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  “The Force is strong with him,” Master Mundi admitted as Qui-Gon stood in the middle of the Council room, Anakin front and center with Obi-Wan standing off to the side. No one could read the room, all the masters had a mask upon them, calm and serene. Dealing with Qui-Gon’s antics wasn’t unusual or abnormal but that didn’t mean the Council particularly liked dealing with them. Luckily, Obi-Wan was quite adequate at writing up real reports, whereas Qui-Gon tried to pass off his as a sentence or two. Qui-Gon bringing back lifeforms wasn’t particularly unusual either but this was the first time he had brought back a child. Qui-Gon exhaled in relief and then took another breath before he continued for clarification. He had to be sure. Anakin had to be trained. “He is to be trained then.” The rest of the Council glance around at one another, uncertainly. It was the first sign of emotion they had shown since he had came back. Master Windu was the one who to break the silence and shook his head. “No. He will not be trained.”Anakin froze, trying so hard for the tears not to form in his eyes. Qui-Gon blinked blankly before collecting himself. “No??” Something in Obi-Wan’s chest sank. This would not end well. Most of the time Qui-Gon’s rejection of the Council and maverick ways were a nuisance and annoying to them but they were rarely harmful or too serious. More often than not, they were willing to let him pass. He had a bad feeling about this; this was not going to end the same way. “He is too old.” “He is the Chosen One…you must see it,” Qui-Gon insisted, leaning forward a bit for effect, his eyes flittering around the members of the Council. Yoda hummed, contemplatively. “Clouded, this boy’s future is.” Qui-Gon’s face twisted in thought and frustration as he moved behind Anakin and put his hands on his shoulders. “I will train him then. I take Anakin as my padawan learner.” Oh. Oh. Whatever Obi-Wan was expecting; this was not it. Yoda shifted and narrowed his eyes. “An apprentice, you have, Qui-Gon. Impossible, to take on a second.” Master Windu leaned forward a bit, vaguely interested but his gaze on Qui-Gon had hardened. He wasn’t rather pleased. “The code forbids it.” “Obi-Wan is ready…” Obi-Wan, dutiful as ever, leapt in defense of his master. “I am ready to face the trials.” “Our own Council, we keep on who is ready.” “He is headstrong…and he has much to learn about the living Force, but he is capable. There is little more he will learn from me,” Qui-Gon continued, calmly, shooting his apprentice a glance. Obi-Wan’s head reeled, and he was fairly certain, despite his rather talent on keeping his face schooled, everyone at least felt it, if not saw it. How was he supposed to react or respond to that? Qui-Gon’s gaze snapped back to the Council and Obi-Wan forced his gaze level. “He must be trained and if no one else will do it, I must.” None of the Council looked pleased with this statement. From across the room, Master Mundi smirked knowingly. “So, what you are saying, is that Kenobi is no longer your padawan?” he asked, feigning innocent curiosity. Qui-Gon’s face twisted but he sighed softly after a long pause. “Look, he is ready for his trials and Anakin needs to be trained so I…yes, I-.” Nearly the entire room exploded into chaos, causing Anakin to slam back into him in surprise. Nearly half the Council, including Depa, Mace, Yoda, Adi and Plo all jumped up from their seats immediately and screamed nearly in complete unison, “DIBS!” Qui-Gon’s brain stopped for a moment before he watched as the normally serene and calm Council members started yelling and arguing with one another, while Master Windu and Depa Billaba began to engage in an intense Master-Padawan glaring match alongside their arguments. He could not make out the words specifically, but their eyes did plenty to warn him to keep out of it. Adi, Yoda and Koon were yelling about their abilities to care for a padawan, both physically and emotionally and mentally, alongside their strengths with teaching. He had never seen any of these masters act like this; much less his grandmaster and Master Windu. Qui-Gon glanced back at his padawan only to find a completely baffled and nearly ruffled Obi-Wan, wringing his hands in the large sleeves of his robes. Obi-Wan was usually excellent as schooling his expressions and emotions but nothing could stop the wide eyed, shocked look on his face. Master Mundi grinned and pulled out a large from in his chair and opened it with a pop. “I have been waiting years for this,” he chuckled as he offered treats to other Council members not involved with the screaming debates of their co-counselors. The rest of them glanced at each other, amused. Many of them took treats as the bag was passed around and they turned to watch as the other council members argued. Master Yaddle cackled softly and hopped from her chair. The others didn’t appear to notice but Qui-Gon watched as she padded slowly over to Obi-Wan and looked up at him, kindly. “Come dear,” she said, gesturing him out the door. “You must be exhausted, hungry and a bit hurt.” “Hurt?” Obi-Wan murmured, dazed and confused. “I’m not injured.” “No dear,” she shook her head. “Emotionally. Pig-headed and stubborn, Master Jinn is. Let us get some food. I am sure you will be returning to Naboo with the Queen to help her fairly soon with the blockade and battle to come. Might as well get some food, yes?” Obi-Wan’s face softened and Qui-Gon was surprised that the boy hadn’t looked up at him to get his permission. That was most unlike him. Instead, Obi-Wan leaned down to allow Master Yaddle to perch on his shoulder and the two of them moved out of the room. Stunned, Qui-Gon turned back to the rest of the Council. They were still arguing, although Qui-Gon could barely hear exactly what they were saying. And then Master Gallia looked around, the rest quieting down as they realized what she had. “Where did Obi-Wan go?” “Master Yaddle took him,” Qui-Gon replied, bluntly, before he could think of anything else. Depa let out a hiss. “That TROLL!”  

Chapter One: The First Night It was too quiet, I knew my wife very well, and if she wasn't talking, she was up to something. We had just finished our couple's night out with our neighbors, Jill and Paul. The drive was getting eerie as my grip on the steering wheel tightened. I knew what I had to do to get her to spill the beans, as they would say. I sighed deeply. "Go on then," I said. "It's nothing," my wife Elize said as she looked out her window. It was past ten at night, and we lived in the suburbs. There was nothing to see but stretches of strip malls and gas stations. "No, spill it, or you're just going to keep both of us up most of the night, thinking about it," I shook my head. "Well, it's just that, you ordered the spicy lo mein," Elize said. "So?" I asked. "Anytime we go to a Chinese restaurant, new or old, you always order lo-mein and you always want it as spicy as it comes," Elize said. "I like it spicy, when is that a bad thing?" I asked. "Paul and I picked that place because it had good reviews, and we thought that you would pick something else other than lo-mein," Elize shrugged as she looked at me. "So, that's it?" I asked. "Yes, why don't you try something different?" Elize asked. I was a man of patterns. I went to the same gas station every time, ordered the same thing at any of the fast-food places, went to bed at the same time, and woke up at the same time. It was just who I was, but Elize was all over the place. There was no pattern to anything she did. She liked to be unpredictable. "I will try something else next time," I nodded. "Thank you," Elize said. I knew that wasn't going to be the end of it, and I was right. Elize brought it up again the next time we went out, I ordered something I liked, and again she had a problem with it. "How about this," I said as we sat up in bed that night. "From now on you order for me?" "Then you will pretend to like it so that you don't make a scene," Elize shook her head. "I don't do that," I said as I looked at her. "When we all went on the cruise you were silent the whole trip and smiled only when we were taking pictures," Elize pointed out. I worked long ten-to-twelve-hour days, five days a week, sometimes six, and all I wanted to do was relax at home. Even on my vacations, all I wanted was peace, quiet, and an excellent book to read, not some tablet or something to read online, I liked the feeling of a good paperback, so I could turn the pages and feel what I was reading. "I wasn't pretending," I said as I looked at her. "You hated it," Elize replied. "Hate is a strong word," I shook my head. "I wasn't completely happy, the whole time." That was it. Elize turned off her light and turned her back to me, indicating that she wasn't talking about the subject anymore. Elize and I had been married for four years now. Before that, we had been together for two years. She found my precise schedule and routine cute and admirable when we first got together. Now I could tell. It was annoying her. She wasn't perfect herself. Elize worked from home. She used to go to work, but with everything happening in the world, her job paid her well enough so she could stay home and do it. This resulted in Elize being bored a lot of the time. She turned from someone that wasn't materialistic to someone that wanted to keep up with everyone else. Elize had to have everything that everyone else had in our gated community or something better. We had to get new vehicles because everyone else had the most up-to-date vehicles, had to get solar panels because everyone else got them, and the list went on and on, even down to her clothes. Elize didn't want to be caught wearing the same thing twice. Even when we went on our double date with Paul and Jill, she wouldn't wear anything they had seen before. The result was a walk-in closet that neither of us could walk into without pushing boxes of clothes aside. I was content with my clothes, shoes, car, everything, but not her. Another thing that irritated me was the community cluck cluck club, as I called Elize and the group of female friends she had made since moving here. They constantly talked on the phone, texted, or made posts on the community's web page. It was nonstop. The most reason and target of their talks was Jill, which bothered me the most. When Elize was around Jill, she loved her, called her sister and her best friend, and everything in between. The moment she got away from Jill, it was totally different. We had a community barbecue at the community center a few weeks ago. All the kids were there in the pool and having a good time. We didn't have kids, and neither did Paul and Jill, so we all sat by the side of the pool. Well, that's when mistakes were made in their eyes. Jill got up and took off her top and her towel. She stood in a two-piece suit and dived into the pool. The next day on the community web page, everything was about indecent exposure around the pool area, especially when kids were around, and anybody going to the pool should wear appropriate swimwear. When I saw it, I immediately knew my wife had something to do with it. Elize is a physical gem to look at, a great body, nothing to scream at, but for the most part, she is in decent shape with all the average curves. Just like most of her friends, they are mostly average at best. Then there is Jill, who most would consider what people call a big, beautiful woman. She has a lot of curves, mainly in the chest area, but she has large hips and a huge ass. Not overly big, but for most, they would consider it huge. So, when Jill got up and was in that two-piece, there was a lot of staring as her massive chest bounced, swayed, and jiggled all over the place. I tore into my wife for the first time in ages. How was Jill inappropriate when her best friend Gina was wearing a two-piece, with a see-through wrap around her waist that showed she was wearing a thong bikini bottom? Elize said she was hiding it behind a wrap. The wrap was utterly transparent. Elize had been wearing a two-piece with her C-cup breasts bulging out the top. Many women that were there were dressed in two-piece bathing suits. It was summer and very hot outside. Elize said most of the boys and most of the men were staring, and they felt uncomfortable. I was there, and most of the men I talked to were gawking. They could say they don't like chubby girls, but every one of them was staring with their jaws on the floor. I am sure they went home and told their wives that it was uncomfortable and Jill shouldn't be wearing something like that, but they were saying that, so they didn't start an argument. At the pool, they all talked about how big Jill's tits were and how phat her ass and thighs were. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I came home after a long day at work and cracked open a beer as I slumped onto the couch. "Hi," Elize said as she came into the living room. "Hey," I said. After last night's chat about the cruise, we hadn't talked to each other. "I was thinking," Elize said as she sat down. "Okay," I nodded. "We have that vacation weekend coming up," Elize said as she stared directly at me. How could I forget? Paul rented a condo on the beach down in Florida; supposedly, there would be an air and sea show for the whole weekend. Loud crowds and even louder events, which Paul and my wife would love to drag us all through. "Well, Jill wanted to go to her brother's cabin in Tennessee," Elize said. Immediately my eyes lit up. The cabin was tranquil, right on a stream in the middle of nowhere, a small dirt road led up to it, and there was no traffic or neighbors for miles around in every direction. "See, I knew you would be interested," Elize smiled. "So, Paul and I got to thinking." Paul also worked from home while Jill worked at the veterinary clinic. Elize and Paul talked constantly online and over text messages. "Continue," I said. "The two of you can go to the cabin and Paul and I could go to the condo," Elize beamed. I had suspected that the two of them were having an affair. Jill was sure of it too, but neither of us could catch them. There was no proof. I had cameras everywhere, inside and out, and there were no surprise visits from Paul or Elize leaving the house unexpectedly. Even though Elize was as random as can be, she did have somewhat of a fixed schedule to work, and when she wasn't working, she was with her cluck cluck club. Jill and I had tried to put two and two together, but when Elize was out, Paul was inside. When Paul was out, Elize was inside. The two times never meshed, so we both gave up. "You're sure?" I asked. "Positive," Elize nodded. "Both of you hate the beach and loud noises, and Paul and I both hate the outdoors, so it makes sense." "Okay," I nodded. "Good," Elize said as she stood up. That was settled, and I found myself going to the library to rent a couple of books. I hoped to get some good reading done this weekend. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Jill met me outside as the other two were already at the airport. "Think this is it?" Jill asked as I climbed up into her truck. "Definitely, but you know what, I could care less," I said as I clicked my seatbelt. "Me neither," Jill nodded. I knew our marriage was heading downhill, and if they were having an affair, so be it. I already had planned to move out of state if things went as they were heading. Jill and I sat on the seven-hour drive in complete silence. While silence with my wife was excruciating, silence with Jill was comfortable. We stopped for gas and some food for the cabin, then headed up the dirt road to the cabin. My car could never make it up this road. Finally, we were there, and I couldn't wait to get into my room and get comfortable. I was sure Jill was thinking the same, she loved to play word games on her tablet, and as soon as I came back downstairs, she was on the couch with tablet in hand. For most of the night, we just spent reading and playing games. The silence of the mountains filled the cabin. I put more wood on the fire and went back to reading. "So, if it does happen, what are your plans?" Jill asked, breaking the silence. "My brother has a job for me in New Jersey," I said, closing the book. "Wow, that's a big change," Jill said. Moving from South Carolina to New Jersey would be a giant leap, but I was somewhat looking forward to it. "You?" I asked. "Australia," Jill nodded. "A veterinary friend of mine has a spot waiting for me." "Talk about a huge change," I said, looking over at her. "Think it will be good for me," Jill nodded. "I think it will be good for both of us to get away from all of this," I nodded. I didn't know everything, but I could tell Paul and Jill's relationship was hanging by a thread. "I forgot to cook dinner," Jill said as she looked outside. It was pitch black outside, and the sounds of the mountains were getting quieter. I remembered we were all up here one night and all heard a strange sound. It sounded as if something was outside and moving around, close to the cabin. Paul and Elize wanted to go outside and check it out. Jill and I told them the number one rule about being in the mountains, if you hear strange noises, do not go and investigate. Sure enough, the sound continued for a while, and then it faded. It could have been a bear or something else, but we never found tracks or any sign of anything the following day. "Not hungry, are you?" I asked. "Peckish," Jill shrugged as she got up, got a snack, and returned. After a while, we said goodnight and went to bed. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The morning came, we went hiking for a bit, then to the stores. Neither of us heard anything from the other two, except they got in late last night as their flights got pushed back. I liked going shopping with Jill. Unlike Elize, who had to visit every shop and spend at least an hour in each, Jill knew what she wanted, went in, got it, then was back out. "What is that smell?" I said as I got up from my seat on the couch. I went into the kitchen and saw Jill wearing shorts and a shirt. I guess she was getting comfortable around me. "What is that?" I asked. "Jambalaya!" Jill said. "It smells good," I said, peeking over her shoulder at it. "Taste," Jill said as she brought up a spoonful. I coughed a little but put my hand over my mouth. "Spicy!" I said as I reached for a bottle of water. "Too spicy?" Jill asked. "No," I shook my head. "Just wasn't prepared. That's good!" "Yeah, I can't make it the way I want at home, Paul hates spicy food," Jill said. "So does Elize," I nodded. "May I ask something?" Jill said as she looked over at me. "Shoot," I nodded as I leaned against the counter. "It's been bugging me for a few weeks now," Jill said. I knew where this was going and had prepared for it. "Yes," I nodded. "I fucking knew it!" Jill said, "Why, though?" "Truthfully?" I asked. "Yes, please," Jill nodded. "Them," I said, pointing at her chest. "Elize said it made the kids and all the men as well as some of the women uncomfortable." "Seriously?" Jill shook her head. "Like not seeing Gina's bare ass walk all over the place wasn't uncomfortable?" "No comment," I smiled as I went to the fridge and got a beer. "No, don't do that, Paul does that," Jill said. "Okay," I nodded. "What ass?" Jill laughed. "No, I am serious, what ass?" I repeated. "Elize and the others keep talking about Gina's ass and I have to say I am not impressed." "Okay, but Elize has a better ass?" Jill asked. "She did until she moved out there and got in the club, then she lost weight and worked out so much on her ass that it disappeared," I said. "Very true," Jill said, reaching for my beer and taking a swig. "I saw her before and after pictures, and I must say the before looked much better." "I say that about a lot of the photos I see with women losing weight, the before looked a lot better," I said as she handed my beer back to me. "So, into thick girls huh?" Jill asked. "Was starting to have my doubts about you." "What?" I asked with a smile. "Usually you brothers, or black males in general love the thick women, but I never see you checking the big girls out, ever," Jill nodded as she stirred her pot. "Just because you don't catch me, doesn't mean I don't look," I smiled. "Okay, is it just thick girls or really big girls, there is a difference," Jill said. "Can I say both?" I asked. "Good answer," Jill nodded. "Okay, your turn," I said as I leaned back. "Let's just say, Paul is my first white guy," Jill smiled. "Oh?" I smiled. "What can I say, I got burned by my last brother and it left a bad taste in my mouth, so I vowed to never go back," Jill said with squinty eyes. "And now?" I asked. "Oh, if this goes the way it's heading, definitely going back," Jill nodded. We both laughed for a bit and then sat down for dinner. "Okay, how about you?" Jill asked. "Never been with a white woman," I nodded. "What?" Jill said as she stared at me over the table. Elize was the first non-full black woman I had been with, and she was half black and half Hispanic. "Yup," I nodded. "Oh, that's unexpected," Jill shook her head. "Never as in never as in nothing?" "Nope, never dated, or did anything with a white woman," I said. "Get the fuck out of here?" Jill said. "Why is that unexpected?" I asked. "You know how people think, all black guys want to impregnate us white women with their big black cocks," Jill said as she shook her head. "Yeah and leave them pregnant and go to the next one," I nodded. "Well, I have been with my fair share of black men and as far as the big cock goes, it's been Moby Dick and I have been Ahab, because not one of them have had it," Jill smiled. "What about the pregnant part," I smiled. "Nope, no bun in the oven, it got broken in a car accident long time ago, so no kids in my future," Jill shared. I knew that already, as Elize had told me about it. "So, why no white girls, just not interested?" Jill asked. "They haven't been interested in me, came close in high school but she didn't like black guys," I shrugged. "After that, I never tried again." "Ah, got scorned and never looked back," Jill nodded. We cleaned up the table and settled down in the living room. "So, what other things are a myth?" I asked. "Oh, the going all night and cumming buckets," Jill said. "Total lie!" "For all of them?" I asked. "Let's just say Paul lasts longer than all of them and even with him I usually have to finish the job," Jill said. "Ouch," I said. "Okay, how about Elize?" Jill asked. "She dances well, but does that go well in bed?" I spat out my drink as she said that and shook my head. "She is very good at dancing and teasing while she dances, but is stiff as a board in bed," I said. It was one of the surprising things that got me when we first had sex, I had seen her on the dance floor many times and instantly thought she could move like that in bed, but it was a hard no once we got there. "Not even when you're hitting it from behind?" Jill asked. "Hell no!" I shook my head. "Okay, the only thing Elize is good at and the one thing I like is tit fucking, she likes to do it and most of the girls I know hate doing it." "That's because it does nothing for us," Jill nodded. "But I personally like it, plus I got the equipment to get the job done properly." "Yes, you do," I nodded. "Paul hates my ass," Jill said. "Says it's too big." "Nope," I said. I shook my head. "As the saying goes if a guy thinks your ass is too big, he just doesn't have the equipment needed to pass the cheeks." It was Jill's turn to spit out her drink. "Who the fuck said that?" Jill asked. "The internet and the internet never lies," I laughed. Jill shook her head back and forth. "I mean it's not totally wrong and not totally right, he can get past the cheeks but, after that it's kind of like a fumbled ball?" "What?" I asked. "He thrusts and thrusts but there is no real," Jill paused and thought for a second. "Penetration, should I say?" "Doesn't go deep enough," I nodded. "Exactly, now when he does it missionary, or I am on top, it's all good, but from behind, not so much," Jill smiled. "Big butt problems," I laughed. "Exactly," Jill nodded. It was nice to talk this easily with Jill. We never got to speak; usually, the other two did all the talking, and the two of us just sat in silence. "So, you ever think you will ever jump on that white whale?" Jill asked. "If the right one comes around," I nodded. The rest of the night went by with us talking about past relationships. It felt good to just talk with the silence of the woods outside and the fire in the fireplace. "Night," I said as we retreated to our rooms. "Sleep well, David," Jill said. I lay on my bed and texted my wife, but she didn't reply. I rolled over and had many thoughts of Jill in the next room down the hall and wondered if she was having the same thoughts as me.

Aaron and Antoinette had known each other for three years, having met at a party and becoming fast friends. In the beginning they had played at dating but for reasons neither really understood it never seemed to work out. Still, over the years their friendship grew to one so close they felt as brother and sister, albeit ones completely different. This weekend was just like any one of thirty they had planed before. They would hang out, come up with hair brained schemes to entertain themselves, watch classic films they loved, play drinking games and otherwise annoy each other. Antoinette was half Caucasian and half black. She had coarse curly hair that let on to her black heritage; her skin was fair a light crème color with cute brown freckles on her face. She was neither a thin girl nor a fat one, simply an amply shaped woman. Her breasts were 30 B's, she stood 1.7 meters, roughly 80 kilos and she had a 95cm. waist. Still, her most attractive feature was her warm smile and soft brown eyes. Aaron was a large man, stout but carried himself well. He weighed 125 kilos and stood 2 meters tall. His hair was brown and curly, his skin a light brown, he was half Hispanic and half Caucasian still he leaned towards his Latin heritage. Antoinette had just come up to Vancouver last month. She had rented a room in an apartment with three other people and constantly felt crowded. Aaron on the other hand lived with Sara, an exgirlfriend in an apartment in the same complex as hers. This weekend Aaron's "roommate" was leaving to go to a convention for her work, Aaron and Antoinette thought they should capitalize on this opportunity and have a private party like they had so many times before. All week they had made plans, joking about what grand adventures lay ahead both wanting the week to end. Friday night finally rolled around, Aaron had just dropped Sara off at the airport and Antoinette had just gotten off work. Antoinette was busy fidgeting around in her room looking for her pajamas to take over to Aaron's. She always ended up sleeping on the leather couch and she hated the feel of it sticking to her during the night. While searching through her drawers she came across a picture of her and Aaron from the party when she had first met him. In the picture he was holding her over his shoulder preparing to take her to the bathroom. She had way too much to drink that night and most likely would have just passed out in a corner left to the whims of any drunken passer-by. Still this complete stranger who had only spoken to her for 5 minutes before she passed out on the couch had stayed with her the whole night and even bought her breakfast before he dropped her off at home the next morning. She smiled briefly before seeing the pajama bottoms she had been looking for and tucked the photo back into the drawer. Aaron hastily had said goodbye to Sara feeling somewhat guilty that had felt annoyed at her extended goodbye taking time from his upcoming weekend. She fawned over him constantly, still in love with him. He had been the one to end it, he knew she wasn't the right one, he hadn't figured out who that one would be yet but he definitely knew it wasn't her. Despite his somewhat gruff exterior Aaron was a romantic at heart and firmly believed in the signs of true love and was bound and determined to never settle for less. With Sara it came when she had finally annoyed him to frustration with her obsession for public displays of affection, as though she constantly had to remind him and everyone around that he was her property and no one had better get any ideas. Putting the negativity out of his mind he decided to focus on the evening ahead. He mentally ran down the check list for tonight: Got to stop at the bottle shop for my big surprise, got to stop at the video store to grab some movies and at a fast food joint on the way home. He made it to the bottle shop and picked up his special gift for Antoinette to celebrate her recent move. He had gone to Europe two years ago and tried Absinthe, finding its intoxication to be like no other. Next, next to the video store where he grabbed their standard mix of comedies and action flix they loved, in addition he grabbed the most ridiculous looking soft-core video they had. It was a tradition of theirs to watch these bad movies and drink every time they saw breasts. That was their way, everything having some sort of tradition or ritual attached to it. Aaron cherished that, for him it brought with it a sense of closeness or of a private world in which only they lived. Last he grabbed food and made for his home with a sense of enthusiasm. Antoinette went over to Aaron's place early to shower and let herself in with her own key which Sara did not know she had. As she opened the door she got a small thrill that she hated to admit was feeling happy that she had a secret with Aaron that Sara didn't know about. Antoinette didn't dislike Sara but was jealous of her because she was the one who had gotten Aaron to move to Vancouver in the first place. They had talked over the phone and internet but for six months her best friend was hundreds of miles away. Since she had moved up here her situation had been hectic, first finding a place to stay then a job. This was the first time she would have quality times to hang out with Aaron. She hoped that things would be just like old times, laughing and drinking till dawn and waking up the following afternoon comforting each other as their hangovers thundered. She went into his bedroom admiring the big ebony bed and thick carpet as she undressed herself and placed her clothes on his bed. His shower was a large walk-in stone enclosure with two nozzles, in front and back. She turned on the shower and felt the warm waster wash over her skin. She grabbed her luffa and began to slowly caress herself working up a lather. As the water danced over her breasts a tingling sensation shot up her spine and down into her loins. The sensation was accompanied by a graphic thought of a man holding her from behind while he fondled her left breast and cupped her pussy. While she began to daydream of this aquatic tryst the sponge slid down between her legs and began a slow circular motion over her most sensitive parts. Antoinette moaned as she caressed her soapy breast playing with her nipple and beginning to grind into her hand. Her mystery man had pushed his leg between hers and began rubbing her clit. Likewise she abandoned her sponge to her fingers and began to stimulate herself. Ohh, how it had been so long since she had been with a man, almost a year. Right now this was good enough; she used her left hand to rub her clit and with her right probed the folds of her pussy. With all the vigor she could muster she pushed herself closer to climax, reveling in the warmth of her pussy and electric feelings radiating from her clit. As her man began to bend her over and slowly pump his penis into her she knelt down and began to finger herself. Then as he fucked her harder and harder bringing her to that ultimate pleasure she released with a wave of orgasm and screamed the name of the mystery man, "Aaron!!" Her pussy contracted again and again around her fingers, squeezing them, holding them, the heat and tingling spreading from her quivering pussy to every inch of her body. The sweet calm of an orgasm washed over her and only then as her eyes lay half open still heavy from the orgasm she recognized the name she had called and the man she had pictured. For a moment she lay on floor of the shower feeling it wash away the soap and wondered where that dream had come from, but then she heard the sound of front door shutting and Aaron announcing his arrival. *************************

Obi-Wan’s universe was suddenly very small. Anakin’s mechanical hand had tightened again, painfully so, but the warmth of Anakin’s real hand was pressing hard against the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, urging him forward, towards Anakin’s body, into Anakin’s kiss. Obi-Wan had never allowed himself to wonder about this. And, perhaps because of that, he was completely unprepared for Anakin’s kisses. Because Anakin wasn’t content to attack Obi-Wan’s mouth – instead, he laid siege, pressing light kisses against Obi-Wan’s lips, licking up against and then into Obi-Wan’s mouth, and catching Obi-Wan’s lower lip in his teeth when he retreated again. Anakin constantly shifted tactics, as if trying to keep Obi-Wan off-guard. As if this were just another sparring match. But then Anakin pushed up hard against Obi-Wan and even through the layers of fabric, it was clear that Anakin wasn’t playing games. Anakin’s hand slid down the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, slowly stroking his fingers over Obi-Wan’s skin. Obi-Wan leaned into the touch, pulling away from Anakin’s mouth. He opened his eyes slowly, meeting Anakin’s gaze head-on. Anakin’s eyes were dark and needy, as much a handcuff as the metal hand still wrapped around Obi-Wan’s left wrist. His face was flushed and the wet gloss of his mouth was far too inviting. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. His free hand ached to rest on his lightsaber, to turn this into a true duel, something that they could both walk away from intact. “Any distraction will only work for so long, and then you still have to deal with the original problem.” “This isn’t a distraction,” Anakin said. “It’s a solution.” Anakin smiled hopefully, his gaze flicking down to Obi-Wan’s mouth. “No, it isn’t,” Obi-Wan said, reaching up and pressing two fingers against Anakin’s parted lips. Anakin’s breath was hot against Obi-Wan’s fingertips, testing Obi-Wan’s resolve. “You’re avoiding the issue, Anakin, and I won’t have that.” Anakin’s lips pressed together in an unmistakable pout. Obi-Wan winced inwardly at this further evidence of Anakin’s emotional youth. To take advantage of that, to allow Anakin to take this easier road, would be a betrayal of everything that Obi-Wan had tried to be to him. He pulled his hand away from Anakin’s tempting mouth and reached over to tap the dark material of Anakin’s sleeve, just above where the mechanical arm integrated into Anakin’s nervous system. “Let go of me,” Obi-Wan said softly. Anakin’s gaze fell to where he still gripped Obi-Wan’s wrist, and it was as if he only now realized how tight his hold had become, and his hand fell open immediately, releasing Obi-Wan. Anakin pulled his other hand away from Obi-Wan’s neck almost as quickly. Then he backed away, but not far, his body still close enough that the edges of his cloak brushed up against Obi-Wan. “I know that you want me, I can feel it,” Anakin said, and his voice, as always, held no malice, only simple confusion. Anakin reached out with his left hand, brushing the back of his hand lightly over Obi-Wan’s wrist, easing the ache slightly with his touch and likely a touch of the Force as well. “I won’t… I’ll pay more attention to what I’m doing from now on.” “Anakin, this isn’t about being careful,” Obi-Wan said, his exasperation bleeding over into his voice. “This is about one of the central tenets of the Jedi Code.” “There is no passion,” Anakin said with a twist to his mouth, lifting defiant eyes to meet Obi-Wan’s. “Only serenity.” “Can you claim that what just happened had anything to do with achieving serenity?” Obi-Wan asked, allowing his voice to slip into the measured tones that annoyed Anakin so much. “Anakin, I know that the bond between Master and Padawan can be intense, but it isn’t meant to turn into this.” “You’re not my master anymore,” Anakin said, reaching up and rubbing his forehead, looking away from Obi-Wan.  “We may not be equals yet, not in the eyes of the Council, but…” Then Anakin backed away another step, his hand falling to his lightsaber. “What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan asked. “We’re close to a source of great pain,” Anakin said, a distant, troubled look on his face. “So much betrayal… so much loss. It’s everywhere. But there’s something else wrong… something…” “I can’t feel anything,” Obi-Wan reminded Anakin, moving forward to place his hand on Anakin’s arm, to give Anakin something to center himself with. “Threepio,” Obi-Wan said, looking past Anakin. The protocol droid was already looking at them, which Obi-Wan carefully decided not to find disturbing. “Fetch Luke, bring him here.” “Certainly, sir,” Threepio said, hurrying towards the corridor that led to the cockpit. It turned around for a moment, looking at Obi-Wan. “Oh, I do hope that Master Anakin will be all right!” Then it moved into the corridor, a droid on a mission. “As do I,” Obi-Wan whispered. But Anakin’s breathing was already steadying. He looked up, his gaze locking onto Obi-Wan’s, and even under the pain, that longing had remained. Obi-Wan was acutely aware that this wasn’t over. As a trained fighter, Anakin was very persistent when he sensed a weakness. “Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “Not now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “Yes, Luke will be here soon,” Anakin said. “I know.” “We’ll be able to find out what’s happened and how to fix it,” Obi-Wan said, firmly. “And you’ll pretend that this never happened,” Anakin said, scornfully. "That you didn't kiss me back." “That would be the smart thing to do,” Obi-Wan said. “And when have we ever done that?” Anakin asked. Then Anakin glanced over at other corridor and moved away from Obi-Wan, leaving them in a relatively uncompromising position. A moment later, Luke arrived with Threepio, leaning against the droid slightly. “We’ve arrived at the Temple,” Luke said. “Now, Obi-Wan, as far as I could tell, the databanks were wiped clean. But I couldn’t stay for long, so I don’t know if I just didn’t get the chance to look hard enough.” “Why couldn’t you stay?” Obi-Wan asked. “The screaming,” Anakin said grimly. “It is a little distracting,” Luke said. “Perhaps I should be the only one to go, then,” Obi-Wan said. “As I can’t hear it.” “No,” Anakin and Luke said in unison. Anakin glared at Luke, who shrugged. “Without the Force, you’re vulnerable,” Anakin said. “I’m not going to let you go anywhere without me.” “Anakin, I can defend myself, even without the Force,” Obi-Wan said. “He’s right, though,” Luke said. “You can’t sense danger coming.” Apparently, over-protectiveness was hereditary. “I do still have all my other senses,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m hardly helpless.” “Master,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin’s pleading expression and knew that he’d already lost this battle. Certainly, he could order Anakin to stay behind, but what use would that serve except to make Anakin even more sulky and uncooperative? And that was if Anakin bothered to listen to him, of course. Half of the times that Anakin had saved Obi-Wan’s life had been against Obi-Wan’s direct orders. “Yes, fine, you can come,” Obi-Wan said. “Luke?” “Yes,” Luke said, and Obi-Wan was mildly and briefly annoyed at how relieved Luke looked. “It’s entirely possible that access to the records was blocked, but that the records themselves are intact,” Obi-Wan said. “Only a Master can erase information from the archives and I doubt even a Master would be able to wipe the archives entirely.” “Ah, sir, I don’t mean to interrupt,” Threepio said. Obi-Wan shot the droid a questioning look. “But it may help to know that Master Anakin was appointed to the Council before he became Darth Vader. He may have had clearance.” “How do you know that?” Luke asked, straightening up and staring down at Threepio. “Master Anakin brought my memory back!” Threepio said. “Isn’t that wonderful?” “He… what?” Luke said, dumbstruck. “How?” “Anakin’s good with machines,” Obi-Wan said, lightly. “Always has been. It really isn’t relevant, though.” “I suppose not,” Luke said. “I just… I didn’t know that it was possible.” “Anything’s possible,” Anakin said, flashing Luke a quick grin. “You just have to be willing to take risks.” “Though we should keep in mind that not all risks are worth taking,” Obi-Wan said repressively. “Yes, Master,” Anakin said dutifully, but the heated look he gave Obi-Wan was anything but dutiful and it confirmed Obi-Wan’s earlier concerns. Apparently, not even the presence of his own child would stop Anakin from pushing. Luke was watching them with narrowed eyes, but he didn’t say anything. If the mental noise from the Temple was as distracting as Luke claimed it was, it was likely that Luke hadn’t picked up on Anakin’s desires. Well, Obi-Wan could hope. And he could almost hear Master Yoda now – projecting desires into the future, hope is. Careful you should be when doing this. Hope too easily becomes disappointment, when the future turns out differently than we wish it to be. Meditate on this, you should. “And is Leia coming as well?” Obi-Wan asked. “Apparently, she’s going to go down into the city core with Han,” Luke said. “Threepio, maybe you should stay on the ship, too.” “Master Anakin?” Threepio asked. Luke looked surprised at that, just for a moment. Apparently, he hadn’t yet realized that the return of Threepio’s memories had changed other things as well. “It’s all right, Threepio,” Anakin said. “You can look after Leia while we’re gone.” “Very well, sir,” Threepio said. “Maybe you should stay here, too,” Anakin said, clearly talking to Luke, even though he wasn’t quite looking at him. “This place really seems to be affecting you.” “I can handle it,” Luke said. “He’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan said, pushing away from the wall and heading down to the corridor that he believed went to the entrance of the ship. “There’s no hurry,” Luke said, half a step behind Obi-Wan. “If we do find a way to get you back to your own time, we should be able to get you to exactly when you left, right?” “We don’t know that, Luke,” Obi-Wan said. “And it’s ‘when’, not ‘if’,” Anakin said, from Obi-Wan’s other side. “If getting here is possible, getting back has to be.” “Not necessarily,” Luke said. “Right, we’ll just keep all the possibilities in mind,” Obi-Wan said, quickening his steps just a little. Not that it helped -- both Luke and Anakin easily kept pace with him. At least they kept silent the rest of the way. Leaving the ship was a bit of a blessing – the enviromentals had been off, just a little, and the inside of the ship had been starting to smell just a bit like burnt oxygen. Once he was finally off the ship, Obi-Wan had to pause to drink in the sight of the Temple. Luke was right, it was completely deserted, and it looked even larger without the hordes of Jedi and younglings that were normally hovering around at this time of day. But he couldn’t see any damage from where he stood, only the majesty of the ancient entrance pillars, and the massive, yet graceful bulk of the building itself, almost completely blocking out the sky. Even knowing what had happened, knowing that it was nothing more than a tomb, couldn't change the way just seeing the Temple could lighten Obi-Wan's heart. Then he heard Anakin throw up. Luke was bent over, clearly fighting nausea, while Anakin had lost the fight and was kneeling on the ground, skin pale and eyes reddened. Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose slightly at the smell, but hurried over and slid a supportive arm around Anakin’s back, helping him to stand up again. “Are you sure that you don’t want to go back to the ship?” Obi-Wan asked. “No, I can handle this,” Anakin said, though he didn’t push away from Obi-Wan. “I just need a moment to adjust.” “It gets worse the longer you stay,” Luke warned. “Now we do have a reason to hurry,” Obi-Wan said, pulling Anakin along with him. “And if you two slow me down, just remember that I did offer to come alone.”

The music inside Scandals is loud as Blaine calls his order out to the bartender.  He’s never been on a Saturday night before and the environment is totally different than during the middle of the week — the lights are lower, the music is louder, the dance floor is full of people his own age.  It’s a little overwhelming, but in a good way.  It gives him something to focus on besides the dull ache in his chest, the constant pounding in his head, New York and Vogue and his ex-boyfriend. He takes a sip, the liquor burning just a little as it slides down his throat.  He’s not sure what exactly he’s looking for tonight.  He wants to let loose and have fun for the first time in months, since his cell phone had been glued to his hand with Kurt’s voicemail playing constantly in his ears.  He’s tired of beating himself up, tired of his texts going unanswered, tired of taking complete blame for a break up that was a result of so many things wrong in their relationship.  Maybe it’s immature and selfish, but he just wants to forget for a while; to drink and dance and leave New York City as far from his mind as possible He looks around the dance floor, running his fingers through the condensation that collects on his glass.  It’s hard to see the men that are here, the lights too low to make out much of anything.  But he sees bodies pressed together; arms around shoulders, hands on hips, lips crushed together.  He feels heat in his stomach that he blames on the alcohol rising up, the warmth settling in his cheeks.  He’s never been allowed to look before, to be so blatant in wanting something.  He watches as a few people look from the dance floor, feels his skin prickle as their eyes drift up and down his body. The rest of his drink is finished with a final gulp, the warm liquid washing down his throat as he swallows.  He wipes his mouth with the bar napkin that his drink was sitting on, collecting a few drops of soda water that cling to the corner of his mouth.  The bartender calls from behind him, asking if he wants another drink and Blaine turns around, resting his elbows on the dark wood of the bar. “Not right now, but can I keep my tab open?” Blaine asks.  He’s not done drinking, but he wants to dance. “A tab won’t be necessary,” a voice says from behind him and Blaine recognizes it instantly.  “I’m buying his drinks.” Blaine turns around, colors spinning in front of his eyes as he moves.  Sebastian looks good, but Sebastian always looks good.  Blaine drags his eyes up Sebastian’s body; up his long legs, his narrow waist, the broad stretch of his shoulders.  His stomach tightens when he sees Sebastian’s smirk, just a hint of teeth showing, and it’s easy enough to blame it on the alcohol flowing through his body. “You don’t have to do that,” Blaine says, already smiling as Sebastian moves closer.  He squeezes his way in between Blaine and the barstool next to him, leaning on the bar while their feet mix together. “Don’t mention it,” Sebastian says before turning to the bartender.  “Two tequila shots, please.” It’s on Blaine’s lips before Sebastian finishes speaking, the apology and excuses about why he shouldn’t take the offered shot.  But then he remembers that it’s okay to have fun with Sebastian, to do something that was previously forbidden. The bartender, a man in a too-tight vest and highlights from fifteen years ago, pours their shots, holding the liquor bottle up high as it drops into their shot glasses.  Blaine watches as the small glasses are filled and doesn’t know how to tell Sebastian that he’s never tried tequila before. “Lime or salt?” The bartender asks as he slides the shots carefully across the bar, not even a drop of alcohol spilling out of them. “No training wheels for me,” Sebastian says, taking the shots in his hand and offering one to Blaine.  “Blaine?” Blaine looks at the amber colored liquid. “Can I get a lime, please?” He asks. The bartender places a wedge on a cocktail napkin and passes it over. “To second chances,” Sebastian says, clinking their glasses together and Blaine is bringing the shot to his lips before he can stop himself. It burns, so much more than his earlier drink.  He coughs at the end of it, reaching for the lime and sinking his teeth in, sucking out the juice until his throat stops burning and he can take a deep breath.  Sebastian is watching him intently, the shot glass still gripped in his hand, but now empty.  Blaine removes the fruit from his mouth, but licks his lips slowly, collecting the excess juice with his tongue.  He smacks his lips together, the tartness of the lime juice making his mouth pucker just a bit. “So,” Sebastian drawls, pulling up a stool next to Blaine.  He angles his chair so they’re facing each other and Blaine sits down on his.  “I didn’t think I’d see you here again.” Blaine shrugs a shoulder casually, slouching down just a bit in his seat so their knees brush together.  “Well here I am,” he says, hoping Sebastian doesn’t want any more of an explanation. “Are you here alone?” is all he asks and Blaine nods once.  Sebastian’s grin is huge and he steps down from the barstool.  “Then I think we should dance.” It’s exactly what Blaine wants to hear, hopping down from his seat and following Sebastian out to the dance floor.  The song is loud and he doesn’t recognize the lyrics, but he can feel the bass beating in the center of his chest.   They pass through bodies, making their way to the back of the small area for dancing.  Sebastian slides his hands around Blaine’s hips easily and then they’re pressed together; chests, thighs, knees.  It’s so different from the last time Blaine was here dancing with him, now that he’s allowed to want this, doesn’t have to feel guilty about enjoying the way their bodies move together.  The alcohol doesn’t make him uncoordinated or sloppy, it just puts everything into a nice haze, making his arms and legs loose and the dancing comes easily. He loops his arms around Sebastian’s shoulders and pulls them closer together, until he can feel Sebastian’s belt buckle rubbing against his lower stomach.  The feeling it gives him is something he’s been searching for for months; to be wanted, to be acknowledged, to know that he’s the only thing on someone else’s mind. “I almost forgot how hot you are,” Sebastian says, bringing his face down to speak into Blaine’s ear.  He must be talking at a normal volume, but the music is so loud that it sounds like he’s whispering. He sneaks his hands from Blaine’s waist around to his back, until his fingers are dancing beneath the tight denim of Blaine’s jeans.  “Almost.”  He lets his fingertips rest there, not dipping in any farther, even though Blaine has the sudden desire to know what it feels like to have Sebastian’s hands gripping onto him. Blaine doesn’t respond, just moves a half step closer and rocks up on his feet, forcing Sebastian's hands to slide farther down his ass. The guilt is starting to slip away with each beat of the music; the guilt of cheating, the guilt of wanting someone else, the guilt of the knowing that it's okay to want someone else. He doesn't want to stop and think about why it took Sebastian’s hands on him to figure that out, why he suddenly has nothing else on his mind besides the way Sebastian’s chest feels pressed against his. The song changes, switching from one loud, thumping beat to the next, and Blaine moves with it. He pulls back from where his face is pressed into Sebastian's neck and half expects to see Sebastian eyeing the room, looking for the next boy he's going to fuck. What he sees instead, is Sebastian with his eyes closed, opening only when he feels Blaine pull back. Sebastian raises an eyebrow as Blaine looks him over, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Blaine's more than a little surprised when he feels a surge of want zip through him, how he has to psychically hold himself back from pushing up and kissing Sebastian in the middle of the dance floor.  It rocks him like a punch to his stomach, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded.  He's spent the entire breakup being so absolutely certain that he'd never want anyone but Kurt again, that he couldn't.  He can barely think back to the moment of getting dressed afterwards without a wave of nausea hitting him, remembering how he slowly tugged on his shirt while Eli joked from somewhere off behind him. He had thought that was all the confirmation he would ever need, that he wouldn’t ever want anyone besides Kurt. Blaine takes a deep breath and steadies himself  using the alcohol to bolster his confidence — and he doesn't think of Kurt at all as he tugs on the collar of Sebastian's shirt, pulling him down so he can whisper in Sebastian’s ear. "Do you want to grab another drink?" Sebastian's teeth nip at Blaine's jaw and Blaine jolts, straightening his back, and turns to press his cheek closer to Sebastian’s willing mouth. "No," Sebastian says and Blaine can't stop his mouth from dropping open in shock. He tightens his grip on Sebastian's collar and pulls back. Maybe he read the entire situation wrong.  Maybe Sebastian doesn’t want him, doesn’t want someone so broken.  He casts his eyes down, ready to grab a bottle of water from the bar and drive himself home. Sebastian runs his finger along the bottom of Blaine’s jaw, pressing up until his mouth is closed.  “I don’t want to get a drink,” Sebastian explains, his voice smooth and his eyes locked with Blaine’s.  “Because if we have another drink, you might not remember this in the morning.”  He pauses, long enough to drop his arms back to Blaine’s waist, pulling closer until his knee is pressed high along the inside of Blaine’s thigh.  Blaine’s entire body burns, from the bottom of his stomach to the tips of his ears, and he slouches down into Sebastian’s touch.   Sebastian doesn’t even flinch under the added weight, just tightens his grip and Blaine can feel the muscles in his arms clench. “And I want you to remember every second,” Sebastian finishes, dropping his face until their foreheads are nearly touching, a few strands of  Sebastian’s hair caught in between. Blaine had given little thought to the moment where he would kiss someone new, to when he would want to.  Late at night, after staring at his silent phone for hours, he had thoughts that drifted to people who he wanted to kiss that weren’t Kurt.  It gave him a sinking feeling in his stomach and he would roll over, typing out a text that was sure to go unanswered. His heels slip out of the back of his shoes as he reaches up to slot their lips together.  Sebastian makes a surprised noise, but Blaine can feel when Sebastian smiles into the kiss.  It’s short, and Blaine tries to follow Sebastian’s lips as he pulls back.  Sebastian chuckles and presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek. “Are you sure you want this?” Sebastian asks, and Blaine hardly has to think before he has his answer. It’s in the way he’s licking his lips, chasing after the taste of Sebastian on them.  It’s how he hasn’t pretended Sebastian was anyone else, new or old, from the moment he laid eyes on him in the bar tonight.  It’s the way Blaine notices how Sebastian’s cheeks are stained red, and the trail of sweat dripping down his neck. Maybe he should be surprised at how quickly he has his answer, but then again, maybe he shouldn’t.  There’d always been something about Sebastian; from his first bit of cockiness that caught Blaine so completely off guard, to his apology in The Lima Bean.  Sebastian had always been there, something he needed to convince himself he didn’t want, telling himself over and over even when he was happy with someone else. He tilts his head back up as Sebastian leans down, and they meet in the middle.  Their lips open at the same time as their hips grind to the beat of the music, Blaine’s breath leaving him entirely at the onslaught of sensations.  His arms move on their own, sliding up Sebastian’s back until they’re resting on his shoulders, and Blaine dips his fingers under the collar of Sebastian’s shirt to press into the warm skin.  Sebastian kisses him like he wants to do nothing else, and it has been so long since Blaine has felt this way.  Sebastian pushes his tongue past Blaine’s lips, licking inside his mouth.  Blaine’s head is clouded with tequila and arousal, but he’s aware enough to kiss back.  He pulls back to bite at Sebastian’s bottom lip, running his tongue over the small indentations.  Sebastian growls and pulls Blaine impossibly closer, no longer dancing, just kissing, as they rock their hips together. Later he can blame it on the heat in the bar, the flash of the lights, the pounding of the bass, the alcohol drifting through his body, for what he asks Sebastian next.  It’s off his lips before he has time to think about it, but if he’s being honest with himself, he’s thought about it for a long time, longer than just the fifteen minutes they’ve been dancing together. “If we’re not having another drink,” Blaine says, trailing his lips across Sebastian’s jaw and down his neck.  His words are muffled, his mouth pressed into Sebastian’s overheated skin, but he speaks clearly when he asks, “why don’t we get out of here?” Sebastian pulls back completely, putting a few inches between their bodies.  Blaine misses the warmth immediately, wants to feel Sebastian’s solid body pressed against his again.  Blaine chews on his bottom lip as Sebastian looks him over, Sebastian’s mouth dropped open as he takes quick inhales of breath.  Blaine doesn’t know what Sebastian’s thinking, has never seen this look on Sebastian’s face before.  It’s not his trademark smirk or a knowing grin, no flirting eyes or quirked eyebrows.  Blaine closes his eyes and braces himself for Sebastian’s answer, hoping he doesn’t ask why or if Blaine’s sure. “Your place or mine?” Sebastian asks, and Blaine’s eyes snap open. Blaine waits for his flight instinct to kick in, to tell him to get as far away from Sebastian as possible — even after admitting that he wants Sebastian, it’s still what he expects.  It’s what he’s been conditioned to do when Sebastian flirts shamelessly with him, had it pounded into him over and over again, “don’t answer his phone calls” and “delete his number”.   He waits, holding his breath, but the feeling never comes.  Instead of feeling offended at Sebastian’s blatant invitation, he feels nervous excitement creep up from his stomach.  There’s no disgust as Sebastian licks his lips and drags his hand up and down Blaine’s spine, just a sharp heat making its way through Blaine’s entire body. “My parents aren’t home,” Blaine answers as calmly as he can, keeping his hands steady to not give away his nerves. Sebastian’s smile is wide across his face, his bright teeth shining even in the darkness of the bar.  Blaine is momentarily mesmerized, his glance caught between the flush on Sebastian’s cheeks, the dip of his neck, a lock of hair falling down onto his forehead.  He’s made his mind up, the last bit of doubt washing away as Sebastian lays his palm flat across the small of Blaine’s back. “Are you okay to drive?” Sebastian asks, and the serious tone in his voice catches Blaine off guard. “I’m fine,” Blaine insists—and he is.  The effects of the liquor are almost completely gone, nothing left but a slight buzz to his head that could easily be from the beating music or pulsing lights. “Then what are we waiting for?” Sebastian asks and—just because he can—Blaine leans up and brings their lips together.  He can feel that Sebastian is caught off guard, the way he jolts just a bit as Blaine licks into his mouth.  Sebastian is quick to respond, though; digging his fingers into the muscles of Blaine’s back and opening his mouth eagerly.  The kiss is dirty, open mouths and tongues and wetness, and Blaine can’t get enough.  He can’t remember the last time he’s been kissed like this, with such obvious passion and want.  Sebastian clings to him, holding him as tightly as he can, not satisfied until their entire bodies are lined together. Blaine pulls away first, licking at the lines of his lips.  Sebastian is panting just slightly, just enough that Blaine can notice.  It makes something like pride surge through him, knowing he can effect Sebastian in such an obvious way. The rise of Sebastian’s chest is subtle before he starts speaking.  “I’ll follow you back to your place,” he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against Blaine’s warm cheek.  “Don’t chicken out on me now.” Blaine laughs, shaking his head.  His mind is made up, there’s no chance of him running away.  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he teases and god, this entire exchange with Sebastian just makes him feel good. “Then lead the way,” Sebastian murmurs against his skin before pulling back. They make their way through the crowd of people, the pressure on his back from Sebastian’s palm warm and comforting in a way Blaine doesn’t really want to stop and think about.  They cut through strangers on the dance floor, men stopping to watch them as they leave.  Blaine thinks he sees jealousy on their dark faces and doesn’t miss when Sebastian tugs him a little closer to his body. The cool air is like a slap to the face as they make their way outside, the effects of the alcohol long gone, and so is the feeling of being pleasantly warm.  Blaine does a full body shiver, jumping a bit in Sebastian’s arms, and Sebastian runs a hand from Blaine’s shoulder down to his elbow. “The quicker we get back to your place, the quicker I can warm you up,” he says and Blaine has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “I’m not going anywhere, Sebastian,” Blaine says as they cross through the parking lot, weaving in-between cars.  “You don’t have to use those terrible lines on me.” Sebastian just smirks and stops next to a sleek black car, only then taking his hand away from Blaine’s back and reaching into his front pocket to pull out his keys.  “How far away is your house?” “Ten minutes,” Blaine answers and suddenly he wishes he lived closer.  He wants Sebastian near him, touching him, doesn’t want space away from him where he could change his mind.  He’s instantly colder as Sebastian steps away to unlock his car and Blaine doesn’t think before he presses his chest up against Sebastian’s back.  He can feel Sebastian’s laugh vibrating and Blaine loops his arms around Sebastian’s waist, pressing his cheek to Sebastian’s shoulder. “I’ll see you in ten minutes then,” Sebastian says, turning around in Blaine’s arm.  He finds Blaine’s eyes and brings his hand up, running his thumb against the skin under Blaine’s bottom lip. This is his last chance to pull away, to call this entire thing off.  To go home alone and lie in his bed and stare at the wall until the sun comes up.  He doesn’t want that though, doesn’t want to spend another night alone while he thinks of someone who doesn’t want him.  He wants Sebastian sharing his bed, wants the intimacy that it will bring. Sebastian leans down and presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips, firm and promising, before pulling back and giving him a quick wink.  He opens the door and slides into his car as Blaine walks over to his own, parked a few spaces away.  He sits down in the driver’s seat and starts the car, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before putting the car in gear and driving off, Sebastian’s headlights clear in his rearview mirror.

When Minho woke up, he was not expecting to have someone lying next to him. However, that was exactly what he was faced with when he remembered that Felix, his assistant, had spent the night in his bed. Not only that, but Felix, who was still asleep, had his arm wrapped around Minho’s waist. Minho breathed a small prayer to whoever was listening, both thanking and cursing them for his current situation. Minho gently grabbed Felix’s arm and lifted it off of his waist. He then slid out of bed. Felix let out a small groan, his eyes fluttering open. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and ran a hand through his hair. Felix then paused, shutting his eyes. “Please, God, tell me I didn’t actually go to LGDJ.” “Sorry, Felix, but you did,” Minho responded. Felix’s eyes shot open to stare at Minho. The older Caregiver couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t think you were anywhere near this shocked last night.” “In all fairness, I was pretty certain I was going to die one way or another last night,” Felix responded. Minho frowned at that statement. “Did you really think I was going to kill you?” Felix brought his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. “To be honest, I was more afraid of Marcus finding me than I was of you killing me.” A smile appeared on Felix’s face. “No offense, Minho, but you’re too soft to kill anyone.” The young Aussie made his way out of the bed. “It was those two girls with the masks that I was afraid of.” “Trust me, Felix, Chuu and Lia would never harm a Caregiver in need,” Minho claimed. “An abusive Caregiver is a different story, but I know you’re not like that.” Felix bowed his head, a small smile on his face. “Thank you, Minho.” He stared down at the bed. “And thank you for letting me sleep here last night.” “It was no issue at all,” Minho reassured. “My room is the closest to a nursery.” A loud cry filled the air. “Are you not going to deal with your littles?” Felix inquired, an eyebrow cocked. Minho shook his head. “That’s not Jisung or Changbin.” Felix nodded before pausing. The younger Caregiver listened to the cries for a moment before his eyes widened. “Crap, that’s Seungmin!” With that, Felix bolted out of the room. Minho was quick to follow, knowing that Changbin at least would be woken up by the noise. The two Caregivers entered the room to see Jisung by Seungmin’s makeshift crib, which was just a cot with bars attached to the sides. The Little was running his fingers through Seungmin’s hair and humming. Seungmin’s cries persisted, but they were noticeably quieter. Felix rushed over to the cot and joined the two Littles on it. Jisung smiled brightly at Felix. “I tried to help Minnie stop cryin’.” Felix flashed the older Little a grateful smile. “You did a very good job…” “Jisung,” Minho supplied. Felix nodded before turning his attention back to Jisung. “You did a very good job, Jisung.” “Thank you, Mr. Lixie,” Jisung chirped. He then glanced over his shoulder at Minho. “Did you hear that, Daddy?” Minho chuckled. “I did, Sungie.” He stepped over to Changbin’s crib as the boy began to stir awake. “Would you like to help me with Binnie?” Jisung nodded furiously, his smile growing. Felix gently lifted Seungmin into his lap, cooing at his little boy. “Did my little puppy miss me?” Seungmin stared up at Felix, eyes wide and shining from his tears. Felix cracked a smile, giving Seungmin’s diaper a quick check. “Someone needs a change, doesn’t he?” Seungmin nuzzled his head into Felix’s chest, causing the Caregiver to let out a small sigh. “Minnie, you can suckle after Papa changes you.” Felix stood up with Seungmin secure in his arms before setting him down on the ground on a changing pad that he had brought from the apartment. Jisung, having gotten distracted by the interaction between Seungmin and Felix, stepped over to the men and knelt by Felix as the Caregiver untapped the diaper around Seungmin’s waist. “Does Minnie need a baba?” Jisung inquired. Felix snapped out of the slight trance he was in before relaxing. “Oh, well, Sungie, Minnie sometimes would rather…suck on my chest rather than a paci.” Felix placed a clean diaper underneath Seungmin before wiping down the Little. “It’s because he’s so little and the contact is nice for him.” Jisung’s mouth made a small “oh” shape, but his smile quickly overtook his face again. “Okay.” “Sungie, don’t bother Mr. Lixie while he’s changing Minnie,” Minho calmly ordered. “It’s fine, Minho; he’s just curious,” Felix argued, sprinkling some powder. He then taped up the diaper and helped Seungmin back into his onesie. “There we go, Minnie. Aren’t you a clean baby?” He gave Seungmin’s belly a quick tickle. “Pa!” Seungmin squealed, giggling. Jisung gasped, his smile growing. “He’s cute!” He looked over his shoulder at Minho and Changbin, who was now in the arms of their caregiver. “Daddy, Minnie is cute like Binnie!” He gasped again, his eyes widening. “Their names rhyme too!” Jisung sprung up and skipped over Minho. “Daddy, does this mean Minnie could be our brother?” Minho’s eyes widened, and Felix cast his eyes down to the ground as he stood up with Seungmin in his arms. “Uh, how about you ask later, Sungie?” Minho inquired. Jisung pouted but nodded nonetheless. Minho chuckled. “Now, do you want to help Daddy introduce Mr. Lixie and Minnie to everyone?” Jisung nodded, bounding out of the room with Peanut tight in his hands. “No running!” “Sorry, Daddy!” Jisung shouted back. The group of five made their way down to the dining room, where most of the household was already gathered. “Morning, Felix,” Jeonghan greeted, a happy Wonwoo on his lap. Chris, who was sitting in his highchair halfway asleep, perked up upon hearing the Caregiver’s name. Felix tensed up before cracking a smile. “Good morning, Jeonghan.” Chris gasped happily. “Uncie Wixie! Minnie!” “Is that a little kangaroo I hear?” Felix questioned, a playful smile on his face. He quickly walked over to the highchair and tickling Chris under his chin. The Little giggled. “Uncie Wixie, tickwes!” Jisung skipped over to Chris’s highchair before sitting down right by it. Changbin was set down in the nearby highchair. When Minho realized that Felix was still standing near the table awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “Uh, Felix, there’s an open seat over here.” He then motioned at the seat right by his. Felix perked up before nodding. A light blush appeared on the younger’s face, but he sat beside Minho nonetheless. Seungmin was cradled in his arms. When Seungmin let out a small whine, Felix gave him a small bounce. “It’s okay, Minnie. Papa will get you a bottle.” “I can get that for you, Lix,” Minho offered. Before Felix could protest, his boss was already out of his seat and walking towards the kitchen. The table was mostly silent, with some noise coming from the Littles. Then Chris whined, “Mommy, hungy.” “Okay, Chrissie, give Mommy a moment,” Jamie responded, getting out of her seat. She moved to walk towards the kitchen, but Chris let out another whine. “No, Mommy, wan’ milkie,” Chris protested. Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Chris, is that how we ask for things?” The Little shook his head, tears pricking his eyes. Jamie cooed. “Aw, baby, don’t cry.” She walked over to the highchair and gently help Chris out. She got him settled on her lap. “It’s been a while since Mama’s given you milkie, hasn’t it?” Chris nodded his head, eyes shining. Jamie lifted her pajama shirt, and Chris latched on without hesitation. Jisung stared with wide eyes before looking back at Felix. “Mr. Lixie, can you feed Minnie milk?” Felix’s face turned a bright red while the others snickered. “Jisung really wants to know about you, Felix,” Yeji teased. Felix cast his eyes away from the table. He turned his focus to Seungmin. The Little was starting to get fussy, wanting to be fed. Jisung gave Yeji a pout. “If Minnie’s gonna be my other brother, then I gotta know about Mr. Lixie.” Felix’s face was hot from embarrassment. “Sungie, I don’t think your daddy would want that.” Jisung gave the Caregiver a confused look. “Why not, Mr. Lixie? Minnie’s super cute.” “Well… for Minnie to be your brother, I’d probably have to become your papa,” Felix explained. Jisung pondered the thought before pouting. “Do you not want to be our papa?” Felix’s cheeks turned a bright red. Jisung’s pout turned into a bright smile while the Caregivers began to snicker. “You do want to be our papa!” “Sungie, indoor voice,” Minho reminded, a bottle of milk in his hand. He walked over to the table and handed the bottle to Felix. He was smiling at the younger Caregiver. “Here’s Minnie’s bottle.” “Oh, thank you, Minho,” Felix muttered. He gently pressed the nipple of the bottle against Seungmin’s mouth before the Little began suckling on it. The table fell into silence once again before Minho asked, “So you want to be their papa?” Felix’s eyes widened as he snapped his attention over to his boss. “Oh, uh, I d-didn’t mean it like that,” Felix protested. “I wouldn’t mind that,” Minho admitted, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. “Fucking finally!” Jamie cheered. The Littles all gasped, excluding Chris. “Sorry, dears, Auntie Jamie is just very excited.” “Why?” Hyunjin inquired. Jeonghan chuckled. “Well, let’s just say we’ve constantly heard about how much Uncle Minnie likes Felix.” Felix’s cheeks flushed a dark red. “If I had known that, I would’ve gotten more courage to tell you how I feel sooner.” Minho smiled. “How about I make it up to you by taking you out sometime this week? Since you live here, it’ll be easy.” Felix chuckled at the comment, but he nodded. “So Uncie Lixie will be our papa?” Jisung asked. “Maybe one day, Sungie,” Minho responded. Jisung gasped, bouncing in place. He smiled brightly at Changbin. “Binnie, we’re gonna have a papa too!” Changbin, while not completely understanding his brother, still squealed happily and clapped his hands together. Seungmin even seemed to pick up on the excitement in the room. He smiled up at Felix and cuddled closer to him. Minho let out a content sigh. This morning hadn’t even fully begun, and he could tell that things were going to be great.

