy. I saw a gap to Leroy's right and I moved quickly that way as if I was actually going to get anywhere. Leroy's arm shot out to my stomach, grasped the tied material holding it all together, and held firm as I was twisted trying to get past. The blouse gave way with Leroy holding one side. I started pulling away, the blouse wide open as Leroy held it and the other side flapping loose.
The huddle for the next play was simple. Jerome just said, "The same thing." I gazed at him. The others were fixated on my heaving tits fully displayed in the loosely hanging blouse. Jerome bumped into Leroy and it was all show. There was another gap next to Leroy but as I got to it another guy stood ready. I hadn't seen their huddle but they had this all planned. As I entered the gap, Leroy and the other guys both shot their hands out to grasp the flapping blouse sides. Before I understood how it happened, the blouse was off one arm and hanging limply around the elbow of the arm I was holding the ball with. As I struggled to get past, my tits were groped even well past the time I was fully stopped.
I shed the blouse completely, now topless. I sensed in the huddle that my teammates might have suddenly regretted being on my team.
Surprisingly, with all that, we had gained enough yards to continue. Of course, that might have been planned, too. Before the next snap, Jerome stopped and faced me with his back to the others. "How are you feeling?"
"Are you kidding me? I'm sweating and dirty from being on the ground." He reached up and took both of my nipples between his fingers. I sighed. "And, yeah ... I'm being groped and felt. Even when I was trying to block, I had hands on my tits. Now my tits are groped and hands are between my legs. So, how do you think I am feeling?"
He smiled. "You need to be fuck?" I nodded. God, yes, I needed to be fucked. His fingers went to my tight short-shorts. He unsnapped them and lowered the zipper. He slipped a hand inside. He knew I wasn't wearing panties. I gasped when his finger pressed through my lips. He brought it out and put it to his tongue while smiling. I glanced behind him to find both teams watching intently, then Leroy saying something to them. Jerome then said, "Let's get you fucked, then." He left my shorts open.
In the next play, I assisted in the effort. I was converged upon immediately at the line. Hands on my tits and hands on my shorts. I moved forward with a struggle with my shorts moving down my thighs. I hopped and twisted as Jerome picked me up with my shorts sliding down to my ankles. As Jerome carried me to the goal, some pulled my tennis shoes off, my shorts going with them. Leroy tripped Jerome at the goal line and I landed on top of Jerome, my legs suddenly spread as his knees and legs wrapped around mine and opened me.
There was an awkward hesitation, then my body and cunt were probed by hands. I groaned as a finger passed into my cunt. I opened my eyes to see Jerome smiling. "Ready, my slut?" he asked. I gasped and covered his mouth with mine as hands and fingers freely explored me from behind.
Jerome released my legs and Leroy's huge hands helped me up. I stood naked and breathing heavily with excitement amid the eight of them including Jerome and Leroy. Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. I didn't check with a glance to Jerome. I knew why I was there. I knew I wanted to be there. I knew I wanted what these guys were going to give me.
I dropped to my knees in front of the one in front of me. I pulled his athletic shorts down and smiled. A long black cock hung from between his legs. I grasped it and put it into my mouth. All around me shorts, shirts, and shoes came off. In moments, I was encircled by hardening black cocks. All of them were large. The genes in these families were amazing.
They didn't allow me to suck cock for long, though. I felt hands raising me to my feet. I turned to find Leroy. I grasped his cock, the longest one there, and kissed him on the lips. When our lips parted, "Somebody needs to fuck me, Leroy," I gasped, my lips so close to his they brushed together.
Leroy picked me up in his arms and we faced the group. A group of large naked men with big black cocks. Leroy pronounced, "She needs to be fucked, guys."
The guy who owned the place yelled out, "Just a minute." He and another ran to the mobile home and came back out wrestling with a large mattress. They dropped it on the grass and everyone moved to it. Leroy stood me on the mattress and I stood looking around me. The only white skin was mine. Every guy was at least a half-foot taller. Every guy was dark black. Every guy had a big cock. Every cock was hard but drooping. Big cock doesn't stand up like a hard average cock. They're too big. I was drooling. Not my mouth, though, it was my cunt. Eight big black cock for my white cunt.
It then came to me. I turned to Leroy. "I thought you said your uncle ..."
He laughed, "He's coming in a little bit."
Jerome came up behind me, his arms going around and his hands fondling my tits in front of the others. "What are you, Trish?"
"A slut. I'm your slut."
I could feel his cock move against my ass. "That's right, you are. Guys, she is a slut and she loves big cock." He pulled on my nipples. "Where do you like big cock, slut?"
"Everywhere, Jerome. You know that. I love big black cock in all my holes." I looked at all the guys. Most of them were stroking their cocks. "My cunt, ass, and throat. Just fuck me." God, what a slut he has made me into. Looking at all the big cock, though, my cunt was dripping in anticipation. And to think an even bigger one was still to come.
Jerome stepped back from me and opened his arms. It was an offering, an offering of me to all of them. I've fucked a lot of guys since releasing myself to Jerome. The time on the boat was more guys. But this ... this was all big black cock.
Nobody moved. I thought, you're a slut so act like it. I sat on the mattress facing the major group. I lay back, raised my knees, and splayed them out to the sides. Obscenely displayed to them I stroked a tit with one hand and slid the other down my body and over my ready cunt. I randomly picked a guy in front of me and stared at him. My fingers spread the lips of my cunt. His eyes were fixed on my open cunt. His eyes flicked up to my face where I displayed a reassuring smile. He moved as if it were his legs acting on their own. He dropped to his knees between my spread legs, his cock in his hand, as he inched forward. His cock head probed my cunt, sliding up and down my slit wet with my leaking lubrication juices. His cock sank into my hole and we both gasped. I squeezed my cunt around him and he gasped, again.
That is what it took, apparently. One guy to move. He thrust and more cock sank into me and I groaned. And with that, I had cock on either side of my head pressing against my cheeks for attention. I turned to the right with an open mouth and the cock pressed between my lips. I sucked as the cock slid between my lips. He gave me tentative motions, his cock going a little deeper, perhaps unsure how far to push. I pulled back and turned my head with my mouth open to the other cock. He pressed inside.
I heard the strong, deep voice of Leroy behind me, "Don't be timid, fuck her. Miss Trish was serious before. She said throat, not mouth. Just give her opportunities to breathe."
I moaned with excitement and anticipation of his words having an effect. And, they did. The cock in my cunt pulled back so just the head was inside and it was slammed fully into me. The cock in my mouth was pressed through my mouth to my throat. He groaned at the feel of my throat around his cock but he pulled back and pressed deeper. Soon I had it all and both fucked me. My tits were bouncing wildly on my chest until hands grabbed them, squeezing, mauling, and fondling them. Another hand stroked my stomach, other hands on my legs. Someone pressed on my clit as the cock in my cunt jerked and I exploded in orgasm as cum shot into my cunt.
That must have affected the one in my mouth and throat. I felt it swell and pulse. I placed a hand on his hip and pushed just enough to ease the cock to the entrance to my throat as his cum streamed out and directly down my throat. I pushed him back a bit further, holding some control even as my body responded to the orgasm. Cum dripped from the corners of my mouth despite attempts to gulp it all down.
I looked up at the guy who had given my throat a good fuck as another cock sank into my cunt. It was the youngest of them. I smiled and mouthed a thank you. He smiled back but my head was being turned to the other side where another cock was pressed at my lips. I opened my mouth.
After four guys came in my cunt or mouth, I was turned over onto my hands and knees. The next guy slammed into my leaking, gaping cunt hole. Three cocks appeared at my head. I began sucking them in rotation. They were now using my mouth to become fully hard for when their turn came to fuck me.
After a couple more guys fucking me like a bitch from behind, I felt someone next to me. I was in a daze, my mind and vision glazed over by lust and a singular consciousness of fucking. It was Leroy. I saw motion and looked back to see his hand gliding up and down his long cock. I nodded to him as I continued to be fucked.
When the cock fucking me erupted, I crawled over the prone body of Leroy. I could feel the cum flowing from my hole as I grasped his cock and settled over the head and sank my cunt down over it. I sighed as it opened me wider and filled me up, up, and up. I heard the cum being pressed out of my body by his invading meat, an obscene squishing sound preceding the feel of cum being pushed out of my tightly filled hole. I rose up and sank back down, my tits bouncing as I shifted from down to back up. I groaned deeply as his cock glanced off my cervix in that wonderfully erotic way only he and Jerome have been able to do. I shivered and shook moments after his cock hit deepest up inside me and a new orgasm took hold. I sagged down onto his massive chest, his arms securely around me as he took over thrusting his cock up into me as I shook and quaked through my orgasm.
He was still fucking me as I recovered. I heard, "Fuck ... look at her take that cock." "She really gets off on it." "No reluctance."
I heard Jerome, "She's the best fuck I've ever found. She's the best woman I've ever found ... the best person."
A smile filled my face ... my mouth, my eyes, my soul. Not just the best fuck, not just as a slut, a cunt for fucking but the best PERSON. I sat up straight. My cunt filled to what I thought was the max by Leroy's cock. I looked down at him, his hands coming to my tits. His smile was strained by his arousal. He managed to utter, "What he said." I chuckled as he pulled me down and kissed me on the mouth. He continued thrusting his magnificent cock into me and we shared our climax.
Round two began with Jerome sinking his cock into my cunt as I was on my hands and knees, again. He pulled out after a couple minutes and pressed his big cock at my yet unused asshole. I groaned as it stretched and opened me to the bulbous head and moaned as it finally pressed through. I clenched around him after his customary pause to allow me to adjust. He fucked me for long minutes before pulling out. I moaned my frustration but he laid down next to me, his cock held straight up. I quickly moved over to him so anxious to regain the feeling of my ass filled. He indicated for me to turn away from him. Unthinking, just needing his cock, I squatted over him, took hold of his cock, and eventually aligned it to my open asshole. I slid down it with a long sigh and moan.
Sitting on his thighs, cock so deep in me it felt like the head was in my bowels, he pulled me back. As he did, I could feel his cock slide out a few inches. Then, I saw it. The other guys around us. Me with my feet outside his legs. Completely exposed, like my empty cunt was calling out, pleading to them to now be filled. I shivered as I looked at the other men, cocks being stroked, several already hard in their hands.
One knelt between our legs and I gasped as the head of his cock slid over my messy slit and pressed at my hole. With Jerome filling my ass, he had to press harder to penetrate but in moments I was stuffed full of cock, again. Double penetration! Fuck ... I love to be stuffed with big cock. I leaned fully back against Jerome's front as they began fucking me in earnest. Mostly the one in my cunt but Jerome added his constricted thrusts, too. With another cock bumping the side of my face, I opened my mouth to it. Airtight.
The one in my cunt came first but he expertly continued fucking me through his climax and my orgasm hit before he pulled out. The next one in my cunt was a bit larger and stimulated Jerome to climax, filling my ass with his cum.
Jerome rolled me and the other, his own cock sliding out of my ass in the process. I knew my asshole was gaping open after his big cock as I lay on top and exposed. I sigh with new satisfaction when another cock was pressed into my asshole.
Over and over it went. I was rolled depending on which hole had just received a load of cum. I was in a delirious state of climaxes into me and my own orgasms. Then, I felt it and it brought me to awareness, again. I was on top of one of the guys wondering if there was another cock for my ass when even my well-used ass was stretched.
I muttered with fatigue, "Hello, beautiful man."
A chuckle came back to me, "Beautiful, Miss Trish?"
"Yes, Leroy ..."
I lay on my back wonderfully exhausted ... my body and mind wonderfully, sexually sated. Then, I heard a commotion, my ears picking up the sound of tires crunching on the gravel of the driveway. Who ...? I smiled wickedly. The uncle.
I rolled to the side and came up to my knees and saw a large, shiny pickup stop alongside the others. I stood on wobbly legs and immediately felt Jerome's arms around me from behind. He pulled on my hard nipples and whispered into my ear.
"Be a good slut and wash up in the water. That's Leroy's uncle."
I watched the big man climb out of the truck. The truck rose on its springs when he got out. He greeted the naked men like it was a normal family reunion.
"Is he really ...?"
But I was already turning for the edge of the water in anxious expectation. I went waist deep and tried to clean out both my ass and cunt, then splashed water over my tits and stomach to remove other smears of spent cum.
Jerome was waiting with a towel. As I dried off, bent over to rub my legs, my tits swinging in the effort, I heard Leroy.
"This sir is Miss Trish."
I looked up as I stood straight. He was more than twice my age but carried himself with the power and confidence of a young man. He was a very large black man, indeed. He was like Leroy in size but without the body firmness of a young man but still not really fat. I let the towel drop and walked up to him.
I put my hand out. Put my hand out? God that was stupid! He pulled me into him and hugged me tight like Leroy does. "My nephew says you're a slut."
I looked at Leroy, Jerome still behind me. He was probably enjoying my awkwardness immensely. "Uhmmm ... yes, sir ... ahhh ... glad to meet you, sir, I've ... ummm heard a lot ..."
He laughed at my stumbling words as I stood naked before him. "What have you heard, girl?"
"Ughmmmm ..." I responded as I supremely regretted saying anything.
To my further surprise, I saw his hands open his belt and unzip his jeans. "Was it this you heard about?"
His pants were still around his hips but I sank to my knees. It was a movement I didn't even think about. I had felt Jerome's fingertips at the small of my back. It had been the lightest of touches but it was like he pressed my slut button. I came out of my awkwardness and I found myself on my knees and my hands pulling his jeans down off his hips. I was gasping as I looked at his boxers. It was in there. I could tell by the displaced shape underneath. I put my hand out and pressed. I sighed and looked up. He had a self-confident smirk on his face. This was not new to him.
I pulled the waistband down to the jeans bunched at his knees. I was used to big cock. Jerome is big. Leroy is a bit bigger. Leroy had told me this man was bigger but my mind couldn't really envision 'bigger'. Bigger than Leroy? It hadn't seemed possible. I lifted the dangling cock with my hands and stared at it. My two hands around Jerome and Leroy didn't cover them completely but this one was even more exposed beyond my grasping hands. It was truly huge. Maybe only a couple inches larger than Leroy but the vision of it was intimidating.
There were eight naked guys with big cock standing around us but I was only aware of this one cock. I put my lips to the head and kissed it. I licked it all around, then began licking the length. I had to pull my tongue back into my mouth to recoat it with saliva numerous times. His ball sack hung beneath like they were stretched by pool balls inside. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took the head inside. I moaned. I began fucking this cock with my mouth and felt it grow in my hands and mouth. I pressed it into my throat. My throat stretched as I took more and more.
I pulled my mouth off his rigid cock. I released it and watched it sag to horizontal before me, too large to stand on its own just like Jerome, Leroy, and the others. Saliva drooled from my mouth and chin. I wiped it off. I looked up at his black body. He was watching me ... of course.
I touched the head with a finger and lifted it slightly, feeling its weight. I muttered desperately, "Will you fuck me, sir?"
He laughed, "So ... you are a slut."
I turned and looked back at Jerome. He was chuckling, too. "Yes, sir ... she is a very good one." I beamed.
When I turned back, the man had pried off his boots and was stepping from his jeans. He pulled his shirt over his head and took my hand as he led me to the mattress. The other guys followed. He wanted me on my back so I splayed myself out in front of him. The others stood around the mattress as the uncle knelt between my legs. He raised my legs and a man on each side took hold and held them wide and high as the large, older man moved in, his cock rubbing along my cleaned but slightly reddened cunt lips. My hands went to my tits as I watched him align the head to my hole and press forward. I gasped out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I moaned, then groaned as he pressed deeper into my well-used cunt. He pulled back and pushed harder, sinking much more. He pulled back a bit and thrust powerfully, sinking the rest and jamming the head deep inside.
I cried out. Never ... NEVER ... have I been so full of cock. It stretched me and abused spots inside that had adjusted to Jerome and then Leroy. Now a bigger one and the same painful pounding and stretching and movement of my body to adjust even more. But I did. I was groaning and moaning as he pounded me with powerful thrusts. I orgasmed and he continued fucking me. Even when my body was recovering from the orgasm the arousal was still high as it seemed every movement inside my tight sleeve stimulated me higher and higher.
When he climaxed after yet another orgasm for me, it filled me.
He rolled us over so I was resting on his large body, his hands and arms gently wrapped around me. He lifted my chin with a finger and smiled softly at me.
"Thank you."
I gasped and settled back onto his chest, my cunt clenching around his cock, relishing the feeling. "Oh no, sir ... thank you." I sighed contently.
The day wasn't over. After a rest and beer, I was fucked by all nine men, again. Nothing says slut like a woman greedily fucking nine big cocks in all her holes.
|
Two days passed and Joonghyuk hadn't had time to pass by the lone club room behind their building. He wasn't avoiding it or anything, he just got too busy with all the council works and the new member recruitment that he totally forgot that he actually visited the Book club. Yoo Joonghyuk was really about to forget it totally, if only Kim Dokja didn't bump into him a second time, and this time, it was intentionally. The cause? Han Sooyoung pushed Dokja into him. Joonghyuk glanced at Dokja quickly before looking away. He might just have a heart attack if he continued to stare at that beautiful face.
"Uh...I was..." Kim Dokja started. Han Sooyoung laughed behind him as she cheered. "You can do it, you idiot! Just ask him already!" the girl shouted before disappearing somewhere. Dokja looked nervous, being alone with Yoo Joonghyuk.
"I was wondering if you're still joining our club. Uh, it's because today was our last day of recruitment... Oh! But if you still need time to think about it, I can wait longe--"
"I'll join." Yoo Joonghyuk decided to cut Dokja's blabbering. His cuteness was just too much for Joonghyuk to handle, and he decided he could spend more time with Dokja by joining the club. Besides, it's a minor club so he's allowed to join it even though he's the student council president. Kim Dokja looked at him in surprise and blinked a few times. "Really? You'll really join our club?" he asked as if to confirm if he heard Joonghyuk right. Yoo Joonghyuk nodded. With that affirmation, Dokja held his hand and shook it happily a few times. Joonghyuk quietly stared at the hand holding his before looking away. He's afraid that if he looked any longer, a goofy smile would escape his lips.
"I was really planning on joining. It just left my head because of too much work with my club," Joonghyuk explained, though Dokja wasn't really asking for an explanation. He just didn't want Dokja to think that he only joined because he forced him.
"Oh, it's actually fine! You can skip our club meetings and just focus on your major club. I might just ask you to help a few times for preparing for the school festival and that's it! You can also use the privilege of our club in the bookstores," Dokja excitingly said to him as they walk towards the club room. Joonghyuk wanted to hear more of his voice so he thought of a question to ask him.
"Do you love reading?" Joonghyuk asked. Kim Dokja glanced at him and nodded. "I love reading. My mom also loves reading and I think she passed her hobby onto me. Reading once helped me escape reality. You know, I was bullied back in middle school. To cope up with that, I read and read novels. Anyway, enough about me, Joonghyuk-ssi. How about you? Why did you join the Book club?"
Without thinking, Yoo Joonghyuk blurted out an answer. "I joined because of you."
Kim Dokja looked at him in shock. He opened and closed his eyes a few times before managing to mumble out a small "What?" Joonghyuk cursed himself for his carelessness. "I mean, you said reading was important. And I don't have much to do so..." He trailed off, waiting to see if his alibi convinced Kim Dokja. And it did. Dokja looked glad with his answer. He showed Joonghyuk a wide smile again and they continued to walk in silence.
They finally arrived at the Book club room after a few minutes. Dokja excitedly opened the door for him. Yoo Joonghyuk stepped inside the room, a few stares falling on their direction. Some students who recognized him looked shocked. They must be surprised that the cold student council president joined a minor, unknown club. The girl in the front part of the room, Han Sooyoung, was grinning at them from ear to ear. "We're currently assigning members that will help volunteer in the library and in the local bookstores. We've also been discussing their shifts. You can choose where you want to go since I don't think the students will mind giving their spots to you," Dokja explained beside him. Joonghyuk looked at Dokja's direction.
"Where are you volunteering?" Yoo Joonghyuk asked. Kim Dokja looked taken aback with his statement. "Would you like to volunteer with me?" Dokja asked him. "I'm new to this so I will need some guidance," he cleared. Though his real reason was what Dokja suggested. He wanted to help in the library where his junior is volunteering.
"Oh! Okay, then you can help my group. I'm with Sangah-ssi and Gilyoung-ah. They would be happy to meet the person I recruited," Kim Dokja boasted with enthusiasm. Again, Joonghyuk had to look away to stop himself from smiling. He hated noisy people and people with too much energy. Nevertheless, he feels too attracted to Dokja. He keeps wanting to see more of his noisy personality. He was dragged back to reality when Dokja started to speak again. "By the way, how should I call you?" he asked. Joonghyuk thought for a while. "Whatever you want will be fine. I'm okay with anything," he replied after a few seconds. "Then, Joonghyuk-ssi?" With that, Yoo Joonghyuk nodded in agreement. "Ah, another thing, Joonghyuk-ssi. Would you like to meet our club officers? We only have a few, but we all are good with managing the club."
Dokja waited for his response, and when he nodded again, Dokja gently held his arm and pulled him to the front of the room. They approached the club president who has currently holding a heft of papers. "Sooyoung-ah, this is Yoo Joonghyuk. Joonghyuk-ssi, Han Sooyoung, our club president. She's a great author." The girl looked at them and grinned. "And Dokja's long-time best frenemy. So, dumbass, you finally managed to talk to him? You know, Yoo Joonghyuk, this idiot had been wanting to talk to you ever since last Tuesday. He told me that you might have forgotten to come back here and he wanted to remind you."
With what Sooyoung said, Kim Dokja avoided his eyes, his ears also tinged red. Han Sooyoung laughed. "Anyway, you go introduce this council president to the others. I'll just finish with this." Dokja nodded at the girl and turned to look at Joonghyuk again. "Let's go meet Yoosung, Jihye, and Sangah-ssi."
His junior led him to a group of female students sitting together. One of them saw them approaching and quickly stood up to hug Dokja. Now, Yoo Joonghyuk wasn't the type to get jealous of children. He even accompanies Lee Seolhwa to visit the kids living in the orphanage near their houses. But this time, he felt so jealous that he wanted to pull Kim Dokja to his side so bad. Jealous?! What the heck am I even thinking? This is ridiculous, Joonghyuk told himself.
One of the girls then smiled at him. "I think you won't need to tell us your name, Joonghyuk-ssi. We already know of the famous student council president so I'll just introduce myself. I'm Yoo Sangah, the Book club's auditor. I'm glad you decided to join. Just look how happy Dokja-ssi is of recruiting you successfully," Sangah stated before pointing a finger at the boy beside Yoo Joonghyuk. Joonghyuk moved his head to look at Dokja as the latter quickly retracted his gaze on him. Dokja's ears were then tinged red again and Joonghyuk wanted to tease his junior about it.
"What, are you that proud of recruiting me?" He inquired even before he can think about it. As he expected, Kim Dokja's ears turned redder.
"Well, you know, I was just so happy that you took interest in our club so I wanted you to join us," Dokja answered as he gave Joonghyuk a shy smile. And the attack of that smile was so sudden that Yoo Joonghyuk was hit full force. His heart beat even faster, and it took everything in him to stop himself from grabbing Dokja's neck and kissing him senseless.
What the fuck?! Joonghyuk thought, cursing himself again. Being interested in Kim Dokja was fine. Even appreciating his beautiful smile was still okay. But thinking of kissing him was entirely unacceptable. Especially since Kim Dokja is also a guy, like him.
Yoo Joonghyuk was snapped back to reality when Dokja called his name. "Joonghyuk-ssi."
"Yes?" he asked. However, Kim Dokja wasn't the one who answered. Instead, it was the black-haired girl beside Yoo Sangah. "Hello, council president! I'm Lee Jihye, the club's treasurer," she energetically said. Joonghyuk nodded at her in recognition. Jihye chuckled and clicked her tongue. "How cold. Are you only interested in this old man?" Jihye teased as she pointed her chin at Kim Dokja. Sangah and the kid hugging Dokja's arm laughed. "Stop it, Jihye-yah," Dokja scolded his treasurer gently.
Joonghyuk then felt Kim Dokja tugging lightly at his arm. He turned to him. When his junior saw Joonghyuk's attention finally on him, he spoke up again. "And this is Shin Yoosung, our secretary. She only just recently joined, but she also loves books because of me so we appointed her immediately," Dokja introduced, pointing at the girl hugging him.
"You seem close?" Yoo Joonghyuk asked. Kim Dokja smiled at him again and Joonghyuk's breathing hitched. "We are. She's my adoptive sister."
Shin Yoosung smiled at him. "Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi, do you like Dokja oppa?" |
A few nights ago my wife asked me if it was alright if she stopped after work to meet some of the girls to play trivia at a local sports bar. Kelly is a nurse so I figured after a 12 hour shift it wouldn't be a long night out and said that it was up to her. After all even though she would be there with a bunch of younger nurses chance were that they would be too tired to get into any trouble. I waited up for her until about ten that night before boredom and my days activities finally overtook me and I fell asleep.
The next day I asked Kelly what time she finally got home last night and she said just before midnight. I thought that was late for someone who had been up since 4:30am but when she explained that they were complaining about work all night I accepted the possibility. She was acting strangely though but I let it lie for now.
Two days later we getting ready for bed when my wife mentioned to me that her friend from work needed a place to stay for a couple of days. She said Linda and her husband had been fighting and she had left him and need a place to stay. I told her that was stranger because her husband had left me a voicemail but I had never really talked to him before so I couldn't understand why he would be calling me for. Kelly asked me what the voicemail said nervously. He had only said that he needed to talk to me and give him a call back but I never got around to it since we weren't close and not friends at all. My wife's demeanor immediately changed. She said we needed to talk about something and that she wanted me to hear the truth. I got a pit in my stomach as soon as she said that.
"So the other night at trivia when it got over me and Linda went out to our cars to leave and ended up talking for a few hours. While we were standing out there a car pulled up right next to us and rolled the window down. It was this black guy that had been talking to all of us inside the bar. When we were sitting inside and it was obvious we were all nurses he was joking around and said can someone check something out for him because he was afraid he was half man and half horse. Well we all laughed and told him this was the wrong group for that and that we had seen it all and we were sure he was fine." My wife explained. By this time I was really getting worried. I knew how mouthy she got when she drank and how she might piss someone off.
"Well, he said are you sure you ladies can't check me out so I can be reassured I'm alright and when we looked in the car he had his dick out and was stroking it. It was pretty big and thick. I don't know if I had seen one that big and it wasn't hard all the way. Linda gasped a little bit but then she said you better get out so we can have a closer look. I was shocked because she's pretty quiet normally. I will admit that I wanted to see it again too but just to see if it was really as big as it looked." She said this nervously or excitedly at the time I wasn't real sure. "So he opened the door and stepped out the whole time his dick and balls were hanging over his athletic shorts. It was dark where we had parked in the lot and most of the cars had gone but now we were between Linda's SUV and this guy's car."
"Linda said well you sir are half man and half horse. We all laughed and she asked if I could take a picture with her and the "horse" and she moved over next to him and pointed at his dick. So I took a picture using her phone. She said it was my turn so I posed pretty much the same but on his other side pointing at his dick which was still half hard and hanging over his gym shorts." Kelly looked at me as she told the last sentence expecting something from my expression.
"Is that it or does this story go on?" I asked.
"Yes it goes on." She said shamefully. "He said that the clinical term for what he had was BBC and I laughed but Linda looked confused. I knew BBC stood for Big Black Cock and I told him he was right. Linda asked him how big he was and he said about 10 inches when hard but she squatted down and took her phone and placed it at the base of his dick. His dick was at least an inch longer than her phone and it still was hanging. Linda announced that he was 7 inches soft. Then she said and it's heavy. She took his penis in her hand again and stuck it on the top of her forearm to measure it and it seemed to grow harder and longer. She said to take another picture, so I did and he did too which surprised me."
"Then Linda suggested I do the same." Kelly said.
"Did you? You touched a strangers dick?" I had raised my voice a little but was trying to keep calm.
"Not really, I kneelt down and I was facing him so that my face wouldn't be in the picture but he stepped forward and took his dick and rested it on top of my head. His balls were hanging down from my forehead to my lips. Linda was laughing and I kept waiting for here to take a picture because I could smell his cock and balls and feel his balls on my lips. I said take the picture already and he laughed and said I blew on his balls."
I was shocked. What the fuck was she thinking?
"I got up and said that wasn't funny but smelling his dick and the sight of how long it was kind of made me horny if I'm being honest." She seemed to tear up a little as she told me that.
"I asked Linda to see the picture and his dick was past my head and if I didn't know it it looked like I was licking his ball sack. We all laughed at that and he said that a cool picture would be if we both got on either side of him and grabbed is dick with alternating hands and see if we could get all four hands on it. Between the alcohol and our horniness I guess we just complied. We both squatted down and Linda put her hand at the base, then me and then hers and then my hand left just a little bit of the tip of his cock showing. He took a picture with his phone and the Linda's phone. He laughed about never having a four hand handjob and we teased him by pumping his huge dick a couple times with all our hands." She said almost gleefully until she looked up at me.
"I'm sorry I got carried away. We were just teasing him but that made his dick rock hard. Then he asked us to suck his cock and he said it just like that. You know I don't like doing that but I almost just obeyed him but I said no. Linda said no too but she said she would act like it so he could take a picture and go home and jerk off. He said fine so she got on her knees in the parking lot in front of his big black dick and he stuck it right on her lips and took a picture. The she grabbed the base and stuck it against her face and he took a picture. She opened her mouth and he stuck his dick in about an inch and took a picture. Then Linda lifted his dick up and actually licked one of his balls and he took a picture."
"As she got up she kissed the tip of his dick and I could see a string of precum from her lips to his dick and it excited me a little. When he said it was my turn I told Linda to stand behind me and so it looked l was doing something but my face wouldn't be in any picture. So I did the same thing as Linda I put my coat down and got on my knees and held his dick close to my mouth until I heard Linda take a picture. Then I held his cock up and lightly kissed one of his balls and I heard a couple of pictures go off. Then I did something stupid, I opened my mouth wide and tried to put as much of him inside my mouth as I could without touching it but when it was only a few inches in I closed my mouth around him and they both took a picture."
"What the hell were you thinking? You sucked a guy off in a parking lot? I can't believe this." I said to her defeated.
"No I didn't suck on him I opened my mouth and took him out. It wasn't a blowjob. It was just a tease." She tried to calm me. " Linda laughed and said we better go but he said he need to cum. So we wanted to see that just to see if he shot a bigger load than normal sized dicks. So he started jacking off real hard. I had never watch a man jerk himself before and it seemed like it would not feel good to do it that hard. Linda asked if she could try and she took over but he started filming her with his camera. He said if I could just get down there and act like I was going to blow him that it might speed up the processes. It was getting late so I squatted down and pretended like I was going to put my mouth on him. Every once in a while the tip of his cock would bump my tongue but I didn't put him in my mouth. Then all of a sudden without warning he shot his cum all over my face and some went in my mouth. I tried to turn my head but then he came in my hair so I turned back towards him and stuck his tip in my mouth, catching the last two full squirts. When I was sure he was done I licked the tip and let it fall from my mouth. I told him he was an asshole for not warning me and used my coat to wipe my face and Linda got the cum out of my hair."
"Are you fucking kidding me? How stupid could you two be and you let him film it?" I yelled.
"I know, I shouldn't have been drinking, I don't think clearly when I drink. Somehow this guy got Linda's number when he was taking pictures and has been texting her pictures from that night and her husband found them. I didn't want him to tell you because they look worse than the real story." Kelly tried to explain to me through teary eyes.
"Worse than the real story? The real story is pretty bad. How could they look any worse?"
"Well if you didn't know the real story it would appear that we took turns giving this guy a blowjob and then he gave me a facial, but that's not what happened really." She said.
"That is almost exactly what happened. Plus where is the video? Have you heard from him again?" Now I was wondering if this was going to be an ongoing problem.
"No I don't even know his name and I'm sorry. I just had never seen a penis that big and even though some of my patients have been rather large it's different when the guy is not lying in a hospital bed. I swear it won't happen again." She begged me and seemed sincere so I tried to be as rational as possible.
Two weeks later I was watching a football game when I received a text message. It was from Linda's husband and though she had stayed at our house for 3 days she had found other arrangements and left with no trouble at all. I opened the text which read click on the link and enjoy. So I clicked and a video started up. It was dark but I could make out Linda standing next to a large black man stroking his huge cock. It was quite obvious that the black man was filming the action and he panned down to the enormous dick being stroked and then back up to the blonde short haired Linda who had her tongue down his throat. Then he panned over to my wife who was touching her pussy through her scrub bottoms. When he instructed her to act like she was going to suck him off. She fell to her knees and opened her mouth near his dick. True to her word she did exactly as she said and once in a while his dick touched her tongue and lips. The black man kept panning back and forth between the two women when I heard my wife say "shoot your big cock load on my face," that lying bitch. He did just that, hitting her in the mouth, nose forehead and chin. She then took him in her mouth and sucked his cock clean for about thirty seconds as deep as she could. My wife then stood up and the three of them tongue kissed each other before the video shut off.
I couldn't believe it she most definitely lied about some of the circumstances. I don't know what to believe anymore and now question all the times she has gone out. I still haven't confronted her with what I know but a few days later I got another text message from Linda's husband. It shows my wife kneeling in front of the black guy with her beautiful auburn hair pulled up and I would swear she is licking his nut sack. She told me that those pictures looked bad but fuck, I think she is really doing it.
|
Trisha looked slowly around the sparsely furnished ratty apartment through alcohol clouded eyes. The room smelled of a mix of pot smoke, dirt, sex and sweat and she knew she should be repulsed by her surroundings but instead all she felt was an insatiable hunger.
Her eyes focused on Jared and her heart leapt in her chest. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders and powerful arms and legs. His medium brown skin glistened with sweat and moisturizer and the combination was utterly delicious.
She gazed through lust filled eyes at his impressive dick and chewed excitedly on her bottom lip. Trisha had never given a lot of thought about dick size. She'd had good sex and bad with big and average sized cocks but she hadn't had one near as big as Jared before. Big dicks sometimes hurt but she was very intrigued by him and his beautiful black cock.
Trisha got goosebumps on her exposed flesh when Derek's hand rested on her shoulder. Her heart started to race and she felt a familiar tingling between her legs. Derek was almost as hot as his friend but in a different way. He was slender and lanky with sinewy arms and legs. His complexion was dark and he had a sexy British accent that made Trisha giddy and wet.
"You need to stop," she said unconvincingly as his hand moved inside her tight, cotton tank top.
"You didn't want me to stop at the club," Derek said confidently as he squeezed her big natural DD breasts . His touch felt great and she clenched her teeth to stifle a low moan. Her nipples grew taut and a surge of wetness flooded her ravenous sex. She had secretly fantasized about black men since high school and she often thought about being with two men at once but she'd always figured that her husband would be one of the guys.
"I'm married," Trisha replied quickly. Her voice trembled and she breathed deep to steady herself. Her heart felt like it would burst and her face was warm and flushed. She had never been unfaithful to her husband but he had seemed to be really turned on watching her dance with the two sexy black men.
"So, he didn't seem to mind watching us at the club," Derek countered in a velvety smooth voice that sent a shiver down her spine. He gestured towards her drunk, stoned husband Tony who lay past out on the disheveled couch in the corner of the studio apartment.
"But he's not watching now," Trisha reasoned weakly. She closed her eyes and moaned long and low. Her mouth hung open and she breathed deep and steady. It had been more than ten years since she'd been touched like that by any man other than Tony.
"That's okay baby, Jared is watching for him," Derek said with a low chuckle. His British accent really was one of the sexiest things she'd ever heard and she felt powerless to resist his charm. "He's even taping us so Tony doesn't miss a thing,"
Trisha opened her sleepy eyes and looked at jared's handsome smiling face. He had set up a tripod with a video camera and he was recording Derek's hands inside her tank top.
"No, don't," Trisha said without conviction. She shook her head weakly and raised her arms as Derek lifted off her tank top, offering no resistance what so ever. He balled her shirt up and tossed it across the room at her sleeping husband where it landed beside him on the ratty leather couch.
Jared's big dick swung like a baby elephant's trunk and Trisha gazed at it through cloudy eyes. Her tongue circled her lips and she swayed gently in her seat. She couldn't believe what was happening. Three hours earlier she and Tony had been drinking in a downtown club when Derek has asked her to dance. She loved to dance but Tony hated it so he insisted that she go. She had taken turns dancing with both Derek and Jared for several hours and when they suggested Tony and she join them at their Jared's apartment to smoke a joint they'd hesitantly accepted the offer. Neither Tony nor Trisha was big smokers but they did occasionally partake when offered and the two well-built black men seemed pleasant and nice.
Derek moved to Trisha's left and pushed her black lace bra down so he could paw at her big pale tits. His dark flesh contrasted nicely with her alabaster skin and she looked up at him with narrow, glazed red eyes. His cock, smaller than Jared's but impressive none the less, brushed against her shoulder and Trisha turned to face it. It was mostly hard and he smiled down at her as he pulled back his foreskin exposing the bulbous head.
Trisha parted her lips wide and took him into her mouth. The salty flavor of sweat and precum tickled her tongue and she closed her hand around the shaft and sucked hard on the tip. He quickly grew fully erect, stretching her lips, and she cooed softly as her head and fist worked in concert with each other.
Jared zoomed the camera in on Trisha's pretty round face. She was ten or so years older than him and she was thick and curvy with a bit of a belly but she was sexy as hell. Her big tits, pretty green eyes and slutty personality more than made up for her slightly sloppy body and it looked to him like she gave good head too. She'd made several suggestive comments to him on the dance floor at the club and she had even grabbed his cock while they danced. He had been with several married white women with jungle fever and he knew the symptoms well.
Derek closed his eyes and an expression of bliss danced on his full lips. His fingers ran through Trisha's tangled blonde hair and he guided her pace as he breathed deep and steady. Soft mews slipped from her lips and it was clear to him that not only was she good at sucking dick, she loved doing it.
Trisha sucked and slurped noisily on Derek's big delicious cock for several long minutes. Saliva spilled from the corners of her mouth and dripped from her chin. She felt dirty and wicked sucking Derek's cock while Tony slept close by. Her pussy was soaking wet and she reached down between her thick thighs, hiked her skirt up and moved her tiny black thong to the side so she could rub her hard, needy clit.
Derek pulled away and Trisha whimpered sadly. She gazed up at him with soft pleading eyes and played with his big hairy balls. She liked his cock and she wanted to suck it some more. The pretty blonde had loved sucking cock since she was a teenager. There was something empowering about having a hard throbbing dick in her hand and mouth. There was something visceral about the smell and taste of a man. Her husband had tried to get her into women and she had kissed and even felt up other women but nothing beat a hard cock and a strong musky body, nothing.
Jared moved beside Trisha and Derek yielded to him. His huge elephant trunk swung from side to side and she quickly grabbed hold of it. Her fingers couldn't circle his thick semi-erect shaft and the weight of it was impressive to say the least. She lifted the pliable brown dick to her lips and kisssed the tip. It felt enormous and her pussy tingled as she opened her mouth and started to suck.
"Yeah, work that dick Baby Girl," Jared said with a trashy southern twang. His big meaty hand pulled her onto his growing cock and it slid, semi turgid, into her throat. He was about as thick as Derek but already a few inches longer and his floppy dick was still far from fully erect.
Trisha sucked and stroked Jared's enormous dick until it reached its peak. It was the biggest dick she'd seen or touched by a sizeable margin and she struggled to take more than a few inches into her willing mouth because of its girth.
Her deep moans grew urgent and needy and her free hand rubbed her hard, throbbing clit. She sucked him for even longer than she'd sucked Derek's dark hunk of meat and her jaw ached by the time Jared eased her off his prodigious brown dick.
"Get on the bed," Jared said firmly. He looked down at her with hard, unyielding eyes that sent a shiver down her spine and gave her goosebumps.
"No," Trisha replied softly as she shook her head tossing her mussed hair from side to side. "You're too big." They both knew it was a token protest and her hand continued to stroke and squeeze his mammoth cock. She rose slowly to her feet and staggered to the big unmade king sized bed. She was still drunk and stoned but she had most of her faculties and she knew exactly what she was doing.
Derek kept the camera on Trisha while Jared followed her to the disheveled bed. He climbed between her splayed white legs and rubbed his big circumcised dick across her shaved pink labia. His cock head glistened with her wetness and he slapped her clit with his shaft making her moan softly.
"Don't, you're too big," Trisha slurred soft and low. "You're gonna hurt me." The pretty 35 year old mother of two protested. Her eyes closed and she shielded her head from Derek and the video camera.