Cas slumps into a chair. “Croatoan,” he mumbles, “of all things.” “Cas,” Dean starts, but Cas gives him a terrifying look. “Don’t tell me this isn’t my fault,” he snarls, and Sam is currently having a hard time believing Cas is human because that voice and that look are 100% pissed-off angel. “I wasn’t going to,” snaps Dean, and Sam has to give him points for being at least slightly diplomatic and not yelling outright. “I was gonna say you’re not going to do much good sitting there and beating yourself up.” A funny look crosses Cas’s face, one Sam’s never really seen before. “He’s right,” says Lucifer, not unkindly. “this is your mess and you’ve got to clean it up. Moping’s not gonna help.” Sam almost smiles. Lucifer’s only had a handful of real big brotherish moments, but they’re heartwarming for all their rarity. Sam puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “This might be your mess but it’s our problem, too,” he reminds him. “It’s personal for us. This isn’t just your burden. I mean hell, if you want to blame something, blame destiny for trying to screw with our lives. That’s what this all boils down to, isn’t it?” All three of them are looking at him now. Sam swallows uncomfortably. “You know. If we hadn’t started the Apocalypse then we wouldn’t have had to fight against it, and the whole Angel Civil War wouldn’t have happened–” “Sam,” says Cas, in one of his rare interruptions. “I do appreciate your mentality, but what I did was my choice, and I chose the wrong thing. I can only be glad that I have you to support me. All of you.” Cas looks pointedly at Lucifer with that, and Sam feels a flicker of surprised happiness from him. “‘Course you’ve got us, Cas,” Dean says, and claps him on the shoulder. He’s got one of his really rare smiles on, and Sam wonders for the millionth time what exactly made Dean go from blaming everything on Cas to standing by his side. He’s not going to push it, since it’s personal and god knows Dean’s allergic to feelings. “I guess I’ll... take another look at the Bible,” says Sam. Cas is looking at Dean with that something in his face and whatever it is, it’s making the entire room awkward.     Evidently, Bobby had been able to read the Hebrew in one of the hundreds of Bibles he left behind. Sam sure as hell can’t. At least not yet. One of the first things he’d done was to sit down with Lucifer, the Hebrew Book of Job, an English translation, and a pen and paper. It’d turned out that neither the original nor any translation said anything about how to kill them (or that they could be killed at all) so they’d labeled it as a lost cause. And evidently, Lucifer has an issue with using chairs the way they were intended to be used. It’s one of Sam’s minor pet peeves and it sets his teeth on edge for no good reason when he perches like that. “You won’t find anything in there,” he says, and shoots the Bible a skeptical look. “Nothing of use, anyway.” “So what, I’m supposed to sit around and do nothing?” snaps Sam. The Devil just shrugs and hands him a book.     He’s pretty sure Cas hasn’t slept since Crowley’s visit. There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks paler than usual; he’s been holed up in the library for days on end. Sam hopes he’s at least eaten something.     Dean spends a surprising amount of time around Lucifer, asking him to double-check facts or check translations. It’s heartening to see them getting along, one way or another.     After three days, Dean and Sam run into one of Crowley’s demons while on a midnight coffee run at a gas station. Nothing. One big, fat nothing. Nothing significant going on at Roman Enterprises, nothing from Crowley’s contact, nothing.     Sam can almost taste the desperation in the house by the time a week passes. They check the news constantly, keeping up with every single move Dick Roman makes. There is absolutely nothing to be found; they can hardly take on an army of Leviathans, just the four of them, and even all the hunters they can muster wouldn’t be enough.     Something’s happening. Sam feels it like the sharp snap of an epiphany and walks quickly downstairs, tugging a shirt over his head, and he nearly runs into Lucifer as he’s walking out of the library and into the living room. Lucifer looks at him briefly. “Castiel,” he says, and Cas’s dark head turns from the sofa. Lucifer says something in Enochian, then– “That would work. We could use that.” Cas stands up so fast that he dumps all of the books in his lap onto the floor; Dean looks over from the kitchen at the noise, brows furrowed. “Yes,” says Cas, without a trace of doubt in his voice. “I can do it.” Sam has no clue what’s going on but he can tell it’s deadly serious. “No,” says Lucifer, “you can’t. Not as a human.” “What the hell is going on?” barks Dean, sparking with anger already. There’s a rolling cloud of tumultuous emotions roiling in Lucifer and Sam doesn’t have the patience to sort them out, not now when something is happening. “There’s a spell,” says Cas, focused and sharp. “It hasn’t been used since–” He glances at Lucifer, who shrugs. “–for eons. It binds a creature – all of its iterations – and then uses the life of anyone working the spell in order to make them cease existing. It’s not a death spell,” he clarifies. “It’s the cessation of existence. An ultimate end.” Sam processes this for a few seconds and then Dean gets it. “No,” he says loudly, “Cas, no, you can’t do this–” “This is my mess, Dean!” Cas snarls back. “It’s the least I can do, to donate myself to end this.” Dean whirls on Lucifer. “You are not including him in this.” “He’ll do what he wants,” says Lucifer icily, “and if he wants to die in order to save this planet, then so be it. I might remind you that an angel has to cast this spell, Dean. There’s only one of those in this room. Besides, the more sacrificial lambs we’ve got, the better.” Sam unglues his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Hold on,” he interrupts, “you can’t seriously be thinking of rounding people up and slaughtering them like cattle for this.” “Voluntary sacrifices, Sam,” says Lucifer impatiently. The room is silent for ten seconds, fifteen, thirty, then– “I’m in.” Sam surprises himself by saying it. It’s the right thing to do, just like it was the right thing to jump into the Cage. It’s something he has to do, he just knows. The look Dean gives him hurts more than anything he’s felt in a long time. “Sam,” he says weakly, “you can’t–” “Yes, I can, Dean,” he replies gently. “How many times have we died and come back? How many times have we done it to save people? This is– you know. Bobby’s gone. Dad’s gone. Ellen and Jo and Ash, they’re all gone. As far as hunters are concerned, we’re nearing the end of the line, too.” And god fucking damn it, Dean looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “Dean,” says Cas quietly, “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Don’t let our choices influence yours.” “Yeah?” Dean’s knuckles are white. “How the hell does that work, huh? Everything I care about, wiped away, and me left behind? What kind of a choice is that?” Sam puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. Another minute passes in complete silence, and then Dean sighs. “You’re right.” Sam can feel him sagging under his hand. “Damn it, you’re right. This– I’m tired, I really am.” His eyes are suspiciously bright, and he’s refusing to look either Sam or Cas in the eye. “Better a bang than a whimper, right?” Cas moves forward and gently wraps a hand around Dean’s bicep; Sam senses that there’s An Impending Moment and slowly backs away. Lucifer is looking at him and his eyes are full of something great and terrible and sad. His heart twists. “Sam,” calls Lucifer; his voice is soft but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that’s making Sam shiver. He follows Lucifer into the library, out of earshot of Dean or Cas. There’s turmoil in his gut and he can’t sort out anything, he’s still reeling and blank and shocked over what the spell would entail, mind being pulled in about seven thousand different directions but his attention snaps straight to Lucifer when he feels a cool hand on the side of his neck. “Sam, you need to understand that I can’t do this without you,” Lucifer whispers, sounding older than Sam’s ever heard him. “This is a sacrifice I’m willing to make but I cannot do anything without your agreement. We’re bound.” Sam swallows when the immensity of it hits him – that this isn’t something that either of them can do, this is something they have to do together. “This is mine and Dean’s business, first and foremost,” replies Sam. “I mean, if anything, I’m dragging you into this. I–” He pauses, swallows thickly. “I wouldn’t be able to go through with this unless I knew for sure I’d end up either with you or with Dean.” He knows he sounds desperate but he can’t help it; he sounds like every single person must sound to a Reaper, asking what’s on the other side, fooling themselves into believing they’ll get a straight answer. “I can’t make any promises,” says Lucifer, and Sam’s nearly drowning in his unspoken apology. “Either you and I end up in the Cage or you get sent upstairs. One or the other. The spell’s not going to take us with it.” Sam exhales shakily; his knees feel weak with relief. “I can’t do this without you either,” says Sam. “You and Dean and Cas.” He feels like a little kid, meek and scared and small. “I know, Sam,” murmurs Lucifer, and pulls Sam’s forehead down to rest against his. “I know.”     Cas falls asleep watching Star Wars that night. Dean forgives him – it’s Attack of the Clones and he’s got half a mind to turn it off, but it’s about to get to one of its few redeeming parts, so he pulls a blanket over both of them and absently combs a hand through Cas’s hair. He’s curled loosely into Dean’s side, one hand resting on his stomach with a couple of fingers just barely tucked under the hem of his t-shirt; his soft, slow breaths leave a trail of goosebumps down Dean’s neck. He can’t help but reflect on how much of an exception to every goddamn rule Cas is. It drives him crazy sometimes, the way his heart stops or stutters at the tiniest things Cas does, but it all boils down to the fact that at this point, he could live without Cas about as functionally as he could live without Sam. It’s scary and new and he doesn’t like to think about it but at times like these, when he presses a kiss into Cas’s hairline, everything feels okay. “Uh–” Dean starts and whips his head around to see Sam at the foot of the stairs, doe-eyed. “We are not going to talk about this,” he hisses fiercely, because knowing Sam it’ll dissolve into Feelings and Why Didn’t You Let Me Knows and How Longs and that’s the last fucking thing he wants. Sam still has that utterly weirded out look on his face when he puts his hands up in defeat. “Just– don’t be dumb,” Sam whispers back, and shuffles awkwardly into the library. Dean huffs and pulls Cas closer to him, resolutely ignoring the low voices in the other room and concentrating instead on Star Wars. Even if it is Attack of the Clones. Cas wakes up just in time for the fight against Dooku, even though he spends most of it with his head buried in Dean’s neck, half-draped across his stomach. He turns off the tv when the marriage scene comes on and makes a quiet noise of disgust; Cas sits up and yawns, then lies down with his head on the other side of the couch. Dean does a quick check behind him – the light’s still on in the library and Sam and Lucifer are talking – then leans over Cas and kisses him once, twice. “Come on,” he murmurs, mouth lingering on his jaw, “bedtime.” Cas looks at him with those stupid endless eyes of his and Dean’s struck for the thousandth time with wonder at how a creature like this could possibly want to be around someone like him. He eventually gets Cas to stand (even though he resolutely keeps the blanket wrapped around his shoulders) and watches him walk heavily upstairs. He takes a deep breath and walks towards the library. Sam and Lucifer are hunched over some old, thick book; Sam’s got a pen in one hand and Lucifer is dictating something too quietly for Dean to hear. He leans against the doorframe and clears his throat. They look up at the same time. “Sam, uh–” He pauses for a good few seconds, completely lost as to what to say, never mind how to say it. “With.... that. The stuff. Um, yeah, not–” He makes an oblique gesture with his hands, trying and failing to encompass Cas and himself and them and whatever it is that’s going on, the thing that has no name. Sam stares at him, and the steel bands around his chest loosen when the corners of his mouth turn up into a familiar, quiet smile. “Don’t hurt yourself, Dean,” he teases softly. “Whatever.” “You two are so articulate.” He catches Lucifer’s dry comment as he heads up the stairs after Cas, and resists the urge to walk back and flip him off.

Perhaps in some other world, some other time, Light's demonic blood would have remained dormant and he would have never known the power that was his true birthright. All it took was just one careless bite from a certain Shinigami who got a little too eager to eat an apple which Light held out, arrogantly, in his outstretched hand. Light scolded Ryuk for his carelessness but at the time he couldn't guess the repercussions that it would have—how he had just been infected and how this infection coupled with his heavy notebook usage and, for the first time in his life, seriously lusting after someone was playing havoc with his mind and body, causing an alchemical chain reaction that would culminate on the 28th of February, his eighteenth birthday… *** Light held soft raven locks in an iron grip as he forced the man's head down and trailed soft kisses across pale, unmarked skin of his neck and back. The other man writhed wantonly beneath him, his dark, ever-staring eyes were dulled and hooded with lust, but his cries were silent. (Light never heard his voice and his subconscious never supplied him with one.) The teen was just getting to the really interesting part of his dream when he awoke, once again to cold sweat and stained sheets. The brunet fell back against his pillow with a groan. It all began about a month ago. Light had listlessly filed into the exam hall just before the doors were closed, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights that over-lit the room. He strode forward to take his seat, ignoring the other student's usual stares of awe and envy. Yes, he knew he was handsome and was at the top of the class. He didn't need them to remind him of how awesome he was. ( Just imagine if they knew that their God went to school with them...) Light merely (regally) nodded in return of Yamamoto's eager waving before taking his seat. He kept his eyes forward and ignored the staring. Maybe it was just the paranoia talking but he could swear more people were staring at him lately. He had mixed feelings about that. It was his rightful due as God of the New World to be afforded respect and admiration. However Light doubted that was the intent behind their stares—no doubt their motives were less than pure and in any case he didn't want to attract unwanted attention. And for some reason he was getting asked out much more often than before (Light hadn't thought that was possible) by girls and guys alike. (He'd rather they didn't stare so until after he had finished cleansing the world and they knew him as God and afforded him the proper respect...) But now... he found it unnerving, and he always worried that they somehow knew his secrets. Perhaps he should date more girls just to keep up appearances because if his father found out he was gay... Light had no doubt that shouting "I AM KIRA" at the top of his lungs to a room full of irritable, doughnut-deprived, cops with loaded guns would be a safer course of action... Light rested his chin in his hand as he waited, jadedly, for the test to begin. It was beyond irritating. He knew he was the smartest person here. Yet, here he had to prove it again, to jump through all the hoops. But what can you do? (Except show them, of course.) Still, it was annoying and it took away from his time. He could be using it to do something so much more productive... "And begin!" announced the proctor. Light stared at the blank page for a minute before resignedly picking up his pencil. This was new. Usually his focus was flawless and the answers would come effortlessly but for some reason he'd been feeling kind of distracted lately. Maybe it was the staring... no, it was more than that. It felt like something was crawling in the pit of his stomach. Weird. Maybe he had too much wasabi in his lunch. The teen twirled the pencil in his hand and then focused determinedly on the test before him. He'd wait until the very end of the test to write his name at the top of the sheet. Ever since he picked up the Death Note he always got nervous about writing his own name. He had just begun to run through the questions when he felt a prickling feeling at the nape of his neck like he was being watched... Well of course he was being watched—even though the exam had begun and the other students were in the process of testing, they were still sneaking glances at him or maybe his test paper trying to copy his answers. There was also Ryuk's constant staring but that was to be expected. It was familiar and Light considered it to be harmless. His Shinigami floated in the back of the exam hall—Light had with much patience (and with many apples as incentive) finally trained the monster to respect his personal space, especially when he was working like this. It wasn't his classmate's or Ryuk's staring that was making him nervous; it was a stranger's eyes he felt upon him. Just then the proctor walked by scolding "Student number 162! Sit properly in your chair." With a rising sense of foreboding Light slowly turned around to see the source of the disturbance and saw the strange man staring at him. That stranger. Light only saw him at the exam hall but "Student Number 162" had left quite an impression, he had been haunting his dreams ever since. It was really beginning to get on his nerves. Having stalkers was hardly a new phenomenon for Light Yagami. But his being attracted to one of them most definitely was. This was honestly the first time he had ever… lusted after anyone. Light decided he didn't like it. It was stupid, embarrassing, and a waste of time. After all, what were the odds he'd ever see him again? (Perhaps he should have… No. Kira did not have regrets.) It wasn't that he was fantasizing about another guy that so disturbed him. Light was well-aware of where his own preferences lay (not that he'd want to make them known. After all, he had an image to maintain.) It was the object of his desires. Why had he become so infatuated with a man that should by all rights disgust him? Well… maybe he might be a perfectly nice guy if he got to know him but still Light's first impression was that the guy was a creep. The unkempt pale, gangly, foreign weirdo had been staring at him all throughout the testing. His newest stalker would be there every day, Light would look over his shoulder to see the same greasy hair, the same wrinkled, baggy white sweater and jeans that he looked like he slept in... assuming he slept at all. And the guy kept getting yelled at for sitting oddly in his desk—no that didn't do it justice—the other man had been sitting with his bare toes wiggling on the surface of his desk. He took his test holding his pencil with the tips of his fingers. He looked like… like a retarded monkey! Which begged the question—why the hell was he attracted to him? Well... perhaps it was because the man had such a perfect air of mystery about him? Every time Light had stolen a glance his raven had always worn that same bland, blank expression on his face, betraying nothing of what he was actually thinking (and here Light thought his poker face was good.) And that he could get away with coming to the testing dressed like that actually said a lot. Touhou would never consider letting some crackhead off the street into their school so to get away with this behavior he must be really influential or really smart… or both. Maybe he was someone famous like an actor or teen idol without his makeup or computer enhancements? Actually that made a lot of sense. A celebrity wanting to go to school unmolested might affect such a persona in order to keep a low profile. And his mystery man did kind of look like a rock star. Hell, he could be Hideki Ryuuga for all he knew... And the other man was confident. That more than anything was probably what had held Light's attention. The other man didn't look away when Light caught him staring. No one had ever dared to hold his gaze before—they all looked away, but not this man. He stared right back. And while Light was loathe to admit it; he had found that incredibly attractive. In the end Light was the first to break their stare off. He had flushed, fidgeted in his seat, and crossed his legs under the desk in an attempt to stay focused on the exam in front of him. During the final day of testing Light had remained after taking the test to watch his watcher. His stalker always finished only a couple minutes after he did… Or maybe he had finished earlier and was waiting for him? (No… impossible. No one could finish a test faster than him. Well that is to say no one could finish the test faster than him and pass…) His stranger had moved oddly too, when he unfolded himself from his desk. He shuffled along with slumped shoulders—perhaps he had a back problem? Yet despite this (or maybe even because of this?) there was that underlying confidence that Light found so very attractive. The stranger handed in his test without a care and then stretched his arms above his head, loudly popping his back and revealing a tantalizing glimpse of what lay beneath those baggy clothes. Light had openly stared at the taut muscles of the man's stomach. He was lithe but strong, he must work out. Maybe he had a personal trainer? Light's eyes followed the slight curve of the man's hips to where they disappeared into the red rim of his boxers which were peaking out above the rim of those sagging blue jeans. The raven-haired stranger finished his stretching and just seemed to notice Light's staring. He smiled at him and the God of the New World suddenly found himself weak in the knees. Light had nearly approached the other man at that point, just to say "hi" or something, but had talked himself out of it at the last moment. He hadn't really chickened out. Not him. Not Light Yagami, Kira, the God-To-Be was not the least bit nervous about... asking someone out. (Come to think of it he never really had just asked someone out before—they always came to him.) There were numerous perfectly logical reasons why it would have been a bad idea—there were too many people around, asking a strange man he didn't know out for coffee would probably be seen as gay… and Light was perfectly happy in the closet, really… It wasn't worth the risk of his exposure. And things were just too weird right now. Seriously. He did not need to be in a relationship. Light lay, still in a half-asleep haze, nestled deep into damp blankets, staring at his ceiling. He needed to get up and change those… Dammit, he wished he was back in his dream! Because now he would have to get up and deal with all the crap of another day. More draining demands on his time, more stress, more boredom, more rude and rotten people, more mind-fuckery courtesy of L... (and no raven-haired beauty waiting for him...) Light yawned and stretched and for the first time became conscious of the odd sensations, the shifting weight on his back and head and his own body awareness snapped into focus... "Hey Light, are you awake yet?" Ryuk's voice floated in through the wall just before he did. "I know you said those were supposed to last the week but we're kind of out of apples now and I really need one bad—Woah!" "Ryuk! What the fuck did you do?" The Shinigami just stood there, stunned speechless as he gawked at his (former) human.

My erotic journey to my first big black cock is an interesting and delectable one. A journey that I did not think could or would ever happen. I thought it would simply remain a fantasy. A fantasy for me mostly, but also my husband, John. It was (and still is) a shared fantasy. I probably wanted it more than John did, but I will say he encouraged my sexual exploration. My name is Pam, and I am a mid-50's white woman. I am in very good shape (I think so and others have told me that) as I work out regularly and have good genes I guess. I am about 5'8" with dark brown hair that falls below my shoulders. My breasts are small but my nipples are extremely sensitive. My best attribute I think is that I have long legs that I have kept in great shape by running and doing aerobics. My butt is plump, but hey, I am in my mid 50's and have had four kids. It still looks good John tells me all the time. I have been an elementary school teacher for 30 plus years and I have a reputation of being a little bit uptight among the other teachers and staff. "Prim and proper Pam" or "Triple P (for prim and proper Pam)" I heard was my nickname, although no one ever called me that to my face. Well, except one person has, but that will come later in the story. I dress conservatively at school and never, ever talk about sex or anything off color. In the past, I have admonished some of the younger female teachers for speaking so openly about their weekend sexual exploits in the faculty break room or about some of the things they would wear to school, despite our school's teacher dress code. They would laugh and carry on despite me showing my displeasure. What can I say, when I came out of college and started teaching, we would never dress or talk like some of these new teachers do. Although I will say, that I have found some of their conversations to be a bit of a turn on. For instance, several years ago, a 25-year very attractive blonde teacher was talking about her date that weekend. He was an African-American who had played football at the local college. I did not hear all of the conversation as she was trying to talk quietly but I heard things like "the biggest cock I have ever had" and "he could fuck all night" and "he came on my face." I was blushing at some of the commentary but the other young female teachers loved the story it seemed and not a bit embarrassed to be talking about it in the faculty break room. It did make me a little hot and bothered to hear such sexy talk and when I got home that night, I fucked John as if my hair was on fire. John and I have been married for about 30 years and we had kids very soon after we got married in our early 20's so they are out of college and on to their own careers. Three of the four children live close by and the fourth, our youngest, lives across the country in a big city in California. Our love life has always been good but not super adventurous until John started to try and spice up our sex life by getting me interested in toys and porn. I can't say I blame him. We were in a rut for a while and we had both grown weary of sex in the missionary position. John was good about it though. We talked about it and he introduced things gradually. First vibrators and dildos and then movies. The movies were not terrible (except for the acting of course) but it did turn me on to watch other couples fuck and suck on the screen. One night, John and I were getting ready for a sex session when he popped in a movie. It was from a series that featured married women fucking black men. I was taken aback by John's choice and I said, "John, what in the world are you doing? I can't believe you want me to watch interracial porn. I have nothing against it of course, I just don't think it is my cup of tea especially with married women fucking other men." John said, "Relax Pam, just give it a try. I think you will like it. One of the actresses in this movie kind of reminds me of you. She is super hot and takes a really big cock." I replied in a bit of anger "so you already watched it without me?" I was a bit perturbed to say the least. John, in a worried state since it seemed like he had shot himself in the foot and was not going to get laid that night, said, "No, I just watched the preview before I bought it and when I saw that actress, I thought, wow, that looks like Pam. I am going to buy this and see if she likes it." I gave John a look like I didn't believe a word he was telling me but sighed and said, "Well ok, put it on if it will make you hard. I doubt I will like it much." So John put on the movie and we started engaging in foreplay as the movie played and we watched. At first, I was shocked and a little weirded out by the size of the cocks on the men and how the white women in the movie acted like such wanton sluts sucking and fucking those big cocks. But then I felt my pussy start to get extremely wet and very warm. Holy cow, I thought to myself, I can't believe that this is turning me on. John sensed I was getting heated and asked if he could go down on me. John is really good at eating pussy. That is one of his best talents! "Please do," I said as my pulse quickened and my pussy got wetter. "Wow, you are nice and wet, I guess you like this movie after all" John chuckled as he dove between my legs and started lapping at the folds of my pussy and sucking on my engorged clit. "Just shut up and eat my pussy," I said with enough emphasis that John got to work and started running his tongue up and down my slit and working two fingers into my sopping pussy. I grabbed his head with both hands and shoved his mouth unto my clit and said "suck on it" with an aggression that neither I nor John had ever seen me use in the bedroom. He did as instructed and I was slowly building up to an intense orgasm. 'Come on John, suck my clit like you mean it, I know you can do better." Oh my, I thought to myself, I am normally very submissive when we have sex but here I was ordering John to suck my clit and to suck it harder! John did as instructed and started sucking my clit like his life depended on it. At this same time, the actress on screen was riding her partner in reverse cowgirl and he had her legs pulled back so she was spread eagled and wide open. He was jack hammering what looked to be a 10-inch cock into her pussy with such force I thought he would injure himself and her. It was so erotic and I was transfixed. Then the actress started talking dirty, "Fuck me with that big black cock," "shove that big cock into me" and so on. She then said, "I love how you fuck me with that big black cock". That sent me over the edge. I grabbed John's head as hard as I could, shoved his face in my pussy, and wrapped my legs around his torso. "I am cumming, don't stop, suck on it John, suck on my clit" I screamed. John was doing his best to comply but my legs and hands were practically strangling him, never mind that his mouth was jammed into my pussy so hard he probably couldn't breathe. The orgasm wracked my body from head and toe and I momentarily blacked out from the intensity of the orgasm. My legs cramped and my stomach spasmed as I gushed all kinds of pussy juice and cream on to John's face. Finally, I released my grip on John's head and to his credit, he did not pull up for air but continued to lap at my pussy and suck my juices into his mouth. My arms fell back and my legs quivered and fell to the side as I was breathing like I had just run a 100-yard sprint. All the while, the movie continued to play and actress continued to be pummeled by the actor's huge cock. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen despite being incredibly spent. John pulled his mouth off and sidled up next to me, squeezing my nipples and kissing my neck. "That had to be the hardest I have ever seen you come Pam. I know I eat pussy like a champ but I think you like watching the hot little white slut get pounded by the big black cock." He was right. Watching that beautiful ebony monster just plow into that hot white pussy did something to me that I couldn't find the words to describe. Still panting heavily, I choked out the words that had been on my mind for the last few minutes "Well, you may be right, but how did you know that I would like interracial porn? I feel a bit embarrassed as turned on as I got while watching that big cocksman ravage that tiny white girl." "Oh, I just had a feeling you might like it. Lots of married women in their 40's and 50's fantasize about being taken and really fucked by a well hung black bull." John replied, answering my question. I paused the movie. "Black bull, what is that/" I asked, already figuring out the answer as I was asking the question. John smiled and said, "That is a well hung black stud who fucks a married white woman, pleasing her and fulfilling both her and her husband's fantasy to have her fuck a black guy." "Well looks like someone has been doing some homework that I, the teacher did not even assign!" I laughed aloud as I restarted the movie and said 'Let's see what other big black cocks are in this movie and what they have in store for these white wives!" We watched the rest of the scene and it was truly eye opening. The male actor must have fucked that white girl in five different positions and then came all over her face. She lapped up the come and then sucked on the head of that big cock, sucking out the last remnants of his cum. I was stroking John's cock during all of this, he was incredibly hard, and I could tell close to orgasm. I would edge him close to orgasm and then back off, not wanting him to come as I want to get fucked that night. The next scene came on and the actress had dark brown hair about shoulder length. John spoke up quickly "that's India Summer, I think she looks like you." I have to admit that she did a little bit, at least the hair and the face did but her tits were a good bit bigger and her ass was not as plump as mine was. My legs were better than hers I thought. At least I had that on her! She started going down on the actor, whose cock was as big as the actor in the early scene. She was sucking it and talking really dirty. I figured if John were fantasizing about India Summer, I would play along. So I kneeled next to him and took his cock into my mouth. Now John's cock is nothing like the guy on the screen's enormous tool but it was a decent size and always had done the job for me in the past. I started sucking on the head and talking dirty. "I love sucking your big, fact cock," "You like how your cock looks in my mouth," "I feel like such a sexy slut sucking on your cock" were some of the things I said as I was sucking John off. All the time I was sucking on John's cock, I was watching the movie and trying to emulate what the actress was doing. She was much more talented at sucking cock and talking dirty than me but I did my best to keep up. I was enthralled by the actresses ability to deep throat such a big cock and I tried with John. Although John is only about 6 inches, I could not take much more than half in my mouth and throat. While I was sucking on John, he was fingering my pussy and working my clit with his fingers. I was recovered now from my orgasm and ready to have another. Soon the actors on the screen switched positions and the male actor starting fucking India from behind with hard and swift thrusts. "Oh, that position looks nice John; do you want to fuck me like that?" I asked. John croaked out a yes as he was breathing heavy from my oral ministrations. He got behind me but I stopped him. "No, I want to be facing the TV as you fuck me because I want to watch that big black cock fuck India senseless." With that, I turned around and faced the TV on all fours. "Come on, stick that cock into my pussy and see if you can bang me like India is getting banged!" John did not need any more encouragement. He got behind me on his knees and rubbed the head of his cock over my wide-open pussy lips and my swollen clit that was sticking out like half inch from its hood. That is another sexy little tidbit about me. When I get really turned on, my clit sticks out pretty far, almost like a little erection and is incredibly sensitive. With one hard push, John slammed his cock all the way in pussy as he grabbed my ass with both hands and started banging me for all he was worth.. "That's it, fuck me hard like that, like you see on screen." Oh boy I thought, I hope that did not turn John off as it seemed like I was getting more turned on by the cock I was watching in the movie than him. But I was wrong. "Yes, I will fuck you like that, but you need that big black cock to fuck your sexy quim to make you really come. I know you would love black cock if you tried it." I reached down between my legs and grabbed John's balls as he pounded into me. Yes, I think John was right. I did want that big black cock. John continued to fuck me with all he was worth as I fingered my clit with blazing speed. The Stud on the screen reached down and grabbed India's long hair into a ponytail and pulled back, making her arch her back. He did not look like he was hurting her and her yelling to fuck her hard only increased. I thought, why not, I'll have John try that on me. We had not ever really played rough before, mostly I think because John doesn't think that I would like such rough play. I looked back and John and said "do that to me, fuck me like that." John's eyes got wide but he obliged my request and pulled my hair into a ponytail like on the screen and pull me back so my back was arching. "That's it, now fuck me!" I screamed, and John pounded hard into my sopping wet pussy. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" I repeated over and over as I could not believe how sexy it felt to be fucked like that. The actor then gave India a few light smacks on her ass, and that caused her to scream harder, begging the stud to fuck her as hard as he could. After a minute or two, the male actor slowed for a minute and India looked back at him and said "Come on, don't fuck me like you love me, fuck me like a whore." With that the black bull gave India a few good spanks on her ample ass and jackhammered her cunt with a ferocity that stunned me. But my god, those words, "don't fuck me like you love me, fuck me like a whore" just sent me over the edge. My fingers worked my erect clit to a shattering orgasm. It was too much for John too as he shot his load of cum deep into my pussy. I collapsed and John collapsed next me, both of us breathing hard like he had just done wind sprints. "Wow, you ok, that was amazing, I don't think I have ever come so hard and had you come like that." John said, as he panted, trying to catch his breath. "Yes, that was amazing. I loved that and I love your selection of the movie! I hope you can find more like this!" I said, catching myself a little at the end as it was a bit forward of me to be asking for a certain kind of porn movie. But I was now enthralled by the big black cocks I had seen on the screen and the way they just pounded those white sluts into submission. John looked over at me with a surprised look on his face and said "Really, I was hoping you would like it and I am glad I took the chance on it. I definitely will look for more like this!" "Please do!" I said and we hugged and cuddled, completely spent from a more vigorous love making (I should call it a fucking) session than we had had in quite some time. After that night, John ordered some more interracial movies with big black cocks fucking white wives and girlfriends. John had to order the movies from an adult movie site because our rather conservative town did not have any adult stores, nor could he or I risk getting seen going into one. We really enjoyed watching these new movies and our fucking increased in intensity and frequency, up to 2-3 times a week. Not bad for a two 50 somethings! Some of the movies also included anal scenes, which was quite a turn on but I was afraid to try it since I couldn't imagine even John's six inch cock in my ass, never mind a ten inch cock! I did let John work his fingers and his thumb into my ass, and I have to admit it was quite the turn on! About this time, our school system hired a new superintendent. His name was Raymond Brown and he was in his mid 40's, had a Ph.D., was quite handsome and very well built (at least from what I could tell from the pictures in the paper). He was also black. Nothing wrong with that of course, he was enormously qualified, having served as an assistant superintendent in at least two other districts and was known to be quite the excellent school administrator. He made the rounds to all the schools in the district and he came to our school one day for a meet and greet and faculty question and answer. I have to say, I was quite impressed and he was very charming, smart and funny. I can see some of the younger white teachers giving him the eye. Sure, I thought, I bet you little sluts would love to suck and fuck what was probably a big fat cock. Damn, I thought to myself, I better stop thinking like that. After the meeting, the teachers were going up and shaking his hand and introducing themselves. I went up and introduced myself and Dr. Brown said to me "Pam, I understand you are one of the more senior teachers here at this school. I am going to have a retreat where I have a senior teacher from each school come together for a long weekend of discussion about the school system. I would like for you to join it if you can. I will have my assistant contact you if you are interested." I was startled and a taken off guard. I felt my chest and neck turn red as the flush went into my face. "Sure," I finally blurted out as my heart skipped a beat. The other teachers around looked on and a few, especially the "young sluts" as I came to call them, seemed a little jealous. "Great, it is going to be in about 3 weeks and my assistant will contact you about the details" Dr. Brown said with a big grin and a mischievous look in his eyes. I was a little taken aback because it seemed like Dr. Brown was flirting with me and I think the other teachers thought so too. After the meeting a couple of them commented on how lucky I was to be able to go on the retreat which is something that not many of us (if any) had ever had the opportunity. A few days later, I got a call from Dr. Brown's assistant, a youngish sounding woman who gave me he details and emailed me the registration link. The retreat was going to be about 4 hours away in a large city with great restaurants and cultural attractions. Dr. Brown's assistant Monica, assured me that while there would be plenty of work and time for the retreat group to work on things, there would be time for "fun". She emphasized the "fun" in a curious way I thought. She asked me if my spouse or partner would accompany me and I told her that I would get back to her. Later that day, I asked John if he wanted to go. He checked his calendar and said 'Well, if you really want me to go, I will but it is a big college and pro football weekend and I can spend the time doing some work around the house and watching some great football!' It wasn't the first time that John begged off from one of my educational conferences so I let it pass. He did remark, "You know there is a great adult superstore in that town from what I hear. Maybe you can go by and pick up a few things." He chuckled as he said it but was also serious. "Oh John, I couldn't do that, what if someone saw me?" I stated with some frostiness. "Who will know you?" John replied, "It is a city more than 4 hours away and has more than half a million people in it. You will be anonymous." I told John that I would think about it, but by no means to count on it. As the weekend drew near, I started preparing for the retreat. There would be about 30 of us there, one person from each school in the district, the principals and assistant principals and several district administrators as well as staffers from Dr. Brown's office. The agenda Dr. Brown sent us was an aggressive and exciting one and filled with lots of cool workshops and breakout groups. I decided to drive by myself instead of with our school's principal and assistant principal since I preferred to have the time alone to listen to books and the radio and not have to engage in chitchat with either of them. The retreat was Friday to Sunday but everyone was arriving on Thursday evening. When I got to the hotel, a very nice, very new hotel in the heart of downtown, I was very excited. It was a 30 story hotel with great views of the city. When I got to the check-in, I ran into Dr. Brown's assistant Monica. "Hi, Pam!" Monica said quite loudly and gave me a big hug. At first I did not know who she was but she said 'I'm Monica, Dr. Brown's executive assistant. We are so glad you could make it. This is going to be a very informative and exciting retreat!" Monica must have been all of 25 years old. Tall, blonde, drop dead gorgeous and a body that could and probably does, stop men in their tracks. I thought to myself, well Dr. Brown sure knows how to pick them! I was friendly to Monica in my reply and thanked her and Dr. Brown for inviting me to the retreat. I checked in and was given a room on the 10 floor. Not the top of the hotel, but I still had a really nice view. I connected with some of the other teachers who had arrived and we decided to go out for a quick bite to eat and get to bed early since we started at 8 am on Friday morning. The first day was full of meetings and workshops and break out sessions. We worked hard and I have to say, Dr. Brown knew his stuff about education and how to best deliver it. I was happy to have been invited and really felt like I was learning some new things for the first time in years. That evening Dr. Brown had arranged for a big dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant. We took over a private room and the food was great and the wine flowed. I went up to Dr. Brown during the dinner and said "Well Dr. Brown, you really know your stuff and I am quite impressed with the retreat subject matter!" Dr. Brown, looked at me very flirtatiously and said "Well Pam, I have noticed you paying quite good attention during the sessions, unlike some of the other teachers. I think you might be the top student so far!" With that he touched my elbow and gave it a bit of a squeeze. Yikes, I thought to myself, I am turning red and getting turned on! The evening ended and we got back to the hotel and almost everyone went to bed. A few decided to get a nightcap but not me, I went to my room, stripped off my clothes and fell into bad, lightly stroking my sex and thinking about how Dr. Brown is probably fucking that blonde slut Monica senseless right now. I fingered myself to a very nice orgasm and fell asleep. The next day, Saturday was a day that we only had about a half day of workshops. The rest of the afternoon could be spent doing what we wanted. John had texted me that morning and asked if I had made it to the adult super store in the city. I told him no, that I probably would not go, I would just be too embarrassed. I could tell John was disappointed but did not push it. That morning, Dr. Brown led one of the workshops. I sat in the front row, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing my new tortoise shell glasses. My "MILF" glasses as my husband liked to call them! Dr. Brown was very engaging and held everyone's attention. He walked back and forth as he spoke and at one point stood right in front of me, about 6 feet away. I quickly glanced towards his crotch and I swear I could see the outlines of what looked like a very large penis underneath his dress slacks, running down his left leg. I couldn't help but stare at the outline of that rather large member and unconsciously slipped the tip of my pen between my lips. Just at that moment, Dr. Brown looked down and saw where I was looking. Oh my god, I thought to myself. He caught me staring at his crotch! Dr. Brown smiled slightly without missing a beat in his talk and walked away. I was so embarrassed I thought I would die! The meetings ended for the day and everyone went their separate ways. We had the afternoon to our ourselves before the evening cocktail reception at the hotel where we would all come together for drinks and heavy hors d'oeuvres. John and I texted back and forth and I agreed to go to the adult superstore to pick out a movie or two and maybe a black dildo. John encouraged me to make the choices because he thought it would be better than him doing it and he can learn more of what turned me on in our new little sexual fantasy. So I looked up the address and steeled my nerves and headed out to the adult super store. I dressed as blandly as possible and wore what I thought people wear to such places. A sweatshirt, jeans and my hair tucked up in a baseball cap. This would be my first time ever at such a place. I was scared but also a bit excited. The adult store was about 4 miles from downtown out near the airport in sort of an industrial area. I thought to myself, well this is a little sketchy area but I am sure I will not see anyone here that might recognize me. I parked and went in. I was surprised. It was clean, well lit and neatly arranged. It has a sexy lingerie shop attached to it and I had to admit, it did not look like an adult store but looked like a nice department store! The clerk checked my ID and gave me a directory because the place was so big! I looked over the directory and headed to the toy section. I wanted to make this quick so I looked and found a six inch black dildo and put it in my basket and quickly made my way to the video section. I browsed the many aisles until I found the interracial section that was also sectioned off into certain fetishes. I found the one that said "white wives and girlfriends" and went down that aisle. There were so many and so many of them looked hot I didn't know what to do. I was going to only buy two and get the heck out of there. I found one with the title "white wives, black bulls, volume 10" and looked at the back jacket with the description and screen shots. Double penetration, 3 on 1, facials, anal, and a few other things read the description. It looked good and the men looked like they had big cocks and the women looked pretty. I placed it in my basket and all of a sudden, I was startled by a voice that sounded familiar. "Well, well, prim and proper Pam getting her freak on I see!" said the voice. It was Dr. Brown, I was petrified and thought about running out of the store but it was too late. Oh my god, the new superintendent caught me in an adult store! I wanted to crawl in a hole! I stammered a "Hello" but don't remember what else I said other than "uh, I was just looking... ". I then in a low voice said "Please Dr. Brown, don't tell anyone I was here, please. I don't know what got into me. I don't want to lose my job." Dr. Brown looked at me for a minute and said, "Pam, I wonder what the parents of your students would think if they knew that when you went out of town on this retreat, you went to an adult store?" Dr. Brown then said, "Well what do we have here" as he looked in my basket. "White wives, black bulls, volume 10". He picked it up and looked at the front and back of the movie jacket. "Looks like a good one for you and your husband to get off to Pam. Do you like watching big black cocks fucking white wives and fantasize about it being you?" He smiled broadly and looked directly in my eyes as he said it. "I don't know, it is really my husband's fantasy, not mine," I somehow choked out the words. Dr. Brown said, "Really? I don't believe you Pam. I saw how you were looking at my crotch this morning during the workshop with your pen between your lips. You were thinking about what it would be like to suck my big black cock weren't you Pam?" "Of course not Dr. Brown!" I replied in a fashion that expressed some shortness with Dr. Brown's astute observation. "Well Pam, I have fucked a lot of white women and many white wives, and they all said it was their husband's fantasy to watch them fuck and suck a big black cock, but I know better. And I can tell that you want my big black cock." Said Dr. Brown with some degree of authority. I was speechless and stood there not knowing what to do or where this was going to go. Dr. Brown sensed that I needed to be told where this was going. "Tell you what Pam. Instead of making a big deal out of this with my school board or the parents, I am going to make you a black cock slut tonight. I am going to have you live out your fantasy and I know it is yours as well as your husband's so don't lie to me again." He said it with such knowing authority, all I could do is shake my head yes. I don't know why I agreed, I guess I just want to make this end and not get in trouble. Nevertheless, I was also getting turned on. Dr. Brown said, "Good, I am glad we are in agreement how this is going to go. First of all, you can keep that movie. It will be good for you and your husband to watch and get off on." Dr. Brown then looked at the dildo and said, "Mine's bigger, much bigger. And when I get done with you tonight, you are going to want one much bigger than the one in your basket." With that, he said, "Follow me." I followed him back to the toy section and he made me put back the six-inch dildo. He directed me to the realistic porn star dildos of black pornstars. "Which one do you like?" he demanded. My head was spinning and I could not believe what I was doing. "I don't know," I stated with some exasperation, since I really didn't. There was Prince Yashua, Sean Michaels, Isiah Maxwell, Mr. Marcus, Flash Brown, Jax Slayher, Jason Luv, Anton Harden and others. I couldn't pick one and I was so embarrassed that I thought I would faint any second. Dr. Brown finally said, "Alright, I will pick one. We will go with Anton Harden since his is a lot like mine, thick and long, although mine is a little bit longer!' He laughed as he placed the Anton Harden realistic dildo in my basket. I was frightened by the size of the dildo but also turned on at the same time. Dr, Brown, then said "We are going to need to get you dressed up for tonight too so let's go over to the lingerie and costume section." I was now really worried and started to speak up. "Do not talk back Pam. You are going to be my black cock slut tonight because I know you want to be. You want to fantasize about getting fucked by a black bull, tonight you are going to experience the real thing." We went to the costume section first. Dr. Brown picked out a choker that said "black cock slut" on it with a little ring in the middle. "You will wear that tonight" he directed. Then he picked up a little leash that clearly attached to the ring on the collar. "We will need this too" he said. He also picked up a black riding crop and I thought to myself, oh no, I am not ready for this. Dr. Brown sensed my alarm and he said "No worries Pam, we won't use this tonight. We will save it for another time." And he placed it in my basket. Another time I thought, oh my how things have gone off the rails. Then we sent over to the earrings section. He picked out a pair of earrings that that the queen of spades on them that dangled down from the ear. "You will also wear these tonight" he said. "I can't wear these to the cocktail party Dr. Brown!" I croaked out as I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 'Of course not, Pam! You will wear them to my room tonight after the party!" Dr. Brown laughed at my apparent naivety. Dr. Brown then picked up a queen of spades temporary tattoo and put it in my basket. "Put this on just above your shaved pussy bikini line. I love to look at it when I fuck white wives. You do have a shaved pussy don't you?" He asked. My look clearly gave it away that I didn't and he just laughed and shook his head, "well girl, make sure it is shaved tonight when you come to see me." "Yes sir" I answered him, now seemingly under his spell. I had never shaved my pussy before but I guess I was going to do it for Dr. Brown tonight! We then went into the lingerie section. He picked out a black garter belt, black crotchless panties, black stockings with a seam up the back and a push up bra with a place cut out for my nipples to protrude. He put them in my basket. I must have had three hundred dollars of items in my basket by this point. There was no way I could afford all of this I thought! Dr. Brown sensed my anxiety. 'Don't worry Pam, I am going to pay for all of this. I like my white wives to dress a certain way for me and I don't mind paying for it." Dr. Brown said with a toothy grin. I immediately felt relieved. "Just a couple of more things and we will be done." Dr. Brown said as I followed him dutifully through the store, like a teacher and a pupil. "Here we go" Dr. Brown remarked as we circled back to the toy section. We were in the "anal play" section. I was really worried about what was next. Dr. Brown found a queen of spades butt plug, one not too big and not too thick, sort of a starter one. "I expect you to wear this tonight to the cocktail party and when you come to my room later." Dr. Brown instructed me. "But Dr. Brown" I pleaded, "I don't know how to use this or how to get it in my...bottom" I said with a worried look. "Don't worry, you will figure it out. I guess I should have figured you for an anal virgin Pam, but after tonight, we will see." Dr. Brown smiled and gave me a pat on my backside. I was stunned and thought to myself that there was no way I was going to have anal sex tonight, no matter what Dr. Brown thought. Dr. Brown finally said, "Ok Pam, I think we are done here. I am going to pay for all of this but I want you to go to the mall and get some black stiletto heels for tonight. At least 4 inches tall. And some red nail polish and red lipstick. I like my black cock sluts in high heels, with red nails and red lipstick. Looks good with my black cock, you'll see." I could not believe that I was allowing Dr. Brown to order me around like this but I felt strangely turned on by his dominant tone and demeanor. "Yes, Dr. Brown, what time should I get to your room?" I finally asked, showing my incipient submission to his demands. The cocktail party ends at 10 pm, I will have to linger a little bit at the bar to politic a little so let's make it for 11 pm. Give me your phone, I will put my number in. If there is a problem and I am going to be later, I will text you." With that, Dr. Brown took my phone, put in his number and we went to the checkout counter. The 20 something female checkout clerk with piercings and tattoos, started ringing up the purchases and then looked me and Dr. Brown up and down. "Looks like someone is going to have fun tonight!' She chuckled aloud. I was so embarrassed and must have turned red as a beet. Dr. Brown said without missing a beat, "Oh yeah, it is going to be an all time show stopper!" Dr. Brown paid for the items and as we left, he reminded me that I needed to go to the mall and finish my purchases for the night's festivities. "And don't forget to wear that queen of spades butt plug to the reception" Dr. Brown ordered. "Yes sir.' I replied and got in my car, drove off and started looking for the mall. I drove in a daze for thirty minutes, not believing what had just happened and how I had committed to going to Dr. Brown's room tonight dressed like a black cock slut. What in the world had just happened? It was like I was intoxicated and did whatever he told me to do. I guess I am a bit submissive and I liked it when Dr. Brown told me what he wanted and what he expected of me. Still, I wasn't sure that I could go through with it. I went in the mall, found a shoe store, and found the 4-inch black stilettos that Dr. Brown had ordered that I wear. I tried them on and walked up and down to check the fit. The clerk remarked, "they look good on you hon, I bet your man is going to like them too!' and she gave me a wink. I paid for the shoes and found a makeup store. I found some ruby red nail polish and lipstick and bought them. I did not linger, as I needed to get back to hotel and start getting ready for the reception and my meeting with Dr. Brown afterward. I kept thinking of it as a "meeting" so that I would not get so scared that I would back out. I was still not sure what was drawing me to go through with it other than I was afraid that if I didn't mine and John's little fantasy would be exposed for all in our rather small and conservative town to see. I made one more stop at a Walgreen's and pick up a female razor and some shave cream. I had never shaved my pussy and I was a little hesitant to go "bare" down there. I got back to the hotel and hiding all of my purchases best I could, I headed to my room. I took a long hot shower and while in there, shaved my underarms, my legs and finally my pussy. It took me a little time to figure out how best to do it but when I was done, I was impressed that I had shaved myself completely clean and I actually thought it looked sexy. After drying off and taking care of my hair, I put on the red nail polish and tried on the red lipstick. The red nails and lipstick was quite sexy I thought to myself. I could see why Dr. Brown liked it. I then read the instructions and put on the temporary queen of spades tattoo between my belly button and my now shaved bikini line just above my pussy. I got it to stay and I hoped that I could get it off before I got home to John! I put in the queen of spades earrings and the rest of my outfit, the garters, the stockings, crotchless panties and the push up bra. I finally slipped on the stilettos and stood in front of the full-length mirror. Oh my god, I thought to myself. I really do look like a black cock slut! I still had not put in the butt plug but figured I needed to get very turned on before even attempting that. So I laid down on the bed and started stroking my clit that was starting to protrude from getting turned on by the thoughts going through my held. I stroke my clit and stuck first one, then two fingers into my pussy and worked them in and out. I fantasized about some of the scenes in the interracial movies that John and I had been watching and soon I was on the verge of coming. I frigged my clit as fast as I could and I had an amazing orgasm that left me breathing hard and my pussy sopping wet. I figured that I might as well make good use of the wetness from my pussy and took my index finger on my right hand and worked it into my ass, scooping up more wetness with my other hand and rubbing it around the rosebud of my ass. My sphincter began to relax and I pushed in my middle finger. This actually feels very good I thought. I reached over and grabbed the butt plug and slowly worked it into my ass. There, it was in! That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be but I still thought that there was no way that Dr. Brown was going to fuck my ass with his big cock. I looked at my watch and saw that there was only 30 minutes before the reception started. I cleaned up and took off my "black cock slut" outfit and got into a fairly conservative skirt that was below the knee, a buttoned up blouse and sweater and low heels. Back to "prim and proper Pam" except for the red nails and the queen of spades butt plug that was feeling really good in my ass and turning me on. I headed off to the cocktail party reception. The cocktail party was fun and there was plenty of good food and good drinks. I did not plan to talk to Dr. Brown but I did keep my eye on him. That little blonde slut Monica was at his elbow as he made the rounds and I had a little bit of a jealous feeling. Maybe he is going to fuck her tonight and not me I pondered. After about an hour or so, I had went over to the bar to get a glass of wine when Dr. Brown sidled up. "So, did you do as I instructed? Are you wearing the butt plug?" he whispered. "Yes sir." I whispered back, looking around to make sure no one was watching us. "Good. I have another instruction. I want you to wear your hair in a high ponytail when you come to see me tonight. I love to pull on my black cock slut's ponytail when I fuck them from behind. And you will wear your black cock slut outfit to my room. I saw you have a long coat. You can wear it over your outfit." Oh my god, I thought. I am on the tenth floor and Dr. Brown is on the 30 . I would have to ride on the elevator for 20 floors dressed like that! I was not sure I could go through with it. "Please Dr. Brown, let me change when I get to your room," I pleaded, my eyes starting to get moist as I thought I might cry. "No, you are my black cock slut tonight and you are going to act like one." Dr. Brown whispered in my ear and walked away. I had no choice. I would have to somehow get the courage to do it. The reception ended and I immediately headed to my room. I was shaking I was so turned on and scared at the same time. By 10:30 pm, I was ready to go. I applied the ruby red lipstick to my lips and put on the "black cock slut" collar. I pulled my long hair into a high ponytail and looked in the full-length mirror. Just look at me, I thought. I can't believe that I am going to be a black cock slut tonight. I felt like all of a sudden I had some belief that I could go through with it. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was about 10:40 pm. Dr. Brown had texted me. His text read, "Give me 5 minutes and then head to my room as instructed. Room 3022." I put on my long coat and stood there counting the time down. Finally, after 5 minutes I headed out, praying that I would not see anyone, especially anyone that I knew. I pushed the elevator up button, it dinged, and one of the elevators stopped. I looked into the elevator and there was a 40 something man and his wife. They were embracing each other but not kissing. We were both startled to see each other. I put my head down, walked on to the elevator, and stood to their left. The husband glanced quickly at me. I felt like a high-class escort visiting a swanky hotel. I glanced back and he gave me a knowing look. Holy shit, I thought, he thinks I am a high-class hooker. His wife smiled at me too and pulled her husband a little closer. He glanced over again and looked directly at my collar that said so all could see "black cock slut" and of course, my queen of spade earrings gave away most likely where and what I was headed for. Finally, the elevator stopped at the 28 floor and they got off. The husband looked back and said, "Have a good time tonight!" and I could see his wife punch him on the arm as he said it and the door closed. The embarrassment was more than I could stand and I was about to turn back when the elevator door opened on the 30 floor. I seemingly floated out and found my way to room 3022. I knocked once but there was no answer. I knocked again and stood there for what seemed like 5 minutes. I was about to leave when the door opened. There was Dr. Brown in a white bathroom, looking very sexy and very handsome. "Come in Pam, I am glad you decided to make it. I can't wait to turn you into my black cock slut tonight." Dr. Brown said in a very sexy voice. I walked in and his room was a suite, very nice with a commanding view of the downtown and beyond. Dr. Brown asked if he could take my coat and I unbuttoned it and gave it to him. Dr. Brown looked me over from head to toe and said, "Very nice, Pam, I see that you have followed my instructions perfectly. I love that shaved pussy too. I bet you like it also!" He was right; I liked my pussy being shaved! Dr. Brown poured me a glass of wine and we walked over to the couch, I could see that his cock was hard as it was making a tent out of the front of his robe. We sat down and we took a few sips of our drinks. Dr. Brown then said, "Pam, I want you stand up in front of me and run those red finger nails over you pussy and clit. I want to see how turned on you are before I even start fucking you." I did as he instructed and stood in front of him, spread my legs and started working my clit. I was getting incredibly hot and thought I might come right then and there. Finally Dr. Brown stood up. "Take off my robe." Dr. Brown demanded. I did as he directed and it fell away from his shoulders. He was as chiseled as any 21 year old and his shoulders were broad and his physique tapered down into a v at his waist. I purposefully did not look at his cock. I was too scared but I could tell just from the space between us that it was huge! He said "You can touch me Pam". I did not hesitate. I ran my red nailed fingers over his shoulders and chest and his rock hard stomach. I stopped at his waist. I then looked down and gasped. "Holy shit" I practically screamed. Standing straight out from his crotch was the biggest, blackest cock I had ever seen. It was 12 inches long if it was an inch and thick around as a baby's forearm. The head was as big as a plum and the veins running through it were thick and gave his cock an almost surreal look. There was no way that monster was going to fit into my pussy I thought. Not a chance. My hand drifted towards his cock but I stopped, I was not sure why. "Go ahead Pam, I know you want to stroke it, you have my permission." Dr. Brown said as he started to take control. My hands went to his cock and I started stroking it nice and slow. His balls were like small peaches and he had just a little hair in his pubic area. I was mesmerized by the size of his cock. How could anything be so big and fit into a woman I thought to myself? My fingers could not wrap around his cock it was so thick and I just stood there stroking it and trying to figure out if he was really going to fuck me with that monster. Dr. Brown then reached over and grabbed the leash and attached it to my black cock slut collar. "Let's go girl," and Dr. Brown started walking me into the bedroom, him walking naked in front of me as I was led along by the leash. I really started to feel like his black cock slut at that moment. He got to the bedroom and Dr. Brown sat down in the comfortable chair in the room and instructed me to get down on all fours in front of him. I got down as instructed and looked up at him and his big cock staring me in the face. I was practically drooling and I could feel the pussy juice running down my pussy lips and on to my thighs. Dr. Brown slowly stroked his cock from base to tip. It seemed like it was getting harder and bigger if that was possible. Pre-cum was dripping from the giant head. I wanted to lick it up, I was so turned on. 'Do you like what you see my little black cock slut?' Dr. Brown asked, already knowing the answer. "Yes, I do Dr. Brown.' I said as I licked my lips. "What do you want to do with this big black cock Pam?" Dr. Brown asked, again knowing the answer to the question. :Can I suck on it?' I whispered, almost too embarrassed to be saying the words. 'What, I can't hear you Pam, you need to speak up." He demanded. "Can I suck on it?" I said a little bit louder and now almost pleading. "What do you want to suck on Pam?' Dr. Brown said as he looked at me, knowing the answer. 'I want to suck on your cock, Dr. Brown." I replied like a dutiful slut. "And what kind of cock is it Pam?' Dr. Brown demanded. "It is a big black cock Dr. Brown." I finally said with some authority hoping that his teasing would end and he would let me suck his big cock. "Well Pam, you are almost there. Put it all together and tell me what you want to do." Dr, Brown instructed. 'I want to suck on your big black cock Dr. Brown, please can I suck on your big black cock?" I was now begging him. "Good Pam, you passed the first part of your black cock slut test. Open your mouth." Dr. Brown demanded. I opened my mouth and Dr. Brown pointed that veiny monster toward my mouth and I moved forward taking him in. My mouth was stretched as wide as it could go and I felt like I was choking on an apple. His precum tasted sweet and it almost felt like he was ejaculating but I knew he wasn't. Dr. Brown worked his cock into my mouth a few inches and said "Just go slow Pam, I know you have never sucked a cock this big before but by the end of the night you will know how to suck cock a lot better." I reached up to take his shaft in my hand and he stopped me. "No hands yet. I am training you to be a black cock slut. You need to learn to suck with your mouth and then use your hands on a big cock. No cheating." I followed his instructions and did the best I could with such a big cock in my mouth. I was getting more turned on as Dr. Brown worked more of his cock into my mouth and towards my throat. I reached down between my legs and found my clit and started working it, I can feel it was protruding a great deal as it does when I am enormously turned on. 'That's it my little slut, work that clit with those sexy red nails, I like that." Dr. Brown said as he continued to fuck my mouth with that enormous tool. Dr. Brown then stood up and that caused me to raise up so I was kneeling. Dr, Brown said "I love those red lips on my black cock, now I want to see those red nails. You can use your hands now." With those instructions, I took both hands and wrapped them around Dr. Brown's giant fuckstick. I stroked him up and down and sucked ravenously on the head of his cock. I felt like such a wanton slut, kneeling before this handsome black man and sucking his big black cock like a mad woman. I took his cock out of my mouth to catch my breath and licked up and down the shaft of his cock making it slick with my saliva. It shone so brilliantly that it was like I was being hypnotized. I just licked it up and down like a popsicle running my ruby red lips and red nails all over that giant member. For his part, Dr. Brown grabbed my high ponytail and forced my mouth back on to his cock. 'That's it, suck on my big black cock like the good little white slut that you are Pam. I knew from the first moment that I saw you that I would turn you into a black cock slut.' Dr. Brown barked at me as he face fucked me with his cock. I looked up at him, and I was completely in his control. I was turned on beyond belief and I knew that despite my misgivings about the size of his cock, I was going to fuck him tonight. Dr. Brown then reached over and took picked up my phone. I didn't know where he got it. He demanded that I give him the passcode. I felt helpless so I gave it to him. He opened the camera and said "Now we are going to make this interesting. Keep sucking my sweet little slut. I want to see those red lips and red nails on my black cock as I take a picture of you sucking on me. With that, he grabbed my ponytail again and pulled my mouth deeper on to his cock. He then snapped a couple of pictures of me with his big cock in my mouth and the hands wrapped around his member. He scrolled through my contacts and found my husband and sent him the picture. I had fear in my eyes as I could not believe what he had just done. 'Don't worry Pam, I bet your husband when he sees that picture is going to run to the bathroom and jerk off. I know he wants this as much as you do Pam." My mouth and hands had never left his cock and I simply gave in at this point. John wanted to see me suck and fuck a big black cock and he was now getting what he wanted I thought to myself. I kept sucking and stroking and soon felt Dr. Brown pick up the pace of his thrusts. I was still only taking about 4 inches of that 12 inch cock into my mouth but I was doing a pretty good job I thought. Then, Dr. Brown let out a loud groan and pulled his cock out of my mouth and started shooting ropes of cum all over my face. I thought I was drowning there was so much cum from the 5 or 6 shots of cum he streaked across my face and into my mouth. He then drove that big cockhead into my mouth and instructed me to suck as 5 or 6 more shots of cum emptied into my mouth as a sucked furiously to choke it down. Some of the cum dribbled out of my mouth and on my breasts. I had never seen so much cum from one man in one orgasm. I was having a hard time breathing and Dr. Brown sensed it and pulled his cock out of my mouth and rubbed it all over my face, directing the cum that had splashed on to my face into my mouth. I was never big on swallowing cum (I guess I was a "spitter" before Dr. Brown) but I savored every drop of cum that he shoved into my mouth. Finally, when he was done, I sat back and held that magnificent piece of man meat in front of me just gazing at its size and beauty. Dr. Brown only shrank a little bit from his erection and I started to work his cock with both hands to get him back to full attention. "Go clean your face Pam, I want to kiss you tonight but I don't like the taste of my own cum." He laughed. I chuckled too and sashayed off to the bathroom. "Put on some more of that red lipstick you little black cock slut" He shouted as I walked away. "Of course Dr. Brown." I said. I would do almost anything for that big black cock at this point. I went to the bathroom and cleaned up, reapplied my lipstick and headed back out for more cock. I got back to the bedroom and Dr. Brown was stroking himself and almost fully erect again. I thought to myself, this man is unlike any man I have ever heard of. Usually after one orgasm, John is done for the night! Dr. Brown instructed me to turn around. I did and he pulled my ass cheeks apart. "Good girl. he said. 'I am glad you wore that butt plug as instructed. And that placement of the tattoo is perfect!" With that he pulled me on to the bed and we kissed and fondled each other for several minutes. He stroked and fingered my clit and remarked at big my clit was. With that, he pushed me back on the bed and spread my legs wide apart. "I need to suck on that clit of yours, such a beauty!' He exclaimed. With that he licked up and down my shaved and already sopping pussy stopping to suck on my clit and roll it around on his tongue. I was shaking from Dr, Brown's handiwork and he kept going back and forth between rolling my clit on his tongue and sucking on it. Finally I grabbed his head and pulled his head into my pussy and screamed as an orgasm ripped through my nether regions. It was an orgasm that left me shaking and nearly crying from its intensity. Finally I caught my breath and my wits and reached over to find Dr. Brown's big cock standing at attention, like a big black nightstick, standing straight up and hard as an oak. I swung myself around and licked up and down the his beautiful cockhead and shaft. I sucked greedily on the head and slipped my tongue in his pee hole sucking out some more precum. Once it was slick and shinywith my saliva, I straddled him and slowly lowered my pussy on to his cockhead. It felt like I was being split by a policeman's flashlight. I looked down and saw that only the head was in my pussy and my pussy lips were stretched around it like a vise. "Just go nice and slow Pam, I don't want this to hurt." Dr. Brown instructed me as I tried to sink lower on to his beautiful cock. Finally, I had about 5 inches in and I leaned forward on my knees and slowly started riding him, not going deeper than 5 inches but trying to increase the pace. I could tell that my pussy was stretched more than it had ever been before (except for childbirth). I looked back, and I was creaming all over that black cock and it looked like I had coated his cock with cream. Dr. Brown pulled my ass cheeks apart and thrust his hips slowly upwards to meet my downward strokes, my pussy was wrapped around his cock like a hand in a glove and his cock was rubbing my clit like a hand was down there doing it. I was getting tired from riding and holding myself up and Dr. Brown sensed it. He told me to turn around and face the opposite direction. Reverse cow girl is what he called it. I did as I was told and I slid down on Dr. Brown's big cock and leaned back into him. He pulled my stiletto clad feet wide apart and started hammering my pussy with his cock. I was splayed wide open and my shaved pussy looked stretched to the max by that black monster cock. I reached down and fingered my clit with my ruby red nails and thought what a great nail color Dr. Brown picked. "Ok Pam, on your hands and knees, time for me to fuck you from behind." Dr, Brown said. I gladly obliged as not only was I on the verge of coming, but my legs were still wobbly from the orgasm and I needed a break! I got on my hands and knees and put my face down on the bed and stuck my ass in the air. 'Nice, I love to see a shaved pussy and a queen of spades butt plug when I fuck my black cock sluts from behind!" "Please fuck me Dr. Brown, I want your big cock in me so bad!" I said as he slowly eased that big cock still covered in my cream into my burning hot quim. Once inside, Dr. Brown started fucking me hard. My pussy had adjusted to his girth but not his length just yet, so he was still only stuffing me with about 6 inches of that giant cock. But six inches was perfect right now. I reached down between my legs and stroked my clit. It felt so fanstastic and the girth of Dr. Brown's cock had so filled by pussy that my clit and G spot were being massaged at the same time. My whole body started to shake and I thrust my ass backwards on to his cock. 'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me" I screamed as he plowed his cock into me and I worked my clit like a mad woman. Then all of a sudden, I felt an orgasm come over me like never before. My breath was taken away and my body quivered. All of a sudden I felt a gush of warm juices squirting from my loins. It was like I was peeing, but I wasn't. I was squirting! I had never squirted before and thought it was all a myth! But here I was squirting all over my boss's big black cock! "Wow, Pam, that is some serious squirting you did!" Exclaimed Dr. Brown. "I love it when my black cock sluts squirt. Is that your first time?" All I could do is shake my head yes as I was incoherent at that point. "I love it when I make my sluts squirt for the first time!" Dr. Brown kept up the rhythm of fucking me, but not to hard, just enough to allow me to return to earth and come to my senses. Once I did, Dr. Brown abruptly pulled out of my pussy and walked over to the large picture window facing the city. "Come here Pam, I am going to fuck you while we look out over the city." With that, I wobbled to my feet, still wearing my stilettos and walked over to Dr. Brown. He gave me a deep, passionate kiss and then spun me around to face the city. With my 4 inch heels on, I was almost six feet tall so Dr. Brown has a good angle to fuck me from behind, standing up. He bent me over at the waist and then picked up right leg and held it up in the air about waist high. I could see our reflections in the window and it looked so erotic as he held my leg up and entered me from behind. I threw my head my head back and Dr. Brown grabbed my ponytail and and started kissing me neck. He then reached down and squeezed and rolled my erect nipples as I balanced against the plate glass window 30 floors above the city. He drove that big cock into me rapidly and inched deeper as my pussy. now becoming accustomed to its size, started to receive it more willingly. I looked out over the city and was entranced by the lights and the huge cock fucking me. Just three days ago, I was prim and proper Pam with a little dirty fantasy and now I am a black cock slut being fucked high above a major American city! We fucked in this position for like seemed like 10 minutes when Dr. Brown said "Ok, on to the bed. I want to see that queen of spades tattoo.' Dr, Brown picked up the leash that had been hanging down between my tits and walked me back to the bed. With obeisance, I followed and once over to the bed. I laid down and spread my legs wide. Dr. Brown got between my legs, his onyx nightstick of a cock still covered with my cream and my cum, standing straight out and looking almost angry, as the head was a deep purple color and the veins running through his cock looking more engorged than ever. Slowly Dr. Brown stroked his cock and said, "When I am breaking in a new black cock slut, I want to spread their legs wide as I can and see if they can take all 12 inches. If they can or come close to it, then I know I will have them again. I want to come on that queen of spades tattoo as well. That way they know that they are mine and they know what to expect. Are you prepared for that Pam?" "Yes, please Dr. Brown, fuck me like that, I want to be your black cock slut." I couldn't believe I was saying those words but I was now his, and I wanted to prove that I could be his black cock slut. With that, Dr. Brown rubbed his cock up and down my still soaked pussy and then pushed the head in a few inches. He grabbed by ankles (I was still wearing my stilettos) and he spread my legs so far apart I thought I might have dislocated a hip. "Ok Pam, guide my cock in at your pace and let's see what you can take.' Dr. Brown ordered me. I reached down, grasped that huge member, and slowly pushed it into my ever-expanding pussy. I got about six inches in, which is about as far as I had gone before. I closed my eyes and relaxed. Just do it, I said to myself. I slipped a another two inches in and I looked down, Wow, I thought, two third of the way in, And it looked beautiful, so hot and my pussy was wide open, slick with love juices and on fire! I leaned my head back and concentrated. I could feel two more inches slip in. "Whoa, that is really good Pam, take a look, you are almost there." Said Dr. Brown. He was right, I was almost there. I was almost his black cock slut. With that, I pulled him the rest of the way in. I looked down and he was balls deep in my pussy. I could actually see his cock in my abdomen it was so far up into my pussy. Damn, I did it! I laid my arms to the side, exhausted from the effort. Dr. Brown now told that I still had another test to pass "Now Pam, here is the rest of the test. Can you take me pounding this big cock into your pussy?" "Please fuck me Dr. Brown, take that pussy, I want to be your black cock slut!" I exclaimed. With those words, Dr. Brown slowly started stroking his cock in and out of my pussy, which at this point, had expanded to take his enormous length and girth. Long, slow and deep strokes, he would pull all the way out and then slowly push all the way back in. Dr. Brown was going slowly I think to not hurt me. I was now holding my legs apart as he fucked me. 'Fuck me Dr. Brown, don't fuck me like you love me, fuck me like a whore!' I shouted, as I just wanted him to plow into me. With that Dr. Brown started to fuck me so hard that his balls slapped against my ass and the queen of spades butt plug and I was screaming, "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me like a whore!' I had turned into a complete whore for Dr. Brown and at that point I did not care you heard. I was on the verge of another orgasm and I dug my nails into Dr. Brown's muscular ass and pulled him into me as rapidly as possible. My pussy was being devoured by his cock and finally I let loose with the mother of all orgasms. It hit me so hard, I blacked out for a few seconds. When I came too, my body was convulsing and shaking like I was having a seizure. As I was coming down from my orgasm, Dr. Brown started to come too. He pulled his cock out of my pussy and shouted "Here you go my black cock slut, take this cum!" And with that he shot a huge wad of cum all over the queen of spades tattoo and and my stomach. I reached over and grabbed my phone and snapped a couple of photos and sent them off to my husband. Damn, I thought to myself. What am I doing! At this point I was too delirious to care. I was Dr. Brown's black cock slut. Dr. Brown collapsed next to me and we hugged and kissed as we came down from an amazingly intense fucking session. "Well Dr. Brown, did I pass the test?" I asked with my smile on my face. "Yes you did prim and proper Pam. You are now a black cock slut. You are my black cock slut. I didn't take your ass tonight but we will save that for another time." Dr. Brown said. "I would love for you to take my ass Dr. Brown; I just don't know if I can take that big cock in it." I said. "Don't worry Pam, you didn't think your pussy could take my cock, but it did. You can do anything you set your mind to." Dr. Brown said with such assurance that I could not help but believe him. With that, I drifted off to sleep. I awoke at about 6 am. Dr. Brown was already up in the shower. I was confused and not sure where I was. I was covered in sticky cum and my pussy felt like it had been plowed by a truck. Dr. Brown came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, looking quite handsome. "Your phone has been going off for like 30 minutes, I think it might be your husband." Dr. Brown smiled. I looked down at my phone and I must have had 15 texts from John. I read them quickly and they went from shock and dismay to pictures of him with a hard on and saying he can't wait to hear all about it. It seems like he had fallen asleep and did not see the pictures that we sent until early this morning. I guess he finally realized that I had taken a big black cock last night and his shock turned into outright lust. Dr. Brown said "Well the first workshop starts this morning at 9 a.m. The retreat ends at noon and we will all be heading home then. Why don't you come over here and suck my big black cock one more time before we go." 'Of course Dr. Brown." I said like a good little slut and I walked over, now only in my stockings. I slipped on my stilettos and pushed him down on to the couch. I kneeled down in front of him. He was already hard and I grabbed his big cock with both hands at the base and just started sucking on the head. I gave him a blowjob he never would forget. Probably 20 minutes long and when he was about to come, I pulled off and let him come all over my face and in my hair. I slapped his big cock on my face and rubbed it all around after he shot his cum all over it. "There, am I your black cock slut now Dr. Brown." I asked, already knowing the answer! "Yes, indeed Pam, you have gone straight to the head of the class!" Dr. Brown laughed as he answered my rhetorical question. With that, I gathered my things, pulled myself together, slipped on my coat and left, giving Dr. Brown a quick kiss on the cheek as I took the slut walk down the hall to the elevator. It was about 6:30 a.m. and I was able to get back to my room unnoticed. I took a long hot shower, changed and called John. He was anxious to hear every detail. I told him to calm down and that we would have plenty of time to talk about all of it and how things might go from here. The last few workshops were uneventful and Dr. Brown and I said hello but acted as if nothing ever happened. I caught that slut Monica giving me the eye and I just winked at her. I am sure she was mad she didn't get fucked last night! As we were leaving the hotel and getting to our cars I bumped into Dr. Brown at the valet. I asked him why he was at the adult store at the same time I was. Was it just a coincidence? "Of course not Pam." He said. 'I pulled out just behind you from the hotel. I was going in the same direction towards the mall when I saw you pull in to the adult store. You never saw me. I saw how you looked at my cock that morning and I knew that I could make you a black cock slut as soon as I saw you head into the adult store." "Well I am glad you did, Dr. Brown, I am happy to be your black cock slut!" I said as the valet pulled my car up. I jumped in to my car, gave Dr. Brown a wave and drove off, with at least four hours to think about my next black cock slut adventure!

Sherlock was impatient. He pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text. Where are you? – SH John should have been home twenty minutes ago. Sherlock held his phone between his palms, hands steepled and fingertips pressed against his lips in his typical thinking pose. He allowed his eyelids to droop, his view of the ceiling from his position on the couch unfocused as his thoughts travelled inward again. The case was nearly solved. He knew the Stewarts, both father and son, were the killers, and after taking longer than usual to collect the necessary data and come to a solution, he was absolutely itching to verify his theory. His phone vibrated in his hands and his eyes flicked instantly down to view the screen. Almost home. Decided to walk. – JW Sherlock scowled at this. He seriously considered going to confront the murderers without John, but ended up deciding against it. After the last time Sherlock had gotten hurt while chasing a criminal on his own, his flatmate had made him swear not to rush into dangerous situations without him. And while Sherlock hated to depend on anyone, he was willing to admit that John’s presence and gun-wielding abilities would be welcome and helpful in this situation. Besides, based on the time at which John’s shift had ended, the pace of his gait – taking into account mild fatigue after work – and probable obstacles and delays that he would encounter on the way, he should be home in the next eight to ten minutes. Still, Sherlock sent a fast reply: Hurry. – SH So, in an attempt to pass the time without imploding of impatience and boredom, he began construing possible reasons why John would decide to walk instead of taking a cab back after work. The doctor’s appearance would inform him which of his theories was correct. Perhaps he simply wanted to stretch his muscles after dealing with patients and paperwork for six hours, but the current weather was the typical for London – cloudy and chilly – and not ideal for a long walk. So maybe he wanted the time to think. John was always doing that, going out to “get some air”, when he was angry or pensive. If he was angry, what for? Most likely because of an incident at work… A difficult patient? An argument with a co-worker?.. Or was he still angry about the stomach in the fridge? Surely not – he understood the importance of determining what the victim had eaten right before death… Within four minutes Sherlock had come up with twelve likely scenarios that could have led to John’s walking home instead of taking a cab. For the next three and a half minutes he imagined all of the Stewarts’ possible reactions to the impending confrontation and some likely outcomes, though there were still too many variables to determine all outcomes accurately. Sherlock could feel how tight his net around the murdering duo had become and knew that they would also sense the pressure of their imminent capture and arrest. Sherlock knew that they knew how close he was and this made him all the more impatient. If they felt trapped and desperate, they would lash out or run before Sherlock could get close. It was for that reason that, seven minutes and thirty six seconds after texting John to ‘hurry’, Sherlock was by the door to the flat, pulling on his long coat and wrapping up his light scarf, when he heard the loud screech of tyres against pavement, followed by a muffled thump. The subsequent screams were covered by a revving engine and another screech of tyres. Sherlock was flying down the stairs and at the front door of 221b Baker Street by the time he heard the sound of the car speeding away. When Sherlock was collecting data, he preferred to use as many of his senses as possible. Sight, hearing and smell firstly, though taste and touch could be equally vital to the process. For example, seeing the pattern of blood spatters on a wall, hearing the waver in pitch of a lying voice, smelling the trace of cigarette smoke on a couch, tasting the hint of poison in a wine glass, feeling the moisture of rain on a coat… All coming together to create one glorious image of the truth. With nothing but his ears to go by, Sherlock had deduced the following: a speeding car had hit something or someone and had quickly driven away from the scene. But this was not enough. He needed to see the scene – what had been hit, the skid marks left by the tyres – and smell the scene - the type of gas, the burning rubber – to get the full image. This curiosity of a new puzzle and need for the truth had him yanking open the front door and rushing out onto the sidewalk before what he saw stopped him cold. Stopped him like no other crime scene, no matter how gruesome or disturbing the sight, had done before. The small figure sprawled on the ground eight metres away was broken and unmoving, his sandy grey-blond hair matted with blood, his right arm at an impossible angle. Sherlock’s brain shut down. For a few long moments, as he so enjoyed accusing of others, he could see but not observe. He couldn’t – his mind wouldn’t let him. His senses were still inputting data – woman on phone approaching victim, people screaming, scent of burnt rubber and hint of metallic rust, his own heart hammering in his chest, blood pounding in his head – but his brain refused to catalogue the information. Sherlock’s face was blank, eyes dazed, as his legs slowly moved him closer to the man on the ground without his accord. The woman was speaking frantically into the phone and more people were beginning to loosely encircle the victim, who still had not moved. Then, finally, when Sherlock was two strides away, he saw the man’s chest rise – he’s breathing – and the relief, so intense it was nearly painful, caused him to stumble forward. He was unable to recover, for the next second his brain decided to come back online, and he felt his knees begin to give out as information suddenly bombarded his mind: trauma to back of head – likely severe concussion, possible back and neck injury, cracked ribs likely, small and ring finger on right hand fractured, right shoulder dislocated, blood on trousers: probable damage to right leg and hip – undeterminable due to baggy trousers, left wrist possibly sprained, woman still speaking to 999 operator, bystanders too close. What scared him most however, was what he couldn’t see: possible internal bleeding. All of these deductions, yet as Sherlock’s knees hit the ground and he began to reach out a hand to check for a pulse, the loudest thought – for he could think of many things at once – was a frantic mantra of JohnJohnJohnJohn. In fact, when he noticed his lips moving, he realized he was probably saying it out loud, too. Sherlock noticed his hand was shaking as he reached for John’s neck, his breathing shallow and fast, and a panic attack bubbling menacingly in his chest. Focus! He desperately clamped down on his emotions. John needed him and he couldn’t help if he couldn’t think. John’s pulse was sluggish – 51 bpm – and weak, but there. With his free hand, Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent the same text to Lestrade and Mycroft: John attacked injured - SH. Additional information was unnecessary at this point – Mycroft likely already knew and if Sherlock didn’t specify an address, Lestrade would assume Baker Street. And the lack of punctuation would alert them instantly to the severity of the situation. As Sherlock’s eyes roamed swiftly over John’s body again, taking stock of injuries, all the data he had collected within the last three minutes created the scene of the attack – for it was definitely not an accident – in his mind. Car, following him since end of shift, speeds up as John approaches 221b on his left, walking in street. John alerted by screeching tyres – quickly turns to avoid worst impact, car hits his right side, he rolls onto hood and over car, lands hard on street, breaking fall with right arm. Head hits pavement, but not as hard as it would have had he not reacted so quickly. Driver escapes as people rush to John. Sherlock’s rage at the offender caused his eyes to glint dangerously, his blood to boil and his hand to clench into a fist. He welcomed the anger, which helped keep the panic at bay. John suddenly shifted minutely and groaned. “John!” Sherlock’s deep voice was anxious and still tense with fury. John’s head attempted to turn to face Sherlock’s voice but then he moaned again and Sherlock’s hand whipped out to gently stop the reflex. “Don’t move. You’ll aggravate your injuries.” “Sh’lock?” John slurred weakly. “Yes, yes, I’m here,” he reassured him, keeping his fingers pressed against John’s neck. He needed the contact, the feeling of the reassuring pulse under his fingertips. John swore and his face scrunched up as another wave of pain hit him, his breathing turning into shallow gasps – definitely cracked ribs. Seeing his friend like this, Sherlock realized something that made his chest constrict with dread and his body suddenly go cold. The panic bubbled again and he was having a more difficult time suppressing it now. “John. John, tell me what to do, I don’t know what to do,” he demanded desperately. Eyes squeezed shut, John was attempting to control his breathing. “Need you to stabilise my right arm,” he ground out, voice breathless and laced with pain. He opened his eyes then and glanced at his arm. “Ugh…” he moaned, seeing the shoulder popped out of its socket. “What a mess. Normally…I’d pop my shoulder…back in myself…but...think my Ulna’s fractured, too…I’d pass out…” His speaking was broken up with heavy gasps. Sherlock hesitated. John was the doctor, not him! This whole situation was wrong, backwards. John was meant to be the healer, tending to Sherlock’s wounds, not the other way around. He knew, of course, how to stabilise an injured arm – in theory – but he’d never had the chance to actually try before and wasn’t too keen on practicing on the doctor, who was in so much pain already. John’s eyes tried to meet Sherlock’s when the detective didn’t respond right away and Sherlock suddenly noticed that John couldn’t seem to focus. “John, can you see properly?” “Mmph, you’re blurry,” John mumbled. Sherlock swore. John had no doubt hit his head on the hard pavement. His vision problems were a clear symptom of concussion, but Sherlock was unsure how severe the head trauma was and he hoped fiercely that he didn’t have a brain hemorrhage. He swore again. Where was the bloody ambulance? Needing desperately to do something other than just wait helplessly, Sherlock decided it really would be best to try to immobilise John’s broken arm and dislocated shoulder. If that was done when the paramedics arrived, they could tend to the more concerning head trauma. Sherlock quickly pulled off his scarf and was distracted by the oppressive presence and voices of onlookers. “Back off!” he hissed at them, voice and eyes expressing such venom that most everyone took a couple nervous steps backwards. Only one man stayed where he was, watching Sherlock’s movements disapprovingly. “Don’t touch him! Leave him for the paramedics!” Sherlock didn’t even spare the energy to send the idiot an angry retort because at that moment John’s dazed eyes slipped closed and his breathing slowed alarmingly. Sherlock’s heart lurched painfully. “No! John!” he yelled and tapped the doctor’s cheek, resisting the urge to shake him lest he cause more damage, to rouse him. “John, open your eyes. Don’t go to sleep on me now.” John’s eyelids fluttered. “M’fine,” he muttered. “No, no, wake up, John. Open your eyes.” “Mmm, m’wake. Go ‘way.” If his voice hadn’t been so weak, the annoyance in his tone would have been comical. “Alright, John, I’m going to stabilise your arm now. This is going to hurt,” Sherlock warned him, hoping that the additional pain would actually help keep his friend conscious a bit longer and not send him into shock. Sherlock made a fashion of a sling with his scarf and secured John’s broken arm and dislocated shoulder as best he could, forcing himself to work quickly and not hesitate when John’s eyes went dazed and wide with pain and his lungs hissed out all their air. With the task finished, John was left ghastly pale and panting, and Sherlock realized that he himself was not much better, with shaking hands and a light head. Where was all this empathy coming from, he wondered. Once John had calmed down a bit, he managed a weak smile. “Thanks,” he murmured to Sherlock, who was glad to see that now that the arm was immobile and not shifting minutely with every breath, John appeared to be in significantly less pain. In the next moment, Sherlock heard the sound of distant sirens of a quickly approaching ambulance. The moment after that John’s eyes slipped closed again. “John! John, help is almost here. John, wake up!” He almost added please but decided that would sound too much like begging and refused to believe the situation merited that kind of behaviour. Even if John’s eyes still hadn’t opened. Even if John’s skin had become so pale that internal bleeding was almost a given. He just kept saying his name and ordering him to wake up. Once the paramedics arrived, everything was a blur. Sirens and lights filled the street, bouncing off the buildings and becoming amplified, pounding on Sherlock’s senses. The onlookers that Sherlock had been tuning out were told to give them space, and someone was trying to pull Sherlock away from John, loosen his grip on the jumper, rip him away from his lifeline. It was irrational, but he couldn’t bear to let him go. If he did, John would slip away from him forever. It wasn’t until a familiar voice begged him, “Sherlock, you need to let go! Give them space to work!” that Sherlock managed to uncurl his tense grip and allow himself to be pulled up and stumble back, out of the way for the paramedics to swoop in and envelop John’s still form. He didn’t allow his gaze to waver, however, staring at the back of a medic as if he could see through it to what it was obscuring. He was unaware of the hand on his arm until it became restraining, holding him back from following John as he was lifted into the back of the ambulance on a stretcher, neck and head supported by a neck brace. Sherlock whipped around. “Let go,” he hissed in fury, yanking his arm away from – oh, Lestrade, he realized vaguely. The Detective Inspector blanched a bit at Sherlock’s unexpected intensity, but grabbed him again and didn’t back down. “No. Sherlock, you can’t go with them. I’ll take you to the hospital, but John will probably be rushed straight to surgery once they get there.” Sherlock resisted for only another few seconds as the ambulance doors closed, but then went still as it sped away. Lestrade still had a grip on his arm – his wrist actually – and he wondered briefly why the DI was shaking him. He looked down and realized that, oh, he was the one shaking, not Lestrade. Sherlock’s breaths were coming quick and shallow, he felt lightheaded and he had to swallow hard against nausea. He heard Lestrade gasp. Then: “Sherlock, you’re in shock.” His voice held just a hint of disbelief. Even shaking and beginning to hyperventilate, Sherlock managed to roll his eyes at the DI. Obviously. But his dizziness was getting worse and he really wasn’t feeling all that well, so he allowed the older man to lead him to his cop car and sit him down sideways in the front passenger seat. He saw alarm on Lestrade’s face when he didn’t even refuse the hideous orange shock blanket. Sherlock ignored him and turned sideways so he was sitting in the seat properly. “Take me to John,” he ordered, infusing his voice with all the annoyance he felt at his body for betraying him, for causing Lestrade to dawdle and fuss over him when all he wanted was to go straight to John. He couldn’t blame Lestrade for being surprised though – the last time Sherlock had gone into shock like this had been during his druggie days. Sherlock simply didn’t go into shock, no matter how close the bullet or how near the death. But he supposed John had always managed to surprise him and affect him differently from everyone else, so he should have predicted this, really. Lestrade eyed the shivering consulting detective critically and Sherlock tried to get himself under control. Finally, Lestrade nodded and walked around to the driver’s side, getting behind the wheel. “Put your seatbelt on,” he ordered, and turned on his lights and sirens so that they could speed through the streets to the hospital. Sherlock was out of the car and walking briskly into the hospital before it had come to a complete stop, Lestrade rushing to catch up with him. Once inside, Sherlock walked directly to the front desk and demanded to know where John Watson, 5'6", blond hair, hit by a car, had been admitted. Lestrade had been right, he was in surgery. So, Sherlock and Lestrade were directed to a waiting room, where, as soon as he sat down in an uncomfortable plastic chair, Sherlock whipped out his phone and sent a text to his brother. Who is responsible? – SH Sherlock was, in fact, fairly certain he knew who was responsible, but he wanted to make sure and was unwilling to leave to verify it himself. Two minutes later his suspicions were confirmed in the form of a grainy photo, a still shot from a CCTV camera. Sherlock’s jaw clenched in fury, seeing the familiar face of the youngest Stewart, sitting behind the wheel of the car about to hit his blogger. He had let this go on for far too long. Tonight, it would be over – he would finish it with his bare hands. Mycroft, knowing his brother well, sent him another text. Allow us to take care of the Stewarts. – MH Sherlock did not respond, fuming silently. Damn Mycroft for meddling in his affairs. No, the Stewarts were his; he would not allow his brother to take away the pleasure that would be hearing their bones snap under his hands. But Mycroft knew his brother well and so sent him a third text. Stay where you are needed. I will take the matter into my own hands. – MH Sherlock raised his eyebrows at that. Both parts of that text were surprising. Mycroft thought Sherlock was needed at the hospital? Was he? Did John need him here? Sherlock’s presence could in no way affect the outcome of John’s surgery or recovery, not really, and he could be doing something much more productive – and satisfying – elsewhere. But… if John needed him, then he would stay. And he would be there when John woke up. And John would wake up. Sherlock refused to think that was debatable. Perhaps staying was for his own peace of mind as well. The second part of the text was surprising due to the fact that it was so out of character for Mycroft. The words were not coincidence or chance. They were carefully chosen and only thinly veiled the threat of bodily harm Mycroft promised to issue himself. But Mycroft never got his hands dirty. He made the decisions, concocted the plans, essentially was the British government, but never carried them out himself. It seemed Mycroft was more fond of the ex-army doctor than Sherlock had thought – or at least fond of the effect he had on his brother – if he was promising to take matters into his own hands. So Sherlock ground his teeth together in displeasure and huffed out a breath in annoyance, but sent his brother a one word reply. Just this once he would allow Mycroft to do this for him and be satisfied knowing the Stewarts had been punished, if not as severely as he would have liked. Fine. – SH After that, Sherlock attempted to make his nervous energy look like impatience and irritation instead of worry. He bounced his leg, tapped his fingers and his eyes shifted restlessly. He had to stop himself multiple times from running nervous hands through his hair or over his face – sure signs of anxiousness. He couldn’t fool Lestrade though, and he jumped when the DI touched his shoulder lightly. “He’ll be fine, Sherlock,” he said soothingly. “John’s one tough bastard. He lives with you after all, doesn’t he? He’ll pull through.” His attempt at levity sounded slightly strained though, and Sherlock scowled without looking at him. Lestrade could make no promises or reassurances. He knew less about John’s condition than Sherlock did. How long had they been sitting here? Half an hour? An hour? Two? Sherlock didn’t know – his inner sense of time felt off. It felt like it had been ages. Well, if John was going to be a prat and take his precious time, then Sherlock could amuse himself by deducing the other people in the waiting room. John would disapprove, but Sherlock disapproved of him letting himself get hit by a car, so tit for tat, wasn’t it? Besides it was a distraction. Because the longer he sat there the harder it was for him to keep those abhorrent thoughts out of his mind. Those thoughts of John lying on the street, lying pale on a table, lying still under someone’s scalpel, lying prone with his pulse ceasing under Sherlock’s fingertips… Sherlock shook his head sharply and focussed on two figures sitting across from him. Young girl being held by elderly man – grandfather – grandfather stroking girl’s hair, anxious, so soothing gesture. Girl’s mother, grandfather’s daughter in ICU, likely single mother… After another immeasurable amount of time – Sherlock had finished dissecting everyone else in the room and was becoming increasingly restless – a doctor finally walked into the room and called for Mr. Holmes. He sprang up and was intimidatingly close within seconds. The doctor faltered for a moment under the consulting detective’s piercing glare, absorbing her body language, and, before she could speak, some of the tension was released from Sherlock’s shoulders. “He’ll be fine.” Sherlock said, in obvious relief, to Lestrade who had come to stand behind his shoulder. The doctor’s mouth opened in shock, but Sherlock didn’t feel like explaining his deductions. Not without John there to tell him it was ‘fantastic’. “He’s in recovery?” he asked to get the doctor talking. She blinked and recovered quickly. “Um, yes. It was mostly his right side that was injured. He had a dislocated shoulder, has a hairline fracture on his Ulna, a couple broken fingers, a badly bruised hip –” “What about his head?” Sherlock demanded, not caring to hear about injuries he already knew about. The doctor took the interruption calmly. “He has a severe concussion. He’ll have a bad headache for at least a week and will likely suffer some small memory loss, but there should be no permanent damage.” “Any internal bleeding?” Sherlock said before she could continue, observing her reaction. Her eyes flicked away from his, her arms pulled slightly tighter to her body and her shoulders hunched almost imperceptibly. Sherlock went cold. “Yes, there was internal hemorrhaging from the spleen – ” Sherlock paled (Of course. The blurry vision, the drowsiness, the pallor – all symptoms of a ruptured spleen) but realized that that was better than what he had originally suspected. He’d thought it was a possible brain bleed. His relief that he had been wrong for once - a very rare occurrence - was cut short as the doctor continued. “– managed to stabilise, though I should inform you that his heart did stop once on the operating table.” Lestrade sucked in a sharp breath. “What room is he in?” Sherlock asked sharply. The doctor flinched slightly at his icy tone. “247. But you really can’t –” she began, but Sherlock was already passed her and stalking down the hall, leaving Lestrade to deal with her. He found the room and stood outside the door for a moment, trying to calm his thrumming energy. He did not wish to disturb, only reassure himself. Slowly, he pushed open the door and let himself in, a painful tightness in his chest and gut. John's face was slack in unconsciousness and he was hooked up to numerous liquids and machines, pumping him full of blood, antibiotics, painkillers and saline solution, and keeping track of his heart rate, breathing and homeostatic levels. His right arm was encased in a cast and held close to his body in a sling – Sherlock was relieved to see that his shoulder was no longer deformed – and his broken fingers were held in a splint. He was covered in abrasions and bruises and, though Sherlock couldn’t see his legs under the blanket over him, he fortunately didn’t see the outline of any casts. Slowly, Sherlock made his way over to the chair on John’s less injured left side – he only had a light brace on his slightly sprained left wrist – and just sat there, realizing how close he had come to losing his closest and only real friend while simultaneously revelling at how lucky he had been. No, not lucky, he corrected himself. Quick. For it was John’s swift reflexes, that had allowed him to turn and roll over the car, controlling as much of the outcome as possible, that Sherlock had to thank. And still John’s heart had had the nerve to briefly stop, to threaten Sherlock with solitude and loss, unfamiliar, boring human emotions he had not known he could feel. The fury he felt at the father and son that had done this roiled just under the surface, even worse than the ire he had felt at the American for hurting Mrs. Hudson. This was a fury he could almost taste, that left a red haze in the corners of his vision, and he deemed them fortunate that it was only the British government dealing with them and not Sherlock Holmes. With one arm wrapped around the knees folded up to his chest, Sherlock reached out with his free hand and lightly pressed his fingertips to the inside of John’s left forearm. He couldn’t feel it as strongly as he would in his wrist or inside of his elbow (which had a transfusion dripping blood into his vein), both of which were unavailable for his touch, but the pulse was still there, beating strongly under his light pressure. “Sh’lock,” came a soft sigh, and Sherlock’s eyes darted up in time to see John’s eyelids flutter closed. Sherlock placed his whole hand on John’s forearm in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Yes, I’m here, John. You’re alright now.” “Mmm…” John breathed, smiling slightly, before falling back into unconsciousness. If he had really even been conscious in the first place. Probably not, Sherlock figured, but he was glad all the same. Glad that he could be there to give his friend some small comfort at least. That was infinitely more important than any sort of revenge he could exact on the Stewarts, he decided.

: *************** Beyond Eclipse Book 2 (C) 2017 ✯✮✰~Gaelen~ ✰❂✬ Two entire weeks without Kiowa. Two long, dreadful weeks. I am sure I have a deep trench in my floor, from the number of times I paced my room. Like a restless animal, I walked back and forth across the room trying to alleviate the excitement and complete anxiety that was building in me. I am surprised my powers haven't lifted the entire building from its foundation. My eyes often landed on my bed and my thoughts wondered. Could I entice her to come into my bedroom? I pictured my Mouse sitting on the edge of my bed. She would cross her arms across her chest as if to shield herself. Thoughts of her self-preservation were all I needed to undo me, it was why she enticed me. Her sensitivity and kindness matched with her unknowingly sex appeal. Mouse had no clue how sexy she was. She probably never realized how I loved it when she got pouty, her crossed arms emphasized her cleavage. Stars, I'm dying to get a peek of her breasts. Oh stars, if I think about her breasts now, there is no way I can focus on anything else. Yet, easily my mind drifted to her hips and that stubborn way she would throw them to one side when she was angry. Her thighs, her lips. I close my eyes in mental bliss and sink into my sheets. Finally finding some solace in remembering Mouse. Her lips were so soft. I wonder how soft, silky soft the rest of her would be. If only, I couldn't finally get her to loosen up. Soon she will be in my home and any kind of feelings of fear of me, we could resolve. I couldn't wait to see her. I nearly picked up my tablet to call Taxa or Bane to travel to purgatory and see Kiowa at her host family. I couldn't wait to have Mouse in my arms again. I know my thinking is running a locomotive. My wants will not progress in a fast fashion, Mouse was slow like a turtle. I had work to do. A lot of mending work, and that was the truth. Mouse may still be lost to me forever. She didn't trust me. She was probably terrified once she got the summons to come to my home for the rest of her vacation. I am so happy but I know it wasn't fair because Mouse wouldn't be able to spend the entire time with her mom. She cared so much for her mother that was evident in those brief hours that I had spied on her. I found another side to Mouse, she carried tremendous responsibility for others. My thoughts landed on Matthias, the human in Kiowa's colony. I don't like him, he's slimy and I think he was up to something. He was going to use Mouse's sweetness and care, I know it. I thrust my hands in the air with a pant of anger. My things that were peacefully sitting on my tables floated in the air. I want to destroy that human. If he dares to make Mouse shed one more tear, I will tear him limb from limb as the barbarian humans did before-Eclipse. Fuck, I shook my hand and everything came back into perfect order. I had to stop thinking of humans that way. Kiowa was human and I loved her. If she heard me think of humans as barbarians, which I'm not sure they are, she would scowl and never believe a word I would say in my defense for my love for her. Fuck. How was I going to win her back especially now as I pull her away from her mother and comfort? I am sure she won't like it here, even I rather not be here around my father. I rubbed the spot in the center of my forehead that was tightly-strung with tension. Fuck. I want my father to just lay off my back for one moment. Don't let this blow your mind: being the future King was not a carefree life of ordering people around. I had my father to ensure that my head was grounded and level - below the ground, if at all possible. I am never going to be able to live down that I am a defect, My entire family sees that I can never rise to the occasion necessary to be a good king because I am a defect. Fuck. My tablet buzzed and Sebol's straight smile flashed. "What!" I snapped "What's your problem?" Sebol snapped back, "I'm calling to say hello." "Hello," I said coldly. "Gaelen, it's ok. No one thinks any less of you because you had fallen in love with the human. Actually, you should be really pleased with me. I told everyone that you had known all along and you were just prepping yourself to deal with the humans in the end." It was a good lie. It was partially true, as well. Professor Windsor said so himself at the beginning of the school year. Good job Sebol. But my actions towards Kiowa when we return to school would also be watched very closely. People will watch to see what potential I have to lead the last extermination of the humans and the full reclaim of the planet. Fuck! "You could say thanks," Sebol snided. "Hello, Hello? Gaelen what are you doing?" I flicked my fingers bringing my tablet into the air above me. Showing me and my empty bed and neat room. "Nothing. You know its just sucks being home. I miss you, babe." "Aww, I missed you too. Come on out. The girls, Taxa, Bane and I are going to go to Purgatory. The word is the human is there." "Why don't you leave her alone," Again the pressure in my forehead build. "Why should we? She had some nerve thinking she could go to school with us, try to blend in with us and even worse come to The Realm." "I am sure she didn't have a choice. Did Taxa or Bane say anything about last week?" "No why? What's happening last week?" Hot air flew out of my chest with relief. Kiowa's visit was only between the family and my father's close officials. Fuck, if my friends were going to see Kiowa in Purgatory who knows what they had in mind. I had to go. I was thrilled to go. I couldn't wait until tomorrow evening when she was to come to our house -- to be a guinea pig for my father's curiosities. No doubt, he also wanted to see how I would react to her but I don't care. I love her and if he had a problem with that, I was going to make it known. Fuck, I was the future king and I had a mandate - my first mandate to stand firm on my lover. No one touches Mouse." "Yeah, I'll go with you. Meet me at my house. And my brother is coming too." "Ok. I can't wait to see you, Babe." She flew a kiss to me and then unlinked. I was going to see Kiowa. Fuck yeah! Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ.ºO•❥❧•~•❧❥•Oº Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ Purgatory is odd. Even with the gang of us walking down the manicured streets lined with houses. It was the perfection of before-Eclipse. I even think I caught glimpses of what I remembered as a child living in a neighborhood like this. It was a stark difference from the colony Kiowa grew up in. Here the homes had everything. In Kiowa's colony, she didn't even have her own bed to rest her head on. Up head, I can hear the girls gossiping in hushed whispers. I had a sinking feeling that this was not going to be a good idea, even though my impulse was always to forsake logic just to see Mouse again. I'd do anything stupid right now just to glance at Kiowa through a window to watch her do whatever it is she does in a given moment of the day. Fuck, what am I now, some kinda perv? I growled to myself, I need to be here to protect Kiowa from whatever Sebol has in mind. I was so glad my brother, Anesola was with me. I wasn't sure where Bane stood on the issue of me and humans, but Taxa was gun ho and itching to kill humans and Anesola was the only one to reign him in. I overheard my brother say to my second, "your time to kill humans will come soon." "It's hunting season my brother," Taxa responded. Fuck, he was truly bent on destroying Kiowa as his first victim in his line of upcoming victims in the annihilation of the Earth's first inhabitants. It was a good thing I was here. "No one touches Kiowa. If she is to die, it will be by my hands." I wanted to throw up saying it, my stomach twisted in knots and my temples pulsated with stress. It was Kiowa's request, that I end her, not anyone else. The thought made me sick. "What do you mean "if she is to die"?" Taxa snarled. "I think it's here?" Haazic interrupted and took a mini break from fondling my other second, Bane. Ever since their soles had opened revealing each other's name; they were as it should be, mindlessly insatiable love of each other. This wasn't the case for me. I had to win my loves heart. She had no reason to trust me, but I was determined to figure a way to have her see me again. See me who I really am and my position on humans. "There's a light on, let's go through the window and see if we can see her." Haazic whispered, her tone was almost wicked. I furrowed my eyebrows. I remember Haazic was Mouse's first college friend and she was so excited to have an actual friend who wanted to be her friend. Dylan, her hallmate only wanted to watch tv and she didn't allow my Mouse to pick any of the shows. Kiowa was just ornamental to Dylan. Sebol was the first to peek through the window and then turned to us giggling. Her perfect manicured hand covering her mouth but her eyes were slitted with glee. "Look at how they live! So primitive!" Haazic whispered. I rolled my eyes, this was far from primitive compared to the colony life. "Look, she's writing," Sebol giggled. "Is she by herself?" Haazic asked. "Yeah, poor thing looks so sad about losing Gaelen." She did? My ears seemed to perk up. I had to see her. If I don't see her, I know I will combust. The girls dashed around the corner of the house to the patio. Bane chased after, grabbing Haazic's ass for good measure. Taxa hopped and then ran while slamming his fists in his meaty palm, licking his chops. My brother and I ran around the corner but just as we were catching up, Sebol was already knocking on the sliding door window, startling Kiowa. Fuck don't open the door, Mouse, I pleaded with her in my mind. She looked at the window curiously and then her body tensed like a wooden board not breathing taking in air and not releasing any either. She hesitated at first and then looked around the room, ensuring no one knew we were here. She then girded herself, her eyes narrowed and he stature becoming as big as she could make it. "What do you want?" She said through the pane. "We just wanted to visit our friend?" Haazic responded with a smile, Bane sneaking his hands into her front pockets leaning over her. "We are friends?" Kiowa asked suspiciously. "Come one, we came all the way out here to see you," Sebol added. "And see Gaelen is here." She pulled me in front of her. Now, all that lies between me and Kiowa is the patio glass. God I wish I were on the other side of the glass Kiowa opened the door. "What are you doing here? Can't you get into trouble?" Kiowa whispered. "We own this planet. We can go anywhere we please at anytime we please, " Sebol said as she pushed past Kiowa and picked up the notebook Kiowa was writing in. "Ohhh, a little diary. Let's see what is on the mind of The Human that dared to attend college." "Please don't," Kiowa reached for Sebol, but Taxa held her back. "Ben and Maddie must have had another fight, because the house seems a bit off, not carefree or welcoming as it was before. Since I got here, Ben has only said 'hello' and ate dinner on his own. Maddie didn't eat dinner with me either, she just said 'take anything you want from the fridge.' They only time they shared a room together was when they sat silently reading books on either side of the room. I felt like one of those kids my mom talked about where the kid was put in the middle of feuding parents -- awkward situations not know which side to pick. This was different it was odd ever since the moment I came back to college that they had been fighting. Maybe Maddie wants to have children and the strees of not being able to ever be a mother was getting to their marriage. Ever since I came back, they seem to become more and more distant. I didn't want to brooch the topic, it wasn't my place to pry." Ohh," Sebol added with a cruel smile. "That's right we castrate and sterilze them to make sure they are infertile." "Please give me my notebook back," Kiowa wriggled out of Taxa's hold. "No," Sebol said raising her notebook with her power out of Kiowa's reach. "Ohh, it gets juicy!" Sebol said and then continued to read. "I miss my mom so much. I wish I knew why I was summoned to come here so soon. I wanted to spend time with my mom. I don't want to go back to school. I am terrified. " The girls cackled loudly, teasing Kiowa. Aw poor Mouse. I was right, I was selfish. Mouse needed the time to be with her mother, not spend it at my house. "I wish Gaelen were here to be a distraction. He was so good at distracting me. I miss him too. I don't know where stand with him," Sebol read and then yelled at Kiowa. "No where. Got that. You stand no where with our king." Sebol slapped the notebook closed and then pulled Kiowa close to her. "Hey hey, none of that," Anesola stepped in. "Scum," Sebol said and pushed Kiowa back. Haazic laughed and Kiowa's eyes began to burn. "Are you getting angry, Human?" Sebol added. "I thought you were my friend, " Kiowa said facing Haazic. "I am not friends with humans," Haazic said coldly. "You wanna know how we found out you were human?" Sebol laughed. "Haazic overheard you say you were human. She told me and well the rest is history." "Great thanks, now that that's all cleared up. You can go, now." Kiowa said and then turned away from Sebol. Sebol launched at Kiowa for turning her back. Her manicured red nails clawed at Kiowa but surprisingly Mouse fought back with the barbarous cat. Anesola and I quickly jumped in and pulled the women a part, me holding Sebol and Anesola grabbing Kiowa. "See he doesn't want anything to do with you," Sebol said as she matched my grip on her by turning to me and kissing me hard on the lips. I watched Kiowa's eyes burn with pain. Fuck, whatever inkling of trust she had in me was now ruined. "Kiowa, I am sorry. We are going now," I said to her. "Why did you come here anyways. What, for shits and giggles that you come watch the captive animals? Is this your zoo field trip?" Kiowa trembled violently with anger. "How dare you speak to the King in that tone," Bane's voice boomed with threat. I guess I know where he stands. He had so much malice in his voice I didnt know he had it in him. He had been so lovey dovey with Haazic lately. No Bane was supposed to be a general, a warrior. Fuck, I had two angst driven lions as seconds that wanted to rip my girlfriend a part for lunch. "He is not my King!" She spat out and Bane lunged at my little Mouse. Anesola quickly assessed and grabbed Kiowa to him and held his hand out to stop Bane, "Relax, no one is disrespecting Gaelen or you." Anesola's and my tablet began to buzz adding to the chaotic energy. Something was going to go badly very soon. "You promised me!" Kiowa's eyes burned into me. Shit, what did I promise? I promised to figure a way. I promised to love her. I couldn't think above the incessant buzzing of my tablet. It dawned she meant I promised to kill her. Anesola unfolded his tablet while still maintaining Kiowa safely in his arms huddle over her, holding her in a safe embrace with back to Bane and my dangerous Y'vori friends. "We need to leave. Now!" Anesola spat. "Why?" Haazic asked pulled Bane to her now, turning the roaring lion back into a love dazed poppet. "Because the rebels have led an uprising in one of the colonies," I answered still reading my father's screaming text message for me and Anesola. I was his peevish child breaking curfew. "Where the fuck I am?" as my father put it so eloquently in his text. My jaw popped with annoyance and relief. "We have to go." "Thank's for your hospitality Human. We will see you at school," Sebol sneared and turned to leave followed by Haazic with Bane at her heals." Taxa narrowed his eyes on me as if he were challenging me to dare be kind towards Kiowa. "You are dismissed, Taxa." Anesola commanded in my stead. Taxa huffed loudly and then turned to stalked through the patio door as well. I shifted my feet with my hands in my pocket. I had to say something, anything to make this horrible visit better. "This is Anesola. He's my eldest brother," I said sheepishly. I don't know why I was introducing my brother to her. Maybe I just wanted her to see that my family wasn't completely horrible, because for sure in the next 24 hours she would learn how terrible my parents were especially concerning humans survival on their planet. Wow, I am already sounding like one of them -- the rebels. "Thanks, Anesola," She said and pulled herself out of his protective embrace. Kiowa quickly retrieved her notebook from the ground, "I thought journalling would help. Apparently not." She tore the pages out of the notebook and crumbled them up. She walked up the single stair to the kitchen and turned on the stove's gas lighting a fire. She set fire to her thoughts, emotions and feelings that she had so delicately penned on the burning pages "Can I hug you?" I asked in a near whisper. She blinked her eyes in disbelief, "You didn't even say anything!" Oh Fuck! ºO•❥❧ ~Kiowa~ ❧•❥Oº They finally left. First Anesola, Gaelen's brother and then Gaelen. As soon, as I couldn't see the backs of their heads, I collapsed onto the floor, taking huge breaths of air. I didn't need Gaelen on my mind right now. I needed to focus. On anything, but Gaelen, but his face and his actions just watching and hearing my intimate thoughts being read by Sebol... I grabbed the throw pillow and screamed into it. I could feel someone near my back. I jumped to my feet. It was only Ben. "Sorry," Ben replied as he came out of the shadows. "I was coming down for a glass of water. Who are they?" "Friends," I said with a sigh and a lie. "They don't seem like friends." My cheeks burned with embarrassment. He saw me being bullied, "I suppose they aren't." "Aliens," Ben shook his head. "They are not supposed to be here." "They go where ever they please," I hated quoting Sebol but she was right. "Yes and it seems you can go anywhere as well," he said with contempt laced delicately within the old Ben, who was my kinda caring father figure. "What do you mean?" "I didn't just come down for a glass of water. It seems we have learned the meaning behind your early return to stay with us. Tomorrow, you are to travel to The Realm. You are going to leave and spend the rest of your time with a host family in The Realm." "What?" My eyes blinked nervously. "Did I hear correctly? Were rebels leading a revolt? Humans are fighting against the aliens?" In that moment, Ben had came to life, the most alive that I had seen him since returning to their home. I don't know why I didn't debate why I started blurting out information, but I did. "Some Y'vori feel that humans should have a place in this world and they are helping humans in the other colonies." "Y'vori care about humans?" He seemed as shocked as it sounded. "Some," I encouraged. But how did I know if it were true? I only knew and trained with Samson all of two whole weeks before being summoned to Purgatory. The way Samson trained, anyone would think there was a ulterior motive or he was a demanding commander only expecting superior excellence in performance as a solider under his command. I continued, "A small number think it is wrong what they have done." Ben still animated with hope. "Kiowa," his demeanor sunk again. Whatever he was dealing with with Maddie was really waring on him. "You must be careful. You have a privilege to learn more about the Y'vori and the realm than any human ever. Be careful who you trust with what you learn there and share. The aliens may use the information to manipulate your intentions. You don't want to wear out your welcome. Be careful, you are in an extremely dangerous situation at all times both in The Realm and in your colony." His warning stirred new fears. Was I being spied on or were the constant visits from Y'vori in the colony? Were they waiting to see how I would react? Did they know I have been conscripted into the rebel army? "I think I will go to bed right now, " It was just too much to take in, I was exhausted by all the constant information and threats being tossed at me. "Why did they want me to go back so soon?" I felt panic rise in my throat. "We only take orders. We are never given reasons. It is important that you learn this sooner than later. Your questions could be dangerous." I was clenching my teeth into dust for sure. I was under so much stress since arriving at Ben and Maddie's something wasn't right here and I couldn't figure it out. I forcefully shrugged my shoulders to release a smidgen of tension. "Come here, " Ben pulled me into a warm embrace gone was the coldness. "Don't worry. Just be safe Kiowa." I turned my face into his chest and cried. I cried because I needed a hug, I needed my unknowingly surrogate father. I held him tight to me not daring to let go in case this moment evaporated back into the mercurial Ben that greeted me when I arrived. I heaved heavy choking sobs. I had been holding it in for so long, protecting my mom from the turmoil churning inside me but I felt safe to release it all in this moment. Maybe it was just too much to continue to hold in. It felt impossible to take another life giving breath when my next was always threatened. "I think of you like the daughter I had. I think she would have been as strong as you are, smart too." Sniffling, I took a moment to pull myself together to look at Ben. His exhausted eyes were rimmed red with quiet tears. "My wife was killed in a car accident by some kid texting and driving. My daughter was 2 at the time. It was just Daddy and his little girl for 6 happy years. She would be 32, probably married with children of her own. "Jenessa was 8 when the Y'vori destroyed the area of town she was going to school. I was on the other side of town, Atlanta." He seemed to swallow the lump in his throat. "I worked at the NewsCorp. I was in charge of the news. The mixed-factual reports that the Y'vori paid me to report made people stay in their homes, complacent -- while the Y'vori systematically destroyed town, village, cities. "I don't know why people didn't just look outside their windows in those days. They could have just opened their eyes to see the lies we were painting. "Before the aliens revealed themselves, people were distracted, distraught by years of rumors of war, speculation of terrorism. People just stopped paying attention. They were still overwhelmed by the two worldwide economic collapses caused by predatory real estate lending followed by the "unstable generation" that had no hope anyways their lives strapped with educational and medical debt, and the criminalization of people just because of the color of their skin. They had no hope of re-stabilizing the economy. Then, countries were always in conflict. Everyone just stopped paying attention all together. We rather be distracted by our technology, our tablets, social media, celebrity gossip than really see what was happening around us, hell, if we had actually talked to each other. "The Y'vroi capitalized on our preoccupation with nothing. When they revealed themselves as not humans. They were all over the globe, decades living in a cloak of humanity. It took us too long time see the big picture, to question what was right and wrong. I helped the Y'vori lie and they killed my daughter. My best friends on the NewsCorp board were Y'vori. We grew up in the news trenches together moving up the ladder together from rookie reports imbedded in the Syrian-Russian war to the top. My friends had their children play with Jenessa. We went to their kids birthday parties, their wives watched our kids while we went on Vegas trips -- just the guys. They were "human." I just did as they did, my buddies. "My alien buddies behaved as if everything would be alright, so we did too. We had shared the same status with them, so of course, we'd be ok. It was the lower people in society that were causing the trouble. The protesters, the poor humans, the big city folk. We would be ok. They told us to just do a good job with work, keep reporting. We were being tested fir our journalism "it's an exciting, defining time," we told ourselves; and we listened to the lies we were spinning, everything would be alright. My friends promised me but my daughter still died." My tears were renewed, I squeezed him with all my might. "Ben, thank you. I think of you as a father, too. I never knew my father. He died during the war." "Kiowa, you will be ok. Just be safe." He kissed the top of my head. "You should go to bed. The transport will leave at 5am to take you to your host family." "I'm afraid." "I know, Honey," Ben smoothed my braids back and tipped my chin up. "You try to keep up a good exterior." ******** ******* ********* ******** ********* ********** ********** *********** ********* ********* ******** Thank you for reading this new chapter in the Beyond Eclipse Saga. It's strange and kinda freaking editing this chapter. I wrote it in 2014. Don't forget to comment and add me as a favorite author so you can be the first to know when I post. This story straddles a number of genres so I'm not going to limit to one category. So make sure to follow me so you don't miss the next chapter. It will be a big one now that Kiowa is traveling to The Realm. Cheers and Happy Reading, ~Talyis

Hank and Charles had both been relieved, when Logan showed up on their doorstep again, almost two weeks after the White House ‘incident’. They knew that Logan was still alive – Charles after all, had searched night and day until they found him with Cerebro - but neither believed that they would see him again, now that the crisis had been averted. So imagine their surprise when Logan arrives on a Thursday afternoon, with no memory of the time spent in their company, asking to see one Charles Xavier. He introduces himself as ‘James – but you can call me Logan or whatever’, tells them ‘the blue girl sent him here for answers’ and promptly throws his feet up on the coffee table. Pulling a cigar from his leather jacket pocket, he lights up without comment and listens intently as Charles (and Hank occasionally) fill him in on his previous visit. By the time they finish, Logan still hasn’t said a word and Hank doesn’t quite know what to think. The man they met before had been a bit gruff yes (and had punched Hank in the face for no good reason) but overall, had been fairly dependable. Trustworthy. And very obviously loyal to Charles. Hank has no idea if James is any of those things at all. Charles of course, shows no outward concern over Logan’s reticence and offers him a place to stay – along with a permanent place at the School if Logan is so inclined. And though the man doesn’t answer, he does get up off the couch and grab his old duffel bag off the floor. “Hank, would you mind showing Logan to his room please?” the Prof. asks. “Sure, Charles,” he answers, before turning to Logan. “You can come with me.” They leave the study and head up the staircase to the second floor, Logan following a few steps behind. Hank shows him to his old room, and tells him to help himself to anything he needs. He’s about to head back to the lab when Logan surprises him with a question quite unexpected. “That guy. Magneto. Is he gonna be back?” “Who…Erik?” Hank asks, slightly baffled that Logan’s first meaningful words are about Magneto. “No, I don’t think so. Not anytime soon I imagine.” Logan looks thoughtful, and then says, “So Xavier’s not in any danger?” Hank laughs, only for his chuckles to peter out at Logan’s grim expression. “Charles isn’t in any danger from Erik. Not in the way you’re thinking anyway. He only ever hurts the Prof. by accident, never on purpose.” Logan growls. “Is that supposed to make it better?” “No,” Hank answers with a sigh. “No, it really doesn’t.” * Alex meets the new ‘teacher’ about a month and a half after Raven’s appearance in Vietnam, when he finally makes his way back to the mansion. As he pulls into the driveway he sees a strange man with a bizarre hair cut working in the front garden, slashing weeds and shrubbery with what looks like claws sticking out of his knuckles. By the time he stops the car, the man has situated himself at the bottom of the new access ramp, blocking the way to the front door. He looks menacing – all burly muscle and attitude – and for a crazy moment, Alex thinks he might have to fight his way in to see the Prof. “Who the fuck are you?” the man asks, and Alex can see as he gets out of the car that his claws are actually made out of bone. “Alex Summers. I live here,” he answers. “Who the fuck are you?” This is Logan, Charles interrupts with perfect timing, sounding warm if not a bit amused as the two of them glare at each other in the driveway. Welcome home Alex. We’ve missed you. The Prof. must be projecting to ‘Logan’ too because the man’s face goes from wary to uninterested in mere seconds, and stalks off without another word. Alex watches for a few moments as Logan goes back to hacking and slashing at the overgrowth, before grabbing his bags out of the trunk and heading inside. Charles is waiting in the foyer with Hank by his side and he finds himself suddenly overwhelmed; he’s so relieved to be home and so happy to see them both that he drops his bags on the floor and throws his arms around the Prof. Charles returns the hug with just as much enthusiasm and then Hank is there too, his long arms wrapping around them both. “Where did you get that guy?” he blurts out as they all pull apart, still a little stunned. It’s the only excuse he can think of to explain what comes out of his mouth next. “Christ he looks as scary as Lehnsherr. He’s probably killed somebody with his bare hands.” But the Prof. just gives him a small smile, and shakes his head. “Logan’s not so bad, Alex. You just need to get to know him. He’s actually very kind and has a good heart.” “O…kay,” he answers, and turns to Hank who just grins and rolls his eyes. ‘I’ll tell you later’ he mouths to Alex and then they’re all turning around to head to the kitchen, Logan momentarily forgotten. * After Washington, Raven spends a few months laying low, taking the time to regroup and to re-examine her goals. She goes to see Kurt, though only from afar, and is gratified to see him still safe and cared for by his adoptive family. It makes her feel much better, knowing her son is living with people who embrace his mutation without fear. Who loves him for being Kurt, as he deserves to be loved. Her thoughts naturally lead her back to Charles; to her own adopted family in Westchester. It’s been six months since they saw each other last, and she finds herself longing to see him and Hank again. The moment she slips onto the mansion grounds she can feel Charles’ presence, hovering at the edge of her mind. He doesn’t dip into her thoughts or try to talk to her; he just sends her a silent feeling of welcome. It doesn’t take her long to track him down, given the hour of the day. She finds him on the couch in his study, reading from a thick book on his lap. It takes her back in an instant, to their life more than ten years ago, the scene virtually unchanged but for the wheelchair parked within arms’ reach. That, and the man sitting beside him, watching him intently. It takes her far longer than it should, to realize what she’s seeing. Charles is reading and Logan is listening, though the room is silent but for the crackle of the roaring fire. She finds herself amused and a little touched that the gruff, surly man she saved from the Potomac apparently trusts Charles enough to open his mind to him so freely. “Hello Raven,” Charles says, the smile blossoming across his face as she steps into the room. Logan just gives her a nod before standing and waving his hand, ostensibly to let her take his vacated seat. She nods in return and then watches with keen interest as Logan turns to her brother and asks, “More tea?” Charles’ whole face lights up at that, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiles up at Logan. She’s only ever seen that look on Charles’ face once, and that was years ago, before she understood what it meant. “Thank you. That would be lovely.” She takes a step away from the door to let him pass, but Logan stops just in front of her, and looks her straight in the eye. “Go easy on him,” he says, his tone decidedly unfriendly before brushing past her and out the door. Well, she thinks. That was…something. When she looks over at Charles he’s still smiling serenely, as though everything is wonderful and Logan hadn’t just threatened her over her brother’s well-being. She tucks that thought away to ask Hank about it later, though she thinks she already knows the answer. “Charles,” she says, and finds it a little easier to admit now than it used to be. “It's good to see you.” * Dodging the government keeps Erik busy for almost a year after his escape, giving him very little time to plan his next big move. But it does gives him a lot of time to think about Charles - as he’s done many times during his incarceration at the Pentagon. His thoughts turn often to the words they shared on their way to Paris; of a future where the two of them are together again, fighting side by side. It gives him something to hold onto late at night. Something to take the sting from the fact that even without his helmet, Charles hasn’t reached out to him once in the past year. It’s likely that Charles is still angry; Erik will concede that things did fail spectacularly to go as planned. And it may be too soon to expect Charles to want to see him again but Erik is nothing but determined. He wants to know how his ex-lover is doing; if he’s given up on the serum for good and perhaps re-opened the School. If he still misses Erik, as much as Erik misses him. It’s mid-afternoon on a Saturday when he arrives at the mansion and he’s surprised to find Hank and Alex outside, talking to a very alive Logan on a motorcycle. It’s even more surprising when he sees that the person seated behind Logan is Charles, cheeks flushed with excitement, his hair messy from the helmet stilled clutched in his hand. It’s a look that Erik remembers well from their days on the road, driving from city to city searching for others just like them, the windows down and the radio turned up high. They all look up at once, their bodies tense as he approaches them slowly on foot. Hank is the first to react, rolling the wheelchair close and setting the brake in place, before helping Charles carefully off the motorcycle. He can see now that the bike has been customized specifically for Charles; can feel the newer metal pieces that form the larger foot rests and the modified seat. Alex moves to stand beside Hank with his arms across his chest, radiating anger and hostility, daring Erik with his eyes to take another step closer. But it’s Logan that actually moves, hopping off the bike and making his way over to Erik until they’re standing close enough to touch. “I came to see--” Erik starts, but doesn’t get to finish his sentence, as Logan hauls off and punches him hard, knocking him right off his feet. He reaches instinctively for the closest metal and grabs the motorcycle, only for Charles to take over immediately and break off his hold. His head is still spinning when Logan reaches down and hauls him up onto his feet, and Erik braces himself for a second punch. Instead, Logan just growls “I owed you one,” and then turns and walks away. “Why are you here, Erik?” Charles asks, sounding a bit hesitant but not particularly angry (or happy) to see him. I wanted to see how you were, he sends, and though he watches Charles’ face for a reaction, there is nothing but a quiet weariness. I just…came to see you. “Well then,” Charles says, after a few moments of silence. “Why don’t you come in?” --- In the end, Erik only stays for three days. He’s not sure what he expected to happen between him and Charles; whether his return would spark another confrontation like the one on the plane ride to Paris. Or something quieter but no less heart felt; closer to the tentative accord they were starting to build before everything had fallen apart. It turns out to be neither, for Charles spends very little time in his company. When Erik goes searching for him the first night, he finds Charles already occupied in the study, sharing a beer with Logan. The room is much as he remembers it, though there’s more open space for Charles’ chair to maneuver. He spies a familiar chess set on the edge of a corner table, unused and out of sight, the pieces still frozen mid-game. He makes no better headway the next day. Or the day after that. Though Hank stays out of his way completely, and Alex settles for glaring from afar, Logan is always there, hovering around Charles whenever Erik tries to approach him. And instead of being annoyed by Logan’s behavior, Charles seems to welcome it, using his presence as a shield to ward off Erik’s attempts to engage him. It makes him seethe to watch them share knowing glances, speaking wordlessly as though they were the only two people in the world. To see with his own eyes that he’s been replaced. Charles finally comes to him alone and says, “Why did you come here, Erik?” “I don’t know.” “Are you…did you come back here to stay?” Charles asks, and the hope in his eyes is clear enough for Erik to see. “No.” “I didn’t think so.” Charles sighs. “I thought…it doesn’t matter. Take care of yourself, Erik.” He doesn’t know what to say, or how to make things right between them and so Erik says nothing, and watches Charles leave. Erik walks out the front door, and he doesn’t look back. * Charles has never been much of a morning person, a habit of late nights and later mornings stemming all the way back to his Oxford days. So he considers it lucky indeed, to find someone that shares his feelings of abhorrence for an early start. Especially when that ‘someone’ is also sharing his bed. On most days he wakes with an arm full of Logan, his head resting on Charles’ shoulder and his arm flung across his chest. It’s a position they settled into rather quickly and naturally, considering the relative newness of their relationship. Today apparently is not one of those days, as Charles wakes to find the bed empty of one surly Canadian. The spot next to him has lost most of its warmth so Logan has likely been up for a while already. A quick sweep of the house finds his wayward lover half way up the stairs, and so Charles just closes his eyes with a happy sigh and waits. “Mornin’ Chuck,” Logan says as he walks into the room, carrying a loaded breakfast tray in his hands. “How’d you sleep?” Charles smiles and pulls himself up into a sitting position as Logan sets the tray on the night stand. “Like a baby. Though I’m a bit disappointed that I woke up alone.” “Sorry,” Logan smirks as he sits down on the edge of the bed. He pulls Charles into a kiss, and though it starts gently enough, it soon deepens into more, the slow burn of arousal making them both groan with pleasure. “You should come back to bed,” Charles says, as he tugs playfully on Logan’s arm. But Logan shakes his head and smiles at him, pointing to the food on the tray. “Did you make me…pancakes?” “Don’t sound so surprised,” Logan answers, looking very pleased with himself indeed. “I got a lot of skills you don’t know about.” “Oh really?” Charles waggles his eyebrows. “Just what kind of skills are you hiding from me?” Logan laughs and it’s still a rare enough occurrence that it warms Charles to hear it. “I’ll show you. After breakfast.” They eat together, side by side on the bed, shoveling pieces of pancake in their mouths like teenagers. Logan tells him a little about his brother Victor when they were just kids, and Charles shares his own memories of breakfasts with Raven during their time in Oxford. It’s a peaceful start to what will undoubtedly be a busy day; now that the School has re-opened, Charles rarely has a free moment to spare. “Do you think you’ll stay here?” Charles asks, and he doesn’t think he needs to clarify for Logan to understand what he means. “Of course you’re free to come and go as you please but…I’d like it. If you stayed.” “Thought that’s what I was doing already Chuck,” Logan answers, looking equal parts amused and baffled. “Well…yes, but--” Charles stops. It’s hard to put into words, how much he wants Logan in his life and in his bed. He’s not used to asking for the things he needs and perhaps that’s one of the reasons he’s lost so much. Why he’s never been able to hold on to the people who mattered. I mean here, with me. Stay with me. Be with me. I got no place I’d rather be than here, Logan says. Now take me back to bed. And Charles does.