Jared paused for a moment with the head of his cock at the mouth of her pussy. He was ready to stop, though he didn't want to, but when she grabbed at his hips, pulling him closer, he knew her words were just for show. He pushed slowly and his fat cock parted her swollen lips.
"Oh fuck," Trisha hissed loudly. Her painted pink nails dug into the milk chocolate flesh of Jared's hips and she coaxed him deeper until his balls pressed tightly against her fat round ass. She had never felt so stretched, so stuffed or so full. Her eyes fluttered and she unhaled sharply drawing the musky scent of his hard muscle bound body into her lungs.
Jared started slowly. He pushed deep and withdrew methodically. His body moved with fluid motions and he lowered his torso letting her feel his substantial mass. His glutes flexed and his pace quickened. The head of his cock pounded rhythmically against her cervix and Trisha felt her stomach tighten.
Trisha wiggled and writhed beneath him. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and draped her arms around his shoulders. She wanted to kiss him but she held back and closed her eyes as her dam burst. Intense waves of pleasure coursed through her and her muted cries of pleasure filled the night air.
Derek stood beside the bed and Jared guided Trisha onto her hands and knees. Her lips closed quickly around Derek's delicious cock and Jared plunged his giant fuck stick into her depths. She loved doggy style. It was by far her favorite position but his length and girth made it excruciatingly painful.
"Stop," Trisha moaned. "It hurts." Her words rang out but her fat ass pushed back forcing Jared deep. Her mouth descended on Derek's dick and she rocked back and forth fucking them both as her juices seeped from her tightly stretched pussy.
A second, less powerful climax rolled through her and she rolled onto her side facing Derek. She eagerly slurped his dick into her open mouth as Jared reentered her while he spooned behind her. He deftly unfastened her bra and fucked her with long languid strokes.
"Stop," Trisha said firmly. She pushed Jared out of her tender womb and rolled onto her back. "I'm fucking sore." Her fingers parted her engorged labia and she rubbed her clit as Jared climbed off the bed.
Derek settled between Trisha's big thighs and eased into her warm, wet cunt. He looked into her pretty eyes and smiled. "Is this okay?" He asked politely. His heavy British accent made her shiver anew and she nodded slowly. His cock felt great and her hips thrust up towards him as he started to fuck her hard and fast.
Trisha ran her hands over Derek's sinewy body. His sweat covered flesh was slick and warm and his dick hit her g spot with each fantastic stroke. Her eyes closed and she writhed sensuously under him as he fucked her towards another orgasm. Her body tensed and she let out a long guttural moan as she came for a third time.
She pushed Derek off of her and again rolled onto her side with her arm over her head. Her bountiful chest heaved and sweat soaked her body. Her tight, cotton skirt was still bunched around her waist but her panties were long gone and her chest was flushed crimson.
"Stop, no more," she insisted as she playfully kicked Derek off the bed. Neither man was familiar with her foibles or idiosyncrasies but it was her MO not to want to be fucked after she climaxed.
"Every time you get yours you don't want no dick inside you," Jared observed. He climbed onto the bed and aggressively pulled her legs wide. His cock, guided by her small white hand, moved to her frothy cunt and he rammed it deep, making her yelp in pain.
Jared propped his torso up on his outstretched arms and thrust hard and deep. His cock head pummeled her cervix and the sound of his body slapping against hers filled the room. The bed creaked and groaned and it slammed rhythmically against the bare wall. His breathing labored and his glutes tightened.
Trisha grunted and moaned. Her pussy felt raw and abused and she gritted her teeth to bear the pain. She watched his handsome face contort and she knew that he was about to cum. Panic rocked her and she pounded on his chest as he pushed deep. His eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned deep and loud. His cum splashed inside her fertile womb and he pumped ribbons of hot cream into her depths.
Jared continued to fuck Trisha's sloppy hole until his cock wilted. He pulled it out and wiped their combined juices against her leg as Derek brought the video camera in for an extreme close up.
A large dollop of white cream oozed from her hole and Jared smeared it across her clit and down the crack of her ass. "I gave you a load Baby Girl," he barked proudly. "That's some cum right there." He ambled off the bed and disaapeared into the bathroom.
His words filled Trisha with fear. She didn't want another baby. She did a quick calculation and thought she was at a safe point in her cycle but she wasn't certain that was right. She felt his entire load drain from her pussy, soaking the sheet beneath her as she lay silent and still on the bed. Her chest heaved and she idly fingered her hard clit, reigning the fire in her loins.
Jared walked confidently from the bathroom. His big spent dick dangled between his muscular thighs and Trisha climbed off the bed. She walked, with her skirt still bunched around her waist, to the bathroom. She had to pee and she wanted to splash water on her face.
The bathroom lock was broken and she looked around at the low rent, inner city apartment vathroom as a heavy stream of piss flowed from her bladder. The cold, white cinder block walls felt sterile and a shiver ran down her spine as the stream of pee subsided. She wiped pee and cum from her pussy and rose to her feet to wash her hands.
Derek opened the door and stepped inside the small cramped room before closing the door behind him. He pressed his taut body against her and bent down to kiss her. He had stollen a few kisses on the dance floor hours earlier but she hadn't been kissed since and her legs felt weak and rubbery from his deep wet kiss.
"I think its my turn," Derek said with a playful lilt. He turned Trish around and bent her forward over the sink. His hard cock slipped effortlessly into her cum soaked hole. He'd followed Jared before and he was always amazed how quickly a woman's pussy recovered from a romp with his mighty sword.
"Oh god," Trisha groaned. His angle of attack was perfect and his pace was divine. She chewed hungrily on her bottom lip and watched Derek's handsome face while he fucked her hard from behind. Jared had a great cock and he was a good fuck but Derek was fantastic. The only thing better world have been if Tony was licking her clit.
Her pussy clutched at Derek's cock and milked his big black dick. His breathing became erratic and he deep dicked her hard and fast. Derek grunted like a wild animal. His dick seemed to grow bigger and harder as cum surged through his shaft. He erupted inside her, his seed joining Jared's in the murky depths of her womb.
"You are smiling now," Derek observed. His cum leaked from her gaping, well fucked cunt and he swung the bathroom door open.
"That's cuz I got fucked," Trisha purred contently. Derek led her back to the bed and she curled up between Derek and Jarid. She was exhausted and sated and glanced over at her husband who was still sleeping and blissfully unaware of the nights events.
Sleep came easy for the sexy blonde once the lights were off as she lay naked between the two black men. Her slumber was filled with erotic dreams and when she awoke Derek and Tony were watching the homemade porn of Trisha and her first interracial threesome.
|
“The nearest one is boarded up, not far from the elevators on floor 2…” Joey uttered weakly. He seemed to have surrendered himself to the fact he couldn't stop Henry.
Henry turned the wheelchair in that direction, trying hard not to look at the dripping ink hands that clutched its handles. He didn’t want to look at himself at all.
“Look, Henry, I don’t need to come along,” Joey pleaded lowly. “I can just as easily tell you where they are, and then you can let me go-“
Henry didn’t like the way that Joey’s pleading felt like a human entreating a monster. It was a tone Joey never would have used with Henry prior to this transformation. How weird, now, to miss being talked down to. Briefly, Henry wondered if he shouldn't do as Joey requested. If things went bad, then Joey had almost no chance of making it out. Guilt twisted in Henry’s stomach at the thought. But this was Joey’s mistake in the first place, no matter how good his intentions were at the start. If Henry was stuck here having to see it to the end, then shouldn’t Joey-
Not to mention that Henry wasn’t sure he could find these machines on his own.
(and he was scared of being alone, being monstrous and alone and so detached from humanity-)
“Please, Henry, my friend, you wouldn’t let that thing hurt me?”
Henry growled, if only to quiet Joey. His muteness frustrated him. His body disgusted him. He didn’t think there was any going back. This was forever, now. Again he nearly panicked, and again he shoved down the feelings.
He had to find Bendy. Finish this somehow. Then he could panic, and face the reality of existence. Only after everyone else was made safe.
Henry clung tighter to Joey’s chair. He was sure it looked idiotic: his enormous malformed inky body pushing along a human in a wheelchair. Joey would probably wheel along just fine without Henry’s help, not daring to escape, but… there was some twisted comfort in this.
There were times before that he had assisted Joey getting from one place to another, times when Joey was jabbering away and writing or arranging something in his hands. So this simple action of pushing him was some semblance of normal. Of being human. Incongruous with being a monster. There was comfort, then, in doing something only a human would do. It might let him believe.
“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” Joey whimpered.
Another statement that Joey never would have said to Henry the animator.
So many times Henry had wanted to stand up to Joey. How morbid now that now, Joey was afraid to stand up to him, and Henry couldn't be glad about it.
Resigned, Henry leaned over to point at the paper in Joey’s lap: SHOW ME
“What will you even do when you find them?” Joey stalled.
Another point. SHOW ME.
Joey sighed. “Turn left up here. We’re close to one.”
Henry obeyed. They were delving deeper into the studio now, away from areas that to Henry were familiar and loved. Into wider spaces occupied by newer posters.
“Right h-“ Joey began, and then his words died. “Stop,” he whispered; it was said so differently from everything else (close almost, to how Joey would once talk to him) that Henry instinctively obeyed.
“You hear that?” Joey whispered.
Henry’s heart set off pounding. He knew, sooner rather than later, he’d come to face-to-face with the monster of his creation. But he was not sure all the sudden he was ready.
Voices rose,
“- more people, but we don’t know where to find them. We could be going in circles forever.”
“Dozens more, Thomas. That’s a lot of lives on the line.”
“How many people do you want to get out then?!”
“Allison,” Joey breathed.
Oh. Not Bendy at all. Wait - Henry’s hands tightened on the wheelchair. Joey said that Bendy had an interest in her. They had to get her out of the studio.
Joey twisted in his seat, gazing up at Henry. “She has to come with us.”
What.
“We need all the help we can get,” Joey continued, “just the two of us against him - that’s nothing! But Allison - she’s faced him once already, and come away unscathed!”
No, but-
“Allison!” Joey cried out; the voices hushed. “Allison, Allison, this way!”
Henry twitched, no - they had to get Allison out of the studio. But he couldn't speak.
Then there was rushing steps. Both Allison and Thomas appeared around the corner.
Allison screamed and grabbed Thomas’ arm; at first the noise shocked Henry and he whipped his head around, hunting for that demon behind his back. But there was no Bendy, and in another second he felt foolish. She screamed because of Henry.
“Oh God, it’s Bendy,” Allison uttered faintly.
Right.
Because he looked like Bendy now. He looked like a monster.
“Wait-“ Joey started. “Wait this is a misunderstanding-“
“You disgusting, perverted traitor,” Allison snarled, directing this to Joey.
“No no - Allison, listen here, this isn’t Bendy-“
“Hit him with something,” Allison hissed to Thomas.
“No, you don’t understand-“ Joey started.
“What?” Thomas yelped.
“Hit him.”
Thomas’ head swung around, looking for something to use as a weapon.
Henry chafed against his muteness again, but raised his hands, hoping to look innocuous. Allison yowled, flinching away from his movement. While Thomas hemmed and hawed in place, Allison snatched a fallen projector from the ground and swung it viciously.
The projector collided hard with Henry’s chest; ink sprayed. Henry froze in place, shocked. He felt the reverberations throughout his entire body, but… it hadn’t hurt, not exactly. Just a pressure and impact.
Allison, panting, peered up at him through strands of feral hair.
Henry looked down at himself.
The projector had ripped open his chest, revealing hints of a grey ribcage. Those… those were his bones. Dazed, Henry went to touch the wounds, but before he could bring himself to reach inside himself, bubbling ink sealed over the injury, as if it had never happened. His human heart hammered. God, this was not normal. This was so very not normal.
Allison screamed. Henry looked up in time to see the projector flinging his way again, as Joey howled,
“Stop it, you idiot!"
The hard metal collided with his chest again. This time something snapped, and he did feel that, a sharp crack through his body. His ribs. Two of them. Snapped inwards, goring his own blackened guts. More liquid-like ink oozed from the wound.
The projector clattered to the floor as Allison backed up, nursing sore fingers. She backed into Thomas’ arms and he clung her tight while the two of them stared in helpless disbelief at him.
Henry stared back, just as bewildered, just as scared of himself. His more human fingers lightly grazed his broken ribs; splinters of pain spread from even the gentlest touch. But in the next moment, yet again, viscous ink flowed over, burying it from sight. With a few more cracks, the ink fixed his ribs. Repaired them. Just like that. On its own volition.
Henry was slowly, slowly grasping the idea of immortality.
“Goddamnit can none of you ever listen?” Joey snarled, fingers like claws over the wheels of his chair. “This isn’t Bendy! It’s Henry. How many times do I have to repeat myself!”
Based on Allison and Thomas’ looks, they trusted Joey just about as far as they could throw him and his wheelchair together. They both looked at Henry like they expected him to be their end, right here, right now. They expected him to kill them. Henry took an unsteady step back. He didn’t want to move any further, didn’t want to lift his hands or reach out or do anything that might be read as threatening.
Joey talked into the silence, “Listen to me, why would I lie about this? If it were Bendy, he’d have you dead already! Look at him - it’s Henry, I swear. Bendy is the one that did this to him.”
Allison and Thomas said nothing.
Joey swore and threw up his hands. “You can believe me or not, but we’re on our way to destroy the Ink Machines. We’re going to stop Bendy, so if you aren’t going to believe us…” Joey trailed off as if he had expected to be interrupted before finishing that statement.
“Henry…?” Allison finally uttered.
Henry ducked his head in something close to a nod. He wished desperately to speak. To explain himself. To say anything.
“Oh God.” She covered her mouth.
“How-?” Thomas began; Allison pulled out of his clutches and stepped nearer.
“Is there - I mean - are you-?”
“Be careful,” Thomas hissed.
Allison dared to reach out a hand, but her fingers stopped well short of touching him. “Is your body under that ink?”
Hesitation, then Henry shook his head somberly. His bones, maybe. Some of his organs. But he knew everything was warped now, twisted away from humanity. She had asked likely because she wanted to know if there was anything recoverable. Much as Henry wanted to share her hope… he couldn’t. His body had died. Been repurposed and melded into this. It was just ink keeping him alive at this point.
“Can you talk?” Allison whispered.
Another head shake.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” Allison said, hushed. “If I had- God, Henry, you didn’t deserve this.“ Finally her fingers made contact - just above his wrist. Nothing in her movements had been quick or unexpected. The entire gesture was an innocuous display of sympathy. But the moment she touched him panic flared. Images poured in of Sammy and Bendy had the things they had done to him - Henry recoiled as if he’d been shocked.
Joey yelped; Allison flinched.
“Sorry, sorry-“ she said.
Henry hugged his own torso, fighting off the intrusive thoughts. It was unsettling how easily, how quickly those thoughts could return.
He didn’t want to dwell on this.
He wanted to apologize - his movement had scared everyone present - but he couldn't speak.
Joey laughed nervously in the silence. “Well. He’s just a little touchy as of late, you see. That demon lurking about will do anyone in!”
“Yeah.” Allison dropped her hand. Her eyes lingered on Henry, sad in an indescribable way. She shook her head, and looked at Joey. “You said you were - destroying the Ink Machines?”
“I assume that’s what we’re doing with them,” Joey muttered, glancing Henry’s way. “And defeating Bendy, of course. It’s wrong to let that thing continue its reign of terror.”
“Because you’re such a paragon of morality,” Allison said chillily. "Don't pretend for a second like you care about anyone but yourself."
“Ink Machines?” Thomas interjected. “Multiple of them?”
While Joey explained the situation, Henry forcefully towed himself from his inner thoughts. Joey was seeking their help. But he needed to get those two out, especially if Bendy wanted to hurt Allison. Henry stalled in place, until an idea struck him and he turned to the wall.
In long, dripping black words he wrote ESCAPE
As before, it took him a frustratingly long time, and by the end the other three had gone silent watching him. Henry pointed to the words, then to Allison and Thomas.
“Never heard a better idea,” Thomas muttered.
“We can’t leave you two,” Allison said, then corrected herself frigidly, “at least not Henry.”
Henry slammed his hand next to the words, insistent.
Allison shook her head. “I’m sorry, Henry. If there's a chance you're going to face that demon, then we’re coming with you.”
“Are we?” Thomas whispered.
“Yes.”
“Great,” Joey said. “Then the nearest machine is this way-“
“Hold on.” Thomas had his feet planted. “Hold on just a second. We can’t keep - grabbing projectors! You want us to look for these machines? How likely is it we're gonna come across him! We need weapons.”
“Maybe we could find some loose piping…” Allison trailed off. “But I don’t think it’s going to do anything against him.” She glanced towards Henry; he knew she was thinking of the way his body had so easily reformed over his injuries. Like it or not, he was now, in physical form, similar to Bendy.
“I’m not going into a fight using water balloons,” Thomas said gruffly.
“God, we really are in a cartoon.” Allison touched her temple. “Umm, maybe buckets, water bottles- None of those will keep him down long.” She had to be recalling the water hose that had wiped Bendy across the entire floor - even that, Bendy had bounced right back from. The look she gave Joey was a very lost one. “How are you going to fix this?”
“The priority would be cutting off sources he might draw strength from,” Joey said. “Which we were on the way to doing…”
“I’m not going anywhere near him without something to defend myself,” Thomas asserted.
“I agree,” Allison said. “Even just something to hit him with. It’s gotta slow him down, if nothing else. We can’t go in totally helpless.”
“We don’t have time-“ Joey grit out.
“Wally’s office,” Thomas said. “He’s got all kinds of tools.”
That was all it took for Henry to grab the handles of Joey’s wheelchair and signal Thomas to lead.
Joey complained the entire way there, but they reached Wally’s office without encountering any difficulties. Once there, Henry and Joey hovered by the door while Allison and Thomas scoured the shelves.
Henry watched Allison linger by his desk, gazing at a colored drawing hung up on the wall. Must’ve been from his kid… Allison drifted her fingers over the drawing, held in place. He understood her sorrow. Neither of them had known Wally well - something that Henry now regretted, so long working in this place without knowing one of the men who, like him, was there from the start. But his loss still hit deep. His family would be suffering for so long.
“Another one of these will come in handy,” Thomas said across the room, hefting up an axe.
Allison turned away from the picture. "It will," she agreed quietly. In her own roaming, she then
found a tool belt and slung it around her hips, having to wrap it nearly twice around given her small frame. In the pouch she placed a variety of tools - wrench, scissors, hammer, a few long nails.
“Uh, you sure-“ Thomas started.
“I know how to handle this stuff. Let’s go.”
This motley crew set off, with Joey guiding. The studio was deathly silent; they came across nobody and nothing and reached the next Ink Machine location with no trouble. It was right beside a staircase leading down.
“The earliest attempt,” Joey explained, pointing to a square boarded up in the walls. “It’s behind there.”
Yes, this close, Henry could feel it. He didn’t like it one bit.
“Well-“ Thomas tapped his axe meaningfully, but Henry brushed past him. He wanted to do this himself. Henry worked his fingers in the slits between the boards. With very little effort, the wood snapped like a gunshot and in minutes he had the passageway cleared, only a mess of destroyed boards and loose nails scattered about. This revealed a machine which, just as Joey had said, was minuscule compared to the one Henry had first seen. It was maybe one square foot, and had only a few black tubes winding around it like snakes that then burrowed into the walls.
Looking at it made Henry feel cold inside, the sort of cold that made him feel like he’d never be warm again.
The tiny machine hummed merrily. The pipes pulsed with ink. It was functional, working.
“You leave it running?” Allison asked, a frigid edge to her words.
“No.” Joey looked pale. “It was off this morning, I swear to you. None of them have been on since I last used them-“
“So Bendy was already here-“
“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Joey said, voice high-pitched.
Disturbingly, Henry felt part of him respond to the thing, and it wasn’t just the fear and uneasiness with which he was familiar. No… there was comfort in it. Strength. The ink that ran through its veins now ran through his own, and for a moment he wondered if he wasn’t sensing the machine in the same way Bendy would.
That thought alone was enough for Henry to unhesitantly reach into the nook and wrap his hands around the machine. He forcefully pulled it free; all the little tubes connecting it to the wall popped free like torn vessels and, dangling, pathetically oozed black sludge. Putting all his strength behind it, Henry crushed the little device in his fists until it was just crumpled metal, like a squashed tin can.
The machine was at last quiet, its humming no longer playing along Henry’s ink.
The only thing left was the drip of his inky flesh striking the ground. Thomas and Allison were silent, staring.
“Well then,” Joey laughed tersely. “Two down; two to go. Shall we?”
|
Felicity tried not to overthink why Oliver wanted to talk to her in his dressing room. There was a lot of thoughts buzzing inside her head and she focused on ignoring all of them. She became very interested in the blah cream color of the paint in the hallway. Felicity wondered if there was a team of people who researched the exact color the human eye simply ignored.
Oliver opened the door to his dressing room and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. Felicity took stiff steps in and wondered if she should sit down on the couch. As Oliver closed the door behind him, she was about to sit when she changed her mind and did an awkward twirl on the spot. Felicity noticed the smile that crossed Oliver’s lips and fought the blush that spread across her face by taking a deep breath.
“What did you want to talk about?” Felicity asked. “Does it have something to do with the show? Do you think I cheated today? Because I did not. I made those brownies all by myself. They were actually kind of simple. Mix in a bowl and pour in a pan. I could have mixed better, I suppose.”
“I don’t think you cheated. It’s not about the show, actually.”
“Oh, okay. You just brought me back here to have your way with me, then?” Felicity joked. “Not that you would do that. Not that I would necessarily be opposed to it, if the images in my brain are anything to go on.”
A second passed and Oliver’s smile got bigger. Felicity took in the full meaning of her own words and cringed.
“That came out wrong?” Felicity asked as she hoped he would accept her explanation.
“I actually wanted to apologize for not contacting you this week,” Oliver said.
“Oh, that. It’s fine. I mean I could have called- or texted- you, too.”
Felicity had thought about texting Oliver all week, but the internal debate of seeming too needy versus being a strong independent woman who could make the first, or rather second, move left her at a standstill.
“I should have called,” Oliver said. “I’m sorry, Felicity.”
“Thank you.”
“I was also wondering,” Oliver said as he took a few steps closer to Felicity, “if we could go out sometime.”
“Like a date?”
“Yes, like a date.”
“Is that a good idea?” Felicity blurted out. “I mean, I work for your family’s company. And here. We both work here. I’m sure there’s some sexual harassment seminar we’ll have to take here soon.”
“I don’t work at QC; that’s not an issue. And Tommy said us dating wouldn’t be a problem for the show.”
“You discussed this with Tommy Merlyn?”
“More like he discussed it with me.”
“Huh,” Felicity responded. She tried to calculate the chances that this was all a dream and she would wake up any moment. On one hand, Oliver freaking Queen was asking her out. On the other hand, her dreams that revolved around Oliver tended to be more dirty and less romantic. Oliver was definitely being romantic. And cute. Felicity smiled when she noticed he was rubbing his finger and thumb together repeatedly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll go out with me.”
“Yes. Now put those piercing blue eyes away, you’re going to make someone sign away their life savings.”
“You have trouble saying no to my eyes?” Oliver asked as his eyes shone brighter.
Crap. Why was her worst enemy her mouth? Felicity wondered if she was born with any filter.
“I didn’t say that,” Felicity said as she avoided his gaze.
“Felicity?”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me, please?”
Felicity paused for a moment as she tried to steel herself before looking into his baby blues. When she did turn her face towards his, Oliver seemed closer to her than before as she had to crane her neck up higher. His pupils nearly took over both of his eyes. Felicity’s breath caught in her throat.
Oliver placed both hands on her cheeks, his thumbs stroking back and forth. He stared into her eyes before he leaned down and kissed her. Felicity sighed into his mouth and returned the kiss.
His soft lips were in contrast to his rough beard and it made her apply more pressure to his lips. Oliver’s tongue slipped into Felicity’s mouth and she whimpered. She brought her hands up and held onto his biceps. When Oliver scraped his teeth over her lower lip it caused Felicity to scrape her nails against his skin.
Oliver growled and led her to the wall a foot behind her. His body covered hers and Felicity’s softness molded to his hardness. Just as he was about to lean down again and continue his assault on Felicity’s lips and brain synapses, there was a knock on the door. He growled again, this time in irritation.
Felicity took several deep breaths to catch her breath and slow her racing heart as Oliver stepped away from her and answered the door. Her thoughts were a jumble of how good he was at the kissing thing (and probably other things that evolved from kissing) to how much she really liked him, to their first date, to being caught in a potentially compromising situation.
Tommy walked in and smirked at her appearance. Felicity could only guess how disheveled she was.
“Glad I caught you two before you left,” Tommy said. His voice was filled with mirth.
“What’s going on?” Oliver asked.
“Most of the producers want to change the show. They’re not comfortable moving away from reality shows.”
“So?” Felicity asked.
“They want to make your lives a reality show.”
Both Oliver and Felicity jaws’ dropped.
“Now, hear me out. You’d still cook, but there would be cameras that document your daily lives as well. We’re thinking of renting out a penthouse suite and having you two live there. That way the cooking segments come up more often. Every day in fact.”
“Tommy, no,” Oliver said.
“That is not what I signed up for,” Felicity said. Her hands started to shake. They couldn’t make her do this, could they?
“Felicity’s right,” Oliver said. “Our contracts are for a cooking show, not a reality show with cameras following us 24/7.”
Tommy rubbed his hand over his face.
“I knew you two wouldn’t go for it. Look, the producers like you but they’re not sold on the cooking show. We can’t make you do the reality show, though we could sweeten the deal for both of you.”
Felicity shook her head vigorously. Oliver gave Tommy a deadpanned stare.
“Okay, I figured. So, we aren’t producing any more cooking shows. Today’s show was the last one.”
“Wait, what?” Felicity asked.
She had never wanted to do the show in the beginning. And after the first few shows Felicity wanted to do it even less. But she had gotten to know Oliver and liked spending time with him. Without the show, she didn’t know what she and Oliver had in common.
“Don’t worry,” Tommy said. “This is one of the few scenarios where we have to pay out your contracts. But if you two change your minds about the reality show, let me know.”
“Never going to happen, buddy,” Oliver said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy said. “The crew is going down to the bar at the corner of Morton and Papp. You two should come.”
“Sure,” Oliver said.
Felicity nodded.
“Good, I’ll see you there.”
Tommy slipped out the door. Oliver looked over at Felicity and his eyebrows creased.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Felicity said. Even she heard the false brightness she forced into her voice. “I’m just going to clean up.”
She waved at her apron covered in flour. Felicity hadn’t noticed how dirty it was. She remembered how Oliver had pressed up against her and saw his apron had just as much flour on it. Felicity was sure when they came in his apron had been more or less spotless.
“I’ll meet you at the bar?”
“Sure,” Oliver said.
He reached his arm over to her and squeezed her hand. Felicity squeezed back and then left fast. In her dressing room she tore off her apron and crumbled it into her purse. She figured she could keep it; no one else had any use for it. Not that she would use it, but it was a nice souvenir; a memento of all her cooking disasters and a couple of hot and heavy make out sessions with Oliver Queen.
--------------------
As he walked into the bar, Oliver noticed the only people he really knew were Tommy, Diggle, and Lance. And Lance only yelled at him. Diggle had too that one time. Oliver really didn’t know the crew very well. He wouldn’t have stayed but Felicity said she would stop by.
He was surprised he was disappointed the show was ending. Oliver didn’t doubt it had more to do with Felicity than enjoying having his own cooking show. Though Oliver’s stomach was probably overjoyed with the fact it no longer had to consume Felicity’s cooking.
He was thrilled she had agreed to go on a date with him. Though Oliver didn’t know what made Felicity sprint out of his dressing room.
He navigated his way to the bar and ordered a beer. Diggle turned around toward him.
“Hey, man,” Diggle said.
“Hey.”
“You all right with the show ending?”
“Yeah. I was never too enthused about the idea. You?”
“Sure. I got another show coming down the pipeline. It won’t be as much fun as watching you and Felicity dance around each other, but it’ll pay the bills.”
Oliver just shook his head and took a sip of his beer.
“You okay with not seeing her anymore?” Diggle asked.
“Felicity?”
“Yes.”
“We worked it out before Tommy broke the news.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“How did you know I was going to ask her out?” Oliver asked, incredulous.
“Let’s just say you were painfully obvious.”
“What are we talking about?” Felicity asked as she walked up between Diggle and Oliver. Oliver couldn’t help but notice she had stayed in the tight black skirt.
“Nothing,” Oliver said as he sent a pleading look to Diggle.
Diggle chuckled and said, “I’m really going to miss you two.”
“We’ll stay in contact, right?” Felicity asked Diggle.
“Yes, I have your number. We’ll do brunch or something.”
“You do brunch?” Oliver asked.
“Since becoming a producer, I’ve had to. That’s when all the important production meetings are,” Diggle said. “It’s not all bad. The food is pretty good.”
A boom operator or lighting rig guy waved at Diggle. He waved back.
“I gotta go check in with my guys,” Diggle said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He gave Oliver a handshake and kissed Felicity on the cheek. Felicity took Diggle’s empty seat next to Oliver and ordered a foofy drink.
“Do you know anyone here besides Tommy and Diggle?” Felicity asked in a whisper.
“No. I wasn’t aware of how unsocial I was on set until I walked in.”
“Me too.”
“Hey,” Oliver asked. “You okay about the show?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I don’t have to humiliate myself every week. And I get paid anyway. Bye-bye student loans.”
“I wondered why you agreed to do the show.”
“My Masters was not cheap,” Felicity said.
Silence stretched between them as the bartender set Felicity’s drink down. Felicity took a big gulp and then began shredding her napkin.
“Wait,” Felicity said as she turned towards Oliver, “You never told me how your interview went.”
“Really well,” Oliver said as he smiled at the thought of it. “I should hear from them this week.”
“Did they give you any indication of which way they were leaning? Any subtle wink-winks or nudge-nudges?”
“Nothing so subtle,” Oliver said. “They said that if all went well with my credit check and references, the job was mine.”
“Yay! That’s exciting! Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Oliver beamed. “So, where do you want to go for our date? You like Italian?”
“Our date’s still on?” Felicity asked.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Unless you don’t want to anymore.”
Oliver studied Felicity’s face. He hadn’t considered that without the show she may not want to see him anymore. Oliver thought she liked him as much as he liked her, but maybe he was wrong. His breathing became shallower and he felt more pressure behind his ears.
“Oh, I do,” Felicity said. “I just wasn’t sure if you did.”
A sigh of relief escaped Oliver’s lips before he could think about censoring his reaction.
“No, I want to.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
They stared at each other and Oliver swore the noise in the bar faded away. It surprised him how much he liked Felicity. He had never liked a girl this much before. Oliver knew that in the past that would have scared him, but it didn’t now. He trusted Felicity.
“Felicity, do you want to get out of here?”
“God, yes.”
She stood up next to him and Oliver took her hand in his without thought. They snuck away through the crowd and out the door. Oliver had no idea where they were going. There were a lot of places he wanted to take Felicity, Oliver just had to decide where to take her to first.
Ideas of places where he had taken other girls surfaced, but he quickly shoved those thoughts away. Felicity was special and she deserved more than his standard seduction techniques. Though she had a way of seeing through all of his bullshit. And Oliver didn’t want Felicity to be just another notch on his bedpost.
His feelings for her were real.
And vast.
And scary.
But for the first time, Oliver wasn’t running away from those feelings. He was turning the heat up.
Somehow Oliver knew he would enjoy being Smoaked. |
One week later Stiles and John are unpacking their stuff into their new apartment. Stiles is still reeling from how easy it was to convince John to leave. 'Let's get out of this fucking town' he had said, to which his dad has replied with a simple 'okay' and here they are.
He thinks that it's probably because they were so tired of living in fear that something would happen to one of them, which really just makes him feel awful, but he's decided not to dwell on that.
This is a new start for them. A new city, a completely different state, and the entire fucking continental US between them and the hell-mouth that is Beacon Hills. New start, no supernatural drama.
Wow, just thinking that feels like a jinx.
Regardless, Stiles is determined to get them back to the normal life they had before werewolves, kanimas, and douchebags named Theo.
In fact, he already has a list - to which his father groaned when he informed him of this, however he couldn't help but chuckle at his son's straightforward optimism when he actually saw the list - and he plans on sticking to it.
He couldn't help but feel that it was already working as he unpacked the last of the boxes into his room. Less than twenty-four hours out of Beacon Hills and he already felt lighter, as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For once, sitting down at the table to eat dinner with his dad is a happy affair instead of a dreaded one. They talk about sight-seeing and if Stiles is thinking about starting college this year and where they're planning on getting jobs as they eat the delicious pasta Stiles cooked for them.
For the first time in a long time, things are looking like they're actually going to work out.
*****
Yeah. No.
Three days.
That's how long they last in this blissful peace before Stiles has to go and ruin it. Three days.
In his defense, all he wanted to do was find out if the FBI knew about werewolves using the hacking skills he'd slowly perfected after realizing that he wasn't always going to be able to rely on Derek's fucking beautiful abs to get Danny to do things for them. One hour later, one thing had led to another and he was neck-deep in SHIELD files being completely astounded that, while they knew the supernatural existed, they had virtually nothing except myths and legends, none of which were true. So you'll have to forgive him for being a little to flabbergasted to notice when the black-clad figure started to ease his window open.
He did notice before they got all the way through the window, though.
"Who are you?" He asks when he looks up to see a blonde-haired guy stiffen halfway through crawling through his window and face-plant.
"Stiles," his dad calls from the other room, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, Dad." He calls back, not really wanting him to barge in right now. He looks back to the guy, who now has a gun trained on him, and says, "Are you okay?"
"Some random dude crawls through your window after you hack into SHIELD and points a gun at you and that's all you have to ask?" he says incredulously, but honestly, Stiles is just surprised at the fact that someone so clumsy and covered in Band-Aids is allowed to have a gun.
"First off," Stiles starts, unable to help himself, "you did not crawl through my window, you fell - which sounded like it hurt, by the way. Second, I already asked you what your name was, but you were a little preoccupied falling through my window to answer. And third, if some random dude covered in Band-Aids got the crap scared out of him by a teenager fell through your window, wouldn't you want to make sure he's okay? I mean, come on, manners are a thing, even for SHIELD agents."
"What the fuck?"
"Dude, you're the one that fell through my window." Stiles points out, closing down his browser. "Which reminds me, my dad is home right now and we just got here after a lot of drama, so do you think we could do this tomorrow or something? I'll even like meet you somewhere if you want, but, right now is a really bad time for me."
"You want me to...what the fuck?" The blonde repeats again.
"Well, I'm going to have someone watching me for a while anyways, so I'll promise to stay away from my computer and then tomorrow, when my dad goes out to meet with some old cop friends, I'll tell him I'm going to go check out Central Park, and then we can do your thing." It does dawn on Stiles that he's probably trying to negotiate his kidnapping with a spy right about now, but he's really too far into this to chicken out here. Besides, he really does not want his Dad to know that he went looking for trouble after only three days. "I'll make you some coffee if you're the one doing the surveillance."
The coffee is what sells him.
That's how Stiles ends up walking into an interrogation cell at eleven a.m. with Spy Dude (who he's ninety-nine percent sure is actually Hawkeye), Starbucks drinks in hand the next day - yes, walking, as he somehow managed to convince Spy Dude not to knock him out (although he did put a blindfold on him until he got into the building, for Spy Dude reasons).
To his surprise, there isn't a man in a suit sitting at a table ready to interrogate him...well, there is, but there's also several very familiar faces that are all arguing amongst themselves.
Yeah, uh, the avengers are in his interrogation room.
"Stark, this is a serious security concern." A very intimidating man in a trench coat with an eyepatch says.
"No, this is the funniest thing I've seen all week." Tony Stark, who's sitting in a chair opposite the one meant for him says to the man in a very relaxed manner. He even has his feet up on the table.
"Tony." Captain America warns from where he's standing next to a man with brown hair that I'm pretty sure is Bruce Banner.
“Capsicle.” Tony says back in what is clearly a challenge as Stiles and Spy Dude enter – he’s not going to stop calling him that just because it’s been confirmed that he’s a superhero/assassin. Everyone looks up as Stiles drops into the chair across from Iron Man and puts his Starbucks cup on the metal table in front of him easily.
“This is him?” He doesn’t ask it in a condescending manner, more like he’s looking for confirmation.
“Yep.” Stiles says before Spy Dude can talk. There’s a lot of tension in the room and he’s barely managing to not break down and fangirl so hard that he can’t help but talk. “That’d be me.”
“How’d you do it?” He asks with the same hunger for knowledge that he often sees in Lydia’s eyes.
“It wasn’t that hard really,” He blushes a little, “I was just looking for some information and really, if I can get into-“
“Not that.” Tony has taken his feet off the table to analyze Stiles in full. “I can hack into SHIELD in my sleep. How did you manage to convince Barton not to take you in?”
“Oh.” He blushes ever harder. “I asked.” The whole room blanches, which makes him feel like he has to explain himself. “Well,” he starts, rubbing at the back of his neck, “my dad was home and we kinda just got over some serious drama and our relationship is sorta already on the rocks, you know, so I didn’t really want him to freak out because I got kidnapped for hacking into a sort-of-secret agency when we only just got here and all, because that would definitely make him mad at me and you have not known guilt until you have seen my dad look at you with his patented Disappointed Dad look and sat through one of his speeches on responsibility and not looking for trouble and…I’m rambling. Sorry. Anyways, I told him and asked if we could do it today as long as I stayed away from the computer since I was going to be under surveillance anyways and it’d really just be easier for everyone and then I offered to make him coffee.”
The whole room sits there in shocked silence apart from Eye Patch Guy who is glaring at Spy Guy, the Dude in the Suit who looks mildly amused, and Spy Dude himself who is blushing furiously.
“Do you want a job?” Tony asks after a long silence.
“What?”
“A job.” Tony repeats. “At Stark Industries. Do you want one?”
“Stark, this kid just hacked-“ Dude in the Suit starts but is cut off.
“Exactly.” Tony smacks the table with his hand for punctuation. “He’s just a kid and yet he managed to hack into SHIELD, which tells me that he’s got talent, and quite honestly, this is the funniest shit I’ve seen in a while, so hell yes, I’m offering him a job. Do have his file? I’d like to see his file.”
He snatches the file from the Dude in the Suit and immediately opens it and starts flicking through the papers. Everything is there from his medicine prescription the to report he did for Coach Finstock on the history of the male circumcision – which, of course, Tony picks up first.
“What did you write this for?”
He looks down at his hands and purses his lips before saying, “Economics.”
Stark barks out a laugh and mutters something under his breath that sounds like ‘masterpiece’ and continues to sift through papers and Dude in the Suit steps forward.
“How did you hack into SHIELD?” Stiles walks a pretty girl with brown hair through it as instructed, having to pause halfway in the middle of his breakdown to answer Tony’s question on ‘what the hell is a ‘stiles’?’ that he’s really way too used to and then his following question on ‘why the hell would any parent name their kid this?’ to which he gives his usual answer.
“What were you looking for?” Eyepatch Dude asks and he stiffens. He knows they’ll know if he lies, but he also knows that he can’t give Scott and the Pack away no matter how done he is.
“Werewolves.” He says, faking a calm exterior. It’s clear that he doesn’t buy it, but it makes him feel better. “I figured if anyone would know it’d be locked down tight, so I started with the FBI, then CIA, then an hour of tunnel vision later I’m knee deep in files you stole from Wikipedia.”
Tony lets out a barking laugh at that.
“Do I look like someone who’s going to buy that?”
He shrugs. “Well, you’re wearing a trench coat in July, so…you never know.”
A few more laughs.
It’s about then that Stiles decides to address the second suit guy who’s behind him that – Dude in the Suit 2, if you will – he's been watching slowly inch towards him in the reflection of his iced green tea. “Bro, if you even think about attacking me with whatever is in your hand, I will happily turn that black eye into a set.”
The figure stiffens a lot like Spy Dude did as every set of eyebrows in the room go up.
“I like him.” Tony announces. “So, how about it, kid? You want a job?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. "Why not?"
*****
John takes the news of Stiles getting a job at Stark Industries well, but then, that's because Stiles lies about how he got the job.
Stiles feels guilty, but he already had his nervous breakdown after he got home from being thoroughly interrogated in between Tony's seemingly aimless and increasing hilarious comments and questions, so he lets himself get caught up in his father's enthusiasm towards his son getting his dream job.
Needless to say, after Stiles actually wrapped his head around everything that had happened to him the day before, the nerves were going full steam ahead as he made his way into Stark Industries where a very intense man greeted him.
"Happy Hogan, nice to meet you." He offers his hand to Stiles to shake and he does. "First things first, we need to get you a ID. If you'll step this way we'll get your picture taken and fill out your NDA."
"Um, Happy," Stiles shifts slightly, "Does my first name have to go on the ID?"
"Yes." He nods. "It's company policy, why?"
"Well, it's just that my legal name is a Polish disaster that even I have trouble pronouncing and I just think it's be easier on everyone if I went by Stiles."
"It can't be that b-" Stiles scribbles down his full name down where the form asks for it and slides it over to him.
Happy pauses and does a very good goldfish impression as he opens and closes his mouth repeatedly before saying, "Maybe we can make an exception just this once."
Thank God.
Once he's signed the papers and gotten his ID, Happy leads him to the elevators where they meet Pepper Potts.
This time, Stiles definitely has a major internal freak out, because he's in an elevator with Pepper Potts.
"You must be Stiles." She offers her hand. "Tony hasn't stopped talking about you."
"Yes." He nods as he shakes her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Potts."
"Please, call me Pepper." She smiles and Stiles suddenly remember why he fell in love with Lydia in the first place. There's just something about a scarily intelligent strawberry-blonde that Stiles can't help but admire, and Pepper is no exception. "Now, not many people last long around Tony, so if you need a break, don't hesitate to ask."
"I'm sure I'll be fine." He smiles as the elevator opens, and Pepper privately hopes that he does because there's just something about him that she admires. "Well then, follow me.”
Tony's lab is Stiles' wet dream come to life. There are wires and parts everywhere, and huge glass interfaces, a holoboard and two robots.
"Oh, holy hell."
"You like?" Tony asks, and judging from the dark circle under his eyes, Stiles guesses that he hasn't gotten any sleep since he's last seen him.
"I like." He confirms.
"Can you make things, or are you just a computer guy?"
"I'm okay with my hands." He shrugs.
"Then go. Make something."
"Just like that?" Stiles asks, the same giddiness building up in his chest as when his Dad used to let him eat all the ice cream he wanted on his birthdays when he was little.
“I want to see what you can do."
They talk as they tinker with things.
Tony works on a physical prototype for some kind of non-lethal gun and Stiles adjusts a few the ideas on his holoboard to make them useful.
"So why did you really hack into SHIELD?" Tony asks after a while.
“I was looking for information on werewolves." He shrugs.
“Stiles, I've checked your search history. You've found ten-times more information on werewolves than SHIELD has and that's just the top of the list, so come on."
"I wanted to see that SHIELD knew about werewolves." Stiles says after a long silence where they both continue tinkering. "I am both relieved and horrified and the lack of information."
"So...are you-"
"No." Stiles shakes his head. "God no. But I have some friends that are, and I'd really appreciate if you kept that to yourself.”
"Your secret's safe with me.”
Being around Tony should have turned Stiles into a blubbering mess, after all, he's sitting across from his idol trading 'my best friend did something stupid' stories as they work on the most cutting edge tech known to man.
Instead, Stiles is more relaxed than he has been in a while. He finds the eccentric billionaire's presence to be almost grounding, in a way, and it's pretty clear that he feels the same, because neither of them even notice the passage of time at all, unlike Pepper, who stops in at seven p.m. to call them up to eat Chinese with her before she sends Stiles home for the day.
They promise to be there in just a moment, but they never even make it out of the lab.
"How are they even still alive?" Steve asks three days later as he stands in the doorway of the lab watching the two brunettes work in mild horror.
"I don't know." Natasha says, holding a large bowl of popcorn in her lap. "I've been here for an hour an from what I gather, the kid is trying to make the Bob Hoskins gun out of Roger Rabbit and Tony is insisting that the kid can't code bullets. I think Stark is losing."
Stiles and Tony can hear them, but while their words are registering, they're too deep to even care.
"Dear God, there's two of them." Steve mutters.
"There's no way!" Tony exclaims.
"Fucking watch me!" Stiles shouts back, not at all angry, more like gleeful.
"Jarvis, when was the last time they slept?" Pepper asks worriedly.
"Mr. Start took has accidentally fallen asleep twice in the last thirty-nine hours." The AI's toneless voice informs them. "Stiles has not slept since he arrived and I had to cut off his coffee intake two hours ago. They don't seem to notice the passage of time."
"Jesus Christ."
"Did Jarvis just use his first name?"
"Tony, it's time for Stiles to get so-"
"Oh my god!" Tony shouts. "You just! Did you just? He just! Pepper, we're keeping him!"
"Dude," Stiles shouts back. "I'm so staying!"
For a moment they almost jump up and down like children, but instead he turns back to the hologram and Tony runs to get a prototype started.
"Oh, for the love of-"
"Stiles, you have an incoming call." Jarvis says before Pepper can step in and demand that they stop to sleep.
"Tell my dad I'm fine please." He says dismissively, not even looking up from the holoboard.
"It's Scott McCall." Ice runs through his veins and all the blood drains out of his already pale face. Several people shift like they think they might have to catch him when he passes out, but he doesn't. Instead he steels himself and says, "Decline his calls please. I think I need to take a nap."
"Of course, sir." |
You watched glumly as the desks emptied out one by one. Stacey was always one of the last to go. She gave a cheery farewell as she grabbed her bubblegum pink purse and headed out the door. You waved at her and swallowed down your fear. Those still at their desks took her departure as a cue. They left soon after.
The office was eerie without the sound of keyboards and hushed chatter, the odd giggle or buzz of a phone. You sensed the change behind you and swiveled back to the face the ominous doorway. He was there. It was as if he knew. You were all alone know. No buffer, no witnesses.
“You almost caught up, darling?” He crossed his arms.
“I… Yeah.” You answered weakly. You knew he didn’t care about your work.
“Good,” He stood straight and stepped outside his office. “Why don’t you come here and we can go over your… work?”
You nodded and pushed yourself to your feet. Your legs felt like jello. You could still feel his hand on your thigh, on your pussy. It never quite went away but it wasn’t like Steve or Bucky. It was a touch that left you worn out and repulsed. You stepped around your desk and he turned his palm out.
“Ah,” He pointed to the floor. “Crawl to me, darling.”
Your heart dropped and you looked down at your feet. You unsteadily lowered yourself to your knees and pulled your skirt from under your knees. You bent forward and planted your hands on the floor. You took a deep breath and lifted your head. He watched you with his usual boastful smirk.
What were you doing? You cringed as you started across the floor. You were on all floors like a baby; an animal. And for what? Because you were stupid enough to fuck your professor. You imagined how he’d laughed if he found out you were also messing with your best friend’s father. Oh, he’d surely get a kick out of that.
As you neared him, he hummed in approval. He stepped around you and bent to slap your ass. “Go on,” He urged.
You crawled into his office and he followed. As you stopped inside, he closed the door with his foot. You were shocked as he tugged your skirt up and exposed your ass. You sat back as you tried to hide your bare flesh. He laughed and rounded you. He squatted and looked you in the eye as you sat back on your heels.
“I want you to tell me what you did that day.” He said.
“What do you–”
“After the bookshop. I know you fucked him.” He reached out and touched your cheek before he stood. “Stay like that and tell me how.”
“I-I can’t–” You stuttered.
“Start with where.” He sat in his chair and it squeaked as he leaned back.
“Uh, we went to my apartment and–” You looked down as your eyes burned. “I don’t know.”
“Sure you do. Tell me.” His zipper softly descended in as he spoke. “Were you on top?”
“I– It was against my desk. I was sitting on it,” You said quietly. “I had my legs around him as he…entered me and I hugged him to me. It was fast. Hard.”
“Mmhmm,” He purred. “And… did you cum?”
“Yes.” You answered softly.
“Were you loud?” He asked.
“Yes.”
“And that was the only time that night?”
“No. About an hour later, we fucked on the bed.” You confessed.
“How?” He groaned.
“From behind. He likes it like that.” You sucked in your breath as your head swam. “Please…”
“Come here.” He said. “Stay down there.”
You dropped back onto your hands and crawled around his desk. He was stroking himself as you approached. You stopped and stared up at him. You tried not to see his hand moving up and down at the bottom of your vision.
“Get undressed.” He ordered.
You shivered and pushed your blazer back on your shoulders. You tossed it aside and pulled your blouse over your head. Then you unzipped your skirt and kicked off your wedged shoes. Your hands were clumsy as you unhooked your bra and you couldn’t look at anything but the floor.
“I can’t blame him,” He said. “You’ve got that innocent school girl thing going on. But you’re not so innocent, are you?”
“No,” You forced out.
“I want you to use your mouth, my dear.” He rasped.
You sniffed and nodded as you gathered your wits. You lifted your head and got up on your knees. You neared him as he spread his legs and you touched his thighs. His cock was pale and long. Not as thick as Steve or Bucky but nothing close to small. He withdrew his hand and you replaced it with yours.
“I said your mouth,” He warned. “Hands…” He grabbed your hands and put them palm down on his thighs. “Down.”
You pressed your hands down to assure him of your obedience. He grabbed his dick and angled it towards your mouth. You parted your lips and slipped them over his tip. He moaned as you pushed your tongue along his flesh. You took as much as you could and more. You struggled not to gag as you forced him down your throat.
“You are gifted indeed,” He snarled. “Fuck.”
His hands held your head as he began to guide you up and down. The sloppy sounds of your sucking bounced off the walls and filled your ears. He shuddered as he urged you faster. You choked and he pulled you off him all at once.
“Closer.” He grabbed your shoulder and rolled his chair forward. He took your hands and pushed them to your tits. “Like that.”
You held your tits together and he pushed his cock between them. His tip poked out above your cleavage as he slid to the edge of his chair. He rocked the chair as he fucked your tits and your stomach churned.
“Lick it.” He ordered.
As his tip came up, you bent your head and stuck out your tongue to flick across it. He inhaled sharply and continued on, each time you did so, he delighted in it. He gave you no warning before he came. His cum shot up across your face as he gripped your shoulders. It dripped down your nose and lips and along your chin. When he finished, he released you and sat back on his chair.
“Whew,” He breathed as he looked at you. “Clean yourself up, darling.”
You stood and reached for the box of kleenex on his desk. He caught your wrist and pulled you back. “No, not like that. Like you did at lunch.”
You scowled as he let you go. You slowly wiped his cum away from your nose and lips and shoved it in your mouth. You almost wretched as you licked up the salty, sticky mess. Then you scooped up that along your chin and forced yourself to swallow. He watched and his own tongue poked out between his teeth.
“My dear, you do impress me,” He said. “Go on. Get dressed. Go home.” He made no move to put his cock away, instead carelessly playing with it as it grew flaccid. “Rest up for tomorrow.”
💋
Tuesday and Wednesday ended much the same. You hid at your desk until the office emptied out and then Loki called you to his office. He stood in his doorway until you crossed to him; the usual taunting words. And you left with the taste of his cum in your mouth and the stickiness across your chest. The stain had seeped into your soul.
Thursday was different. Something had changed. Something was amiss. You saw Loki twice; at the morning meeting and again after lunch as he stormed out of his office. He strode out with his briefcase in one hand and his phone to his ear. His voice was angry as he passed you. You caught only a snippet of his ire as his eyes flicked briefly to meet your curious gaze.
“No, no. I’m leaving work now– Thor. This is the last time.” He sighed as he swept past and you watched him go.
For the rest of the day, you were as distracted by absence you had been his presence. There were titters around the office of what had riled him so. It was well known the editor had a rocky relationship with his brother, Thor. Their father was a CEO in London and had raised two sons with ambitions as great as his own; though it was barely a secret that he preferred one over the other.
As the hour rolled around, you hesitated to pack up. Surely if he meant to return, he would’ve by now. You shut down your computer and slid your notebook into your bag. Your phone vibrated on your desk before you could grab it and you flipped it over. A message from a private number.
‘Zelda’s, 7pm. Wear a dress. No panties.’
It wasn’t hard to guess its source. Your stomach sank and you touched your hot neck. He wanted to meet you outside work. Whatever had kept him so long, certainly couldn’t have improved his mood either. You typed up your confirmation and your phone buzzed again. Another text from Steve. You dropped it in your bag and rolled your chair against your desk.
You stared at your closet for an hour before you found the strength to change. After a Google search, you felt entirely unprepared for the upscale bar. More so for the man who waited for you there. You chose the black dress you’d bought for a night out with Kylie. Tight but not revealing. It was the only piece you had that wasn’t too girlish for the venue.
Your uber was quick. You cursed the unusual expediency of New York traffic. You stepped out and stared up at the tall tinted windows of Zelda’s. You suspected a single cocktail would be worth at least a couple hours’ work. You fixed your purse on your shoulder and entered.
You spotted Loki along the bar. His green eyes were quick to find you. The din stifled the ringing in your ears as you crossed to him. He patted the stool next to his and waited for you to climb up.
“Hmm,” His fingers walked along your knee. “You haven’t anything shorter?”
You shook your head as he gestured to the bartender. He pushed his glass across the bar and glanced at you. “She’ll have a class of blanc,” He said coolly, “Top shelf.”
Your drinks appeared quickly and you frowned as he slid the wine glass over to you. “I’m still underage.” You whispered.
“I suspect that’s not stopped you before, darling,” He smirked. “Trust me, the wine is much preferable than any of that swill you chug at those frat house keggers.”
You took the glass and sipped. He watched, his green eyes swirled with menace. His jaw ticked, a remnant of his anger lingered in his posture.
“I did regret having to leave so early today but… I would not let such an inconvenience ruin my plans.” He rested his hand on your knee, just below your skirt. “Our plans.”
You nearly choked and made to set down your glass. He pressed his palm to the bottom of the stem and stopped you. You froze and blinked at him as he shoved your skirt up just an inch.
“I suggest you finish that,” He said. “And another might be in order. My dear, you look ready to faint.”
You inhaled sharply and drained the glass. This time he let you set it on the bar and he motioned for a refill. The bartender was just as diligent. Loki’s hand slipped but only to drag yours up to your knee. He squeezed your hand beneath his and leaned in.
“It’s your turn.” He breathed. “I had my fun in that little bistro.” He pushed your hand down between your legs and your skirt rode up higher. “We’re not leaving until you cum.”
“I can’t–”
“Don’t make a fuss and no one will even know,” He purred as he leaned in. “People come here to drink. To forget. Not to worry about others.”
You sat straight, stunned. Your hand shook between your legs as he drew away. He leaned one arm on the bar and took a drink of the dark liquor on ice. The clink sent a shiver down your spine and you braced yourself as you slowly moved your fingers along your thigh. As he requested, rather ordered, you’d left your panties at home.
You brushed along your cunt and stopped. Your eyes widened and he tilted his head as he stared at your lap, your skirt bunched around your wrist. He took your wine glass and offered it. You took it with your free hand and gulped until it was half gone. He replaced it on the bar and nodded.
“Mr. Laufeyson…” You pleaded.
“Sir,” He corrected.
“Please… sir.”
“The sooner you start, the sooner you… finish.” He said. “You’re already wet, aren’t you?”
You winced. He knew that your core started burning the moment he’d touched you. That even though you didn’t want it, he riled you. That though you resisted, your body surrendered.
You took another deep breath and pushed your fingers between your folds. You circled your clit until that familiar tickle began to mount. You bit your lip and pressed firmly against your bud. Your hand moved without thought. Every flick, every swirl was instinctual.
Your mind hazed as the voices and strangers around you formed a fog. The man who sat before you changed to. For a second, a single second, his hair lightened to gold and his eyes flowed blue like the sea. And then he darkened, a thick brown beard and square jaw.
But as you came, your vision cleared and it was Loki again. Victorious. Boastful. Your body twitched as you sucked in your lip and swallowed back the moan. You lowered your head and your hand slipped down your leg. He snickered.
He reached for your hand and lifted it so that your fingers glistened in the low light of the bar. He brought them to his lips and sucked on them. You whimpered and he set your hand down in your lap.
“Finish your wine, darling,” He purred. “Our night has just begun.” |
Like the previous year, I arrived at the villa on a late sunny afternoon, but this time I wasn’t exhausted, at least not physically.
I’d made sure to sleep during the entire journey with the help of a pill, and when I set foot outside Linate airport, my emotions were kept in check by the after-effects of the Xanax. Elio wouldn’t be there – that I was certain of – but I wasn’t yet sure whether his absence would be a relief or a torture.
Anchise was at the Arrivals gate waiting for me and we shook hands with the familiarity of old friends. He was not a talker, so he switched the car radio on and I was subjected to a stream of Euro-pop hits which plunged me back to the previous summer.
I stared outside the window, absorbing the view without really paying any attention, feeling the sweat trickle between my shoulder-blades and down my armpits.
One year ago, I had been travelling from Sicily on a packed, stuffy train and I’d been looking forward to a shower and clean sheets. Now, I couldn’t care less.
I would be sleeping in what had been Elio’s bed, sitting at his desk, looking out his window. His presence, like the ghost of summers past, would be everywhere.
And I had done this to myself, so I couldn’t even pretend to blame the fickle hand of destiny.
“Oliver, Tesoro,” intoned Annella and Samuel in unison; she’d had her hair cut into a wavy bob and looked ten years younger, while he was just the same, from his piercing eyes down to his old-fashioned shoes.
They hugged me and we had a brief chat before they let me go upstairs to wash and rest before dinner.
“Anchise can bring your suitcase, but you know where you are going,” Annella said, winking. I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat.
“I can manage,” I added, patting Anchise on the back. The truth was that I couldn’t face to have company while I crossed that threshold.
Everything was painfully familiar and completely different at the same time.
On the stairs, instead of Marzia, I met Mafalda, who greeted me with her customary maternal gruffness. I wanted to hug her too, but didn’t want to embarrass her.
I stopped on the same spot in which Elio has stood that morning after our first time, as we’d negotiated his revulsion for what we’d done, for me.
He’d thought I hadn’t realised that he’d hated me; we’d never talked about it, not even later, when the intimacy between us had overcome shame and distaste.
But I had known it the moment he’d glanced at me after he’d awakened and felt the ache and the stench of possession. I’d smiled at him and he’d grimaced; he didn’t hold my gaze and couldn’t stand my touch.
On that pearly dawn, with the birds already chirping outside the window, I had died a little.
I couldn’t resist: I tried to open the door to his room. It was locked.
Elio had wanted to make sure that the new usurper wouldn’t trespass: it made me sad but relieved too. Temptation would have been too hard to resist.
Inside the spare room, every trace of Elio had disappeared: the desk was empty and so were the old armoire and the bedside table. The sheets were pale blue and smelled of lavender.
I tried the connecting door: it was bolted on the other side. I set my suitcase on the chair by the bed and my duffel bag on top of it. I opened the window and remembered the slim figure of the boy I loved as he’d gazed into the void, no longer a virgin.
It was then that I made a resolution: I would not tell anyone, not even Vimini, that I had parted company with Lucy. Elio had moved on and I didn’t want to be hassled or flirted with. I would lead a blameless life: sun-bathing, exercise, friends, dinner drudgery, my book, Pro’s paperwork, bike rides and good food. By August, I’d have figured out what I wanted to do and, most of all, who I wanted to be.
When Mafalda rang the bell, I put on my espadrilles and was ready to face the world.
“Where are the others?” I asked, having expected the usual mixed crowd of friends and distant cousins.
The table was in its usual place, under the linden tree.
“Just us, tesoro,” replied Annella, “We thought you might need a bit of peace and quiet on your first evening.”
I tried not to stare at the empty place where Elio would have sat, had he been here.
“Look at you,” she grasped my chin between her thumb and index finger, “You lost weight. Is that girl not feeding you?”
“You forget that our Oliver is a chef,” Samuel joked.
“He can’t cut the top off a soft-boiled egg,” she remonstrated.
Truly, it was like being back home; not my real home, but the one where I belonged.
I laughed and thanked Mafalda, who was serving me a generous portion of grilled fish.
“I have been very busy,” I replied, “But I’m sure you’ll fatten me up in no time.”
They smiled at me with fondness.
The rosatello was as lethal as I recalled: after three glasses and a lively conversation that included Italian and American politics, the philosophical themes in The Name of the Rose and the poetry of Ezra Pound, I was ready for bed.
I kissed Annella on both cheeks, hugged Samuel and climbed up the stairs.
As I drifted off, I reflected that they had not mentioned their son even in passing.
A week went by and I was starting to relax.
Chiara and her family were holidaying at her aunt’s villa in Bordighera, but I met Marzia in Crema. I was queuing up to buy gelato, when I felt a tap on the shoulder.
We hugged and embarked on a stilted conversation about the weather and her studies.
“Come and sit with me on that bench outside the bar tabaccheria,” she proposed and I agreed.
After we’d eaten our ice-creams, I offered her a cigarette.
“I heard that you’re getting married,” she said. She spoke in heavily accented English mixed with occasional Italian words.
“Not just yet, but I got engaged,” I replied, puffing on my Gauloise and looking up at the church steeple.
“Elio cried for days after he found out.” She examined me with her serious brown eyes. “He didn’t say a word, he just sobbed like a baby.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. My arms tingled with the desire to hold my boy and comfort him. Too late; I was too late. “I’m glad he found someone.”
“Are you?”
I was afraid my voice might betray me, so I pretended to ponder her question.
“We rushed into our affair,” I replied, after a while, “It was intense because we knew it had to end. And by the way, I regret that you had to suffer because of it.”
“Is that what it was, an affair?”
She sounded vaguely disgusted and that made me angry.
“It doesn’t mean that I didn’t have feelings for him,” I argued.
“It’s none of my business, but you didn’t treat him very well. He told me about the phone call.”
That had been terribly insensitive of me and I could hardly bear to be reminded of it.
“I could have phrased it better,” I conceded.
“You asked him if he minded that you were getting engaged to a woman he’d never heard about.”
“Yeah,” I scratched the back of my head and wished I could turn back the clock.
“Patrice is very nice,” she said, defensively, “He adores Elio. Maybe he needed someone his own age.”
“You are probably right.”
I wanted to ask and didn’t want to know; wanted to be a million miles away and nowhere else but here: these warring feelings were making me queasy.
She sighed and touched my hand, in a gesture of forgiveness.
“I know it must have been difficult and now he has Patrice.”
She told me about him: a French boy whose parents were recently divorced. His mother had moved to Italy while his father was still in France. He was a budding painter and could appear snobbish, but Marzia was convinced that he was only insecure. They’d met when Patrice had been transferred to Elio’s class and Elio had taken him under his wing. They’d had their Esame di Maturità that year so they’d studied together.
“Elio nearly drove me crazy singing Notte Prima Degli Esami every time we spoke on the phone,” she giggled.
“I’m sure he did well.”
“You know him; he’s already thinking about University.”
“Is he still coming to the States?”
She seemed to suddenly realise something.
“You are staying with his family; didn’t they tell you?”
I explained the situation and she gasped, bringing her hand to her lips.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“We needed closure,” I lied, “And there could be none until I knew that Elio was happy. Thanks for telling me.”
We chatted some more then she said goodbye and walked away.
Vimini had been taken to Rome for an emergency treatment and would not return for another week.
My days elapsed as slow and sweet as treacle.
Everything was going well until it wasn’t.
I was emerging from Samuel’s study, where I’d been searching for a reference book, when I heard Pro’s voice. He was arguing with someone on the phone.
“Calm down and tell me what happened. What? Did you get hurt? That’s unacceptable. I don’t care about their family dramas; I may sympathise and commiserate, but that’s as far as I will go. You are not staying there. Yes, of course he can come too. Take the first train back and call us when you are at the station. Yes, yes, but let’s not talk about it on the phone. We love you.”
I cleared my throat and he turned towards me, a watery smile on his lips.
“What a mess,” he said.
“Did they have a fight?”
My heart was throbbing in my temples. I would need a couple of Xanax to fall asleep that night.
Samuel related what Elio had told him: Patrice’s father was still sore about the divorce and had taken to drinking heavily. While under the influence, he’d insulted his ex-wife and his son had tried to defend his mother. The discussion had escalated into a fight. Plates and other implements had been thrown and Elio had been hit by a sliver of glass which had grazed his ear. The lobe had bled profusely and he’d felt light-headed. Both father and son had calmed down and apologised, but the damage was done. The wound wasn’t serious, but Elio’s presence inside that house had come to its premature end.
“You haven’t told him about me,” I said.
He sighed.
“I want him to come home,” he replied.
“I better go find another place to stay.”
“You are not going anywhere,” he stated, staring me in the eye. “You and Elio had a very important friendship; maybe it was more than that, but that part is over. What remains is a precious bond and you should not walk away from it.”
Again, I had to fight back the tears.
“He will be very angry with you and Annella for having lied to him about the summer guest.”
“We’ll survive and so will he,” Samuel declared, “And let me tell you, my dear, that I’m not at all convinced about Patrice. I will not interfere, but I will keep a watchful eye on that boy.”
“He’s not violent, is he?”
“Moody, but Annella and I made allowances for him because of the divorce.”
I wasn’t going to be as lenient; not if Elio got hurt in the process.
“Did he need stitches?”
“No, it was only a graze, but the earlobe always bleeds a lot.”
We agreed to meet the following morning to discuss the doctrine of impermanence in relation to the Hōjōki tale. I left him and the book I had taken from his study and went for a long bike ride in the countryside.
I returned when it was night and the house was bathed in darkness.
Only a few hours and I would be face to face with Elio. |
1.
"The environment is hardly ideal, I know. I apologize. But... "
Click, clack, Dio's heels tap against the hard stone floor. Click. Clack. Click clack.
"I'm sure you'll forgive it, in time. If I had the time, I would have brought you elsewhere - to a more familiar landscape. Something more comfortable, perhaps, but... well. You'll understand soon enough."
The air itself is still and quiet, though. Poised. Waiting. As though the night itself is holding its breath.
Dio presses a long fingernail against his green-gloss lips.
He leans forward, one hand to either side of still, unmoving shoulders, and presses his lips against the forehead curve of hard, white bone. When he moves away, the surface bears the mark of his lips like a brand.
"Yes... I'm sure you'll forgive this undignified way of welcoming you."
The scent of blood is in the air. Dio leans closer.
"...JoJo."
2.
It's quiet there, the sailors had told him in their last moments. They swore it again, again, even as they steered their tiny boat away from the docks, toward the rocky, sandy shore, at his demand. His saviors. His salvation. They must have thought he was mad, clawing his way onto their tiny boat half-drowned and complaining of the noise and light so far from land. To human ears, there are few things more calming than the sea at night.
It's quiet. It's peaceful, they said. Dark. You can get away from the noise. No one will see.
That last part, at least, was true. No one saw them when they fell.
Even so, when Dio reaches the shore, lets Jonathon's ruined shoes sink into the sand, the air isn't peaceful, not at all. It is... cacophonous. He could bear, at least, the waves on the rocks, the shifting sand. But here, in the distance there is endless noise - the hum of civilization, the hum of voices and... something else. Something strange, like the grinding sounds beneath his feet in the little boat he'd sunk into the sea. Like the engine of a train, but smaller, and everywhere.
Yes, in the far distance, the noise of civilization buzzes and roars and it all echoes in his head and no, it isn't quiet. And no, it isn't dark.
Dio sheds his clothes there, on the shore - rotting silk and velvet fall, whisper-quiet, into the sand. And Dio hears that, too, even beneath the wailing of the tide. He keeps a single souvenir - a once white handkerchief marked with Jonathon's name, which he uses to tie back his unkempt, long and tangled hair.
Standing there, naked beneath the moonlight, he can hear everything. Sea birds and singing from the nearby town. He can smell the air - polluted? Filthy. Different, at least, from the air when he fell below... just like the water itself, filled with the trace scent of something wrong.
One day, it will be quiet again. He believes it because he has to, if only to stay sane. Yes, one day, he'll find the silence. But now...
"What is this world that I've awakened into?" He mutters the words beneath his breath, his voice still scratchy and rough from disuse. "Full of noise and sickening odors and..." ...the feeling that he is eternally surrounded by great, mechanical beasts, screaming in the distance.
"I wonder what you would think of it." Dio glances to a nearby boulder. Atop it sits a white skull, motionless, staring with empty eye sockets. And Dio's fingers drag across its surface, smearing the bone with blood, and dirt. They drag across the teeth there, the jaw bone, the black pits that once housed tissue and blood and brain and eyes and tongue and a million beautiful things. All gone, now, like the spirit of the man who had resided within them.
Gone... and yet, still here.
...here. Dio's fingers drag down his body, from the mangled skin of his neck to his bare chest - Jonathon's chest. Bony, for now - emaciated after God knows how long cannibalizing its original occupant's seemingly bottomless strength. If it weren't for that - for JoJo's youth and, ironically, the life-giving power of the ripple energy stored within him, Dio would never have survived his long imprisonment. Even so, time has bitten off its pound of flesh. Jonathon's muscular physique has turned to skin and bones, his massive hands to a sack of twigs. And the physical condition of a vampire is... set, in theory - the undead cannot change, will always draw back to the way they were on the day they "died." In time, when he has fed properly, when he has regained his strength, he will be as robust as Jonathon ever was.
But that could take months. A single glance in the mirror onboard the second boat had told him that much.
Still. Even now, these hands are bigger than the ones he'd had before. The bones are heavier, too, his fingers... longer, yes, but shorter proportionate to the rest of him. His body is taller, and wider, even in this condition. His center of gravity has changed, as well. And there is black hair scattered across these arms, these legs - nothing at all like the pale gold he'd been born with.
Just walking is strange - almost too conscious, as though he's just remembering how. It may well be the case. He barely remembers what moving felt like in the years before the sea.
Yes, everything is strange.
Strange and wonderful.
This alien flesh, these bones, this blood... thick fingers, dark hair, they are all... his. His prize. His victory.
"These were your hands, once, JoJo." Dio's voice is quiet, and it breaks when he says that name. And he drags his thumbs along the skulls' eye sockets, down its cheekbones, along its jaw, to the knot of bone that once connected Jonathon Joestar's head to the neck that is now Dio's. Carefully, he lifts the skull to his lips. Yes, careful. The teeth there are so hard, and the bone is so cold.
Dio kisses Jonathon's fleshless mouth with his parched lips.
Moments later, Dio's bare feet leave footprints in the sand as he heads toward town. The warm wind caresses his bare body, and he carries Jonathon's skull cradled carefully between his arm and his ribs. Soon the wind will wipe away those footsteps, and the sea will drag his rotted clothes back into its depths. Soon, there will nothing at all left to mark his passage.
He reaches town in a few minutes, and the streets are warm and hard beneath his feet. The first person to spot him stares for a moment, and then she laughs at the sight - too strange to be real - of a nude man cradling a skull. The laughter doesn't last for long. In an instant, her eyes stare, vacant, at the sky, and her face is pale and motionless. Dio licks a drop from his fingertips once his tentacles recede, and covers his eyes to blot out the glare of streetlamps.
There's nothing he can do for the noise - the footsteps, the laughing, the engines and music playing inside people's homes. The gasps and whispers when people notice him there. He hears the whispers - is that a costume, a nude swimmer? Did he forget his clothes? Are they filming a movie? ...what is he holding?
Someone asks him if he's on drugs.
Someone offers to contact help.
Someone threatens to call the police.
Dio ignores them as well as he can. He crosses the roads and walkways with his awkward gait. He ignores them so completely that he fails to register the screams of warning, or the bellowing horn, like the shrieks of an angry beast.
The massive metal contraption approaches him with a speed that defies logic. It has no horse to pull it, no apparent driver, and yet there it is. It's easy enough to step aside, but when the next such object approaches, he pushes himself from the ground and lands with a heavy thud atop the metal box. Inside, staring at him through glass, there is a man - a sack of meat and blood with a face that is rapidly turning white.
The box screeches to a halt just in time for Dio to reach through the glass with one blood-streaked hand, and grab hold of the human inside. And pull him through.
The glass cracks, and then gives, a spiderweb of shattered places spreading across the glass, which strangely does not fall apart. In his hand, the man writhes, and cries, and pisses in his pants.
Humans never change.
"What is this thing?" Dio leans close before he speaks. He can smell the blood in the air. A quick glance down tells him that this man is already dead - even if he doesn't realize it. A jagged piece of glass has lodged itself into his lower abdomen. The shock may protect him from the pain, but he'll die even so.
The man shakes his head, screams, tries to wriggle loose. Despite the glass embedded in his face, his hands... despite the danger, he's seems quite strong for a human.
...or, no, perhaps not. It's only that Dio is weak. But even at his most fragile, he is stronger than any living man.
The shattered glass around Dio's hostage creaks. Nearby, humans shout, they run. No one thinks he is a swimmer now. No one thinks this is a performance.
"What... is this thing?" Dio repeats the words, slowly, and as clearly as he can with his raw throat. "Where am I?" Or, no. A better question. "When?"
The man opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a gasp and a dribble of blood. Dio presses his lips together hard, and then leans forward. He licks the blood from the man's mouth - sweet, nourishing, even just that drop. He sets down his bony souvenir inside the ruined metal carriage - carefully, gently. Out of harm's way. And he stands atop the metal beast, listening to the screams, to the footsteps running away, carrying the sparse crowd in various directions. There are only a few - stragglers from the daytime, still going about their business even this late. Only a few.
And not one of them can run far enough, or fast enough, to escape.
The town is alive with the screams of the fleeing, but when he reaches the first bystander, the true screaming begins.
It's only a few minutes later when he pulls a newspaper from beneath the corpse of a waxy-white man. His fingers brush against the date. His eyes settle on the year, trying to understand it, and then to accept it.
1985.
...1985.
Dio stretches his arms, works the kinks from his neck and shoulders. The warmth of his prey floods him from the inside out.
This world is strange and different, now. And it's been so long, and he's missed so much.
Even so... he feels better, already.
3.
"1985."
Dio takes a seat again. The armchair is not unlike a throne - large and heavy, taking up a great deal of space. He had chosen it specifically for this occasion. One can't simply appear before a friend after so long without taking pains to make the right first impression.
"Yes, JoJo. You heard correctly. It was nearly one hundred years after our battle on that, the day I finally rose from the grave you buried me in. One hundred years of darkness and silence. One hundred years of nothing."
His voice is heavy, edged. But he takes a deep breath, stretches his arms in front of him. Pulls back his tone.
"...yet, I'm not angry. No. One hundred years is quite a while, it's true. But I, Dio, am eternal. One day, that time will be as nothing to me - a moment short as a heartbeat. One day, I'll barely remember it happened at all."
Perhaps.
...he had chosen the placement of the chair precisely, as well. From here he can watch closely - observe as flesh spills upward, crawling from the corpse to that skull in tendrils of red tissue. Watch as an empty skull and corpse join together to form a man.
"It wasn't long after that Enya found me. It was she who roused The World with the simple prick of a single arrow. One might think it was the commotion of my return, but I believe it was simply... destiny. Yes, it's true - I believe she and I were fated to meet. Without her, I could not be here."
Dio drags his fingernails down the motionless body's shoulder, down its arm. It's slimmer than his own - slimmer than Jonathon's had been. But only barely.
It will do.
"It would be difficult for me to explain The World to you. A being that is not a being. A part of me that lives outside of me... sometimes. One day, perhaps you'll have a Stand as well. Then, you would understand."
Jonathon Joestar, with a Stand. What an interesting thought. Dio chuckles.
"I wonder what it would be... and what you would do with it. Would you fight me again? Would we resume our war? I wonder."
A war, he thinks, wouldn't be so bad. He would even enjoy it.
In the end, it's better than nothing, isn't it?
4.
One of the first things he does is go home.
London has changed a great deal in the century Dio spent away. Rationally, that was only to be expected. Still, Dio can't help but find himself amazed at the myriad alterations. Macadam gave way to "asphalt." Carriages gave way to the metal carriages he now knows as "cars." The wooden signs that marked each shop became "nylon overhangs" while the stone became "neon." Theater melted into cinema. Now people play music from "records" and women who wore trousers and worked were the norm, and men painted their faces and danced to loud music from the inside of glass boxes.
There is noise everywhere, but eventually Dio learns to tolerate it, like the constant smell of chemicals and the smoke in the air.
London has changed, but the rolling hills and flat plains that are the former location of Joestar Manor have changed far less. The land remains empty but the ruins of his old home still stand, though long since overgrown. Initially, he's a bit surprised that no one has rebuilt the manor, or built atop it... but on second thought, that is no doubt attributable to Erina Pendolton - no, Erina Joestar's sentimentality. She would have inherited the land with Jonathon's death - the land, along with whatever remained of the Joestar fortune after their home and all their treasures burned away.
What happened to the titles, he wonders. To their bank vaults? To all those worldly things he coveted in his human life? All gone to her, he supposes, and then to whomever it is she left those things to, herself. A second husband, perhaps, or the children of another man.
In the end, his human ambitions had amounted to nothing. What a strange thought.
Near midnight, surrounded by wind and rattling trees, Dio sits on the ground. Around him, the hills are overgrown with grass, the trees with tangled vines. Above him a particular, familiar tree reaches upward, its leaves turning red and gold and its branches turning bare by the slow-encroaching winter.
Dio's hair is long and pale gold in the moonlight, falling over his shoulders in loose waves, or blown like strands of silk thread in the wind. He hasn't trimmed it since his return from the deep - there's something about it that he loves, or hates, too much to relinquish. It makes for a strange look, he expects, with the tailored jacket, the turtleneck he wears to cover his throat. At first, he tied it back, but now Jonathon's handkerchief stays, folded, in his pocket.
Dio taps his hand against the tree's trunk and says, "I believe this is the one."
It had been the branches of that tree that sheltered Jonathon during his youth. Dio remembers it well. He remembers that mutt of his playing near the river, and JoJo with his ridiculous pipe, playing at being mischievous. As though he knew anything at all about that. Dio remembers, too, watching him play with the girl who would become the Widow Joestar. He remembers that girl, closing her eyes as Jonathon brought her little gifts. That girl, ducking behind a tree as they played out their little mating dance.
"You were so obvious." Dio drags his fingers through the damp earth, through soil and pebbles and grass. "And that romance... so easy to break."
Except it wasn't, in the end.
The thought bristles. So Dio presses his lips together into a hard, thin line, and closes his eyes. Here, away from the city, it almost feels like he's home again - in time, as well as space. Here, he can ignore the slight wrongness of the atmosphere, the distant sound of life murmuring from afar, echoing in his inhuman ears. He can imagine that he is 20 again, and human, and--
(Yes, he's twenty, and when he opens his eyes, the manor will loom in the not-so-far distance. With his eyes closed this way, it's evening, and autumn. George Joestar is in his study, smoking, reading. JoJo is in the library, of course, bent over that mask, scribbling another note in his endless series of notes. Trying to unlock the artifact's secrets. Dio will need to study for his next exam - taking him one step closer to becoming a solicitor. And he's never taken a sea voyage. He's never seen true dark. And all of this has been a dre--)
"Jonathon!"
Dio's head jerks up at the sound of that name. And for a moment - just a moment - he is twenty again, and that girl is calling for Jonathon, and any moment now they'll appear atop the nearby hill.
But, the moment passes.
Dio stands, watching the ruins of the manor where two children - a girl and a boy - run through the flora that has made its new home there. Flowers grow in what was once the lounge. Vines twist around the ruined statue of the love goddess. Dio presses a hand to his chest, and in the distance, the girl calls that name again, Jonathon! And the boy turns to wave at her.
Jonathon.
A common enough name, in the end.
(Besides, the man Dio knew... he was never truly Jonathon, was he? No... he was only ever JoJo.)
Dio checks his watch. It's far too close to dawn, and he's found what he came for, he supposes. If he came for anything. He'd wondered about the land where he spent his youth, and what had become of it, and the ghosts of his past. Now he knows that manor still stands - as much as it did when he left it behind. Knowing that should feel like closure, but it doesn't. So, Dio stretches those long limbs, still slightly alien, and turns to leave, dragging his fingers along the tree's surface as he goes.
It's only then that he feels it - the vague edges of a tree carving, and of two names carved inside a heart. A proclamation that somehow survived when the man who wrote it, when the estate he should have inherited, and the marriage the message foreshadowed, did not. Words written a century ago.
Dio stares at the names in silence. Something black and sticky and cruel bubbles up inside his gut and out of his throat. He hasn't any word for it - that sick mix of anger and aching, longing. A feeling he's only encountered once before - the day he stepped onto the estate grounds for the first time and saw the way the nobility lived with his own eyes.
The first time he saw everything he'd been denied.
Dio digs his fingers into the bark and breaks the carving to pieces.
Hours later, he slumps in a reclining chair in the basement of a nearby home - newly devoid of living owners. Boxes stand, stacked in the far corner, and random things lie strewn across a nearby table. The basement does feature a lounge area and a small bar, but it's more a private space than one intended for company. There's an incessant dripping, too - the clipclop of water drops coming from the ceiling above. It's only water, he tells himself. As though he hadn't lived in fear of water for decades.