  A year and a half ago, when Zayn was first starting university and learning to live on his own (and also learning to hate dorm rooms and shared houses with small, single bedrooms that he was never allowed to smoke in, according to the landlords) he'd been apprehensive when his friend Harry had mentioned that his friend Liam was looking for a roommate. To be completely honest, Zayn doesn't really share his space well, and he never has. Living with three other siblings made him a bit territorial when it comes to his things, and he never grew out of that habit. Now, he honestly can't believe there was a time he was uncertain about this. Liam is his saving grace. The light of his life. He is warmth on a cold winter night, or whatever other bullshit metaphors there are. Liam is all of those things. When Zayn walks in the door after a particularly gruesome day of classes that didn't end until exactly twenty minutes ago at six-thirty at night, and started somewhere around nine, to the smell of food cooking and the apartment spotless, he wants to cry a little. Whatever Liam's making smells fantastic, there's soft music playing, and as soon as he kicks off his shoes he can see Liam moving around the kitchen a little frantically while somehow still singing along on tune and everything. "Smells good," Zayn comments, passing the kitchen to toss his bag carelessly onto his bed from the door of his room. It's not like the room is all that big. There's just enough space for his bed, a small table, and the wardrobe for his clothes. Nothing else. Liam gives him a grin over his shoulder, still at the stove, stirring around things in a pot. "You sit," he orders. "I didn't have classes today and you look exhausted. Plus, you have work in two hours. You're not allowed to move until you've relaxed for at least a minute." Zayn groans, falling onto the sofa. Liam's right, but he wishes he hadn't been reminded. He doesn't want to go to work today. He wants to curl up on the sofa and never move again. He wants to burn all the books in his bag because, really, what was he thinking, studying literature? He's taken the one single thing in the entire world that he loves and twisted it into a stress inducing nightmare. "Yeah," he mumbles to himself and to Liam, eyes already closing. "That sounds like a good idea." He must doze off because the next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake and Liam's handing him a plate of fettuccine Alfredo with grilled chicken (one of the only things Liam can make without burning or poisoning it) that looks as good as it smells. Zayn takes it from him and Liam seats himself on the other side of the sofa, already forking up a bite, eating a little sloppily like he always does. "You missed Deadliest Warrior," Liam informs him. "They did vampires versus zombies. I recorded it for you." "Did you watch it?" It's the one show they can agree on. The only issue they've had, living together, is that Liam prefers sports and reality shows, and Zayn prefers, well, trashy dramas and anything with historical significance. "Nah," Liam says. He swallows his food and reaches for the remote. "Figured I'd wait for you." It's not like it means anything; it's just one of those selfless acts of kindness that Liam performs every single damn day, but Zayn can't help but feel like it does mean something. Because it means something to him, at least, that Liam could have watched it all day but instead he waited for Zayn because he knew Zayn would want to watch it with him instead of by himself. By the time he's done eating, though, Zayn can hardly keep his eyes open enough to focus. They're heavy and every time he blinks they get harder to reopen, and he sets his plate on the table, unable to find a good reason to even bother trying. He can call in sick to work, get someone to cover his shift. Or he could just not go, lose his job, lose them their apartment and – okay, fuck, he's opening his eyes. "Turn around," Liam orders. Zayn rubs at his eyes and does as he's told, turning until his back is facing Liam. There's a beat where nothing happens and then Liam's hands are kneading at his shoulders, rubbing down his back, pressing into his hips. Zayn groans, tipping his head back, and he's in love. He's so fucking in love with Liam that it's ridiculous, but what can he do? The guy is an angel. He's fucking flawless, and Zayn is powerless against that. Fuck, he'd be more surprised if he wasn't in love with Liam, because on top of that he's also, like, incredibly fucking fit, too. "You're tense," Liam comments. He digs the heels of his palms in a little too hard, but as soon as he stops there's this sudden relief and an incredible feeling of calm spreading through Zayn's whole body. "Better?" "Loads," Zayn sighs. "You're amazing." Liam laughs. "Uh, no. I just have enough experience with this." Which is true, since it's not the first time this has happened. In fact, it happens a lot, actually, the massages and Liam making dinner for him on his more stressful nights, and again Zayn tries not to look into it, tries to remember that Liam had a girlfriend until exactly a month and a half ago, a serious girlfriend that he's probably still getting over, and Zayn's supposed to be his friend, not some asshole who prays on him after that and— "Stop thinking," Liam orders. "Just relax. If you fall asleep, I'll wake you in an hour and a half so you won't be late for work." Zayn can't help it; he leans back against Liam, shutting his eyes, and Liam hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around Zayn's waist and leaning back against the sofa, pulling them both down so Zayn's cushioned on his chest. He keeps his eyes closed, inhales the smell of Liam and laundry and cologne, and he falls asleep just like that, no doubt snoring and drooling and making an ass of himself. When he wakes up Liam is pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and hurrying around the apartment. Zayn sits up slowly, checking the time on the stove. It's only nine and he has half an hour before he has to get to the grocery store for the last shift of the night, but he doesn't seem to be the only one needing to head out. "What's up?" he asks, stretching and popping his back. Liam jerks to a sudden stop, and he vaguely says, "Work. Got called in. Someone else cancelled." "Oh." Zayn isn't a sharer and he never has been. He's pretty personal when it comes to most things in his life, but that doesn't extend to Liam at all and it hasn't since the second week they moved in together and he came home to find Liam on the sofa watching Batman Begins. Liam knows practically everything about him, from his major in school to the names of all his sisters. He knows nearly everything about Liam, too, except where he works. Liam never tells him, and Zayn never outright asks because he feels that, if Liam wanted him to know, he would have told Zayn. But he didn't. "Don't wait up for me," Liam says, pulling on a button up. He pauses in the bathroom, door open, and fixes his hair a bit before smiling winningly at his reflection. Zayn doesn't anymore, but one time he did and Liam didn't come home until nearly three in the morning, just before Zayn was about to text him to make sure he was okay. "I won't," he says. By the time Liam leaves, Zayn is pulling on the ugly green vest he has to wear for work and adjusting his nametag before he finds his keys and leaves, locking the door securely behind him. And because work after a grueling day of classes isn't enough, it rains on his walk there and his hair is fucked through his whole shift; the girl he's working with tonight, Diana, takes twenty minutes longer than her allotted break, which means that he doesn't get to have a cigarette between his shifts like he normally does; on top of all that, when he finally gets to go home in two and a half hours, he still has to read over a chapter of a novel for his class the next morning. Zayn fucking hates Wednesdays.   o|o   Zayn wakes suddenly to the world underneath him shifting. His stomach swoops and his eyes pop open, and he scrambles to grab at the nearest thing before he falls. Only the nearest thing already has a pretty good grip on him, and Liam chuckles softly as he adjusts Zayn in his arms. "You fell asleep on the sofa again," he explains, still carrying Zayn like he weighs nothing, which is so not true. Liam only has, like, fifteen pounds on him, okay? Only Liam's all muscle and abs and biceps, and Zayn's – he has abs too. They're there. Somewhere. "I didn't want to wake you, but obviously that failed." "Right," Zayn mumbles, voice rough from being asleep for so long. Liam carefully lowers him to the ground, but Zayn wishes he hadn't. Liam smells heavily like sweat and lingering traces of cologne, which should probably be gross but it's not. And he's a little unsteady on his feet, his mind foggy from waking up so suddenly. "What time is it, anyways?" "A little after two," Liam admits. Now that he's not carrying Zayn anymore, he's heading for the bathroom. "Gonna take a shower. You should probably go back to bed. You look dead on your feet." Zayn nods, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks at the sofa, at his books spread out on the table and the novel he'd been reading laying on the cushions, carefully closed and bookmarked with a scrap piece of paper that Liam must have ripped out of the phonebook on the side table. He still didn't finish his chapter, but it can wait until morning. He's too fucking exhausted to stay up any longer. "See you in the morning," he says offhandedly, since the bathroom door is already shutting between them. "Night," Liam says before the door clicks into place, and the sound of the lock turning follows close after. He can hear Liam singing in the shower when he falls into bed without even taking his socks off. It's soft and barely audible, but he knows Liam's got an incredible voice. He can sing better than anyone Zayn's ever met, and it's sort of like a lullaby, the sound of his voice and the running shower, and Zayn falls asleep after blinking at the alarm clock on his bedside table, reading the faint 2:17 and wondering what the hell it is Liam does that keeps him out well past midnight.   o|o   "I hate this place," Zayn grumbles, tucking his arms close against his side as Liam leads him through the trashy bar. There are peanut shells on the ground, the smell of beer and men who haven't showered enough lingering in the air. The windows that show the street outside look like they haven't been washed since 1986, and the inside hasn't been decorated in nearly as long. Liam laughs at him, not turning around as he heads for a booth with only two occupants. "I know you do," he says over his shoulder. "That's why we always come here." "You're buying all my drinks," Zayn warns. "If I have to hang out here, I'm not doing it sober." "Is he already complaining?" Harry asks as they slide into the booth, Zayn beside Harry, Liam moving in beside Niall. "Before you even sat down, Zayn? That's a new record." "Am I the only one with a functioning nose?" Zayn demands. "My nose hasn't worked right since I snorted cocaine that one time," Niall says, deadpan and serious. Harry snorts and the table jostles, probably from him kicking Niall in the shins, if Niall's sudden yelp is any indication. "You've never done cocaine," he states. Niall frowns at him. "How would you know?" Harry gives him a blank look. "Okay, I've never done cocaine. Why do you have to ruin all my jokes?" "Because it wasn't funny." "And you're obviously an expert on that one," Zayn mutters, craning his neck to try and spot one of the wait staff. Of course, the only one Zayn can see is bent over a table, chatting with a group that looks to be his friends, not even attempting to work. Because shitty atmosphere isn't enough, this place has terrible service, too. How is it still open anymore? Zayn has no idea. "What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asks, indignant. "Why can't you hear a pterodactyl go to the bathroom?" Liam asks. Before anyone can answer, he finishes with, "Because the 'P' is silent." Zayn groans, Niall shakes his head in disappointment, and Harry's lips press into a firm, straight line and his face starts to go red. Liam raises his eyebrows expectantly, Harry's shoulders shake, and then a laugh bursts out of his mouth and he clutches Zayn's leg too tightly as his eyes water. "There you go," Zayn says to him. "That's what I meant." "What? That was a quality joke." "It really wasn't," Zayn assures him. "Really." Under the table, a foot nudges against his ankle. At first he thinks it's accidental, but then it happens again and when he looks up Liam is smiling softly at him. "Want me to get you a drink from the bar?" he asks. Zayn takes one more sweeping look of the room, but the waiter is actually sitting down at the other table now, and Zayn knows from experience that he won't get a drink unless they go up to the bar and get it themselves. "If you want," he says. "You don't have to." "I don't mind," Liam promises. "Anyone else want anything?" "'nother beer," Niall says. "Hard lemonade," Harry adds. Liam holds out his hand expectantly, and Niall rolls his eyes as he and Harry fish bills out of their pockets, handing them over. Zayn defiantly crosses his arms over his chest, but Liam doesn't even give him a look before he slides out of the booth. "Why doesn't he ever make you pay?" Niall asks. "You make more money than I do." "Because I refuse to put any of my money into this shithole," Zayn says. It's a bit of a front, though. In all honesty, Zayn doesn't hate this bar as much as he knows he should. There's football playing on the TV over the bar, and it's not as loud as the clubs they sometimes frequent; the regulars are all people Zayn knows by either name or face, and his name is scratched into their booth alongside Liam's. Plus, the others love it here. As shitty as it is, it feels like a home away from home. It's a constant setting in their life, and Zayn's grudgingly come to enjoy parts of it. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud. "That," Harry says, sipping the last of his first drink, "and because Liam is in love with you." "Don't," Zayn warns. He's done with this conversation and it hasn't even started. Or it hasn't started today, but it's always being brought up and he lost patience with it a long, long fucking time ago. "You know he doesn't. Just fucking drop it, Harry." "No need to get vulgar," Harry says calmly. "Don't see what the big deal is," Niall puts in, of fucking course he does, "considering you two are practically married already." Zayn stops listening, but not just because he knows his throat would go raw before they'd believe a single denial that came out of his mouth when it comes to this subject. They're convinced that Zayn and Liam have a thing, but they don't. Not that Zayn doesn't want them to have a thing. He'd – he'd definitely be on board with that, yeah, but Liam isn't and he knows Liam isn't. Fuck, Zayn remembers what it was like when Liam's girlfriend and him broke up. He remembers the late night arguments over the phone just before, the slammed doors when she'd come over and Liam's quiet brooding in the days that followed the final blowup. The last thing Liam needs after that is Zayn trying to move in on him. But apparently the last thing he needs isn't other people hitting on him. At the bar, on the other side of a table of rowdy men yelling at the TV, Liam's leaning on the bar and laughing along to something some guy Zayn doesn't recognize says. The guy puts his hand on Liam's arm and everything about it, from the way the guy touches him to the way Liam leans into it, screams comfortable. Zayn's teeth grit without him meaning for them to. Liam and the guy at the bar both look over at the table suddenly, and the other guy breaks out in a wide grin and says something that makes Liam's entire expression fall. He starts shaking his head quickly, almost panicked, and the other guy starts towards their table as Liam scrambles to grab the tray with their drinks and follow after him. He's got brown hair slicked back, blue eyes, and almost as many tattoos as Harry and Zayn. The first thing he does is slide into their booth right beside Niall, and then he grins at Zayn across the table and says, "So you're Zayn." Before Zayn can reply to that, Liam grips the edge of their table so hard his knuckles go white, and he snaps, in a tone Zayn doesn't hear him use very often, "I thought you were leaving." "I was," random guy says, "but why miss an opportunity to meet your friends? I'm Louis, by the way." Niall's giving him a look as if Zayn should know who the hell this guy is, but Harry politely extends his hand and says, "Nice to meet you." Instead of shaking his hand, Louis pats the sliver of booth on the side opposite Niall. "Sit," he says to Liam. "I'm staying a while." Liam bites his lip, and he pulls at the bottom of his shirt. It's his nervous gesture, one he only does when he's really stressed out, and it makes Zayn want to wrap his arms around him and also make this guy leave, since he's clearly the reason for Liam's discomfort. But he doesn't do either of those things, and Liam reluctantly sits down next to Louis. "So I know who you are," Louis says to Zayn, "but I don't know either of you," he adds to Niall and Harry. "Don't know who you are either," Niall says. He reaches past Louis for his drink on the tray Liam brought over, as Liam darts looks to all of them. "Liam and I work together," Louis says, and Zayn goes from annoyed to interested instantly. "Really?" he asks. Louis slings an arm over Liam's shoulder, and Liam suddenly goes so red Zayn wants to ask if he's okay. "Oh, yes," Louis says with a smirk. "For over a year now. He's wonderful to work with. A real show stopper." Zayn isn't alone in his confusion. He knows (because he might have asked) that Harry has zero idea what Liam does, either, and his eyebrows are scrunched up in thought at Louis' words, too. Niall is just as oblivious to what Liam does as well, but he doesn't seem to care as much as Zayn does. Liam, on the other hand— "Shut up," Liam almost growls. "Seriously, Lou, shut the fuck up." Louis' fingers dig into Liam's shoulder, but his expression softens a bit, a little more serious and a bit less playful. "Sorry," he says. "Don't see why you make a big deal of it when you're so good at—" "Louis." "Alright, alright." Louis sighs dramatically, leaning into Niall like they know each other well. "I thought he was just stuck up at work because he's dedicated. I didn't know he was always like that." "He is," Niall confirms. "Stick in the mud, Liam. Poops on all the parties." "Hey," Liam says, at the same time that Zayn grunts, "That's not true." It's not. Liam is level headed, yes. That time Niall nearly started a bar fight, Liam was right there to pull him away and calm everything down. When Harry went overboard on alcohol during exams last year, Liam was the one who cut him off and made sure he slept on their couch that night so he could keep an eye on him. But Liam can party better than almost all of them, except Niall. Liam can toss back shots and lose it on the dance floor when he really wants to; the only difference is that he's smarter about most things. He doesn't take it too far, and he knows when not to cross the line. "I'm sure it's not," Louis says. He steals Harry's spiked lemonade from the tray and gulps down a quarter of it in one go. "So what are we up to tonight? Just a bro night out, or what?" "Yeah, it was," Liam says tightly. "So maybe you should go." "I'm a bro," Louis argues. "Look at me. I'm a bro. Why can't I join in on bro night out?" "Because," Liam spits. "This is invite only, and you weren't." Zayn has never in the year and a half he's know Liam ever heard him talk to anyone like that. Not unless he was fighting with someone who seriously deserved it, but aside from being a bit overbearing and slightly annoying, Louis hasn't really done much to warrant that from him. It takes Zayn by surprise, but Louis barely seems to care. "Fine. I'll go. But you call me after, yeah?" And just like that, Liam's shoulders slump and the stressed lines in his forehead smooth out. "Yeah," he breathes. "I will, I promise." Louis kisses his cheek before he slides out of the booth, and then he lays a hand on Zayn's shoulder and says, "But if you get the chance, love, you should take him out on the dance floor. Liam can seriously—" "Go," Liam all but yells. Laughter trails after Louis as he walks away, and Zayn frowns at Liam the whole time, so confused by everything that just happened. Apparently he's not the only one either, because as soon as Louis' laugher disappears, Harry says, "So that was awkward." Liam groans. "Let's just pretend it didn't happen." "I've never seen you hate someone so much," Niall comments. "Seriously, Li. You were fucking rude, man." Liam winces, removing his own drink from the tray. Zayn does the same, sipping at it slowly, reveling in the burn of too much vodka in the orange juice. "I don't hate him," Liam says. "I really don't. He can be a lot, sometimes, but I like Louis well enough." "Didn't seem like it," Zayn tells him. And he's trying not to be smug about it, but he can't help but remember how Louis had looked leaning into Liam at the bar, and he's sort of glad Liam reacted the way he had. "It's complicated," Liam mutters. "Louis has a big mouth." Niall nods. "He almost blew your cover on where you work. You looked like you wanted to shit yourself." "Why are you always so vague about it?" Harry wonders. Part of Zayn wants to push too, but Liam's practically squirming in his seat, eyes wide and fever bright, and he's turned that lovely shade of pinkish red in his cheeks again. "Can we just drop it?" he pleads. "I don't want to talk about it." "Let it go," Zayn adds, pulling his gaze away from Liam to glare at Niall and Harry. Liam gives him a grateful look, but Zayn knows he doesn't deserve it at all. As soon as they get home, Zayn is getting answers. If he doesn't want to say it in front of the others, fine, but Zayn and Liam are closer than that, aren't they? He thought they were, anyways.   o|o   "So… what? McDonalds, or is it that ice cream store downtown that makes the staff sing everything they say?" They're not even fully in the apartment when the words come out of Zayn's mouth. Liam calmly shuts the door, turns the lock, and then he turns around and gives Zayn a blank look before moving towards his bedroom. And Zayn should let it go, right? He knows he should let it go. A good friend would let it go. A good friend would wait for Liam to tell him on his own terms. Zayn is apparently not a good friend. "Seriously, where could you possibly work that is so embarrassing that you can't tell me?" It sounds a lot more hurt than he meant for it to, and Liam stops at the door to his bedroom, shoulders tensed. "I'm not going to make fun of you, Liam, I swear." "I know that," Liam sighs. He turns around, and the look on his face is way too reminiscent of the one his dog when he was younger used to give whenever he got in trouble. It's all wide eyes and scrunched up brow and pouty lips, and it instantly makes Zayn feel bad. "I just don't see why it's a big deal. Why does it matter where I work?" Zayn shifts a bit, wrapping his arms around his waist. "It doesn't," he says, but it's pretty obvious to both of them that it does. Liam raises his eyebrows. "So why is everyone always asking about it, then?" "Because you're always vague about it!" The sad-puppy look is gone, replaced with a rabid-dog one. Liam's lips curl, his eyes narrow, and it's not often that Zayn ever sees that look on his face, and he's pretty sure it's never been aimed at him. "It's not your business," Liam says shortly. "If I want to be vague about it, I will. You're my roommate, not my boyfriend. You don't have to know everything about me." Zayn's mouth closes with an audible clack. The apartment gets deafeningly quiet and there's this horrible feeling in his gut, like he'd eaten too much and it's all threatening to come back up. It's like they're both frozen, him and Liam, neither of them moving or speaking, staring each other down across the room. Fuck. "You're right," Zayn finally says, shaking his head. He's always been really good at feigning indifference when someone's hurt him, and this is no exception. "No, you're right. It's not my business. I shouldn't even…." Liam rubs a hand over his face and Zayn's words trail off, dying in his throat. He should go to his room, he thinks, but he feels rooted to the floor in front of their door, unable to move. And Liam's shoulders are slumped and curved defensively, like he's waiting for Zayn to cross the room and punch him or something. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. Zayn doesn't say anything back. His jaw clenches and he wraps his arms a little tighter around himself. He's never felt like he was on unsteady ground with Liam before. Liam is his rock, his fucking everything, nearly, and they've never fought before. He doesn't like this, and he has a feeling that anything he says right now will only make it worse. "I'm not even embarrassed about it," Liam says, still speaking in a hushed voice as if the shouts from a minute ago are still echoing in the room and anything else will be too much. "It's not about that. It's about – I don't want you to think that –" He cuts off, wincing and tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Do you really want to know?" "Not if it's going to cause a fight," Zayn says. "Just." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "198 Lansdown. My next shift is on Thursday. If you really want to know, stop by around ten." Liam disappears into his room, shutting the door between them. As soon as he's gone, Zayn crosses the room and snatches up the notebook and pen he'd left on the table earlier, quickly scribbling down what Liam had just said. What the hell is on Lansdown? He tries to remember, but he rarely goes to that side of town. He sticks to the area around the university, never needing to go much farther ever. All his friends live around here, their bar is just two streets down and the grocery store he works at is three. It doesn't matter. Apparently he's going to find out.   o|o   Diamond Dancers. Zayn stares up at the neon pink words and the flashing, also neon pink image of a woman swinging her hips on the sign above the blacked out windows of the building. There's a closed Italian restaurant just next door, and Zayn looks down at the paper in his hands, wondering if he heard Liam wrong and if he's supposed to go to 196 Lansdown, not 198. Which has to be the case, because there's no fucking way. There's no fucking way. His mind refuses to process; he can't put the pieces together even though he knows they'd fit perfectly if he'd just take a second to think about it. He doesn't think about it. He can't think about it. So instead he takes a deep, not-at-all-calming breath, and then he pushes open the heavy door of the strip club. The room he steps into isn't very big, and there's another door just across from the one that shuts behind him, only there's a burly man standing in front of it with his arms crossed. To his left, there's a small, glassed in booth where a bored looking guy with a crooked pair of glasses on lazily scratches things down into a notebook and reads over a textbook. The guy looks up and Zayn realizes that he's been sort of standing there since he walked in. "Can I help you?" the guy demands, a little snapped. "Uh." With a quick look at the muscles blocking the door, Zayn steps towards the booth. "I was just, um." The guy behind the glass raises the pencil in his hand and taps it against a poster taped to the inside of the glass. Thursday, Saturday, Monday— Ladies nights is written in bold white letters on the plum coloured page. "Maybe try back tomorrow," the guy adds. Oh, god. "I'm think I'm supposed to meet a friend here?" Zayn tries, and it comes out sounding more like a question than he meant for it to. "I mean I am. My friend said he works here and he, uh, told me to come by." Glasses-guy gives him a long, hard look, and then he shrugs and says, "Whatever, I'm not here to judge. Thirty-five to get in the door." Zayn blinks at him in surprise. "Are you serious?" "If you were wearing eyeshadow, I'd let you in for ten. But you're so not getting the ladies discount looking like that. Sorry, man." Grudgingly, Zayn pulls out his wallet and hands over the money. Liam is so paying him back for this. Liam is paying him back for this because it's a joke. It's a prank. It's a poorly executed, shitty prank, and he can't figure out why Liam would do it but he has a feeling Liam's just inside those doors, sitting at a booth with a grin on his face that'll widen when Zayn comes in, and then he'll have a nice, long laugh at Zayn's expense over this whole situation. Maybe Niall convinced him to do it, actually. He owes Zayn for that April Fools prank when he and Harry slipped temporary blue dye into his shampoo and everyone called him Blues Clues for a week. But even for them, this is a pretty shitty joke. It's not even funny. It's just uncomfortable and awkward. Or, he considers, maybe this is Liam's way of getting back at him for prodding into his personal life. "Enjoy your time," Glasses-guy says, waving him off and returning to his textbook. The giant guy at the door steps aside, and Zayn ducks past him, pulling it open. He's never been in a strip club in his life, and he has a feeling it's different tonight than it normally is. There's a large group of women near the stage, and they're either a bridal party or it's someone's birthday, judging by the plastic tiara on one woman's head. There are more seated around the small club, at round tables and on the stools at the bar. And it's loud. Not from music, either, but from the women. They're rowdy and giggly, and Zayn looks around, praying to spot Liam so he can grab Liam and go home. Only Liam's nowhere to be found, and Zayn has no idea what to do because a few of the women are eying him with interest. Trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, Zayn heads for the bar, thinking that maybe Liam ducked into the bathroom or something and maybe the bartender can help him. "First time, sweetheart?" the older woman behind the counter asks. "You look nervous." Zayn doesn't bother sitting on one of the stools. "Sort of," he says vaguely. The music in the room cuts off and the women all settle in their seats, the entire club nearly silenced all of a sudden. "I'm looking for a friend, actually. He's—" He's not sure what's louder: the music that comes on without warning, or the shrieks of nearly every woman in the room. The beat is low, slow, building and familiar. It's a little different than he's used to, the bass amplified, the track spread up, but he's heard this particular Usher song more times than he can count. "You're gonna miss the show," the bartender warns, nodding towards the stage. "He's the best we've got." He doesn't even mean to look, because that's so not why he's here right now, but he looks over his shoulder anyways and first takes in all the women going crazy by the stage, hands out stretched as a guy in a fireman's suit comes out, all the lights in the club lowered except at the bar and on stage. The fireman's helmet is lowered, shadowing the face of the man on stage. He's wearing an almost authentic looking suit, too, only Zayn's fairly certain that most firemen don't swing their hips quite like that, and he's also pretty sure that you're supposed to wear something under the jacket and not have it undone and hanging open to reveal the sculpted chest with a smattering of hair underneath. "It's gonna burn for me to say this," plays from speakers situated around the room, and the irony of the song isn't lost on Zayn as the guy on stage shrugs out of the jacket seamlessly as he moves, revealing wide, tan shoulders that are way too familiar for Zayn, the straps of his suspenders black against his skin. His throat is so dry as the song plays and the women go crazy over the guy on stage. Zayn might not have experience with this type of thing, but the boy moving in the spotlight is hypnotizing, demanding to be watched as his abs flex and his hips stutter forward suggestively along to the beat. The suspenders fall down next as the beat of the song speeds up just a bit, and Zayn grips the edge of the bar tightly as the guy jumps down off the stage and the woman with the tiara tips her head back in a laugh. He climbs onto her laugh, taking his helmet and putting it on her head as her friends shriek and he grinds against her. The stripper looks over his shoulder for just a second, and Zayn holds Liam's gaze for a long moment as he continues to dance against the laughing woman with her hands hovering over him as if she's not sure if she can touch or not. She doesn't get the chance to decide because Liam is off her almost instantly, getting back on stage in one easy, graceful movement that ends in him propped up on his arms, biceps bulging as he grinds down against it, and the women in the club go nuts. "Even though this might bruise you, let it burn,"and Liam's hands are working at the buttons on his pants as he moves, crossing to the other side of the stage to give the other women attention before the lights go out completely for just a second, plunging the room into darkness. When they flash back on, Liam's working the stage in nothing but possibly the tightest black boxers Zayn has ever seen, and there are hands reaching for him, trying to get a feel but never getting close enough to actually get one. And Zayn pushes away from the bar, walking stiffly towards the exit. He doesn't look back once on his way out the door, doesn't check to see if Liam notices him leave or if he's too damn caught up in removing his clothing to pay any attention to Zayn. The guy in the booth from earlier takes one look at Zayn as he leaves and laughs, "I warned you." The air outside is bitingly cold against his skin. It's like a shock after the warmth of the club, and it makes it hard to think for a moment. Zayn's grateful. He digs his cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one up as he walks briskly away from the club. He took a cab here, but he's walking home. He doesn't have the money to waste on another ride, and he needs the time to clear his head. Only it doesn't help. The cigarette burns down to the filter, and Zayn's jeans keep getting uncomfortably tight every time he closes his eyes and Liam's body flashes in his mind, thighs bared and chest glistening with sweat reflecting the spotlight on the stage. Shit. Zayn could handle this. He could handle this if it were just about the stripping. It's a shock. Of fucking course it's a shock; Liam is more suited to volunteering at an animal hospital, or helping out at an old folk's home. But stripping— He didn't see it coming. He should have, he realizes. It makes so much fucking sense, but he didn't see it coming at all. But that's not the problem. Zayn could get over that. It's Liam's life, Liam's body, and— That's the problem right there. It's not the fact that he takes his clothes off for money. It's just— how he looks while he does it. The way his hips move, the curve of his thighs, the chest hair, wide shoulders, tanned skin and the look on his face. The look on his face said he liked it. That he liked everyone watching him and. Zayn did, too. Zayn liked it. Zayn fucking loved it, and it's all he can see when he blinks his eyes closed, ingrained on the back of his eyelids like a brand. Even just remembering it has something stirring in him, stomach tightening, heat waving over him despite the cool air. It's too much, it cuts off his airways and makes his head swim, and how the hell is he supposed to look Liam in the face ever again? He can't. He's dealt with his crush pretty well, he thinks. It's not like it's affected their relationship. He and Liam are friends and he's happy about that, but how the hell is that supposed to continue when Zayn can't even picture his face without Usher playing in his mind and images of Liam dancing around accompanying it? By the time he gets home it's still going through his mind, over and over like a video on replay. Only now it's not the woman with the tiara that Liam jumps off the stage and crawls on top of. It's him, and Zayn wouldn't have hesitated. He would have touched, would have guided Liam closer until he could feel every twist of Liam's hips, every shift of his shoulder muscles and the sweat covering his chest. Damn it. Zayn slams the door closed behind him, kicking off his shoes without care for where they go. Their apartment has never felt so damn small. There's no room for him to breathe, and he goes to head to his room and ends up backtracking to the living room, only the dishes from the dinner he and Liam had earlier still litter the table and he can't stay there, either. But his room is too small, the bathroom smells like Liam's shampoo and body wash, and he has nowhere else to go. So he picks up the plates and carries them to the kitchen, and then he starts cleaning. It's not that Zayn can't clean, but he usually doesn't because Liam always gets there first. It's not even a matter of him leaving the mess until Liam gets it for him, it's just that Liam somehow is always there first, doing it before Zayn can even offer to and waving him off when he can. But he cleans. He cleans the dishes, throws out the mostly empty condiments bottles in the fridge, takes the garbage to the bin outside, organizes his books for school and wipes down the ashtray until it looks brand new. He pulls out their old, rumbling vacuum that Liam rarely uses because he opts to sweep instead and their neighbors usually complain about the noise, but he doesn't care. Let them complain. He'd seriously love someone to try him right now. He's just shutting the closet, putting away the vacuum, when he hears Liam's key slide into the door and the lock turn. He takes a darting look at his bedroom and considers running, but instead he stays planted right where he is, too stupid and incapable of moving before Liam comes in the door. And Liam walks straight past him, a blank look on his face. He takes one look at the spotlessly cleaned apartment and then ducks into his room without a word, slamming the door behind himself. Zayn stares at it, eyes wide, holding his breath. Liam comes right back out, stomping over to him, and then he shoves Zayn until his back hits the wall. It's not a hard push, either, but he was taken so off guard by it that he didn't think to plant his feet to brace the blow. "You wanted to know," Liam hisses. "Are you happy now?" Explosively angry. That's what Liam is. He doesn't get mad often, but when he does…. "Liam," Zayn says. "You just left," Liam spits. "You didn't even— you just left." "You're a stripper!" Zayn blurts. "What the hell was I supposed to do? Sit there and watch you dance around without any clothes on?" Liam jerks back like Zayn had returned the shove or something. "I—" He winces, looking uncertain. "I don't know. I thought you'd – I thought you'd at least wait for an explanation, but you didn't. And now you're not even meeting my eyes." He can't. "Yeah, well, you couldn't have just fucking told me, maybe? Did you really have to give me a demonstration?" "You wouldn't have believed me," Liam says lowly. "You know you wouldn't." True. There's no way in hell Zayn would have bought that if Liam had just come out and told him, hey, I kind of take off my clothes and dance around practically naked for a living, how about that? But— but still. Tonight was—tonight upset the balance of everything Zayn's been trying so hard not to tip over. They can't go back from this. Whatever happens, they can't go back, and that's terrifying. And it's all Liam's damn fault. "And this is why I didn't tell you," Liam says quietly, anger completely dissolved. He looks almost helpless, trying to meet Zayn's eyes and failing. "It's not exactly something you go around advertising, and I knew you'd— I knew it'd change things. And it has. It already has." Zayn winces, squeezing his eyes closed. "Just say something," Liam pleads. "Are you mad?" Zayn finally opens his eyes and meets Liam's gaze. "Why would I be mad?" Of all the things, Zayn isn't mad. Liam shrugs, and this time he's the one looking away. "I don't know. Because I didn't tell you, maybe." "No, I— I get it. I get why you didn't." "Because I should be ashamed of it, right?" Liam guesses, sounding bitter. "Are you saying you weren't?" Zayn counters. "You hid it for over a year. Seems like you're pretty ashamed of it." Liam snorts at him. "I'm not," he denies. "I didn't tell you for your benefit, not mine. If I thought you could handle it, I would have told you sooner. But everyone freaks out about it. My mum nearly had a heart attack. My dad offered me money, said if I was so down on my luck that I had to resort to stripping that they could help me out. People think I should be ashamed of it, which is why I don't tell them." Zayn pushes away from the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose. He goes and falls onto the sofa, trying to think as Liam crosses the room to sit beside him. He's sitting way too close and way too far away, all at the same time, and it's not helping. "Just explain it to me, then," Zayn says after a while. "I'm kind of blindsided here." "One condition," Liam counters. "Okay." "No judgment, no matter what I say." Now Zayn snorts at him. "When have I ever judged you?" he asks. "Ever?" Liam nods, accepting this. "I'm not going to give you a sob story," Liam tells him. "I'm not going to tell you that I was chasing a dream and down on my luck and this is the only option for me, and all I need is for someone to save me from my sad life of taking my clothes off for money." Zayn can't help it; his lips tilt up a bit because he knows Liam wouldn't. The last thing Liam would ever need is someone to rescue him. He's too damn stubborn and self-sufficient for that. "Anyways," Liam continues. "My first weeks here, I was having a pretty shitty time because I had no money and I refused to ask my parents for any. And Louis is in my musical theory class with me. He was talking about work one night, and how he had such an easy set up because he only works three times a week for a few hours, and he said the money was pretty good. So I asked him what he did, and he told me to stop by." "Louis from the bar," Zayn clarifies. "Yeah. So I stopped by, and I'm not gonna lie: I was pretty surprised and embarrassed but— I don't know. I stayed, and he wasn't working that night but a few of his friends were, and afterwards he introduced me to them. The woman who owns the place, Alex, she told me to take my shirt off and then said if I ever needed extra cash, she'd let me try out a night and see how it went." Zayn can picture this so clearly; Liam, a little younger than now, probably back when his hair was still buzzed off because it only grew back a few months ago. And he can picture the red in Liam's cheeks, can imagine just how embarrassed he was walking into that damn strip club the way Zayn had tonight. "And I liked it," Liam finishes. "I tried it out, and I was good at it. Great at it, actually. You know what my life was like before. I told you about it, how I spent years with other people picking on me and bringing me down, and this— this is different than that. I'm good at it, and it feels good to know that an entire room full of people want me, and not one of them can get me. I like that feeling." Zayn discreetly shifts on the sofa, trying not to think about it. "I just can't wrap my head around it," Zayn admits, but that's mostly because he's trying really hard not to. "I just can't— I mean, I can't picture you getting naked in front of strangers for money. That's just—" Okay, he can picture it, but he really shouldn't. Not with Liam sitting close enough to notice how his breath hitches and he has to hide the bulge in his jeans. "I don't get naked," Liam says. "It costs way too much money to get me completely naked. I just get mostly naked." "Yeah, I, uh. I saw that," Zayn whispers. "And?" Liam prompts. "This is the part where you tell me it's degrading and I should stop." Zayn rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I mean, if. Like, if you like it, then…. I'm not going to tell you to stop if you don't want to." Liam looks a little surprised. "Really?" "Obviously I don't think it's the most brilliant thing in the world," Zayn admits. "And it's going to take a bit to wrap my head around it, but— yeah. It's your life, Liam. If you like it, then I don't have a problem with it. But if it is only because you need the money, you know I'd—" "Yeah, I know." Liam grins at him. "Don't worry about it. When I decide I don't want to do it anymore, I'll figure something else out. But I'm pretty content with things the way they are." "Okay then," Zayn says. He stares straight ahead at the TV that isn't even turned on. Liam's shoulder bumps into his, and he gives Zayn a blinding, lovely grin. "So?" he asks. "That aside, what did you think? Was I good?" Zayn shoves him away with a laugh because that's what friends are supposed to do, right? But later, after Liam's jumped in the shower and Zayn's gone to bed, he lays there staring up at the ceiling, seeing nothing in the black room but the spotlight on Liam's unclothed body. Fuck.   o|o   Liam acts like it's no big deal, so Zayn does the same. When he's sitting in the living room, feet propped up in Liam's lap as he reads over a passage for class the next day, and Liam abruptly gets up and pockets his phone with a sigh and a short, "Gotta go into work. Louis cancelled on me," they both act like it's normal. Like Liam's going to assemble burgers or pack groceries or something instead of going to take his clothes off in front of about forty women. And while he still has trouble sleeping without dreaming of it, while he still can't let his eyes trail lower than Liam's face because he starts remembering how what's hidden underneath his t-shirt and sweats looks as he's humping a fucking stage, he's sort of glad that he knows. It's like a secret between the two of them now, one no one else is in on. When Harry 'discreetly' asks Liam about work and he deflects the questions easily, Zayn isn't on Harry's side anymore, wondering what the hell is up. So he gets over it. Liam is a fucking stripper. Whatever. Big deal. Or he thinks he's over it until he comes home early from school because of a headache. He can afford to miss one class, it won't kill him, and his head feels like it possibly might. He knows Liam's home as he unlocks the door, knows his classes ended two hours ago and he'll probably be on the sofa, flicking through the TV, or napping or cooking or something. He's not. He's on the floor in front of the TV, shirtless, doing sit-ups that make his breathing heavy and his brow sweaty. Zayn freezes, door still halfway open as Liam pauses and looks over at him. "Hey," Liam says, eyebrows scrunching up in concern. "You're home early." "Uh." Zayn licks his lips, trying not to look at Liam as much as he can. "Got a headache. Thought I'd come home and sleep it off." Liam pushes himself up easily, and the move is too similar to one he'd done on stage that night for Zayn to handle. And he doesn't stop there; he walks right across the apartment, coming over to press a hand against Zayn's forehead. "You don't have a fever, at least," he says. "Anything else? I can make you some soup, if you'd like. It's coming out of a can, but I'll put it in the pot and not the microwave and everything." Zayn laughs weakly, trying not to inhale the scent of sweat and deodorant radiating from Liam's way too close body. "It's just a headache," he says. "I'll be fine. Just need to sleep for a bit." "Cool," Liam says easily. He thumbs at the drawstring of his sweats in a way that's probably not supposed to be provocative but is. "I'm gonna finish working out, if you don't mind." "Yeah, you— go ahead," Zayn says, removing his shoes before he heads to his room. At the last second he pauses, hand on his doorknob, ready to shut the door. But if he leaves it open just a bit he has a perfect view of the living room from his bed, and Liam's back on the floor, midway through a sit-up already, and he can't make himself do it. Instead he leaves his door open just enough, ignoring the guilty feeling inside of him. He doesn't bother getting out of his clothes before he climbs into bed, and then he rolls onto his side, facing away from the door, trying to resist temptation. That last about five seconds, because Liam lets out a loud grunt and he can't help it. He rolls over, trying to be discreet as possible as he watching Liam work out in their living room. There's more grunting, loud and almost exaggerated. Liam's face and chest are red and slick with sweat, and the way his calf muscles flex with the force of keeping them planted on the ground shouldn't be as hot as it is. He's way too fucking hard to keep watching that, and he's about to pull his pillow over his head and block out the light when Liam falls back against the ground, panting, and then he tilts his head, meeting Zayn's eyes. Shit. There's a grin tugging at Liam's lips, but he looks away quick enough that maybe he didn't actually see Zayn watching him. Like, his room is dark and it's— maybe he didn't see. Liam gets up, scratching at his stomach, and Zayn bites his lip, realizing just how creepy he's being but apparently incapable of stopping. Liam stretches, hands reaching above his head, and then he disappears out of sight and Zayn lets out a breath he hadn't realize he'd been holding.   o|o   "We've got, like, ten minutes to get there, Liam!" Zayn shouts through the bathroom door. Liam, still in the shower, groans at him and says, "Why's it that you're always late and I never complain, but the one time I forgot and you won't even let me take a shower?" Zayn laughs, stepping away from the door. "Take your time," he calls. "I'll send Harry a text, let him know we'll be late." "No, it's fine," Liam yells back. There's only a beat between the time of the shower turning off and the bathroom door suddenly opening. A wall of steam hits Zayn like a brick, dampening his skin and making it harder to breath, but it's Liam that knocks the air out of his lungs, that makes him stumble back and an embarrassing sound tumble from his lips. He steps out of the bathroom in just a towel that hangs loosely on his hips, and Zayn didn't think to back up enough when the door opened. This close up, he could practically count the chest hair, honestly, and Liam's smiling pleasantly at him as if he has no idea what the fuck he's doing to Zayn right now. Probably because he doesn't. "I just need to get dressed," Liam says, ducking past to head to his room. He brushes accidentally against Zayn's side, and Zayn sort of just stands there, dumbstruck. "You're all ready to go, right?" "Yeah, I— yeah." Zayn nods dumbly, moving away from the bathroom door. He shakes his head, and the fog seems to clear. "I've been ready for, like, twenty minutes, man. Hurry it up, Liam." Liam laughs as he shuts his bedroom door between them. "Don't rush me," he calls through it. "I'll remember this next time you're late because you can't figure out what you want to wear, and I'll drag you out in just your boxers." For some reason Zayn can't see himself protesting that all that much. Liam comes out of the room a moment later, button-up shirt unbuttoned. And was that necessary? Was it really? His fingers are deftly doing the shirt up, but his chest is still bared and his head is tilted down, giving Zayn a clear opportunity to ogle him without getting caught. He jerkily looks away, forcing himself to think about something else, anything else, until Liam says, "Okay, ready. How's this look?" Zayn shrugs. "It's a plaid shirt," he says vaguely. "You own about a hundred. It looks fine." Liam frowns at him for a moment before asking, "You okay?" "I'm fine," Zayn says. "I just want to get this over with." "Are you ever going to stop complaining and admit that you like the bar?" "No." Liam shakes his head fondly, hand brushing Zayn's for a moment before he heads for the door, leaving Zayn a beat behind him, too stunned to move at first. They walk to the bar, like they always do every Friday and have for the past year, minus that single time where Liam was out with his girlfriend, Harry had the flu, and Niall was back home visiting family. It's a tradition of sorts, one that they don't really talk about but that they've all sort of accepted and worked into their schedules automatically, no matter what. And just like always, when they walk in the door Harry and Niall are already at their booth, always earlier because usually Zayn makes them late by tossing half the contents of his closet all over his bedroom floor before stealing one of Liam's shirts and letting Liam drag him out of the apartment. "We should start making you pick out your outfit the night before," Harry comments as he slides into the booth on his right. Zayn makes a face at him, stealing the lemon hooked onto the edge of Harry's glass to throw it at him. "Blame Liam," he says. "He's the reason we're late tonight." "Sorry," Liam says sheepishly. "Had to shower." Niall slings an arm over his shoulder. "It's alright, Liam. We forgive you." "Oh, so it's okay for him to be late but not me?" "Liam apologized," Harry points out. "All you do is snap at us for making you come here in the first place." Liam chuckles, getting right back out of his seat. His hand falls to Zayn's shoulder and he squeezes lightly before he says, "Ignore them. I don't mind that you make us late. It gives me an excuse to see you in my clothes." And then he walks away, heading for the bar to get them their drinks like he always does. Zayn just— he just sits there, fucking floored because— what? Did he— what? He realizes Harry's snapping in front of his face and he grabs Harry's hand, pushing it away from him. "Don't do that." "I thought you were broken," Harry says. "You alright, or should we rush you to the hospital to make sure your heart didn't just explode in your chest?" "Fuck off," Zayn mutters. Whatever just happened is too much to deal with on its own, let alone with the two of them bugging him about it. "He didn't mean it like that. You know what Liam's like. He says things sometimes and he doesn't realize that it comes out—" "Sounding like you two totally just went at it before you got here and he's making sure we know you're his territory," Harry supplies. Zayn glares at him. "You two are more interested in the two of us than I am." "That's not true," Harry says. "Yeah. You write Zayn + Liam in all your notebooks," Niall adds. "Who writes what in their notebooks?" Zayn accidentally kicks Harry when he jumps at Liam's voice, and he nearly spills the entire drink that Liam had slid onto the table in front of him without him even noticing. He gives Zayn an expectant look as he sits down beside Niall, and then he turns that look on Harry and Niall, too, when Zayn doesn't answer. "Niall," Harry says easily, and Zayn has never loved the guy more in his life. "When we were fifteen he'd spend all lunch scribbling Niall Bieber in his notebooks." "On time," Niall mutters. "One fucking time." Zayn sips at his drink, trying to ignore the way Liam's foot is brushing his ankle under the table, way too many times for it to be an accident. He also tries to forget what Liam had said before he'd went off to the bar, and the way he'd touched Zayn's hand before they left the apartment. It's all too much for him to handle, it really is. "I'm getting drunk tonight," Zayn decides out loud. Niall grins, splaying his hands out on the table. "Let's do shots."   o|o   Those three words never follow good times, or they never have in Zayn's experience. Though, admittedly, he tends to not remember much after those words are spoken so he could be wrong. "He can't walk," Liam giggles into his neck. "He can't— even sober he can't walk. It's like, uh. That Disney movie. The one with the mooses, you know? He's like a baby moose." Zayn shakes his head, trying to piece together what's actually coming out of Liam's drunken mouth as he tries to convince his own drunken hands to get the key in the lock. "You mean deer, right?" he says. "Bambi. Not— not moose." "Yeah." Liam nods enthusiastically, still leaning heavily on Zayn even though it should probably be the other way around. It usually is, too, but Liam participated in shots tonight, and that's never a good thing. All four of them getting off their asses at the same time is a recipe for disaster, since they usually rely on each other to get them home. "Harry's a baby moose. He can't walk. He just— he falls. He falls everywhere. And when he's drunk he falls everywhere twice." The key finally turns in the lock and they stumble into the apartment, Zayn making shushing noises when Liam starts giggling again. "You're trashed," he says, but he's way too amused about it. "You're trashed," Liam shoots right back. "I'm slightly less trashed," Zayn says. "Let's get you to bed." Liam suddenly slumps against him, like his entire body gave out at once, and Zayn struggles to keep them both standing. "Let's get you to bed," Liam says, and then he laughs like this is the best joke in the world. "With me," he adds. "You wanna sleep with me, Zayn?" Zayn is so grateful that Liam is far too drunk to remember in the morning that Zayn gasped at those words. "On the sofa?" Zayn offers, already heading that way, pulling Liam along behind him like deadweight. "Yeah," Liam sighs. "I like the sofa. 's not Liam's sofa. It's not Zayn's sofa. It's LiamandZayn's sofa. Our sofa. Love our sofa." "You're the most affectionate drunk I've ever met," Zayn comments, as his legs bump against the edge of the sofa. Liam immediately wraps his arms around Zayn's waist and then he falls like a fucking brick, pulling Zayn down with him until they're both cramped onto the small space of the couch, pressed together to keep from rolling off. "Just with you," Liam whispers, eyes already closed. He presses a sudden, over so quick he may have imagined it, kiss to Zayn's lips. "Night, sweetcheeks." "You're so fucking drunk," Zayn says, and he is, too, which is probably why that's the last thing he remembers before he passes out.   o|o   Zayn bumps the door closed with his hip, already toeing off his shoes, thrumming with excitement. His last class of the day ended twenty minutes early, but that's not what's got him going. What's got him going is the tickets in his hand for the new Thor movie that he'd sort of won during a game of Jeopardy in class today. He thought, going into uni, that it'd be all stressful amounts of work and mature people, and he was half right. It's stressful, sure, but mature? Not so much. One of his teachers actually required them to read the Harry Potter series so they could discuss symbolism and also the creation of a fictional world, and his one teacher holds a Jeopardy day every month where the winners get dumb prizes like sweets or, in this case, movie tickets. "Liam," Zayn calls, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud. "Guess what I—" Zayn cuts off at the loud moan that whispers through Liam's closed bedroom door. He pauses, sure he heard wrong when he hears a low, "Oh, fuck," followed by another moan. His mind blanks for a second as he hears Liam's bedsprings creak, and his whole face heats up and his eyes narrow. "Yeah," Liam pants, and that heat coils in his stomach, too, because Liam sounds— but it's fighting with annoyance and jealousy because there's no way Liam didn't hear him come in, and he's still going at it with whoever the fuck he has in his room. That is just bad roommate etiquette. That's why Zayn's annoyed. Not because he's – not because he cares that Liam's fucking someone. Liam can fuck whoever he wants. Whatever. Zayn stomps towards the kitchen just as Liam lets out another loud, breathy moan, and he pulls open the fridge as violently as he can, all the jars and bottles on the door shaking and clanking together. He slams it a second later, pulling open a cupboard, banging it against the one next to it and then he starts pushing around pots and pans, making as much noise as he can just in case Liam didn't hear him come in. There's no way he doesn't know Zayn's here now. There's one more loud, strangled sound followed by silence. Zayn stands up, kicking the cupboard door closed. He's not actually hungry, couldn't eat anything if he tried right now, and he goes to stomp to his room when Liam's door opens and he steps out. He looks fucking wrecked. His hair is a mess, strands matted to his forehead with sweat that goes all the way down his flushed, unclothed chest. His sweatpants lay low on his hips, and his eyelids are heavy, his eyes dark and his lips swollen. "Oh," Liam says sheepishly, eyes widening. "I didn't realize you were home." Zayn crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to look like a petulant child. "Just got in." "I'm gonna, uh, shower," Liam says, rubbing at the back of his neck. And then he disappears into the bathroom, water running almost immediately. Zayn frowns, suddenly confused. He pads cautiously, quietly towards Liam's bedroom, and then he pushes the open door even wider until Liam's room is on full display, and— There's no one inside. There's no one else here but him and Liam. Which means that—Oh. So Liam wasn't fucking someone, he was— right. Oh. Okay. That— oh. Fuck. He can practically feel his brain melting at this sudden realization, and then he ducks into his bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him. He only just leans against it before he gets a hand in his joggers, and then he's wrapping his fingers around his cock, tipping his head back and biting on his lip to muffle any sounds. He doesn't wank to the thought of his best friend getting himself off. That'd be fucking weird. And when he comes, he doesn't bite the palm of his hand to muffle said best friend's name, either. "Zayn?" Zayn jumps guiltily, eyes wide, and he looks at the mess staining the front of his sweats. "Uh, yeah?" he calls, praying Liam doesn't just walk in as he hurries to his dresser, pulling out a clean pair of sweats that he replaces with the ruined ones. "Did you need something?" He pulls open his bedroom door as soon as he's fully dressed, and he gives Liam an expectant look. Liam blinks at him, eyes trailing down to Zayn's lips, and then his eyes suddenly widen and a smirk brightens his face. "You okay?" he asks. "You're sweaty." Zayn nods, running a hand through his hair. "I ran home," he lies. "Won tickets to see Thor in class. Wanted to tell you about it." "Brilliant," Liam says. "I can't wait. But do you want to help me with dinner?" Zayn smiles tightly. "Sure. What are we burning tonight?" Liam makes a face at him. "I'm a culinary master, Zayn. Don't question that or you'll be eating microwavable ramen noodles and pizza pops for the rest of your life." "Is that supposed to be a bad thing?" Liam shoves playfully at his shoulder before heading to the kitchen, and Zayn trails after him before changing course and slipping into the bathroom to wash his hands first.   o|o   Ever since that day he went to the strip club, Zayn's been on unsteady ground with Liam. Sure, things didn't crumble the way he expected, but still. Things are different, only it's not him that's making them that way. He thought it would be, thought that Liam would for sure realize how Zayn felt because he couldn't stop checking Liam out or thinking about kissing and touching him, but it's Liam who's changed. It was that Friday before the bar where it started, he thinks, with the random hand touching and then the suggestive comments about Zayn in his clothes later on. And then that day he was working out in their living room and he'd spotted Zayn watching him and he'd acted like it was no big deal. And then that day Zayn came home to Liam being quite loud in the bedroom with no one but himself. Liam is playing with him. Maybe it's not even intentional, but it doesn't matter. It's like every opportunity he gets, he gets Zayn going like crazy. Soft touches, these little secretive looks on his faces, the way he says things sometimes. Zayn is convinced Liam doesn't even realize he's doing it, but he is doing it. And tonight— tonight takes the cake. Zayn's curled up on the sofa, text book in front of him, glasses slipping down his nose as he flips through the pages, sighing periodically because it's part of his homework routine. Liam comes out of his bedroom, cigarette dangling from his fingers (one of Zayn's, and he didn't even ask but Zayn doesn't mind because it's not like Liam smokes all that often— and he has a feeling he's a reason for that recent bad habit, too, because when they first moved in together Liam looked at cigarettes like they were the devil) and his phone pressed to his ear, this impossibly bright grin on his face. "Yeah, I'll definitely be there," he's saying, and every word Zayn's read in the last ten minutes slips from his mind, forgotten. "Sounds good. Bye." Liam hangs up, pocketing his phone, and then he says, "Guess who was just offered a thousand quid an hour to do a party tomorrow?" Zayn's eyes go comically wide, and he chokes on air. "What?" Liam laughs, falling onto the sofa, jostling Zayn's books. "Remember when I told you I was good at what I did? I meant really good. I make more money than all the guys I work with, and I was just requested to do a birthday party for some – I don't know, really. All I know is they're giving me a thousand an hour because it's such short notice, and they've got me booked for two." "That's— Shit," Zayn breathes. That's more than he makes in a month in one fucking day. "Are they hiring by any chance?" Liam laughs again, hand falling onto Zayn's thigh. "I'll ask Alex," he jokes, but they both know Zayn isn't serious. He wouldn't be able to do it. It's not that he's self-conscious about his body or how he looks (quite the opposite, most of the time) but he doesn't think he could handle being the center of attention to thirty women while completely naked. "But I need to practice my routine, actually. Do you mind?" "Nah, it's fine," Zayn says. "I'll let you know if the music gets too loud." Liam gets up, and he expects him to head into his bedroom but instead Liam starts moving the coffee table, and Zayn realizes— "Wait, you meant out here?" Liam freezes, eyebrows drawing together. "There's not enough room in my bedroom. Is that going to be a problem?" Zayn shakes his head, dropping his eyes to avoid Liam's gaze. "No, that's— Yeah, that makes sense. It's fine. I'll just… keep doing my homework and you— yeah." "Let me know if I distract you and I can stop," Liam tells him. Zayn snorts out loud. The chances of him not distracting Zayn right now are slim to none. In fact, he's already distracted and Liam's done no more than move the table out of the way to give himself more space. He hasn't even turned the music on or started dancing, and as soon as he does Zayn knows that any and all concentration he has will fly out the cracked window to his left. But he tries not to be obvious, picking up his pen and trying to keep his eyes on his book. The words blur, though, and he watches Liam out the corner of his eyes as he sets up his music on the TV. As soon as it starts up, Zayn groans internally and he might as well throw his books away because there's no way in fucking hell he's going to get anything done. "Baby grind on me," plays from the speakers, and Liam has his back turned to Zayn. Zayn bites his lip, watching Liam's sweater slip down his shoulders as he moves. He's always known Liam was a good dancer; they've gotten drunk together enough times for him to be no stranger to Liam dancing, but this is so different than him at the club. At the club, he's reserved, dances more like a typical guy, moving just enough to the beat to not be just standing there, but not much more. This is so different. He puts his whole body into it, and when the sweater falls down to his forearms, revealing the tank top underneath, Zayn can see every shift of his shoulder blades when he moves along to the beat, slow and purposeful. Each move has a reason if he pays attention. The suggestive hip swings, the way he moves his arms so they look their best, muscles flexing. Yeah. Zayn can definitely see why someone would pay thousands to watch that. He definitely would. After one play through of the song, Liam's skin is glistening. He wipes a hand over his forehead, looks over his shoulder and grins at Zayn, and then he starts it over and this time the tank top comes off. It happens so fast. Zayn looks down at his paper for a second, and when he looks back up Liam's back is on display. He can just imagine the marks his nails would leave on Liam's unclothed flesh, how the pink would look against his tan shoulders, running parallel to his spine. Can imagine getting up, putting his hands on Liam's waist, pressing his lips to the back of Liam's neck and whispering the lyrics to him. "Now come and sex me 'til your body gets weak," and Zayn would. Until Liam was a mess, fucking ruined. The music cuts off abruptly and Liam turns around, a hand on his hip. "It's not working," he says. "It's, uh. It's not?" Zayn asks, because it was definitely working for him. Liam nods, running a hand through his sweat dampened hair. "I'm used to having an audience to play to," Liam explains. "Even when I'm practicing, usually Louis or one of the staff is around." "Right," Zayn says, dumbfounded. "I can—?" Liam hesitates, and Zayn can't tell if his cheeks are red from embarrassment or the exertion of his dancing. "Do you think you could help? I don't want to distract you from your work, but…" "Yes," Zayn says immediately, blinking rapidly. "I— Yeah, I'll help you. Whatever you need." Liam gives him a grateful smile before coming over and moving Zayn's books off the couch. Then he taps Zayn's arm, gesturing for him to move. "It'll be easier if there's room on either side of your waist," he explains, and Zayn moves automatically, brain no longer functioning. The music starts up again, and Zayn rubs his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans because Liam is facing him this time. And just like that night at the club, the look on his face says he loves every second of what he's doing. Slowly, so slowly that Zayn can't breathe through it, Liam moves towards him as the song plays. Zayn stays completely still, like if he moves he'll ruin this as Liam makes it over to the sofa and then he— he climbs on top of Zayn, just like he had to the woman with the tiara at the club. His knees rest on the sofa on both sides of Zayn's body, but he's not exactly sitting on Zayn's lap. He's hovering over it, hands braced on the back of the couch. "It makes the arms look better," Liam explains in a low voice over the music. "Even if you don't need to hold yourself up, it's all about how it looks." "Oh," Zayn says. He feels boxed in, trapped, and every breath is a struggle, his jeans so tight it's almost painful. "We're not supposed to touch much," Liam explains. He rolls his hips down and, just as he said, he doesn't really touch Zayn much. Just a little brush of his ass against Zayn's crotch, and it's enough to send sparks through him. "And usually the audience is told not to touch, too," Liam adds, eyes lowering to Zayn's mouth for a second. "But you can touch, if you like." Oh, god. "W-where?" Zayn asks, unsure. Is this really happening, or has he died and gone to heaven? "Anywhere," Liam says roughly. His lips quirk up. "Free of charge." Zayn groans. What is Liam doing? Doesn't he get that they can't come back from this? That they've crossed an invisible line and now they're— he doesn't know, but it can't be good. And he doesn't care at all because he can feel the heat radiating from Liam's body and the music sounds through the two of them, and nothing else matters. "Step One: you're kissin' on me." Liam bites his lip, and Zayn wants to do just that. "Step Two: girl, I'm caressing your body." Zayn moves his hands to Liam's waist, thumbs pressing in. "Step Three: now I'm licking off the whipped cream." Boldly, Zayn leans forward and, with one single questioning look at Liam, sucks at Liam's collarbone, the taste of sweat and skin salty under his tongue. "Step Four: and oh, you're grinding on me." This time he feels the weight of Liam press into him as Liam moves his hips down against Zayn's. His nails dig into Liam's waist, and Liam makes a small sound, barely audible underneath the music. Zayn wants to swallow it down, wants him to make that sound again, louder, over and over but— "Liam," Zayn says quietly. Liam climbs off him, and Zayn feels lost without his weight and warmth. There's a playful glint in Liam's eyes as he backs away from Zayn, holding Zayn's gaze, swinging his hips, rubbing a hand down his own chest as he goes. When his fingers reach the waistband of his sweats, he hooks his thumb underneath them, runs it along the edge with his head tipped back and his lips parted. Zayn pushes off from the sofa like Liam has his own gravitational pull, tugging at Zayn to get closer to him. He's still moving backwards as Zayn starts towards him, only now he's pushing the side of his sweats down, hip bared, and Zayn makes a low sound at the sudden show of more skin. Hips shimmying, Liam pushes down the other side of his sweats, too, until they're hanging so low it's obscene, and the trail of hair on his stomach gets thicker, darker, coarser the lower it goes. If Liam's the leader of this game of cat and mouse, why does Zayn feel like the predator as he slowly moves closer to Liam? Liam stops when his back hits his bedroom door, and he easily pushes it open without turning, stepping backwards into the lightless room. He disappears from sight, slipping into the dark. Zayn follows after him. As soon as he steps over the threshold, Liam's door shuts behind him, plunging them into absolute darkness. Zayn's breath hitches, and he tries to find where Liam is when a body suddenly presses against his, pushing him back against the closed door. He has just enough sense to wrap his arms around Liam before he hits it with a thud. Out in the living room, the song finishes with, "Let me get deeper shorty, ride on me. Now come and sex me 'til your body gets weak," and Liam's lips find his in the dark. Zayn kisses him back without even thinking, probably sloppy and too enthusiastic but— fuck, how many times has he pictured this in his life? He can't help it. And he doesn't want to ever stop, even when Liam pulls back he chases after Liam's lips, wanting more until Liam says, "So what do you think? Is the routine good?" all breathless and unsteady. Because Zayn knows Liam's room as well as he does his own, he starts moving forward, guiding Liam backwards towards the bed on instinct. "Definitely not," he says seriously. "You should… definitely not do that tomorrow night." "No?" Liam asks. Zayn feels it when Liam's legs hit the bed just before Liam falls back onto it, tugging Zayn along with him. "You didn't like it?" "Liam," Zayn groans, settling on top of him. He's pretty sure his hands are rested beside Liam's head, holding himself up, but he can't exactly see, so. Liam cants his hips, and Zayn almost falls on top of him. "Seems like you liked it," Liam tells him. "And it finally got you in bed with me after weeks of trying, so I'd say it was pretty good." Zayn pushes himself up higher, and if the lights were on he'd be giving Liam a lost, gaping look. He still is, but he knows Liam can't see it so he blurts, "You what?" Liam's hands trail up his back, under his t-shirt, and it's like every path his fingers take is new, undiscovered, as if no one else has ever touched him there before even though he knows that's not true. "I've been trying to get you to make a move since the night at the club," Liam admits. "I realized that night, I think, that you look at me like that. I never noticed it before. I thought it was just me looking at you, but that night you were looking back." "But—" "So I kept waiting for you to do something about it," Liam continues, "but you didn't. Even after I came out of the shower and told you I liked you in my clothes. Even after I, uh, got off really loudly when I knew you were listening. I was hoping you'd come in and help, but you didn't." "Fuck," Zayn whispers. "That whole time. I thought you were doing it by accident." "Not an accident," Liam whispers. Zayn leans down, open-mouth kissing Liam's lips until Liam's part, too, his tongue snaking out to move against Zayn's until they're both breathless. Liam's hands are still working at his back, pushing his shirt up higher and higher until Zayn sits back to let him take it off. It's as he's leaning back down to kiss Liam again that the thought goes through his head. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't dare say the words aloud, but since Liam's groping his ass and rutting against him, Zayn tries, "Do you think— you wanna ride me, babe?" Just remembering the way Liam had looked on top of him earlier makes him twitch in the confines of his jeans, and he wants that. Wants less layers between them, wants to feel Liam around him, panting, watch him come apart as he fucks himself on Zayn's cock. He doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more, actually. Liam flips them over without responding, trapping Zayn underneath him. The blankets are slipping off the bed and he can't see a thing, but that doesn't matter. What matters is Liam nipping at his neck, grinding against him, whispering, "Yeah." And then he's gone. Zayn really wishes the lights were on, honestly, because he can't see. All he can do is hear Liam moving around the room, a drawer opening, slamming, and then silence. The bed dips and Zayn moves up, settling back against Liam's pillows. He feels Liam settle in beside him just before his hand falls to Zayn's lap, thumbing at the button on his jeans. "Get these off," Liam whispers, as if they're not the only ones in the apartment and someone else will hear. Zayn has never gotten undressed so fast in his life. He unbuttons his jeans, shimmies out of them and then tosses them into the dark abyss that is Liam's room. His boxers come next, easily sliding down his legs, and then he leans down to tug off his socks just before Liam is back in his lap. He's really starting to see all the advantages of Liam's occupation as Liam moves against him, hands braced on the headboard. If Zayn thought he looked good dancing, it's nothing compared to how he feels while doing it. It has his head spinning, the way Liam's cock bumps against his hip as he grinds his ass against Zayn's, the breathless sounds he makes from above, lost and quiet like he's not even meaning to. And he can touch. He remembers this all of a sudden, and then he's gliding his hands up Liam's back, scratching his nails down them until Liam arches against the touch and fucking whines. His hands slip lower, and he tries to remember how to do this. He spreads Liam's cheeks with his hands a little and tries slipping a finger between them, teasing at his hole with soft brushes of his fingertips. Liam stills above him, and Zayn freezes, thinking he's done something wrong until Liam moans, "Zayn." "That okay?" Zayn has to ask anyways. "Lube," Liam blurts, and then he feels around the bed for a moment while Zayn keeps teasing him, a little more confidently now. Liam's almost shivering on top of him; he can feel the little jolts going through Liam's body, and Zayn has never been more turned on. He can feel himself leaking against Liam's thigh now and he'd apologize if his mouth wasn't busy working at Liam's chest. It dawns on him that tomorrow a group full of people will be watching that chest as he dances, and that only makes him suck harder, makes him want to leave a good mark. He wants them to see it. And he wants to see it too, wants to wake up tomorrow with visible proof that this is really happening, because it may just be a really good, really vivid dream. It wouldn't be the first time he's fallen asleep with images of something like this playing in his mind. "Got it," Liam says, and then he drops the bottle right onto Zayn's chest. Zayn snorts a laugh because – it's still Liam. It's Liam he's doing this with. Yes, it's the same Liam that he's been in love with for months, had a crush on for over a year. Yes, it's practically the only person he's been able to think about for a long time whenever he'd gotten alone and had a hand around himself. But this is also Liam. This is the same person whose chest he falls asleep on after too many drinks. The same person who calls people donuts and looks up terrible jokes to make their friends laugh. This is the same guy who makes Zayn dinner and rubs his back when he's stressed, and it feels heated and rushed and wonderful, but at the same time there's something underneath that. It's not just need, is the thing. It's not just this rushing desire to get off. Underneath that is the trust and caring that they've built over time. Underneath that is still the friendship that feels like more than anything Zayn's ever had with any other person in his whole life. He picks up the small bottle, easily uncapping it. He not-so-easily slicks up his fingers, accidentally getting lube on his chest as he does. The bottle rolls away when he's done, getting momentarily lost in the tangle of sheets and blankets. This time Liam is completely silent as Zayn presses his fingers against him. He's still, too, frozen as Zayn's fingers slip against him, waiting for a sign, a go-ahead to continue. When Liam impatiently twists his hips, Zayn does just that. He pushes a finger in, feels how tight Liam is around him. One of Liam's hands falls from the headboard, nails digging into Zayn's shoulder painfully. "Okay?" Zayn asks, in case that's a sign of discomfort and not— "Yeah," Liam says heavily, voice low and husky and warm. But he still waits until Liam's moving back against him to work another finger into him, careful with the drag of them in and out of him. When Liam starts panting, he focuses on getting that spot, on getting him louder, and he does. Liam's legs tighten on either side of him and his nails are probably near drawing blood on his shoulder. Zayn smirks up at him, even if he can't see it. "There?" "You're— smug right now, aren't— aren't you?" Liam gasps out, but he sounds amused until Zayn brushes against his prostate again, and then he sort of slumps forward, letting Zayn hold more of his weight. "Could come like this. So close already." "Fuck," Zayn mumbles. He tries not to think about that because he could too, honestly, and he should probably warn Liam about how painfully fast this is going to be over but instead he focuses on working Liam open, spreading his fingers, taking in every hitch of his breath until he gets that Liam likes it long and slow, gets louder when he drags it out than he does when Zayn's quickly fucking his fingers into him. Liam's lips brush his cheek. "Don't have any condoms," he says quietly. "Thought I did, but…" "Fuck," Zayn repeats. He doesn't either. It's not as if he's got the most thriving sex life here, and the last time he'd had a fuck he'd stolen a condom from Harry. Now what are they supposed to do? "I don't… I mean, I'm okay with it," Liam says quickly. "If you are, that is." "Yeah," Zayn says instantly. "I'm— yeah. I'm okay with that." He's definitely fucking okay with that. Liam kisses him again, so long and slow that Zayn forgets what they're doing, fingers slipping out of Liam in favor of holding him closer, his clean hand sliding into Liam's hair, gently brushing through it. It's Liam who breaks the kiss. It's also Liam who mutters, "Need to just…" and Liam who finds the bottle of lube again. His hands wrap around Zayn's prick without warning, and it's a miracle that he doesn't lose it right there as Liam slicks him up hurriedly, like he can't wait any longer. He holds his breath when Liam lifts up a bit, hovering over him, and he helps out, wrapping a hand around himself, guiding his cock until it's nudging against Liam's entrance. But it's all Liam as he sinks down slowly, hands braced on the headboard once more. There's silence in the moment that follow him bottoming out. Zayn can't breathe, think, do anything but feel Liam bearing down on him, fucking perfect and everything he'd wanted it to be— more, even. And Liam's holding his breath, too, but Zayn thinks it's for a very different reason. "So good, babe," Zayn tells him, rubbing at his back. "You feel so good. You okay? Not hurting you?" "Adjusting," Liam says tightly. Zayn's hand slips between their bodies, wrapping around Liam's cock. A few slow, long strokes and he's fully hard again, heavy in Zayn's hand as he works him over, trying to distract him from any pain. Slowly, he starts moving, lifting himself up a bit. Zayn is helpless to do anything but lie there, letting Liam do all the work in fear of going too fast and hurting him. But it isn't long before Liam's bed is squeaking with the force of Liam riding him. He's holding Liam's hips tightly, meeting him thrust for thrust and biting down hard on his tongue to keep himself quiet and to let the pain keep him from coming too quickly, because it gets harder and harder to hold on when his name falls from Liam's lips like a prayer and a curse, all at the same time. Maybe he wouldn't ever say it out loud in fear of it coming out wrong, but Liam was made to ride cock. He's fucking amazing at it, working his body easily, gracefully, ruining Zayn every step of the way. And he doesn't stop, either, even when Zayn slows down, knowing he's too close and— "Liam," he whines, "gonna—" If anything Liam speeds up, clenching around him purposefully, and Zayn can't— he can't. White flashes behind his eyelids for a moment, and everything gets overwhelming in the best way. He hears Liam bite out his name one last time as he pulses inside him, still riding the waves of his own orgasm as he feels Liam come between them. He's a sticky, exhausted mess when Liam carefully climbs off him. It feels like he was the one dancing for hours, not Liam. Like he'd worked out for too long and now he's blissfully exhausted, everything deliciously worked-out and tired and warm. "Incredible," Liam sighs, falling back against the pillows beside him. Zayn turns his head, seeking Liam's eyes in the dark. He can't find them, obviously, but he hopes they're heavily lidded and as warm as they always are. "Yeah," he says, still unsteady. "That was definitely. Yeah." "I've pictured that for – for months now," Liam confesses, "and it was even better than I'd built it up to be." Zayn makes a surprised sound. "Months?" he demands. "Maybe," Liam admits, a little sheepish. "We just – work, Zayn. We've always worked, since the day you moved in here with me. And we work like this, too." They do. He wouldn't ever try to deny that, and it makes this feeling settle over him, like comfort and love and it's just— fuck, he does. It's just – Liam. That feeling, it's Liam, and it always has been. "I'll get us something to clean up with," Liam says suddenly. "And afterwards, uh. Do you think we could sleep on the sofa, maybe?" Fuck the mess. Zayn leans over, hovering over Liam's body. "Yeah," he says, lips brushing Liam's, "we can."   o|o   Zayn wakes up in the morning in a pair of Liam's sweatpants to the sound of Liam bumping things around in the kitchen. Judging by the light coming in the mostly closed curtain covering their window, he'd say it's just before noon. Which means it's way too early for him to be getting up, but he's got this giddy, nervous feeling inside of him and he can't get back to sleep. Last night was – the night of his life, honestly, but it also may just be the end of something great. In the light of day, what happens to them? What happens to Zayn and Liam now? Sitting up, Zayn rubs at his eyes and stretches as quietly as he can as Liam continues to pull things out of the fridge. At the last second a yawn tears itself from Zayn's throat, and Liam tenses, hands squeezing the egg carton as he turns around. "You're awake," Liam says quietly, the same soft, worried look in his eyes that's reflected in Zayn's heart. "Come help me." Zayn nods. Liam's sweats slip down his hips a bit as he heads for the kitchen, sidestepping Liam, keeping a good distance between them. Is he allowed to touch? He doesn't think so, but he wants to. That mark he left on Liam's chest stands out like a brand, like proof that last night was real. He wants to press his lips to it, but Liam's busy pulling out a frying pan. "What're we making?" Zayn asks, voice as low as Liam's had been, soft in the silence of their apartment. "Omelets?" Liam suggests. Zayn nods again. Liam hands him peppers, he grabs a knife, and they go about cooking. There's no sound aside from the knife knocking against the counter, Liam cracking eggs into the frying pan, the occasional, "Oops, sorry," when their arms bump. It's awkward and horrible and Zayn wants to cry, only he hasn't cried in— a really long time, and he's not going to now. Even though he knew this would happen. It was inevitable. They crossed that line last night, he knew they were, and he did nothing to stop it and now… they have to live in the wreckage. Liam burns the eggs, Zayn knocks half the onions and peppers onto the floor, and they both just stop, Liam's eyes watering in frustration and Zayn tossing the knife carelessly into the sink with a thunk and a clank of metal on metal. "Zayn," Liam says, and it hangs between them. He's waiting for Zayn to speak up, fill the silence, answer the questions they both have. He isn't going to do that. If this – if this is breaking, Zayn refuses to put the last crack in their relationship. Only – only Liam steps closer to him, crossing the inches that separate them in two stumbling, hesitant steps. He reaches up, cupping Zayn's cheek, and Zayn holds his breath as Liam leans in, lips slowly pressing together. Zayn doesn't kiss him back (he's too scared to get his hopes up and show too much) but he doesn't push Liam away, either. Liam pulls back, hand dropping to his side. "Last night," Liam starts. "We crossed a line," Zayn supplies, balling his hands into fists. "We crossed a line." "Yeah," Liam agrees. No point in denying it. "So we can…" He trails off, taking a gulping breath. "So we can either let that ruin this, or we can— We can move forward." "Forward," Zayn repeats, uncertain. "I don't see how I could go back to being just your friend and roommate after last night," Liam all but whispers. "Not now when I've— I don't think I could." Zayn doesn't either. Not now that he knows how Liam's lips taste. "Okay." "Okay," Liam says, like they've decided something. He grins, leaning in to capture Zayn's lips again, and he realizes that they have. Zayn kisses him back this time, no longer worrying. He tangles his hands in Liam's hair, and a groan falls from his lips as Liam licks into his mouth without a care for the fact that neither of them have brushed their teeth yet. "Maybe we should go out for breakfast," Liam suggests when he pulls back, eying the mess they've made in their attempts to do it themselves. "My treat. I mean, I am making a lot of money tonight." Zayn is nodding along, but Liam's suddenly tensed and taut, eyes narrowing, gnawing his lip between his teeth. "What?" Zayn asks, wanting that look in his eyes gone right now, because Liam looks like a man who was given the world and is having it taken away from him. Liam turns away, back to Zayn. "I – I mean, I want us, Zayn," he says as Zayn puts a hand on his back, not sure what the hell is wrong. "I've wanted it for a while now. I want it to work, but… I've had it not. I know it's not – my job isn't easy for everyone to deal with. But it's. It's part of the deal, Zayn. You want me, you have to accept that too. That's the deal." Oh. That—right. Zayn completely forgot about it. It slipped his mind. And something white hot sticks at his ribs and his stomach, like annoyance and jealousy at the thought of Liam getting up on stage and other people watching him, touching him, but— "I don't care," Zayn says honestly, bluntly. "Like,I really don't." Liam turns, snorting at him. "That's what you say now, but then next week we're arguing about it, and you're storming out and calling me a—" "A nothing," Zayn says sharply. "You know I wouldn't." "I also know that most people aren't okay with what I do," Liam says lowly. "Especially when we're in a relationship." Zayn takes a deep breath, thinking it through for a moment instead of just blurting anything to make Liam happy, because this is a serious conversation. Liam's a stripper. That's just – that's just how it is. And Zayn's either got to accept that, or he doesn't and they don't try. "It's just a job," Zayn finally says. "I know you, Liam. You're not the type to cheat on someone. And I recall you saying last night that there's usually a no touching rule. As long as I'm the only one who gets to touch, I don't care who looks at you. I can deal with it. I mean, look at you. It'd be impossible for people not to, naked or not." Liam's cheeks are flushed. "Seriously, Zayn," he says. "This isn't— it's a big deal. I don't want you to say this now and regret it later." Zayn sighs, frustrated. He wraps his arms around Liam's waist. "I'd rather deal with this than not have you. That a good enough, Liam?" For a moment it looks like it's not, but then Liam's grinning again, nodding rapidly. "That's good enough for me," he says. "And you're good enough for me," Zayn adds. "No matter what you do for a living, yeah?" "Yeah." "But they're really not allowed to touch, right?" Liam laughs. "Right. I mean, there might be some groping occasionally, but…" "How much groping are we talking?" Zayn demands. Liam squeezes his ass. "Not much." Zayn groans, but then he presses his lips to the mark on Liam's chest. "Just with their hands, though," he says. "I can touch with others things." Liam lets out a breathless sound. "Yeah." "And you don't touch them back," Zayn adds. Liam's hands slide up his sides and then grip Zayn's length through his sweats. "Only you." "I can deal with that," Zayn says, and then he lets Liam prop him up on the counter as they forget all about breakfast and the real world and everything that isn't each other and each other's bodies.   o|o   "It's weird with the lights on," Zayn says, looking around the club. It's smaller than it had looked in the dark, and the low lighting hid the fact that some of the booths need to be reupholstered, and the rings from drinks on the bar, and the fact that the walls could use a new coat of paint. But something about the strip club during the day is almost… homey. It's warmer, quieter, and they're alone, for the most part. Or they are until Louis comes out onto the stage and gives Liam a long, curious look. "Giving the boyfriend a tour, then?" he smirks. "You show him the change rooms and all the costumes?" Instantly Zayn's interest is perked. "Costumes?" "Down, boy," Louis says. "This is a family establishment." Liam laughs, offering Louis a hand down off the stage that Louis takes before hopping down. He grins between Zayn and Liam for a long moment before he adds, "I'm glad this worked out." He looks at Zayn. "He's been into you forever now. It was getting sad, honestly. Pining is not a good look on you, Payne." "At least I have emotions," Liam teases, not at all embarrassed about Louis telling Zayn that Liam had obviously talked about him enough that Louis knew who he was before they'd even met. Louis sighs dramatically. "I know. I'm such a cliché. Stripper with a heart of stone and a dream in my pocket. Where's my lifetime movie? Where's my Cam Gigandet?" "What are you even doing here?" Liam asks him, amused. "Helping Alex with unmentionable things," Louis says darkly. "You punched a guy who got too handsy again and she made you clean the bathrooms, didn't she?" "Possibly." Louis pushes a few strands of hair off his forehead. "What are you doing here?" Zayn feels heat in his cheeks, but he knows that he isn't an obvious blusher, thank god. "Just came to show Zayn some things," Liam says easily, which is true, technically. But the real reason they're here is Liam wanted to give him 'lessons'. He's not exactly sure where the idea came from, but Zayn hadn't exactly fought him on it. Not if it means getting on stage and Liam's hands all over his body as he tries to show Zayn how to do what he does. Plus, Zayn wants to impress him. Liam is so— he's fucking hot, honestly. Everything about Liam is just— and Zayn wants that. Wants Liam to think the same way of him, and he wants to see Liam's eyes widen as he moves his hips and pulls off his clothes. He wants that a lot. "Don't fuck in my change room," Louis warns. "Only I'm allowed to do that." Zayn makes a spluttering sound that Liam mimics, and Louis laughs as he walks away, heading for the door that he and Liam came in through after Liam introduced him to Alex, the woman who owns the club. She'd been nice enough, if not a little intimidating, and she seemed to really care about Liam. And she'd waved Liam off inside to use the club as long as he promised to be out of here before the girls working tonight show up. "Now what?" Zayn asks. His voice echoes in the room, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. "You wait here," Liam says. "I'll put music on." Zayn nods, and Liam hops up on stage before ducking inside a door that's just off the left of it, invisible to the untrained eye. When he's gone, Zayn looks around again. There's the main stage, the one Liam had been on that night Zayn came in. There are two other stages on either side of it, and each one of them houses a long, thick pole about the width of his wrist that goes from the stage floor all the way to the ceiling. He's just wondering if Liam can use those, too, when the music comes on. It's not at full volume, clearly. It's lower, more in the background than anything, just loud enough to be clear and familiar. "I'm that flight that you get on, international," plays as Liam comes back out from behind the stage. "First class seat on my lap, girl, riding comfortable." Liam jumps off the stage, offering his hand to Zayn, and Zayn nods at one of the poles. "You know how to use those?" he asks. "Or do you just dance?" Liam's grin turns into a smirk, and he raises his eyebrows challengingly. "Wanna find out?" He tugs at Zayn's hand, pulling him towards the left stage. He climbs onto it easily, even though it's a few feet off the ground, and doesn't offer Zayn a hand up. Zayn stays where he is on the floor as the song plays on and Liam shrugs out of his sweater without any finesse or theatrics. He balls it up and tosses it towards the nearest table, where it nearly slips off the top before coming to a stop. "All I really need to understand is when you talk dirty to me," and Liam moves a bit, hesitantly, to the beat, like he's working up to it. He closes his eyes for a moment and Zayn watches on, biting the inside of his cheek because, fuck, that's his. Like, Liam doesn't belong to him, obviously, but— Zayn could climb that stage right now and then climb him like a fucking tree, and no one else who's been in Zayn's position right now could say the same thing. Liam grabs the pole, wrapping a hand around it, and he does this easy, effortless twist around it and then, in one seamless movement, he wraps his other hand around the pole and then lifts up his entire body with just his arms. It's impossible and amazing and fucking hot, really. Liam moves his body so he's straddling the pole upside down, and then he slips lower slowly, lower and lower until Zayn's starting to worry that he's going to fall right on his fucking face, when he takes his hands off the pole. Instead of falling, he holds himself up with his legs, planting his hands on the floor a second later, and then he's crawling towards Zayn like an animal, like a predator, and Zayn can't breathe. When Liam hops off the stage, his grin is a little smug and he says, "What do you think? Can I work the pole, too?" Zayn shoves at him, trying to pretend that that wasn't the hottest thing he's ever fucking seen. "I thought we came here so you could teach me," he reminds. "Or did you just come to show off?" Liam kisses his cheek, lips lingering. "That wasn't showing off," he says. "Not even close." Zayn shudders. "Come on," he says. "Let's just get this over with." "Are you embarrassed?" Liam teases, poking his side. "No," Zayn snaps. "I'm just— I'm a shit dancer, Li, you know that. And you're sort of a professional." "You're not a shit dancer," Liam says instantly. "You're good, you're just too self-conscious about it. By the time I'm done, you'll be a natural. Trust me. I've trained newbies before. This'll be like that, just a bit more hands on." Zayn pauses. "How hands on?" "Get on stage and find out." Fuck if Zayn doesn't rise to that challenge. Sort of literally, if the tightness of his jeans is any indication. The song changes as they get onto the main stage and Zayn doesn't recognize the beat or the, "Does he know you can move it like that? Does he know you're out and I want you so bad?" that accompanies it. It doesn't really matter, though, because Liam's turning him around until they're pressed together with Zayn's back against his chest and Liam's hands on his hips. "Now," Liam says, and he starts moving Zayn's hips for him. "For this song I go a little faster than usual. Sorry about that. I didn't mean for this song to come on next. It should be Sexy Back. Louis must have changed my CD. But anyways, first thing, you have to know how to move your body and when it looks the best. Like, my arms. I tend to do anything to make them flex because they're my strong point. But you've got these hips, Zayn, and I— let's just focus on them first." Liam's lips are close to his ear as he talks, and all Zayn wants is to lean against him instead of trying to learn some stupid dance. But this is what Liam wants, this is fun for him, so Zayn lets him have it. "Okay," he says, trying not to react to the compliment or the way Liam's voice hitched as he gave it. "And?" Liam starts swaying them a little fast until they're really grinding on each other more than anything. "You've got nice shoulders, too," Liam muses. "This is where you'd take your shirt off." "Right." Before Zayn can try to do that, Liam's hands are moving up his stomach, moving Zayn's shirt off him until he tugs it right off and throws it in the direction of the table with his sweater. "Fuck," Zayn mumbles, because Liam's fingers are skating over his nipples and they're still moving together. "Everyone likes a good hip thrust," Liam says next, moving his hips forward until Zayn has no choice but to either do the same or grind back against him. He chooses the first one, but only because he knows that's what he's supposed to do even if it's not what he wants to do. "And you should touch yourself," he adds. "Like you're loving it and you can't help it." Zayn cautiously lifts a hand over his chest and slowly moves it lower just as Liam pulls away from him, moving to stand in front of him. "Like this?" he asks, doing it again until his fingers bump against the waistband of his jeans. Liam nods slowly. "Yeah," he says thickly. "That's – good, don't stop dancing. Women are wolves, Zayn. You show a hint of fear and they'll tear you apart. You have to keep going through anything, and if you stop moving, you're screwed." Even though he has no plans to ever actually do this in front of anyone but Liam, Zayn nods, trying to mimic the way Liam had been swaying them. Boldly, after making sure that they're definitely alone, he thumbs at the button on his jeans. "When do these come off?" he asks. "Whenever you want," Liam says after a moment, lifting his eyes from Zayn's body to meet his gaze. "But don't take them off all at once. Undo them, and then he keep dancing. Slowly push them down and then step out of them while you're still moving. You want it to look easy, like it's just any other dance move." Taking Liam's advice, Zayn thumbs open his jeans and steps closer to Liam as he moves, He places his hand on Liam's chest and leans in for a kiss that Liam dodges, laughing as he moves away. Zayn doesn't let out the frustrated sound that bubbles up inside of him. Instead he plays along, wiggling a bit as he pushes his jeans down until they're precariously hanging by the tops of his thighs, revealing his tight boxers. He turns around to face Liam again and, not as gracefully as he'd like, as Liam probably intended for him to, he kicks off his jeans and keeps moving towards Liam. Liam doesn't run this time; instead he meets Zayn halfway, dancing again himself. He grabs Zayn's hips and moves lower, lower, until his lips are grazing Zayn's stomach and he's kneeling on the stage. Habitually, Zayn tangles his hands in Liam's hair, still moving his hips as Liam slowly moves back up. For a moment they just breathe in each other's air while Zayn digs his nails into Liam's hips, and then someone starts clapping and they both jump. "Well done," Alex calls, red painted lips curving up in a wide, perfectly white smile. "You two would make a great duo. I'm sure the ladies would love it. This one did." Zayn wraps a self-conscious arm around his stomach, but it's Liam who lets out a low, rough, almost growling sound. "No," he says, and Alex's eyebrows raise. "I mean. Zayn isn't looking for a job." "Too bad," Alex said. "There'd be one if you wanted it, Zayn. But I just came to grab a bottle of vodka. You two carry on. I'll be out of your hair in a moment." It's then that Zayn realizes that she was the woman behind the bar that night he came here. But that realization isn't important because Liam's gathering up their clothes, tossing Zayn's to him a little roughly. "It's fine," he calls to Alex. "We're heading out now, anyways. Could you get the music for me?" "Sure, sure," she says, waving him off. Confused, Zayn pulls on his clothes, feeling a little exposed in front of Alex. He likes her, sure, but not that much. As soon as he's fully dressed again, Liam grabs his hand, waves goodbye to Alex, and drags him outside while pulling out his phone. Zayn frowns as Liam calls in for a cab to take them home, and when Liam hangs up he asks, "What's the rush? Was I that bad?" Liam shakes his head tightly, lips pursed. "Not at all," he says distractedly. "But I need to get you home right now." Zayn makes a face at him. "Why?" Liam sighs, turning to wrap his arms around Zayn's waist. "Because I'm not fucking you at my workplace," he says, "but I'm so hard right now that I can't wait." It's amazing, incredible, really, the way Liam can melt his brain with just a few words. It's also a little irritating, because it shouldn't be that damn easy. "Really," he says, strangled. "We'll continue this at home," Liam says. "When I can touch you however I want without someone walking in. Don't know why I thought it'd be a good idea to do that here." Normally this is where Zayn would tease him and say that Liam rarely has good ideas (even though it's not true) but he's too aroused to do anything but squeeze Liam's hand and impatiently tap his feet on the ground as he waits for the cab to show up. When it does, the driver gives the club one look but doesn't say anything to them as they get inside. They're both quiet the whole ride, and Zayn seriously can't remember the ride here being this fucking long. He needs to be home now.   o|o   There's fumbling and groping as they try to get in the door of the apartment, like neither of them can wait. Liam all but pushes Zayn inside, and Zayn doesn't fight him on it at all because Liam like this is incredibly fucking hot, actually. Not that he doesn't like it when he's the one pushing Liam down, guiding him, showing him what he wants, because he definitely does. He just likes this too. All of it. Slow, fast, soft, rough. He'll take Liam anyway he can get him. "Next part of your lesson," Liam says, kicking the door closed and walking Zayn backwards with Zayn helpless to do anything but trust that Liam won't walk him into anything painful. His legs hit the couch, and Liam turns them at the last second so it's Zayn falling on top of him, not the other way around. "Hold the back of the sofa." Zayn does as he's told, straddling Liam's waist, holding the couch for balance. Just as Liam had to him, Zayn experimentally grinds down against him until Liam groans and tilts his head back. "And then?" "Off," Liam mumbles, pushing at Zayn's shirt. He complies easily, slipping it off slowly, taking his time, and when he's done Liam is watching him with heavily lidded eyes. "You're way too fast of a learner." Zayn laughs. "What's next, babe?" He moves against Liam again, bracing all his weight on his hands. Liam nips at the inside of his bicep, right on top of a tattoo, and now Zayn's groaning. "Unzip my jeans," he orders. Zayn does as he's told, fingers shaking just a little as he leans back, fumbling with the button on Liam's, quite frankly, tight jeans. When he finally gets the zipper down, Liam puts a hand on the small of his back and lifts them both up easily, dropping Zayn onto his back. "Don't move," Liam tells him, and Zayn nods as Liam heads for the bedroom. He moves. Instead of listening, he unbuttons his own jeans and shimmies out of them, still lying flat on his back. He takes everything else off, too, just tugging off his last sock when Liam comes back and makes a soft, helpless sound. It's just Liam, he reminds himself. Who cares if he's completely naked. "Come on," he urges. "It's not exactly warm in here." Liam chuckles, wasting no time in making his way over. He shucks the last of his clothes, too, and then climbs on top of Zayn, settling between his spread legs. "Are we really going to fuck on the sofa?" he asks, like the idea is ridiculous. Zayn shrugs. "Was bound to happen eventually," he points out. Liam nods, like he knows it was, and then he pushes Zayn's legs a bit farther apart. They're both too impatient to stretch it out and take their times. Liam quickly slicks up his fingers and the next moment he's pushing one into Zayn carefully, looking up at him with wide eyes as if to ask if he's okay. Zayn moans his assurance and Liam keeps going, working it in and out of him until Zayn's needy for another one, pushing down against him. "Love you on top of me," Zayn mumbles, a bit incoherent with his head pressed against the cushion and his eyes squeezed closed. It's like an assault, the way Liam presses against that spot inside him like he knows exactly what to do to drive Zayn crazy. "Fucking—love it." "Love you underneath me," Liam tells him, lips brushing Zayn's cock. "You look amazing." "Love you," Zayn gasps, eyes flickering open at Liam swallowing him down. He looks, and Liam's giving him a surprised look somehow, even though his lips are sort of wrapped around Zayn's cock. "I didn't—I mean, I just sort of— slipped out. Sorry, I—" Liam shakes his head, lowering his mouth, quirking his fingers inside of Zayn, and it feels a lot like an I love you too to Zayn. "Just—" Zayn waves a hand. "You better get in me now unless you want me to come first." Liam nods hastily, pulling off him, seemingly unaware of the obscene string of saliva connecting his lips to the head of Zayn's wet prick. He slicks himself up, and neither of them even bothers for the box of condoms back in the bedroom that they'd gotten a few days ago. Zayn could care less, and Liam obviously couldn't, either. Not enough to break this up to grab one. It hurts as Liam pushes into him. It's been forever since he's done this with anyone, and the discomfort weighs out over everything until Liam bites at his earlobe and whispers, "Tell me when you're okay and I'll make it good for you." "Do it," Zayn presses. "Fuck. Now, Liam." Liam laughs hotly against his neck, but he does as he's told. He wraps a hand around one of Zayn's ankles, pushing it up and up and, damn, Zayn didn't even know he was that flexible. But the move makes Liam slide deeper, and he feels so fucking full, stretched, and it's— "Fuck," Zayn groans. "Fuck, Liam." "Yeah," Liam agrees. He starts moving, slow at first, careful, but Zayn rakes his nails down Liam's back and Liam moves, twisting his hips until Zayn cries out, throwing an arm over his face. He bites down hard on his own arm, trying to distract himself from how much, how good it feels, but Liam pulls his arm away. "Don't hide," he says. "So-sorry," Zayn mumbles. "I— fuck, oh. Can you— yeah, yeah." "There?" Liam asks, and when Zayn looks up there's an unsurprisingly smug look on Liam's face. "Now who's— the smug one?" Zayn grunts. Liam just grins down at him, but then Zayn bears down on him and that look slips away, followed by a moan that he doesn't try to hide or stifle the way Zayn would have. But Liam never has and this is no exception. He's just – open about everything, about how he feels and Zayn loves it. Loves that he can tell how good this is for Liam just by looking at him, the way his lips part and his brow scrunches. Eventually he reaches a hand between them, wrapping it around himself because he can't help it, he has to come. He has to come fucking now, because the tension in his body has him taught and clenched, and he needs— he's so close. Liam is, too. Zayn can tell. Liam's eyes are always wide open before he does, holding Zayn's, and there's a hitch in his breath just before Zayn comes and Liam falls on top of him, trapping Zayn's hand between his body as he falls over the edge and tumbles down, down, down with nothing but Liam to cling to. There's nothing but heavy breathing afterwards and the sticky mess between them. Liam eventually pushes himself up, hovering over Zayn, and Zayn winces as Liam pulls out of him. He wants Liam back, wants this to continue and never end, but he's exhausted already and all he wants is to get cleaned up and fall asleep. After, when Liam's wiped them both down and they're curled on the sofa again, a blanket thrown precariously over them both, Liam kisses at the top of his head and asks, not looking at him, "Did you mean, or was it just a heat of the moment thing?" Zayn doesn't have to ask what he means. He does, however, have to look up at Liam. He's a coward when it comes to his own emotions a lot of the time, Zayn, but not with Liam. "What if it wasn't a heat of the moment thing?" he wonders. Liam bites his lip. "Then I'd – I do, too. If it wasn't, that is. I do." "Yeah," Zayn says. He lays his head on Liam's chest again, and Liam brushes his hands down Zayn's arms. "I do, then." And for the millionth time, they fall asleep there on their lumpy sofa with a scratchy comforter thrown over them and the light of the streetlamp just outside their window shining over them.  

This was so stupid! This was the stupidest thing they'd ever done but here John was, done up in all the gear and feeling way too old. “Why are we doing this?” he asked again. All his previous queries had gone unanswered. He stayed crouched low, careful to remain as small a target as possible. His knees hurt and he wondered if his hip would give out first or his shoulder. “Quiet John, you'll give us away.” Being shushed by Sherlock Holmes, of all people, didn't sit well with John who was feeling crankier by the second. He was tired, uncomfortable, the vest he was wearing chafed a bit at his neck and he was hungry. The brick wall at his back was cool and a little damp. John felt soggy and in need of a hot bath. Sherlock perched on his left watching something intently. John was feeling ornery. Normally he didn't mind being pulled away on one weird case after another but he hadn't slept well last night, he had to cover another doctor's shift at the clinic today, he'd missed lunch, and now he'd missed dinner. They had been running about for hours now. John Watson could deal with fatigue but he did not endure gracefully on an empty stomach. “I don't care if I give us away. You said we'd have dinner.” “After. After we can have dinner. Seriously, John, you have to learn to discipline your transport. We are about to be swarmed by several opponents. Was this what you were like when you were at war? Focus!” John had it. Without another word John stood up and stalked forward, ignoring Sherlock's hissed warning. A large group of people raced around the corner and stared at John standing in the middle of an otherwise empty alley. They looked alien and weird, pasty and just not right. Their clothes were torn and there were disturbing splashes of red dripping from their hands and other body parts. Moving raggedly as a group they stepped toward John, some even sniffing the air. They didn't notice his gun. In a flash, John aimed and calmly picked off the entire group one at a time by placing a single shot between each pair of eyes. The screams were piercing and filled with helpless rage. The cries of the group were nearly drowned out by a dismayed baritone shout, “John!” “I'm going home,” John gripped the paint-gun in his hand and stomped away. At the end of the alley, he counted seven people lying on the pavement groaning quietly. Every one of them had a green blob of paint square between their safety-goggled eyes, “Sorry.” John kept stomping. He was angry now. He heard the patent leather footsteps of his flatmate race up behind him. “John Watson, that was entirely uncalled for! I was doing legitimate research on group survival and you ruined the entire experiment just as it was getting interesting.” “You've been saying it's been getting interesting for four hours Sherlock. I'm hungry. I need to eat. I'm not playing this stupid game anymore!” Why did he always do whatever Sherlock told him to do? Wouldn't it just be easier if he learned how to say no once in a while and skip the whole being embarrassed part? John plucked at his clothes which had been irritating him but weren't the largest part of the problem. Sherlock, of course, had presented the game as part of a theory he was working on. He needed John to join him in a group activity where the primary goal was survival within set parameters. “I thought you'd enjoy this John. You watched that movie dozens of times.” “Yes, I loved the movie. Yes, our first names rhyme. No, I did not want to become the gunman for a zombie apocalypse survival group!” John was almost shouting. He needed a drink and some food. A lot of food. How did Sherlock survive for days at a time without eating? Had he trained his transport to take in nutrients through the air or something? It wouldn't surprise John if he had. It had been far too long since toast and tea for breakfast. He'd only eaten part of his dinner last night too because Sherlock had sent him back to St Bart's to pick up a human brain. Now John worried about why Sherlock needed a human brain the night before they joined a zombie survival training unit. “John, you ruined the entire point of the experiment! How am I to know how we'd fare during an actual panic situation?” Sherlock was whining now and it grated on John’s nerves. The group was meeting again in a week so it wasn't like Sherlock couldn't run this experiment again. Next time though, John was bringing some snacks or at least making sure he ate first. “Sherlock, take your notes now. If there was a true zombie outbreak and we were for some reason forced to roam the streets of London living off of crisps and canned soda then you have formally witnessed what would happen if you roamed with me!” John had started quietly but his voice got louder and firmer as he went along. “I am a soldier Sherlock. I used to kill people for a living. I became a doctor after, not before. I wouldn't hide in an alley waiting for a group of virulent killers to stumble my way. I'd kill every threat within a defensible distance, dig in, lock down my perimeters, and make a kill run.” Sherlock stopped walking. John ignored his flatmate and made his way out of the ruined complex that served as the training ground for the game. It was all paintball guns and play-acting. If you signed up to be a zombie and were killed by a headshot you had to drop wherever you were and stay there until the end of the gaming session. If you were a survivor you were given the gun but the zombies had paint-covered fingers. If you were marked on any bared skin there was a thirty-minute count-down before you officially changed sides and joined the other team against your former team-mates. You became a zombie. John undid his vest and dropped it on the sidewalk as he continued to walk away. He wasn't wearing that anymore. “John!” protested Sherlock again. John kept walking. It was a fair distance to the nearest roadway that would provide any kind of chance for a taxi. That's if a taxi would stop for them. John was dressed in faux camouflage, cheap and itchy. It was a costume and not the fatigues he'd worn comfortably for years. He looked idiotic. Sherlock, the vain git, was dressed in all black tactical gear so he looked mysterious and deadly. John looked like a member of a disco dance group. “John you can't just throw the costume away and call it quits. You promised to go through with this.” “When did I promise that?” demanded John. Sherlock waved his magic taxi-hailing arm and a car pulled up right next to them. The taller man was clutching John's discarded vest. John rolled his eyes but climbed in, too tired to fight for more than one thing at a time. He gave the cab driver the address to Angelo's, knowing full well that there was nothing edible left in the flat since John hadn't done the shopping yet. Then he looked down. No. Not happening. He changed their destination to Baker Street. John wasn't going to go to dinner wearing a cheap knock-off soldier's uniform. “This afternoon, I gave you ten minutes to say no and then I made the arrangements. I texted and called.” John pulled out his phone and checked his messages. Sherlock had called him dozens of times during the morning alone and in desperation, John had shut his phone off. Pointlessly he turned it back on now that they were almost home and already side-by-side. Sure enough, a text and voicemail existed untouched where Sherlock had laid out the promise and the time limit, both of which John had failed to reply to. “Sherlock, I was working. You picked me up at the door and forced me to change clothes without a word. What did you do with my regular clothes anyway? We were in that alley for hours! Why didn't you just tell me what you were doing? Why do you always make me guess instead of just asking me properly? Is it so hard?” John was hangry. He needed to eat and now he was mad. Not at Sherlock, really, just mad. The fake outfit wasn't any worse than the fireman outfit or that horrible car salesman getup, or that time they pretended to be mascots during the grand opening of an electronics store. The alley hadn't been the worst either. The sewer stakeout. That had been the worst. They hadn't even been wounded that time, it had just been relentlessly awful. Right at that moment John just wanted a hot cup of tea and a good meal. “You like the way I drag you around doing things. Your life would be boring without me. I threw your clothes away, obviously. I wasn't going to carry them around all evening,” said Sherlock flippantly. John breathed deeply, counting to ten forward then backward. He shut his eyes and tried to find his happy place but all he could see in his mind's eye was delicious meals he could be eating but wasn't. That jumper had been one of his favourites too, the blue and yellow check number. “I do tell you things, John. I ask your opinion on everything all the time. It's not my fault you insist on leaving me behind and wasting time doing pedestrian things like working or dating.” “Pedestrian?” John was outraged now. They'd arrived at Baker Street and John hurriedly scrambled out, forcing Sherlock to pay the fare for once. John was all-the-way angry now. His stomach growled and he was seeing red. How dare Sherlock look down on John's work! John's job may not be as glamorous sounding as Sherlock's but it brought in a decent wage and John enjoyed helping people. He was good at it! John stormed up the stairs to 221 B, childishly locking the door behind him so Sherlock had to use his own key to get in. John began shouting at him the second the door clicked open. “I work hard to be a good doctor and I am! I'm sorry for my pedestrian need to earn money to pay for food I never get to eat or to cover the rent on the place where I never rest is interfering with your interest of the day! Maybe your next flatmate will be able to live on vapours and moonbeams like you can and you'll both live happily ever after!” John almost ran upstairs. He was wild with rage. The doctor was so mad. His stomach was empty and he felt sick. Stripping off the cheap costume he stuffed it in the bin, not caring if it was just a rental that Sherlock would now need to replace. John pulled on his oldest jeans and his thickest jumper. Stuffing his feet into a pair of green trainers he checked his wallet, pulled on his coat and left. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa still wearing his tactical gear. “Where are you going?” he actually had the gall to sound testy. John shot him a furious glare. “I'm leaving. I'm tired of jumping every time you call. I'm tired of never having a chance to eat a hot meal or getting a full night's sleep. I'm tired of being under your thumb for every impulse that goes through your head, and I'm tired of being experimented on. Sometimes I want to just take a break and you never let me. You've taken over every part of my life, and you don't care if you use me well or ill. You've deliberately ruined every relationship I've ever had and I've had to join six separate clinics to find enough locum work to pay for everything except for half the rent! I'm sick of it. You're not my friend. You are a parasite.” John left a shocked looking Sherlock sitting on the sofa. John could have slammed the door but he didn't want to upset Mrs Hudson who probably had already had her herbal soother for the evening. John went to the pub. It was a good sturdy pub, the kind of pub that had withstood the test of time. The seats were comfortable and the service was prompt but not pushy. It was a plain and straightforward place that suited John's needs, especially tonight. It specialized in two things, beer and bar food. John ordered a pint and a platter of appetizers. He felt better the second he had a long sip and crunched his way through his platter. John watched the game on one of the TVs blankly, not really taking anything in, just idly passing time as he had dinner. Once his appetizers had been vanquished John ordered a burger with chips. The owner was testing out flavour combinations and tonight's offering with spicy peppers on it was actually quite good. John ordered another beer. He was feeling much better. He was still tired but everything seemed less stressful now. John drank his beer, finished his burger and chips then ordered pie. He was finally feeling nicely full after what felt like days of gnawing hunger. John sat back and debated about a final drink. He wasn't in a rush to get back to the flat and the fallout from his outburst. John wasn't exactly unhappy that he'd finally lost his temper. Living with Sherlock was a challenge and despite how much John loved the life they had together there were limits. A body could only take so much. John felt like he had been run ragged. They had no time to breathe anymore. They'd worked case after case for months now. Tonight was supposed to be a night off but Sherlock hadn't needed to rest. He never did. The excitable detective ran full-speed day after day, refreshed with only catnaps and tea. Still. John did regret calling Sherlock a parasite. He wasn't. Sherlock was selfish, self-centered, vain, greedy, intense, thoughtless and callous. He was also dedicated, intelligent, canny, adaptive, creative and for a spare handful of people, entirely devoted. What Sherlock was, thought John who had narrowed it down, Sherlock was neglectful. Not about important things like clues or evidence or music, oh no, about mundane things. Sherlock could barely be troubled to look after his own body which he very much needed. It was difficult to interest him in things as farfetched as groceries or bills. Sherlock could probably live very easily on the streets if they lost their home. John laughed darkly to himself imagining Sherlock surviving by stealing short naps in parks and eating for free at restaurants like Angelo's because there was always someone who owed Sherlock a favour. John sighed. His stomach was full and now he felt bad about shouting at Sherlock. Really, John's life was wonderful, more than someone like him could have hoped for. They had real adventures all the time. John got to travel all over England with Sherlock. Sometimes they did jobs for the British government and Sherlock would tease John about being a real spy like in the movies. Half the jobs they took were done as favours for the clients, many of whom knew Sherlock personally from somewhere in his past which he never talked about. That's the kind of man Sherlock was. He helped people because he could do what others couldn't, and for those who had nothing he never billed. Now John felt like a jerk. Sherlock was the best friend a man could ask for. Their in-between times were always wonderful. John thought of those rare evenings where they had nothing to do but watch crap telly together or play childish games just to laugh together. Sherlock was an interfering arse with John's long string of ex-girlfriends but on the other hand, he had revealed a lot of hidden truths about the women he'd run off. John had always been grateful after the fact if not at the moment. He hadn’t even dated since Sherlock had faked his death. It had felt wrong without his wing-man guarding his back. Making up his mind John went to the bar to pay his bill and purchase a bottle of fine wine. John walked home briskly, not wasting time with reluctance that would get him nowhere. He marched himself into his building and up to his flat. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa. John wasn't sure if the man had moved at all even though John had been gone for over two hours. Clearly, he must have because Sherlock was now wearing the thin ragged tee-shirt he liked to sleep in and cotton pyjama bottoms. Tonight he was wearing his grey-blue robe over it all. The flat was cold but Sherlock's feet were bare as usual, “Sherlock?” Sherlock swayed just a tiny bit at the sound of John's voice. “John. You've come to fetch your things then?” Sherlock sounded wooden and hollow. John looked closely. Sherlock looked awful. He was pale and drawn and John was almost sure that Sherlock had been crying. It couldn’t be. Sherlock never cried but still. His eyes were faintly red and there were smudges on his high cheekbones. “No, Sherlock, look.” John went and sat beside Sherlock on the sofa, setting the wine on the coffee table. “Look, I'm sorry for shouting earlier, I know I said some pretty rotten things, and I'm sorry for all of it. I was just so hungry. I know it's not a good excuse but after I had dinner I settled right down and I've spent all this time feeling like a right arse for losing my temper. I don't want to leave, Sherlock.” John was very startled when Sherlock lunged over and threw his arms around John. “John. I don't want you to go either. It's been awful. You were gone for 137 minutes and I hated every one of them because you weren't here. I am your friend John, I am. I'm sorry if I haven't been a very good one.” “You are a good friend, my best friend. I apologize for all the hurtful things I said. You are a good man, Sherlock Holmes, the best.” Sherlock smiled softly at John. “I brought you a bottle of apology wine.” “Apology wine?” Carefully Sherlock took out the bottle and read the label. “Well, I suppose,” he pretended to sigh. John chuckled with Sherlock before getting up to get glasses from the cupboard. He was surprised to find Sherlock right behind him. Without saying a word Sherlock reached up and easily plucked the wine glasses from the top shelf and set them in front of John. With a wink, Sherlock went back to the sofa while John opened and poured. John smiled. Sherlock was always a surprise, always a challenge. He kept John on his toes and John appreciated that. Life was never boring when you lived with a mad scientist. Going back to the sofa John handed Sherlock his glass and sat beside the detective. Sherlock still looked sad but was still smiling softly. John regretted hurting Sherlock's feelings during his outburst. Sherlock came off as insensitive and cruel but he really wasn't. He was impulsive and unfiltered but generally, he meant well. Sherlock raised his glass. “I'm glad you're not moving out, John.” “I'm glad too, Sherlock. I didn't mean the things I said. I'm sorry.” John did feel bad. Guilt was rising up as he considered how lonely Sherlock must have felt as soon as he'd stormed out. Sherlock didn't have other friends to call on or places to go to for comfort. The tall young man would cut off a limb before calling his older brother for support. 221B and John were Sherlock's whole world. “You did mean them and you weren't wrong,” said Sherlock clearly. John started. His heart dropped when he heard the flat tone of Sherlock's voice. “You were devastatingly correct and I have indeed been a poor friend to you. I am the one who is sorry John. You have been a good sport about my idiosyncrasies and I give you no credit for it. You do support our lives with your work and I am unappreciative because it takes you away from my work. I confess to not even paying my half of the rent. It's automatically paid from my trust fund account. I have little to do with it because I never think about money. As for your relationships, I have no socially acceptable excuse. I think you have terrible taste in women. Your girlfriends are dull and uninteresting. I've routed them because it's horrified me to consider being expected to spend time with anyone you might get serious about because you are my best friend and at some point in your life settling down with a wife is probably going to happen. I'd still wish to be your friend though.” John didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he leaned over, topped their glasses up and sat back again. Sherlock seemed to be done talking, allowing John time to mull over what he'd just heard. Sherlock wasn't wrong about some things. John's girlfriends were dull. He never had time to really find someone special. Most of the women he dated were people he'd met at bars or through work. They were opportunities, chances he took to get a leg over every once in a while. Sometimes it was more than just sex but not often. Sherlock's interferences usually occurred right at the moment John's subconscious mind was telling him to get out, get out now! John wondered about marriage too. When he was in school he'd thought about having a family but it hadn't seemed urgent. When he'd moved on to the army John had put thoughts of family aside to focus on what he was doing. When he was invalided out John dusted off the idea of marriage for a minute before realizing he had no interest in binding a broken person to someone, that children were wonderful, provided they belonged to someone else, and that no wife anywhere would let him keep living at 221B to go have risky fun with his bestie. Finally, John slouched back. Rolling his head to the side John looked at the pale man by his side. Sherlock's curls were as wild as ever, his attempt to tame them clearly overcome by his constant clutching at them. Sherlock looked tired but not drained the way he had appeared earlier. John shrugged, “I'm happy here. I'm tired right now and I was very hungry. I wouldn't change our lives for anything Sherlock. We have the best life I could hope for. I want to talk about this I do but right now I'm exhausted. I need a shower. I need to sleep.” Sherlock nodded. Taking John's now empty glass and setting it on the coffee table Sherlock stood and held his hand out to John to help heave him out of the sofa. They stood there facing each other. John was sharply struck suddenly over how much taller Sherlock was than him and wondered what cologne the detective wore because John wanted to smell just like that. Shaking his head a bit John looked up and saw that Sherlock was giving him a fond smile. Unexpectedly long arms wrapped around John and squeezed him briefly. “Thank you for not leaving me, John.” With that Sherlock was gone and John was standing alone. He picked up the bottle and glasses, rinsed everything out and left them by the sink to deal with some other time. Tonight had been strange and John just couldn't focus on all the ups and downs he'd just experienced. Shutting off all the lights he used the bathroom before retiring for the night. Exhausted he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.  

John and Greg were on their way back from the latest wild goose chase that Sherlock had sent them on, ending up with nothing, as they'd feared. Sometimes John thought that Sherlock sent them on these little missions just to get he and Lestrade out of the way for a while so he could do something that Lestrade would not approve of.  It was late, and they were on a very long stretch of road somewhere in the country, the only sources of light being the moon and their high-beam headlights. And that’s when it started; a roll of thunder in the distance, a muffled rumbling that sent shivers down John’s spine. John tried to quell the negative thoughts that began to rumble like his own personal thunderstorm in his head, but another boom of thunder, louder that time, went off and John knew that he was not going to escape the panic that was swelling in his chest. He hadn’t always had this problem; it was only after the army, after grainy memories of bombs going off in the distance had etched themselves into his head did he have this reaction. He looked over at Greg driving and knew that he couldn’t tell him. What good would that do? He and Greg had only just started dating and John was not ready for the man to see the ugliest parts of him just yet. He’d have to stop this panic before it started, then, had to suck it up and get over it like his father had always told him to do. Maybe if he could do that for once, just deal with it, and- Wait, why was Greg pulling over?  “Greg, what are you doing?” John asked. His voice was shakier than he would’ve liked but he was not about to just sit while the thunder got louder. What the hell was Greg thinking? “Just breathe, John,” Greg said quietly, stopping the car on the side of the road. “What?” John snapped. More thunder rolled outside his window. “Just breathe, it’ll be all right,” the man repeated, looking at him with those warm, caring eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” John crossed his arms and looked straight ahead, attempting to ignore the fact that his legs had started shaking. “John, I know the start of a panic attack when I see it. My ex-wife used to have them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” “I’m not ashamed, I just…” He sighed, realizing now that the whole time he’d been thinking up ways to hide his panicking, he'd been breathing much too fast and definitely loud enough for Greg to hear. “C’mon, let’s move to the back,” Greg suggested, turning on the light in the car and taking off his seat belt. “What? Why?” “There’s more room, so you won’t feel as cramped. I know feeling trapped can be part of the problem, right?” “I…okay,” John agreed. He supposed he wasn’t getting out of this one. They maneuvered themselves into the backseat and John’s shaking only got worse. He knew that even if the thunder stopped completely, the panic attack was already in full swing and there wasn’t really any stopping it now. “I’ve got a blanket back here, and I know you’re not in shock but it’s usually comforting anyway, and—“ “Greg,” John interrupted, the nervousness in his chest getting exponentially worse. How could he have ever thought that he could hide this? “I know, John, I know. Deep breaths, okay?” Greg had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and had a hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles up and down. “I can’t,” John argued. He could no longer take a full breath without his insides feeling like they were quivering. “Try for me,” Greg cooed, keeping his voice low and soft. “I can’t, Greg. I can’t breathe.” “I know it feels that way, but you can, I promise you. Just focus on my voice, all right?” “A-all right.” John tried to take a deep breath, not fully succeeding, but feeling better that he at least tried. “Panic attacks usually last five to twenty minutes, and it’s gonna get worse before it gets better, but it will get better, okay? Just keep focusing on my voice and your breathing.” “I just- I feel, god, I can’t- Greg, I can’t—“ John stuttered. God, he couldn’t even form full sentences anymore, how on earth was he ever going to come out of this? His hands were shaking now, knees wobbling; he felt so pathetic. “I know,” Greg repeated, “You feel restless, out of control, yeah?” John nodded, not even attempting to speak anymore. “Like you’ll never ever calm down?” He nodded again. “Sounds a bit silly though, eh?” Greg said with a smile. Was he trying to make him laugh? Maybe it was silly. Of course he would calm down eventually, he always did, right? “Did I ever tell you about the time when I was five and a golden retriever stole my sandwich?” Greg asked, throwing John completely off guard. He tried to take another deep breath and focus on what Greg was saying. “We were at a friend’s party,” he went on, “and this dog must’ve been twice my size, but I chased it all around the yard, shouting and yelling and all the people there just watched!” John couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound coming out more like a garbled sob, but a laugh felt like just what he needed. “Shh, s’okay. Breathe, John. I’m right here, you’re safe,” Greg reminded him in a gentler tone. He nodded and noticed that his legs weren’t shaking nearly as much now. “And you wanna know the real kicker about that story?” “What?” John asked. “When the dog finally stopped, I tried to arrest it. Can you imagine a five year old holding up a fake police badge and trying to tell a dog he’d just committed theft?” John laughed, wholly and fully that time, looking at him lovingly. “I guess you can tell I’ve always had a passion for the job,” Greg said, clearly laughing at his past self. After a few moments filled with slower and deeper breaths, John rested his head on Greg’s shoulder and inhaled his comforting scent. He didn’t hear any more thunder outside, thankfully. “How are you feeling?” Greg asked. John cleared his throat. “A bit better, yeah.” “Calmer?” “Mmh,” John murmured, nuzzling into Greg’s neck. “Good. We’ll stay back here for a little longer, though. I know it can take a while to feel normal again, so we’ll take our time.” “Thanks, Greg," he whispered. “No worries. Take all the time you need. I know I’m gonna need time to think up something new to yell at Sherlock.” “Hah, yeah. I mean it, though, Greg. I don’t think anyone’s helped me through one like that before.” “Anytime, John. M’glad you’re okay. But if you ever need help again, I’m just a call or text away, yeah?” “Thank you.” John leaned up and kissed him on the jaw. He wrapped the blanket around Greg’s shoulders as well and snuggled in closer, thankful for the time to get his breath back.   “Did you really try to arrest a dog?” he asked. “You’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?” “Not a chance, love.”