And Dio dislikes staying belowground - it feels suffocating and claustrophobic. Even with the dim overhead light burning, he half expects the shadows to close in, to solidify. But the sun is more dangerous to him than any shadow, more dangerous even than the shadows in his own mind, and the space is functional enough for a man in need of a refuge.
Dio pours a glass of wine and sits in the darkness, watching nothing. And he waits.
When daylight comes, he can tell easily enough by the tread of people walking nearby, and their cars, their softly bubbling conversations. Everything makes the ground shake, just a little - impossible to notice for most, but for him, it's equally impossible to ignore. Even if he is growing used to it, a bit at a time.
Dio sheds his jacket and pours a second glass.
It's on the third drink that he notices the mirror.
It stands in the corner of the room, half covered by a drop cloth. Judging from the heavy wood and intricate carvings of the round frame, it is likely to be a family heirloom. Once, he would have immediately wondered about its monetary value. But now, silhouetted by the dim light, his primary distraction is his own reflection. His own large hands and broad shoulders. His stolen beauty.
He still remembers when he first emerged, bone thin and weak. But now, months later, the body has returned almost entirely to its original state - strong and broad. Hard muscles, sharp edges.
Magnificent.
He tips his head to the side and pulls down the turtleneck, examining the as yet unhealed wound there - the raw demarcation point where his pallor meets Jonathon's warmer complexion. Something inside him recoils... but Dio only steps closer. He sets down the wine, and drags his fingers across the scar's length. His nails scratch lightly there, and there's blood on his fingertips now - just a tiny spot. He licks it away, his blood and Jonathon's intermingled, a mix both compelling and strange to his palate.
He pulls his shirt off, lets it fall to the floor, and his fingers pass over the flat plains of Jonathon's chest (his chest. JoJo's. Both. Yes.). His abdomen. Large hands caress the angles of his muscles, sharply defined as though carved from wood, or stone. Dio lets his hand move... down. Farther. Unhitching the button of his trousers, and pulling the zipper loose. Soon his feet are bare, too, flat against the basement floor. And Dio stands naked there, just as he had that first night on the shore... but the sight is quite different, now.
Jonathon had always been powerful, had been born to size and strength just as he had been born to wealth, to titles. Jonathon and his inheritances - that perfect physical specimen. That most privileged of children. That monster of a man.
"Yet, you lost, in the end," Dio says, his hand sliding over his abdomen again, and lower. He twists his fingers inside the coarse hair below - too curly, too dark to be his own.
"I remember, JoJo... I remember you at university. It took four men to slow you, then. You were an unstoppable force. Even in our battles, you were the same way. What other human could trade blows with a vampire and win?" The thought of it sends tingles down his spine, and a rush of blood follows, flooding him with desire - hot and suffocating.
Dio tips his head forward, lets the shadows engulf his face... and watches his hand (strange, disconnected) stroke his length. He shudders and gasps, as much from the sight as the feel of it. Those hands, and that body. Staring at his reflection, it's almost like seeing someone else, and yet still seeing himself. Jonathon and himself. Yes, of course, that's as it should be. They are, after all, one flesh.
The shadows are closing in. Aboveground, around him, he can hear the sounds of life, still, ever present. Nothing is ever silent, not to him. But for this moment, at least, it doesn't make a difference. And when it's over - when the pleasure breaks over him in waves, it's Jonathon's name that passes his lips.
5.
"I should apologize, JoJo."
Dio's fingers run across the surface of newly formed flesh - exposed muscle tissue, growing cartilage. He wasn't certain how long this would take, but it's taking longer than expected, even so.
But that's fine. It gives him a chance to talk.
"Yes, I should apologize. I ought not have ruined your little tribute to young love. It offended me, and so I destroyed it. I didn't stop to wonder whether such actions would offend you.
"Even I, Dio, can make such a simple mistake when my mind is muddled by emotion.
"Things are always clearer, though, once one realizes their desires and accepts them.
"And you will forgive me, of course. As is your way.
"And whatever feelings you held for that girl is irrelevant now. She is dead. Your family is dead. Everyone you knew is dead.
"Except me."
6.
It's only in the last few days of his time in London that he finds the clubs.
He wouldn't have gone to them spontaneously. The 19th century world he'd been reared in lacked for the means to create such a thing, or at least he'd lacked the opportunity to seek them out, so he never would have thought to look. No, instead, he finds them by following the thread of fate.
He feels it for the first time as he walks the streets that night, half looking for prey, half observing the rhythm of life, the behavior of the human animal in the strange new universe called the 1980s. It's vague, at first, barely noticeable. But it's enough to pique his interest. So, Dio follows that draw through the streets of London, through the men and women making their way to their homes, and the shoppers and pedestrians, boys and girls on their bicycles. It nudges, at first, and then it compels. And every step makes the compulsion stronger. He passes through the alleyways whose names he doesn't know, and into streets he knows even less, until he reaches the gates of Heaven.
A simple enough structure, from the outside - simple double doors. But even from half a block away, he can feel the pulse of life from beyond that barrier. The street vibrates with it, and Dio can feel the beating of a thousand pulses but only one calls him in.
For someone like Dio, it's simple to gain access. His presence, his beauty, they can unlock any door. Inside, he feels the eyes of those surrounding him, watching, following. And since that night in the cellar, he's learned to display himself - skin-tight leather fits JoJo's body more beautifully than suits ever did, and a choker covers the scar as effectively as a turtleneck. Here, these things fit well... or rather, they stand out in the best possible way.
The club itself is darkness lingering in the corner, and pulsating light piercing through its center. It's red and green and gold, it's blue and white, and the music is loud enough to drown out everything, even itself. The club is crowds and claustrophobia, and yet here, somehow, the light and shadow melt together and the noise is so overpowering that it becomes almost as soothing as silence and suddenly, somehow, all the madness becomes peace.
This is how Dio tolerates the environment. This, and the benefits of tolerance, too - there is so much to see and to enjoy in this place of revelry, this celebration of hedonism.
Women are scarce, but that's fine. It's the men that draw his eye, these days. It isn't a preference, exactly - it's simply redressing the balance. He's had many opportunities presented to him as a "child" of the Joestars, but there were some things a young man of standing in the 19th century did not do - some desires he did not indulge, not openly. Not under the watchful eye of a guardian, a traditionalist, capable of taking everything away with a single word.
But that was then.
Now, Dio sits in a booth in the dark and he watches the dance floor. He sips his drink - a Bloody Mary, sadly lacking actual blood. Before him, the lights flash and the music roars in all its magnificent chaos, and the people dance.
He feels like a king at court, like Caesar of Rome. He feels as though he is watching the bacchanal or the orgies of Caligula, from the distance of his shadowy throne. The people here dance for him, even if they don't know. Because he holds their lives in his hands simply by being present - by noticing they exist. Because whether they're aware or not, they're only breathing because he hasn't decided to stop them. Because if he grows tired of listening to their hearts beat, he can easily tear them out.
Because they are his, as the world itself is his. Even if he's the only one who knows.
Yet.
The thought is like crackling fire, and Dio closes his eyes, leans his head back. Listens to the heartbeat of the room - the crashing drums, the electronic noise. It's heady, and intoxicating. Distracting enough that he nearly misses that tug - the feeling that drew him in to begin with pulling at him again. Almost, but not quite.
Dio opens one eye, and then lifts his head. Yes, he feels it again - a gentle urge, but powerful as a geas. He rises from his booth and makes his way through the teeming crowd, his heels clicking in time with the beat, a glass cradled in one hand.
He knows the source the instant he sees the man. He feels it, yes, but visually it's impossible to mistake as well. Because that man, perhaps in his twenties, seems so familiar in Dio's eyes.
It's the black curls and blue-eyed gaze. That solid build, his impressive stature. The look of a Joestar. Dio knows then what that tug is - Jonathon's blood calling and responding to its own. And when Dio smiles and steps forward to introduce himself, when he allows himself to contemplate his new plans for the evening (talk. fuck. kill.), he can feel this man's blood stir, and yes that man must feel it, too.
Inside him, whatever remains of Jonathon screams. The body often fights him. But, in the end, it never wins.
And when Dio's fingers touch the other man's, his skin burns with wanting and his blood runs hot as lava.
Half an hour later, Dio pulls the button down shirt from that man's back and tosses it the floor beside his bed. Beneath, there lies the inevitable - a star birthmark just behind his shoulder blade. Unmistakable. Dio bites the man's ear lobe until he tastes copper and says, "What was your last name again?" Though he's fairly sure he's never asked for the first one.
The man says, "Wright," and hisses, and flinches. He opens one eye and glances at Jonathon's skull. "Nice prop."
Wright. Not a Joestar, then, not quite. A long lost cousin or some such? Perhaps the descendant of a daughter long ago - someone who married into another family even before George Joestar became heir. Perhaps the descendant of someone's lovechild, long ago. A tenuous link, but definitely a link. Dio can tell by the way Not-a-Joestar's blood tingles on his tongue, and the way the taste of the man makes his hunger growl and bite. And oh, he wants to drive his fingers into the man's body - wants to drain every drop.
But he wants other things, too, and anticipation is the greatest part of pleasure.
Dio kisses Not-a-Joestar's throat, tangles his fingertips in that dark hair, and in black curls between those legs. In the movies, he would press his fangs deep into this man's jugular, and he would drink. And he could, yes - it would be messy, and not as efficient as his normal method of feeding. It would be... an indulgence of sorts. And he does like to indulge.
But not now.
Or, not yet.
Now, he pushes Not-a-Joestar onto his back, and pins those thick wrists against his chest with a single hand.
"Let's play... a little game." Dio's voice is low and dark, and he drags his free hand along Not-a-Joestar's side. Slowly.
And Not-a-Joestar says, "What sort of game?" though his voice is strained and raspy. And Dio can feel his desire, his aching, and a touch of anxiety too - all of them mingled together. There is no greater aphrodisiac.
Dio says, "It'll be the best game you've ever played."
Not-a-Joestar's eyes are blue, like unpolluted oceans. Like the sky just past dusk. Like someone else's had been, once. And his hair is black as midnight and breaks in little curls like ocean waves. Dio purrs deep in his throat, and he remembers... the body he wears - himself, his lover, his prize - bare-skinned in the cellar. How he's never alone, even when no one else is there. How he feels his JoJo pulsing inside his skin. He kisses Not-a-Joestar's throat, and he remembers cutting through Jonathon's. He remembers that last gaze.
Why does it... sting?
Dio sucks air between his teeth and growls. From the nightstand, he can feel those empty eyes burrowing into him.
He says, "That that isn't a prop."
He hadn't meant to say it. He meant to finish his pleasure before taking his reward - the blood of a Joestar, robust and healing. But the words slip from his tongue, and then the atmosphere changes. Not-a-Joestar's heartbeat increases, and he tries to pull his wrists up... but of course he can't. The spell is broken now, the mood has fled. And Dio wants to dig his fingers into Not-a-Joestar's arteries, but for a moment - just a moment - he... can't.
It's only a second. But it's long enough to pull Dio's guard down, and for Not-a-Joestar to push him away.
Not-a-Joestar starts for the stairs to the main floor without hesitation. Dio sighs. Because it's always a trial with that lot. Always a battle.
In this case, there's hardly a contest. Thorny vines spring from Dio's wrists and hands, wrapping around Not-a-Joestar's ankles and arms, holding him aloft. To his captive, they must be invisible, but to Dio they glow green-gold in the darkness as they draw his screaming prey back to him. There is no pleasure to be found here, now. Only death.
And this time, he does exactly what he desires.
7.
"You were protecting him, weren't you... JoJo?"
Dio moves away from the table, and retrieves a tube of lipstick from the nightstand where the skull once sat. In the mirror, he wipes the old color away with a bright yellow handkerchief. Behind him, he can see that half-born thing twitch.
"Not literally, perhaps. I'm not suggesting that your spirit tried to take possession of me."
At least... he doesn't think he is.
"But your body fought me for ages, all the more when I faced someone of your blood. Something of you still lingered there, warring for dominance.
"I wonder what would have happened, if I'd lost."
Dio stains his lips with crimson red - the color of passion. The color of blood.
8.
Not-a-Joestar lies, cold, by the stairs, and Dio can't remember the last time he felt so alive. There's electricity buzzing in his skin, flushing his face, and his mind screams, moves like wildfire.
...no, correct that. He can remember the last time - ages ago. A century ago. When his body was whole. When he was a true vampire... and not a half-undead parasite using a human man's corpse as a host. It was like this then... wasn't it?
He steps before the mirror, examines his throat. If he is whole again, truly whole, then the scar may have faded. Even if not, his wound at least should have healed. It should.
But he stops several feet away, a stone sinking into his gut. The wound has improved, yes. It no longer looks quite so raw. Even so... it remains.
Dio moves away from the mirror, barely resisting the urge to punch through it. Moments later, he's pacing - covering the floor with long, quick strides. And he buries his hands in his hair, claws his scalp hard enough that his fingers come away damp, because he already knows he needs... more. Yes, that's what he needs. Another Joestar, another try. He suspected before, but he hadn't known, how could he know? And to think, if that boy had escaped... if he had reached the dawn-filled streets... if that had happened, Dio might never have seen the truth.
And it could have happened. It nearly happened... because of Jonathon's influence. His spirit, or something of it, still living inside that flesh.
Dio growls like a mad beast, and turns on that silent skull. Sitting there, unmoving. Mocking him.
"You aren't dead." His voice is a rumble in his throat. "You aren't dead. You live in my body - you infest my soul, you..." Resist him. Fight him every step of the way. He wants to demand that it end, that the ghost of Jonathon Joestar rescind... but the words won't pass his lips. Can't.
That... that is even more frustrating still.
Dio screams, and kicks the side of the bed, hard - it screeches and splinters even as it slides back several feet. And the impact jars the nightstand, too, sending the skull toppling toward the ground.
In one instant, Dio thinks, I hope it shatters.
But it doesn't. Instead, when Dio turns to look, he finds The World there, cradling the skull in its massive hands.
Dio stares at his stand, that force even larger than himself, hovering before him. Inside those hands, even Jonathon's bones seem small.
"I didn't call you." Dio presses his lips together into a tight line. "And yet... a Stand reacts to its user's desires, does it not? Its user's instinct." The World meets his gaze from across the dank cellar. The white bone in its hands glows near luminescent in the light of the overhead lamp, the vague glow of psychic energy. Dio steps closer, slowly... one, two. "Do I want to protect you that much, JoJo?"
His rage simmers low, but does not cool. In seconds he stands before The World, staring up.
"Or is it me at all? I wonder." He leans closer. Even in his heeled boots, he can't match his Stand's eyes evenly. "The World... my Stand. The ultimate power. ...whose are you, really? Are you mine... or his?" His voice is quieter now, dangerous... though the World shows no fear. Can a Stand feel fear?
Dio says, "Take off that mask."
It's an absurd order. He isn't even sure that is a mask. Stands are strange, unknowable - is the World sentient? Does it feel, or simply obey? He's never been certain. But in that moment, there is nothing he needs more than to know.
"Take it off."
The World moves, slowly as any human might. It pulls the crown, the mask, from its head.
And in that moment, Dio chokes. Because beneath the mask is that face - unseen for nearly a century. Framed by dark curls, staring at Dio with warm blue eyes, like summer pools. Somewhere inside Dio knows, or believes, that it must be another "mask." A new face. After all, The World's eyes were neither warm nor blue. And if a Stand exists to serve its user... couldn't its face be a service, too?
In the end, despite his rage, his frustration... isn't that exactly the face he'd wanted to find?
That's one answer. But there is another, as well. If a Stand is a manifestation of the spirit present in one's flesh... this could be Jonathon's spirit, could it not? Jonathon's soul, fighting his battles. Winning his wars. JoJo, shackled to him. Forever.
It's chilling. Dio gasps in pleasure at the thought of it.
And he knows his question remains unanswered. There may not even be an answer, at least a definitive one. Still, he mutters, "JoJo," and reaches up, drawing him (it) nearer.
Touching The World is... strange. Physically, it doesn't feel like a man, but a... force. Almost as though he is embracing pressure - a hard wind, or hard air. So hard it feels solid. And there is no heat there - no body, no blood, only energy, and will. His own will, and Jonathon's. His own energy, and Jonathon's. But then, aren't they the same thing?
And a Stand User experiences everything that their Stand does - every wound, every touch. So, when the World's lips touch his, he is both kissing and being kissed. When the World's hands stroke down his back, he feels the velvety coolness of his own skin against his hands even as he feels hands on his back. The World is strange, silent, as it always is... but Dio desires, and so it provides. Those huge hands - hands that can break through solid diamond and tear steel like tissue paper, rest on each side of Dio's face.
...he should be afraid. If there is any force stronger than Dio himself, it is his Stand. And even now, he can't guarantee that The World is uninfluenced by the spirit of his old enemy, his old friend, his brother, his other half.
He should be afraid. But staring into that face - that mask that isn't a mask - he feels only hunger. And he holds his arms out to his sides, head back, embracing The World's touch - or his own - as he would a raging storm. He accepts insistent kisses (cool and hot and overpowering and calming all at once), and those hands wrapped around his shaft. The feeling on his flesh on his palm, and his palm on his flesh - stroking, teasing. He hears his own gasps through two sets of ears, feels himself stiffening in his open hand, his own hips moving with his strokes as he comes. He feels it all, although he never moves.
And if he is this flesh, then The World is his JoJo, and if he is the spirit of the The World then this is Jonathon's flesh. And if he is both, then they are both together - two who make one, and one who makes two, a single inseparable flesh, one soul, forever.
. . .
Later, when the room is empty again, and the fire has been satiated, the heat drained away... that's when Not-a-Joestar begins to move again. Slowly, at first, as though he's waking from a long sleep.
Dio steps closer, his body still bare, his eyes burning wild.
"It seems you're back," he says, leaning closer to the animated flesh of another undead slave. It wasn't an intentional resurrection; a bit of his blood must have fallen into one of Not-a-Joestar's wounds. Certainly there had been enough scratching for that. A strange chance, if you believe in chance.
But Dio, of course, does not believe in chance. He believes in fate.
Not-a-Joestar tries to stand, and Dio mutters, "What is destiny telling me, I wonder," as he looks down at the man, watching the struggle.
And Not-a-Joestar is below him, staring up. The pallor of his cool skin is luminescent in the shade; his star mark stands in sharp contrast to the rest of him, all bare and all white. Dio drags his fingers across its surface, marring the dark patch of skin with slivers of red. And he thinks.
He thinks of Jonathon's face staring at him from below The World's mask-crown, and the blood of the Joestars. He thinks of this man - unimportant and disposable in most ways, and informative, too.
He had thought the line dead with Jonathon, but now? If one such man exists, couldn't there be others? Other Not-a-Joestars? Weak ties, but ties even so.
Others whose blood can make him whole.
Others he might find, if he seeks them well enough.
9.
"He was nothing like you... aside from his appearance."
Long, sharp nails drag down the not-quite-a-corpse's bare chest. Dio shivers inside at the feel of it - at the ridges of bone and muscle, and that skin, growing warmer... though it will never really be warm again, not the way it once was.
"You were strong... but that man was not. In the end, he joined the nameless ranks of my minions and fought for me, and died. But he served his purpose. He carried the message of fate on his back, and I received it."
10.
5:34am. Dio lies stretched across his bed, warmed by the humid air, his blankets a puddle of velvety cloth on the floor. Beside him, there is a woman, pale and still, her back the canvas for another star mark. In his hands, Dio holds Jonathon's skull.
He holds it up, and the skull's shadow falls across the woman's back.
"She looks calm, hm?" Dio clicks his tongue. "As though she is merely asleep."
But of course, she isn't.
Dio rises from the bed, and tugs a green band from Not-A-Joestar II's deathgrip. It's the latest in a series of accessories he's tried - this one a gift from a new favorite among his followers, Vanilla Ice. Vanilla claims he chose the heart to echo the appearance of The World... but Dio is not fool enough to mistake its significance in the hands of a man who watches him the way Vanilla does. A love token, perhaps, but it doesn't matter. Of late, the symbol seems to have taken root inside Dio's closest circle. That alone is reason enough to let it remain... at least for now.
He sets the skull down on his vanity, and gently pulls the band across his forehead again.
"What do you think, JoJo?" His hair falls over it, framing his face. "A pretty enough trinket, yes? And green has always suited me well." His red tipped fingers drag across the heart's surface. Every nail is a dagger - sharp and pointed at the tips.
At the edge of the vanity, Not a Joestar II's handbag sits, half open. Dio reaches inside and draws out a tube of her lipstick. He applies it with a smile.
And Dio travels to New York, where the streets are crowded and grey-black, but always alive, and always awake. The wind billows through the tunnel-like paths forged by a million high-rise buildings in the financial district, but in the East Village, there is a different kind of storm.
Near midnight, he sits in a booth at the back of the latest in a series of clubs. At his side, Vanilla holds one of his hands, paints his nails deep purple. Dio sips his drink, and he watches the floor, the stage, the writhing bodies of men and women and those who bend and blur and erase those lines completely. The music washes over him - pulsing beats and wailing vocals, and there are a million beautiful bodies to see but no matter how long he lingers, he does not feel that pull.
In Paris, he finds another "ally," in a silver-haired Frenchman. The call of destiny again, he thinks, like the call that drew him into a church in Florida, or to Cairo the day he met Enya. Like the one that brought him to Joestar manor all those decades ago. Behind him, his army is growing... but as he pulls the choker from his throat and examines the pink gashes there, he mostly feels... frustrated.
He settles in Cairo again, when the tarot is all but complete, and the gods have come to kneel before him. The desert setting suits him in most ways. The sun is too hot and too bright, but he is far, now, from the damp breeze and the waves.
In daylight, Dio restricts his movements to windowless interior rooms. He keeps his library in the shadows. He lives inside the dark. At night, he stalks the streets of the city, sometimes alone, other times with a companion. More often than not, the companion never sees the sun rise.
Time grows long. The hours and days pass; they stretch into weeks that stretch into months. Empowered by the blood of his not-quite-relatives, Dio plays games with time - he grabs hold of it with his hands and yanks it to a stop. One second. Two. Each time he tries, he feels his metaphorical muscles stretch, and the flow of time grows more malleable in his hands.
And then, one day, Dio feels it - the sensation of being watched, like a prickle across the back of his neck. And when he stares into the mirror, he can almost see the face of Jonathon's descendants... staring back.
11.
"I had thought your line - the strongest vein of it, that descended from the Joestars I had known - was extinct."
Dio strokes his fingers across Jonathon's half-formed face. He feels every ridge, the jut of every bone. And he does not turn away.
"But in that moment I knew they persisted. They lived. And that their blood would repair my wounds - would make this body mine, entirely. I would become... the man I once was.
"No. Far more than that. The strength of a vampire lord, the power of The World...
"Truly I, Dio, would become an unparalleled being."
Could this earth wish for a stronger hand to guide its destiny? Could such a hand even exist?
...
Dio sinks, once again, into his faux-throne. His hands rest on his knees.
He'd had the simplest and most glorious of goals, then.
"Yes... unparalleled."
But at such a cost.
12.
For weeks, he feels it - their gaze on his back, in the mirror, in the dark. He feels it while he feeds and while he fucks. In the beginning, it's unnerving... that feeling of being followed. And Dio is used to being surrounded at all times, but he's never before been surrounded by a nothing that sees. After a while, he grows used to it. And he begins to play with them - a glance over his shoulder at that invisible eye. A barely visible smirk in the darkness. He lets them see his birthmark, the legacy of their progenitor. He lets them see more than that, too.
All the better to draw them in.
Not that provocation is necessary. His informants tell him that the Stand awakened inside Jonathon's flesh has caused a domino effect that is slowly creeping through his bloodline. The power is awakening in them, too. And while one would expect them to thank him for this, Dio knows better.
One of them, Jonathon's great-granddaughter, has a spirit too weak to support her own power, and so she is dying. To Dio, such a creature seems best left to go the way of the flesh. But Joestars are Joestars, and he knows they will hunt him to the grave. Or theirs.
"It seems fitting, doesn't it?" Dio stares in the mirror, hand flat against the glass. His reflection looks back at him. Behind him, the empty bone eyes of Jonathon Joestar look back, too. "You are their dead patriarch - the well from which their strength flows. And now, you are me, and their power flows from my life.
"In the end, it will be one or the other, JoJo. Your family, or me.
"Perhaps that, too, is destiny."
With the flow of time pulled taut, Dio is alone. Away from the nameless watchers, away from the noise of the street. In the timeless void, he is at peace.
He examines the wound at his throat and he thinks... Soon.
And it's hardly surprising when the Joestars defeat his minions. When they liberate Polnareff, Kakyoin. It's not surprising at all when they turn up at his doorstep. They are Joestars after all, and he's learned not to underestimate them. Their predecessor taught him that much.
If circumstances had been different - if he didn't need their blood, and if they didn't need his - he might have let them alone. It would be a gift to his JoJo, their forefather. But destiny is rarely so generous as that - this he's learned as well. And so when the walls come falling down, when he feels that unmistakable pull - blood screaming for its own, so much stronger than he's felt with the others, the offshoots - Dio goes to war.
The Joestar-allies are unimportant - as unimportant as they had been when they were his. He and his leave them bleeding and broken, spiritually, physically. If they aren't dead. There have only ever been two that posed a true threat to him. Only two that ever could.
The old man falls easily - a victim of his weak stand, and his ill-trained Ripple. As Dio drains his life away, his blood turns to flame, and the power surges inside him like a tsunami. And he wonders, is this what it's like to be God?
It really is... the greatest high.
13.
"'The Lord Gave, and the Lord Hath Taken Away.' "Yes... I believe that is the original quote. You would be surprised how well I know biblical quotes, these days."
Beneath his fingers, the near-living thing... twitches. Gasps. Dio stands.
"But if He can take what He has given, can He not also give what He takes?"
A groan comes from its lips - or what will soon be lips. Blue, lidless eyes stare at the ceiling. Dio lays a blood-red kiss on the flat of that chest. Under his lips, the skin is cool, but not cold.
"My name means God. Did you know that, JoJo?"
14.
The young one is more difficult. Even outmatched, Kujo fights like a beast. Like his great grandfather. And at times, it's like being young again, standing on that balcony, at war with his brother - himself.
Really, it's funny. Beneath Kujo's cool exterior, his long dark coat and ridiculous hat, they even look alike.
It's only in the silence that follows, when the battle has grown quiet, and Dio nurses his wounds, that he wonders... what would have happened, if he had faced Kujo without first consuming those long dead, distant relatives? What would have happened if he had entered the battle just a little more wounded than he did?
Dio's broken fingers knit themselves together, and he brushes them against his throat. There is no gash there, now. No pain. Only smooth scar tissue and well-healed skin. His body no longer fights him when he draws himself up to his full height and approaches the unconscious Kujo to deal the final blow with his one uninjured hand.
. . .
No fight. No recoil.
No Jonathon.
Dio draws his hand back and listens to the silence in his body, feels the emptiness of his flesh.
The body is his, yes. He has driven out the last remnants of its former occupant.
And now, he is truly alone.
15.
Dio's hand lays across Jonathon's throat - red, raw, still wounded. But it will heal... and much more quickly than his own wound had. He's made certain of that.
"There's another saying, too - about being careful with one's wishes.
"Many times, I've been asked why it is that I do not... let you go. But a person who would ask cannot possibly understand.
"There are many things that I care for, JoJo. Many things I... love. My dreams. My ambitions. My power. And yes... my priest."
His voice is soft, and then softer. Dio pushes back the dark curls forming around the face he hasn't seen in so long. He draws a handkerchief from his pocket. It's old, and stained with seawater, and blood. Even so, the embroidered name remains legible. He presses it to his lips, and then closes Jonathon's new hand around it.
"But you are the other side of me. And you have lived for a century inside the darkest corner of my soul... but even so. In the empty hollow of that undersea grave, or the shadows of an abandoned cellar - in the streets of New York and the ruins of the home we once shared... you have been my light."
He steps back for a moment - through a puddle of blood, over a discarded hat. He steps back and watches the final moments of birth. Jonathon's new skin is pale as the moon in the cellar light. Pale as white bone in the dark.
"I've been told you are likely in Heaven... enjoying eternity with your woman, or that dead child of yours. Frolicking in the oversaturated green of divine fields with your mutt... I suppose. I wouldn't say I believe in Heaven, by that definition. But if that is true... then you must be happy. Indeed... I know you wouldn't want to come back."
He circles the table. His heels leave blood-stained tracks on the concrete underfoot.
"But I am empty, JoJo."
Dio stops at the head of the table, his hands placed on either side of Jonathon's face. Eyes closed, barely moving, he looks peaceful. Even so, he smells of blood.
"When The World removes his mask, there is no face I know beneath it, now."
He leans down, close; his hair falls around their faces like a curtain.
"I'm sorry, my old friend. My JoJo."
Only inches away, Jonathon opens his mouth and inhales.
"I cannot let you rest in peace."
Jonathon's eyes open, and Dio kisses his first words away.
...epilogue.
Pucci hands Dio two discs and says, "I don't understand what you need with these, Dio. I doubt you intend to give his stand to someone else. It would court suicide. Why not simply kill him?"
"Of course not." It's midnight, and a soft flame crackles inside the furnace. Dio holds the discs to the light. Star Platinum stares at him from the second disc's surface. "It was a matter of practicality. I needed to preserve his flesh... at least for a time. His mind and soul were... disposable."
"Another feeding?" There's a soft reprimand in that voice, and Pucci's silvery brow is knit close. " To hold a body with no mind simply to drain its blood and fuel yourself is cruel. I hope you have a reason for it."
Dio waves a hand, a soft dismissal. "It's nothing like that. Nothing at all."
Dio sets the discs down on his nightstand, beside Jonathon's silent skull. And then he moves across the room again, toward the door, toward the library. There is a ship scene waiting for him there, still unfinished, though he's been working on it for some weeks. Pucci shadows his steps, only a foot or so behind as Dio pads his way across the velvet carpet, through the twisting halls.
It isn't so far. When he steps inside, the grand table greets him - the delicate ships, the carved wooden waves, painted with sea green and sapphire blue, oils and washes. His paints have been set aside, today, in favor of glue and tweezers. Spools of thread.
He says, "If a ship were terribly damaged, Pucci - damaged to the point where it could no longer sail - and yet you wanted to salvage it anyway... how would you go about that?"
Pucci blinks, and he lingers by the table, still standing, for a long moment before taking a seat across from Dio's. Chin resting on the back of his hand, he says, "I suppose I would find the proper materials and repair the damage."
"Indeed." Dio presses the stem of a mast into its slot atop a miniature steamship. "And wouldn't it make sense to use material as close as possible to that of the original vessel? ...to preserve its feel. To make it what it was. ...or as near to what it was as it can be."
"I... suppose that makes sense." Pucci watches Dio across the table. "What has that to do with Kujo's body?"
Dio drags his fingers across the textured waves.
"Nothing," he says. "Nothing at all."
I became the colorI became the daughter and the sonWhen the feast is overWelcome to another one.-emily wells, becomes the color
|
“Hmm,” Charles says as he lays out the papers one by one, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his lower lip where he’s cupping his chin with his other hand. “Maybe it would flow better if I swapped these two sections…”
Underneath him Erik shifts minutely, and his chest rises and falls under the papers where Charles is using his broad chest for a desk. The way Charles has tied his elbows out wide and his wrists together at the top forms a diamond-shape between them, spreading his chest wider to give Charles more workspace. Behind Charles Erik’s legs are bound at the ankles, his calves lashed to his thighs to keep them bent and give Charles a backrest to lean against.
It’s impossible not to clench just a little around Erik’s cock where it’s fully sheathed in Charles’ ass, hot and hard and pulsing with restrained arousal inside of him. It feels so good he does it again - the stretch of it is delicious, the warmth of Erik’s groin under Charles’ bum and his thighs on either side of Charles like armrests. Charles’ cock is hard, the base of it rubbing against Erik’s belly.
Erik groans and moves again, more forcefully, hips twitching upwards to try and push in deeper, and Charles takes his hand away from his papers to pinch Erik’s thigh viciously, a hard sharp vice grip of the lean flesh that has his submissive grunting at the pain, stilling again though it makes his cock twitch inside of Charles, desperate and aching.
“You are being good for me today, aren’t you?” Charles says calmly, and squeezes down again to feel the pressure on his prostate, humming with pleasure. “Go back to being a good desk for me, darling, and we’ll see if you’ve earned a reward or not when I’m done for the afternoon.”
Erik thinks something decidedly uncomplimentary about Charles, loudly enough that it’s most definitely intended to be overheard, and Charles pinches him again, adds to the line of little purple bruises dotting Erik’s thighs and buttocks, presses his thumb into one from earlier just to make Erik quiver and grit his teeth with trying not to buck.
“Good boy,” Charles says, smiling absently as he sets pen to paper - the kind of biro that needs a bit of pressure to write, so that when he presses down on the page to make his notes the tip of it drags along Erik’s skin underneath until he might as well be leaving notes on Erik, scratching at him in the way that makes Erik hot for it.
He can tell when Erik is getting frustrated by the way the headboard starts to rattle, and Charles shuts Erik’s powers down as easily as he does everything else, and with as little effort; as soon as he feels its absence Erik groans louder and relaxes, surrendering to Charles’ control.
“Finally,” Charles murmurs, and bends forward to kiss Erik on the mouth, ruts a little against him and tongues lazily at the soft line of his submissive’s lips until Erik kisses back, paper crinkling between them and ink no doubt smearing on Charles’ crisp white shirt, which he is still wearing.
“Would you like a drink, darling?” he asks when he pulls back, and Erik lets out a hiss of displeasure when Charles lifts himself up and off, Erik’s long wet cock slipping out of him until the head pops out with an obscene squelch, red and swollen from denied arousal. The tip smacks against Charles’ loose and stretched-out hole and it takes all his control to resist sitting back down on it a little, teasing them both.
“I want you to get back on my cock.” Erik is scowling, relaxation misting away the way it always does - it takes real work to make it last, with Erik so stubborn. He’s always been the kind of sub that needs fighting down, that relishes being overpowered and refuses to safeword, and Charles is happy to give that to him but it would be nice if it had lasted a little longer.
Charles flicks the head of Erik’s cock hard with his fingernail, and Erik squirms and lets out a hoarse shout, trying to twist away. “I’ll get you some water,” Charles says instead of commenting, and raises an eyebrow when Erik opens his mouth to reply.
Erik, sensibly, closes it.
By the time Charles comes back with a glass of water Erik is lying sulkily on his back, right where Charles left him, clearly obedient enough to keep still and not displace Charles’ papers. It earns him a smile, and Charles climbs back onto the bed beside Erik’s hips, swinging a leg over his waist and reaching back with his free hand to line them up and slide back down onto Erik’s stiff and leaking erection. He’s thick, deliciously so - Charles has never seen a nicer cock, and he’s seen quite a few - and even loose as he is Charles feels the burn as he pushes himself back down, his ass pressed open by the penetrating organ until he’s fully seated again.
Erik’s eyes flutter, his throat tautening as he swallows, and Charles lifts the glass to his mouth, taking a deep draught before leaning back over Erik and feeding it to him from his mouth, letting the liquid trickle onto Erik’s lips until he opens up for the rest of it.
“More?” Charles asks.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, please,” Erik chokes out, and Charles lets him have another mouthful, licks up what little spills from the corners of Erik’s lips with the tip of his tongue.
When the glass is empty Charles leans over Erik to put it down on the nightstand, resting a hand on Erik’s shoulder as he bends. “Now I really do have to get this work done, but when I’m done I’m going to ride you, and you’re going to stay hard until I want you, aren’t you?”
“Make me,” Erik says, meeting Charles’ eyes without even a hint of submission, and Charles says, “Alright.”
He ducks his head and bites down on Erik’s throat, and underneath him Erik’s whole body stiffens, including his cock, which jerks and spurts a little pre-come, hot and wet, into Charles’ hole. “There,” Charles says, satisfied, and goes back to his grant application.
Eventually Erik accepts that it’s going to be a while, and relaxes again underneath him, settling down. Charles pets him absently as he works, stroking his hand along Erik’s side, the swell of his ribcage and his slender waist, and down along his hipbone, scratching gently at the skin with his fingernails. He clenches and releases around the cock impaling him in cycles, and eventually it’s not quite enough - Charles starts rocking just a little, back and forth, then in tiny circles, rubbing the rim of his hole against Erik.
“Please.” Even Erik looks surprised he’s said it when Charles glances up to meet those grey-green eyes, though he tries to school his expression to disinterest.
“I suppose you have been very good today,” Charles says, tilting his head to one side considering, and gathers together his papers, securing them with a large clip so they won’t fly away. Erik shifts, and gets another pinch, settles again.
“Don’t thrust,” Charles says, and pushes up in one long slick slide until Erik almost slips out of him, then drops back down onto his cock, the sudden friction making both of them groan aloud. He does it again, adjusts his angle, and the third time he catches his prostate dead on. It’s like being electrocuted, and Charles starts methodically hammering at himself, thighs burning from the rise and fall until he has to brace his hands on Erik’s ink-smeared chest, rubbing at Erik’s nipples until they swell and pucker up tight.
Erik is groaning almost continuously underneath him, but he has no leverage to thrust with his legs tied up in the air and he has to lay there while Charles rides him, hips twitching uselessly and pinioned, more dildo than participant. Charles shares the thought with him and Erik snarls, coils the impressive muscle of his torso tight enough to manage a shove upward that makes Charles shout.
He slaps Erik across the face and keeps going while his submissive’s cheek reddens, and the cock inside him rubs up all along his passage, the fat blunt head of it smacking consistently against the little pleasure gland up in there. His own erection is smacking up and down with the motion, slapping Erik’s navel as Charles bounces on Erik’s cock and works himself up - his orgasm is building in his belly, prostate-driven orgasm so much deeper than he ever achieves by touching his penis.
Charles has a lot to be grateful to his sister for, when she found him a submissive with such a bloody wonderful cock.
When he comes he tips his head back and shakes his way through it, spurting come all over Erik’s chest and belly and clenching down tight enough that Erik cries out and comes too, deep inside of him, filling Charles’ hole with his semen, thick ropes of it smearing inside his ass and trickling down to the place where they join.
Erik is gasping underneath him, closed eyelids trembling with aftershocks, hips twitching upward as though to fill Charles with yet more seed, and he hisses when Charles leans forward instead of pulling off to cup Erik’s face between his palms and kiss him, deep and filthy, kisses Charles back like a starving man.
“See what nice things happen when you behave?” Charles says between kisses, then yells in outrage when Erik bites him. |
Over the next few months, Ann felt as if she had gained the ability to walk on air. Is this how falling in love felt for everyone? She had no idea and what’s more, she didn't care either. All she knew was that she had never felt so happy and at peace with herself and the hardest thing she had to deal with each day was stopping herself from smiling so much.
All the other ladies in the office had noticed the change in her, and of course, no one pestered her for the reason behind it other than Margy.
“Ooh, that man of yours must be something special if you can look that happy. He doesn't have a brother does he?” She chuckled, her eyes twinkling.
“No, but there is a sister.” Ann told her, trying to sound as casual as she could, and consciously not using any pro nouns that might reveal the truth.
She wasn’t sure why she hadn't just come out and told her work colleagues and Margy the truth about herself and who she was dating. As strong as she now felt and even though she felt so much more comfortable in her own skin, it was still hard to change the habits of a lifetime in such a short time. Her long held insecurities wouldn't be banished all together, no matter how happy she was and she had to deal with that.
But as usually what happens, a few weeks later, Margy informed her of the upcoming annual dinner.
“It’s always such a great night and the perfect opportunity to show off that man of yours. Oooh, I can hardly wait!” Margy said, bouncing up and down like an excited child.
She could say she was going out of town that night, or say that she’d go and then pull out at the last minute, but, deep down, Ann knew that this was going to be the night that she would finally tell the truth. At the end of the day, all she wanted was to walk into the dinner with Anne by her side, hands firmly clasped together, their love for each other forming an invisible shield against any would be naysayers and disapproving looks.
But first, she had to tell Anne.
A week before the dinner, after they’d had dinner together at Ann’s apartment and were curled up under a blanket together watching a movie, Ann decided it was either now or never to broach the subject.
“Babe, can I ask you something?” She said, as she lay with her head in Anne’s lap.
“Of course, my love, anything, you know that.” Anne said, tracing a finger tip softly around the side of her face.
“There's a dinner at the library, well, not actually at the library, it's at one of the big motels, but well, I was wondering…….” She started.