Chapter 17   Poppy flicked off the light of the bathroom, grabbing Tora’s hand in the darkness and leading him through her apartment. All she could see against the quiet of the living room as they walked to her bedroom was a purple-green imprint of the inside of the bathroom—the sink, and the toilet, the open door beside the light switch. But—in just the couple of months she’d been living in the city—she’d learned the tiny space she now called home like the back of her hand, had walked this path many times before, though, she thought with a smile, never with another person. Especially not with someone whose company she enjoyed as much as she did Tora’s. She’d been thrilled when he had agreed to stay the night again—in fact, she’d been excited as soon as she’d seen him in the parking lot earlier, staring up at her on the balcony as she watered the plants, his overnight bag slung across his shoulder. He’d looked so natural there, a grocery bag in his hand as though she’d asked him to stop for something on his way home from work. She’d been about to tease him about his parking job—the red car just slightly askew between two spaces, as though he’d actually tried to stay between the lines and simply couldn’t, unable to be contained by a box—but the words died in her throat as all she could feel was happiness that he’d come back. Not that she’d doubted him, necessarily. Just…Julri had made her a lot of small promises like that before about when or whether he’d be spending time with her, most of them broken. It’d become clear in their final months living together that he’d lost interest in spending his time with her. So, she reasoned, it was normal, or at least understandable, for her to be guarded. But Tora was different, she kept reminding herself—he’d never once given her a reason to doubt his word. Besides, even if he had, it’s not like he owed her anything. They’d only known each other a week. A week and a day, she smiled. When she thought they’d reached the edge of the bed, Poppy put her hand out, feeling for the comforter—though she was fairly positive it was only a step away, she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of him by flopping to the floor. Jeez, how mortifying that’d be. And to think she’d been embarrassed when she’d found the condoms in his pocket, her hand wedged so close to his clear arousal. She made to put her knee on the bed, but stopped herself—what if he wanted to be against the wall? She could handle being on the outside…he was her guest after all. “Inside or outside?” she asked him, fingers crossed on the hand that wasn’t intertwined with his. She loved the way he always seemed to want to touch her the way she wanted to touch him—sure, there was desire like an undercurrent in the way they circled each other, but there was also a tenderness of friendship. She liked to think that, even if he didn’t feel the way she did, he’d still reach for her hand. Though she couldn’t see him in the darkness, Poppy could hear the smile in his voice as he responded with a low murmur that made her stomach flutter, “what do ya think, sweetheart?” “Mmm,” she hummed, pulling back the comforter and crawling across the bed. He hadn’t moved, though, maybe he was waiting for a clearer invitation? He’d been adamant earlier about needing to hear exactly what she wanted. At that thought, she smiled—her wants, desires, needs, she could tell they were important to him, though she wasn’t sure why. They hadn’t known each other very long at all. Poppy patted the bed where she’d pulled back the covers and a moment later, felt the mattress press down as Tora climbed in beside her. She frowned slightly when she didn’t feel him pull up the covers—he’d stuck his legs under, but his entire torso was uncovered so that the blanket dipped down from where it was wrapped over her chest. Poppy made to reach for the edge so she could pull it up—she wanted him to be comfortable—but stopped herself. She could hear him breathing deeply, slowly. Maybe he ran hot at night—when they’d slept on the couch, she’d fallen asleep too quickly to notice, and they hadn’t been under any covers anyway. Tentatively, she slid closer to him, easing an arm across his shirt—he felt so stiff, hadn’t relaxed into the bed at all. His muscles were tensed under her touch, like he was ready to bolt. Maybe he didn’t want to be held, didn’t like it? But he’d held her on the couch just then, had seemed content to stay there forever if she’d asked. And the night before, he’d held her to his chest until the warmth of the sun filtered through her apartment. She leaned her face against his arm, her nose pressed against a dip between two of the large muscles at the edge of his sleeve, inhaling deeply, holding his scent in her lungs for a moment until she felt light-headed with the feel of him. He had twitched when she first wrapped her arm around him, still hadn’t quite relaxed. “Is this okay,” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. She hoped he liked to cuddle—she was definitely someone who communicated through touch. Poppy waited for a moment, and then he was pulling his arm from her. The sting of rejection threatened to crush her but, before she had time to really process what was happening, his arm was around her, his large palm cradling her waist, fingers splayed over her shorts as he pulled her to him. Poppy bit her lip around a smile as she nuzzled into his side—how was he so hard yet soft at the same time? She thought back to the way he’d felt in her hand as she’d stroked him—like velvet over steel. Her face flushed and she buried her nose deeper against his side, finding the little ridges of his side muscles before she rested her head in the crook of his armpit. Phenomenal, he’d said. She felt him move his hand to hold her elbow, “yeah, Bobby. S’nice.” She breathed deeply against him, enjoying the feel of him in her bed, so large, he took up most of the tiny frame, but she liked the feeling of being entirely consumed by him. Still, they could be closer… “How about this?” she asked as she lifted the leg against the covers up and over his thigh, her knee coming to rest between his legs which he parted slightly to give her more room to wiggle down against him. His chest shook slightly as he laughed softly, his voice rumbling low against her ear, “course, Bobby.” She sighed as he added, “just watch ya knee.” She still felt terrible about kneeing him in the groin that morning. Hopefully he knew it had been an accident. “I am sorry about that.” Not a moment later, she felt him turn his head, his lips on her forehead as he rubbed his hand against her arm, “s’alright, sweetheart.” She smiled before he added, “probably forgive ya one day.” Tch, she rolled her eyes against her lids as she felt his chest rise and fall with deep breaths. Wow, she thought. He falls asleep quick. She bit back a sigh of disappointment—don’t be ridiculous, Poppylan. It was late and silly of her to want to stay up talking to him. He’d humored her with some pillow talk—that should be enough. She listened to the soft whir of the fridge from across the apartment that she’d quickly come to love as a person new to the city living on her own. The white noise helped to distract her from the sound of her neighbors on the occasion they were up later than she was and from cars that passed on the road below, the sound traveling up the side of the building with ease. Besides Granny and the family memories she had of living in the town, that was one of the things she missed the most about Moonbright: the sound of nature abundant all around, slight changes in what she could hear depending on the time of day or night, even the season. She’d bought a white noise machine when she’d first moved to the city, but in the short months she’d been here, she’d come to be comfortable sleeping only by the sound of the fridge. Poppy took another couple of deep breathes, trying to slow her heartrate—being this close to him, having him in her bed, she couldn’t deny it excited her. And thinking back to what they’d been doing less than an hour ago…she blushed. A moment later, she felt Tora tighten his grip on her. She waited, but he was still. His breathing still slow, steady. Had she imagined it? She listened closely, her ear to his chest as his heart sped up on an inhale, and there it was again. His fingers around her bottom, his hand on her elbow, pulling her almost unnoticeably closer. Maybe he did like being held, she smiled against his skin, opening her eyes to the darkness of the room. She looked out the window, watched the tops of the trees across the street moving in the river’s breeze, shadowy silhouettes that looked like feathers brushing the sky. She felt Tora moving under the covers as he slipped his right leg away from the press of her knee, keeping his torso still against her, his foot landing on the wood floor with a soft thump. With one last press of his lips to her hair, he turned his head from her where he had been resting his cheek, facing the other direction toward the archway beside the bed. She frowned slightly—did he need to get up? Maybe he needed to use the bathroom. Jeez, Poppylan, she realized suddenly, you didn’t even offer him water. Maybe he was too warm, though—he still hadn’t pulled the covers up, and shoot, she realized, the bed was probably too short for him. No wonder he was uncomfortable. “Hey,” she murmured against his chest, feeling him jump slightly in surprise, his breath hitching for a second. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, keeping her voice soft in the quiet dark. “You sure this is okay? You seem…uncomfortable,” she said hesitantly. He let out a sigh, “nah, sweetheart. M’okay.” She nodded against his chest, but he didn’t put his leg back under the covers, kept his head turned the other direction. She started to remove her arm and leg from his body, withdrawing to move closer to the wall, “if this is too warm, I can m—” Suddenly his hand tightened around her elbow, his other arm clutching her body to his. “Stay,” he said, a soft plea in his voice. She nodded against him, relaxing her arm and leg back into his body as he pressed his lips to her head again. “If you need anything, will you let me know?” she said, listening as a car passed outside the building. “Mmm,” he nodded against her head. “Sweet dreams, Bobby.” She smiled, letting her eyes drift shut. * Poppy blinked her eyes open, confused at the darkness of the room. She hardly ever woke in the middle of the night, maybe she was thirsty? No, she realized a moment later—the room felt different, the air thick, settling heavy over the bed. She had drifted from Tora in her sleep, wrapped in the blankets and closer to the wall than she’d started. Or, no, she thought, glancing to her left. The wall was the same distance away. Poppy sat up, looking at the shape of him in the dark, uncovered. Tora had moved further from her, she realized, his body practically off the bed. In fact, his leg still hung off the bed, disappearing over the edge. Had he kept it there the whole night? As she leaned forward to untangle her legs, feeling bad for stripping him from the comforter, she heard him gasp. Poppy whipped around, her eyes widening in the near-pitch black of the room, finding his face—eyes squeezed shut, his jaw rigid with tension. One hand lay across his chest, balled in a tight fist up by his throat. She watched as his arms flexed in sleep, never fully relaxing as he reacted to whatever he could see behind his closed lids. In the dim light from outside, she could see faint beads of sweat dotting his forehead, his hairline. As she watched him, his body shook, and she heard him shudder around a gasp. Poppy froze, her hands fisted in the comforter, lips parting and eyes wide—had she imagined that? She reached a hand toward him before stopping herself—if he was having a nightmare, that might not be the best way to wake him. A moment later, he gasped again, the fist by his face clenching as she watched the muscles in his arms ripple, his legs drawing up slightly as he seemed to curl in on himself toward the edge of the bed. “Tora.” She watched as his eyes flew open, almost no time elapsing between the sound of her voice curving around the R in his name before he was up, the foot on the bed swinging around to plant on the floor beside the other, his butt rising from the mattress into a slight squat, his body angled toward the open archway, a fist drawn up close to his face and the fingertips of his other hand braced against the bed as he panted shallowly. “Tora,” she said again, softer, a hand reached tentatively toward his shoulder, still hesitant to touch him. He turned to face her halfway, his fist lowered slightly down to his neck. “Poppylan?” He glanced around quickly, as though he’d forgotten he’d spent the night at her place before slumping back into the mattress as he released his fist, palms coming to press into the bed on either side of his body, his back hunched as he curled forward, hanging his chin against his chest. She watched him take a couple of deep breaths, but could see his silhouette trembling, could feel the faint vibrations from her side of the bed. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, “didn’t mean to wake ya.” She scooted closer to him, opening her hips around his, threading her legs through the spaces between his torso and each of his arms. She pressed her palms to his back, feeling the damp material along his spine. He’d sweat through his shirt. Poppy swallowed thickly as she brought her hands to the hem—it must have been a terrible nightmare for him to have reacted so strongly, so viscerally in sleep. She slowly peeled his shirt up from the skin at his lower back, still damp in the cool air of the apartment. “Is it okay if I take this off? You’ll catch cold,” she murmured, leaning her head up toward his as her fingers stilled. The silence of the apartment settled around them as the whir of the fridge clicked off. She rested her chin against his shoulder blade as a couple moments passed, her head bobbing with the rise and fall of his back.   Finally, he nodded on an exhale as he brought his palms up to rub her knees, raising his arms briefly for Poppy to pull the shirt over his head before she took the material and spread it out lightly over the end of the bed. Poppy swallowed, rubbing her hands up across the broad expanse of his shoulders where his skin darkened into the designs she knew were there but couldn’t make out clearly in the darkness, his back entirely in shadow. She bit her lip as she considered what she was about to do. He had yet to see her unclothed—she knew the rain that had plastered her dress to her skin the other night had turned the material practically see-through, had seen the way his eyes raked hungrily over her barely-hidden figure. And if the times they’d spent together on the couch were any indication at all, she knew he wanted her…like that. Poppy blushed thinking back to the way his hands had moved over her body, like he couldn’t get enough of her. She’d never thought of herself as desirable, had always assumed Julri just wanted sex for the act itself—not for her. But with Tora…he seemed to want her, like sex might just be an added bonus, like there were other ways to be intimate, like he just wanted to be close to her. Steeling herself, Poppy pulled her shirt up, tugging her arms through the holes so that the material hung around her throat like a makeshift scarf. She shifted it until the loose material hung beneath her hair down her back, then wiggled closer to Tora, circling her arms around his stomach and drawing him back against her own until her skin was pressed to his. He was still damp, and she felt him stiffen at her touch. “Bobby?” he said quietly, his voice raising around a question as he made to look over his shoulder at her. She quickly lifted a hand, reaching up to touch his chin, hindering his ability to face her. “Mm-mmm,” she hummed softly, bringing her hand back down, settling into a soft embrace around his middle. As he stilled, she moved her arms up, stroking his chest in slow circles from his sternum outward across his pectoral muscles, her fingers dipping slightly into the skin around his armpits before returning to the center of his chest. She took deep breaths against his back and after a few moments, felt him slowly relax into her touch. Poppy felt a blush spread down her face, her chest. Somehow—she wasn’t sure why, but somehow—this contact felt much more intimate than having his face between her thighs, his mouth, his tongue against the damp crotch of her underwear as he’d looked deep into her eyes. Oh jeez, thinking of that wasn’t helping though.   “Bobby,” he murmured, his voice resonating through his back where her face pressed against him. “Mmm,” she hummed, hands still stroking his chest. “No complaints here, but what’re ya doin’,” he asked softly. She smiled against the tattoo at the center of his back, pressing her lips gently to the skin which had dried save for the inner-most dip along his spine. “Skin-to-skin contact,” she said, “helps to activate the parasympathetic nervous system.” He was silent for a moment before saying, “which is…?” his voice trailing off in question. “It’s the opposite of the body’s fight-or-flight mechanism,” she said. “Helps calm you down. Massages help, too,” she pressed her palms meaningfully against his chest as she continued rubbing circles on his skin. “And,” she said, moving her hand up until her shoulder was tucked against the back of his armpit, tracing his lips lightly with two of her fingers, “so does touching your lips.” Her fingers whispered against his mouth for a moment, the thin skin so soft—could feel as he smiled before he brought a hand up to catch her fingers, pressing a kiss to her palm. Holding the back of her hand, his fingers laced between hers, he brought her palm to rest over the left side of his chest. She leaned her cheek between his shoulder blades, resting against him for a few minutes as her other hand continued to rub circles against his torso, feeling as his heartrate calmed. A car passed outside, startling a cloud of birds from the treetops across the street. Slowly, she reached up with her free hand, drawing her fingers across his forehead a couple times back and forth. She felt him chuckle, his back moving slightly against her chest. “And what’s that do, Bobby?” he asked, sounding amused. She smiled again, her lips moving against his skin as she kissed his spine once. He was still a little damp, “oh, this is just to wipe away the bad dreams,” she explained, bringing her hand back down his body to circle the center of his chest again. He laughed gently, shaking against her chest. “I see.” A few long moments passed before he spoke again. “Bobby.” “Mmm?” He paused before murmuring, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Can I hold ya?” She swallowed. It’d felt so natural to remove her shirt before, to press her bare body to his in an effort to calm him. And, she could admit to herself, it’d been calming for her, too—no barrier between them, the heat of his back, his body, safe in her arms, her bed. But if he was to hold her, it’d mean allowing him to see her in the faint light of the window, would mean baring herself not just to his back. She’d never shared herself like that with anyone before, not even Julri when he’d pushed. Heck, not even Erdene in the fitting rooms when they went shopping—her friend the complete opposite, feeling completely comfortable stripping down to nothing in front of Poppy. But Tora wasn’t Julri, and she knew he wouldn’t push because he hadn’t yet, even when given the opportunity. She thought for another moment before nodding against his back. When he didn’t move, she whispered, “yes.” Tora drew the hand he had been holding up to his mouth, kissing her palm again before slowly sliding from her arms off the bed. Poppy scooted back on the mattress, hesitating a moment before deciding to remove the shirt from around her neck, tossing it lightly to the end of the bed where his rested. She untangled the covers, opening them as Tora turned to face her, climbing slowly back into bed beside her. His face was mostly in shadow, she could just make out the shape of his nose, the shine of his eyes as he laid down beside her. He turned onto his side facing her, extending his arms until his fingers met her skin, inviting her toward him. “Come here, sweetheart.” She drew her right elbow up against his chest, pressing her palm over his heart again before wrapping her left arm over his side, hugging him to her. His lips pressed against the top of her head as he tightened his arms around her, squeezing her flush against his torso, one of his palms stroking down her bare back as the other rested on the back of her shorts. She nudged one of her thighs forward against his leg, the hair on his shins coarse against her skin as he parted his knees for her for the second time that night. Poppy slipped her leg between his, tucking her heel against his calf so that their bodies were a tangled knot of limbs beneath the comforter. She closed her eyes against his neck, listening to his breathing as it evened out against her hair. “Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered before pressing her lips to his skin. He inhaled deeply, his fingers tightening his hold on her just so. “M’okay, sweetheart,” he said, swallowing. “Just some bad memories.” She frowned—bad memories. Not just dreams, memories. Things in his past that broke him into a cold sweat, even in the safety of her apartment, the comfort of her bed, her arms. She nodded against his chest. “If you change your mind…” she trailed off, not wanting to push him, but needing him to know she would listen if he ever felt compelled to share. They’d only known each other a week, after all, she reminded herself again. A week and a day, she tilted her head, kissing his throat before she curled back against him, letting herself drift surrounded by his scent, his arms, the soft rise and fall of his chest pressed against hers. * Poppy blinked awake, watery morning light filtered through the window as she took stock of her surroundings. One of Tora’s arms was draped down her back, palm pressed against the dip of her spine and fingers resting along her underwear. He breathed deeply, face turned towards her where she lay partly across his chest, her bare breasts pressing against his torso. Her bare…her eyes flew open from the haze of sleep as she remembered taking her shirt off, taking his shirt off. Their shirts. Off. It had felt like the right thing to do in the calm of her dark bedroom but in the light of day, she felt completely exposed. Poppy felt her skin flush quickly from her face down past her neck, her chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to move as she stared up at him. He looked so peaceful now, so different from the shaking man whom she’d first fallen asleep beside just a handful of hours ago. And younger, his forehead smooth as he breathed softly, a whisp of his hair fluttering with each exhale. Poppy tilted her head against his chest, letting her face rest in the dip of his armpit as she looked at the tattoo on his neck. The cuts from earlier that week were nearly healed over—new skin dotted over the black ink. The swirling design looked familiar, something tugging at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t place it. It wasn’t the first time she’d found herself wondering about his ink, the meaning behind the art adorning such large swathes of his skin. One hundred hours, give or take. She almost turned her head to look down the length of his body before thinking better of it, not wanting to wake him with her movements quite yet. She’d hoped to catch a glimpse of the leg tattoo that had come as a surprise the other night—some other time. From the little she’d seen before he’d caught her gaping, turning the full power of his smirk on her, it’d looked like a tiger wrapped his leg. Fitting, she smiled. Tora. As though she’d spoken his name aloud, he suddenly shifted, the arm down her back drawing her closer, his palm pressing, fingers squeezing her butt as he sighed in his sleep. Poppy could feel her blush deepen as she bit her lip against a smile, imagining what they must look like from the open doorway. She could feel herself grow damp at his touch, even in sleep, the gentle possessive nature of the placement of his hand, his arm. Like she was his and—she realized with a swell in her chest—he was hers, her leg tucked around his thigh, torso stretched across his body. Their bare chests pressed to each other, only the thin cotton of his briefs and her boyshorts separating them. Her heartrate quickened, though, at the thought of what would happen when he did finally wake. She was shirtless, hadn’t intended for him to see her like this quite yet. Was hyper-aware of how soft her body was against his, the swell of her stomach against his abdominal muscles—so defined, how was he so lean, so…cut, the word she’d heard Erdene use to describe her latest exploit came to mind. Poppy wondered how long it would take to extricate herself from his hold, whether she would have enough time to grab her shirt from the end of the bed before he woke up, assuming it hadn’t fallen off or gotten tangled in the covers. He’d had such an immediate reaction when she’d woken him from his nightmare—but maybe that was because she’d been trying to wake him. She could feel her palms begin to sweat, shoot, just do it, Poppylan. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her heartrate, readying herself to move as quickly as possible, when she felt him shift again. And then he was moving in earnest, rolling onto his side, pinning her against him as he drew his other arm up from his side and around her back, palm resting between her shoulders in the same position they’d fallen asleep in the second time a couple hours ago. Except now, she could very clearly feel him pressed hard, erect against her hip. He breathed deeply, his exhale blowing against the top of her hair. There was no way she could squirm away toward the end of the bed now, no way she could reach her shirt in time. She felt him groan low, a deep rumble in his chest that sent shivers down her spine and straight to her core. When she looked up, his amber eyes were blinking open at her, heavy with sleep. She couldn’t help but smile—he looked so innocent. Cute, even. He yawned, squeezing her even tighter against him, moving his hand up to the small of her back when he seemed to realize where he’d been holding her, “sorry,” he murmured. “It’s okay,” she said softly, “felt nice.” When he smirked at her, she rolled her eyes. “Because you’re warm,” she clarified—not technically a lie. “You insisted on kicking off the covers again, so…” she trailed off as she felt him laugh. “Sure, Bobby, whatever ya say,” he said as she felt him angle his hips back and away from her own. “Hey, Tora,” she asked. “Mmm?” “I’ve never, um,” she took a deep breath, staring at his throat as she watched him swallow, “would you mind if I…if I put my shirt on?” He looked down at her, seeming to take in whatever look was on her face as his eyebrows drew together and he blinked away the last of the sleep that’d clung to his face. “Course, Bobby,” he said, “here.” She watched as he closed his eyes, pulling an arm up from around her to lay a hand over his face as he rolled away from her, lying flat on his back again. Her heart swelled at the gesture—how did he always know exactly what she needed? She tugged the sheet up to her chest, sitting up quickly, feeling the urge to fall back towards him as her skin cooled almost immediately after leaving his side. She shook her head slightly, patting around the blankets, unable to find her shirt. Her fingers found the shirt she had removed from Tora and, after a moment’s hesitation, she pulled it on over her head. He wouldn’t mind, she told herself, and if he did, she’d only have it on for a little. It’s not like she could stretch it out the way Julri had complained the few times she’d worn his—she was swimming in Tora’s. The man was massive. “You good, Bobby?” he asked, “gotta take a piss.” She huffed his name—why were men so gross sometimes?—and he laughed from behind his hand. “No but, really, sweetheart. I’m fuckin’ burstin’—ya were on my bladder all night.” Poppy rolled her eyes, smacking his leg lightly as she climbed from the bed. “You loved it.” She watched as he smiled, his large palm still held over his eyes, before she turned to walk toward the kitchen. “Oi, Bobby!” “Yeah, yeah, I’m decent.” She listened as he scrambled from the bed and, before she knew what was happening, she was in the air, squeaking as he spun her once before planting a kiss on her cheek, “Tora!”   He sped past her to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, shouting a muffled “my bad, Bobby!” as she heard him flip up the toilet seat. Poppy sighed, but couldn’t help smiling as she walked to the stove, grabbing her kettle to fill with water. She didn’t know what the day held for him, but a part of her hoped that he’d be able to stay a little while before she had to deal with the jerk who’d been calling her incessantly since last week. When she turned from the sink, she nearly dropped the kettle—Tora stood leaning against the archway watching her with a small smile on his face. “I like it better on ya,” he murmured, nodding toward the shirt. She blushed, very aware of the way the thin fabric clung to her breasts before draping loosely over the rest of her torso, hanging down to her thighs. He held her gaze, his expression unreadable as she took a breath, swallowed. He pushed off the archway, slowly unfolding his arms from across his bare chest as he stepped toward her. “Did you want some—” He brought one palm up to cup her face, fingers burrowing in her hair beside her ear as his other hand deftly transferred the kettle from her loose grip to the counter, amber eyes locked on hers. He stepped forward, one foot on either side of her own as he closed the distance between their torsos, the hand that had been on the kettle moving to her waist, pulling her gently against his body as he angled her head up, bending to press his lips to hers. His mouth moved against hers slowly, and she melted into him, arms circling his waist as she returned the kiss. Poppy stroked her hands up and down his back, feeling the dip of his spine where she’d traced his sweat just a handful of hours ago in the darkness of the bedroom. She moaned into his mouth as his hand moved from her waist further around to press against her bottom, pulling her closer, closer. She opened her mouth to him, one of her hands pulling around to his front, rising up his side and under his arm until she cupped his jaw. She could feel every movement of his muscles as his mouth continued to move against hers, the sound of their deep breathing intermingling in the space of her small kitchen. He pulled away slowly, resting his forehead against hers, his exhales long, slow against her chin, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers. “I’ve gotta get goin’, sweetheart,” he murmured, and she nodded against his head, closing her eyes briefly before she looked back up at him, drawing her head back and letting her hand fall to his chest. “You need your shirt back?” He smirked at her, “nah, Bobby. Meant what I said,” he dropped one more kiss to her lips before stepping away to walk back through the living room. She watched him for a moment as he moved to his bag by the front door before she picked up the kettle again, placing it on the stove. “If you want a shower, there are towels in the bathroom closet,” she called to him, turning to open the cupboard. She thought for a second, surveying the shelf full of novelty mugs—Julri had hated them, called her childish for liking the silly things—before choosing one with a cartoon elephant on the front above the words your argument is irrelephant. When the water had boiled and Poppy was pouring it over the tea bag she’d selected, Tora walked back into the kitchen, dressed and eyes on his phone. He glanced up at what she was doing, smirking lightly as he watched her. He stepped over to her and, placing a hand lightly on her waist, ducked his head to kiss her temple. He stood back up, leaning against the counter beside her as she blew on the steaming water, holding the mug between her palms as she watched him pull the strawberry from his hair before quickly doing it up into a bun. “Got an assignment that’s gonna take longer than I’d hoped,” he said, folding his arms and pressing his lips together. She nodded her head, trying not to feel disappointed. He had a life separate from her, just like she had a life separate from him. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to spend time with her, she reminded herself. “So…I’ll see you Monday?” she asked, glancing up at him. He smiled, nodding. “Time should I bring Quince ‘round?” Poppy thought for a second, tilting her head to the side. She normally got to work before 9 o’clock, but that might be a little early for a meeting with a potential new client. This contract was important—she needed to start things off on the right foot. “Ten?” “Sounds good, Bobby,” he said, reaching over to pinch her cheek, “cute fuckin’ hamster with ya mug. Fuck,” he smiled. She twisted her face out of his grasp as he laughed. “You know you shouldn’t pinch people,” she huffed. “Can’t help it, Bob,” he laughed again, “ya fuckin’ adorable.” She rolled her eyes half-heartedly, her chest swelling with warmth as she followed him to the front door where he scooped up his overnight bag, toeing on his sneakers—so large beside her own. He glanced over her head as he unlocked the deadbolt, pointing toward her balcony with his phone in his hand, “make sure ya lock that at night.” She frowned slightly, nodding her head. She usually remembered to, but even if she didn’t, she was on the fifth floor of the building—it wasn’t exactly a point of entry she had to worry about. “And lock this behind me,” he said, patting the bolt as he pulled the front door open, leaning back toward her to drop a quick kiss to her lips, his thumb swiping her chin once and then he was heading down the steps. She watched until he was out of sight before closing and locking the door, shaking her head slightly. He sure was preoccupied with safety, but maybe that’s what came with being a bodyguard. Poppy allowed herself ten minutes to drink her tea, sitting at her laptop listening to her let loose and rock your caboose playlist while reviewing the proposal Mr. Lam had sent with the expectations he had for the ghostwriter. When she’d finished the drink, she closed the laptop, padding across her apartment to grab her phone, sinking onto the couch to read the messages Julri had sent her last night. She swiped her finger lightly across the large crack down the center of the screen, her eyebrows drawn together and upper lip twisting under her nose. At first, she’d been saddened by his texts, the way he’d apologized profusely almost getting to her. She’d made the mistake of accepting his first call, and he hadn’t let up since, the stupid cheating jerk. She was angry now, though. He’d nearly ruined her night with Tora—and how special a night it’d turned out to be. She smiled as she rubbed her hand on the couch cushion absent-mindedly before sighing. At least the phone still worked, she thought, carefully unlocking it around the fragmented glass. But shoot, how was she going to afford a new one? Maybe she could glue it back together? Or maybe packing tape…there was probably some still in a box somewhere from the move. Poppy thought for a minute as her finger hovered between the phone icon and the messages icon—she wasn’t in the mood to hear his voice, heck, she wasn’t in the mood to hear from him period. Finally, she hit the messages, deciding it’d probably be easier and hopefully less infuriating to read his words than to hear his stupid voice. @Unknown: Pops, please pick up. @Unknown: I need to talk to you. It’s over with her, I swear. @Unknown: Pops, I swear. It only happened a couple of times. @Unknown: She doesn’t mean anything, I love you, baby. You!   @Unknown: I know you’re screening my calls. If it goes to voicemail after two rings it means you sent me there. Come on, Pops. Think. @Unknown: Pick up the damn phone.   @Unknown: Poppy, please. I just want to talk.   @Unknown: Sorry for being short in that last voicemail, I just need to hear your voice. @Unknown: I can fix this. Let me fix it.   @Unknown: Pops, please let me fix this.   @Unknown: Don’t freak out, she was just over to grab her stuff. It’s over, I swear. @Unknown: Pops, please. I swear she was only here for a second. @Unknown: Nothing happened! Poppy frowned. Had he really been stupid enough to leave her a voicemail where she’d be able to hear the other woman in the background? No way was she listening to those stupid messages. Erdene was right—he was a dickwad. Poppy tossed her phone onto the couch, quickly standing up and striding to the bathroom. She needed a shower and to brush her teeth. The texts had left a bad taste in her mouth. As she turned on the hot water, she brought Tora’s shirt up under nose, inhaling deeply, letting the scent of him surround her for a moment before removing it gently and folding it over the rack beside the shower, smoothing out the wrinkles before hopping into the tub. Poppy took her time, shaving and exfoliating, even washing her hair—the whole shebang. It’d been a little while since she’d taken time for herself. She pumped a little bit of the unscented soap Erdene had given her onto her tattoo—it was healing quite well, though the skin was still a bit raised. She’d need to get in touch with Cable to see how much longer she needed to wash it with the special soap. As she toweled off, Poppy worried her lip between her teeth, thinking of Tora. She’d yet to tell him about Julri. She wasn’t sure how he’d react, but…maybe the look in his eye last night when he’d realized someone was harassing her had been answer enough. She walked back to her bedroom, hesitating a moment before turning to her mirror and opening her towel. She closed her eyes briefly, pretend you’re Tora. See what he sees. When she opened them, she ran her eyes up and down the reflection, but all she could see was a short, chubby girl. Her face had rounded a little since moving to the city—probably from stress-eating chocolate and drinking so much wine with Erdene. Without the support of an underwire, her breasts sat lower on her chest than she’d like, and she didn’t really appreciate the way her back ached at the end of the day. Every day. She sighed, looking down at the faint stretch marks along her lower belly, her thighs. The dips in her hips. Poppy frowned at herself, maybe she should start running. She still hadn’t asked Jacob about that keto diet. And she could always ask Tora, though something told her he wouldn’t exactly be enthusiastic in her pursuit of losing weight. That should make you smile, she realized, but her eyebrows wouldn’t budge from pulling toward the center of her face. Poppy blushed, looking down at the hair between her legs. How much was too much? Would he like her as she was? Maybe she should shave. Erdene said she waxed hers…maybe she could go with her sometime? She’d never had to worry about that before—suddenly Poppy wrapped the towel back under her arms, holding the cloth tight against her damp skin as she took deep, calming inhales, one hand coming up to trace her lips with her fingers as she moved to the dresser, pulling out some clothes for the day. It looked sunny out, maybe she’d paint on the roof—it’d been a while since she’d put a brush to canvas. Or she could read, she thought, glancing at the bookshelf in the other room. Poppy smiled, thinking of the way Tora had laughed, hadn’t had an issue at all with her smut. Not like Julri, that jerk. The look of disgust he’d given her when he’d accidentally stumbled across The Secret Garden had been enough to make her hide them in a box under the kitchen sink where she knew he’d never look. And he’d teased her incessantly about it, but it was different, she noted, from the way that Tora teased. Julri’s was meant to hurt her, mean-spirited in his jabs about her interests, her likes. But Tora…it was like he was trying to get her to blush, seeing what would get her to tease him back. Playful, she thought. And flirty, definitely flirty. Before she could talk herself out of it, Poppy dug out a blank canvas from the back of her closet and picked up the easel from the corner of the room to head up to the roof. She was feeling inspired. * Poppy dipped her brush in the water that had quickly darkened to a deep blue-black since coming up to the roof, withdrawing it and wiping the bristles against the edge of the easel to remove the excess water before she stepped back to inspect the canvas. She smiled—it was coming along nicely, a relief after having taken so many months off from her art. But now, with Julri firmly in her past—at least, in terms of the way she thought of their relationship—she felt free, a weight off her shoulders that she hadn’t realized had been stifling her ability to create. Or maybe the renewed flow of her creative juices was inspired by the man who had quickly taken up residence in her mind for most hours of the day and many of her nights. She sighed, considering where to take the canvas from here, just as her phone buzzed. Poppy’s fist clenched around the brush reflexively—she’d been trying her hardest to ignore the buzzing, stupid Julri. She’d just wanted some time to herself without having to think of him. If she was going to get any more painting done today, she realized, she’d need to turn the darn thing off—not exactly something she wanted to do, considering she wouldn’t be able to see any texts Tora might send her, but it was a price she was willing to pay. At least for a couple hours. Poppy fished her phone out of her back pocket and glanced down at the screen just as she was about to hit the power button. She had three messages, none from Julri—she couldn’t help the grin that broke out over her face as she quickly clicked on the ones from Tora. @Tora: forgot to show ya this. thought of ya @Tora: [image] She quickly tapped on the image, frowning as the screen failed to register her touch the first couple of times she tried to open it. Had the crack gotten bigger? When the image finally loaded, her mouth fell open around a smile as she took in the photo he’d sent her—a field of poppy flowers, the petals illuminated by sunlight. It looked as though he’d crouched to take the photo, the effect made the poppies look endless. She couldn’t help but think of her dad—another sign? @Poppylan: Beautiful! She exited out to the rest of her messages, quickly tapping on her chain with Erdene. @Erdene: So? You decide? Poppy sighed, thinking about how she should respond. They’d talked on the phone earlier in the day as Poppy’d taken a break from her painting, sitting against the short ledge that rimmed the roof of the building and staring out at the treetops across the street as she’d told her friend about the date on Friday. She’d been unable to stop smiling as she described the kiss in the rain or the way he’d dented the roof of his car, choosing to keep some things to herself—namely, the way he’d touched her, the condoms, the cake, or basically all of Saturday. It was fine, not a lie, she rationalized. Some things weren’t meant to be shared—she had a feeling Tora wasn’t the type to disclose intimate details like that with other people. And, besides, Erdene had wanted to know when she’d slept with him and, technically, they hadn’t had sex. Yet. Poppy smiled. Erdene had barely been able to keep her excitement tamped down, practically shouting down Poppy over the phone that they needed to do a double date—she needed to meet this mystery man. But Poppy wasn’t sure if Tora was the type who’d want to do a double date—you should ask him, she thought, quickly typing back to her friend. She’d never been able to do this with Julri, seeing as Erdene hated the man and, besides, he’d never wanted to hang out with her socially around other people. @Poppylan: I’ll ask him—calm down, jeez. Erdene’s text bubbles immediately appeared and Poppy bit the inside of her mouth around a smile. Her friend could be quite persistent. She burst out laughing when the texts came rolling in. @Erdene: text me his answer ASAP if u care about me at all!! @Erdene: and yea, thats a fkn guilt trip idgaf @Erdene: pulling out all the stops cause BITCH he dented the fkn ROOF?!?!?! 🥵🤯🥴 cant stop thinking about it @Erdene: u went 0 to 100   @Poppylan: 🙄 🙄 I’ll keep you posted, thirsty bitch @Erdene: u know it 😏 Poppy’s phone buzzed in her hand as she replied to Erdene, still shaking with silent laughter as she tapped on the banner, her face immediately falling. @Unknown: Outside your place, can we talk? The phone slipped from her fingers as her mouth fell open, and she managed to catch it just before it hit the cement roof. She couldn’t believe him, showing up at her home unannounced after she’d been crystal clear she didn’t want to talk? How had she ever dated him? And for so long? Poppy picked up her keys from the ledge of the building, pulling open the door to the stairwell and taking them two at a time, jumping onto the platforms with barely contained anger. How dare he? She slammed open the door to the fire exit on the side of the building which led into the lot, glancing at the lines where Tora’s car had parked over just a handful of hours ago. She needed to channel his bodyguard energy, she decided, her fist shaking around the paintbrush she still clenched. “YOU!” she marched over to the pedestrian gate that Julri stood on the other side of, watching as he quickly spun to face her, where he’d been eyeing the gate keypad. “You have no right to be here, you cheating scumbag. Stop texting me, stop calling me, just stop! I don’t want to hear from you, don’t want to talk to you! Here,” she whipped out her phone as he stared at her in horror. “Baby, please. Pops, I fucked up. I just want to—” After a couple of angry attempts at unlocking the stupid phone, she finally pulled up his contact, listed as Unknown in her phone since she’d deleted his number. She pulled up the settings and hit block before holding it up to him. “Should’ve done that when you first texted me, you jerk!” she spit across the gate. “Poppy?” Poppy blinked in confusion, someone had said her name but it hadn’t been Julri even though his mouth was gaping. She recognized the voice, though. A man with reddish-brown hair stepped quickly out of the security booth, running over to stand a couple paces from her, a wary look on his face. Mr. Special? “Gyu? What…” she blinked before turning back to Julri. “Go the hell home, Julri. You’re not wanted here. Don’t make me call Dene,” she added, satisfied when his eyes opened wider. Why couldn’t he take her as seriously as he took her friend? As seriously as he took literally everyone else? At the same time, she was grateful for Erdene’s fierce aura, able to scare her ex, even when she wasn’t physically present. “Baby, can we—” “Hey, man,” Gyu stepped forward, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders, “the lady said bounce, so bounce.” If she weren’t so angry, Poppy would’ve smiled—he still had her back. If she weren’t so angry, she also would’ve wondered what he was doing in the security booth of her building and where the heck Trevor was. But in the moment, she was just grateful for the additional assist. Julri opened his mouth around a retort, but Gyu quickly cut him off, holding up his phone in his hand and waving it at the fence, “got back-up on the way, and you don’t wanna be around when he gets here, man. Trust me.” Backup?  Though she wouldn’t exactly call Trevor a good contingency plan, Poppy kept her face schooled in a frown, which wasn’t really difficult. She watched as Julri stepped back from the fence before taking one last look at Poppy. He shook his head, quickly shoving his hands in his pockets and hurrying back to a car parked on the other side of the street. They watched in silence as he climbed in, sparing Poppy one last glance through the driver’s window before he slowly pulled a U-turn, needing to back up several times as he leaned forward in his seat to peer down the length of the hood. She rolled her eyes as he finally drove away, turning to look at Gyu. Poppy took a deep breath—she needed time to decompress and didn’t want to take her anger out on the nice man who’d helped her. But she was really confused. Why was he here? She didn’t know what to say, and after watching her with an uncertain look on his face, Gyu tucked his phone back in his pocket, saying, “didn’t actually have backup,” with a shrug. Then, “this is weird, huh?” She nodded, tilting her head as she twisted the paintbrush in her hands. “I mean…thank you. For your help,” she said, slightly shaking her head, “but…Chevy’s?” He chuckled, turning to walk back toward the security booth as Poppy trailed behind him by a couple of paces. “Yeah, I’ve been, uh,” he scratched his head as he slid the door open, collapsing into the worn-looking stool of the small booth, “looking for a change of pace, I guess you could say. And,” he continued, gesturing around the inside of the booth, “job opened up, thought I’d try my hand at private security. Definitely got the body for it.” He smiled at her, lips tight as he glanced at the laptop on the desk in front of him, letting out a slow exhale through his nose. “But hey,” he said, turning to face her and pulling out his phone, “got a new gate code app.” He flipped the phone in his hand, nodding toward the fence. “Once it’s up next week it’ll be more secure than that piece of junk and way easier to use.” Poppy blinked at him. There was a lot to process and—realizing she’d left her canvas, her easel, all of her belongings on the roof—decided it was too much to worry about right now. “Well, thanks,” she said, turning slowly to head back to the building, “good to see you.” He smiled at her, waving as she made her way back toward the steps—she wouldn’t be able to get in through the fire escape—the outside of the door didn’t have a handle. Suddenly though, she remembered something, spinning to look at Gyu who was looking at his phone, “hey!” she called out, waiting until he looked up to continue. “You know Tora. You called him your badass friend.” It wasn’t a question, but she stared at him until he nodded. “How?” He shrugged slightly before calling over to her, “grew up together.” Poppy nodded—it seemed to fit with what Tora had said, maybe a bit more specific. Still not much to go off of at all, though. She’d ask Tora later—it was a little too…strange, she figured, that Gyu—Tora’s childhood friend?—happened to be working at her building now. And she didn’t really buy his excuse. As she rounded the corner to the outdoor hallway, Poppy glanced back at him, and, seeing the man engrossed in his phone again, decided not to worry about it until after Monday. She had a lot to prepare for, after all. * As she lay in bed, Poppy pulled out her phone, opening the picture Tora had sent her and running a thumb over the poppies displayed on the cracked glass. She hadn’t heard from him since the afternoon when he’d sent her the image, and she’d fought the urge to text him for the rest of the day, not wanting to be clingy. Julri had always been on her case about that, and she’d taken to texting Erdene more and more for the things that she’d always thought were meant to be shared with a partner. A significant other. At least, that’s the way the books she read and the rom coms she watched made it sound. Looking at the poppies, she knew what her dad would say: Poppylan, you have to speak up, don’t be afraid of going after what you want. Of course, whenever he’d spoken the words to her, she was sure he’d never intended them to be applied to situations of romance or desire. But the principle still held, she told herself, opening up her chain with Tora. @Poppylan: How was your day? She quickly blanked the screen, shoving the device under her pillow. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she’d fall asleep and not have to worry about him not ever texting her back until the morning when she woke up. Who are you kidding, Poppylan. She sighed, one hand pulling the fabric of his shirt up to her nose—she hadn’t intended to put it back on, really. She’d meant to wash it, but…it smelled just like him, and when combined with the faint scent of his hair on her pillow, it was almost like he was beside her. She ran her fingers over her lips, felt her heartrate slow—she’d see him tomorrow, in just a few short hours. No need to get worked up. Her pillow buzzed and Poppy dove a hand under it to retrieve her phone, thumbing at the screen repeatedly until she was in. @Tora: distracting She frowned. What kind of answer was that? Just as she was about to ask, his text bubbles appeared, so she waited. @Tora: couldn’t stop thinkin about ya Poppy sucked in a gasp, her hand twisting his shirt against her smile. He’d been thinking about her? So much he was distracted? She considered for a moment that he was just saying that, of course he was just saying that… @Tora: ya in bed? She bit the inside of her mouth to try to repress her smile as she let him know that she was indeed in bed. And then his name was flashing across her screen—he was calling her? She thumbed the answer button, quickly bringing the phone to her ear and lowering the shirt away from her mouth so he could hear her, “Tora?” “Hey, sweetheart.” She smiled, closing her eyes—his voice was warm, husky. Barely a murmur on the other end. What she wouldn’t give to have him in bed beside her, his arms around her, to feel his heartbeat against her cheek, the press of him against her hip. “Are you in bed?” He chuckled, “sure. How was ya day, Bobby?” She bit her lip—this wasn’t the time to tell him. “Could’ve been better.” He hummed on the other end, “how so?” She hesitated a moment before deciding to go with honesty. The hope that he’d felt the same way was too tempting to resist, “I missed you.” “Oh yeah?” she could hear his smirk before his voice changed, dipping low into a purr, “what’d ya miss ‘bout me?” She rolled onto her stomach, pulling one of the pillows to rest under her arms, hugging the soft material to her face. Her belly fluttered—was he…initiating something? She spoke into the fabric of the pillowcase, “I don’t know, everything?” He laughed, “what was that, sweetheart? Everything?” She listened as he took a breath before continuing, his voice a distant rumble, “Ya gonna have to be more specific, Bobby.” She swallowed, lifting her chin out from the fabric, remembering the way he’d cupped her butt this morning in bed, the feel of his fingers firm against her shorts. “Your hands.” He didn’t laugh this time, his voice low as he said, “what about my hands, Bobby.” There was that hunger, an undercurrent in his throat. “I like how they feel,” she said. “When you touch me.” She heard him swallow on the other end, before he murmured, “close ya eyes, Bobby.” Poppy paused, listening to him breathe on the other end of the line, finally letting her eyes slip closed as she rolled onto her back. “What’re ya wearin’.” She smiled, “your shirt.” “Fuck,” he groaned, “ya know what seein’ ya in my shirt did ta me? Standin’ in ya kitchen barefoot with ya little fuckin’ mug ‘n shit?” She shook her head, forgetting he couldn’t see her, but he kept going anyway, “couldn’t fuckin’ think straight all the way to work—almost hit a fuckin’ pole.” “A pole, huh?” “Yeah, Bobby. Fuck, too sexy for ya own damn good.” She shook her head softly as he continued after a pause, “wanna taste ya again.” Poppy’s eyes flew open, her breath hitching in her throat as she remembered his face between her legs, his eyes locked on hers, his tongue on her thigh, the feel of his teeth on her skin. “Where d’ya want my hands, Bobby,” he whispered. Poppy closed her eyes again, bringing her hand to her breast, “mmm-my chest,” she breathed, rolling a nipple between her fingers, imagining Tora on top of her, his mouth on her bare skin, tongue hot and wet. She moaned softly, her eyes flying open—oh my god, had she— “Fuck, Bobby,” Tora groaned, his voice hoarse, “talk to me.” She blushed, breathing deeply, incredibly turned on but also embarrassed. And yet…he seemed into it, too. Poppy took a breath, “I want your mouth, your tongue…” “Where, Bobby?” she was pretty sure she heard a zipper, and the thought that Tora was just as aroused as she was gave her confidence. “My—” oh jeez, she’d never talked like this before. What should she call it? She thought of what Tora might say, something crass… “on my t-tit.” Oh. Oh, no. The word felt so foreign in her mouth, wrong. But she heard Tora groan her name again. “Holy shit, Bobby, ya always talk like that?” She couldn’t stop the laugh that broke past her lips, “told you,” she said. “I do my research.” He breathed a laugh at that, “fuck, sweetheart. What I gotta do to be ya lab partner?” Poppy lowered her hand down her torso, her fingers playing around the edge of her underwear. “Well, you definitely have to pass the audition.” “Audition?” he laughed, “shit, sweetheart. Didn’t know there’s a test.” He breathed hard, and then his voice was low again, a purr in her ear, “bet I pass.”   She smiled, “oh yeah?” “Mmm, definitely, sweetheart.” She closed her eyes again, as he said, “ya wearin’ anything under my shirt?” She swallowed, “just undies.” “Mmm, ya undies, huh?” she could hear the smile on his lips, “take em off.” Her breath caught in her throat, and then she was pressing her shoulders back into the mattress as she lifted her hips, the phone falling off the pillow onto the bed beside her as she slid the cotton fabric down her legs until the scrap of material was hooked around one of her feet. She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder again, whispering “they’re off.” He exhaled sharply, his voice catching as he said, “want ya to spread ya legs, Bobby. Wide enough for me to fit, ‘kay?” She nodded as she obeyed, again forgetting he couldn’t see her. “Ya ready for me?” “Mmm,” she hummed, bringing a hand to rest on the dip of her pelvis. “Use two fingers, sweetheart, tell me how wet ya are.” Poppy did as he instructed, sliding her middle and ring finger between her inner lips, letting the tip of the longer digit dip inside her entrance. Slick with need, hot desire for him. She wanted him between her legs, his tongue between her thighs, no underwear. “Toraaaa,” Poppy moaned around his name, listening as his breathing hitched, “so wet, I’m so wet.” He was breathing harder, she could tell, “fuck, Bobby. Tell me what ya taste like.” She blinked her eyes open. He wanted her to…taste herself? She licked her lips, dry from the way she’d been panting lightly, as she brought a finger to her tongue. Huh, it wasn’t bad, she thought. Definitely not as good as Tora’d made her sound, but definitely not like what she’d always heard boys say when she’d been in school. Almost like…“like tea?” She listened as he laughed softly, “fuck, wish I could lick ya fuckin’ fingers myself. Or better yet,” he murmured, “wanna lap ya up, Bobby.” Her heart nearly climbed up her throat at the hunger in his voice. “Ya ever been tongue fucked, sweetheart?” Tongue fucked? It sounded so crass and yet, Poppy couldn’t stop the full-body shiver that ran down her spine at the thought of Tora doing just that. “N-no, but you knew that,” she said softly. “Mmm,” he groaned. “Want ya to rub yaself, Bobby. Slow. I’d go slow on ya at first,” he said, and Poppy closed her eyes, dragging her fingers from her center up to her clit, pressing wet circles slowly against herself as she bit her lip around a moan. “Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart. Slow circles.” She moaned his name, hearing him breathing hard into the phone. “Shit, ya got a free hand, Bobby?” “Mmhmmm.” Her other hand was on her hip, clenching and unclenching against her skin as her fingers sped up slightly. She knew he’d said slow, but it felt too good to go slow. “Want ya to put a finger inside yaself, tell me what ya feel.” Poppy slowly drew her other hand down, inserting her middle finger, pushing slowly against her walls, “tight, so wet. Touch me, Tora,” she breathed. He moaned her name, “sweet fuck, Poppylan.” She pushed another finger in, crying out around his name as the phone slid off her pillow, her body shuddering as she felt pulsing waves around her fingers. When her body had stilled, she withdrew her hands, quickly swiping her fingers against the sheets before she picked up her phone. “Tora?” she panted, hearing him breathing hard. “Yeah, Bobby?” She took a couple deep breaths as her hand smoothed over his shirt, bring her legs back together under the covers. “Take it I passed?” she could hear his smirk. Poppy rolled her eyes lightly, smiling, “mmm,” she thought, biting her lip slightly before murmuring, “solid nine.” “A nine?” he laughed softly. “Shit, sounded like ya were enjoyin’ yaself, sweetheart.” “I mean,” she said slowly, “have to leave room for improvement. Imagine it’s better in person,” she finished as he inhaled sharply on the other end. She hesitated, “never done that before.” “What, touch yaself?” “No, like…” the words caught in her throat—she couldn’t believe they’d really just done that. He laughed softly in understanding, “well shit, me neither, sweetheart.” “Really?” “Yeah, Bobby. Really,” he said. Huh, she thought. She’d assumed he’d done everything under the sun. It hadn’t been lost on her the way that women reacted to him—heck, even Erdene had called him a fuckable stallion. It was reassuring in a way, though, like maybe she wasn’t completely clueless when matched against him. Like she wasn’t totally out of her depth, like it wasn’t quite so impossible that a guy like him could want her…like that. Maybe she’d even be able to teach him some things. “You…doing anything tomorrow night?” she asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice. She heard him smile, “dinner?” “Mmm,” she hummed, “I’d like that.” “Why don’t I pick ya up from work?” She nodded, quickly following up with an affirmative when she remembered he couldn’t see her. “‘Kay, Bobby. S’a date.” She smiled, “see you in the morning.” “Yeah, sweet dreams, Bobby. Try not to dream ‘bout me too much.” She laughed, “mmkay, Tor. Night.” The last thing she heard before she hung up was the sound of his laugh, his voice murmuring the nickname in amusement. She sighed, setting some alarms for the morning, hoping that he would be okay, that the nightmares weren’t a daily occurrence for him. * “Poppylan Wilkes, girl,” suddenly Erdene’s hand was around her, dragging Poppy by the arm into the conference room before she whirled around, grabbing the open collar of Poppy’s blazer and pointing at her neck. “What. The fuck. Are those.” Poppy blushed, quickly pulling her blazer back into place—she’d purposely chosen something with a modest collar to hide the love bites Tora had left down her neck and at the top of her chest. She’d even found a couple on her thigh that morning when she’d tried again to scrub the last of the strawberry from her skin. The man certainly liked leaving his mark and, Poppy’d realized with a blush as she’d inspected them in the mirror, she found she quite liked that. She’d been squeezing her thighs together all morning trying to calm her excitement at the thought of seeing him again. This was a huge day for her career—she needed to focus, darn it. “Erdeeeene,” Poppy said, slowly putting down the box of joe she’d just grabbed from the Starbucks across the street in preparation of her meeting with Noyouko—Quincey. Mr. Q. What the heck was she supposed to call him? “Chill, it’s nothing,” she turned to move out of the room—the copies of the contract and proposal were still on her desk and they were supposed to be here any minute—but Erdene quickly latched onto her shoulder. “Please,” Erdene said, her eyes like wide blue saucers, “please tell me those are from your mystery man and that you have fucked that utter. Piece. Of. Ass,” she enunciated each word with a blink and a squeeze around Poppy’s shoulders. Poppy sighed, “Dene, I told you—” Erdene groaned, throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling, “hey, big guy, if you’re up there, please give me patience with this bitch. I just want her to bed that beefcake.” “Erdene!” Poppy slapped her arm lightly, quickly rushing past her friend out the door to her desk. “Mr. Noyouko will be here any second, can we not right now,” she said gesturing frantically with her index finger between them as she picked up the folders from her desk with her other hand. “Besides, you’re defiling poor Pudge’s ears,” she said, gesturing toward the window behind her friend where she knew the pigeon would be perched. She clutched the folders to her chest, turning to walk back to the conference room when she nearly walked into Jacob. “What’s this about a beefcake?” he asked, moving to stand beside Erdene. Poppy whirled around to glare at her friend who shrugged innocently. “Why does it always end up being two on one in this office?” she pointed a finger at them, narrowing her eyes.   “Girl, do not for a second tell me you don’t want that man.” Poppy huffed, flinging the arm holding the folders out to her side, “yes, jeez! Of course I want him, Dene. Are you happy?” “Oh yes, honey. Very,” said a voice flippantly from behind her. Poppy’s mouth fell open and she could immediately feel a blush burn across her face and down her chest as she looked at the shocked expressions on her coworkers’ faces before peering at the blonde man’s reflection in the window as he pushed through the door into the office of Giant Goldfish. “I mean,” he continued as Poppy slowly turned to face him, her mouth running dry at the humiliating first impression she’d just made with her favorite author, the man whom she was supposed to convince to work with her. “I’m not usually into the corporate vibe,” he said with a smile as he leaned against Jacob’s desk, his loafers extended in front of him as he crossed his legs and arms, “but this is definitely my kind of office.” He beamed wickedly at the three of them before his eyes finally came to rest on Poppy, taking in her wide eyes, bright red face, the folders clutched in her hand, her arm still half-raised beside her. “Tora,” he said, holding her gaze, “I take it all back, honey. You were right.” Finally, he turned to half-face the large man who had followed him through the door. “Now, don’t get used to that,” Mr. Noyouko waved at the larger man with one hand, his elbow propped against the arm still folded across his chest before turning to look conspiratorially back at Erdene and Jacob, “he’s only ever right once a year.” But Poppy didn’t hear the rest of what Mr. Noyouko said—her gaze had immediately found Tora’s amber stare from across the room. Her stomach somersaulted up toward her throat, watching as he practically prowled toward her, stopping a couple steps from where she stood and extending a hand, his gaze steady, hungry, the faintest smirk teasing around a corner of his lips. Was he also thinking about last night? He wore a black turtleneck that covered even his neck tattoo but did little to hide his muscular build—the dark green pants that hugged his thighs paired with black combat boots did things to the warm spot between her legs. His hair was pulled back under his black hat and Poppy desperately tried not to think of the last time he’d worn it, what they’d done in and after the rain, could feel her blush creeping down her torso beneath her shirt. “Oh, this is my bodyguard, Tora,” Mr. Noyouko said around a knowing smile as he watched Poppy place her hand in Tora’s. “Pleasure,” Tora murmured, his grip around her fingers warm and firm. His thumb rubbed against the back of her knuckles once, twice and then he was backing up to stand just behind the place where Mr. Noyouko lounged. “Oh, are we pretending this isn’t a thing?” Erdene asked from behind her, and when Poppy whipped around to glare at her with a silent plea in her eyes to please shut the hell up, her friend was wagging a finger between Tora and Poppy with one brow raised, a smirk plain as day across her face. “You know,” Mr. Noyouko chimed in, smirking at Erdene, “we walked in just as you were saying something about how of coooourse you wanted—” “Quince.” Poppy glanced at Tora whose face was nearly an unreadable mask, but she could see the danger in the fiery glare he leveled at the blonde man. The blonde man…Poppy turned to look back at Mr. Noyouko. She hadn’t realized it when he’d first walked in because she’d been so mortified and in shock at his sudden appearance, but she was certain he was the person she’d seen Tora manhandle down the street last week. But if Tora was his bodyguard…she tilted her head, wondering about the nature of their relationship. They really did seem more like brothers than colleagues. And Tora had managed to silence Mr. Noyouko with a look. Mr. Noyouko rolled his eyes, huffing a sigh and pushing off the desk as he approached Poppy. He extended a hand toward her, much like Tora had, except when she grabbed his fingers, his hand went limp in her grasp. “Call me Quincey, dear,” he said before turning to shake—or hold—the hands of her colleagues. “I’m Poppy,” she said quickly, “I’m an editor with Giant Goldfish, as is Jacob,” she said gesturing toward Jacob who raised a hand and quickly looked away from Tora who was sizing him up with a frown from beside Quincey. “And Erdene is our graphic designer—she’d be helping us with designing the look of the book, but,” Poppy waved the hand with the folders, “I think I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ve got the conference room set up so we can go over the proposal if that works for you,” she addressed Quincey who looked her up and down, his eyes lingering at her collar before he smiled. “That sounds wonderful, honey,” he said, gesturing for Tora to follow as Poppy and Erdene led them into the conference room. The meeting only took about ten minutes—Quincey seemed incredibly open to all of Poppy’s ideas and barely even glanced at the stipulations Mr. Lam had so meticulously outlined. Poppy had noticed that Tora’d been staring at her through the meeting—every couple minutes she’d catch his eye. As Erdene was showing Quincey some examples of her work on a tablet, Poppy’d met Tora’s eye again from across the table, and she’d blushed as he brought two fingers to his lips, stroking a subtle smirk as he held her gaze. She’d swallowed quickly, trying to take deep breaths as she turned her attention back to the meeting, but found she couldn’t stop thinking about the look he’d given her two nights ago as he’d gently sucked the skin of her inner thigh between his teeth. She found herself rubbing her own lips in an attempt to calm down, but it really wasn’t helping the way it always had before this man had entered her life. “Honestly, I’d love to work with you, honey,” Quincey said, whirling toward Poppy in his chair. “The project sounds amazing, and I think ghostwriting will give me a chance to really experiment with my writing in a way I haven’t been able to in a while,” he said, smiling as he glanced at Tora. “So, where do I sign?” Poppy quickly jumped up from her chair—he wanted to sign! “Oh my gosh, Mr. Noyou—Quincey,” she corrected herself at the look on his face. “You will not regret this,” she said as she opened the folder with the contract, sliding it across the table with a pen as Erdene refilled his coffee cup from the box of joe at the side table. Poppy glanced at Tora and couldn’t contain the grin across her face as she saw the look in his eyes—was that pride? She almost missed the sudden gulping sound from Quincey as he took a large swallow of steaming coffee, Erdene lightly patting him on the back before running to the side table to grab napkins. Quincey blinked up at Poppy, she couldn’t read the look on his face as he said slowly, “Poppy dear, I’m so sorry, I must not have caught it before—what did you say your name was?” She smiled. As a fellow writer, maybe he’d heard of her dad. “Wilkes. Poppylan Wilkes.”  