Anne shifted and sat her up so that they were facing each other. “Sweet heart, I would be honoured to take you to the dinner. I’d love nothing more than to do that.” Her eyes were shiny with happiness and she leaned in and put a soft kiss on Ann’s lips.
Ann sighed and smiled when they pulled apart. She had no idea why she had been so nervous about asking her girlfriend to go with her, she knew all along she would agree.
“Um, there’s just one thing you should know, though.” Ann said, biting her bottom lip.
Anne raised an elegant dark brow in anticipation.
“They don't actually know that I’m gay, or that i have a girlfriend. In fact, I sort of led them , my supervisor especially, to believe that I had a boyfriend. Called Jack.” Ann bowed her head. Now hearing the words it sounded so stupid and childish to have said that in the first place. But back when she and Anne had started seeing each other, her confidence levels hadn't been what they were now and she wasn't ready to share something that personal with the most indiscreet person in the office.
She waited for Anne’s response, not sure how she would react to her foolishness.
The laughter was a total surprise.
Ann’s head came up and her eyes wide as she watched her girlfriend’s gorgeous face shine with amusement as she reached out and took her in her arms.
“Jack! Ha ha ha, I love it! I always thought of myself as more of a Fred, but Jack is great. Oh baby, it will be fine, I’m sure. Hey, if your sister can be happy for us, then I’m willing to guess that your work friends will be too. So, what are we going to wear?”
Ann felt her breath hitch a little as the cab pulled up to the front of the hotel where the dinner was being held. She was trying very hard to not look as nervous as she felt, and Anne’s soothing words and strong grip on their laced fingers did help.
The days after asking Anne to go with her had been spent looking for the perfect dress. By the day before the dinner, Ann felt as if she had tried on a thousand different choices but none of them felt just right.
Just as she began to think that it was all hopeless and she would have to settle for something in her wardrobe, she found a small boutique and after searching the racks for only a matter of minutes, she pulled out a deep blue creation that was caught up on one side. It was very plain, but there was something about the way the material felt in her hand as she let the cloth slip over her palm that willed her to try it on.
“That dress was made for you my dear.” The sales assistant said to her, and looking in the mirror, she had to agree. The material had a weight to it and it seemed to pour over her body and flow down to her mid calves. For the first time all week, Ann smiled, and without even looking at the price tag turned to the sales lady and said, “I’ll take it.”
She wanted to keep the dress a secret from Anne right up until she arrived at her apartment to pick her up. All she had told her in their last conversation together was that she hoped she would like it. She hadn't even intended to tell her what colour it was, but after some sweet cajoling, Anne managed to learn it was a deep blue.
When she had walked through the door, Ann standing before her, hair and make up done, heels donned, the look on her face had said how she felt straight away.
“So, what……” Where the only two words Ann was able to get out before she was pulled into her girlfriend’s arms and her mouth was on hers in a kiss that left her moaning softly and weak kneed.
“I take it you approve?” Ann said, breathlessly, when she was finally able to. She was smiling so hard her face was beginning to hurt.
“Let’s put it this way, the only place that dress will look better, is on the floor beside your bed later tonight, and I don't know how much longer I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself if we keep standing here. Come on, I need to show those work friends of yours how devastatingly gorgeous you truly are. Not, that your work clothes don't turn me on either.” Anne kissed her once more before they headed out the door.
Ann spent the half hour cab ride telling Anne to keep her hands to herself and stop threatening to mess up her makeup. Anne, of course, was trying her best not to listen. Ann had to admit that every time her girlfriend leaned into the side of her neck and placed soft warm kisses on the skin just below her ear, she couldn't suppress the delicious little shudder of delight it gave her.
“God help me, you smell so damn good. Do we really have to go to this thing? Can’t we just turn the cab back around and go back to your place?” Anne breathed as she continued to brush the tip of her tongue over the little rapid pulse beating just under the surface. Ann heard the small soft moan escape her lips and immediately felt the blush of embarrassment colour her face. Her eyes flicked towards the cab driver but he seemed to be concentrating more on the traffic. Thank god!
“Good lord, if you moan like that again, you can forget about your work dinner.” Anne’s voice was getting huskier and all but vibrated with need.
“Shhh! Then you need to behave yourself until after it's over. I'm sure we won't have to stay very long. Just eat, stay long enough to appear social and then leave. Im predicting it will be more boring then an insurance seminar.”
Anne kissed her before giving a small laugh. “I’ll have you know that i;ve been to some very lively insurance seminars and had a jolly good time at them. Remind me to take you to one.” She gave a cheeky wink at Ann and she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from her.
All too soon, they pulled up out the front of the hotel where the dinner was being held and suddenly, Ann felt nervous.
“Baby, you’ll be fine. It will all be fine. I’ll be right by your side the whole night. I’m sure your work friends will be more than accepting, and if they aren’t, well, I get to whisk you back to your place and ravage you until you forget who they are.” Anne said, taking her face in her hands and kissing her gently.
Just being in this woman’s presence was enough to give her the strength she needed for this final hurdle, but the sincerity and love that shone from Anne’s eyes banished anymore lingering last minute nerves.
They alighted from the cab and after a deep breath and lacing their fingers together tightly, they mounted the steps and entered the foyer and the steady stream of guests. Ann felt her girlfriend stiffen beside her.
“Maybe I should have worn something else?” She muttered under her breath as she looked around at the flashes of colour that filled the space from the variety of fashions that were being worn.
Ann turned to face her and looked at Anne. She had pulled her long mane of dark hair back into a thick ponytail that was caught at the base of her neck, where it met the crisp white colour of her soft silk blouse that Ann had noticed, seeming to move fluidly with her. The deep maroon jacket accentuated Anne’s broad shoulders and cut in to overlap the waistband of her black pants that hugged her hips and thighs in the best way possible, before the cuffs brushed the tops of her black heeled boots.
“You look perfect, my love, and I’m sorry that I haven't said it before now.” Ann smiled into her eyes and gave their joined hands a squeeze.
“Oh damn, It took me an hour to put on this bloody eye liner and I’m not sure it’s waterproof. God, I love you so much.”
Before Ann had time to remember where they were, Anne had leaned in and kissed her gently on her slightly parted lips.
Then, reality came back with a rush and Ann gave a small gasp and looked around the crowded foyer. Not one person was looking in their direction, let alone staring or making comments.
They joined the stream into the huge ball room that was brightly lit with a series of massive chandeliers. Music was coming from a band that was playing background music to the steady rumble of dozens of conversations. The round tables, each with their own small versions of the ceiling lights, encircled the dance floor. A smiling lady in a uniform bearing the hotel’s name asked for their names and directed them to the appropriate table.
As fate would have it, as Ann scanned the ornate numbered stands for their assigned table, she saw her boss Margy with her back to them, speaking animatedly as usual surrounded by a group of about four other people she recognised from the library.
As much as she had summoned her courage to reveal the truth about Anne, she hoped that she could ease into the whole conversation, so she could make sure she could choose her words carefully. She also had her fingers crossed that Margy wasn't sitting at their table, but as the neared the right table, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Ann’s stomach. There, along with most of the other people standing around Margy, was her name in cursive script on a place card.
Next to Ann.
Anne must have felt her unrest because she leaned in close to her ear. “Let me guess, the woman with the audience is Margy, right?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I was hoping that we weren’t on her table so I could get a chance to speak to her without anyone around.” Ann said, biting her bottom lip and giving her supervisor’s back a worried stare.
“It’ll be fine. Baby, do you trust me?” Anne said softly, before putting a quick kiss on her cheek.
“Of course, why?” Ann looked at her questioningly.
Suddenly, Anne began to walk with purpose around to where Margy, who still hadn't taken a breath, was holding court with the others. Ann felt her eyes widen as she saw with slight horror, her girlfriend coming up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder.
“I'm so sorry to interrupt what looked like a very interesting conversation, but I had to introduce myself.”
Ann felt as if she were watching some reality TV show. Her eyes moved to the faces of the other guests and she was fairly sure she saw hints of relief in all their eyes. But then, Margy turned to face Anne who was looking at her with wide eyed enthusiasm.
“Oh I……” She started, but Anne cut her off once more. She stuck out a hand and a brilliant smile spread across her face. Oh good lord, what was she doing?!!!!!
“I had to meet you right away, I feel I know you so well from everything Ann has told me about you. I’m Anne Lister, Ann’s girlfriend.” She beamed.
Perhaps for the first time in her life, Margy looked completely speechless. The other guests all turned towards Ann who in that moment had never felt so conflicted in her whole life. She had never been one for being the centre of attention and now all eyes were on her but at the same time, she wasn't sure if she wanted to hug Anne for breaking the ice or grab the nearest napkin and gag her with it.
“O-o-oh, I-- um- but your’e- you’re a woman.” Margy stuttered, at a complete loss but Anne kept going.
“ Yes! Well spotted! I couldn't wait to meet Ann’s boss, and tell her how lucky she must feel to have such a totally gorgeous and smart woman working for her. I mean, just look at her, I’m sure you can see why I love her so much. Isn't that right, babe?”
Ann had to physically stop herself from letting her feet turn and race from the room but she somehow held her ground and managed a weak smile.
“How long have you two been together?” One of the other women asked.
“It’s been a few months now but I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet her. I’ve never been so happy. I mean can you blame me, isn't she just wonderfully perfect?”
Then to add to the horror, Ann watched as Anne ignored Margy’s steadily rising hand coming up to shake hers and draped a casual arm around her shoulders.
Oh god, she was going to be fired first thing Monday morning for sure, Ann thought as she tried with all she had not to completely go to pieces.
“So, so your- your with Ann? I thought she said something about…….” Margy began as she now looked totally confused at Ann on the other side of the table.
“Oh she's such a kidder, isn't she? I bet she told you my name was Jack. Ha ha, no, I'm more of a Fred actually but she only calls me that when we’re on our own, if you know what I mean.” Anne gave Margy’s shocked face one of her patented eyebrow raises and cheeky grins.
Ann figured she had two choices right about then: hope that there was a freak earthquake so that the ground would swallow her up or, go along with the charade and hope for the best. Seeing as there had never been so much as a slight tremor ever reported there, she chose the latter.
“Oh, Anne, stop, you know I’ve never called you Fred. I have to admit, it’s my sweetie’s sense of humour that gets me every time.” Ann said as she came around to join Anne and grab her hand.
Anne had mercifully taken her arm from Margy’s shoulders and now was wrapping both of them around her waist and then bent to put a quick kiss on her lips.
To Ann’s both shock and delight, there were no disapproving looks, no snide comments, just amused looks and Margy, who was still standing there looking as if she’d just been zapped by stray voltage.
The rest of the night went much better than Ann had ever expected it to go. The dinner was so delicious and they chatted happily with everyone, even Margy, who once the shock wore off, peppered them with questions.
After dinner and the formal part of the evening was over, the dance floor began to fill and Anne stood up and held out her hand and Ann’s heart filled with happiness as she led her onto the dance floor and they moved and swayed to the music, lost in their own little world.
It was then that she realised that she had never felt so totally at ease and happy in her entire life. For the first time, she was where she was supposed to be and more importantly, who she was supposed to be. And, the best thing was, she had found the right person to share that with.
“I love you so much.” She said as she smiled into Anne’s face, which lit up at her words.
“I love you too, my beautiful Ann. So, do you forgive me for what I did?”
Ann laughed, “Baby, I think I could forgive you for just about anything.”Anne Pulled her tightly against her body and made a happy sounding noise. “So, let’s see if you still think that after I do this.”
Ann felt her pull away and then, going over to where Margy was sitting, still yapping to the person next to her, and grabbed her hand.
“Margy, do me the honour of a turn around the floor?” Anne said, but she didn't wait for an answer and pulled the once again stunned Margy onto the dance floor and began to move to the music.
Ann moved back to the edge of the carpeted area and muffled a giggle as she watched her girlfriend and her supervisor enthusiastically cutting through the other couples. Margy had a petrified smile on her overly made up face and looked anything but comfortable.
“Ann, you’re a lucky girl, anyone who can render that woman speechless twice in the same night deserves every happiness.”
Ann looked up and saw a tall man in a dark blue suit.
“Oh, thank you, yes, I have to admit, I feel very blessed.”
“I married that woman thirty four years ago and I don't think she's drawn breath for longer than ten minutes in all that time. She had tonsillitis for four days once, only time before now that she wasn't talking. I love my wife but sometimes I wish I knew where her volume switch was.”
Ann had no idea that Margy was even married until now. She smiled at the kind looking man and nodded. It just went to prove there was someone for everyone.
“You two look great together, by the way and I wish you all the best.” He said and put a fatherly hand on Ann’s arm before he headed back to sit at the table.
Ann felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as she walked towards Anne and Margy. Her father had died when she was nineteen and still trying to come to terms with her sexuality. She liked to think that in some small part, Margy’s husband’s sweet sentiment would have echoed him if he had still been in her life. Either way, she was deeply touched.
“Can I cut in?” She asked Margy as she stood beside them.
“Oh Ann, I don't know how you can keep up with this girl of yours. I think I need another chardonnay and a good sit down! Phew!!” Margy headed back to the table and Ann slipped happily into Anne’s waiting arms and immediately felt like she had come back home.
“Did I mention how beautiful you look tonight, my love?” She said as Ann rested her head on her shoulder.
“Yes, I think you may have said it once or twice.” Ann smiled, and closed her eyes, letting herself drift into the soft music and the moment.
“I just thought I’d mention it again. I didn't want you to think I was making a play for the ravishing Margy.”
Anne smiled as she heard Ann giggle and felt the vibration of it through her shoulder.
“Oh, I think I was safe. She’s a married woman, you know.”
Anne made an exasperated sound. “Oh I am aware I now know her husband's life story and hers. Not to mention her three kids and the grandkids. The woman is diabolical.”
“I tried to turn most of it off but there was one thing that I did listen too.” Anne stopped their gentle sway and looked her adored girlfriend in the eye.
“She said that you deserved all the happiness you could get and that she had noticed how much you'd changed since you started at the library. She said I was your sun to your rainy day and couldn't agree with her more. My poor old bruised and battered heart has been wandering this planet for a while now and I'm sure that it's finally found its home. Thank you my darling for opening that door.”
Ann felt her own heart swell as she looked into Anne’s somewhat watery eyes. She felt it right down in her soul that what she had just told her was the most heartfelt thing that had ever come out of her mouth.
“Anne Lister, I can say without any doubt that I am totally and irrevocably in love with you and I want to say thank you for showing me where that door was.”
Ann managed to catch a glimpse of a single happy tear just before Anne took her in her arms and kissed her with all the emotion she could muster. Right there on the dance floor.
And the best part was, all she cared about was how much it filled her entire being with love. |
June 26, 20xx
The club that served as Kaneshiro’s hideout in Shibuya was on high alert. To an outsider, this would have been strange. The sabotage of four of the six typical routes for the exploited students/mules was annoying, but it wasn’t a disaster. The initial concern was that it was a harbinger for some kind of attack on the hideout. But, given the nature of sabotage, it seemed more like a harmless prank, just an attempt to waste some of the gang’s time. A minor irritation.
“You don’t know?! Someone had to have seen! How were there no witnesses to someone releasing thirty raccoons into a fucking Shibuya alley?! What the fuck do I pay you for?!”
There was a sound of shattering glass and spilling liquid as a yakuza henchman had a beer bottle shattered on his head.
To Junya Kaneshiro, there were no such thing as minor irritations. The man wasn’t gifted with intelligence or physical strength; he wasn’t even wealthy to begin with. He had risen to his position in the yakuza by being more ruthless, quicker to resort to violence, and faster to ‘cut the fat’ (be it underperforming businesses, equipment, or people) than anyone else. In short, Junya Kaneshiro was prone to such irrational and deadly rages that even stronger, smarter men were scared of him.
Kaneshiro seethed, as the man who had dared to report to him was dragged away bleeding and covered in stale beer.
“Round EVERYONE up. Tell all the mules to stop coming for today, get all of our men here. This is an attack until proven otherwise!” He screamed.
“ No one fucks with Junya Kaneshiro!”
>>>
“Man, fuck Kaneshiro.” Ryuji grumbled. “How does such a small, fat asshole have such a huge Palace? We’ve been walking for like hours.”
The train had stopped partway down the track; to Makoto’s estimate, about three quarters of the way into the complex.
“Makes you really wish Mona was here…” Ryuji continued.
Ren’s lip quirked in a half-smile. “For you to say that, you must be pretty tired of walking. It’s only been fifteen minutes, by the way.”
“Well, it feels like it’s been forever.” Ryuji said, sighing. He held his shotgun over his shoulder.
Ren glanced down the long railway tunnel; it was still dark and quiet, no sign of the end. “You’ve been a bit irritable, Ryuji. Something going on?”
“Ah… ...well…” Ryuji said, frowning.
“We found out that Shujin’s track team is at risk of being taken advantage of the same way the volleyball team was.” Makoto said. “By Yamauchi-sensei.”
Ren looked at Ryuji. “And you didn’t tell me, because…?”
“Ah… y’know, man. You’ve got enough on your plate already.” Ryuji said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to just throw things at you.”
“Hey, Ryuji. You can always tell me anything. I’m not going to automatically charge in and do stuff.”
Ann, at Ren’s side, rolled her eyes. “Riiiight. That’s totally why you aren’t helping Takemi-sensei with experiments. And why you aren’t treating Shin-chan like he’s the younger brother you always wanted. And why you aren’t helping Iwai out with his son…”
Ren laughed. “Point taken. I’m probably going to go and make this my business. Maybe even go and punch another teacher.”
Makoto shook her head. “You won’t have to punch anyone. We already took care of it. I recorded a pretty incriminating conversation he was having with another teacher and we sent it anonymously to the current captain’s mother, an influential PTA member. She won’t be happy to learn that her beloved son is only on the team for her money. And, that Yamauchi plans on using him for his own benefit. Ryuji’s feeling irritable because now we can’t do anything but wait.”
Ren nodded approvingly. “Nice. Your idea?”
Ryuji nodded. “Shiho recorded it, but Makoto had the idea to send it on. I wanted to go find the asshole in Mementos, but she figured out a way to take care of the problem without us actually risking ourselves in there.”
“Glad you’re here to look out for us, Makoto.” Ren said. He looked up as Ann interrupted; she sounded just a little irritated.
“Joker.” Ann said, quietly. She raised her weapon as they rounded a curve, finally reaching the station. There were no guards in sight. The team approached cautiously.
“Fox and Mona must be causing enough trouble up top to keep them occupied.” Ren said, climbing up from the track to the platform.
Makoto nodded, getting up alongside Ren. “Hm. Or the stunt you pulled with Yamada’s gang has altered Kaneshiro’s cognition enough that he’s no longer operating his couriers. You were right. We only had one shot at using the trains. We should clear the station carefully and look for some indication of what to expect next.”
“Right.” Ann said, touching Ren’s forearm. “Joker and I will take the left.”
She moved on without another word; Ren followed, raising an eyebrow.
They started checking their half of the station. Ren looked at Ann curiously.
“...Sorry, Wildcard.” Ann said, shaking her head quickly. Like she was trying to clear it. “Sometimes, when I look at you and Makoto near each other, Carmen doesn’t have very… nice … things to say. To quiet her down, I had to get you away from Makoto. Carmen’s been getting harder to ignore.”
“I know what you mean.” Ren said, pushing a door open to a small utility closet. “At least in the real world, we can’t hear our other selves. I just get these feelings . Like when I do something Arsene approves of, it feels… good. Or right . Like when the plan with Yamada’s boys worked. It was clever subterfuge, and he liked it.”
“Mm.” Ann said in agreement. “For Carmen, it’s like when… ..”
“Ann?” He looked at her as she trailed off. To his surprise, her face was red, her eyes averted from Ren.
“...usually it has to do with you.” Ann said, quietly. Her tone of voice and blush told him exactly what about him Carmen approved of.
Ren tried not to laugh as they kept going. He turned as he heard Ryuji’s voice.
“Hey! Joker, Panther! You should come and see this!”
Ann and Ren headed to the other side of the station into what looked like a dispatch office. Makoto and Ryuji stood at the desk, looking through a logbook.
“Joker… look at the names in the book.” Makoto said. “The trains. This one’s called the ‘Iida Express’. And the ‘Takanashi Line’. They’re all named after people, and a lot of them seem to be Shujin students.”
Ren nodded, grimly. He ran his finger across the page as he read. “Makes sense. And you were right. There isn’t any real schedule to it. It just… …”
Ren froze, his hand stopping over the final column of the table. The color drained from his face.
“...Ren?” Ann asked, concerned.
“Son of a bitch !” Ren snarled. “God damn it !”
“What? What is it!?” Ryuji exclaimed.
Makoto looked at Ren, wide-eyed. He looked as angry as he had seemed when she first confronted him and Ann outside the diner and insulted his friends.
“Look. Look at the dates.” Ren said. “Beside each of the trains. They come and go at random times, but there was a sudden increase in both the number of trains as well as the number of trips on May 28th. The day we took down Madarame.”
“That’s a huge coincidence…” Ann said, slowly.
Ren shook his head. “No. Not a coincidence. Kaneshiro was probably one of Madarame’s clients. We shut down Madarame’s money laundering, so Kaneshiro targeted more students to make up for it. He needed more mules so he could break up his money and goods into small packages, to launder his money and make his profits less traceable.”
He slammed the book shut. “He’s forced more students into debt, labor, and prostitution, and it’s our fault.”
>>>
One hundred meters above Ren and company, the town surrounding the fort that housed the Bank of Kaneshiro was dead quiet. The ‘real’ Kaneshiro’s cognition had certainly changed; Shadow Kaneshiro was trying to make moves to fortify the bank in the same way that the man was trying to fortify his hideout in the real world. A steam-powered wagon drove through the town at a fast clip. The shadows guarding it had no faces so to speak, but still somehow looked nervous.
They came to a halt in front of an overturned cart, in the middle of the street.
One of the guards jerked his head at his subordinate. “Move it out of the way. And hurry.”
The guard nodded, anxiously. Moving in a low crouch, the shadow stepped forward, struggling to flip the heavy cart right side up. There was a loud - crack- as one of the iron bolts on the cart gave way, the wood breaking.
The guard looked back and forth to see if anyone had noticed the sound. He turned back to the wagon in short-lived relief.
The first guard, the one who had given the order, slumped down to the ground, bleeding from the hole in his head before vanishing into nothingness.
The guard at the broken cart drew his revolver, starting to shout a warning to the guards in the back of the wagon.
A shot through his brain stem silenced him as a black shape scampered out from under the wagon, running into cover. Morgana waved up at Yusuke, dozens of metres away from the high vantage point of a building further down the street. The cat-bandit grinned, and then pressed a button on a detonator.
The wagon exploded.
Shortly afterwards, Mona and Yusuke met up at a new vantage point overlooking the dusty town around the fort.
“This is going well.” Yusuke said, peering through the scope of his rifle at the surrounding streets before refocusing on the fort. The yard was crawling with shadows in the form of humanoid guards carrying rifles and revolvers. Other than that, there was just the single bank building they had escaped earlier in the middle of the wide open space.
“They keep sending guards out of the bank to try to look for us. I must say. This rifle is perfect for this task. Ryuji did well.”
“That ape has to be good at some thing.” Mona said, smirking.
“You are terribly hard on him…” Yusuke said. “I hope things are going as well inside as they are out here.”
“Me too. I’m worried about Ann-dono…”
Yusuke glanced sidelong at Mona. “Are you still planning to pursue her?”
“Why not?! The only thing you and Ren have on me is that you’re already human! The moment I fix that, I’ll…”
“I’m no longer interested in Ann. As a model, or romantically.” He paused, looking up from the scope. “...I’m not certain I ever really was truly interested romantically.”
“What do you mean?”
Yusuke shrugged. “Once I learned where Sayuri came from - the product of my mother's love - it occurred to me that using Ann as a model would be unlikely to result in the painting I’m trying to create. And after discussing things with Ren, I realized that a masterpiece like Sayuri is a work of a lifetime. A culmination of all of my experiences and skill. How can I expect to produce something like that when I haven’t really lived, yet?”
“Wow. Ren said all of that?”
Yusuke shook his head. “I believe he said something like, ‘Dude, do you think I expect to be able to move like Ali or punch like Manny already? No fucking way. I’ve got a hell of a lot more boxing to do’...”
The artist laughed at his own imitation of Ren. “For such a clever man, he can be terribly crass.”
Mona nodded. “See? That’s why when I become human, Ann will fall for me right away. I’m a true gentleman! I would never say things like that. I would treat her with respect, would take care of her every need, and make sure that she’s…” Mona went on with an increasingly cringeworthy description of placing Ann on a pedestal.
“If I may interrupt.” Yusuke said, quietly.
Mona blinked, his hand posed in the air dramatically. “But I was just getting to the part where I become rich and famous, and make sure Ann-dono doesn’t have to work again for the rest of her life…?”
“What do you like about Ann?”
Mona blinked. “W-well… She’s beautiful. And.. … and pretty . And…”
Yusuke looked back through the scope of his rifle. “So, Morgana, your interest in Ann is really no different than what mine was.”
“What?! No! It’s completely different! You just wanted to paint her, because she’s… pretty. And… ...beautiful.” Mona finished, awkwardly. As he started to realize Yusuke was right, he doubled down on indignation. “Well, my love for her is way different! And she’ll see it one day, too!”
“That’s not good.”
“So you are against me!”
“No.” Yusuke pointed at the fort. “That’s not good.”
The guards in the fort were pulling aside tarps that had been covering hatches on the ground around the bank. Apparently, the space around the bank was wide open for a reason.
>>>
Back in the underground, the infiltration team was discovering that while Kaneshiro’s Palace had a distinctly wild west theme, the technology wasn’t entirely 19th century. Joker paused at the beginning of a long, conspicuously empty hallway just beyond the safe room they had rested briefly at. Through his Thief’s Eye, he saw that the entire floor was lined in a red glow. Ann looked at Ren; her concern from the dispatch office hadn’t abated. Since his reaction to the logbook, he had seemingly calmed down, but was pushing the pace hard. Their rest had only been a few minutes.
“Joker? What do you see?” Ann asked. By now, they had gotten used to his unique ability to ‘see’, even if he still wasn’t completely comfortable explaining how he had come by the Thief’s Eye.
“The hall’s trapped… Some sort of pressure device; sophisticated. Technology I wouldn’t have expected here, and it’s unavoidable.” Ren said, grimly. “The entire floor’s rigged.”
Makoto frowned. “We should try to find another way around, then. There may be a vent, or a…”
Ren stepped forward, tensing to sprint. “I’ll spring it. I should be able to avoid whatever happens. Panther, Queen - just be ready to heal me. It should be safe to follow after me.”
“No.”
“Right, so-- What?” Ren looked at Ann in some surprise. His orders were meant to be followed. He looked up just in time to see Ann’s whip enter his vision as she put it around his neck, hauling him back. He just managed to get his hands between the leather and his neck.
“Urk-- Ann?! What are you doing?!”
She dragged him back to the safe room, shoving him inside as she let go of the whip. She tossed her head angrily, looking at Ryuji and Makoto. “Figure something out about the trap. I’m going to talk to Joker.”
She slammed the door shut behind them, locking it.
“Ann, what the hell are you doing? We need to get the infiltration route down today, we can’t afford to screw around--”
“We can’t afford to lose you. I can’t afford to lose you.” Ann said, approaching him. “You’re starting to act the same way as you did in Kamoshida’s Palace, Ren. You’ve been fighting hard,. That’s fine. You’ve been making us fight hard with you, that’s fine too. But you were about to run headlong into a trap, alone, without even knowing what it could have done to you.”
“Every second we waste, Kaneshiro’s could trap another student.” Ren said, stubbornly. “This is on me. I have to push us on.”
“Not everything is your responsibility, Ren.” Ann said, equally stubborn. “We all decided unanimously to go after Madarame. This is on all of us. Together. And that’s how we’re going to finish this, too. This is exactly what I told Reiko, when she was here and asking me how you were doing. You always do this! You carry everything, you put everyone’s burdens on your shoulders.”
Ren sat down on one of the chairs of the room, pushing his mask up and rubbing his face. “...Yeah. Yeah, Ann. I know. It was just a shock. We all thought we were big goddamn heroes, but we caused others to get hurt.”
Ann sighed, relaxing as she saw his barriers come down. “...I know. How do you think I feel? Thinking that because of what we did, there’s girls who… ...who’re being forced to do what I was almost forced to do. But, Ren. You have all of us, remember? You have me. You’ll get through this.”
Ren looked up, a weary smile on his face. “...I promised you, didn’t I?”
Ann nodded. She sat down on his lap, laying her head on his shoulder. “You did. And the guy I love keeps his promises.”
Ren hugged her. “...You know, you didn’t have to wrap the whip around my neck.”
Ann nuzzled his neck, a little like a cat. “Mm… Carmen thought it would be a good idea.”
“...Is Carmen also telling you it’s a good idea to do this?” Ren asked, his eyes automatically closing, his head tilting to allow Ann to continue, feeling light kisses along his skin. He felt a pleasurable chill rattle down his spine as she kissed his ear, the contact making a sound that always took him back to nights alone with her.
“Yeah. She did mention to me once that there wasn’t anything to gain from restraining myself. You , though…”
“We should go. Ryuji and Makoto are waiting.” Ren said, regretfully.
“Remember what I said? Carmen’s getting a lot harder to ignore.” Ann murmured, tugging at his collar. She flicked open the top buttons of his waistcoat, putting her teeth on his collarbone.
“Come on, Ann…” Ren said, smiling at her insistence.
“No. I haven’t had enough yet.” Ann said, pouting.
“I’m a giant sucker for you, but we have a job to do, Songbird.” He kissed her, carefully helping her to her feet as he stood up himself. “...Thanks.”
“Hm. Not accepted. You can thank me properly later.” Ann bent down to adjust a boot, intentionally in Ren’s line of sight. She looked up at just the right moment to catch him ogling her cleavage. Her lips quirked in a smirk.
They both looked up at an exuberant yell and the sound of an explosion outside. They exited the safe room, to see Ryuji standing on Captain Kidd’s spectral ship alongside the pirate captain. The bottle blonde had his palm against the metal beam reinforcing the length of the hallway ceiling; sparks and smoke exploded out from the multiple gatling turrets that lined the hallway, previously hidden.
Ryuji dropped down, grinning. “Woo! Worked like a charm. Thanks, Cap’n!”
“You just shorted the trap?” Ren was impressed. Doing this required not only raw power, but also incredible control over Captain Kidd’s abilities.
“Yep! Easy!” Ryuji said, grinning broadly.
“Your control over your abilities is getting pretty impressive, Ryuji.” Ren said. “It’s shocking. ”
Makoto, Ann, and Ryuji stared at Ren in varying amounts of disapproval.
Ann sighed. “I guess I should be mad at myself for choosing you…”
Ryuji broke into a huge grin. “ There’s the lame bastard I know. You know we all got your back, right?”
“Right. Thanks, Ryuji.” He looked at Ann. “I just need a reminder, from time to time.”
Ann smiled at him. “Anytime, Wildcard.” She moved forward alongside Ren.
Makoto waited a short distance before following, glancing at Ryuji. “She really knows him, doesn’t she?”
Ryuji nodded. “Yep. She’s the ‘easily provoked face puncher whisperer’. Even before they were really together.”
“Oh…”
He shrugged. “I’m his best friend. Best male friend. But she sees right through him…”
They exited the hallway into a large warehouse-like room, filled with stacks upon stacks of cash, shrink wrapped and placed on wooden pallets. They were stacked nearly to the ceiling, forming a literal maze of money. It was walls of green, interrupted only by the occasional pallet of gold bars.
“Holy…” Ryuji muttered, eyes wide. “I could get Chef Wakiya’s ramen every day for the rest of my life…”
Makoto rolled her eyes. “Seriously?! The first thing you think of is ramen . ”
“It’s only served in New York!” Ryuji said, defensively. “And the guy’s an Iron Chef. The ramen is like twenty thousand yen per bowl.”
A voice from above drew the attention of three of four of the thieves. It was a voice that brought to mind hand-rolled cigarettes and boots dragging through gravel.
“Well, well, well… Some sneak thieves in after the boss’ loot…”
A figure dressed in black stood on a balcony overlooking the warehouse area. The majority of his face was covered in shadow, with only iron grey stubble on a square chin visible. Red eyes glowed from under the brim of the black cowboy hat he wore. Strangely, the dark color of his shirt was broken up by two silver slashes, crossed on the front like bandoliers. The warehouse somehow grew more silent, except for a single voice.
“Seriously? Twenty thousand yen? How does he justify that?” Ren asked, outright ignoring the man dressed in black.
Ryuji blinked, looking at Ren. Ren looked back at him expectantly. Ryuji slowly grinned.
“Oh. Well, there’s Kobe beef, and white truffle oil…”
“Really? And they just dump that into noodle soup…”
“‘Noodle soup’? Bro, come on. It’s more than that.”
“You don’t think it’s a waste?”
“I haven’t even gotten to the part about the edible 24 karat gold leaf he puts on there…”
“Alright, here. Tell me the name of this guy again, I’m going to look this up after--”
- Bang-
A pinpoint gunshot went through the screen of Ren’s phone. Ren peered through the hole, and then looked up at the mysterious stranger.
“That phone was barely a year old, you walking stereotype! What the hell!?” Ren said, shoving the phone back in his pocket.
“That’s what you get for bein’ rude to the boss’ right hand. The name’s Loveless.”
“...Loveless? Not helping the stereotype thing.” Ren said, raising an eyebrow in mockery.
Ann started to raise her SMG - Ren shook his head slightly to stop her, his voice now taking a serious tone.
“Did anyone see him move his arm or draw his gun?” Ren asked, quietly.
Another shot rang out following a blur of motion, the bullet striking the ground just centimetres in front of Ann’s toe.
“Your leader’s sharper than he looks, sweetheart. I wouldn’t move an inch more, or there’s gonna be a non-anatomical hole in that pretty little head.”
“What do you want?” Ren said. “If you wanted us dead, you’d have done it by now.”
Loveless laughed. “Well. That ain’t any fun…”
His arm blurred again - three more shots in all, followed by metallic clinks on the floor, like loose change hitting the ground.
Ryuji watched as one of the three iron bolts rolled to a stop at his feet.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad, right, Joker? ...Joker?”
Ren’s eyes weren’t on the bolts. He looked up, watching as three of the shelves supporting the stacks of cash started to list, tilting towards the group of four. His eyes wide, he turned to his allies.
“Move! MOVE!--”
There was a deafening crash followed by silence.
>>>
A gauntleted hand burst out of a pile of cash. Makoto groaned, dragging herself out of the pile. She spotted a pink-gloved hand trying to do the same. The brunette ran over, skidding and slipping on the piles of paper and occasional gold brick, grasping Ann’s hand and hauling her out as well. The two girls were still dazed, sitting on the money and panting.
“...How… how did we survive that?” Ann said, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. She looked up - the majority of the ‘money maze’ still stood, with a veritable wall of collapsed shelving blocking the way backwards. And, as he heard Ren’s voice, blocking her and Makoto from their allies, too.
“Ann! Ann?! Answer me! Are you there?!” He sounded nearly frantic.
“Joker! Ren… We’re fine. Me and Makoto, we’re fine!”
A pause. A sigh of relief. “...Good. It looks like Loveless made it rain to separate us. Most of the maze is still standing. Keep your radio at hand. Me and Skull will try to find a way out from our side. You do the same.”
“Right!”
Ann looked at Makoto. Thankfully, Carmen didn’t seem to have a problem with the girl by herself; just when she got near what her Persona felt belonged to Ann. “Which way, Makoto?”
Makoto frowned. “Your guess is as good as mine. The plans only had this as an empty room with two cargo rail lines at the end.”
“So at least if we find the rails, we’ll know we’re close?” Ann asked, hopeful.
Makoto nodded.
Ann pointed. “Let’s try this way, then.”
The two Phantom Thieves moved carefully through the maze, weapons drawn. They ran into the occasional shadow, dispatching them quickly. Makoto attacked and defended simultaneously with twin tonfa, forming a barrier of whirling strikes and hard jabs. It was the perfect complement to Ann, who incinerated enemies from behind this wall of steel or else lashed through the gaps with her whip and SMG. The two girls, awkwardly silent through most of the exploration, developed a genuine respect for each other.
Ann rounded a corner, coming to a halt. Instead of more pallets of cash, there were human-sized wax statues in glass boxes. They were all young, the vast majority of them female. And they were all dressed provocatively. Makoto moved past Ann, reading the information posted on each container.
“...Akane Hayashi. Sourced from Takabe Academy. Fumiyo Sato. Takabe Academy… ...Ann. These are former volleyball team members. The ones who disappeared after being ‘transferred’ to Takabe, the school that was an empty lot.” Makoto said, looking ill. “Kaneshiro… Kaneshiro was involved, somehow. They sent the girls who wouldn’t be silent to him .”
“Makoto…” Ann mumbled. She raised a hand, pointing at the final two dolls.
Makoto joined her. The first was Sae; the second, Makoto herself. Thankfully, both still fully dressed. Both labelled as ‘incoming new product’.
Makoto clenched her jaw. “We’re going to end this.”
Ann nodded, touching Makoto’s shoulder. “We will. We will…”
They continued on.
>>>
“So…” Ryuji started, as he and Captain Kidd gestured, making Ren’s gun spark with electricity.
“So?” Ren asked, sighting down Vengeance before squeezing the trigger, the hypercharged round firing out with more than double the velocity as the pistol was briefly converted into a railgun. The round went through the chest of one guard before piercing through and killing the one behind.
“So what’s it like?”
“What’s what like?” Ren asked.
“Having two girls after you? Well. Technically, Ann has you already, and it’s Makoto after you…”
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“She’s painfully bad at hiding it.” Ryuji said. “I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance when you told her that part of the plan was going to be riding on that bike with her, dude.”
“Just… don’t tease her about it.” Ren said, unable to hide his concern.
“Don’t tell me you like her, too?!”
“No.” Ren said, shaking his head. “I just know what it feels like to have your heart suddenly broken. I think this is temporary. I was kind to her when even her sister told her off, so…”
“Ah.” Ryuji said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t have blamed you, though. She was kinda cute the way she freaked out about the M2019…”
Ren laughed. “The gun otaku shows through even in your taste in women? Love your consistency.”
“No! No way! Aside from that, she’s way too bossy. And a perfectionist. And…”
“Ryuji.”
“I know, I know! I’m not teasing. But…”
“No, Ryuji. Don’t. Move.”
Ren pointed down, at the tripwire in front of the blonde. Ren knelt down, inspecting it. The monofilament led to… nothing. It was a distraction that had served its purpose.
“...shit.” Ren breathed, realizing his mistake.
Two shots rang out; two Phantom Thieves fell.
>>>
Makoto flipped one of her tonfa around so she was holding it by the long end, using the fork formed by the handle and short end to pin a Leanan Sidhe to a wall of the maze by her neck. She then stood aside as a blast of flame shot by her shoulder, incinerating the fae.
Ann muttered. “Why does every Palace have something like the Succubus, or Nekomata, or Leanan Sidhe…? Ren’s probably got a harem of scantily clad sexy Personas buried in his heart.”
Makoto flipped her tonfa the right way around as they continued walking. “It is a rather unusual ability…”
Ann nodded. “He won’t even tell me how he came by it. There’s moments where he spaces out… Usually right before we start going through a Palace. I get the feeling that has something to do with it. After that happens, he usually surprises us with some new Persona or ability.”
“...Ann?”
“Hm?” Ann asked, checking her SMG’s magazine.
“What do you like about him? Ren, I mean?”
Ann looked at Makoto, closing her eyes briefly as she tried in vain to silence Carmen. That had been getting harder and harder, lately.
“...Sorry. What was that?”
“What do you like about Ren?” Makoto repeated.
“That’s an awkward question to ask the girlfriend of the boy you have a crush on, isn’t it?” Ann answered curtly, letting Carmen get the best of her for a moment.
‘She probably knew before you knew.’ Makoto blushed as she recalled Shiho’s words, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked--”
Ann shook her head again. “No. No, sorry. That wasn’t me. Well, it was, technically. The other me. Carmen likes Ren too, I think. And she doesn’t like competition…”
“Ah…”
Ann aimed her gun down a long corridor before striding forward. “As for Ren, I could list qualities. Both good and bad. But none of those would be the reason why .”
“...I don’t understand?” Makoto said. Ann’s response didn’t make sense. ‘He’s good looking. Kind. Smart, when he wants to be…’
“Shiho told me that you talked to her.” Ann said, without looking at Makoto. “She said to go easy on you, because you’re just trying to figure things out. What I’ll tell you is what she told you. Both he and I didn’t think this was a good time for us. But thinking didn’t have a whole lot to do with it.”
Ann paused, unable to stop her little smile. “There was just gravity. There wasn’t anything to understand, or figure out. We just… are.”
“Oh…” Makoto murmured.
“I don’t understand what I mean either.” Ann said. “But like Shiho said. I can see you’re trying to figure out how you feel about him. And yourself. If you figure out that you need to confess to him like it’s a cheesy romance manga, then fine. If he rejects you, just accept it.”
“...And if he doesn’t reject me?” Makoto asked, feeling an unfamiliar sense of slighted pride at being dismissed as less than a threat.
“He’ll reject you. Probably gracefully, too.” Ann said, pausing to clear another corridor. She continued on, in a tone that was distinctly challenging, haughty. “And I told you. If he rejects you, you can just accept it. If he doesn’t reject you… ...I didn’t say anything about me having to accept that.”
Makoto’s eyes widened slightly at the sudden shift.
Ann turned back to Makoto, all friendly smiles again. “But until then, we can be friends. And after then, I hope we can be friends again. But during that time…”
Two gunshots and two yells of pain in different pitches interrupted the conversation.
Ann’s eyes widened. “Ren! Ryuji!” She dashed to a wall, trying to look through the stacks of cash on the shelf.
There was a low laugh that rang through the maze. Again, that sandpaper and smoke voice drawled through the air.
“Well now, that’s two greenhorns down. Better hurry, ladies.”
Another shot - Ren’s voice alone this time, with a bitten yell of pain.
“Ann! It’s a trap! Just find the exit and get the route secured! Kaneshiro is the priority! Leave us!”
Makoto looked up at the stacks of cash. She briefly entertained the thought of climbing, but then recalled the frightening accuracy of Loveless’ gunfire. They’d be picked off as they tried to climb. She started to summon Johanna. “Panther! We can cover ground faster on Johanna, we’ll… …”
Ann stood there, tense. Her mask was on, her head lowered slightly. Blue flame surrounded her feet. When she spoke, there was an echo - as if two voices were speaking.
“Leave you…?”
The figure of Carmen flickered in and out of existence behind Ann. The blonde looked up, her normally blue eyes glowing amber yellow. She focused on the last direction of Ren’s voice.
“Fuck. That.”
>>>
When the stun rounds lost their effect and Ren regained use of his senses, he supposed it might have been funny, if he had been watching their situation on TV. He and Ryuji were currently tied to two separate railroad tracks, each on opposite sides of the warehouse just past the exit of the maze. Loveless stood between them, gun trained on the exit.
‘Tied to tracks in a Western. If only Ann was wearing a white hat. Of course, then I’d be in one of those old-timey poofy dresses. Though, I’d do it if it meant I got to see her again.’
He yelled, cursing as he was shot once again in the leg.
“Ann! It’s a trap! Just find the exit and get the route secured! Kaneshiro is the priority! Leave us!”
Loveless laughed. “How noble. Useless, though. I’ll just hunt them down, anyway. Carrying your head to show your girl before I kill her.”
“You know, it’s usually during the taunting and monologue that the stereotypical mysterious gunman makes the critical error of underestimating the plucky heroes.” Ren said, through teeth clenched in pain.
Loveless started to laugh, and then frowned. It had been quiet since he had last addressed the girls. He trained his guns on the exit again, waiting.
“Heh. Looks like your heroes ain’t plucky enough, kid.”
There was a sudden movement of air; of oxygen rushing away to some focal point in the center of the maze. A - whoosh- , a dead silence… and then a roar of sound and heat that forced Ren and Ryuji to turn their heads, close their eyes, and hope that there would be something left of them beyond ash when it was over.
When they opened their eyes, it was a vision of Hell itself. The maze had been obliterated, the cash in flaming heaps with scattered bills drifting through the air as a fiery rain. The stacks of gold bricks formed molten rivers, flowing away from the center of the inferno.
And at the center, was Ann Takamaki. Beautiful and terrible; wreathed in fire as she was suspended just above the ground like an infernal valkyrie. Just behind her was not Carmen, but a new Persona - dressed in a leather lace-up mini dress and over-large aviator shades with heeled boots. The outfit looked like it belonged on a runway. Her hair was in twin braids, each one leashing a marionette about the neck.
If Ren had to describe her, it was as if Ann had given Carmen a makeover. The new Persona gave the boys and Loveless a playful little smile that was somehow both enticing and terrifying.
‘Oh, my. You’ve tied up something that belongs to my girl, here… I almost feel sorry for you.’
“Leave you? Don’t be an idiot, Trickster.” Ann spoke, her eyes imperious, her voice haughty. “You belong to me . You don’t get to decide on your own. Celestine! Show them what happens to people who try to take what’s mine!”
Ann gestured, turning her head slightly to the side to regard Makoto in the corner of her eye. The leather-clad Phantom Thief had barely escaped being burned along with the maze. It was clear that the message was intended for Makoto, also.
Laughing, Celestine snapped her fingers.
Loveless didn’t even have a chance to dodge. A column of flame burst out from beneath his feet, his intimidating voice now just delivering a shrill scream as his skin evaporated. His body collapsed in a smouldering heap.
The flames in the room died down as Ann stepped down from the air as if she was descending from a carriage. Celestine vanished into Ann’s mask, her eyes now back to their normal blue. She smiled at Ren in relief, moving toward him.
Two gunshots in rapid succession hit her in the legs, dropping her to the ground with a shriek of pain.
“Ann!” Ren screamed, struggling against the ropes. His eyes were wide with fear.
Loveless’ corpse started to stand. The Phantom Thieves watched in horror as the last parts of his skin and muscle burned away, revealing a bronze-gold robotic skeleton. The silver slashes on his dark shirt unfolded into two additional arms; all four held a revolver. Steam hissed from twin exhaust pipes from the ‘man’s back. His voice was now hollow hiss, now lacking the baffling and smoothing effect from flesh.
“That… fucking… hurt .” Hissed the steampunk gunslinger.
Ann started to raise her SMG one handed - a single shot blew it out of her hands.
Loveless’ laughter was mechanical, mocking. “You had your chance, girlie.” He looked at Makoto. “You. You there. That’s a revolver at your hip, ain’t it? How about a game? A quickdraw duel. I’ve got four arms… so tell you what. You got four chances. I promise I ain’t shootin’ to kill until the last one…”
“Fuck him up, Queen!” Ryuji yelled.
Ren looked on helplessly as Ann groaned, holding her wounds. Her Second Awakening had exhausted her; she couldn’t concentrate enough to use a healing spell.
‘If I had been faster when he ambushed us... like I was against Madarame! But now it’s all on Makoto…’
Makoto faced down Loveless, the grotesque steam-powered robot grinding and clicking with the occasional hiss. Makoto’s hand hovered over the handle of the M2019 Detective Special. She stared down Loveless, sweat beading on her forehead. ‘They’re counting on me. All three of them!’
“Draw whenever you want, girlie…” Loveless said, menacingly.
Makoto’s hand twitched.
A single shot rang out, followed by the brunette’s cry of pain as she stumbled, holding her left leg.
“That’s one.” Loveless said, one of his four revolvers smoking. “Come on. At least get that fancy lookin’ gun out of the holster.”
Makoto appeared to stumble, pitching forward. She caught herself, rising and drawing suddenly in a feint, pulling her gun. Two shots rang out. Makoto’s M2019 fired into the ground, the draw upward interrupted by Loveless’ pinpoint shot into Makoto’s left arm.
“That’s two! Haha…. Don’t worry. I’ll even tell you. Next one goes for your right leg, girlie. No sense in shootin’ your gun arm.”
Ann looked on. She shook off Celestine’s feeling of disdain for her perceived rival. ‘...Just… listen to me. We need to help her. If we don’t, all of us… all of us, and Ren…’
‘...Fine, honey. I’ve got one more in me.’
Ann felt the fiery power build in her.
A third shot. Makoto cried out again, clutching her right leg.
A blast of flame shot by Makoto, narrowly missing Loveless.
Laughing, Loveless casually aimed at Ann, firing - she grimaced as the bullet grazed her shoulder. “Bad girl. Where were you aiming, anyway?”
“Rakshasa!” Loveless turned to face Ren, standing with the demonic Persona behind him. The flames engulfing the leader of the Phantom Thieves died down as the Rakshasa’s flame resistance kicked in. Only the ropes binding the leader of the Phantom Thieves burned away; the boy himself was at most lightly toasted.
“Arsene!” Ren called. Once again, it came together for him. Need and focus combined to turn his desire for vengeance into a tool to be used.
The black avian armguards appeared once again; Ren blurred toward Loveless as Arsene’s spectral wings exploded from the back of Ren’s coat. His right arm lanced forward in a straight, aimed at the steam-powered gunman’s metal heart.
One shot rang out; there was a sound of shattering metal. A black blade stuck into the floor, one end simply a jagged edge where the revolver had detached it from Ren’s armguard. Loveless caught Ren by the throat with his death-rattle metallic laugh before throwing him aside onto the floor. He shot him several more times in the torso. Ren groaned; he was alive, at least.
“Slow! Too slow! I could see you from a mile away! I even shot your blade off...” Loveless trailed off, on seeing Ren’s smile.
Both blades were missing from Ren’s arms. One was broken off. The other was simply gone .
Loveless down - a needle-thin black flechette had been jammed into him. Slowly, a creeping rust-corrosion spread from it. With a curse, Loveless yanked it out, halting the spread. But, the damage had been done. His reaction time was slowed; his joints caked with rust. He turned, seeing the injured Queen draw her Detective Special.
As the bullet blew a hole into his chest, the final words of the gunman wheezed out with a last hiss of steam.
“You… ...cheated…”
Ren struggled to a seated position. With his typical smirk, he shrugged. “What did you expect from a bunch of sneak thieves?”
He started to stand as Loveless expired, only to collapse back.
Ann tried to stand as well, unsuccessfully.
Makoto summoned Johanna, frantically casting healing spells. She then stared in shock as Ren started laughing.
“You… ...You lit me on fire again.” Ren said, chuckling.
Makoto’s eyes snapped to Ann.
Ann started giggling as the healing spells took effect, making it less painful to laugh. “Oh my God… I totally did.”
“It was really painful.”
“For like a second. It was a little fire.”
“My entire body was on fire.”
“I mean, little compared to the one I made just before that.”
They each staggered to their feet. Snickering in manic relief, they fell into each other’s arms. Ann’s giggles gradually turned into quiet sobs as she cried into his chest. “I… I don’t know what happened to me, Ren. I just thought I was going to lose you, and then… And then everything changed. I don’t know why Carmen became Celestine. I barely even remember what I said…”
‘You belong to me.’ Ren recalled. The words were spoken with otherworldly force and conviction, but at the root of it, it was still Ann’s voice. He smiled.
“Ssh.” Ren murmured, stroking her hair, kissing the crown of her head. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, Songbird.”
He looked up at Makoto. “Hell of a shot, Queen. Right through the heart.”
Makoto slowly processed the scene before her - the entire sequence of events made no sense. Ann had hit Ren with a powerful, incredibly fast fire spell to burn away his ropes in an instant. And somehow, he had known what she was going to do. Enough to anticipate it, allowing the flame to burn away just the ropes, and then making the next moves of summoning a fire resistant Persona followed by Arsene.
It nearly hurt, to watch them. Makoto had a crush.
What she was seeing was something different. More than a high school romance. It was an understanding, deep and abiding.
She watched Ren breathe in the scent of Ann’s hair, murmuring something that made the girl giggle instead of cry. Makoto sighed, turning away.
“...Yeah. Right through the heart.” The brunette said, sighing.
The three of them headed for the door at the end of the warehouse.
“Uh, guys?”
They turned back.
Ryuji wiggled, still tied to the tracks.
“Little help?”
>>>
The team secured the infiltration route, finding both the treasure vault and a shortcut to the surface that opened into an abandoned building outside the fort. They reconvened with Yusuke and Morgana, exchanging updates. Yusuke and Morgana learned of the grim nature of the trains and the Phantom Thieves’ role in increasing Kaneshiro’s predations. They also learned of the cash, the gold, and worst of all, the ‘dolls’.
Yusuke and Morgana updated the team regarding the situation in the fort itself - the hatches had opened, revealing railroad tracks that simply ended in the yard, seemingly leading off somewhere underground. After the hatches had opened up, all activity in and around the fort had ceased, the shadows simply standing there as if they were inanimate. They didn’t even respond to a test shot by the sniper team that had taken one of their number down.
It was so unsettling that the two hadn’t pressed the attack, concerned that it was a lead up to a trap.
“We should get out of here for now.” Ren said. “We’ve got the infiltration route. We just need to make and deliver the calling card.”
Makoto nodded. “Agreed. Based on what Fox and Mona have said, we need to prepare for a difficult battle. I suspect that Kaneshiro has something special for us.”
“I’ll pay a visit to Takemi-sensei and see if she has anything she can offer.”
>>>
Shiho sat at the reception desk in Takemi’s clinic. The girl had gotten serious about aiming for a career in sports medicine, using one of Ren’s connections to secure this part time job in a medical clinic. It wasn’t quite what she expected - the clinic was tiny, and Takemi was interesting to say the least.
But, unlike many medical clinics and hospitals the back alley doctor was willing to give a job to a high school student. And as her trust in Shiho grew, the girl was able to help in the more medical side of things rather than just the administrative. She had just been taught to use the portable X-ray machine that Takemi had.
And so, when Ren and Ann staggered in, looking terrible, Shiho didn’t panic.
“Get inside. Takemi-sensei’s already there.”
Shiho went in through the door from reception.
Takemi looked up, surprised that the girl hadn’t knocked like usual, and also surprised by the look on Shiho’s face.
“Shiho! What’s happening?!”
The other door into the examination room opened; Ren and Ann staggered in. It wasn’t clear who was supporting whom; to Shiho’s surprise, Ann seemed to be in better shape. She easily pushed Ren onto the examination bed against his protests. Ann slowly sat down in the chair beside him, wincing at the sensation in her thighs as she did so.
Ren’s breathing was shallow and pained.
Takemi looked at Shiho. “Help me get him undressed.”
Even Ann didn’t protest this time. As they peeled off his shirt, all Shiho’s eyes widened; Ann seemed grim but unsurprised.
Takemi gently prodded Ren’s ribs and back. His skin was mottled with deep bruises. She frowned; the last time she had seen something like this was treating people who had been shot by the police with rubber bullets last year during the Halloween riots.
“How exactly did this happen, Ren?” She asked.
“Ouch.” Ren winced as she found a particularly tender spot. “ASOBIBA. Guy with illegal mods to his rifle.”
In truth, the moment they left the Metaverse he, Ann, and Makoto had felt aftereffects from their encounter with Loveless. Ren had been shot the most of the three and was in the worst shape. Makoto went to a separate clinic to be checked out, assisted by Ryuji.
Takemi gave Ren a flat stare. “Really. And Ann was playing with you.”
Ren gave his best salacious smile. “Why are you surprised about us playing together—ow!”
Takemi smiled, her deceptively strong fingers briefly digging into his rib. “You won’t distract me by being crass, my little guinea pig. You don’t have to tell me, but you’ll owe me.”
She looked at Shiho. “Take him to the back. Let’s get a chest x-ray. I don’t feel any broken ribs, but we should make sure.”
Shiho nodded, helping Ren up and to the back room with the x-ray machine.
Takemi turned to Ann. “And you? You were limping pretty badly.”
Ann nodded, sliding over to the exam table. Fortunately, her shorts were high enough to show the problem.
Takemi looked at the bruises forming - exactly the same kind Ren had. She gently poked and prodded Ann’s thighs. The blonde girl flushed slightly. Takemi sighed.
“Nothing broken. Just really bad contusions again. You two need to be more careful.”
Ann squeaked as Takemi’s slender fingers brushed the hem of her shorts. “Y-yes! We will!”
Takemi looked up with a wry smile at Ann’s voice, her hands still on Ann’s leg. She laughed. “I can see why my little guinea pig thinks you’re so cute, Ann.”
Just then, the back door opened; Shiho and Ren stood there.
“Sensei, the x-ray should be up on the server—…oh.”
The scene from Ren and Shiho’s perspective was a red-faced Ann Takamaki with a sly looking Tae Takemi, wearing her usual minidress, fishnets and lab coat. And, her hands on Ann’s thigh.
Ren was seemingly unfazed by the inherently sexy scene in front of him. “Is she alright?”
“Yes. Just contusions.” She spun her chair around, pushing it back to the desk. She brought up the x-ray as Ren sat down carefully on the bedside, beside Ann. “Looks like it's much the same for you, Ren. No rib fractures. Shiho - What should we recommend?”
Shiho looked up. “Ah. Just some anti inflammatories and rest, for both of them.”
“No taping?” Ren asked.
Shiho shook her head. “Not a good idea. That used to be a thing for rib injuries until people started noticing that seemed to increase rates of pneumonia and lower lung atelectasis, or collapse. You just need to get your pain under control and take full breaths.”
Ann raised an eyebrow. “Wow, Shiho.”
Takemi nodded approvingly. “That’s correct.”
Takemi left the room, returning with the recommended anti-inflammatories. “Here. And some more of the usual , too.” She said, referring to the healing items that she regularly supplied Ren and the Phantom Thieves with.
Shiho looked thoughtful. “You know, speaking of tape. We have some KT tape we just got in. Some athletes think it helps their performance. You might want to try some before you go… ...back to ASOBIBA.”
Takemi nodded again to Shiho. “Good thinking. Hopefully a little edge like that will prevent these two from getting beaten up playing ‘airsoft.’” She said, making mocking air quotes. “They both need to rest, though. I know Ren lives around here. Shiho, you’re nearly done your shift. Can you take Ann home?”
Takemi then smirked, raising an eyebrow. “...Unless she’s going to be staying with Ren…?”
Ann turned red, staring at the floor. She shook her head. “No. Bachan’s expecting me.”
Takemi laughed. “Yep. Cute. Go on, get out of here.”
The three walked out - rather, Ren and Ann carefully limped out, with Shiho helping them along.
“You’ve really taken to this kind of work, Shiho.” Ren said, impressed.
“It barely feels like work.” Shiho said, smiling. “It’s fun working with Takemi-sensei. Even more when it’s you guys. I think she just likes to tease you two.”
“Huh. How do you mean?” Ren asked.
“...You really don’t see it?” Ann asked, bewildered.
“...You were completely unfazed by a hot doctor in a minidress feeling up your girlfriend?” Shiho asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, I noticed. But I guess I didn’t notice .” Ren said. “When I was actively boxing, I got used to being poked and prodded by doctors and trainers. I mean, Kana-chan’s seen me in nothing but my underwear. If I freaked out every time-- Ow! Ann, you’re really squeezing my elbow…”
>>>
June 27, 20xx
RS: Hey, RenRen. Didn’t see you at school today?
AT: He was pretty beat up after yesterday. And on top of that, his phone actually does have a bullet hole through it so he can’t reply to texts.
MN: That’s terrible.
YK: So how will we get in touch with Ren?
AT: He said he’ll buy a new phone as soon as he’s well enough to limp out of Leblanc. I can’t go check on him today, though - agency has a gig for me.
Makoto grumbled as her phone chugged along, struggling to load the stamp of a sad bunny that Ann was using. After they had gotten out of the Metaverse, the charge on her ancient iPhone was nearly gone, too. It seemed that now she had friends, it was no longer sufficient.
The last bell rang at Shujin. Makoto stood, heading to the train station. She glanced again at her phone. Today, just by text messaging, her phone’s charge was already down to 50%.
‘...Ah. This is stupid. If Ren’s buying a new phone, then I should buy one, too.’
She bought a ticket for Akihabara and boarded the subway, making the short trip to the electronics and entertainment district. Of course, there were cell phone stores everywhere. But this was also one of Makoto’s guilty pleasures. She left the station, heading for a small DVD shop right beside Akihabara Gamers. The store was known for having an interesting selection of movies; in particular, the owner was an aficionado of foreign police films.
She paused in front of Akihabara Gamers, recognizing Ren limping into the shop.
‘...Oh! He must be feeling well enough, now. I… ...I should go and make sure he’s alright. That he doesn’t need any help with anything.’
Makoto walked in discreetly after Ren, getting flashbacks to when she was investigating him initially.
‘I’ll just keep back for now, though.’ Makoto thought. She didn’t want to be a bother - it wasn’t at all because she was curious what the boy liked in terms of his entertainment. Or because she was curious about him, in general.
Ren moved gingerly, but made a beeline towards one section. He looked furtively to the left and right, before stepping into the aisle. He seemed to be searching for something intently, his expression brightening eagerly as he found it.
Makoto peered around the shelf curiously.
“Excuse me? Miss? Can I help you find something?”
Makoto jumped, turning to face the employee. “N-no! I’m fine, thank you!”
“...Makoto!?”
Makoto jumped again, facing Ren.
He looked briefly mortified, holding a copy of the latest volume of Akatsuki no Yona , an exceedingly popular fantasy-romance. “What are you doing here?”
“I uh… ...I saw you, and wanted to check up on you.” Makoto said, telling part of the truth. “How about you?”
“...I was… ...looking for a gift for Kana-chan. She’s like my sister, back home.” Ren said, his expression now carefully controlled. He glanced down at the volume in his hands. “I guess this will do.”
“Ah. Right…”
They stood awkwardly for a moment. Ren sighed. “And then I need to buy a new phone. That guy actually managed to break mine.”
Makoto blinked. “Ah, right! Ann mentioned that. I was going to buy a new phone, too. Mine’s a bit slow for the group chat…”
“Really? What do you use?”
Makoto held up her iPhone 4.
“...Holy shit .” Ren said, eyes wide. “That’s amazing. What’s the battery life, 15 minutes?”
Makoto glared at Ren. “Not all of us have the time to play with new gadgets!”
“Yeah, but this thing is practically an artifact. I’m surprised your love for efficiency tolerates it, Your Excellency.”
“God, you’re such an ass.” Makoto huffed, before breaking into a little smile. She was glad they still had this sort of interaction, though.
“Come on. Let me buy this thing for Kana-chan . We can find phones together.”
“...Oh! Alright…” Makoto followed Ren, walking beside him. He paid, and they headed to the nearest mobile store - each of them buying the same smartphone. They stood outside, each of them going through their apps and contacts.
“Looks like the Red Eye is still there…” Ren said. “I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Though, telling you all ‘Sorry, I’m out, got a new phone’ wouldn’t really be a great excuse.”
Makoto nodded. She stole a glance at Ren with his new phone - the same one she now had. She wondered, to someone passing by, would they look like they were together?
“...hey? Isn’t that the Student Council President? With a guy ?”
A group of girls from Shujin were nearby, speaking in a too-loud whisper.
“Wow, that robot? Didn’t think I had it in her.”
“I don’t recognize the guy, though…”
Ren wasn’t in uniform, and had taken off his glasses to polish them.
Makoto felt increasingly uncomfortable as the whispers continued.
“He’s way too hot. Probably just giving her directions or something… You know, I should go over and talk to him!”
Ren frowned, hearing this as well. He started walking toward them.
Makoto blinked. “R-ren!” She hissed. “What are you doing?!”
Ren ignored her, stopping in front of the girls. They stared in wonder as he gave his most charming smile, a far cry from his usual space-cadet nonchalance at school. He was almost certainly unrecognizable, now. “Excuse me, girls. Can one of you take a picture for us?”
“...Er… ..y-yeah! Sure!”
Ren handed his phone to one of the girls, standing back alongside Makoto. He didn’t put her arm around her, but stood close.
Makoto blushed. ‘Too close!’
She managed a shy smile as the picture was taken. Ren thanked the girls before he and Makoto walked away. Ren sighed, rolling his eyes.
“..Sorry. That was a bother.”
“No, that’s not it, Makoto.” He showed her his phone. “She programmed her number into my contacts list. Bold. And who enters their name as ‘Eiko-chan’? Come on…”
“Why did you do that?”
“You’re a friend, Makoto. And they were talking shit about you. As you learned a few weeks back, I don’t take too kindly to that.”
“But now they think…”
“They can think what they want. I just asked them to take a picture.” Ren shrugged.
Makoto blinked, but smiled a little. After a moment, she spoke up again. “Do you think I’m a robot, too?”
“Beep-boop.”
Makoto smacked his arm as Ren laughed. They came to a stop at the station. He looked at her. “I think we go our separate ways here, don’t we?”
Makoto nodded; the brief indulgence over. Her eyes downcast, she spoke softly. “...I think we really do.”
Ren turned, but paused, halfway.
“Your Excellency.”
Makoto felt that brief spike of irritation at the mocking title, looking up. She gave Ren a glare.
Ren smirked back at her. “That’s a better look for you.”
She blinked, and then stifled a small chuckle. “...Yeah.”
Ren’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Makoto, I’m happy to be one of your friends.”
‘But I can’t be more.’ Was the unspoken sentence, clear in the silence.
The brunette nodded, once, answering both the spoken and unspoken. “Yes.”
“...Whenever you figure out what you want to tell me, I promise you, though - I’ll still listen to whatever you have to say. Even if I can’t give you the answer you want.”
>>>
“Ugh. This has got to be one of the worst shoots they’ve had us do, yet.” Ann muttered, waiting for the final shots in a busy intersection in Akihabara. She wore a red, strapless dress; something she would have loved Ren to see. The drooling otaku surrounding the shoot and snapping pictures, not so much.
Mika, wearing a blue dress, rolled her eyes. “Whine whine whine . Your lack of professionalism is really disappointing, senpai .”
“Says the girl who sent fake emails around to get people to be late for their shoots. Tell me - who lost the cover of Vague this month? And who’s going to be on it again?” Ann asked, pleasantly.
“Not all of us have some boy toy who doubles as a personal trainer.” Mika muttered. Her eyes caught something in the periphery, recognizing said boy toy - with another girl. Mika was surprised. After one shoot in the past month, she had tried flirting with Ren to get on Ann’s nerves. It was like trying to seduce a brick wall. She felt a pang of sympathy for her professional rival… Mika knew, from painful personal experience, what it was like to have a relationship she had invested in fall apart.
She sighed.
“Hey, senpai. Look over there…” |
For Carla
"Why are we at your apartment again?"
"Because," Rey said, trying to catch her breath as Ben deposited her on her kitchen counter. Her head pressed to the cabinets above her. He was wasting little time in getting her pants and panties off her hips again. Four hours, a measly four hours, and he wouldn't make it without her a second longer. Or so silently exclaimed his lips on hers, bruising them with the intensity of their hunger, their passion.
She could hardly get a word out, not that this was a terrible… position to… be… good gad, what had she been going to say?
"I promised—mmnn—Finn—I'd meet him for drinks, and—" Right. Best get her wits about her. She was master of her libido. She would be brought down by no man.
Her lower lip became prisoner of his teeth. The way he released it was slow and torturous, and if she didn't know any better—and she believed she did—she would have sworn that this was the hallmark move he'd used in many of his novels by his rakish protagonists. Well. The rakes were, of course, quite reformed in the end, she thought around a moan. Copied—created-copied?—move or not, it felt so…
"I need to change," Rey was gasping.
Ben dropped to his knees.
"And—what are you doing?"
He set his mouth against her core and sucked. Hard.
"Bloody—" She braced one hand against a cabinet, the other against the counter, her hips bucking. His hands caught her thighs and held her in place. It was just as well; she couldn't have stayed still if her life depended on it. In defiance to the gentlemanly nature he'd displayed for months and keeping with the rough and tumble theme of the day, his tongue was a wicked, delightful torment.
Ben suckled on her clit, and her hand on the counter found his hair. He yanked one of her thighs over his shoulder and shoved three fingers into her without preamble. She choked on a yell, having more leverage now to grind against his mouth. This had escalated so quickly. She had barely kept her wits around him before… what would it be like now?
"Hey," she panted, tugging on him. "If you keep that up, I'm going to—"
"I know," he rumbled, barely parting from her folds.
Christ.
His tongue roved briefly over his fingers, up through her folds—flicked hard along her clit. She spasmed slightly, biting into her wrist, her nails digging into his scalp. If it wasn't for her paper-thin walls, she wouldn't have bothered muffling her cries. Her other hand refused to settle. It left his hair to pound the countertop, to smack the cabinet, to clench her own hair.
"Ben, I—"
He sucked harder.
A moan exploded from her as her orgasm rushed her. She was vaguely aware of both of her hands cupping the back of Ben's neck. Her head tilted to the ceiling, her eyes rolling back before they shut. She rocked her hips through it, riding that wave until she was limp, panting, laughing with only a wisp of sound.
He pressed wet kisses to her inner thigh.
"You were saying?" he asked innocently, resting his cheek near her hip.
She narrowed her eyes. "You're not as good at that as you think you are."
"Of course, I am. I'm good at anything I put my mind to." He rubbed her swollen clit. "Exhibit A, I believe."
"Ben Solo, you don't have an innocent bone in your body," Rey said tartly. "And that wasn't good."
His eyebrows rose. "No?"
She grinned. "It was amazing."
Clutching her pillow and burying her face in it was the best she could do to smother her shouts. Behind her, Ben pounded into her, his large hands wrapped around her hips. She met him thrust for thrust, since such a thing was much easier to do in this position. She was more than slick from his thoughtful ministrations in the kitchen, and he was able to go deeper than he had in her office.
"I'm going to be late," she groused without much heat.
"When we go back to my place," he rasped between thrusts, one hand splayed over the center of her back, "and we are going back to my place… We're going to do this slow… I want to take my time with you… worship every inch of this precious body…"
"S-Shut it," she said, blushing.
"I won't." He tugged her up, securing an arm about her waist. He kissed her shoulder, buried his face in her neck. "You're fucking precious to me. Accept it." His fingers found their way to her nipple and squeezed.
"So bloody pushy…"
"So fucking stubborn."
"All right, Ben Solo," she moaned, her head tilting onto his shoulder. She could hardly argue with him when he was buried in her like this, taking her to such heights. "For now, you win."
The sarcastic remark she'd come to expect was replaced with a hand gently cupping her face. His mouth touched hers. He kissed her with the rhythm of their bodies, hard, fast, a hand gliding down her stomach, collecting perspiration. It found her folds. She jerked all over as he toyed with her over-sensitive clit.
She hadn't really thought it was possible to come together with someone. She'd figured it was fabricated to sound more romantic or whatnot.
She was glad to find she'd been wrong.
And that also they'd used a condom this time, like sensible adults.
Sensible adults foolishly, hopelessly in—
No.
No, she wasn't going there.
Not yet.
"Finn is going to kill me," Rey said for the eighth time—Ben had been keeping record, the arse.
"We'll be there soon," the aforementioned arse said from his side of the cab. He didn't look up from his phone. Rey chewed on her lip and watched the buildings flash past the window.
She was incredibly late. She'd messaged ahead to let him know she was nearly there, but that didn't mean Finn wasn't going to be angry. Rey would have been. They were generally reliable, they two, and Finn had been a tad upset over Rey's absence as of late—
"He has this—who now?"
"Rose," Rey replied.
"Yeah, this Rose person."
Rey found this to be quite ambiguous, and she stared blankly at him to let him know it.
"What?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Ben sighed. "He didn't have a woman in his life before. He does now. He's not lonely anymore. He'll stop being as upset about the two of you not spending as much time together."
"You're wrong," Rey said stiffly. "He's had girlfriends in his life before, and that didn't matter."
"But were they like this Rose?" Ben argued.
"…Well, no," Rey admitted. "Not from what it seems like."
"Don't worry about it, then," he replied. "It'll be fine. I promise."
What was it they said about famous last words?
|
Finishing breakfast, a single toast and two cups of coffee much to Bruce (Banner)’s disapproval, not to mentioning Alfred’s, Toni hopped off the stool.
“I will need to see what your teachers gave you for homework” she glanced at Royce, Peter and Harley.
Peter barely managed to lift his head from his plate, “Ms. Potts talked to the principal and my grades are good enough that I can just deliver the last few papers any day during summer for me to graduate, even if my final grade in Spanish will suffer a little because of the classes I will miss”
Harley went next, “Had some problems with the lit teacher, I will miss final exams and I also have a final essay for history, teacher said that if I go for a couple of weeks during summer vacation, I will keep my grades up”
Toni looked at Royce that groaned, “I have been slipping in math but Ms. Potts convinced the teacher that if I did a list of exercises and showed it to him, I could retake last week’s test, and in English I have to read some poems and write a text of what I understood”
The billionaire nodded and without another word went back upstairs.
~*~
It was almost noon when Bruce Wayne woke up with a start and promptly threw his sheets aside; he had a lot to do today.
After being almost forced-fed by Alfred, the Batman made an appearance in the League’s Watchtower, as he expected the only ones there were Hal and Barry, the ones most likely to put their foot on their mouth.
“My cousin and her family will stay here for a couple of months and she will use the east wing, do not bother her” with that he went back to the Zeta Beam and to Gotham, time to gather up the small family.
Barry turned to Hal “Uh…what was that?” the Airman was equally baffled but quickly turning to tired resignation.
“Just do as he says, sometimes the headache is not worthy it”. If it was something mission-related Hal might have argued but since he had no objections…it was so not worthy it.
A few seconds later both frowned and this time it was Hal that voiced it, “He has a cousin?”
Two hours later they had theirs answer, Flash could feel his eyes widening and he knew that Hal had a similar reaction to his left. The first one to get out of the Zeta Bean was a brown haired man of medium height, glasses and curly hair, a face that would easily blend with the crowd if he so desired, closely followed by two children, a boy and a girl clearly related and then a teenager, finally a tall and lean woman, very dark brown hair in a ponytail and dressed casually in a light blouse and pencil skirt with flat shoes. The material of the blouse was light enough for a triangular light shine through and that gave her identity away even if it was partially hidden because of the toddler she was holding to her chest. Finally Batman stepped out too and finished the line.
The family very probably noticed them, it was impossible not to with Green Lantern shining like that and not even twelve foot away but they were paid no mind. With a last warning glare, Batman purposely closed the automatic doors to the east wing.
Lantern was still gawking but for a speedster it was normal for their mouth to be faster, “Toni Stark?”
~*~
“Did you know about it?” Hal rounded on Clark the second the Kryptonian stepped into the Watchtower.
Well used to Hal’s shenanigans Clark only sighed, “Knew about what?”
“Bats’ cousin is Toni Stark, Iron Woman!” Barry’s arms were swinging widely, half excited, half incredulous.
Clark’s shoulders sagged and he sighed again, “It’s not like either of them ever hid it” but yeah, he could see why that would cause gossip, while neither hid it, not many knew about it. Clark himself found out by accident…and by being nosy.
He was in the Manor when a picture caught his attention. Aside from the huge family portrait in the main living room of the three ‘original’ Waynes and a couple of recent pictures of Jason and Dick with either Bruce or Alfred, his friend didn’t exactly had many reminders of his parents lying around so Clark was surprised to see a pretty big frame by the fireplace of two women, he recognized Bruce, probably 7 or 8 years old, meaning right before his parents died with a younger girl in the other woman’s arms.
The two women didn’t have many similarities physically, both were of the same height, blonde and very elegantly dressed but that was it, “Who are them?” before he could stop himself the question was out and Clark immediately had to hold back a wince, in his place the Kryptonian wouldn’t want to talk about his parents either.
But this time Bruce didn’t glower at him and left him there to marinate in his own guilt, he just sighed, “That’s my mother’s cousin, Maria Carbonell and my second cousin, Toni”
Clark frowned a little in concentration, “Carbonell…I heard that name before” the billionaire rolled his eyes.
“She used to be a socialite, married Howard Stark” and that made Clark’s brain snap.
“Oh my God! Your cousin is Toni Stark!” he didn’t even care about the very big grin on his face while he analyzed the picture better.
She was one cute kid, he smiled, not very unlike the 8 year old Bruce that was dressed in a white dress shirt, social black shorts, brown shoes and too long white socks, Toni was wearing a frilly pink and beige dress with white thighs and pink ribbons in her hair. Matching grimaces on their smalls faces. He couldn’t help himself, Clark cooed and gave a very silly grin, it was worth it even when Bruce completely ignored him for almost two weeks.
Back to the present, Clark was confronted by an incredulous Barry, “So you mean that anybody can just look it up in the internet?”
He could only shrug, “Anybody that cares to look I guess”. Considering how wealthy the Kanes and Carbonell were, it wouldn't be too difficult to connect the two women, however, regardless of how much money the respective families had, Howard Stark would outshine anyone with his spotlight tendencies and, Clark winced, Bruce already gave a short version that the Kanes were not happy when Martha married Thomas Wayne.
Maria Carbonell was a lot more discreet than her husband and the Waynes were discreet by nature, after both couples were dead, time and space apart made even the vultures of the gossip columns think about Toni Stark and Bruce Wayne as having just a couple of superficial things in common: billionaires, sluts, philanthropists.
~*~
“It is very impressive” Banner complimented looking out of the widow where he could only see stars and a tip of Earth.
The room was spacious and had another door leading to a corridor where three more rooms were occupied by Peter, Royce and Harley. Donnie's crib was in the couple's room.
“The launch was a little complicate, but once the main part was in orbit it was only a question of expanding the structure”
He nodded and turned to the masked and caped man, “Thanks again for doing this for Toni, Mr. Wayne”
Batman paused typing the security codes so the family could have some control over who comes and goes, “…when no one is around, Bruce is fine” and he had to hold back his own reaction at Dr. Banner’s sheepish grin.
“Yeah…I don’t think that’s a good idea” half amusing, half awkward indeed, “‘Batman’ ok around here? And in more social settings, I think Mr. Wayne will do”
Nodding, Batman gave him the codes and showed how to change the password, “May I talk to Toni?”
Dr. Banner 'ahed' before offering, “She went straight to bed but I can see if she is still awake”
He paused again, “No, it can wait” with a sweep of his cape, he left.
~*~ |
It’s Friday.
Tony shivers as he climbs into his room through his window and lowers himself to a sitting position, back against the cupboard in his most comfortable position. Howard isn’t home yet, but Tony hates it when he has to wait.
It wasn’t always like this. When Mama was alive Howard was distant, but not overly so. Interactions between father and son were somewhat limited and awkward but Tony treasured them, golden moments for him when Howard shot him an uncertain smile or introduced him to potential business partners as ‘my son’.
Tony knows Howard blames him for his Mama’s death, and he knows because he blames himself to. It’s been one and a half years and he still cannot stomach getting into a car because he’ll be dragged back into that day and his Mama will be in the backseat smiling at him as beautiful as she always was and the next time he lays eyes on her there will be crimson all over her.
There is a List, Tony knows, of things he can’t take. It’s embarrassingly long, and it’s all in his head so that nobody find it and see what a pathetic person he is. Small spaces, lengthy silences, blood in his eyes, loud engines, opening his eyes underwater (he can but he doesn’t want to), live wires.
There’s also a List of Howard’s games, he remembers as the front door opens, ominously.
“ANTHONY,” Howard yells, the sound reverberating through the whitewashed, empty corridors of the too-big mansion. Tony shivers again, glances desperately at his bed and for a moment actually realistically considers burrowing under the blankets like the lead character in a bad horror flick. He counts the seconds under his breath and after one minute stands up and opens the door cautiously.
He’s not prepared for the fist and the thought that slams into him along with the impact of the wall is that Howard can move surprisingly silently when he wants to.
Howard never moves silently. He knows the rhythmic sound of his footsteps means impending doom and sparks apprehension, both in the business rival and Tony, of course. This blow is entirely unexpected and leaves Tony spluttering, blood already dribbling from the corners of his mouth where he has bitten his lip; he struggles to orientate himself, hands scrabbling along the smooth marble to hoist himself up. Howard doesn’t give him a chance, lifting him by the collar and dragging upwards so Tony’s feet are lifted off the ground. The sudden change causes the fragile axis of Tony’s world to tilt savagely. Head spinning, he fights for air as Howard tightens his grip.
With the meagre amount of air he’s being served, he catches a whiff of alcohol. That’s not good. Howard drinks, but not as frequently as the media likes to imagine. Something bad must have happened.
“Sir,” he chokes out.
“How much do I owe you?” Howard asks, almost casually as if he isn’t strangling his son to near-death. Tony hacks, jerking in Howard’s grip, hands flying to grip Howard’s forearm.
For a moment his vision swims and his head pounds, so loud he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he thinks, this is how I’m going to die. But Howard lets go and suddenly he meets the floor, impact driving him to his knees and causing him to slump forward into a gasping, coughing mess. Howard lifts his foot and Tony braces himself as the leather shoe slams into his barely-healed ribs. He hears a crack and clamps a hand over his mouth as he screams.
A minute passes with both of them breathing heavily, trying to regain their bearings, Howard from the dizzying combination of alcohol and unadulterated rage, Tony from the haze of pain and panic. “How much do I owe you, boy?” Howard repeats, quieter this time, eyes fixed on Tony’s back as it heaves up and down, the boy taking deep breaths while he can.