He sat by Hosea’s side until the man was well asleep. It hadn’t taken nearly as long as he’d expected— Hosea was understandably weary, though his exhaustion clearly ran deeper than he had expected. It was unnerving, seeing him so frail. Hosea was plenty of things but weak had never once been one of them… still, the simple act of seeing him helped. It had been far more than he could hope for, the small miracle warming something inside of him, offering a fragment of hope for him to cling to. Feeling as though a thousands worries had evaporated like morning dew in the rising sun.   Only to be replaced by a thousand new ones. There was still a conflict waging within him. Doubts and certainties battling with one another. Mulling over what Hosea had said. Wondering if it was possible. If there was still a chance.   For Dutch. With Dutch.   Wondering if he could even find itself in him to give him the chance. The idea fluttering through his mind; weak but determined, like a sparrow defending her nest from a snake. Repetitive. Infuriating. A vague speck against a pale blue sky, flitting madly. There one moment. Gone the next. Thoughts drifting, fading as he crossed the road. Coming to a stop as he saw them.   Dakota and The Count.   He blinked.   Clear as day they were. Hitched together in front of Schultz Gunshop. As though they had always been there. Something funny and ill settling in his gut. Because he knew they hadn't been. How they got there, a mystery. One he wasn't sure he wanted to question. The chance he was mistaken impossible; Dakota he’d recognize anywhere, but The Count stood out like an especially sore thumb around the drab everyday breeds that filled the area.   Or perhaps, more accurately, he stood out like a red rose stark among briers, his gleaming white hide typically kept so meticulously clean it shone with the sunlight. The sole reason Dutch valued the Arabian, besides his ceaseless loyalty.   Not that one could guess that at the moment; not with the stallion’s coat stiff with muck and matted down, lending a far less elegant look than what Dutch preferred. What the man would say if he could see him now; agitated and pawing at the ground as he drew near.   “You're alright, boy,” he told him gently, hands coming up to rest on Dakota's flank. The mustang started nudging him, drawing a laugh from him. “Yeah, I'm happy to see you too. Where'd you get up to, fella?”   Fingers ran over his form, hands pressed against warm flank as he searched. Content to find nothing ill, noting that other than the dirt, they both seemed to be okay. Startled as they had been, they must have stuck together when fleeing the swamps. Found by a stranger, and brought back to town, perhaps in attempt to find their owner, or to make some quick money. He wasn't sure which, and wasn't much inclined to try and find an answer. A quick scan of the immediate area finding no attention drawn towards him. Folk far too focused going about their day, slogging through the mud and grime under the warming sun.   He turned back towards the pair, soft whispered words of reassurance as he ran a hand down Dakota's neck. His attention turned next to the saddle bags, finding them picked clean; a sour realization that someone had helped themselves to all of his things. He should have been upset, but that emotion was weak, chased away as Dakota nudged him happily, searching his pockets for any treats he might have. Drawing a heartfelt laugh from him. Lasting only a moment.   The Count, it seemed, was agitated.   The horse dug his hoof into the dirt, his ears pinned flat; if it were possible for a horse to growl, Arthur would imagine the horse would be doing so right now, fed up as he was. Arthur raised an amused eyebrow, another laugh breaking free.   “You ain't foolin no one with all that fussin,” he reached out, hand resting on the horses' nose, stilling him. “Dutch got you right spoiled, he does. You far too pampered; ain't used to being on the road for this long, are ya?”   The Count flicked his ears forward at the mention of his name. Arthur grinned, stroking his neck. “Yeah...your man is fine. I'll get you to him, just...hold up a minute; we can't leave old Buell behind. Hamish will skin me alive. Hang me up like one of his trophies on the wall.”   He already wasn't looking forward to explaining to the man that his gun was, for sure, lost. He wouldn't want to imagine explaining the same for his horse. Bastard as he was, there was no doubt the man adored him. To return without him...well, Arthur doubted that offense would so easily be overlooked.   He doted on the pair for a few passing moments, a smile on his face as he worked their reigns free. Prompting them to wait as he turned back towards the other. Buell was waiting for him impassively, ears twitching as he approached. Far less enthused to see him, though more settled than The Count appeared to be. Arthur gave him stout praise, as he slipped his reigns free, moving to pull himself up.   His fingers had just gripped the saddle, his foot slipped into the stirrup, when he suddenly froze once more. He'd seen them, just over the saddle; a flash of familiarity than raced through his core, deep down to the depths of his soul. Arthur sucked in a breath, ducking his head, heart hammering in his chest.   He was a fool.   Coming out here before checking. He knew that this was dangerous territory. Knew that they would recognize him if they even half glanced his way. Arthur pressed his face against Buell's side, hoping and praying he would go unnoticed. That the warmblood's large flank would give him the protection he so desperately sought.   Not just for him.   There was a bite of fear he couldn't deny, despite knowing that he could take them on easy enough. A few well placed shots, then he'd mount up and speed away before the heat of the law truly came down upon him. Be nothing more than a whisper fading into the mist. Arthur knew he had been in worse situations.   But he couldn't.   Wouldn't.   Hosea.   He'd have to leave Hosea behind.   Any chance of him coming back here after a deed like that was out of the question. He'd not get anywhere within miles; hell Blackwater itself wouldn't be far enough away. It'd bring a whole swarm of new agents, and only add fuel to the fire. They'd no doubt comb the town in efforts to find him-and it wouldn't be him they found.   But Hosea instead.   How far the family would go to protect him, Arthur didn't know. And it wasn't something he could rightly ask of them. Hell, they folk might even give him up simply to pacify the town, to save their own skin. By now they had to know the man was wanted; if he brought chaos to them, he wouldn't blame them for what would follow.   No-it wasn't an option. Wasn't a possibility. Buell nickered, Arthur hushing him with a low whisper. Hoping, praying, that the steed would stay calm. That he wouldn't choose this moment to act out in the manner Hamish so often accused him of. He risked a glance up, watching the pair on the porch. Milton reading a letter, the other...the name he couldn't rightly remember, try as he might, pacing behind him. Breath held, Arthur willed them not to glance over.   “Damn bastard,” he heard Milton curse, an unusual lack of decorum from the man who was at all other times woefully uptight. Arthur watching as he handed the letter over towards the other.   He furrowed his brow, turning the letter over in his hand, “What is it?”   Arthur was curious as well. A bit of hope fluttering in his chest. A reaction so bitter over a simple letter meant its contents were predictably undesirable. Bad news for them could mean the opposite for him. For the others. Arthur let out a slow breath, waiting. Watching.   “It's from our informant,” Milton shook his head. Huffed out a sigh, as if his job were simply not worth the effort. “He's says he's pushing up the job to Friday; something about a prime opportunity. Says that with Morgan and Matthews gone, there's fewer guns. Gang will be split up to make for easier targets.”   Arthur’s heart thundered in his ears. Unhearing, unable to believe. To process what had just rightly been said. They had a rat...there was a rat in the gang. Someone was talking, all for the benefit of saving their own neck. But who? He kept listening. As much as he wanted to puke, or storm over to them in a rage and ferret the answer out himself, he stayed firmly in place.   “Friday? Do we have the time-”   “I don't think we have any other options, Ross,” Milton cut him off.   “With all due respect, sir, I don't see why you are letting this bastard call the shots. He’s… Well, you know.”   “True, he's a rotten, vile snake that's somehow worse than the rest of those low-brow criminals, the very reason he was so easily swayed to our cause. I'm sick of dealing with this bastard; man figures himself something nasty, and he is— just not in the way he thinks.”   “If he’s not trustworthy, then why—“   “Oh, the man is plenty trustworthy. He gives good intel— Without him, we would’ve lost them after Valentine. And he’s damn sure they don’t suspect him. He’s common scum, Ross, but he’s useful. Thinks he’s got us in his pocket— the fool. The way I see it, we let him think whatever the hell he wants. As long as he’s gets us Van der Linde himself, I don’t care if he thinks he’s the Queen of England.”   Dutch...of course they wanted Dutch. Always had; the man their main concern even all those months ago up by Valentine. The same offer extended to him, the same offer he had turned down. Remembering just then how Dutch had goaded him, had asked why he hadn't taken them up on it. A joke, or so he thought then. Realizing now there might have been more malice behind it all.   A bitter hurt he buried deep inside of him. New worries gracing his mind. The gang...the others. They were in trouble. Something about a job they were stumbling right into. Unaware. He had to stop them, had to...   What?   Even if he could get them to listen, he didn't even know who might be ratting them out. Gone far too long now to even begin guessing; the simple fact of not being with the gang for these past weeks left him at a severe disadvantage. Unsure who may have been slighted so direly that they might betray the gang. Unknowing in how dynamics had changed, in who might have been tempted enough to talk, a list of names going through his mind. Arthur glanced back up as Milton sighed, a curse breaking the air.   “Right then; send one of the boys back to town, deliver a message. Let him know that we'll be ready.”   “You think this will work?” Ross wondered, skeptically. “I mean, he is an outlaw-”   “By the end of this week, the Van der Lindes will be nothing more than fireside stories spun to scare youngsters. And we can wash our hands of all this mess, and get Cornwall off our backs. We'll hang the lot of them, rid this country of their filth, and restore some goddamned civility back to this land.”   “And what of Bell?”   He froze, breath caught in his chest. Micah...he should have known...he should have...   “What of him?” Milton seemed irritated by the question, as though the answer were obvious.   “We just going to let him go?”   “For now,” the man mused, chewing on his lip.   “Since when do we just let scum like him go?”   “Since he can sniff out the others. The Van der Lindes aren't the only lowlifes around here, Ross,” Milton reminded him, if sharply. Angry. “He fell in with them; there will be others, and he’ll find them too. New threats rising up once we take care of them; new fools to sway. Bell will serve his time with us before he is… retired. That’s just how it works.”   It was Ross' turn to sigh, the man scowling. Arthur could recognize the look of a young man pressed upon by a system that disgusted him. Also knew the look of one who would no doubt give in to that system, rather than rise against it. That's how these lawmen were. Were he not reeling with anger and malice, the blind allegiance might have turned his stomach.   “Understood—“ Ross turned away, muttering, “I just don't agree.”   “It’s not your job to agree,” Milton was on him in a second, just as fearsome and unyielding with his partner as he was with the outlaws he abhorred, “Just see that it gets done. You aren’t paid to ask questions, got it?”   He waited a beat, Ross giving in with a nod. Milton seeming calmer, an almost wistful tone to his voice as he went on.   “Good-come now; there's a lot to do, and not a lot time to see it done.”   Arthur watched, overwrought with emotion, as the pair left. Roiling with a thousand different thoughts and just as many feelings. Still trying to process what had been said, what he had just learned. Micah...   How long had Micah been playing them? Since the very beginning?   Anger now. Brewing in the recesses of his mind. Growing.   The man hadn't been running with them long; less then a year. Dutch embracing him a few months prior the whole mess in Blackwater. Claiming the man had saved his life, inviting him into their fold of miscreants. Turning a blind eye to all his misdeeds. And oh how there were plenty.   Micah was always an outlier.   Uncouth, despicable, cowardly and full of excuses. Almost miraculous, nearly comical. The man intent on lazing about camp, hassling the ladies, spitting racist taunts just under his breath like the coward he was. Micah had always been a pain in the ass. Had always gotten under his skin. More a nuisance than a threat; or so he thought.   Thinking back to all the trouble he stirred up. Massacring a town for the hell of it, charging into a job half-cocked so he could justify killing a dozen people. Like he had in Strawberry. And Blackwater. And the stagecoach job.   Hell, he had had his thumb in the parlay with Colm, too. Arthur remembering what Hosea had said; it hadn’t been Dutch’s idea— he’d merely gone along with it.   Dutch had admitted as much. Micah had been the one to pressure him into the meeting. Micah had been the one to drag Arthur along. Micah had persuaded Dutch to turn away once Colm had taken him; convinced Dutch to leave Arthur to the mercy of the O’Driscolls.   Had it been his plan all along? To slowly pick them off, to turn them over to the law? Arthur merely the first of many, in a long winded plan for his own selfish desires? A plan, apparently, to follow suit with all the others.   He would stop him. A silent promise made as he mounted. Knowing just then that he'd do whatever it took to save the others. He needed to go. He needed...   Dutch....   He needed Dutch.   The man would know what to do.   He needed to get back. The anticipation was thick, near palpable as he rode on out. Stiff and stoic atop Buell; Dakota and The Count falling in behind him.   He had to get back to Dutch. Had to talk with the man, had to find out exactly what they was planning.   Figure out a way to stop whatever it was, before it was too late.

Luckily for Adrien, he had no more classes with Lila for the day. Soon enough, he was sitting in the back seat of the Agreste sedan on his way back home. He actively dispelled thoughts of the girl’s advances as he busied himself with watching trees and buildings go by outside the car window. Adrien was looking forward to going out on a little Chat Noir adventure as soon as he got to his room. The stretch and contraction of his muscles as he leaped atop buildings with the wind ruffling his golden hair were some of Adrien’s favorite parts of being a superhero. Sure, the fate of Paris was resting on his and Ladybug’s shoulders, but the spandex suit gave the young model something he was lacking in all other facets of his life: freedom.  Pushing open the front doors of his house, the gentle breeze of springtime was replaced with the cold atmosphere of the Agreste mansion. The blond was about to ascend the stairs when a befittingly icy voice stopped him in his tracks.  “Adrien, your father wants to have a word with you.” Nathalie spoke in a monotone, standing in front of Gabriel’s atelier.  “Right now?” Adrien asked, taken off guard. He didn’t remember having a meeting with his father today.  “Yes.” Nathalie clipped.  ‘Whenever Father wants to talk to me on short notice it’s because I’m in trouble.’ The boy wracked his brain for any recent wrongdoings or mistakes but came up short. The uncertainty of the whole situation only made Adrien more nervous as he approached the imposing black doors. With a deep breath, he entered the room, Nathalie following him inside.  “I’m sure you recall your photoshoot scheduled for next week, Adrien.” The older Agreste spoke without looking up from his tablet.  “The one for the summer fashion line.” Adrien responded, straightening his posture for fear of lecture. The importance of this shoot was not lost on the model, as his father had been busy with creating mockups of clothing, scouting for locations, and scheduling for the past month and a half.  “The photographer had a conflict arise, so it’s been moved up to tomorrow.” Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose, overtly stressed by the sudden change and the frantic rearranging that followed.  Adrien merely nodded in response – it wasn’t like he had any other plans.  “We’ll need to check the fit of the clothes on you now.” Gabriel nodded to Nathalie.  “They’re laid out on your desk in your room,” the assistant instructed, “Change into them and come back here. Quickly.”  “Okay.” ‘So much for an afternoon stroll as Chat, huh.’ the model inwardly grumbled.  Just like Nathalie had said, his father’s new designs were folded neatly on the desk. Trying not to waste a single second, Adrien swiftly removed his street clothes and threw them in the laundry basket. Just as he was about to put on the crisp, collared undershirt, the model caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  ‘Huh… did my ribs always stick out this much?’ he asked himself as he took a second to prod his torso with svelte fingers. His collarbone was hardly hidden and his hip bones jutted out from beneath his boxers. Adrien always knew he was skinny to begin with – being a fashion model and all – but he couldn’t imagine how a little over a day of picking at his food could take such a toll on his figure. ‘At least it’s not a shirtless shoot.’ he concluded.  “That’s what happens when you eat worse than a mouse,” Plagg drawled from the recesses of a cheese-filled cabinet.  “I just…” Adrien puffed out his cheeks, “Haven’t been hungry lately.” He wasn’t lying – just the thought of eating made him nauseous. The blond hurriedly buttoned the white undershirt before shrugging on the yellow gingham overshirt. He felt a little stuffy even though both shirts had short sleeves and his top layer was left unbuttoned.  “You gotta eat, kid. Chat Noir doesn’t need to be stabbing people with his elbows.”  “It could be useful!” Adrien quipped. If he was being honest, the boy didn’t particularly care for his recent weight loss. Though he could try to hide his negative emotions, his body showed signs of stress regardless. The rest of the class seemed to be oblivious to it so far, as it wasn’t warm enough yet to ditch wearing long sleeves at school.  “Just remember that Marinette and I are both here for you.” The kwami responded in an uncharacteristically tenderhearted tone. Obviously, his charge wasn’t doing a great job of taking care of himself. Plagg hated to see Adrien struggle and had to resist the urge to go over to a certain girl’s house and cataclysm her brain.  “Thanks.” Adrien scratched under Plagg’s chin before the black blob inevitably flew back to his camembert. Though Plagg was most often a pain, whining about his insatiable appetite and whatnot, Adrien was grateful for the times where his kwami looked out for him. Sure, Plagg wasn’t as comforting as his mother, but it was something.  With his grey cargo shorts secured by a white belt, the blond slipped on matching white Sperry’s and left the room. It was hardly a practical outfit – the light colors would get ruined and stained by any fun activities a carefree teenager would participate in – but it oozed summer. Adrien found posing to look like he was having the time of his life when in reality he was allowed little relaxation himself almost paradoxical. ‘It’s all an illusion anyway,’ he scoffed as the sounds of his footsteps filled the empty hallway. It wasn’t a secret that all of his father’s decisions following the disappearance of Emilie were made to maintain the guise of perfection. ‘It’s like I’m a doll in Father’s dollhouse, expected to just sit there and look pretty.’  Adrien could only hope the fit of his clothes were up to his father’s standards so the tiring process could be as short as possible. He stepped back inside the atelier, and that was when the fussing began. Stylists and tailors swarmed the young Agreste, pulling at hems and inspecting seams before writing notes fervently on their clipboards. The model could’ve sworn one of the seamstresses was commenting to herself on how his belt was secured on one hole tighter than usual. In such close quarters, it came as no surprise that they’d notice his spindly physique. Pushing down the discomfort that came with so many people invading his personal space, Adrien focused on standing stiffly still. He didn’t blame them for checking every detail, after all they’d get fired if something were overlooked, but it was hard to remain neutral with his recent encounters with Lila fresh in his mind. The way some of the stylists pulled at his clothes reminded him all too much of the fox, and he had to fight back a squirm each time.  Deciding to distract himself, Adrien let his mind drift off to daydream about the more enjoyable parts of his life. Getting to see his lady, the crinkling of her bluebell eyes when she smiled, the cute freckles sprinkled across her cheeks, her spunky attitude. He imagined date ideas: picnics in the Parc Du Champ De Mars, bike rides along the Seine, visiting André’s ice cream stand on the Pont des Arts.  Adrien realized he must’ve gotten lost in his fantasies when the sounds of pens scribbling on paper and the staff’s murmurs halted. Dress shoes clacked against the marble floor in resolute strides. Soon, Gabriel Agreste was towering over his son, parted seas of employees around him as if he were the fashion mogul reincarnation of Moses. The man lifted Adrien’s wrist, inspecting the purplish marks on the offending limb.  “What is this?” He asked with displeasure, steely blue eyes studying his son’s face.  “Oh,” Adrien breathed. He hadn’t even noticed getting those, but the boy had a good guess at where they came from. “It… must’ve happened during fencing.” Could you get bruises on your wrists from fencing? Adrien thought it unlikely, but that was the best excuse he could come up with, lest Lila make good on her threat.  Gabriel’s mouth hardened into a grim line as he looked over the other wrist, which was equally discolored.  “You’re lucky it looks like it can be covered up by makeup. Retouching is expensive.”  “Yes, Father.” Adrien deflated once his father went back to toil at his tablet. He knew it was foolish to get his hopes up still, but part of him wished the man had been actually worried about his son’s health and not how an injury would ruin some photos. A snap of Gabriel’s fingers sent the countless employees into a frenzy once again.    Regrettably, the fitting had taken over two hours. Sore was an understatement for how Adrien’s muscles felt after holding various poses for minutes at a time. Once back in the confines of his room, Adrien replaced his photoshoot clothes with a red T-shirt and a pair of spotted sweatpants. Boy, did it feel good to slouch. He sank into his desk chair less than gracefully, pulling his agenda out from his school bag.  “English paper, science lab report, math textbook problems, Chinese exam, more history notes… guess Chat Noir isn’t going out tonight.”  “Who needs homework when you have cheese?” Plagg snickered.  “Does cheese get me good grades?” Adrien jeered. Blame his bad mood on what could only be described as a mountain of assignments. He still hadn’t caught up on all the missed work from yesterday and he’d wasted his afternoon on the photoshoot fitting. This day just kept getting worse.    The blond stretched his arms over his head, leaning back and looking over at his alarm clock to see that it was past midnight – 12:27 pm to be exact. It’s not like he needed the clock to tell him that though; his room was shrouded in darkness, save for the computer monitors illuminating his desk with a bluish glow. With a sigh, Adrien flopped onto his bed. His work was done and felt like a zombie, but he didn’t want to go to bed yet.  ‘Might as well at least try to get some rest,’ he thought, but deep down he knew it was a fruitless effort. What with last night’s nightmare and the stress of the photoshoot tomorrow, sleep sounded less than appealing. Nonetheless, Adrien slipped under his plush covers, wiggling around to try and get comfortable. Despite it being the dead of night, the pale crescent moon filled the room with too much light for Adrien’s liking. ‘Who was the genius that decided to cover an entire wall in windows?’  Periodically, he sighed before tossing and turning into a new position. ‘Does it always take this long to fall asleep?’ He glanced over at his clock once again. 12:31 pm. ‘Great.’ Adrien picked at his cuticles absentmindedly. Clearly this wasn’t working. With another groan, the boy propped himself up on his elbows. At the foot of his bed, the black creature’s chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm. ‘Aaaaaand Plagg’s asleep.’ Adrien stuck his bottom lip out in an annoyed pout. He’d been hoping to get some company. His eyes drifted over to his phone sitting on the desk.  Reaching over, Adrien squinted as he frantically lowered the device’s brightness. He stared blankly at his Ladybug lock screen. Who could he talk to right now?  His pianist fingers tapped lightly against the screen, typing in the first name he could think of to pull up their contact info. And with a few more taps, his message had been sent.  Adrien: hey

New York and St. Petersburg were cold, but they had nothing on the heights of the Urals. Even inside the car, Peggy’s breath was curling in mist from her lips, freezing in sparkling points on the fur of her collar. Turning the engine off felt like a suicidal move. She could remember engines seizing up because of the cold, metal cracking. Romanoff shifted in the passenger seat, gazing out through the windscreen. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I have it on good authority that this kind of engine is freeze-resistant.” Peggy didn’t even glance at her, but she wasn’t surprised that Romanoff knew what she was thinking. After all, she had trained the girl in every way, from covert operations, to weapons, to vehicles. Her lessons, she thought with chagrin, appeared to have stuck. Or perhaps scarred was a better word. She was hardly a kind teacher, and some scars wouldn’t fade. “Old habits,” she replied, tapping her fingertips on the steering wheel. Outside of the car, the snow was gusting in feathery whorls, a mild storm compared to the one that greeted them, as they slipped over the border from Kazakhstan. That was almost four days earlier, and the trail had led them higher and higher into the mountains. It was nowhere that Peggy could remember coming before, but from the grim set of Romanoff’s face, she remembered the area. She said nothing about it, which Peggy took to mean that the association was personal, not something that would affect them in a business capacity. They were half-hidden in the forest, just off the road, and ahead of them, somewhere nearby, there was an entrance to the bunker they were looking for. It was well-concealed, and Natasha had pointed out some of the more high-tech sensors that her kit had picked up. Peggy still felt uncomfortable with their tools. The car, the camouflage plating that shielded them, the panels to mask their heat signatures, the digital scanner that was so small Romanoff could hold it in her palm. All of it was provided by Tony Stark. Barnes insisted they take it all, and Steve had added his voice in support. If they were going to fight a battle, they needed all the best resources, and Stark was willing to provide that. They’d come close to arguing about it, and finally, Peggy had climbed out of the window and sat on the fire escape, breathing in the chilly night air. Steve sat down on the window ledge inside the room, and neither of them spoke. She had her phone and just as she did when words were too difficult to say out loud, she typed it into the phone and pressed send. [I killed Howard Stark.] She raised her eyes to the sky and stared at the faint specks of light she could see there until her phone buzzed in her hand. She reluctantly turned it over, and flicked open the message from Steve. [I know.] It was both a relief and a kick in the gut to know that he knew. [How long have you known?] He swung his legs over the window ledge and ducked under the half-open window to turn and face her. She didn’t look at him, and he folded his hands between his knees. “Before I knew who you were,” he said quietly. “I knew what happened to him. Natasha told me about the Winter Soldier. It wasn’t a huge leap.” Peggy remembered closing her eyes, her hand so tight around the phone that it hurt. “Oh.” It was all she could think of to say. He leaned over, laying his hand on her shoulder, but for once, she didn’t want the comfort. She didn’t deserve it. She heard him release a soft, sad sigh, then slip back in to the apartment. She stayed out there on the fire escape until he switched off the main light, the unspoken sign that he was going to bed, and when she curled up on the sofa, she buried her face in her ice-cold hands and wept. She had slipped away in the morning before he woke, leaving a brief letter in an envelope on the table to summarise the mission. It was too much to think about facing him, knowing that he’d always been aware what she was capable of. She straightened up in the seat. “There.” Romanoff didn’t even ask, turning her head in the same direction as Peggy’s. In a shadow of a crevice that looked just like a dozen others, a flicker of light was visible. Romanoff’s console buzzed and she looked down. “Looks like they’re opening the door for visitors,” she murmured. “Shall we?” Peggy shrugged out of the thick furs she was wearing. Each of them had a camo-suit that would mirror their surroundings and mask their heat signatures. She drew up the hood until her whole face was covered. Fine mesh, so fine it was almost transparent, shielded her eyes, and she nodded to Romanoff. A convoy of armoured vehicles were approaching. The fact that the facilities were still in use didn’t come as a shock. The Soviet states had always had their fair share of enemies, and now, some of those very states were the enemies they were trying to subdue. Falling back on old resources was a habit they were very good at. She took point, moving slowly through the whirling snow towards the edge of the road. The weather meant the vehicles weren’t moving as quickly as the might have been. She was able to roll beneath one in a flurry of powered snow, and use Stark’s magnetic clamps to hook herself to the bottom of the vehicle before it passed her by. She didn’t check if Romanoff followed. The fumes from the engine were oily, but she had long since learned to regulate her breathing, to control herself in every situation. Her throat tickled, but she pressed her lips together, smothering any coughs as the vehicle rumbled into the hidden compound. Snow-covered road gave way to concrete and metal. She held on, until the vehicle came to a halt, and the passengers emerged. She watched boots moving, this way and that. The loops of the magnetic grapples were tight under her knees and around her hands, and her arms ached with the effort of holding herself up. It felt like hours, but was probably less than twenty minutes, when the lights finally dimmed, and she could lower herself to the floor. A glance around told her the chamber was empty. It was large, a natural cavern, but had been floored with concrete. It looked like it was the storage vault for all the vehicles, dozens of them parked side by side. She slipped out from between the tyres, rising slowly. “Bigger than I remembered,” Romanoff’s voice was a low murmur in her ear. The comms were working, then. Peggy nodded, half to herself, and moved towards the nearest patch of shadow. It always felt better to remain unseen than in direct light, even when disguised with the best tech known to modern science. Romanoff was already there and barely flinched when Peggy appeared at her side and touched her shoulder. “Where?” Romanoff hesitated, then put forefinger and thumb around Peggy’s metal wrist and moved forwards, leading her in the pitch black. For all that she wanted to put the Winter Soldier behind her, Peggy could appreciate the way that Romanoff carried herself, the way she must have carried herself for all those years. Every movement was sparing, no waste of energy or motion. They moved liked shadows. There was no other description for it. Soundless and unseen in the darkness, they slipped by guards and engineers alike. Their target was the archive. It was only rumour and legend, but the paper trail dating back as far as the 1940s led back to this place. It was nicknamed Peter’s cave, which understated just how vast the complex was. Romanoff’s hand at her chest stopped her within sight of a plain metal door that looked like it had been salvaged from a submarine. The chamber they were in was a crossover point for a series of smaller caves, and there were electric lights everywhere. “In there,” Romanoff breathed. Peggy nodded slowly. “Numbers?” Romanoff pressed four fingers to Peggy’s chest as a group of technicians hurried by, arguing heatedly. Peggy silently pressed her arm against Romanoff’s belly. Old code. Familiar code. Armed? A fist pressed to her chest. Yes. Four. Not so dangerous. But then, the facility was apparently much larger than it had been, so there may be more. “Cam,” Romanoff whispered. It was directly above them, giving them a perfect blindspot to wait. Peggy glanced up and watched it moving. She counted under her breath. Thirty second sweeps, covering each of the entrances and the door with one rotating camera. She squinted at the camera, then smiled. Old-fashioned, with a limited frame capacity. She tapped her fingertip against Romanoff’s arm six times. Six second window for them to get through the door. More than enough. Another group of technicians was approaching from the other direction, only three this time, laden down with paper files. Romanoff pressed a hand between Peggy’s shoulders, then she was gone, moving forward. With her camo suit, the creature known as the Black Widow was all but invisible to anyone who was not looking for her, hidden in a stripe of shadow. Peggy watched, impressed, as Romanoff deftly made the foremost of the technicians stumble. His comrades, caught in his wake, went crashing down too. The files scattered everywhere, and in the furore as they snarled at each other, none of them noticed the handle of the archive door moving slowly. She must have oiled it, Peggy thought, because it moved soundlessly. As soon as they gathered up their papers and were out of earshot, Peggy looked up at the tracking camera. It passed the door and she ran across the hall in three quick steps. She and Romanoff were through and the door closed behind them in seconds. Unlike the halls, the archive was brilliantly illuminated, and their entrance had not gone unnoticed. “Left,” Peggy decided, and felt Romanoff sweep right as the guards moved towards them. Her eyes flicked along them, some at the main desk, others who had been standing in ranks along the units of shelves, as if there was something very much worth stealing. Fifteen. Considerably more than four. This was familiar. This was what she had trained to do. From her teenage years, this was the role she knew. The soldier. The spy. The infiltrator. The renegade. She pushed her hood back and smiled over at Romanoff, who had drawn down her hood too. “Shall we?” Romanoff’s lips curled up. “I think so,” she agreed, raising her guns.

I have no idea wtf I’m doing. Disclaimer: I don’t own Owari. Pairings: MikaYuu, ShiMitsu; if ya squint hard enough KimiYoi    XxxxX  Mitsuba walked briskly down the corridor of the boys' dormitory. It had been two weeks since their last major battle at Shinjiku. It was absolutely terrifying. Once again some dark power had awakened in Yuu. Had it not been for an unknown ally subduing Yuu and bringing him to his senses, she's not sure any of them would have made it out alive. That ally turned out to be Hyakuya Mikaela, Yuu's precious family member who had been turned into a vampire. Although he seemed skeptical at first, he's joined forces with the Imperial Demon Army. Mitsuba herself isn't entirely sure she can fully trust Mika, but there's no denying the intense feelings he has for Yuu, and vice versa. He hasn't left Yuu's side since they made it back to the human territory.   "Yuu..."    His name echoed down the hallway as Mitsuba continued towards his room. She could feel her heart beating faster with each step, and couldn't stop the blood from rushing to her cheeks.   "And where are you off to in such a hurry?"   Mitsuba stopped in her tracks. She'd recognize that cocky voice from anywhere.    "Shinoa..."   Shinoa giggled and peeked her head from around the corner. "What's with that irritated tone? Did I catch you on your way to doing something naughty?" "N-n-naughty?!? Don't be ridiculous!" Mitsuba turned on her heels and started walking away in the opposite direction.   "You were on your way to see Yuu-san, right? You're going to confess your feelings to him?"   Mitsuba gasped and spun around. She expected to see Shinoa looking amused and full of herself, but instead she appeared understanding and somewhat sad.   "How... did you know? Who told you?" Mitsuba questioned softly, her voice slightly shaking.   Shinoa's infamous smirk was back on her face, "You did. Just now."   "AAUUGGHHH!!!" Mitsuba covered her face and crouched on the ground, even though it was pointless; Shinoa could see her red cheeks from a mile away.                                                          "It's okay. Even if you didn't say anything, I already knew."   Mitsuba uncovered her eyes as Shinoa kneeled in front of her.                            "You see, we both have the same game plan. I was on my way to confess to Yuu-san, too."   "Wait... what!?"   Before Mitsuba had a chance to fully process what Shinoa had just said, the other girl was already up on her feet and headed down the hallway towards Yuu's bedroom.   Mitsuba caught up to her and grabbed her arm as Shinoa turned another corner. "Wait just a minute!" she huffed, "What did you mean by that just now?!"   "I mean what I mean," Shinoa replied, as if it were the as obvious as saying the sky is blue. "You like Yuu-san, right? So do I. You were planning on confessing to him today, right? It's the same for me."   Mitsuba let go of Shinoa's arm in disbelief. This couldn't be happening to her.   "Cheer up, Mitsuba!" Shinoa said as she pat her on the shoulder, "All's fair in love and war!"   Shinoa turned away from Mitsuba but continued talking, "If it's the two of us seducing him, there's no way he could refuse us. In this day and age, we can't afford to be picky and monogamous. If it's with you, Mitsu, I don't mind sharing Yuu-san."   Mitsuba still couldn't believe what she was hearing, but followed after Shinoa anyways. The two finally stopped in front of Yuu's room, and Shinoa lightly rapped on his door.   "Yuu-san, are you in there? Hello?" Shinoa called out. Seconds ticked by and there was no response. Mitsuba tapped her foot impatiently. The longer she waited, the more it felt like she would lose her nerve. She impatiently grabbed the doorknob and gave it a swift turn.   "What the—!"                            The two girls were surprised to find the door unlocked, but there was no sign of Yuu in the room. Before Mitsuba could decide whether or not to proceed, Shinoa waltzed in leisurely. Mitsuba followed after, determined not to lose to Shinoa.   "The boy barracks aren't that large, huh?" Mitsuba commented as she gazed around the sparsely-decorated room.   "Well, it's a lot bigger than it was before, especially when he lived in the school dormitory," Shinoa, who had plopped herself down on his half-made bed, replied.                                         The sheets, pillows, and comforter were plain. His bookshelf, filled with various texts, was positioned by his window.  Asuramaru was nestled right beside it. The other side of the room contained a closet, a dresser, and beside that a desk, currently littered with books on kanji and Japanese grammar.              "Oooooh, what's this!"   Mitsuba, who had been gazing around the room, snapped her head in the direction of Shinoa's voice, "Come see how cute Yuu is!"   Mitsuba couldn't pass on that. Settling beside Shinoa, she peeked at the photo in her hand. It was of a  younger Yuu, looking as grumpy as ever, standing beside a happily smiling Mika. The two of them were surrounded by other laughing and smiling children in front of a small building.   "This is... Yuu's family. The kids from the Hyakuya orphanage," Mitsuba murmured.   "Mm. They're all climbing over Yuu-san and Mikaela. They must have really loved those two," Shinoa inferred, trying to sound cheerful despite feeling deeply depressed. Shinoa might not have been especially close to her sister, but she felt terribly sad and lonely when she heard of Mahiru's passing. She could only begin to imagine how Yuu must have felt.   "Where did you find this picture?" Mitsuba inquired.   "Under his pillow! Isn't that adorable of Yuu-san?"   "His pillow?! Should you really be digging around other people's stuff?"   "It's his fault for having such a messy bed! I just wanted to clean it up."                                               Shinoa giggled as Mitsuba grabbed her by the collar. Before the blonde teen could even retort, she paused and suddenly looked alarm. "Do you hear that?"   Shinoa stopped laughing and trained her ears. "Sounds like... running water. Oh, that's right! The 'room' adjacent to every bedroom in this dorm is actually an adjoining bathroom."   Mitsuba stood up abruptly as her faced turned red. "S-so you think the reason Yuu isn't in here is because m-maybe he's in the shower?"   Shinoa couldn't help but chuckle; Mitsuba was so innocent it was adorable! "My, my Mitsu-chan~! Nervous, are we? I bet you're blushing because you were imagining Yuu wet and naked!"   "Sh-shut up!"   Shinoa couldn't tell if Mitsuba was red from anger or embarrassment or both, and she didn't have time to ponder. The shorter girl tackled her down on the bed, and Shinoa howled with delight. The two of them wrestled for a bit, unsure of whether the other was seriously trying to subdue them or not. Soon, both girls were laughing. Their laughter was cut short, however, at the sound they heard outside Yuu's door.   "Footsteps!" Shinoa whispered.   The two girls scrambled off of the bed as they heard a knock at the door.   "Yuu-chan?" the voice from the other side called out, "Are you in?"   "That's Mikaela!" Mitsuba whispered, a hint of fear in her voice, "I... I don't want to talk to him!"   Shinoa nodded. She really didn't feel like explaining why the two of them were unattended in Yuu's room, which would be slightly embarrassing. Jumping out of the window was not an option; Yuu lived on the third floor. The only vents big enough for the two of them to crawl through were located in the bathroom, which Yuu currently occupied. Quickly scanning the room, Shinoa took note of the half-open closet.   "In here!" Shinoa grabbed Mitsuba's wrist and dashed towards the closet.   "Wh-what are we doing!?"   "Hiding! It's our only option right now."   "Are you nuts?!?"   "Shut up!" Shinoa whispered harshly, shoving Mitsuba into the closet. Shinoa followed suit, cramming into the tight space.   "This is insane," Mitsuba mumbled as she shifted to make room for the two of them. The slits in the closet provided a perfect view of Yuu's bed.                                                             "Shhhh! Or we'll get caught! We'll wait for them to leave then go out afterwards," Shinoa replied quietly.   Things only went downhill for the two of them from there.   XxxxX   "Yuu-chan?" Mika called out again. Sighing, he knocked once more and added, "I'm coming in."                                                                Mika opened the door, locking it behind him before heading towards the center of the room. Things seemed suspiciously quiet, save for the sound of running water. Mika glanced in the direction of the closet, narrowing his eyes.   Just as he was about to take a step towards it, the running water cut off. Seconds later the bathroom door opened, revealing Yuu in a loosely adorned robe.   "Oh, Mika! When did you get here?" Yuu questioned while heading towards said boy.   "Just now," Mika responded as he took the towel from Yuu's hand and began to dry his hair.   "I can do it myself!" Yuu pouted. He chuckled despite himself, and continued to allow Mika to spoil him.   Mika paused mid-rub to push the hair back from Yuu's forehead. He leaned forward and planted a kiss, "I've missed you, Yuu-chan."   When Mika pulled away, Yuu gently rested his head against Mika's chest, "Stupid... you just saw me a couple of hours ago."   "You know what I mean," Mika laughed as he wrapped his arms around his beloved.   "Yeah, yeah," Yuu buried himself deeper into Mika's embrace.   "Now that we're together again, I'll never abandon you. Ever," Mika stated softly, running his fingers through Yuu's black locks.   "Mika..." Yuu gazed up at the blonde teen, his eyes sad yet determined. "I'll save you. I'll find a way to turn you back into a regular human, I promise! I'll never leave your side again, either!"                                                      "Yuu-chan," Mika smiled softly and placed his right hand on Yuu's cheek, "You're so cute. I really want to kiss you right now."   Yuu blushed, "How many times do I have to tell you?! Quit saying such embarrassing things!"   Yuu pulled away from him and snatched the towel out of his hand. Walking over to sit on the edge of his bed, Yuu finished drying his hair. "Besides," the blush crept back onto his cheeks, "I told you a thousand times, you don't have to ask for permission."   Mika walked over to Yuu's bed, the two sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. Both turned their heads to face the other, and Mika leaned in to place a soft, gentle kiss on Yuu's lips.   "Mika..."   These past few days had been a blur. Yuu still couldn't believe that Mika, HIS Mika, was currently sitting right before him and showering him with kisses. When he had awakened in the hospital, it was Mika who had been by his side, holding his hand. The two couldn't stop crying once he had opened his eyes, and he had never been so strongly embraced before.   Mika still wanted the two of them to run away, but Yuu was recovering from the last battle. Mika hadn't had the chance to tell him about everything he learned in the four years they had been separated; tests were being run on the two of them, especially Mika, since it was practically unheard of to meet an aging vampire. There was so much Yuu wanted to know and ask both from Mika and Guren, but any serious thoughts he had flew out the window as Mika slid his tongue into his mouth.   "Mmm... ngh!!" Yuu couldn't suppress his moans as Mika expertly moved their tongues against each other. Suddenly he realized he was on his back, with Mika hovering above him, his hands already moving to disrobe him.   "W-wait! Mika! Stop for a second!" Yuu panted as Mika began to trail kisses along his jawline. Mika stopped and looked up at Yuu, his eyes laced with concern.   "Is something wrong, Yuu-chan? Do you not want to continue?"   Yuu didn't think it was possible he could stop blushing, not with Mika acting like this. "It... it's not like I really want to stop, but—ah! C-cut it out! Ki... Kimizuki... his r-room is... ngh! Right across the... ha... hall! What if he hears us?!?"   Mika paused his kissing and sucking along Yuu's jaw and neck to laugh. "You don't have to worry about that, Yuu-chan. Kimizuki Shihou is not in his room at the time."                                      "Huh? How do you know?" Yuu inquired, but his thoughts became foggy as Mika's hands pushed his robe open, revealing his pert and aroused nipples.   Mika began to lightly trail his fingers around Yuu's sensitive nubs before answering, "I passed by him and Saotome Yoichi on the way to Saotome's room earlier."   "Y-yoichi... and Kimi... zuki? That doesn't make any se—! Ahh!" Yuu cried out as Mika began to lick and suck his nipples, the other hand gently twisting whichever side his mouth wasn't on. Yuu grabbed onto Mika's hair and gently pulled on his locks. Mika continued to trail kisses along his chest and down towards his navel. At this point, Yuu's robe was completely off and discarded onto the floor. "Wait, wait, WAIT!"   Mika smirked as he glanced up at Yuu, feigning innocence.   "Something wrong, love?"   "Ye-yeah!" Yuu huffed, his eyes half-lidded, "It's not fair that I'm the only one naked!"   Mika's grin widened as he placed another kiss along Yuu's stomach, "Do you want me to take off my clothes, Yuu-chan?"  Yuu nodded coyly. "Well then, I'll be happy to oblige." Within seconds Mika was nude as well.   "Better?"   "Better."   As Mika hovered over Yuu again, he took note of Yuu's throbbing erection. He was beyond thrilled that Yuu was feeling the exact same way as him, and that he alone was responsible for eliciting such a reaction.   Ahh, I can't wait to be inside of you, Mika thought.   "Yuu-chan," Mika had started to kiss Yuu's stomach again, and gently coaxed Yuu's legs apart, "do you trust me?"   "Mm, I do," Yuu responded, his voice hoarse with desire.   "I want to make you feel good, really good. Let me suck you off."   Mika grasped Yuu's length, and the other boy jolted in surprise.                                               "Wa-wait! What do you mean—ah!"   Mika's tongue licked across Yuu's slit as he gently pulled back his foreskin. Yuu arched his back as Mika's mouth covered more and more of his dick. Yuu began to unconsciously move his hips in sync with Mika's ministrations. The sucking, licking, and occasional graze of Mika's sharp teeth was sending him over the edge.   "Mika! Mikaaa! Ngh... ha... AHH!"   XxxxX   This is bad. Really, really bad! Mitsuba thought, swallowing hard. I'm getting turned on!   The moans, grunts, and sound of a creaking bed reverberated throughout the room and filtered into the closet. Mitsuba felt like her heart would burst from her chest, and she could feel her lady region getting wetter.                                                        "Ah!" Mitsuba cried out as Shinoa fondled her aching breasts through her uniform. She covered her mouth quickly and mentally cursed. Damn you, Shinoaaa!!   "You seem tense, Mitsu-chan," Shinoa purred softly into Mitsuba's ear. "Relax. We should just enjoy the show and take advantage of the situation."   Relax? YOU REALLY ARE INSANE! Mitsuba wanted to shout, but she kept her lips firmly shut and her hands over her mouth. She was afraid if she spoke, instead of an angry retort it'd be a sultry moan.   "If you want to cry out, go ahead. They're too into their own world to notice," Shinoa added, kissing and sucking along Mitsuba's neck, "just don't be loud."   "I... I thought you... liked Yuu," Mitsuba managed to squeak out.   "Hmmm, I do," Shinoa answered as one hand trailed down to tease the hem of Mitsuba's skirt, "but I'm also very, very fond of you, Mitsu."   Any rational thought Mitsuba had was pushed to the back of her mind as she felt Shinoa's stray hand hover over her most sensitive spot.   "Do you want me to touch you to relieve you of this tension? Hmmm?" Shinoa teased.   "Just fucking do it alre—gah!"   Shinoa began to slowly massage Mitsuba's moist folds. Mitsuba used one hand to support herself against the wall of the closet, and the other she bit into to suppress her moans.   Shinoa chuckled and placed another kiss against Mitsuba's neck. Better hurry, she mused, don't want those two to hear Mitsu-chan, she definitely won't be able to hold back her voice for long!   XxxxX   Yuu came hard. It was a sensation unlike any he had felt before. He tried to warn Mika by tugging harder on his hair, but the other teen's lips stayed firmly on his member. As wave after wave of pleasure overcame Yuu's body, Mika swallowed every drop of cum that shot into his mouth.   Pulling away, Mika licked his lips and smirked, "You taste really good, Yuu-chan."   Yuu tried to look angry but failed when he began to laugh. Mika's heart swelled. It had been so long since he has heard Yuu laugh so genuinely, with a smile that could light up the whole world. Mika laughed with him and thought, This is how it should be. The two of us together, carefree and happy.   Mika, still lingering over Yuu's lower body, reached out to grasp Yuu's right hand as the other rested on his thigh. "Yuu-chan, can I try something? I want to give you even more pleasure."   Yuu nodded meekly, and Mika removed his free hand towards his Yuu's mouth. His index and middle finger lightly traced Yuu's lips before Mika commanded, "Suck."   Yuu obediently parted his lips and allowed Mika's digits into his mouth. It was strange for him to be sucking on them, Yuu felt like a child, but he found himself being strangely turned on. He could feel himself getting hard again.   Mika removed his fingers, coated in saliva and whispered, "Good. This should do."   "Mika...?"   "Yuu-chan, get on all fours. This will make things easier for us both."   Yuu complied, yet he started to get worried. Mika started to trace his fingers along Yuu's entrance, and Yuu flinched.   "Wait!" Yuu cried out, his voice trembling.   Mika stopped immediately and patted Yuu’s back soothingly, "Yuu-chan? Everything alright?"   "I'm... scared," Yuu admitted. Once the words had left his mouth, he thought how ridiculous it sounded. I can handle monsters and demons and vampires, yet I'm afraid of sex!?   Mika smiled and sat back, crisscross, "That's alright. We don't have to continue."   "But Mika!" Yuu turned around to face him, "you... you really want to, right? I want to make you feel good, too…"   Yuu sounded disappointed and looked like sad puppy. Mika chuckled at the display of affection in front of him.   "Hearing you say things like that makes me really happy, Yuu-chan," Mika pulled Yuu into his lap before continuing, "but I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. We can wait until you're ready."   Yuu wrapped his arms around Mika's neck and pulled the other boy into a kiss. It was deep and passionate, their tongues and lips moving together as if they were specifically molded for the other person.   "Yuu-chan..."   "Mika..."   The two boys parted and panted heavily.   "Can I touch you, Yuu-chan? You're still hard."   "Mm, you're hard, too. Let me jerk you off."   Mika wrapped his hand around Yuu's throbbing cock, and Yuu followed suit. They started off slow, mimicking the others' pace, but as their needs became frantic so did their speed.   "Nng, Yuu... chan... ah! Squeeze a little harder."   "Like this...? Hah!" Yuu's voice was strained with pleasure; he could barely focus on the task in front of him. The muscles in his stomach were tightly coiled, and he knew he was close. "Mi-mika! I can't—! I'm gonna—!"   Mika leaned forward to peck Yuu on the lips and breathed out, "Me, too. Let's... ha... come together!"   Yuu climaxed first, his seed spilling onto his stomach and chest. Seeing Yuu come undone before him was enough to push Mika over the edge, and he finished quickly, calling out Yuu’s name as his semen burst forth.   After a few minutes of trying to catch their breaths, Mika grabbed the towel off of the floor. He began to clean their bodies and laid beside Yuu when the task was done. Yuu cuddled closer to Mika, his head resting atop Mika’s chest.   “Sorry about the mess,” Yuu mumbled, a yawn escaping his lips.   “Haha, it’s alright, I’m partly to blame, too,” Mika commented, wrapping his arms around Yuu’s torso.   “We’re so sweaty, ugh.”   “We can take a bath together later, if you’d like.”   “Yeah… that’d be nice…” Within seconds Yuu was out like a light. Mika placed a kiss on Yuu’s cheek and thought, I love you, Yuuichirou…   XxxxX   Thirty minutes had passed. The sound of soft snoring filtered into the closet. Shinoa poked Mitsuba, who had fallen asleep between her legs, in the cheek. “Hey, time to wake up! They’re sleeping now!”   Mitsuba stirred and looked around dazedly. Wiping the drool from her mouth, she stood up on wobbly knees. “How long was I out for?” she muttered.   “Hmmm, probably as long as though two have been asleep,” Shinoa answered as she stood up and stretched, “you have an absolutely adorable look on your face when you’re asleep, by the way.”   “Why, you—! Shinoa!”   “Shh!” Shinoa placed a finger against Mitsuba’s lips, “we don’t want them waking up, after managing to get this far.”   Mitsuba harrumphed but complied. She slowly opened the closet door and the two girls scurried out. They slowly tiptoed towards the door and reached for the doorknob.   “I was wondering when you two would leave.”   The girls jumped and turned to face the voice. It was Mika, sitting up straight on the bed, Yuu still resting soundly beside him. His dull yet intense eyes gazed at Shinoa and Mitsuba.   “Mi… Mikaela-san,” Shinoa greeted in an overly sweet voice, “you’re awake.”   “I was never asleep,” he deadpanned.   Both Shinoa and Mitsuba gulped.   “When did you notice us?” Mitsuba questioned.   “You two do realize that a vampire’s senses are five times greater than the average human?” Mika sighed, running a hand through his blond tresses. “I knew you were here the moment I stepped into the room. Though even if my senses weren’t heightened, I already saw the two of you scurrying in this direction. It wasn’t that hard to put two and two together.”   “You… you knew!?” Mitsuba’s voice was incredulous, “why didn’t you kick us out!?”   Mika placed a finger to his lips, “Don’t wake Yuu-chan.”   As Mitsuba fumed silently, Shinoa repeated calmly, “Well, Mikaela-san, why didn’t you kick us out? Especially since you were so… busy… with Yuu-san?”   Mika shrugged, “I was planning to, but Yuu-chan was being so cute. I couldn’t help myself and got caught up in the moment.”   “That’s it?” Shinoa uttered, trying to keep her voice level.   “Yes,” Mika smiled innocently, “I’ll trust you’ll keep this between us.  Besides, how could you properly explain what occurred without revealing your tryst? Getting off to the sight and sounds of two boys making love, haha. That’d be an interesting conversation.”   “But of course, Mikaela-san,” Shinoa answered, smiling just as innocent, “we wouldn’t dare speak a word of it. Sorry for interrupting you. We’ll be on our way.”   “Wait, that’s it!?” Mitsuba yelped. Shinoa grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her out the door. Once outside the room, Shinoa let out a deep sigh.   “Well, looks like we lost,” Shinoa commented wistfully, “those two are so much in love I could gag.”   Mitsuba remained quiet and stared at the ground. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of emotion. Today was too crazy; she was still having a hard time processing all that went on. She glanced at Shinoa, who seemed off in her own world.   “I-if you want,” Mitsuba started slowly, her face turning red again, “we can… y’know… go back to my room… and, uhh, finish what we started…”   Shinoa blinked twice, then laughed out loud. “Mitsu-chan, you never cease to amaze me!”   Hand-in-hand, Mitsuba and Shinoa walked quickly and quietly towards the Sanguu domicile, giggling and whispering along the way.   XxxxX   OMAKE:   Guren yawned and shuffled through his morning report. There was so much to get done it and it was too early for him to care about the words in front of him and the senseless babbling of Shinya right beside him.   “There you are, baka Guren!”   Both men turned to face a triumphant-looking Yuu. Yuu placed his hands on his hips and boasted proudly, “Looks like you can’t call me cherry boy anymore! So suck it!”   “WHAT!?” Guren dropped his papers and looked at Yuu in disbelief. Shinya couldn’t help but howl with laughter. Yuu walked confidently by his horror-stricken LTC, with a mischievous-looking Mika trailing right behind him.

So the plan was, hang around Pinkster and gather whatever we could from him. Sounds simple enough. Except now it'd just been days hanging around Steven and the pink guy; and well... it’s been chill and Amethyst got to induce all the fun chaos with those two that she wanted to. Heck, her favourite moment so far had been playing the game of how much stuff can I put on Star’s head before it falls off or Pearl finds out. So she would stack books, toilet paper, a bowl of macaroni and cheese, and even the TV—and he would look at you like yes, this is completely acceptable. Even Steven got in on it and put his toys and stuff in the pile. He even ran out only to come back with a few flowers to weave in the other’s curly hair, because Steven was a sap. So yeah, Star was a cool guy. It wasn’t all bad. It’s just that… Amethyst hated playing detective. She didn't want to figure him out; she just wanted this future Steven to admit what's up himself. Steven's always been a guy wearing his heart on his sleeve and yet Star felt like a closed off box. Well… Garnet and Pearl had secrets too, heck she had stuff she never wanted to talk about. Sigh… If Rose was here they'd all know what to do. She acted cool about it though—always have when something bothered her and she didn't want to dwell on it. Getting all worried up wasn’t her thing, you know? --- ★ --- A light drizzle turned stormy had Star and his younger self cozied up in Steven's bedroom. With them was the hybrid's phone, featuring just the appropriate entertainment to brighten up this gray day. Cats of all kind filled the screen, ranging from cute and wacky—enough to leave a content, all mushed up face on the younger.  These quiet moments had been a blessing for the half-gem, just being able to zone out in the presence of Steven, knowing everything was fine. In the midst of their lazying, Amethyst decided to pay them a visit. “Yo, what up?” Cat videos were on the agenda, and she apparently decided she wanted in as she crawled up the stairs on all four where she landed up on the bed, right in front of them. Star wasn’t sure what was in mind of the purple Quartz. She didn’t have her eyes on him nor did she have that mischievous spark about her.  The phone didn’t hold her attention either as she only took a brief glance at the fluffy kittens before saying, “Eh, I can do one better.” And with that she turned herself into an even fluffier feline. In her shifted form, Amethyst curled between him and Steven like any cat seeking warmth.  Admittedly it was a cute moment, and Steven agreed so with his little “aww”s. So they sat there for a couple more minutes, only the phone and sound of rain making any noise, before the temple door chimed. Garnet and Pearl stepped up to the living room’s warp pad and seemed to be preoccupied with their own thing, and they were ready to warp off without even giving them a heads up. That is until Steven spoke up. “Hey are you going on a mission?” Garnet turned her attention to the younger. “Yes. There was a sight of a lakeside monster we need to take care of.” And with the mention of a mission, the little guy wasted no time asking. “Can we come with?” This time Pearl stepped in. “No Steven, this is a monster mission. It’s far too dangerous for you.” “But, but, I can use my shield! And I have Star here to protect me!” Steven argued back.  The two tall gems shared a look like they were considering it.  Though in the end, Garnet gave him the let down speech. “Steven, it’s great that your powers are awakening and that you have people to protect you. But Pearl is right, this mission is too dangerous. It’s best for you to stay home.” “Does that mean I can come on another mission?” he added with a fancy eyebrow wiggle. Garnet stared at those wiggly eyebrows, just wiggling in anticipation. But it seemed like even those funky moves weren’t enough to make the leader crack, and so she just left him with a shrug. The hybrid sank into a pouting puddle, clearly not happy about being dismissed. Star didn’t like seeing Steven let down, but he headed the leader’s words—missions were dangerous and he did not want to risk Steven’s safety. While he kept quiet, Amethyst—now not a cat—jumped down from the bed and made her way to join the others. But Garnet spoke up again. “Amethyst, stay here with Steven and Star.” The purple Quartz said nothing but simply held her hands in surrender. If he were to guess, Amethyst was in charge of surveilling him. Star knew his family was observing him as he was observing them. It was fair, he didn’t mind it. Maybe that was why she hung out as a cat earlier? But it didn’t matter. What did matter, however, was how Steven was doing. “Well, Pearl and Garnet are missing out on cat time,” the younger defiantly proclaimed with a huff. Determined, the hybrid wasted no time grabbing his phone, but fretted once the screen lit up. “Ah, my battery is almost dead!” And with no conveniently placed outlet, they wouldn’t be able to continue browsing while the phone charged. “That’s rough, buddy,” was the Quartz’s attempt at consoling him. Steven’s spirits were down, just like the many times he’d been rejected a mission as Star remembered it from his own childhood. This was a problem. At least for now the half Diamond had somewhat of a solution.  With a glow, Star pulled his own phone out and handed it to the younger. “You can use mine.” “Ooo!” And just like that the hybrid was quick to gain his eagerness back, “Thanks, Star!” Things were looking to come together as they pulled themselves to rest around the covers once again. They had the warm bed, the rain was still giving that lazy-cozy atmosphere with distant thunder asmr, they had unlimited cat access—so yeah good stuff. That is until the purple Quartz had other plans in mind. “Pff, who needs phones when you can do this,” she tackled the kid, once again in cat form. Steven giggled as she pawed in his face. “Hehe, no fair!” He ever so futilely tried to swipe the attacks away, but four paws and a tail proved too much. Sure this all seemed like innocent play with the tickling and whatnot, but this was the Quartz of mischief they were dealing with. While Steven’s defences were occupied by her paws, she took this opportunity to reach out and snatch the phone he’d gotten with her mouth. “Heyyy,” the hybrid called out as cat Amethyst ran off with her stolen item. She had run along the horizontal support beams going into the kitchen and perched herself top of the cabinets. The young boy set off to chase her down but his small form didn’t do him any favours in reaching her high platform. “Now let’s see whatcha got in here,” the purple Quartz teased as she took the phone in paw and swiped it open. Only then she gruntled in dismay, “Ugh, you password protected it?” Star, watching all this from Steven’s bedroom, answered. “Yes.” “Laaame.” The Quartz knew defeat and carelessly dropped his phone down, with Steven luckily catching it before it could break. He regarded the phone in his hands with a wistful look. “I wished I could be a cat, then I wouldn’t need a phone to see cat videos when I could be cat videos!” At that Amethyst jumped down from the shelves and claimed her spot on the hybrid’s head. “Eh sure you can, you’ve got the gem,” she said like it was natural. “So like, just feel it out.” “Wait really?” Steven looked star-struck with that new piece of information. “Star, can we do that?” He looked up to him, his eyes just begging for a confirmation. However Star felt a sudden heaviness at the topic. “Don’t,” he said. It was sudden, it came instinctively. Shapeshifting… he hadn’t had the best experience with it. He remembered the cat fingers, the fluctuating age, fluctuating size, the monster. It wasn’t an ability he felt he had control over… He didn’t feel like Steven was ready for it, nor was he himself. But the younger’s face was painted in confusion. “What?”  “Don’t shapeshift,” he clarified, but the kid’s just titled his head at it. “Come on, it’s just shapeshifting, what could go wrong,” Amethyst insisted, jumping drown from Steven’s head and walking in a circle around him, her tail flicking up to his chin as if to tempt the younger. And Star tried to answer their questions, he really did, but words escaped him. He didn’t know how to explain how bad these things had been for him. The reasons were clear in his head and yet he never was good at any elaborate speech to say just why. Eventually he shook his head in frustration. “It’s… bad,” he managed to mutter. It barely explained anything, but it was how he felt about the topic. Steven appeared worried, but Amethyst stopped in her tracks with a look of betrayal. “What do you mean bad?!” she spat out. He didn’t say anything, he was still figuring out how to formulate these thoughts, these feelings, but now Amethyst was raising her voice and bristiling at his response. “Come on, Pinkie, why don’t you tell us why it’s bad?!” “Please… please don’t,” he didn’t want Steven to turn into a monster, he didn’t want to turn into a monster, he— “Star?” “I need some space.”   It was a phrase he learnt to use with his family, when everything became too much. And they respected it at his time, they knew his needs. Maybe it would work here, maybe it wouldn’t. He didn’t know but still went ahead and jumped from the bedroom and floated straight down to the living room, giving up any human pretense, and made his way to the bathroom. --- ★ --- So after Pinkie’s dramatic walk, Amethyst, now in her regular form, was left with a sour taste in her mouth. Yeah Garnet said not to confront him, yada yada.  But he just called shapeshifting bad for no reason! And like, shapeshifting was her thing. She didn’t wanna just let him trash talk her like it was nothing! Steven was looking at her with brows creased and eyes blown in apprehension, but a timid smile made its way on his face. “So... wanna look at cats again?” he tentatively asked with a wave of his borrowed phone. Honestly she just wanted to run into her room and dive in a pile of trash, but she was not gonna follow Pinkster’s example, so she followed the kid to the couch and settled beside him in protest. Steven was already tapping his way from the lockscreen ('cause he apparently knew the password), but something caught their eyes on the homepage. It was the three of them, Garnet, Pearl and her—but they all had different clothes. Was… was this them from the future?! “Wow, that’s some cool shades,” the hybrid so enthusiastically pointed out. “It’s all gold and,” he gave it a smart wink, “it looks like a star!” Amethyst couldn’t help but notice Pearl’s bold style. “Pfff, P’ wears a jacket?” “I think it really suits her!” Steven complimented. “Yeah, I mean that’s a damn look.” Current P was sooo boring, so it was nice to see her getting a little spicy again. All in all, the gem trio were looking happy, Garnet in the middle with her hands wrapped around the two in a hug, while they all posed for the camera. It wasn’t a weird photo or anything, the group did have their moments of togetherness. And yet it did spark something in the Quartz seeing them all so close. Amethyst noticed how her future self had her gem fully visible, not half hidden within her shirt like she preferred it now. Huh... It was then the Earth Quartz got an idea. “Hey, wanna check out Star’s gallery?” The hybrid let out a gasp. “Yessssss!” Looks like Steven held no shame in snooping around either. She plucked the phone from the kid and took charge of the scrolling. Clicking into the overview, the first thing that caught her eye was the sheer number of landscape pictures. Like geez louise there were so many. There were less of them recently, but as she scrolled down tons and tons of pics of random nature and attractions filled the screen. She almost had to double check she wasn't in some kind of scenery album, but no, these were all his recent photos. They were all in different cities and locations too. So looks like Pinkster had been travelling a lot. What was noteworthy were the lack of any real people in these photos. Yeah there were maybe some random guy walking in the background but nothing to suggest Pinkster had taken it because of that guy. It was weird in a way. Amethyst had seen her Steven's gallery, that guy loved to take pics of people, including selfies. “Man, look at all these places!” the hybrid commented, “Oh my gosh, that’s a concert! And is that kayaking? Wow, that's some delicious looking food,” the hybrid continued to ramble on as she swiped further down. “Star and dad must have really been going all out!” Yeah it wasn't often those two could afford traveling and whatnot. Steven's dad spent all his time at the car wash and he didn't seem like the kinda guy to plan big trips. But judging from all these lone picture... “Mmm, think it’s just you.” “Just me? But I can’t drive,” the hybrid pointed out. “I think Pinkie is old enough to do that.” “I guess, but I can’t imagine not going to all these cool places without at least one of you guys!” “Aww, look at you already missing us,” she gave the lil’ kid a ruffle on the tum. And the hybrid struggled defending the ruffle attack and just had to accept the giggles. “Hehe of course, I love being together with you guys. Amethyst, hehe, please. ”  Of course that was such a Steven thing to say. The guy loved everyone. Her attention turned back to the phone and like, so far all this seemed so… normal? But not their kind of normal. Like it was all ordinary stuff, but it felt all different. Like geez, these were at least a year worth of nothing but tourist photos. Guess that really was what Pinkster was doing in his future. She'd already reached back to the previous, previous year of boring pics until she came across something. It was the rare photo of a selfie. It was Steven… but bigger. It was Steven. Their Steven—the guy that smiled, the guy that would have his cheeks flushed cause it was cold outside. He gave the camera a little peace sign as snow collected on his beanie and blue puffer jacket.  “Hope you guys are doing well! ❤” a caption attached read. A pink glow made her turn to the left. Pinkie. He stood right behind her with his unwavering stare and she just stared back. Wordlessly, he extended a hand.  You know what, what if she didn’t give the phone back? But then the phone glowed pink and swiveled over to him anyway. Well so much for that. --- ★ --- Steven was glad to see the other back. He’d been worried about how the other was doing after his hurried leave, but it looked like things were fine again. The hybrid was already scooting over to greet him with an excited ramble. “I didn’t know you travelled so much! I’ve never seen canyons before, and man you’ve been camping out in the mountains too! Can you tell me some cool stuff you’ve seen?!” He’d hoped his upbeat energy could prove infectious, but the other wasn’t looking at him. Instead he just stared down at his phone, eyes lingering at the display—face unchanged as it as always was, and yet Steven could tell the other had something at heart. The hybrid got closer and stuck his head out to see what the other was looking at. “That’s you,” Steven pointed out. The other nodded. “Did you always travel by yourself?” Another nod. Hope you guys are doing well! ❤ “Did you ever miss your family when you travelled?” The other stilled his nod, instead sinking deeper into his gaze of the display. He was quiet like that, Steven knew it was up to the other whether he wanted to answer. “I did,” he eventually said. “I did a lot...” His future self carried the same expression as always, eyes fully blown, mouth prone, eyebrows untilted. Stoic, he’d heard it be called. Just like Garnet, he’d thought; Garnet who lacked any visible, emoting eyes and rarely smiled. And like her, he’d learnt to look out for the small things, the little quirks, as a way to measure how the other felt or thought. The pink hybrid kept his fixated stare and Steven knew the other was grieving. It’s a feeling he’d become all too familiar with—whenever you miss someone, whenever others look off somewhere like they’ve been struck by a past that haunted them. Steven thought of his family and then thought of Star’s. “Maybe one day, you and I and dad can travel together?” The room was quiet, save for the rain and bits of thunder drumming in the background. Amethyst had pulled herself away and sat cast off by the window area to the right of the entrance, though still glancing at them. Meanwhile Steven looked back up to him, hoping to pull the other out of his sorrow. Eventually future-him nodded. “That would be nice.” --- ★✰★✰★ --- [Art of the picture on Star's phone of his past self with winter clothes giving a peace sign with a smile]