“Three games,” Tony whispers, closing his eyes.
It’s no use; he feels a tear slip out as Howard grabs his forearms with a bruising grip and hoists him up, twisting his arms painfully. He whimpers a little and tries to get his feet under him but his pace is too slow for Howard and he finds himself being dragged along, searing pain erupting from his left shoulder and newly-hurt ribs. Finally he gets to his knees and then his feet and stumbles after Howard. Howard suddenly turns and shoves him against the wall, delivering a terrifyingly accurate uppercut to his jaw that causes his head to crash into the wall behind. He must have blacked out for a bit, because when he next comes to his head is hurting painfully, blood is running down the side of his neck and he’s on the edge of the steps leading down into the main hall. His heart lurches as if trying to escape when realisation strikes him.
“For the first game, we’re going to play Stairs,” Howard comments, pleasantly enough, even as he pulls his belt from around his waist. Tony immediately grabs on to the banister but the first strike - to his bad shoulder! Oh God please no - has him wailing, dropping on his ass and desperately scrambling backwards, the individual pillars along the banister digging painfully into his back.
Howard lifts the belt again and he shies away, automatically throwing his hands up to cover his face. In this situation, Tony has no choice but to protect the most important. Blood is rushing through his ears and his brain is pounding. The belt cracks over his right leg and he whimpers, curling around that new area because now it’s second important. He can’t afford to get another hit in the same place; he’s done calculations and past experiences have led him to realise that the belt’s damage and pain ratio causes him to pass out after the second hit to a concentrated area and passing out does not improve Howard’s mood -
The next crack is on his back, left exposed as he hunches over. He gasps out a little, breath already torn from his straining lungs, and tries to shift around but it’s too late, the second hit is coming down and the buckle digs into his wounded skin and Tony feels the skin break and Tony howls -
Another kick to the ribs - Tony has no more air to scream but it hurts, hurts, hurts - sends him sprawling, almost losing his balance and falling. He immediately scoots backwards, wrapping his fingers around the banister’s pillars, choking on a sob as the pillars press against his back. The next hit lands on his right side and he doubles over, turning to offer his left side to Howard because his right has taken enough, just not his shoulder not his shoulder not his shoulde-
Howard cracks the belt over his left shoulder.
Tony loses his grip as he screams and the world starts to spin as he crashes, falling down each individual step, each impact from the floor coming up to meet him sending shockwaves of harsh pain through his system. He leaves a disgusting bloody trail behind as he finally crashes to a standstill on the first floor, dizzy from blood loss, every cell and nerve internally screaming from the pain, eyes numb from all the tears.
Howard is coming down the steps and Tony tries to move but he can’t, he really can’t, it’s too much and he wishes Howard would just kill him-
“For our next game,” Howard continues demurely, “we could play Choices. Don’t you agree, Anthony?”
No. No, no, no.
Tony groans, tries to move. Fails.
“Arm or leg, Anthony?”
“Please, sir.” He’s not above begging. He hurts too much. He should’ve known better, should’ve taken two games yesterday.
“What was that? Both?”
“Arm! Arm,” he cries. His right ankle feels sprained from when he fell down the stairs and there’s an ugly welt on his calf from the belt. He doesn’t think his leg can take anymore.
Howard grabs his arm and twists. Before Tony even has a chance to open his mouth he flips him over so his cracked ribs, hurt stomach and split lip are pressed into the cold, hard floor. Tony’s howl is muffled as his left shoulder- he doesn’t have a word for it anymore it’s too much, too much and he’s thrashing weakly but Howard just keeps going -
He’s on the verge of blackness when Howard lets go and Tony crumples with a relieved sob. He can’t tell which is worse, that Howard didn’t let go or that Howard didn’t hold on so he could finally finally black out and be rid of everything.
“Round Two. Ribs or Shoulder, Anthony?”
Tony feels the blood rush out of his face as if running for its life. “No no no no no no please please” he gasps. Ribs take forever to heal and his shoulder just- can’t. He braces his arms against the floor, trying to drag himself away from the threat, he can’t take anymore, he knows he should be better but it’s too much! It’s too much.
“Shall I make a decision for you, then?”
“Ribs, RIBS!” he says, and it comes out as a breathless whine. Howard sneers, then crashes his foot into his ribs. Tony reaches out for something to hold on to but can’t find anything so he careens into the wall, scream torn to shreds in his broken throat. He’s sure his ribs are broken now. He should’ve chosen shoulder. He’s sorry. For what he doesn’t know. It hurts a lot.
“What’s Game number Three gonna be, Anthony?”
Tony shakes his head. “Tomorrow, tomorrow,” he tires to say, but it gets stuck in his throat. He’s struggling to breathe because tears are clogging his system and his heart hurts. Howard is coming closer, and Tony feels his breathing get impossibly quicker; he’s hyperventilating now, each breath causing pain to course through his chest and blood to drip from his mouth and nose and it’s too much, he just wants to-
-pass out -
He wakes up to a rattle and a low growl of “fucking worthless”. He opens his eyes but not quite because around him is black darkness and suddenly he realises he’s in the Cabinet, in the Cabinet and he can’t-
“Please sir,” he groans, but it’s so soft even he can’t hear himself over the sounds of distress seemingly coming out of his mouth of their own accord. “Please no no no, please let me out, I can do better, please.”
There’s no sound from the other side, then a huge jolt that sends the whole Cabinet shivering and Tony gasps, heart jerking and he clutches at his chest. The Cabinet is barely big enough for him and his legs are twisted uncomfortably, shoulders un-aligned and digging painfully into the metal.
He opens his mouth but has no voice to speak after all that screaming, so he raises his hands and scratches weakly at the metal door with his fingertips. Howard doesn’t know he has a concussion, and won’t open the door. I might just die, he thinks suddenly.
“Please…”
Still no movement, no trace of life. He whines, drifts more, then wakes drowsily; he’s had a nightmare but has forgotten it. His fingernails are cracked and bleeding from unconsciously scratching at the door. His head is spinning from blood loss and his head hurts. His eyes are numb and silent tears are still coursing down his cheeks, swollen from slaps. More aimless drifting, and when he next comes to there’s light shining from under the Cabinet door. “Please,” he gasps out, fingers trembling, in too much pain to try opening the door. He knows the door is unlocked but has no strength to push it open. His muscles have turned to liquid as his brain is buzzing loudly in his hazy mind. He can only sit there, cramped into the tiny space, crying silently and hating himself for being so fucking pathetic.
Just reach out and push on the door, it’ll open.
Can’t, he thinks tiredly, closing his eyes. It’s the same, just darkness behind and in front of his eyelids, and it’s too much. Tony thinks he’ll lie here until he gives out and dies.
Then there’re footsteps, careful and light not like Howard’s and the door is being pulled open and the light is blinding - knives digging into his retinas, and the voice that speaks is full of horror.
“Tony?!” |
After arriving home from her night with Jake, Alexis went into the kitchen to make a late lunch and get a drink. She wondered where her husband had gone. It was Sunday afternoon and there was a football game on TV she was sure of it. Hell there's always a football game on one of the stations. She didn't know why he had to watch all of them.
She went down stairs and looked around in the clubroom, nothing. She went up to the bedrooms on the third floor and saw Lee's day to day clothes lying on the floor of the bathroom. She made a mental note to remember to tell him to pick up after himself she was not his maid. The bed was unmade too and looked like it had been that way for days!
She made the bed and saw how dirty it was , stained with something! She would have to show him how to wash the sheets again. Then she undressed and changed into a robe. She came down to kitchen again to see if he had left a note for her. There was no note and no message on the answering machine, she couldn't imagine where he was.
After eating her lunch she went up stairs and got ready to take a shower and go out. She turned on the water in the shower and waited for it to turn warm. Then she dropped the robe and stepped into the warm water letting if flow over her sore but beautiful brown body. As she showered the phone rang and it was Lee, but she didn't hear it. He left a message telling her he wouldn't be home until late tonight he was with over her sister place and they were going to have dinner together and maybe play cards after the football game was over.
She let the water flow over her and closed her eyes. She daydreamed about John and what he would do to her tonight with that fucking wonderful snake of a tongue he had. She stood there with the showerhead hitting her big brown breasts Alexis slowly ran her hands between her legs. She moaned as she felt her throbbing clit with her fingers. It was already hard and long from her thinking of John's tongue. She moaned a little as she glided her fingers lightly over it. She didn't bring herself off she would wait for John to do that She just worked her body up a little.
She finally washed and turned off the water. As she dried off she shoved two fingers deep into her pussy and felt her face warm and her body start to shake. God she was going to cum and all she did was thinking about John making love to her pussy with his snake like tongue for a few minutes.
She couldn't wait to see him now she had to get satisfied. She fingered her pussy until she cried out and squatted as she fucked her cunt and climaxed! She felt like a dog in heat sometimes. She would call John when she got into the bedroom and if she could she would go to him tonight. She would get dressed and leave Lee a note telling him where she was going and that she would be home in the morning to tell him which lover she was going to leave.
She said to herself, "I have learned over the years with Lee that it's always better to ask for forgiveness afterwards that to ask first and be told no. So since Lee isn't home, I won't have to ask him if I can go to John's tonight. If he get mad, I'll just tell him I wanted to have all three of my lovers fuck me close together so I could pick the one I want to drop. After all I was doing it for him, it was he who wanted me to drop one of them."
That was her strategy and reasoning. Now all she had to do is get out of the house before Lee called or got home. After drying off, Alexis went to the bed and called John and asked him if it was OK for her to come over. He told her he would love for her to do that and to do it as quickly as she could. She smiled and told him half an hour.
Alexis went back into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. She was going to shave her pussy but then decided to let John do it for her. She smiled thinking he would between her open legs for a long time and was sure he would lick her clean driving her crazy. She couldn't wait to get there.
She dressed in a very short dark red skirt without any panties under it. Then she put on a cream tee shirt that stopped half way down her middle showing her flat hard stomach. She was so happy she had worked out to get her belly as hard and flat as it was. She didn't wear any bra either and her big breasts were well outlined in the tight tee. She stood there looking at herself in the mirror and said, "Dam girl you look good enough to eat."
She laughed and ran her hands over her breast making the nipples show as they pointed out in the front of her tee shirt. She said, "That should get John's attention."
She wrote Lee asking where he was. Then she explaining that since he wasn't home, she was going to meet John tonight. She would give Lee her answer when she came home about which lover she was going to stop seeing. She wanted her lovers back to back so she could judge which one she would drop. She said she may call him later to see if he was OK but not to stay up for her. She would see him around dinner time tomorrow. She signed it, Love you Alexis.
Twenty minutes later she was heading out the door not looking at the phone or the message on the answering machine. Arriving at John's nice home she parked in his driveway and rang the bell. Seconds later John answered the door and said, "God dam Alexis you looked sensational. My God baby your body looks even better than the last time I saw you, if that's possible. Come in, and come here."
He shut the door and pulled her into his arms. Kissing and tonguing her he held her tight and moaned as she pressed her beautiful body hard against him hard. She reached for his cock right away and felt it growing hard in her hand. Alexis smiled feeling his cock jump with his excitement as he licked her neck and squeezed her ass. She loved what she did to men, and her new white lover was getting excited even faster. She guessed it was from the newness of having her in his arms maybe because she was black or really built or was a married woman or all of that! Actually she didn't care why, she just loved to feel a man' cock getting hard from seeing or touching her, especially since her husband couldn't get that way any longer. It made her feel so sexy and lustful.
Before they began to really get into having sex, she told John she had to call home. She tried the house again and there was still no answer. She hung the phone up and bent into John returning his embrace. She said, "Let's go to bed baby. I need you bad right now. I want you to fuck me all night long John."
John picked her up in his arms and carried her to his master bedroom. He said, I want to undress you Alexis, you're so beautiful and sexy. Let me take your clothes off!"
She smiled and said, "Hurry baby. I need your tongue in me."
She held him again as they stood there kissing and touching. John started with her tight tee shirt. He loved Alexis's big brown tits as they jumped out when he lifted her tight tee over her head. She held her arms up helping him get the dam tight thing off of her. With her arms still up over her head, he cupped her big tits with those nipples dark, hard and getting longer. As his hands reached for them and squeezed them, his mouth watered.
He bent his head and began licking, sucking and suck harder on each one while his hands and fingers cupped those big full globes of flesh. He squeezed and pulled on the nipples as she held him smiling. She let her arms drop around his neck and she said, "Oh shit John! Hurry baby. Get me out of these clothes and eat my pussy for me. Oh John I love your mouth. Oh yes suck my nipples! Suck them hard."
John could tell Alexis was very bad off and her need was great! Alexis held his head and told him how good he was making her body feel. Keeping his lips and tongue working on her nipples, John moved his hands down her body and cupped Alexis's ass. Then he pushed one hand up her short skirt and cupped her naked cunt. He moaned as he felt there were no panties on her tonight.
Alexis opened her legs wider for him allowing him free access to her pussy and ass. He could feel her undo her skirt letting it fall to the floor. Her pussy was soaking wet and John smiled knowing how bad she wanted his tongue in her hole. He could feel her wetness drip and run down her thighs and his hand. He felt her shiver and she held him tighter as the touch of his fingers in her wetness thrilling her. John broke his embrace and she stepped out of the skirt on the floor. He held her out at arm length and looked at her completely nude now. He said, "Now that's the way you should be all the time. Let's have a taste of your beautiful sweet body!"
She moaned, "OH fuck yes John! Eat me baby! Eat my wet hot pussy! Make me cum!"
He began licking her body and then began sucking those great nipples and tits again. Another touch with his fingers and Alexis shivered from the thrill. She whispered, "Eat my pussy John! Please! Come on let's get on the bed and I'll fuck you wild tonight. I'm so hot for you right now."
John sucked her left nipple deep into his mouth as he heard her tell him she wanted to fuck him. His cock was rock hard and stuck out like a gyro looking for water.
He smiled and said: "Then, we should get you satisfied Alexis. You are going to love what I have planned for us tonight. I'll warm you up between your legs and you'll feel the heat move all over your body. Come here."
He sat her on the bed and cupped and rubbed her cunt with his hand as she lay back on the bed and opened her thighs wide for him. He loved the dark wetness of her pussy. He pressed and squeezed her cunt with his hand and fingers feeling its wetness almost squeeze out from between his fingers. She moaned and said; "Yes. Oh yes John love my pussy for me. I'm so wet and ready for you. Love my pussy with your mouth and tongue! Oh shit! I need your mouth on my cunt so bad! EAT ME BABY!"
John got up on the bed with her and they rolled around teasing each other touching and playing with each other's sex for a few minutes. When she had positioned John on his back, Alexis moved up his body and sat on top of his shoulders. John knew what she wanted and smiled as she moved her pussy down towards his face and mouth. As she hunched up on his chest higher and higher he smiled at her. She moved up until she was straddling his neck and face. She smiled at him and saw him looking directly between her opened thighs seeing how wet and lubricated her cunt was already. She said, "See my poor pussy John? It needs your loving tongue to lick it and make it feel better.
As he looked up between her smooth brown thighs now her wide-open cunt was inches from his mouth. She was straddling his face and he licked his lips teasing the tip of her pussy. John could see Alexis's thighs wide open as his tongue touched just the tip of her pussy. Her leg bones up at the top of her legs that connect at her pussy were sticking out tight against the skin! She was stretching her thighs so wide the bones were standing out on each side of her snatch. Her usually smooth hairless pussy looked like it had a five o'clock shadow.
He said, "You need a shave baby!"
She said, "Would you like to shave my pussy clean for me tonight John before I go home to Lee?"
His cock twitched with excitement and he moaned. Then he looked up from between her legs and said, "I would love to shave your pretty cunt bald for you Alexis. But let's wait and do that later. Right now show me what you want!"
She lowered her lower body down closer and closer towards his waiting mouth. She moans at him as she felt his warm breath on her upper inner thighs and wet pussy. She moved her fingers between her legs letting John watch as she inserts two fingers into her hole and began to finger fuck herself over his face. John could see the wetness of her pussy as it started to drip on his lips. He licked it with his tongue as she watched. As he did she picked up the phone again and dialed home. It rang and rang but there was no answer. She looked at her watch and said "Where the fuck is my old man at it's 10 PM?" She hung up and reached for John's head.
Her pussy lips were very swollen and extremely large now with her need. Her pink insides shined down on him as she continued to use her fingers to work on her hole. She pulled them out and fed John with them a few times! He licked and sucked them clean. Then John took his fingers and stroked them over her pussy as she went back fingering her pussy hole again. When he replaced her two fingers with his own Alexis put her fingers covered with her juices to John's mouth again. He suckled them clean again! Alexis felt his hand playing with her cunt now. She held his hand tight against her pussy and began to rock and pump on it. John was thinking, "God it's so sexy looking up at her cunt fucking my hand."
Then as he felt her cunt tighten on his fingers, John knew she was about to cum. As Alexis got closer and closer to her orgasm she told him, "Lick me now John. Lick it baby. Lick my pussy. Make it cum baby. It needs to cum so fucking back. Lick me baby. OH Jesus John! Eat meeeeeee!!!!!!"
John sucked her pussy for her and felt her thrust her cunt into his mouth. She arched her back, threw her head back and wailed and moaned to him, "Oh shit! That's so good John! So good! Oh God yes John! YES. I'm cumming John! CUMMING! CUMMING! YES!!! I'M CUMMING!"
And with that Alexis pushed her cunt down directly on his tongue and felt it enter her hole. He fucked her pussy with his tongue before going back to licking and sucking it. John was working hard giving Alexis all his mouth could give her. He wanted to please her so bad. She pumped and rocked on his mouth as she squeezes her tits and put one to her mouth. Sucking the hard long nipple, Alexis moaned louder and louder as her body reacted to John's mouth licking and sucking her cunt. Orgasm after orgasm ran over her body lifting hr higher and higher.
She began to cum again on his face, John loved it. With her beautiful dark thighs straddling his head, her cunt was pushing down on his mouth hard and as his tongue fucked her hole she grabbed his my head and hair. She screamed, "OH YES! OH FUCK YES JOHN! EAT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
John laid back and watch Alexis as she pushed her cunt and pumped on his face for all she is worth. Screaming as she had multiple climaxes, Lee leaned back on his mouth and felt him lick over her clit directly. She pushed that cunt even harder into his mouth as his tongue went deeper into her tunnel again. John could taste her cum and pussy juices, as it ran out of her cunt and on to his tongue coating it.
As she began another orgasm his mouth sucked in all of her pussy now. With it all in his mouth, John hit her clit with his tongue over and over again. She cries out: "OH YES... Oh - fuck - yes - baby. Oh - god - eat - me…Oh god...Lick that pussy… Lick it."
Then her words were all joined together. She was talking so fast saying, "Lickmypussy.. LICKIT... EATMEJOHN ILOVEITSOFUCKINGMUCH!"
John made love to her cunt with his mouth tongue and hands for a very long time and she continued to tell him, "Oh fuck.... It's sooooooo fuckinggggg goooodddd babyyyyy. Suck it harder. YES.. Fuck... Harder . YEEESSSSS. YESSSS.YESSSS.. Like that. OH fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.. YESSSSSSSSSS!! EAT MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!"
As she finishes climaxing for God knows how many times, she fell forward on top of him. She left a wet trail down his chest stomach as she slid her throbbing cunt down his body until she slid over his rock hard cock sticking up in the air. With one swift movement Alexis slide it into her pussy and moaned as she took him to the hilt. She moaned, "OH John. Oh yes. Fuck me now John. Fuck me now. Give me that fucking hard cock baby ram it into my pussy!"
He immediately thrust up into her and they began to fuck their brains out. John's face was glazed over from all her cum coating it. She bent down and begins to licks her cum off his face as she rotated her pussy around on his hard thick cock. John kept thrusting his hips up into her body making his cock pump her cunt like a machine. He could feel his cum building and his nuts felt like big rocks now. She said.
Cum in me! Cum in my hot black cunt John! Fill me!"
John moaned out as he strained not to cum but couldn't hold back any longer. Her body was driving him wild with lust and desire to cum! She said, "Oh fuck. I'm going to cum Alexis. I'm going to cum in your black cunt! NOW! OH GOD BABY! FUCK YES!!."
She bent forward now into his neck and licked up to my ear as she whispering:" Cum for me. Cum in my hot pussy baby. I want your hot white cum in my black cunt. Fill me with it! Oh god baby shoot your cum deep into my body. Cum or me John show me your love. Give me your cum!"
John moaned from her words and the movement of her wonderful dark body squeezing and sucking his cock deeper into her cunt hole. She whispered, "Fuck me baby. Fuck Alexis hard and cum in me. I want your load deep within my cunt. Fill me with your sperm. Now John, do it. Do it baby. Give me that white man's seed!"
He moaned out and with one final thrust John began to shoot.. He came hard enough that he felt like he would push her pussy off his cock from the forward thrust! He almost passed out from the pleasure. The feeling was unbelievable as she moved her body around in tight little circles and he kept thrusting up inside her again and again and again. Up into that hot black cunt, his hard red cock rammed into her and his sticky load of cum was pushed deeper into her body with each thrust. She stuck her tongue deep into his mouth fucking it as he finished by lifting them both off the bed with my hips. They finish cumming together and their bodies fell on the bed. John rolled her over on to her back now. He wasn't done with her yet, no, not at all! He wanted to cum in her pussy again!
He kept ramming into her pussy with everything he had left in his body. She was holding on to him locked in an embrace of passion, desire and lust, especially lust. Her body kept fucking John like the animal she had become as she began to climax hard on his cock. John rammed into that hot wet pussy like an animal too.
Alexis moaned and moaned as she rolled her head from side to side and her lower body went crazy on his cock fucking him. Her body thrust up at him now and he ram down into her pussy making her cum and cum and cum. Her orgasm lasts a long time and drove her wild. She bounced them both up off the bed and then they would drop. His cock would slam into her hole hard each time. So hard in fact that the thrust would make the bed like a trampoline and they would bounce up off the mattress again and again!
But, even when it was over, and they both had climaxed again, neither one of them stopped fucking. They continued to keep pumping together now matching the other person's movement. John looked down at her and saw that devil smile in her face and eyes. He loved the way she looked as her lust took over her body and its movements. She hissed at him, "Fuck me! Fuck me hard baby!! Fuck me John fuck me until I can't fuck any more.!"
She pumps that fat cum filled pussy with everything she had left in her beautiful tight body. She yells at him now to fuck her harder. "Harder! Harder!! Harder!!!", she yells as he thrust down into her trying to push his cock out the back of her body.
She pumps up at him yelling out things like: "Oh yes baby. Fuck me baby.. F u c k Me... Oh - fuck – yes!! Just- like - that. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. SHIT. JOHN. I'm CUMMING!!! OH FUCK JOHN! OH FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!!! YES!! YES!!! YES!! OH FUCK YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
And when she climaxed this last time she locks her pussy tight around his cock and held it deep inside her tunnel as she screamed and he felt her cum ran out her cunt on to their bodies. With each of John's thrusts a little more was pumped out around his thick hard shaft buried all the way in Alexis's cunt. Finally they collapsed together on the bed still locked in their passionate embrace.
Both bodies were covered with sweat from the fucking workout they had given each other. She was now much more impressed with John stimuli and endurance. He was becoming a much better lover than she could have hoped for. They didn't care they were lying in a puddle of sweat, cum and body fluids. John's cock is still throbbing inside her pussy and her pussy was still squeezes it tight. He licked her neck and bit her ear as her hands held his head and her legs held his body tightly against hers They squeeze each other tight. John smiled down at her and was thinking, "God I love fucking this woman."
After a few minutes she said, "I need to call home again John. OK? And after that, are you ready to shave my pussy baby?"
He jumped up and said, "Oh hell yea. Come on. I love that pussy so dam much Alexis. Come on!"
She said, "Wait I want to call home, this is important too John. He stood there slowly stroking his cock watching her dialed her number. She let it ring 6 times and then the answering machine came on again. She hung up after leaving a message telling Lee to call her at John's house when he got in. She looked at her watch, 11:30PM and Lee still wasn't home. Where the fuck was he? She started to worry.
Then John took her hand and they walked arm and arm into the bathroom and John turned on the hot water. As they watched shower run and fill the tub, John knelt on the floor and examined her cunt. He loved to see his thick white cum leaking out of her dark pink pussy hole. The dark skin on the outside of her body and the dark pink almost red insides always got to him. He loved dark women! He sat there in front of her on his knees just watching his cum slowly leak out of her. He loved to look at Alexis's pussy and as she lifted a foot up and placed it on his shoulder, John looked under her pussy now touching and stroking it. He could smell the cum as it slowly leaked out. He rubbed her pussy smearing the cum all over her cunt and ass.
She stood there in front of him as he looked up at her and reached his hands placing them on her hips. She wasn't sure what he was going to do. Then John pulled that pussy open wider and gently towards his face. His mouth covered her pussy hole and he began to suck on it withdrawing his own cum as it leaked out of her. She moaned! It was the sexist thing she had ever seen. She said, "Oh God John! You're eating your own cum. Oh fuck yes. That's is so nasty and mean!! Lick me clean my love. Oh fuck!! Your mouth feels so good. So fucking good! Oh yes John lick my pussy clean of all your cum. Suck it baby. SUCK IT! YES! OH GOD YES!!!! I LOVE YOUR MOUTH ON MY CUNT BABY!!"
As his hands now moved up her body he reached and cupped her big breasts, she lifted her right foot off of his shoulder and put it on to the edge of the tub. That move opened her pussy even more for him and as she held his head against her body, his mouth sucked her cunt clean of all his cum and gave her another good hard orgasm. She cried out as she felt his tongue probe deeper and deeper into her pussy hole. With each lick or suck he removed more of his cum except for that little that had run into her womb! That cum stayed there. She shivered but this time it was from John's tongue making love to her pussy as she stood there watching.
Licking and sucking on Alexis's cunt, John could hear she moan and moan as she began to rock her cunt on his face. He smiled and licked faster. Staying just like she was with one foot on the tub, Alexis looked down and watched him eat her pussy. She told him: "Oh god baby. Eat me. Eat your cum out of my pussy."
He continued pleasing her and stimulating her body until she had another orgasm as she stood holding his head against her. Then he stood up and took the shaving cream and razor in his hand. She told him, "Stop! Let's get in the tub I'm freezing."
She was shaking but it wasn't from the cool air coming in the open window. John shut the window and watched as she stepped towards the tub. What an ass this woman had and how she used it when they fucked was unbelievable!
They both put a foot in and Alexis relaxed as she stood letting the water run over her body as the shower further filled the tub. As John sat on his knees, Alexis faced him and felt him reinsert his tongue again into her cunt. His mouth suck and hum on her pussy. She began to rub her clit now as John paid attention to her hole. As he fucked her with his tongue she stroked her throbbing pea shaped clit. A few seconds later she was holding John's head again and fucking his face on her pussy. She moaned deep within her body and the sound was more like an animal than a human. She held John's head for a long time after she had climaxed from his lips and tongue. Finally she let go and he stood taking her into his arms and kissing her hard. They embraced holding each other for a long time. As the water ran over him now, she could taste both of their cum off his lips and tongue. He held her and waited for her to calm down a little she was shaking badly from all his stimulation.
Alexis sat on a stool John had placed in the tub. He told her to sit on the edge of the stool. She did and he opened her legs wide. He smiled up at her and covered her snatch with shaving cream. He began to shave her bald. It took very little time for him to remove the small amount of hair stub she had around her pussy. But John saved under her cunt and up to her ass hole. He shaved over the top of her clit and the very edges of her pussy lips. When he was finished her pussy looked like a 10 year old girls. He not only had her shaved clean but she had absolutely no hair around her two holes now. He mad sure by running his tongue slowly over all of her sex. Every time he felt a stub he shaved it. She was now completely bald.
When he came out from between Alexis's pussy he lifted her up and held her tight again. Then he kissed her like she had never been kissed before. They sat down in the warm water. She sat with her back against John's chest. Lying in the deep warm water, only her hard dark nipples and the curved part of her breasts stuck up out of it. John reached under her arms and cupped her big tits and began to play with them pulling and pinching each nipple. God he loved her big brown tits. He was trying to see how long and hard he could get them. Alexis's lay back and closed her eyes as John watched his hands work on her body.
She said to herself, "God I love how he pleased me. I want more of his mouth and his cock, more and more and more of it." Then she said to herself, "Yes! She was sure now, Rufus was the one she would dump as a lover. John sure as hell was a keeper with a tongue like he had, a girl would be crazy to let him go. And so was Jake with his big hard black cock. Yep, Rufus was toast!"
She relaxed in the warm water and John's touch. His fingers were magic and he moved them over her tits and made slow love to her nipples. He whispered in her ear as he held her big breasts up out of the water now, "Lick one for me Alexis let me see you suck on one of your own nipples baby."
She turned to him and smiled saying, "You really like that don't you John? OK baby. If it gets you hard for me than OK."
He watched as she brought the left breast up and covered the long hard nipple with her lips. He moaned as he saw her sucking on it. He said, "Now that's hot , so fucking hot."
As she continued to suck one of her nipples, John moved his hands down over her flat stomach and over her hips to the top of her pussy. Then he slowly stroked a little further down to the tip of her slit and then in a little. He heard her said, "Mum baby. That feels nice. Rub my pussy John rub it here in the water and watch me cum for you."
She bent her knees and lifted her right leg letting it hang over the edge of the tub. She put her other foot up on the wall. She was opening both her thighs and her pussy slit wide for him. He sat up a little more and put both hands between her legs now and began to rub and fingered her pussy properly. He told her: "Play with your tits for me."
Alexis lifted both of them out of the water so John could see! She squeezed and played with them as he watched from over her shoulders. His cock was hard as hell and felt huge. He could feel it pressed between them. In minutes, Alexis was very close to cumming from John's talented fingers. She rocked her hips and pussy against his hands telling him, "Oh yea Jon! That's it. I'm almost there baby! Faster stroke my clit faster! Mumm! Oh yes John! I'm going to cum! Watch me cum for you! Watch me". Then she sighed and pushed her hands tightly against John's hand and humped against them with her pelvis and pussy as she began to climax.
John watched down her body as he looked over her shoulders and saw her body twitching and thrusting as she started and continued to cum. He had her now and he knew she had a nice warm orgasm while he watched. John was thinking, "God it was so sex to see this beautiful black woman getting her body off in the warm water from my fingers!" He continued to stroke her cunt and watched her body move on his fingers.
His cock was now screaming to fuck her and they both knew it. .His hands continued to work on her body. Now with his 10 fingers working on her most sensitive areas between her legs, it only took a few more minutes before she arched her hips and lifted her pelvis and ass up pushing her cunt up out of the water. Again John watched as her cunt pumped against his hands making his fingers disappear inside her body. And as her body reached another orgasm, she fucked on his hand moaning and grunting as she rotated her hips quick and hard as John's hands made love to her cunt. When she was at her peak she cried out, "OH GOD JOHN. Oh fuck this feels so good baby. Faster.. Finger me faster..."
She moaned more and more as she told him. He could see that her nipples sticking out about 2 inches. They were long and hard as hell. He could watch her body all day and even better, her pussy grinding away on his hands fucking like crazy as she climaxed, "Oh John. Oh that's it! Oh fuck yes baby! I'm…going…to...OH YES JOHN!! OH!! OH!! OH! OH!!! OH YES BABY!!!!! OH FUCK YES!! JOHNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!"
Alexis went crazy on John's fingers as he continue to stimulate her cunt, clit, "G" spot and even her ass hole. She pumped and pumped achieving another really good climax. It was her third and they hadn't even fucked yet. When she had finished that third orgasm, her body slipped back down into the warm water. She turned and covered John's mouth with her own and kissed him hard as she thrust her tongue into his mouth! He held her tight as he tongue fucked her mouth now. She held her body tight against him. Her pussy felt like it was on fire as John still held it in his hand. She slowly rocked on it not cumming but keeping that after glow feeling most women get after the have cummed.
She turned her head again and kissed him long and hard. He felt her tongue touch his teeth and he opened his mouth accepting it again. Sucking and sucking on her tongue he again moved his hands up and cupped her full round tits lifting them out of the water. He held them both in his hands as they kissed long and hard. He said, "I hope you didn't have any plans to go home tonight Alexis. Cause now I'm going to take you to bed and fuck you with the hardest cock I can ever remember having!"
It really got him hot seeing her body and touching it everywhere and anywhere he wanted to. He loved the feeling of her big tits and hard long nipples almost as much as he loved her dark skin fat, tight pussy. After a few minutes, Alexis put her hands on the edge f the tub and lifted herself up. Alexis turned around and sat back down facing him this time. His cock head was sticking up out of the water throbbing and looked so hard she was sure it was painful. She smiled when she saw how hard he was. He felt her hand circle the hard shaft of his cock, and began stroking it up and down. He moaned with pleasure as they both watched Alexis now work on John's cock like he had done to her pussy.
She felt him get even harder and begin to throb as she raised her body up out of the water high enough to take the big thick cock head and let it touch against her cunt hole. John smiled as she looked at him with lust in her eyes, in fact it was all over her face. She wiggled her hips a little and they both felt the big mushroom head moving into her body. He moaned and said: "OH yes Alexis! Fuck me baby. I'm so hard and need to fuck so bad."
As more cock went into her pussy, she moaned, "Oh John. I love this. I love how your big cock feels inside my body! Oh yes! I love this so much. Fuck me John. Fuck me slow and easy and fuck me for a long, long time. Then wash me take me to bed and eat my pussy before you fuck me again."
He smiled into her eyes as she continued to say, "No baby! I'm not going home tonight. I'm here for you, no for us all night! Now fuck me baby! Give me all of your cock deep inside my pussy!"
She pushed down and almost all of his cock went into her cunt. Now as she rode up and down slowly she took more and more of it into her pussy hole. Once she had him all the way in, she began to slowly rock back and forth on him. She bent down and kissed him as she worked her pussy on his cock. They held each other and fucked! Not hard, and not fast, Alexis was in no hurry now, she was going slow wanting this fucking to last as long as she could make it. John watched her face smile and her tits bounced as she fucked him. She told him: "Don't move! Lay still John and let me do the work. I want this to last as long as we can make it. Slow and easy baby, I'm going to fuck you slow and easy. Mum you feel so good. So fucking good. Your cock feels so big inside me baby. I love the way you and it fucks me John."
John smiled and lay back against the tub as his beautiful dark woman slowly fucked him. Back and forth, back and forth Alexis rocked her body as John watched his cock slip in and out of her sex. She moved like a magical witch the way she was fucking him. She was getting him harder and thicker as she moved her hips and cunt on his cock. She knew he was going to cum from the hardness of his cock now. Yet she tried to hold off. Every move made him better and better. Every once in a while she would bend in and kiss him fucking his mouth with her tongue. Every once in a while John would lift his head up or she would bend down far enough for him to suck her nipples. His hands came up and cupped her breasts as she rocked on his cock.
Alexis had her eyes closed now and was just moving and rotating her hips making her pussy slip and slide around on John's cock. It only move 2 or 3 inches in and out of her pussy but the way she was moving was special. She was without a doubt the sexiest woman he had ever known in his life. It was one fantastic feeling and sight. John had never been fucked like this before, and he loved it. His cock felt huge. GOD! He wanted to thrust it up into her again and again and ram her cunt as he screamed and shot his load.
But every time he began to pump her, she would stop fucking him and tell him to stay still. They had been doing this now for at least 20 maybe 30 minutes, maybe longer they lost track of the time. In fact they had been slowly fucking for so long the water was now getting much cooler. Alexis felt herself getting chilled again. When she shivered again, John opened his eyes and said: "Cum baby! Cum for me! I have to pump! I can't stand not moving. I have to pump. I have too. Come on. Let me fuck you too."
She smiled and told him: "No baby. This feels so good you don't had to do anything but keep that big thick cock hard for me."
After a few more minutes Alexis was cold and said: "I'm cold again. Let's get out dry off. We can finish making love on the bed."
She didn't want to stop but the water was very cool. John said: "OH GOD.. OK. But hurry baby. Hurry. I want you back on my cock ASAP."
She smiles and then moaned. John felt her slowly lifted her pussy up his thick hard shaft and off the fat mushroom head. She got out of the tub first and handed him his towel. She smiled as she saw his cock hard as a rock and sticking straight out from his body jumping with excitement. She said, "Don't bump that thing it will hurt!"
He smiled and didn't start to dry himself, he began to dry her. She stood there letting him dry her. She was so worked up she would let him do whatever he wanted to her body. His mouth and tongue felt so nice licking her pussy as it had stayed opened from John's three fingers being in it for so long. He rubbed and licked her until she couldn't stand it any longer. As he watched her body rock on his hands and mouth he knew he was really getting to her and soon she would cum for him again.
She finally moaned and told him: "Oh fuck. Oh god baby you make me feel so dam good. Come on John. Come on let's get in bed and fuck. I have got to have you inside me baby. Oh god John. I want your big cock inside my pussy. NOW BABY. NOW."
But John was so hard and so worked up himself with passion and desire he couldn't wait until they were on the bed. He couldn't walk that far. He had to have her now. He had to have Alexis's pussy sounding his shaft and riding it. He had to fuck! And fuck now. He lifted Alexis up in the air with his strong arms said, "Put your legs around me and guide my cock into your pussy."
And she did. First she wrapped her legs around him and then immediately reached down between them and inserted his hard cock inside her hole. She told him: "Take me to bed baby and fuck me to death. Fuck me all night. Oh John. I love you baby. Fuck me good John, make me cum. Fuck me over and over and over John!"
As she whispered those words in his ear, she was slowly riding back and forth on his cock as he held her up against the bathroom walk. He pushed all the way into her until their bodies touched. But, instead of carrying her to the bed like she was thinking he was going to do, John turned them around and sat her on the edge of the counter next to the sink. He told her; "I can't wait for the bed Alexis. I have to fuck you now, here and now baby. It's my turn now. Lay back against the wall and enjoy it I'm going to fuck you crazy."
She moaned as she slipped three of her fingers around the bottom part of the shaft of his big cock. She could feel how wet and slippery he was as he continued to pump it into her. Her juices had coated his thick shaft and with her cum from his fingers making her cum earlier. He was gliding in and out of her tight hole. Humping his hips he was moving like a piston in and out of her body as he began to fuck her. He was really enjoying how smooth her cunt walls felt. The friction was just right, man he had missed this pussy so much. She was smooth and narrow and his cock fucked her with long hard strokes.
Alexis was in dreamland with John's big cock pumping her body fucking her. She didn't care where he did it or how he did it, as long as he kept doing it. She only knew she wanted John to fuck her and then eat her cunt for the rest of his life. But now, all she wanted was his big, thick, hard, red cock all the way up inside her lustful body ramming her cunt again and again. As John took control now he didn't fuck her slow. He didn't fuck her easy. He was way beyond that stage.
His body was so full of lust it scared him a little. He had never felt like this before. He would have raped her if she didn't want him. And, he would have too. He couldn't help it his brain was like his cock, fucking and cumming was all he could think of. But Alexis had worked him up so bad she knew he was in a bad way and she knew she was going to please him and he was certainly going to please her all fucking night long.
His hips began to pump and pump his cock harder and faster into her body, again and again and again. She cried out feeling all of him pushing into her body and she loved it. She fucking loved it so much it scared her too. She would have raped him if he didn't fuck her like he was doing. He arched his back and pushed his ass hard shoving his cock as deep as he go into her. As he shoved his cock all the way into her pussy, Alexis cried out as another orgasm was building in her body. As John felt her begin to lift her ass up and pump into him he knew she was going to cum. John removed her legs from around his body and with his arms lifted them up higher until her feet were resting on his shoulders.
She locked her ankles around his neck as they pumped into each other. He held the sides of her hips and rammed his hard cock like a jackhammer into his dark beautiful woman. Alexis hissed at him to fuck her harder and faster. He did and she arched her hips and tried to lift her ass to meet his stroke, but with her legs up this high she couldn't do much except feel his big cock ramming into her hole. She cried out telling him: "Oh yes! Fuck me John. Oh John. Oh god baby. Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Fuck me. Harder…Harder… Harder baby."
As she panted for air he continued to pump her body with all of his cock. He heard her said: "John…Oh John… Oh yes! Fuck me. Fuck me as hard as you can baby. I want you to hurt me. Fuck me hard baby. Make me cum. I'm almost there sugar. OH FUCK…OH YES JOHN…HARDER…OHH!…FUCKKKK! OH FUCKKKK...OH FUCKKKK... OH FUCKKKKK. OHH FUCKKK!! YESSSSSS JOHNNNN. YESSSSSSSSSSS... OHHHHHHHHHH YESSSSSSSSSSSS JOHNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!."
Alexis began to orgasm hard now as John hammered into her with everything he had now. His cock looked like a blur as it went in and out of her pussy, lifting her body up a little off the counter with each thrust. He had never fucked so hard. He held her hips and just rammed his cock into her over and over and over and over again as she held him around his neck with her hands and watched him as he did her.
She moaned and moaned, loving what John was doing to her. God dam she sure loved hard cocks fucking her like Lee, her husband couldn't do. John was like one of those fuck machines that that just continue to pump into a woman's pussy fucking her. Only with John you felt a human and that was much, much better to Alexis than any old machine or vibrator. As he looked into her eyes another few seconds went past and he was sure he was going to cum. But Alexis beat him to it. Again with a huge sigh and grunt she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and pulled his head down to kiss him hard as he kept pumping into her cunt. John's mouth moved down her wet dark body and circled her huge long nipple. Alexis shoved her breasts forward ramming her tit into his mouth hard as she rammed her pussy hard into his cock.
He took as much of the big tit into his mouth and sucked as hard as he could suck. She sucked his cock into her cunt and tried to hold it there as she cried out: "I'M CUMMING BABY! I'M CUMING! OH GOD…OH YES JOHN... IT"S SO GOOD… OH JOHN… OH DON"T STOP FUCK ME!"
He told her he would keep fucking her until she told him to stop!
She moaned not hearing what he said. She told him, "DON"T EVER STOP FUCKING ME JOHN! EVER! OHHH GOD HERE I GO AGAIN!! OHHHH!!…OHHHHHH!! OH YES!!…YES!…YES!…YES!!YESSSSSSSSSSSSS! AHHHH....GOD!! JOHN!!! AHHHHHH…AHHHHHH… AHHHHHH…AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
This time Alexis went off like a rocket He let her legs drop now and she lifted that dark ass up of the counter and fucked him like she was crazy. Hard and long she rammed her cunt on his cock. She had reached many orgasms and many were back to back. In only a few seconds she had gone off three times and they were still coming on as they rammed into each other. John was amazed that he hadn't cum yet. He was happy about it but amazed that he could hold off this long with such a beautiful woman in front of him giving her body willingly.
As she came down from her last orgasm, he lifted her up off the counter and walked towards the bed with his huge cock still inside her. She bit his neck as she was still humping her pussy on his extremely hard thick cock buried all the way up inside her. She was slowly coming down from one of the biggest orgasm she had ever had.
John still had his huge thick pumping inside her pussy as she rocked her body on it. She didn't come down completely from that climax and with her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck she didn't want too. She held John tight as he walked them both into the bedroom and stood in front of the bed. She whispered: "Lay down and let me fuck you John, I want to make you cum."
John slowly lowered her to the bed keeping his cock inside her. As she lay there on the edge of the bed John was standing up. He looked down at her beautiful body and they both could feel his cock jump with his excitement. He told her there wasn't enough light in the room and he wanted to see her. He slid his cock out of her pussy with a pop. Alexis moaned when it came out she felt so emptied. John walked to the lamps on each side of the bed and turned them on. Then he turned on the ceiling light. As he walked back towards her open legs and waiting pussy Alexis watched his cock swing back and forth all the way. It bounced as he took each step. It was wet, thick and the head was purple. She marveled at how her small pussy could accept such a thick hard thing like John's cock, or Jake's huge one. But, she was glad it could. She moved up on the bed and as she lay there she put her feet on the bed bending her knees. John moved up between then and stroked her cunt slit a few times with his hard cock head.
She smiled and told him: "Come back baby and put that big cock back into me. Fuck me again. God John…I love your cock so much."
He smiled and said: "I love it too Alexis. But, baby. I love your pussy more."
As he knelt between her legs he just looked at her. She asked him, "Something wrong?"
He said: "No. I was just wondering if you would let me do something?" She smiled and told him, "Anything. Anything you want baby. I'm yours."
He smiled and told her: "I love your body Alexis. But from the first time I saw you at our association meeting I dreamed of how it would feel to fuck your tits. I want to fuck your tits. I want to slide my cock between them and fuck them before I put it back into your pussy."
She smiled and pushed her large full breasts together saying: "Like this John. Do you want to fuck them like this?"
John moaned as saw her squeeze her breasts and he moved up over her stomach and straddled her tits with his knees. With a knee on both sides of her body he placed his thick cock under her tits and began slowly pumping it up and down as she held her tits tight together. It was such a fantastic sexy sight to see. Her dark body and his reddish/purple cock, which was very hard from his excitement, moving between her tits faster now making both of them excited. As he pumped up between those full tits, the head of his cock was close enough to Alexis's mouth now for her to lick. So he pushed his cock up between her big tits and held it there as Alexis's tongue licked out over the big purple head. Then he would move it back so he could pump some more.
She told him: "God John! Your cock looks huge. Bigger than it has ever looked. Put that big boy back in my pussy and make me cum. Oh come on John fuck me again."
Even John was thinking he was bigger. It must be her tits! His cock being fucked by her big dark tits made him so excited he was bigger. As John pumped his cock up and down between her tits a few more times, she told him, "Please John! Pull my nipples baby."
He smiled as he pumped his cock between her big mounds. As she held her breasts tight around his hard cock, John used his fingers and came down and began to pull and rub her big long nipples. They got considerable longer as he worked on them. She was smiling up at him knowing he was really enjoying this. As he continued to fuck her tits and pull on her nipples with his fingers she smiled and watched his big cock touch her lips and tongue. Finally after a few more minutes John felt like he was going to cum. He didn't know if he wanted to shoot a load all over her tits and face, or do what she asked and put his cock back inside her and cum in her pussy.
His lust took over and made the choice for him. He moved his cock out from between her full round breasts and slid it down her stomach leaving a small wet trail of pre-cum as he moved between her thighs again. He smiled at her as he licked and kissed her pussy a few times before guided his cock back to her wet waiting pussy hole. She lifted up just a little as he inserted the head against her opening. She pushed as John pushed and the head and 5 or 6 inches went back into her hole. "Oh YES!" Alexis moaned out as John pushed more and more of his big cock back into her cunt. He slowly began to pump in and out of her as she lifted her ass and met his thrusts with her own.
They both knew this fuck was going to be hard, fast and very, very good. John was deep inside Alexis now, ramming into her with all of his hardness. She humped and humped her cunt on his meat and both moaned and moaned as they fucked. Again and again John rammed into her beautiful body pleasing and filling her. He put his arms under her thighs and lifted them up putting her knees over her head. Than he began fucking down into her body like a piston as her knees pressed against her big tits.
He was ramming her body with all the energy he had left inside him. She was moaning and moaning as John fucked her so hard it was pushing the air out of her each time he pumped down into her. He was close and Alexis knew it. She was working and squeezing the walls of her pussy as tight as she could get them, trying to hold his big cock deep inside her. This was making him even more sensitive as he slid his cock along the very smooth walls of her tightening pussy. She could feel his cock thicken even more now and she knew he was going to cum. She moaned hissing up in his face, "Oh yes baby. Cum inside me John. Fill me baby. I want all of your cum! John fuck me faster and cum in me. Cum in Alexis's pussy baby. Cum for me baby."
She held her tits together and squeezed then showing him her hard long nipples as he worked in and out of her cunt again.
She knew he loved her nipples almost as much as he loved her pussy. John felt like his cock was 20 inches long and 15 inches thick as his entire body wanted to cum. He had never wanted to cum so bad in his life. He fucked her with everything he had. He was seconds away from shooting the biggest load of cum in his life. Her cunt was so soft and so tight as she squeezed her muscles as hard a she could. John looked down and saw Alexis pushing her full tits together for him and this was all he could take. He cried out and began to cum. Oh god it felt so good to cum. What a release too! John almost yelled with each shot of cum that he pumped into Alexis's beautiful dark body. Again and again his cock thumped and then pumped wads of warm thick cum into her lovely body.
Alexis moaned as she felt the first shot entered her body. She wrapped her legs around John and pulled him into her tight. As she felt him pump more and more of his juices into her filling her pussy completely, she cried out as her body rocked and pumped against his big thick cock. She had reached her orgasm and she kissed him hard holding him tightly against her as her body thrust up into him so had she almost off the bed. He filled her pussy completely with his cum and then she felt it running slowly down her pussy and into the crack of her ass. She held on to him as he finished her off with a huge hard thrust. Burying his cock as deep as he could push it into her sweet pussy. They stayed like that for a long, long time. Her legs and arms wrapped tightly around his body and with John holding her head in his hands kissing her.
Finally Alexis pulled her lips off of his and held his face as she looked in his eyes saying, "Oh John baby. Oh yes. I love you. I love you so much."
He kissed her again and told her he loved her too. After about 10 minutes he felt his flat cock slip out of Alexis's pussy. He was done for now and so was she. As they lay on their sides kissing and touching softly and gently, John felt this was the best time to ask Alexis something. He said: "Alexis do you think Lee would agree to et you go to the beach with me next weekend? I want to take you to my beach house and see you sitting in the sun in your bikini. That is until I take it off of you. What do you think? I want you with me all weekend from Friday to Sunday, 2 nights in a row."
She said, "All I can do is ask him John! And then see what he'll say."
She told him how bad she wanted to be with him and how much she loved to have him fuck her all day and then the night. As she talked, John could feel his cock starting to slowly grow again. It wasn't just lust or passion this time making his cock big again. It was love, love for a dark skin woman he had always wanted in his life. He could have worshiped her. He certainly could make love to her every night and day. He would suck her pussy and make sure he pleased her so she would slowly but surely never want any one else but him.
As they laid in bed, spooning against each other her back against his chest she felt his cock twitch. Alexis began to feel his cock growing harder now for sure as it was squeezed between them. She rolled over and pushed him on to his back. She placed her head on his stomach and took his wet slippery cock in her hand. She slowly began to stroke and tease his cock rubbing her nails up and down and over his growing cock head. He arched every now and then as she began to get him very aroused. She slowly stroked him as he reached around her back and ran his hand over her round full ass.
John loved the way that ass lifted them both high up off the bed a she screamed and climaxed with him inside her. Pumping and pump that ass would keep him and his nuts high up off the bed. As his cock continued to grow she brought it towards her face and mouth smelling the sex from both of them on it. With her wet warm tongue licked out and covered the top of the mushroom head growing in front of her eyes. She licked it again and again it jumped with his excitement. As she worked on John's cock with her hand and tongue, he ran his fingers down the left cheek of her ass and under it feeling the wetness surrounding her just fucked pussy. She moved her legs so he could touch her better. Moaning as he inserted a finger, Alexis felt it going in deeper and deeper. She quickened her strokes and with his cock fully grown now covered the slippery head with her full lips.
They lay there enjoying what the other was doing to their body. Alexis moved down John's chest to his lower stomach. Now as she was lower her ass and pussy was looking right at his face. She could also now suck John's cock much better. She smiled seeing it hard and reddest in color. The rest of John's body was white with a faint outline of a tan. But, John's cock was full of blood and he was hard as stone. None of the other men in her life were this hard. Two were a little larger, one was thicker, but neither was as hard as John was. She liked that and she liked the color of his cock in her dark brown hand. She smiled as she moved the head and shaft towards her mouth and heard John sigh saying, "Suck it Alexis. Suck it hard for me baby!"
She did, she took the cum coated dick in her mouth and sucked as her tongue ran over the tip back and forth! She could feel John's need it was pulsing in her mouth. Alexis used her hand and pushed at the base stretching the skin around the fat head together and much more sensitive. He moaned again and said, "OH yea baby! Suck my hard cock!"
As she sucked and licked his hard cock keeping her hand pressed tightly at the base of his shaft, John began to play with Alexis's cunt. He used his fingers and played with the folds of her pussy. He opened it and saw the pink insides of her twat. She opened her legs wider for him. He lifted his as up trying to get more of his cock into her delicious mouth! As she sucked real hard trying to milk the cum building in his nuts, She moved over him and straddled his head with her knees. John looked up to see her pussy begging to be kissed. She had positioned her body into a 60 now. She moaned as John used two hands now to stimulate her sex.
She moaned as she felt his breath on her wet cunt. She always knew what she wanted and now she knew what he wanted. She tried to take all of his thick hard cock down her throat as she moved her pussy down over John's face and let it touch his mouth! He immediately wrapped his arms around her smooth round ass and pulled her down tighter on his mouth. He took in her musk as he inhaled it deeply. As he sucked she sucked like they were trying to see who could get the other one off the best and fastest. John won!
Alexis was so worked up from watching his red, hard as steel cock grow with her touch, and then feeling John pull her lower body over his face so he could suck her cunt, she couldn't hold back. She cried out as John's tongue went deep into her pussy hole. He licked and sucked and played with her pussy and ass until he felt her begin to rock her pussy on his mouth as she pushed down on his face with her hips! Even his nose helped to stimulate Alexis's cunt. As she rocked on his tongue and mouth his nose was rubbing her hard clit as she rocked back and forth on his mouth! John felt her shake and then pushed down on his mouth harder and harder as he sucked on her dark hot pussy. As she began top cum he tasted the somewhat bitter liquid filling his mouth. He licked faster. As she climaxed he started to hum directly on her clit and continued his sucking. She thrust her pussy harder into his face almost making it to hard for him to breathe!
Alexis moaned she had to let John's cock out of her mouth so she could say, "OH JOHN! YES! Oh God baby! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh Yes! Oh yes baby! Suck it John! Suck my pussy! OH God! Oh God I love it! Oh God! I love it! Ohhhhhh!! Ohhhhhh!! Ohhhh!!! Ohhhhhhhhhh! OHHHH!!! JOHNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Alexis's body took over and began to pump and pump and pump her pussy on his face and fingers making love to it! John held her ass and hips now as Alexis orgasm rocked her body and flooded his mouth with her cum. He let it run all over his face as he concentrated his movements on her cunt. He was attacking it with all of his knowledge. His tongue lips mouth breath and thumbs worked on Alexis's body.
His thumbs pulled Alexis's cunt lips open wide exposing all of her inner pink pussy. His mouth sucked and pushed into her pinkness. His warm breath blew on her wet insides shaking her and making her shiver. Her body was shaking so much she couldn't control it. John's tongue was evil! The way it prided and searched and pleased her so much. It was on her clit one-minute and then deep inside her hole fucking her. Higher and higher her body drifted as she continued to have one orgasm after the other. She was floating in a dream world of pleasure now. She was shocked when John rolled her over on to her back with his head buried in her cunt. As he pushed her thighs open wider, His mouth found her throbbing clit.
John circled it with his lips and held it as his tongue worked back and forth over the hard thick bud. She lifted her ass up off the bed almost crying for him, "Eat me, eat me, eat me!"
She screamed as John squeezed his lips tighter around the small penis like clit sticking out further than any he had ever seen before. She pumped and pumped and pumped her hips fucking his face but John didn't let go of her pussy. She cried out, "John! Oh John! YES BABY!! OHHH JESUS JOHN!! EAT ME!!! NEVER STOP! OH FUCK! YES! YES! YES! YES! JOHN! AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! JESUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Alexis was so high up off the bed now, only her head, neck and feet were still on it. She held his head and pumped her cunt on his face like some animal in heat! She continued and continued to fuck his face until finally he released her pussy from his mouth. She fell back on to the bed drained and panting like she was going to have a heart attack. John immediately moved his body up between her dark, opened legs. Taking his very hard cock in his hand he positioned it at the gapping throbbing cunt hole between her legs. With one thrust he was inside her all the way! She screamed with rapture as he filled her body with his cock!! She felt like it was a steel rod inside her he was that hard!
John kept thrusting his hips into her body making his cock pump her cunt like a machine. He could feel his cum building and his nuts felt like rocks as they slapped against Alexis's ass. He strained hard not to cum! He slowed down so he wouldn't cum to quickly. He watched her head rolling from side to side as she moaned his name, "Oh John! Oh John! That feels so good! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me John1 Yea! Yea! Yea! Oh that's it! That's it! Fuck me baby! Fuck me hard!"
She bends in to his neck and used her tongue to lick up to his ear. As she held him tight feeling his hard cock rubbing along the smooth walls of her love tunnel as it moved in and out of her cunt. She kissed him and told him, "Don't hold back! Don't! Cum in me. Cum in my pussy! Don't hold back baby! I want your hot cum in my cunt! Oh god John shoot your cum deep into me. Cum in me! Oh yes! Fuck me! Fuck me hard and cum!"
He moaned! And, with one final hard thrust he began to cum! He climaxed hard enough that he felt he might pass out! The feeling was unbelievable as she rotated her body around in tight little circles making his cock feel all of her pussy. He kept thrusting inside her again and again and again as his cock pumped his cum! His cum shot into that hot black cunt. His hard red cock rammed into her as his white cum begins to splash over her dark brown body! He was pushing some of it out with each thrust of his hips! She sticks her tongue deep into his mouth as he finish. She lifted them both off the bed with hips trying to get him further into her cunt hole. Then they were finished. John stopped cumming and their bodies fall on the bed limp and wet!
He slowly kept pumping into her pussy as she moaned and told him how good he made her feel. She held on to him locked in an embrace of passion and desire! Her body kept fucking him slowly and then she moaned very loud and lifted them both up off the bed again as she began to climax again his cock buried deep inside her. She pounded her pussy up into him now as she was fucking on his cock! She was like an animal as she screamed and screamed! He moans sounded deep and husky as he held her and she pumped her beautiful dark body on John's cock!
Her body thrust up at him and rammed up and down on his cock. Her pussy squeezed his cock tight milking him! Her pussy was cumming and cumming and cumming! Her climaxes lasted long and drover her body on and on. Neither one of them wanted to stop fucking the other. They kept pumping together now matching the other's movement. John look down at her and saw that devil smile in her face and eyes. She pumped that pussy with everything she in her tight dark body! She yelled at him to fuck her harder! Harder! Harder! "Harder", she yelled and John thrust down into her trying to push his cock out her ass. She pumped up into him yelling out things like: "Oh yes baby! Fuck me baby!! F u c k M e!!! Oh - fuck - yes just- like - that! Ahhhhhhh GODDDD!!! JOHN!!"
And when she had the last climax she locked her pussy tight around John's cock and held it deep within her body as she screamed with rapture. Her cum ran out her cunt over her body! There was so much of it! Finally, they collapse together on the bed still locked in an embrace! Their bodies were covered with sweat from the fucking workout they had gave each other. They didn't care that they were lying in a puddle of sweat, cum and body fluids! John's cock was still hard inside her pussy and her pussy was still squeezing it. God he loved fucking this woman! He licked her neck and bit her ear as her hands held his head kissing him deeply. Her legs held his body and squeezed him tight. They drifted off to sleep.
As she woke se felt his cock head still inside her pussy hole. She looked at her watch and saw it was very late. She decided to call Lee her husband. Alexis reached for the phone and felt the last part of John's cock slip out her pussy. She dialed the number and waited. Thee was no answer she said to herself, "Where the hell could Lee be at 3AM?" She hung up and rolled over. She moved back into John and felt his arm cover her right breast. They spooned as they slept. Around 8AM she felt john move and push closer into her body. She felt his hand cup her large tit and squeeze it tighter.
She smiled and whispered, "John is that your cock I feel growing up my back baby? Oh I hope so. I want to ride it this time until I scream! Give me another huge orgasm with that white dick baby."
They rolled over and she straddled his hips. Alexis sat up on John as he put his hands behind his head and watched as his beautiful dark skin woman begin to guide his hard cock into her hole. She smiled as she lowered her body down on the shaft until she was fully inserted. John loved to see his big cock move into her dark body. It was so sexy to see her begin to move her body on him. He reached out and held her shapely hips as she began gyrating them around fucking his cock. When she felt his cock was wet enough, Alexis began to ride him. Faster and faster she moved up and down on his throbbing shaft. Each time she came down she came down all the way until their bodies merged pelvis to pelvis. She would talk to him saying things that made him even hotter than he already was. Alexis was very god at verbal stimulation and John loved it Reaching up he cupped her big breasts seeing some of them squeeze out the sizes of his big hands. Alexis was just too big for most guys to hold one tit in their hand. Most men needed two hands to whole the entire breast. She moved her hands over John's and they both squeezed her tits as she started to bounce up and down on his cock now.
Again his cock was super hard and he wanted to cum again bad now that she was fucking him. She loved to be the one who was in charge of the fucking. She loved being fucked but she loved it even more when she was the one doing the fucking. John couldn't remember any woman he ever been with that loved to have a cock in her cunt as much as Alexis. She never seemed to tire. As she rode up and down on his full-grown cock again and again telling him how good he felt and not to cum. She smiled and said: "Every day baby!! Every fucking day and night we're going to do this. I'm going to fuck you to death! I'm going to fuck you every fucking night we're together just like this. Do you like this John? Do you like my black cunt squeezing down on your hard white cock? Oh - - John. Oh- - - GOD - - baby. Oh god. It feels so fucking good! Oh John you feel it? Can you feel it too baby! Oh it's so good inside me. Oh fuck. I'm- - going- - to - - - - c—u—m--!"
She moaned as he watched her bouncing up and down like a doll with a machine inside it. Her hips ass and pussy worked and worked over and over again as she screwed him hard. He felt she might even break his hard on of it would pop out of her cunt as she was slamming down on him.
Moaning now she throwing her head back. John watched her go crazy on his hard cock as she climaxed. He could feel the juices running down over his cock as she flooded it with her cum. He pulled her down on top of him and kissed her hard! She bit his lip in the heat of her passion and moaned with a wild deep passionate voice, "Cum in me! John cum in my cunt! Fill me with your seed. Fill me up baby! Oh god I love this so much! I'm going to die from fucking one night!"
John felt the same way. He felt he was going to die from fucking her. She drove him wilder than any woman had ever done. As he held her tight on top of him, he rolled them over and now Alexis was on her back. She lifted her legs up and licked her lips. He said, "Now Alexis! Now I'm going to fuck you crazy!"
She moaned as she felt John slam into her cunt. She was sure she was on her way to another orgasm and this time he would put her in heaven! As he heard her cry out with each thrust he made, John smiled and said, "Now baby! I'm going to tear up your cunt."
He knelt between her spread thighs and held one leg straight up so he could use it for leverage. He began to fuck her like a mad man. As hard and as fast as he could, John rammed into her fucking her like the Alfa male of the pack. His cock burned with desire as he slammed into that black cunt. Over and over again he pumped into her body driving her up the bed a little with each thrust. He was wilder with desire than he could ever remember. He was boiling over with lust for her body. He wanted to fuck that cunt so she would want him more and more. Again and again she cried out as he drove into her. His cock was like a steel shaft piecing her cunt each time he pumped it into her.
He was using all of his cock too. First he was balls tight and then he left only the fat purple cock head inside her seconds later she felt that big mushroom head sliding along the walls of her tunnel and he was buried again. She was filled as she heard his balls slapping against her ass.
Alexis was almost delirious from his fucking her this way. She loved to be fucked hard and nasty! She loved to have her body bruised from the slamming of his hips and pelvis against hers. With lust in her eyes and heart for this white man now, Alexis began to fuck him back. She loved the way he used his cock to fuck her wild. She wrapped her legs round him and drove her pussy up into him with the force he had never felt before. Like two animals now they locked together and fucked and fucked and fucked until she screamed as the huge orgasm took over her body and gave her the feeling she was floating. She drifted and drifted as she held John's cock deep inside her pussy hole. She wrapped her arms around him and bit his shoulder as she reached the peak of her orgasm! "Oh Jesus John! Oh God! Oh yes! OH Fuck! I'm cumming! Oh yes!! OH YES!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!! OH FUCK YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!"
Alexis almost passed out. If it was for John biting her long hard nipple so hard he drew blood. She screamed from the pleasure and pain! She held his body tight against her as they both started to slow down. She wouldn't let go even when he fell on top of her drained completely. John held her and kissed her passionately.
John didn't know how long she held him with her arms and legs and pussy. Finally Alexis broke her hold and when John lifted his head up he saw Alexis crying. He said, "What's wrong? Why are you crying baby?"
She said, "OH John I love what you do to me. God I love it so much. I need you John! I need you so much. I love you baby!"
John heard her but the words weren't hitting his brain. He said, "What did you say?"
She said, "I love you! Yes!! I love you, I love your cock but I also love you."
He said, "When did you decide that?"
She smiled a little and said, "When I was floating in air as I climaxed on your wonderful cock. I knew this was more than just getting fucked. I knew we have more than that John. What do you feel?"
He smiled and said, "Hell Alexis I have loved you since the first time we were together at the conference. I have wanted to fuck you since the first second I saw you. But, after the conference and being with you all those days, "
She interrupted him to say, "And nights baby!"
He laughed and said, "and nights! But it was then, I knew I wanted you. Not just to fuck you Alexis but I wanted to be with you. And I wanted you to be with me, you know be my woman!"
She held him tighter now. She broke apart a little and said, "I want to ask you something."
He said, "Anything baby! Anything you want"
She said, "No! John I'm serious. I want to ask you and I want a true answer from you. OK?"
He said, "Sure."
She said, "What would you say if I told you I was seriously thinking about leaving Lee."
He looked at her and said, "Are you sure? That's a very big step."
She said, "I have been thinking about it on and off for a long time John. I tried I have really tried but I don't think I can stay with him any longer. I need to see you more than three times a month! God I'll go crazy if I can't have this nice fat white cock of yours more than three times a month baby! And your tongue I need every fucking day if I could get it. Now I have to talk with Lee but I'm almost sure he will not agree to let us be together more than a few times a month. He was pretty hurt when I told him I wanted you."
He said, "Well we could talk with him together if that would help."
She said, "No. One of you would kill the other one before the end of the night. I will talk with him."
As he kissed her neck and down to her left breast his eyes saw movement and he looked up. She heard him take a deep breath and hold it. She quickly looked over to see what John was looking at. There in bedroom doorway stood Lee. Her husband didn't look well. She said, "Lee! Why are you here? This isn't our agreement."
Lee said, "John are you finished fucking my wife?"
John stuttered as he said, "Ye. . yea. . .yes! We're done Lee. I think we were going to go to sleep for awhile."
Lee didn't say anything. He asked Alexis if she was going to leave him? She told him she wanted to talk with him when she got home. She said he should leave now and she would be home before dinner. Lee said, "I heard what you said Alexis. You are planning to leave me aren't you? You're going to leave me for this white guy!"
Alexis let John go and he rolled over and off of her. Lee saw his semi-hard cock covered with cum and it was dripping on the bed. He looked between his wife's thighs and saw her cum dripping with the same cum. He almost fell. Alexis and John jumped towards him when he held up his hand and said, "NO!! Don't come near me either of you."
He moved to the bed and looked at them. He said, "Please Alexis cover your body. I don't know if I can stand seeing your pussy covered with this white guy's cum. John please go sit in the chair for a moment and please put some pants on."
John did and Alexis covered her lower body. She said, "How did you get here?
He said, "I know where all of your lovers live Alexis. And I have already seen your other two."
John said, "Other two?"
Lee said, "Shut up John. Yes she has two other lovers."
Alexis said, "Well I told you I would give one of them up Lee. And that one is. . "
Lee said, "Rufus right?"
She said "Yes how did you know?"
He smiled a little and said, "Well Jake has too big of a dick and knowing you I know you wouldn't let that go. And John over there is too new and he's white and Alexis you have never had a white guy before. So I just figured it would be Rufus."
She said, "Well you're right about Rufus. But we need to talk about Jake and John."
He said, "What do we need to talk about Alexis?"
She said, "Lee you know how much I like to have sex. Right?"
He said, "Yes, I know and I wish there was something I could do to get hard enough to fuck you myself."
She aid, "What would you say or think if I told you I was dropping Jake too?"
He said, "I wish you could too but you can't "
He said, "I would be so fucking happy Alexis if I could. I really don't want you fucking any other men."
She said, "What if there was only one man?"
He said, "I know you and I know there's a catch. What is it?"
Alexis took a deep breath and said, "Well I would rather talk with you about this alone in our house later."
He said, "Christ Alexis I just saw you two fucking like animals for over an hour. I saw you giving him every part of your body and do everything with him. So why don't you just tell me what you have on your mine."
She said, "OK, if that's how you want it Lee. You know that you are not able to get hard and satisfy me. And you know you have agreed to let me fuck other men. In fact you told me I could have as many as three lovers just this past month. Then you ask me to reduce it to two men. I did. Now I'm thinking about telling you I want only one and that one is John. But, Lee I also have to tell you I have really strong feelings for him and I don't want to see him just 3 times a month."
She waited and saw Lee just look from her to John and back. He then said, " So what are you suggesting Alexis?"
She said, "Lee, I want no other man to fuck me but John! I want to be there for him whenever he wants me. And, I want him to be there for me whenever I want him. You know my sexual appetite. I want you to agree to let me see John as often as I want or need to see him. We'll still stay married and believe it or not I still love you very much. You'll be my husband for everything but the sex. And if you can, we'll even have sex as often as you want it. But if you can't, I want John to be there for me."
Again she waited to see what he would say or do. She was worried. Lee sat there and didn't say anything for a while. Finally he told her, "So how the hell will this work? Will you be home with me or will you be staying with him?"
She said, "I'll be staying with you of course. We'll be together and John will either come over for me or I'll go to him. It may be for a few hours or a night or longer. It won't be every night but it will be more than 3 times a month."
He said, "I don't know if I can live with that Alexis."
She said, "Well I hope you will try."
Lee said, "And if I can't? What will happen? Will you leave me? Will you break it off with John?" What? What will you do if I say I don't what you to see John any more. That I don't want you to be with any man again?"
Alexis didn't answer right away. Then she said, "I don't know Lee. I honestly and truly don't know. But I do know I want to be with you and I want to be with John."
Lee said, "So what are you going to do Alexis? I mean what's next for us."
She said, "Well first Lee go home. I'll be home before lunch and we can discuss this more. We need to get everything out on the table and not try to do it in John's bedroom."
John said, "Lee I truly enjoy being with Alexis. Not just for the sex. I enjoy her company too."
Lee turned to him and said, "Did I ask you for your opinion John? If this was your wife what would you do?"
John stood up and came over to sit on the bed too. He looked at Lee and told him, "If I couldn't please my wife sexually and she told me she needed to have sex. I think I would let her take a lover just like you did. I think I would rather know who she is with than to find out she was running around behind my back. I don't know how long you were standing there watching us. But, if you saw us long enough tonight you know how much Alexis enjoyed this. If I couldn't give it to her, I would make sure she got what she wanted from someone I knew and approved of."
Lee said, "Well it wouldn‘t be you. You're white and I don't like my wife fucking a white guy!"
Alexis said, "Guys! I have the final decision regarding who I want to fuck not either of you."
John said, "We know that Alexis. I think I was talking as if you had already picked me. I was assuming that it was me. Lee needs to get to know me more."
Lee said, "No! I don't want to get to know you. And I don't really want you fucking her. But it looks like I have no say in the matter. If I say no, I could loose Alexis and I don't want that."
He looked at Alexis and said, "How often would you want to see him?"
She shook her head and said, "That's what I don't want Lee. I don't want a limit of any kind. There may be times when I see him often, maybe every night at the beginning. I have a huge gap in my life Lee, a sexual gap. And the frustration is bad for you I know, but it's also bad for me, maybe worst. So in the beginning I might be with him more than I am with you. Then there would be times when I don't see him that often. I don't want you to put a limit on the number of times I can see him. I want it to be open for me to decide if I want to see him or not. Who knows John might find someone else and leave me. Or you may heal and be ale to be my sexual partner as well as my husband again."
Lee said, "I can't decide now Alexis. I'll see you at home. Could you be there before 10AM?"
She said, "Yes, Lee since you asked rather than demanded it of me. I'll be home by 10A maybe a few minutes sooner."
Lee said, "OK." He felt a huge rejection in his mine body and sole. He stood and was going to leave when Alexis slid off the bed and came to him. She kissed him very passionately and held him tight for a very long time. Finally she said, "John please stay here while I walk my husband to the door."
John sat there watching them walk to the front door. She held Lee tight again and kissed him hard again. He felt the passion in her embrace. She broke the kiss and said, "Lee I do love you please believe me when I tell you that. And please try to understand me. I do want to be with you forever. And if you ever get better I'll be with you and you alone. I will give you all the sex you can ever want. But right now you have to understand my needs are great for something you can't provide me. I need to have sex Lee, I'm young and healthy. I need sexual intercourse with a cock baby! And that's something you can't give me, I wish you could. Please try to accept what happened to you physically and it will easier for both of us. I will try like hell to respect your feelings and do my best to be a good wife to you in every other regard. But please understand Lee, I need John to give me what you can't baby! Please Lee go home and wait for me. I'll see you at 10AM."
She kissed him again and saw the tears in his eyes. She felt his pain and her heart was breaking along with his. She kissed him again and said, " See you at 10AM., Lee. Bye!"
He held her hand for a long time and then turned to the door. He walked to his car and drove away.
He said to himself, " I have to talk to someone about this or I'm going to go crazy. Man, I had a lot to talk with her about too before I heard her tell John she was thinking of leaveing me. Now I don't know what to tell her."
The first person that came to him was Tasha, Aledis's younger sister.
Alexis hung her head on the door and stood there for a few minutes. This was hard for her. she still had deep felings for Lee. She loved him but not like he was now. She knew she could hold off having sex for awhile but soon that twitching and throbbing in her pussy would start. She would try but the need would become greater and greater with each pasting day. Alexis knew if she didn't get some relief when this happened to her, it would drive her nuts. She would eventually cheat on Lee in order to satisfy the throbbing and the pain of wanting and needing to be fucked. She had talked to him and at the time, they both felt the fairer thing to do was to have Lee agree to a lover or two for her. That way she didn't feel as bad about what she would do. But now she wanted Lee to release her so she could have sex more than 3 times a month. She also knew this would be much harder for him to accept.
She sighed loudly and then turned and walked back to John's bedroom. There was no more sex that night just a great deal of holding and kissing and touching as she told him her deepest concerns and secrets. They finally drifted off to asleep around 3AM.
At 9AM John woke her and she hurried into the shower. She fixed her hair and cleaned herself up as if she was going out on a date. As she kissed John and told him she would call him later. She asked him to be ready to come over her house if she asked him too. At 9:30AM she was opening the front door to her house.
When she came in Lee was in the kitchen sitting there with her younger sister Tasha who was sitting there in her robe. Lee was in his underwear. Alexis looked at them and said, "Hey! What are you doing here Tasha What going on?"
Lee said, "I called Tasha when I got home last night and she came over right away. We just made breakfast and were talk some more when you came in. We just finished having coffee. There's some left, would you like a cup?"
She said, "Oh by the way, I tried to call you 4 times last night Lee to see if you were OK! No one answered."
Tasha said, "Sure you dialed the right number while that white guy was fucking you while you dialed?"
Alexis looked at her sister and said, "So I guess you told her all of our problems Lee. Did you tell her why I'm see John?"
Tasha said, "Yea he told me you couldn't get him hard any more. Maybe it's you who is the problem!"
Alexis said, "What the fuck do you mean by that bitch? Lee tell her now hard I have tried to get you hard."
Lee sat there and didn't say a word. Tasha said, "Well it's been over a year with you hasn't it?"
Alexis stood there looking at both of them and said, "I don't believe this. No one could get him hard he can't do it any more! What the fuck is it to you anyway? He's my husband!"
Tasha stood up and said, "Well maybe you should treat him that way instead of fucking every guy in this town!"
Alexis said, "WHAT!!! Look bitch I don't know where you get your information but you're wrong. I tried my ass of to get him back to normal. I'm the one who knew how good he use to be and have worked hard trying to get him back. So fuck off. In fact why don't you get the fuck out of here!"
Lee said, "NO! NO! Alexis if you can have John and god knows whom else over here fucking you, than I can have Tasha stay and keep me company while you're gone. She has been staying with me all those times you have been out fucking whoever you were fucking this month! She is a true friend. I don't want her to leave. Stay here Tasha she'll be leaving soon to go fuck someone again!"
Alexis didn't know what to say. She was speechless. She said, "Lee what are you saying?"
Tasha spoke up and told her sister, "You have no idea what Lee has been going through while you have been out with your men. He was having a nervous breakdown when I came over the first couple of times. A week ago, he was sitting in the basement with his 44 magnum on the seat next to him. If it was for me sister, he would have shot himself that night I'm sure."
Alexis said, "Lee!! Why didn't you tell me how this was effecting you? I asked you every time I went out if you are OK with this. Why didn't you say what you felt?"
He said, "What's the use. I tried to tell you how sad I was and you still went out. You didn't really give a shit about my feelings, all you wanted was your cunt filled with cock! White, black who the fuck knows what other colors you have had in there? So don't play the over concerned wife now. It won't work. Tasha can stay as long as she wants. She has helped me a great deal to over come all this. In fact, she doesn't have to ever leave as far as I'm concerned!"
Alexis turned and started walking towards the stairs. Lee said, "Wait!"
He looked at Tasha and said, "I need to talk with her. Give me a few minutes."
He walked out of the kitchen and took Alexis's arm. She pulled it away. He said, "Sit down in the living room and talk with me."
They walked into the living room and he began to tell her what had been going on since she took her first lover. Lee explained: "Each time you left, I slipped further and further into loneliness and depression. Then Tasha called me one night and I was so drunk I told her I was waiting for you to come home and that I was going to kill you and anyone with you. Then I was going to kill myself. That's when she came over and talked me out of doing it. She sobored me up and we held each other Alexis. We held each other for hours and she gave herself to me."
Alexis said, "What? Gave herslef to you. But Lee you can't get hard enough to fuck. Can you?"
Lee said, "Well not at first. So I gave Tasha what I give you, you know my mouth and tongue and fingers. Tasha loved it and continued to come over every time you went out. We knew you would be gone until the next day so we started to experiment with things and doing things.
We watched porno and used dildos and vibrators and she sucked my cock for hours Alexis! Hours! Then one night I had her in our bed. After seeing her beautiful young body going wild on my mouth and fingers in the light of our bedroom was unbelievable. Then when I used the foot long dildo that vibrated, she almost ripped off my shorts and started sucking on my cock like an animal. Alexis, she was so sexy lifting her ass up off the bed and pumping her hips as she fucked her pussy wild and climaxed over and over again. And last night, Alexis I got hard! Not super hard like I use too! But hard enough to try and fuck her. I put it in her and I stayed hard enough to give her an orgasm before I shot my load twice in her hot tight pussy. She is so tight and so wet and hot I felt like she was truly giving me what I guess I have been missing with you. All I could think about when we tried was all the cocks you had in your pussy and it effected me! i couldn't get hard enough! But with her it was so good Alexis, so good!"
Alexis said, "I don't believe it! Lee why didn't you tell me? It should have been us who were fucking together the first time you could get it up, not my sister. This is great news Lee! So when do you feel you'll want to do it with me?"
He said, "Well this morning when I came to John's house I was going to tell you. But the way you two were fucking, no making love, I realized you have passed me by. You are way out of my league now Alexis. I don't think I could ever get the picture of the two of you fucking wild. Or, you crying out for more and more f his cock. It will never be totally out of my brain! Then when I came home and Tasha was still waiting for me, we tried again and we did it! Alexis, this time I achieved a much bigger hard on. Tasha loved it and she fucked me just like you use to do only I think she is better! She is so excited about the two of us doing it, she must have cum 4 times! So now I don't know what to do."
Alexis asked, "What do you mean you don't know what to do? I told you if you can achieve an erections I'll leave my lover."
Lee said, "Yes, but don't you see? You wanted more time with John. In fact you told me you didn't ant a time limit or any limit placed on you when you were with him."
She said, "Yes Lee but that was before you told me the good news! This is great baby!"
Lee said, "Well yes it is great. Now you can spend as much time with John as you want."
Alexis was shaking her head no and he continued, "Because I want to have the same flexibility with your sister Tasha! I want to see her more and I want you to let me. I don't want any limits set on me either baby!"
Alexis said, "But Lee, if I can have you I don't want John or Jake or anyone. If you can fuck me again you're all I want. We don't have to change things now I can be with you and only you. See?"
Lee, "Said that will be great Alexis, but I have to tell you, when Tasha and I want to be together you'll have to wait. You see, Tasha is the person I want to fuck the most now. She is the one I know that can get me hard and keep me hard! So when we're together, you can wait or maybe go over to one of your lovers for awhile. I could call you when we are finished. We'll have time for each other Alexis and I'll be your husband in all other aspects. And you know we'll have time to fuck Alexis, only not every night. You see I told Tasha this morning she could move in with us."
Alexis said, "What? Where is she going to sleep?"
Lee smiled and said, " You'll find your clothes in the spare bedroom closet. We moved them there this morning."
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Subsets and Splits