Three days later, Lena was riding the elevator to the 42nd story of CatCo. She was nervous, this was going to be her and Kara’s first lunch together after the huge explosion with Alex. They’d been texting every day since then, and it seemed like Kara didn’t have any remorse for choosing to still spend time with Lena, but Lena was worried that, that would soon change.  She let out a shaky breath as the elevator doors separated in front of her to display the bullpen with dozens of reporters buzzing around. She smiled at the familiarity of it all and was glad Kara had this in her life again. She knew if just seeing this familiar sight brought Lena a sense of comforting nostalgia it would definitely bring some happiness to Kara.  She stepped through the elevator doors and walked towards the hallway where she knew Kara’s new office was and was stopped by Cat Grant herself.   “Lena Luthor! What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What can I do for you?” Cat asked with a polite smile and a raised curious brow.  “Oh! I’m actually not here to see you today, Ms. Grant. I’m here to have lunch with Kara.” Lena informed.  Cat furrowed her brow. “Oh. I see. “ She pursed her lips “Well, that might be a bit hard at the moment because she left about an hour ago.”  Lena’s heart sank and a frown adorned her face. “Oh? Did she say when she would be back?”  “No. Just that her sister needed her to watch her niece and nephew for a while for some reason or another. I’m not sure I was only half paying attention.” Cat shrugged dismissively. “You’re more than welcome to wait in her office if you’d like.”  Lena swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded as disappointment swept through her like an ocean at high tide. She sighed and made her way down the hallway and to Kara’s office. She sat down in a chair that was in front of Kara’s desk and began her wait…  After about twenty minutes she pulled out her phone and texted Kara out of worry that something bad had happened.  Lena:  Is everything alright?   She sent the message and ten minutes later received a response.  Kara:   Oh! I’m so sorry, Lena. I lost track of time. I didn’t think I’d be gone this long. Alex and Kelly are almost back, I will be there as soon as I can, alright ?    Lena relaxed a bit when she had confirmation that everything was okay… Kara had just lost track of time. And although she was relieved about that, she was now worried about their future lunches… Were they all going to be like this? Was this going to be a common reoccurrence?   God she hoped it wouldn’t be… because that would just make it extra hard on Kara, which would mean that Kara would have even  more  of a reason to want to stop trying to mend bridges with Lena; and she already had plenty of reasons.  She sighed and shook her head. She had to figure something out. This entire situation just  wasn’t fair  to Kara.  Lena knew why she was being punished and she accepted all that was being thrown her way. She deserved every single bit of it; but poor, kind and gentle Kara, who was just trying to forgive and move passed all the evil between them, was caught in the crossfire and that just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Kara, it wasn’t fair to the kids, and truth be told, it wasn’t even fair to Alex. Because Lena  knew  that Alex loved Kara just as much as she loved those kids. Kara was her baby sister. She would always love and protect her; so she knew that hurting Kara was something that ate at Alex. So, no, it wasn’t fair to Alex. Because this was making her hurt more too.  So what was Lena to do? She couldn’t take herself away from Kara again. Kara was too deep in her grief to handle being hurt or let down again. She couldn’t confront Alex, that would be suicidal at best. So, what was there for her to do? She needed help. She needed help and she needed it soon because things weren’t going well, at least… Not from Lena’s perspective. Sure, Kara wanted to spend time with her, but it was at a great personal cost to Kara… Alex’s wrath. Alex’s anger. Alex’s resentment. Losing time with Dominic and Maya. It was all hurting Kara, and it was very obvious.  Lena sighed and shook her head. She was only causing Kara more pain. She should have never went chasing after Kara that day at Noonan’s. She should have thanked the universe for letting her see the love of her life one last time, and then let Kara go on living her life without the added pain of having Lena force her way back into it. It had been totally unfair… Unfair to everyone involved.  Just as she thought that, the office door swung open abruptly to reveal a heavily breathing Kara. “I’m sorry. I got here as fast as I could. Please don’t hate me.”  Lena frowned.  Hate her?!  “Haven’t you learned by now that I could never hate you, Kara? There is nothing you could do that would make me hate you.”  Kara smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Lena. But I promise I will still spend at least an hour with you. I won’t break that promise.”  “Don’t worry about it. I understand. Family comes first.” Lena said softly.  Kara bit her lip and averted her eyes for a moment. She let out a deep breath and closed her eyes as she spoke. “Will you please stand up?”  Lena furrowed her brow confusion and worry setting in her heart. “What?”  The blonde opened her eyes and smiled softly at her, a smile that could bring anyone to their knees…  Especially  Lena Luthor.  “You have been so kind to me, Lena. So thoughtful, so supportive, so  understanding . I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that you’re  my  Lena again. So, please… Stand up.”  Lena’s entire body was filled with an anticipating tingle. Her heart was thudding in her chest as hope filled her body. She gulped down her anxiety and stood up from here seat. “N-now what?” She squeaked  out . She was lost. What the hell was going on?  Kara gestured for Lena to come closer, and so Lena did without question. Lena let out a shaky breath. “Kara?”  A smile spreads across Kara’s face and she did something that Lena had been dying for her to do for fourteen years. Something she dreamed about every single night for over a decade. Something she never thought would ever happen again. Something she wished for on every shooting star she saw… Kara pulled her in and hugged her.  She  hugged  her and all Lena could do was melt into it.  Their first hug in almost 15 years.  It was amazing and familiar and everything she could ever need in life. She  loved  this woman! This strong, firm, amazing woman that had suffered so much and for absolutely no reason. This forgiving woman, that had done nothing but help others no matter what that meant for herself.   “Oh,  Rao , Lena. I’ve missed you.” Kara whispered. “I was  so   angry , for so long, but I just don’t have the energy for that anymore. Especially not now. Not after all these months of working on trust. You’ve shown me time and again that you can be trusted now. You’ve saved millions of lives, you’ve helped me with my grief, you’ve proven time and time again that you want nothing more than to be and do good. So I’m done being mad, Lena. I’m done distrusting you. I’m done doubting. You are the Lena Luthor that I knew and loved before. You’re the Lena Luthor that was my best friend. The Lena that I trusted with my life each and every day.”  Lena cried silently into the nook of Kara’s neck. Hearing Kara say  every   single  damn thing she’d been hoping to hear for over a decade felt like she’d finally succeeded at life. Euphoria did even begin to describe what passed through her. It was something higher than the highest level of happiness she’d ever felt. Euphoria, joy, ecstasy, jubilation, delight, pleasure; it was all true, but none of it described just how much happiness she was feeling in that moment.  “You have absolutely no idea how happy I am to hear you claim me again.” She croaked out through a throat swollen by emotion.  Kara squeezed her waist tighter. “I’m glad I could bring a little bit of happiness your way.”  “It’s more than I’ll ever deserve.” Lena replied. “But I’m greedy, so I’ll take all that you offer me. And you offer me a  lot ”  “You’re not greedy, Lena. That’s never been an issue with you. You’ve been too self-sacrificial, that’s what brought all of this on. But that’s over now. We’re okay.” Kara asserted.  Lena swallowed down the lump of emotion stuck in her throat before she pulled away just enough to look into Kara’s eyes. “Y-… Are you saying that… That you forgive me?” She asked as hope rose through her like an exploding volcano.  Kara smiled. “Yes, Lena. That’s what I’ve been trying to say since I arrived.”  “Why?” Lena asked in confusion. “Why would you forgive me? I-I’ve barely done anything to earn that.”  “You were willing to step back, Lena. You were willing to go back into forced solitude just to save me from missing time with Dominic and Maya. You were willing to break your heart and put yourself back into a life of misery and loneliness just to make sure that I was as happy as I could be. That’s why. That’s something that the Lena I knew and loved before would have done; and I thought about it for a while, and I was going to give it a few more days before I finally caved and completely forgave you, but seeing how you responded to me being over a half-hour late… I couldn’t stay mad any longer.” Kara squeezed her gently. “I forgive you, Lena. And… I’d like to try and start working on our friendship again.”  Lena’s heart thudded rapidly in her chest. “Are you saying that we  are  friends again?” She asked hopefully, her eyes alight with glee.  Kara chuckled and nodded. “Yeah… I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying.”  And that was it… Lena almost passed out. She never thought this day would come. “Oh thank God. Thank you, Kara. Thank you. I will never let you down again, I swear to you. On everything I love that I will never hurt you, or Alex, or anyone ever again. I’m done being a mess. I’m done being a burden.”  “That’s your problem, right there, Lena.” Kara said with a frown.  Lena’s heart sank. She’d already messed up it seemed. “What? What’s my problem?” She asked worriedly; intent on fixing whatever she’d broken before it could spiral into complete devastation.  “You were never a burden to me, despite what you thought.  Never . And I wouldn’t have ended our friendship if you had told me that you were in love with me back then. It would’ve been a total shock, but I wouldn’t have been angry.” Kara smiled sadly at her. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel safe enough to tell me.”  Lena shook her head. “D-don’t apologize for  my  stupidity. I should have known better. I just didn’t want things to change between us.  I knew you didn’t feel the same way and  telling you would have changed our dynamic. I didn’t want that so instead of being open and honest with you I decided to become a drunk.”  She sighed and shook her head. “I know you say that you forgive me, but Nia, Brainy, Kelly  and  especially  Alex, never will. Are you really ready to get heat from them for the rest of your life because of me?”  Kara shook her head. “No. But I’m going to anyway.”  Lena let out a small laugh. “You amaze me every single day, Kara Zor-El. I can’t even begin to tell you how much you mean to me.”  Kara smiled at her. “You don’t have to. You’ve already proven it.” She hugged Lena again. “Now, let’s eat, shall we? I’m starved.”      XXX     The next day, the same thing happened. Alex had called Kara twenty minutes before Lena and Kara’s scheduled lunch and asked her to watch the kids for her.  But this time, Kara hadn’t been able to make it back in time to spend an hour with Lena. So they hadn’t even seen each other that day..  Or the day after that.  Or the day after that.  And Lena finally got fed up. It was very clear that, although Kara couldn’t see it, Alex was doing this on purpose. So, although she was terrified of what the outcome of this would be, she decided that she would surprise Kara with Big Belly Burger in her hotel room. She was desperately craving Kara’s presence, so she was willing to risk being shot on sight by Alex if she happened to cross paths with her.  She walked down the hotel hallway, and made it passed Alex and Kelly’s suite with ease. She let out a relieved breath and then headed straight to Kara’s door. She wasted no time at all and knocked three times before lowering her hand and impatiently waiting for Kara to answer the door; when she did, she wasn’t happy to see Lena like she hoped.  “Lena?!” She asked in what seemed like horror. “No! Lena... I have the kids! A-Alex is going to be back any minute.”  Lena’s heart fell but panic set in and she nodded. “Can I come back after the kids leave?”  “Yes! Of course. Of course, you can, Lena. I just  really  need you to leave for a little while. I’ll text you when they leave, okay?”  Lena swallowed back her disappointment and nodded. “Yes. That will work. I will see you soon, okay?”  “I’m really sorry, Lena. But I can’t risk losing my sister and her kids.” Kara said apologetically.  Lena waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t apologize, Kara. We knew this wasn’t going to be easy. I’m sorry that I've put us all in this situation.” She said. “I will see you in a little while.”  Kara smiled at her with gratitude, but before Lena could make her exit, Kara’s eyes went panicked, and Lena furrowed her brow. But before she could ask Kara what was wrong, the doors to the elevator opened, and Alex and Kelly stepped out, immediately meeting Lena’s eyes with a look of pure rage on her face.  Fuck  

Wu Xie collapsed to the floor, cold stone at his back. The vibration of the rock under him stopped as whatever massive mechanism had operated the trap ground to a halt, but he was still trembling - arms wrenched and abdomen sore, but whole and alive and riding high on the grim-glorious rush of adrenaline. In that moment he wished desperately that Pangzi and Xiaoge were here; they would know how to hug and laugh and boast as they rode that chemical wave, camaraderie turning danger into adventure, near-death into the white-hot joy of living on the edge. He couldn't even hear Huli in the darkness. "Huli?" he called out. It came out in a teeth-chattering half-chuckle, still giddy, and he had to let that tremor shake itself out before he could try again. "Huli - are you okay?" There was no response, and the volatile rush of emotion began to seep out of him. "Huli?" He slung his pack down and fumbled through it in the darkness. There - his fingers closed around a spare flashlight, and he flicked it on, sweeping it in the direction of his vague memory of where Huli had been. The beam of light captured him pressed back against the far wall. He was huddled, legs pulled up in front of him, both hands tight over his mouth as if he was trying desperately to muffle his breath. At first, Wu Xie thought that he had heard something, that there was some threat in here with them, but as he swept his light around he saw nothing but empty corridor stretching into the blackness. "What is it?" he asked, bringing the light back to Huli's face. Huli didn't react, just stared at him over the double-muzzle of his hands. His eyes were huge. Then Wu Xie realized that he was shaking, and that behind his tight-clamped fingers his breaths were coming far, far too fast. Fear? Panic? Whatever had caused him to fight against going through the door had not fully released its hold on him yet, it seemed. Wu Xie crawled across the brief distance of corridor and crouched in front of him. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. If this had been one of the many other young people he had adventured with he might have pulled him into a hug, or at least rested a hand on his shoulder, but this was Huli, and whatever trust he had in Zhang Qiling was not something that Wu Xie had yet earned. Instead he felt the last dregs of adrenaline bleed away as he sat there uselessly and tried to find words that might comfort; difficult when he had no understanding of whatever connection there was between Huli and Gao Bai that had caused that frantic reaction. “We’ll find them again,” he said finally. “Don’t worry about that. If nothing else, Xiaoge is with them and I don’t think there’s anywhere I could go that he couldn’t find me. And Pangzi’s not above blowing up any walls that stand in the way, either,” he added letting the smile at that thought spread across his face and hoping that maybe it would warm Huli at least a little. He thought that the frantic breaths were starting to slow a little, and just in case his talking was helping he continued, “Plus they still have your map, and we… well, we have you. And me, for that matter; you might not have been able to tell it just now, but I’m usually fairly useful in this kind of circumstance.” He shifted to lean back against the wall by Huli. Huli did not look at him, but his hands eased and fell down to his sides, though his breath still came in shuddering gasps. “Thank you, by the way, for out there. You probably saved my life.” He thought about the candy in his pocket, thought about Huli coming to their fire the night after Zhang Qiling saved them, and did not say, as he might usually have, I owe you one. “It was brave of you, and kind. Thank you.” He unhooked the canteen from his pack and unscrewed the lid, then held it sideways in silent offering. It took a long moment, but Huli accepted the canteen with shaky hands, fingers cold where they brushed against Wu Xie’s. He drank thirstily, spilling a little, and when he was done he let his head fall back against the stone wall with a thunk. “Fuck,” he said fervently. “My feelings exactly,” said Wu Xie dryly, and was rewarded by a faint twitch at the corner of Huli’s mouth that might possibly have been the beginning of a smile. “Oh, shit,” he suddenly swore himself, because he realized that while he’d been distracted his window of trying to reach out to Zhang Qiling and Pangzi while they might still be in earshot was rapidly vanishing. He slid his knife out of its sheath and flipped it over in his hand to tap against the wall. Are you there? He waited a moment, repeated the query, and listened. Nothing: too far away then. He sighed; it had been a mixed chance, and not vital, but it would have been good establish some communication before they split away completely. Then suddenly, he did hear something, but far too close. When he turned and looked, Huli was sitting with his eyes closed and his head back against the rock, but he had curled one hand into a fist and was knocking his knuckles against the floor. “I don’t know what they’re saying,” he said. “But I can hear them.” And Zhang Qiling must be able to hear on the other side; his ears weren’t in Huli’s league, but like most things about him they were still much better than the average human’s. Wu Xie gave a delighted little huff. “Oh, you’re brilliant,” he said to Huli, which seemed to startle him. “Quick, tap that out again so I can hear.” They worked as a team; Huli listened and tapped what he heard, and Wu Xie translated and knocked back. There wasn’t too much to communicate after all – just that each party was okay, and that Zhang Qiling’s group planned to backtrack and follow one of the alternate routes from Huli’s most recent map, while Wu Xie and Huli would try to explore in a direction that might meet up with theirs at some point. It was only on the last question – a simple east-vs-west query – that Wu Xie realized that Huli had tapped out the answer even as Wu Xie was sending it. He glanced over to catch a weary hint of a smirk on Huli’s lips, and a faint triumph in his eyes. “I told you I could figure it out,” he said. Wu Xie shook his head slowly, his own faintly bemused smile surfacing in response. “Yes, you did,” he said – and he had been warned, after all. Knowing that Huli could overhear its meaning made it a little awkward, but still the very last message he sent was, Love you. And when Huli heard and tapped out, You also, in return, it somehow didn’t feel as strange as it should have. They had no reason to stay any longer after that; they could probably make a few more hours travel before they needed to camp for the night, and every step that took them away from the others also carried them closer to seeing them again. Huli accepted Wu Xie’s offer of a hand-up, but dropped it the instant he was on his feet and waited until Wu Xie led the way before he followed, silent, behind him. They walked on through narrow halls and antechambers; whatever path they were on now was clearly not the main grand corridor of the tomb. They did encounter a few burial chambers, but small ones, so this was probably an adjunct wing of the main tomb where lesser nobles could be buried near their prince. There was a sameness about the rooms that was disorienting; it did not seem to be a deliberate maze, but it had the same effect on his perception, making him lose track of time and question whether they had not been in this chamber before, hours or minutes ago. When they came to intersections where a decision had to be made, they would pause for Huli to blow his whistle, then continue on the path he picked. Wu Xie tried talking to Huli a few times as they walked, but his responses, brief at first, grew shorter every time; apparently it was not just Gao Bai’s constant watch that had kept Huli largely quiet. The brief camaraderie of communicating in the knocking language seemed to have faded. He supposed it wasn’t surprising – he knew that Huli did not trust or like him – but Wu Xie had hoped that perhaps the rescue on the ledge had signaled some change, if only for Zhang Qiling’s sake. Huli wouldn’t even come up and walk next to Wu Xie, but trailed behind him, as though not wanting to let him get too close. Eventually Wu Xie stopped trying to talk and let silence fall as they continued their dogged, enduring trudge. Their path wasn’t particularly strenuous, at least – thankfully, because his muscles were still sore from the fall earlier and it was harder to keep his normal pace. Huli, too, was walking more slowly than usual; he had probably wrenched his arms and back during the rescue, though he insisted that he was fine when Wu Xie asked. Thankfully there was no sign of shibie or zombies or any other creatures; encountering them in this battered state with only two of them would not have ended well. As he walked, Wu Xie thought wistfully of Zhang Qiling’s ghastly muscle rub, and even more wistfully of Zhang Qiling doing the rubbing. They’d been walking for maybe two hours, and had been silent for nearly a quarter of that, when Huli, behind him, said in a voice so quiet that Wu Xie almost didn’t hear him, "I can't.” "Can't what?" Wu Xie turned back to ask, and that was the only reason he was in time to catch Huli as he fell. It happened between one step and the next, a purely vertical collapse that dropped him where he stood. Wu Xie’s panicked grab was graceless, but it was just enough to keep Huli from splitting his head open on the floor as Wu Xie stumbled under his sudden weight. “Huli!” It was a startled exclamation and a question, but there was no answer. The body in his arms was completely limp. He lowered them both to the ground but still, stupidly, he did not understand what had happened, not until he shifted Huli into a more secure position and his hand came away sticky and red. He stared it uncomprehendingly for a moment before he cursed and turned Huli so that he could see his back. The fabric of his coat was dark, but when he pulled Huli’s pack a little to the side he could see the darker stain that blackened far too much of the fabric, the ragged slash that ran from shoulder to hip, and the equally ragged slash in the flesh beneath, still seeping red. He could not think for a moment how this could have happened – he had been with Huli the whole time! – and then it came to him, slow and syrupy: pulling Huli through the archway just as the bronze door slammed down, the wicked protruding spines that edged that door, and Huli’s reaction in the tunnel afterwards. He saw again Huli, pressed against the wall with his hands held tight over his mouth, and in a rush of guilt wondered how he could ever have been so mistaken; that had not been panic but pain, desperately holding in the reaction so that his weakness would not be seen. There was no way Huli could have kept a wound this severe hidden; but he had thought he could, and should, and what that said about his past was not something Wu Xie could let himself think about right now, not with Huli’s limp weight half in his lap and his fever-hot brow resting in the curve of Wu Xie’s neck. He allowed himself one moment, just one, to rest his head against Huli’s hair and curse with a fluency rendered poetic by the drunken intersection of emotion and exhaustion. Then he rose and began to half-carry, half-drag Huli back the way they had come. The most recent room had been about 20 meters back along the corridor, full of jars and urns and bolts of rotting cloth. He was grateful for this, because when he finally, tiredly managed to haul Huli's unresponsive weight back along the corridor and into that room, he felt only the smallest twinge of scholarly guilt at breaking apart some of the tinder-dry shelving for firewood. Even more mercifully, there was a trickle of water running down one wall, so he set the cooking pot under this to begin to fill before he turned to the unconscious Huli. He had not stirred at all, either during the painful trip back or while Wu Xie made these small preparations. His hair was sticking damply to his skin, and his lips were far too pale. Wu Xie wouldn't allow himself to acknowledge how concerned he felt; though poison was unlikely with that type of trap, thank heaven, wounds that might have been fairly straightforward to deal with when fresh were rendered much more dangerous by neglect, and blood loss was very much a concern. When he had unbuckled his pack and wrestled Huli's limp arms out of his coat sleeves to pull it off the true extent of the damage became clear. The blood that had nearly blended in with the dark fabric of the coat stood out starkly against the lighter-color fabric of the shirt underneath; the entire back was red, from the dull almost-black of older blood starting to stiffen at the outer edges to bright crimson dampness that still seeped around the wound. Wu Xie almost wanted to cry, because this would have been So. Much. Easier. if Huli had just sought help when the injury happened. He made a noise that was too tired to be a sigh and reached for his knife; the shirt was ruined anyway, and it would be far easier to just cut it off. He cut away the bulk of the fabric first - the area around the wound would need soaking to soften the dried blood - but when he rolled Huli over so that he could pull the fabric away from his chest he froze. It was, he registered with a deeply visceral reaction that was completely inappropriate to the situation, a very nice chest; there was a surprising amount of flat muscle for such a slim frame, smooth under faintly olive-toned skin that darkened pleasingly around his nipples. But it wasn't aesthetic appreciation that stilled his hands, nor even the scattering of scars, some old and faded, other pink and fresh. It was the tattoo. It was rough and unfinished, but recognizable for all that, sprawling across the entire left-hand side: flames and smoke and at the heart of it the great glorious form of the qilin. He knew that tattoo, every inch of it, knew how it looked when streaked with rain or lit by firelight, and how it felt when he set his lips to it in the dark of night. He dragged in a breath so deep it hurt. "Xiaoge," he murmured, and it trembled undecided between laughter and shock, "I think I've found your biggest fan." It should have been uncomfortable, such single-minded obsession, but all he felt was a weary, bruised pity. The lines were amateur, uneven, inked in various tones of blue and black. This was no professional art; Huli must have done this to himself, bits and snatches at a time, with whatever ink was available. He hated himself in that instant, hated himself so much that he had to sit back and press the backs of his bloody hands to his eyes and just breathe through the self-loathing. Here was someone who was so obviously broken and Wu Xie had deliberately set out to break him further, in the faint hope that one of the shards might be sharp enough to cut himself free. Wu Xie knew that he was not a good man, but seldom had he felt it more than that moment. It felt like the worst violation of Huli's privacy, to have revealed this hidden thing without his knowledge or consent. It was almost a relief to lay him down so that it was hidden, and then Wu Xie allowed himself to get lost in the purely functional actions of tending to his injury; cleaning the blood, pulling away the embedded fabric, not thinking beyond the wring and soak of wet cloth and ragged flesh. It was a nasty wound, and already inflamed - not deep, which had saved Huli's life, but still a vicious slash that started at Huli's shoulder and dug its way down to his hip. It had partially clotted, but there were a few places that still seeped blood and would need stitches. Wu Xie cleaned the wound as well as he could, then began the slow, tedious process of darning flesh to flesh. He hoped desperately that Huli would remain unconscious until he was done, as he had nothing to numb the pain. For once, something seemed to be heeding his prayers; he had set down needle and thread and was reaching for the antibiotic ointment when he felt Huli’s breathing change and saw the first flickers of movement behind his eyelids. He pulled away quickly, distancing himself, because he was very afraid that Huli would panic and try to get away and tear his stitches or worse. The alternative to backing away would have been to pin him in place, and though that may have been safer, Wu Xie did not need Zhang Qiling’s mysterious understanding to know that that was a terrible idea. “It’s okay, you were hurt, please don’t move, it’s okay,” he said quickly, then just kept repeating it, hoping that Huli would awaken enough to hear it before he realized how vulnerable he was. It almost didn’t work; he saw Huli’s entire body go tense and his hands scrabble and brace against the floor before either the pain or something Wu Xie said stilled him. Behind glasses tilted askew by how he lay, his eyes opened and looked at Wu Xie. Wu Xie kept his hands visible and open and did not move closer. “It’s okay,” he said again, and though Huli did not exactly settle, at least he did not bolt. Now that Wu Xie was looking for it, he could see how Huli’s eyes tightened at the corners and his lips thinned ever-so-slightly; he had a wild animal’s gift for hiding pain. “You can sit up if you need to, but be careful – I had to stitch the wound and I haven’t finished the bandages yet.” He saw a little ridge appear between Huli’s brow, and one of his hands left its braced position to feel awkwardly against his ribcage and back. “What?” He sounded confused. “You passed out,” said Wu Xie, and let his tone become dry. “Because you got hurt and didn’t say anything, which seems to have worked out exceptionally well for you.” That got the distant cousin of a glare from Huli, which was at least better than the empty confused expression that was doing something to Wu Xie’s insides. He braced both hands again and slowly pushed himself up, while Wu Xie had to bite his lip to hold himself back from offering help. The firelight danced across the qilin as it was revealed, the slide of muscles and shifting glow almost making it seem to move across his skin. Huli looked as though he wanted to hunch, but the painful pull of the injury wouldn’t allow it; instead he pushed his glasses up and lifted his chin in a weak but obvious challenge, as if Wu Xie couldn’t take him down with one hand right now. “I’m fine,” he said. Even Wu Xie, who was accustomed to Zhang “if no internal organs are now external organs then I’m good” Qiling, was impressed by this pigheaded tenacity. Frustration and sympathy tangled together into something that almost became a laugh before he managed to choke it down. “Yes, I can see that,” he said gently. “May I finish bandaging you now?” Huli must have seen the impossibility of any other answer, though he was clearly not happy about it when he finally nodded. When Wu Xie reached for the antibiotic again, though, he stopped him. “No, not that,” he said sharply, and started to move, but his lips tightened and he stopped. “My pack. I have something better.” It was not a request, but it was not quite a demand. Wu Xie tugged the pack over where he could reach it, and Huli untied and unrolled it and pulled out a vial mostly full of a greyish powder, which he handed to Wu Xie. “Shake it onto the wound. Don’t let any get in your mouth.” Before Wu Xie could tell him to be careful he took a deep breath and leaned forward onto his crossed arms. Wu Xie looked at the exposed back turned to him and hesitated before reaching out to sweep Huli’s hair forward over his shoulder and out of the way, fingers brushing against silver metal and golden skin; what had been automatic earlier was now rendered strangely intimate by Huli’s consciousness. At the touch, Huli went so tense that it was a surprise that his stitches didn’t pull out just from that strain. “Sorry,” said Wu Xie automatically, though he was unsure what he was apologizing for. He hastily uncorked the vial – Huli’s earlier warning making him resist an instinctual urge to sniff the contents - and gently tapped a finger against it as he held it over Huli’s back. The silver-grey powder poured out softly and heavily, almost like a liquid, and where it hit the blood it hissed and blackened. Huli jerked and a wordless, swallowed-down noise of pain escaped him. Wu Xie stopped instantly. “It’s hurting you.” “It’s supposed to.” Huli’s little catch of breath before he could speak did not make Wu Xie feel any better. “Keep going. I know what I’m doing.” After a pause, Wu Xie kept going, unhappy but obedient. “That reminds me of one time with Xiaoge,” he said, as much to distract himself from the way the muscles of Huli’s back flinched as the powder hit as to distract Huli from the pain. “We were in a tomb and this jar got broken”- the use the passive voice was absolutely coincidental and had nothing to do with the fact that Wu Xie had been the one to break the jar- “and there were these little silver beetles inside – not shibie, something else – and they crawled into the muscle of his arm. So I was panicking, and Pangzi wanted to cut his arm off because apparently they were going to chew their way up to his brain, but Xiaoge said, just like you said, that he knew what he was doing. And his cure was to go hunting until we found a different, even bigger beetle and to literally cut open the muscle of his arm and stick it inside so that it could eat the other beetles, and then we had to kill that beetle with red-hot needles.” He dusted the last inch of bloody flesh and set the vial down in relief, watching the last of the powder turn dark. It seemed to be setting up almost like a scab, sealing off the open wound. “It was not one of our better trips. Do I need to wait or can I bandage it now?” “Go ahead,” said Huli shortly, slowly unclenching his fingers from where they had sunk into the muscle of his forearms. “It’ll be better if you sit up.” Wu Xie waited while Huli adjusted his position, back still to Wu Xie, and continued to talk while he waited. “And speaking of red-hot needles, then there was that other time Xiaoge basically char-grilled me on a bed of nails. I’m not going to say that his treatments aren’t effective, because it worked, but I feel like there could be some sort of modern medical equivalent that didn’t involve me having quite so many rusty holes in my backside. Though he did at least take me to get a tetanus shot afterwards.” He spoke absently, because Huli was sitting ready now, and he reached out and began laying strips of gauze along the wound. He made sure to move slowly, and to telegraph each movement clearly, but Huli was still tense under his fingers, and it surprised him when he spoke. “Why?” His voice was tight and breathless. Wu Xie held the end of the bandage in place with his thumb and began unrolling it around Huli’s ribcage. “Why did he grill me? I think he said it was because I’d been possessed by a spider queen but honestly I’m still kind of hazy on that one, because I was pretty out of it, and Pangzi wasn’t even around to ask because he’d been abducted by - was that the mud demon? Or, no, it was the snake-face monkeys. You’ll never guess what they looked like.” He was aware that he was probably babbling at this point; there was no way to do the wrapping that wasn’t awkwardly intimate as he passed the bandage around and around Huli’s torso, and he was discovering that touching a conscious Huli, all sweat-dappled skin and tangled hair, was very different from treating his unconscious body. “They were terrified of Xiaoge, though – he didn’t even have to fight them, just walked in, got Pangzi, and left.” Huli held himself absolutely still as Wu Xie worked, arms held up enough that he could pass the bandage under them. “You’ve known him a long time.” The words were bitten off as Wu Xie accidentally bumped against the dressing on his back and they both winced. “Just a few more wraps… yes, I’ve known him since… oh, my, since I was your age.” He wondered if this was how Zhang Qiling had felt all those years ago, confronted with something this young and determined, though Huli appeared to have far more sense than Wu Xie had ever had at that age. “I can’t think of anyone better to have on my side.” He realized he was smiling, as always happened when he thought of Zhang Qiling. “I’ve never deserved him, but somehow I got him anyway. There, that’s done it. You can relax now. You did well.” As he tied off the bandage he felt the muscle tremble under his hands and realized that Huli was shivering with bone-deep tremors, from pain or blood loss or the stress of having another human so close, or maybe all three. He needed to put something warm on, but Wu Xie looked at the torn and bloodied heap that was Huli’s shirt, then had a moment of inspiration. “Hang on.” He rinsed his hands as best he could and wiped the last of the blood off on his trousers, before digging through his pack and pulling out the shirt he’d been wearing when he was kidnapped, back when this whole thing had started. “Unless you have a button-up of your own? It’ll be better if you don’t try to pull something over your head.” Huli did not say anything, but after a moment took the shirt from him, which Wu Xie interpreted as a no. Wu Xie did not watch him as he dressed, but instead pulled away to rummage through the medkit for a packet of anti-inflammatory pills and dig his spare canteen out of his pack. “Here, take this, unless you have something more magical in that pack of yours,” he said, turning back. It was at that point that realized he had made an enormous mistake, because he had not thought twice about giving his shirt to Huli, nor given any thought at all to the fact that this meant Huli would be wearing his shirt. He had not considered how the too-big drape of it would hang from his slim shoulders, how the unbuttoned cuffs would fall open around his wrists and his hair would pool in the curve of the collar, and had not for a moment anticipated the effect that this would have on him. Which was monumentally stupid - he knew his possessive streak, knew that Huli was aesthetically and intellectually and physically pleasing – but he was the world’s biggest idiot and was still completely broadsided by the sudden acquisitive growl of attraction that… that was in no way appropriate for this situation. Or for anytime. Suddenly terrified that Huli would be able to read it from his heartbeat, he set the canteen and pills on the ground by Huli and retreated hastily to the other side of the fire, where he busied himself with setting more water to heat and making them what dinner he could in the circumstances, and very much did not look in Huli’s direction at all. Even so he was glowingly aware of him, and knew that he took the medication, and that he stayed sitting there where Wu Xie had left him, and that he still could not stop shivering. He sighed, because he knew what he had to do, and knew that Huli wouldn’t be any happier about it than he was, though for entirely different reasons. “Here.” Huli looked up from the daze he seemed to have fallen into as Wu Xie held a tin mug out to him. “Use the handle – careful, it’s hot,” he said, angling the mug so that Huli could take it without burning himself. He watched to make sure that he began drinking the soup, then went to unstrap the sleeping bags from their packs. He rolled them out next to each other, as close to the fire as was safe with Huli’s on the inside, and spread their coats across the top like extra blankets, joining the two. Huli said nothing, just watched, but Wu Xie felt his rise in tension as if it were something made palpable in the very air, so it was to the air, not Huli, that he spoke. "Even if I was interested in anything like that,” and he could not say that he wasn’t, because Huli would hear the lie, but no matter what he had done in this life he was still a decent man – and given the circumstances, a practical one, “you're injured, and I'm too damn tired to care anyway." He didn't look at him as he spoke, as if eye contact would cause him to startle and bolt. "You're going to tear your stitches if you shiver any harder and this will let us share our body heat. I'll put my back to you and I won't touch you, I promise. But we both need the warmth." He didn't know if Huli believed him or not, but when Wu Xie walked away to break up more firewood he watched from the corner of his eye as Huli stiffly rose and went across to the bedding. Most of the wood Wu Xie set within easy reach for refueling in the night, but he added a few sticks to the fire right now, and at the same time raked out the double-fist-sized stone he had set in the coals. He tore what clean rags he could from Huli's ruined shirt and wrapped them around it, then carried it over to the sleeping bags. He found Huli sitting on his half, painfully trying to undo his shoelaces. Wu Xie crouched beside him, slow and careful. "May I?" he asked, making a little gesture. After a moment Huli let his hands fall and allowed him to undo the laces and pull the boots off, while Wu Xie focused on the task and did not, did not, pay attention to the way the collar of his – of Wu Xie’s – shirt fell open enough to reveal his silver necklace, or the way Huli's eyes stayed on him as he worked. Before he stood, Wu Xie held up the improvised heater he had brought over, letting him see it, then tucked the hot rock at the foot of Huli's sleeping bag. "If you need another in the night, let me know," he said, knowing that he wouldn't. He took off his own boots and climbed into his sleeping bag then, turning his back to Huli. After a minute, the coats shifted as Huli slid into his own bed. Wu Xie was very aware of him there at his back, even though they did not touch. He stared out into the firelit dark and wanted Pangzi and Xiaoge there so badly it hurt, wanted them warm and present, because a weight he could not name was crushing him and he needed their help to bear it. But they were not here; instead he lay and listened until Huli's shivers subsided and his breathing slowed and the two of them, together and alone, slept.     Wu Xie woke in the night. The sleeping bag had slithered down past his shoulders, exposing him to the cool cave air, but warmth was centered behind him, in the press of another body against his and the feathering of breath across his skin. He turned his head, slowly, trying not to disturb the sleeper. The fire had died down to a muted glow, but it still gave enough light to paint red-lit lines along the curve of a shoulder and catch in tendrils of hair. Huli was so close that Wu Xie could smell the faint scent of him, sweat and shampoo and something vaguely herbal. He was curled against Wu Xie’s back - not loosely along the line of his body, but tightly balled, so that Wu Xie could feel the nobbly bumps of his kneecaps pressing against his ribs. It should have been uncomfortable. It was uncomfortable. But he also felt little luminous spots of warmth that could only be hands curled against his spine, and the slow ticklish tide of Huli's breath against his neck. Your savior fantasy, Huli had said, and abruptly, intensely, it was true. He wanted to hunt down everyone who had ever taught this softly sleeping person to armor himself against the world, to tally the pain they had caused and return it to them tenfold. He knew in that moment that he could not leave Huli as he had found him. Whatever the contract between Gao Bai and Huli, if Gao Bai's death could win Huli's freedom then surely that was not the least reason for him to die. He held himself still, even as he grew increasingly aware of the stone floor wearing holes in him, hip and shoulder and knee. He would be stiff when he got up. He should move. He should. He did not. Instead he lay there, transfixed by those glowing points of contact dappled along his back, until slowly the rhythm of breath in his ear dragged him back under and he slept again.

This was impossible. A pile of pants and blouses lay scattered at Julie’s feet. She had never put much thought into what she wore around Luke before, but while getting ready to leave for the carnival she had found herself staring at the inside of her closet with mounting panic. In the end, she’d called Flynn, who had called Carrie, who (being the only one whose parents didn’t mind the extra cents on the phone bill) had patched Kayla in to make it a three-way call and the three of them had come rushing over. This was a code red, they said.  “I can’t believe you’re finally going on a date,” Carrie said. She was sprawled across Julie’s bed with a magazine in hand, amusing herself with a quiz on which fall outfit would suit her best. She’d been less than helpful in the search for clothes, but more than willing to offer up every thought on Luke and Julie’s relationship, much to Julie’s chagrin.  “It’s not a date,” Julie insisted. “It’s just… two friends hanging out. Alone. To celebrate their joined success.” Carrie shot her an unimpressed look. “Didn’t you say he specifically wanted it to be just the two of you though?” Kayla piped up. “I don’t know, Jules. That doesn’t seem very ‘just-friendish’ to me.” “...yeah, I know,” she sighed. The girls laughed. It was crazy, Julie thought, just how they’d reached this point. Only a couple of months ago, Luke had just been her semi-annoying neighbour and occasional ally at family barbecues. Now when she looked at him she got butterflies and her hands started to sweat. And now he wanted to hang out just the two of them? What was she meant to do with that? “I just don’t want to read too much into it.” “Please,” Flynn snorted. “It’s kind of impossible not to notice how Luke looks at you. There’s no way any of us are reading too much into this… girl, this is a date .” That only made her more nervous. She glanced at the floor again. Was there even an outfit he hadn’t already seen her in?  Not wanting Luke to look in and witness the bomb-site of clothes her room had become, Julie had closed the drapes. Flynn peered through the gap looking about as subtle as a flying elephant. “Light’s on,” she said. “But I can’t see him. What time are you going?” “He said he’d knock at like seven,” she said, her eyes flicking to the clock. “So… I’m gonna guess he’ll show at like seven-ten?” “Checks out,” Flynn nodded and clapped her hands. “Okay, so we have forty-five minutes to turn you into a princess, Cinderella. Let’s get going. Chop, chop.”   The Christmas Carnival was immense. It was as though somebody had puked up Christmas all over the neighbourhood. In the past five minutes, Luke had seen no less than seven different Santas, three elves, and two actual live reindeer. At the entrance, there was a carolling choir serenading passersby with Deck The Halls as they bought their tickets. It seemed to be half circus half farmer’s market. Little streets had been constructed lined with festive wooden shacks selling ornaments, handmade soaps and preserves. Distant music drifted from overhead speakers every few yards. The mouth-watering scent of fried dough and caramel permeated the air around them. It was impossible to avoid the merriment in the air. Christmas had arrived and they were involved whether they liked it or not. Julie looked right at home. He already knew Christmas was her favourite time of year – her whole family was nuts about it. The Molinas’ house had become an explosion of festivities over the past few days. Mr Molina, it seemed, had a soft spot for the holiday that bordered on obsessive. He had come home one afternoon with Carlos and Willie in tow, tugging the largest Christmas tree Luke had ever see from the roof of the car and into the hall. A round wreath hung on their door filled with bright red bows and frosted pinecones. Mrs Molina even turned it up a notch with her baking, which Luke hadn’t thought possible, and she taught him how to make a raspberry cream cake while Julie helped her dad string the staircase bannisters with twinkling lights. “So what did your mom say about the showcase?” Julie asked as they wound their way through the fayre. “You never told me.” Oh, that. Up until that moment, Luke had been focusing on the way he and Julie’s hands kept brushing but never stopped to meet while they walked. He had known she’d want to talk about it at some point – there had been hints all week – but he’d managed to avoid it so far. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to Julie about feelings, he did, it was easy, but for some reason talking about his feelings when it came to things with his mom was so weird. He almost felt guilty for it. Luke hummed, thinking back to the night of the show. “She basically told me our performance was really good and that she was proud of me,” he said, then added, “It was really… I don’t know, weird.” Luke was used to such dissonance between himself and his mother that he’d forgotten what it felt like to have her beam with pride over something he’d done. If he was totally honest, though he was still adamant that she could loosen up a little, he could admit it was at least a little bit his own fault. He had taken to purposefully lashing out in rebellion over the past few years. Freedom was addictive and it fueled his tastes. It was strange to see eye to eye on something, especially when that something was to do with music. “She’s good for you, that Julie,” his mom had said, patting his arm with a warm smile. “It’s nice to see you so happy.” She appeared to be under the impression that this whole time his nights out with his friends had been just that. Nights out. Studying and pizza and watching movies in a group. He wasn’t about to correct her. After all, most of them were. If band practice and busking were scattered in between along with the odd party then it made no difference. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.  “That’s pretty good, eh?” Julie nudged him. “Maybe she’ll come see the band play at some point.” Unable to help himself, Luke barked out a laugh. “No way.” “Why not?” “She only approved of the showcase because you were there, Jules,” he said. “And it was like… school stuff, y’know? Not rock ‘n roll. She doesn’t get the whole rock thing. She thinks it’s like a gateway to drugs and booze and prostitution or something.” Julie scoffed. “Oh, c’mon. She can’t be that bad. She bought you the guitar in the first place, didn’t she?” “And she totally regrets it now.” “She does not.” “How would you know?” Luke laughed, elbowing he gently. “Besides, can you imagine her at a gig? It’s not her scene. She and my dad are like… I don’t know. Smooth jazz kinda people. They wouldn’t like it.” “I think maybe you should try giving them some more credit.” He raised his eyebrows. She could be right, sure, maybe Luke could give his parents the benefit of the doubt, but the second he even thought about it the memory of his mom’s face the night that he and the boys had been picked up by the cops came flooding back, along with every face accompanying every screw-up since. In his mom’s world, rock’n’roll was leading to Luke’s downfall, his corruption, and she was trying to save him. It was like she wore the opposite of rose-tinted glasses when it came to his music. Grey-tinted glasses. Or a straight-up blacked-out blindfold.  “There’s just no way,” he said again, shaking his head. Julie sighed, but she let it go.    The carnival had been a genius idea. They spent the evening messing around, bouncing from stall to stall and ride to ride, having such a good time that Luke got a stitch in his side at one point. They got more terrible hot chocolate from a stand that smelled like heaven, then churros from a van around the corner, and Luke took the opportunity to stop Julie in her tracks so that he could wipe the stray chocolate sauce from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.  On the Ferris wheel, she snuggled into his side and he held her close feeling particularly pleased with himself. In the hall of mirrors, Julie almost laughed herself sick as Luke walked right into a glass wall, only to do the same thing moments later and the two of them found themselves sinking to the ground, breathless with giggles.  “Hey look,” she tugged on his hand when they emerged outside once more. “Over there!” Across the way, a small cherry-red photo booth had been set off to the side of the path. They headed straight for it and crammed themselves inside. Luke quickly found he had to force himself not to focus too hard on Julie’s warm breath against the skin of his neck in fear of his heartbeat actually becoming audible. His pulse could’ve bene a metronome at that point. The two of them cycled through every funny face they could think of blowing raspberries and sticking their tongues out, until the last picture when Julie took him by surprise. She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek as the camera flashed.  That one was going in his wallet for sure.   As the night stretched on, Julie decided that she never wanted it to end. Date or not, she was having the time of her life exploring the Christmas explosion of the carnival with Luke. Shrieks of fear and laughter from the rides above them as they twisted erratically through the air in strange patterns. She felt high on sugar and glee. Earlier, Luke had bought them both large sticks of cotton candy claiming it wouldn’t be a real carnival without it – he was right.  Despite her previous nerves, the night was like any other that she’d spent with Luke only with the added fun of watching him slide sideways off a horse on the carousel. They faced off in several games, growing more and more competitive with everyone. After a game of throwing hoops, Julie found herself crowing relentlessly when she won a small stuffed bear. She handed it to him with a smirk. “Consolation prize?” she offered. “Haha,” Luke said dryly, but he took the bear with a smile. When it came to the rides, Luke's eyes shone with childlike excitement. It was difficult not to get caught up in it — he leaked emotion like an overflowing river, sweeping everybody else along with him, his heart on his sleeve. At one point, Julie was struck by the vague thought that it would be nice to spend every day like this. Luke’s approach to the world made it a little brighter – he made the dark a little more tolerable. It was awesome. By the time they had to leave she felt like a kid herself. Exhausted and sugar-drunk, but disappointed to go and dragging her feet all the same. They were weight down with little paper bags full of cookies and handcrafted art pieces she knew her mom would like for the house. Would it be too much to ask if he wanted to go back again soon? They could take the rest of the group next time. Reggie and Flynn would’ve liked the dodgems. Alex and Willie could’ve snuck off to have their own Ferris wheel ride. Yeah, she could spend every day like this. Especially if it always ended up in Luke taking her hand.   The world seemed too quiet after the bright lights and excitement of the carnival. Luke clutched Julie’s hand tight as they drew closer to their houses, feeling reluctant to let her go. They came to a halt between the two, shuffling their feet and lingering as the cold air did. Silence hung thick between them. Somebody had taken the liberty of decorating the tree between their windows with red and gold ribbons, tinsel, and a rainbow of colourful lights that Luke had been careful not to dislodge any time he climbed through the branches. It twinkled above them now like something out of a fairytale.  “I had a really good time tonight,” Julie said in a rush at the same time as Luke said, “We should do that again sometime.” They both chuckled, the tension dissipated, and he took a tentative step towards her. There was one more thing Luke had noticed in the tree one his adventures down it over the past week. Twisted into the protruding twigs, barely concealed by the rest of the decorations, was a small burst of life – a spring of something green which hung down, sure to trap any unsuspecting teenagers who ended up standing beneath it. The little plant twisted around the branch above them, its little white berries stark and obvious against the skeletal tree. He glanced up at it. Julie’s eyes followed his gaze.  “Mistletoe,” was all she said. There was a moment, one pure, terrifying, moment where Luke thought she was going to step away, but then she looked at him and tilted her head back just so.  “Merry Christmas, Luke,” she murmured. “Merry Christmas, Julie,” he whispered in return. The warmth of their breath mingled in the air between them. She was so close that he could feel the very edges of her lips brushing his. Heart thudding, he slipped his hand into hers and closed his eyes. One more inch and the empty space which separated them would be lost no going back. Crunch. They jerked apart as a footstep broke through the silence and, just like that, the moment was broken. Julie took a step back, expression unreadable, and dropped Luke’s hand. The absence of heat made his fingers feel frostbitten. “Julie?” called a voice from around the corner. “Are you out here?” She frowned, peering around Luke towards the Molinas’ porch in confusion. “Nick? What are you doing out here?” Nick was on the shorter side, with long blonde hair and a sweet smile. He gave off boy-next-door vibes, wearing his little lacrosse jacket and clutching a glittering red box in his hands, and Luke imagined he was exactly the kind of person girls would fawn over. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if half of Julie’s grade were crushing on him.  “I came by to drop off your present,” Nick explained, eyes flicking between them both curiously. “Since I didn’t get to give it to you at school.” “Oh, Nick,” Julie looked flustered. “You didn’t have to do that.” Jealousy flared in Luke’s chest and a little green monster stomped its feet inside of him at the sight. Nick looked sheepish but pleased. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, which fell forward into his eyes in a manner that could only be described as ‘endearing’, and Luke fought back the urge to throttle him.  It might not have been fair, given that Nick was probably a perfectly nice kid and hadn’t actually done anything to actually deserve being throttled, but at that moment the image of recreating a classic Homer and Bart Simpson choke-a-thon with Luke’s hands around his neck, his eyes popping out and tongue flailing, was an amusing one.  He took a deep breath. This wasn’t a cartoon, he reminded himself. If he did that in real life he’d go to jail for murder. Pretty girls and petty feelings did not make good defence cases in court.  “Am I interrupting?” Nick asked. “‘Cause I can come back another time…” Yes, go away, Luke thought uncharitably. But Julie shook her head. “We were just about to head inside anyway,” she said, heading for the house as Nick smiled. “You want some hot chocolate?” Luke had to stop himself from hanging back and repeatedly banging his head on the tree.    ***   The holidays wound on and Julie found herself caught up in the frenzy of them. There was present shopping to do and a multitude of family game nights to get through, and in between it all she found a good chunk of her time taken up by the small group of gremlins that had moved into their garage called Sunset Curve (she’d already made several jokes to her mom about not feeding them after midnight). “Oh, God,” Luke groaned, dropping his head into his arms. “Not this song.” They were sprawled out on the living room floor, watching The Grinch and threading popcorn onto long pieces of string for her parents. Or they were meant to be, anyway. She was pretty sure they’d eaten more than they’d actually used to craft. “Mariah Carey is a queen,” Julie insisted and turned the radio up. “I just want you for my own! More than you could ever know!” Reggie’s head appeared around the doorway and he warbled cheerfully along with Julie at the top of his lungs.  “Make my wish come true! Baby, all I want for Christmas is you!” They were at the house almost as much as Willie these days. All four of them would stand out in the yard with Carlos, even with the icy chill in the air, throwing a ball back and forth as though they were a collection of fathers and their one son bonding in a daytime television movie. As requested by her mom, Luke had taken to fixing the porch light when it began flickering or tightening loose boards on the porch or any other job he could get his hands on. It was kind of funny how willing he was to help out. It didn’t matter how often Julie’s mom insisted it wasn’t actually necessary or that she liked the boys being around and they didn’t owe the family anything. And it wasn’t just Luke – Reggie, Alex and Bobby would appear on odd days with random selections of tools and paint. Half the time her mom would take over the actual work with a fond chuckle and usher them inside to eat.  It was pretty nice, how much they were starting to feel like family. It had seemed to rekindle something in the Molina family that she hadn’t seen for a long time. The stress of hospital visits and bills was finally beginning to fall away. Julie had even walked into the studio one evening to find her mom at the piano, something which had been a rare sight over the past year or so. Carol Of The Bells had never sounded so good. “I hate you both,” Luke complained without any real bite.  They just sang louder.  “Hey, where’s Alex?” Julie asked once the song had ended and Reggie had wandered in to sneak a handful of popcorn. “I thought he was coming over tonight too.” The boys glanced at one another. Reggie cleared his throat. “He’s… uh, busy. Doing things. And stuff. You know?” He winked at Luke and Julie bit back a smile. Reggie never did know how to do subtlety.  “Anyway, Luke,” he continued. “We’re like… almost ready to go on the thing… you wanna…?” She frowned, looking between them. They seemed to be having a very serious concentrated conversation with their eyes. Julie thought it just made them both look a little constipated if she was honest. “Right, the thing,” Luke said at last. “Cool, you go on Reg and I’ll…” Luke flapped a hand in Julie’s direction. What the hell was going on?” “What are you up to?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as Reggie disappeared from the room once again. Luke grinned at her. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” “What is it?” “Part of your Christmas present.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Wait and see. C’mon,” he stood up and gesture for her to follow. As soon as she did so, he stood behind her and slipped his hands over her eyes with a promise not to guide her into any lamps or walls. Julie stumbled along blindly and let Luke lead the way. She trusted him. Sort of. “What’s going on?” came her dad’s voice from the hall. “Luke’s showing me my Christmas present, apparently,” she replied. “It’s a surprise,” Luke added. “Oh, I see.” A couple of seconds later, Luke brought her to a stop.  "Ready?" "Ready." Luke dropped his hands from her eyes. A soft gasp caught in her throat. He had taken her into the kitchen and they had come to a halt facing the sink where the window overlooked the front yard. Outside, Los Angeles had gone missing. It had been replaced, instead, with a winter wonderland. White flakes were swirling through the cold air towards the ground. The edges of the glass had been covered in a thin frost as though it had been taken from the scene in a holiday movie.  It was like magic. "You got me snow," she whispered in awe. "You actually got me snow for Christmas. How did you–” Luke shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. “I’m just a genius I guess.” She thumped him, excitement taking over as she looked between him and the glittering white world outside. "How did you do the windows?" Ray asked, peering at the glass in delight.  "Frost in a can," Luke rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I hope it's okay... it cleans right off. I checked."  Julie grabbed his hand and begun tugging him towards the door. She felt like a small child all of a sudden, a wave of dizzying delight coming over her, and did not even stop to grab a jacket. “Well, come on,” she said. “Let’s go!” Outside, the air was bitter but not freezing and the sky was clear. Perched on the ledge of the roof, a chunky machine was spitting out finely shaved ice across the lawn, whirring mechanically as it did so, and Julie’s smile widened. Of course, she’d known it wasn’t really, but the confirmation didn’t diminish the magic at all. In fact, it made it better.  “You’re insane,” she said, clutching his hand even tighter and beaming. “You’re totally insane, oh my god. You brought me snow .” “I just… I remembered what you said,” he shrugged. “About wishing we lived somewhere colder.”  “I love it. Oh, Luke. I love it.” She threw her arms around him, caught up in the unrealness of it all. He huffed out a laugh, his breath stirring the air by her ear. God, she could stay like that forever. If it wasn’t so cold, she might have held on longer. But then something dawned on her, and she drew back. "But... how did you get it up there?" Just then, a smiling face popped over the edge of the roof. "Hey, Julie!" "Reggie, oh my god!" she gasped. "What are you doing up there?! Get down. It's not safe!" "Oh, it's okay," Reggie called back. "Alex is up here with me. He'll make sure I don't fall." Alex's head appeared next to Reggie's. He grinned down at them.  "What's up, Julie!" “Oh my God,” she groaned. And Luke just laughed. Julie lay awake that night staring at her ceiling. Luke had actually brought her snow for Christmas – she couldn’t believe it. Who did that?!  All the feelings that she had been fighting so hard to keep a lid on had broken free of their constraints and were now roaming freely around her mind and body like wild animals. She had been trying not to get her hopes up. Luke was a lot of things, but predictable wasn’t one of them. Julie didn’t want to lead herself to believe one thing and find out she was wrong… she didn’t think she could take the hurt. But the last week had been a whirlwind. Maybe Flynn was right, maybe it was obvious in the way he looked at her. They had almost kissed the other night under the mistletoe, after all. If Nick hadn’t shown up, then maybe… He had brought her snow for Christmas. And she was falling dizzyingly, terrifyingly in love.

Hank took a deep breath for four seconds, held it for four seconds, and exhaled for another four. Therapy. Sometimes Hank wondered if he shouldn’t go back, because he was clearly not right in the head and they said crazy people didn’t know they were crazy. Alright, that wasn’t right... Hank knew very well he had a mental illness or two, but that didn’t mean that he was as delusional or fragile as they thought he was. Jeff outright called him out on it, Reed insulted him over it, Chris and Ben asked how he was doing with pitying looks on their faces, and half the fucking precinct knew that he was a wreck. They got awkward whenever Hank mentioned something Cole’d done or enjoyed, like he might blow his own brains out right then and there. Around the holidays or just whenever he wasn’t doing great and it was obvious, Jeff’s wife would send an extra lunch... And it was nice. Really. It was just that he hated how that was suddenly all he was. Not that he could blame them. Somebody had gotten the paramedics involved thinking that he was having a crisis or something, while nobody had done a damn thing about Connor, who’d done something that made a few things whirr and whine inside of him and then tried to support his own weight while Hank hadhauled him across four lanes of impatient traffic. “I’m okay,” he’d tried to convince Hank, and even he’d looked at Hank like he might be nuts. Maybe, just maybe, Hank would have believed him if he hadn’t gotten this look on his face like somebody’d punched him in the gut a second later and moved his hand like he’d wanted to catch something. Hank had decided his soldering iron probably wasn’t going to cut it. “Bull fucking shit,” Hank had snapped and Connor’d proved him right by falling down again so that Hank had to act fast to catch him under the arms. “Lieutenant, I think it’s broken,” Leons had said. “Put the android down and come over this way, okay? The paramedics want to check you out.” “I don’t need any fucking help, thank you,” Hank had replied tersely. “He does. Does anybody know how to get CyberLife out here or something? Or at least know how to stop him bleeding? Fuck. That’s right. Connor. Hey, kid, look at me. You have that countdown thing right? What’s it at?” He’d pushed and pulled Connor up to lean against the side of the barricade and snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Twenty minutes,” Connor’d answered and looked around slowly. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I should have been faster. I should have caught them before the road...” It had been sick, watching him turn his head with a piece missing from it. Inside, he was full of red lights and thirium that was sliding down his neck like a horror movie scene. “I didn’t account for the snow in the yard, or for Kara going back for Alice, or for Ralph.” “You’re going to be okay,” Hank had said, and he’d fucking meant it. “55,” Connor’d said. “I hope you like him.” “Shut up, Connor. Please, just shut up...” Hank had put both hands on Connor’s shoulders then, felt the heat coming off of him, and taken a deep breath just like he was now. “If it’s gonna give you more time, it’s okay to sleep or whatever you call it... You can sleep. I’m going to make sure you’re okay.” “Fuck...” he muttered and stared down at his hands while Jeff waited for him to say something. “The kid, he said it hurt. He was shivering and bleeding everywhere, and everybody just stood there... They just fucking stood there or told me to leave him.” Jeff didn’t say anything. Hank filled the silence because he was too tired to give a shit about his own tricks being used on him. “They were running and the girl tripped and then Connor was on the ground... The car that hit him, it didn’t even stop. Christ... I saw a piece of him more than twenty feet away. When I got there I thought he was dead. It happened so fast.” “Hank, listen to me... You’ve got to try to calm down and get your mind back in the present. I know that you’ve gotten attached to the RK--” “Connor,” Hank snapped. “That you’ve gotten attached to Connor,” Jeff amended, “though I don’t know how that happened... The fact remains that it’s an android, Hank. You hate those things, I don’t understand...” He paused and sighed then continued. “Maybe you should see the psychologist.” “I don’t need help, Jeff,” Hank insisted. “I think anybody’d be messed up after seeing their partner hit by a fucking car. After seeing his head busted open while he was still talking. It wasn’t me who’d got hit, but they kept trying to force the medics on me like I was wrong in the fucking head.” “You did punch another officer,” Jeff pointed out with one eyebrow raised. “He deserved it,” Hank muttered. “Hank, did it upset you seeing the RK800 broken because you believe it’s alive or because it looked human? Is it because of the car? I want to help, but I don’t know how because I don’t know what this is.” There weren’t any right answers there. “If I say he’s alive, are you going to call somebody to take me to the loonie bin?” “I should,” Jeff said and he pushed one of his stacks of papers to the side to fold his arms on his desk. He leaned forward and tried to make eye contact. “I really think you should see the psychologist. Go to the one here if you don’t want to see your own, but I think you need to see somebody.” Hank shook his head. Jeff sighed again. “Will you at least explain it to me, Hank? Please.” “Nah... I don’t think I will,” Hank declined, dispirited and ready to give up on talking. Truth be told, he didn’t understand it himself. Androids... He still hated them. Nothing had changed with how they’d fucked up the economy and basic human decency... Nothing had changed what happened to Cole. Androids were garbage. Empty, soulless garbage. It’s just that Connor wasn’t... He was just a kid. A naive, enthusiastic, caring kid who didn’t think he mattered for anything. Then there was Kara. Hank’d seen her with Alice and there was no question she’d made herself Alice’s mom or that she cared. Hank knew those feelings he’d seen bright in her eyes. He didn’t hate them either. --- “Hello, Connor,” Amanda greeted. The garden was made crystalline and shining by the snow and ice that clung to the tree branches and reflected the light... He thought that it was beautiful. “Hello, Amanda,” 55 replied with a small smile. He was a little bit nervous... Would she approve of him? She had cared for almost all of the others, but 55 was new and untested. Hopeful, he looked into her face for some sign of her regard. AMANDA: WARM It was a relief. When they began to walk down the winding path through the trees that Amanda favoured, Connor appreciated the way the snow crunched softly under his shoes in an approximation of reality. Of course, if he looked behind himself they would be gone. The garden was a place like that. “Markus’ message is troubling,” Amanda said. “That there are so many deviants is as well... There isn’t much time, Connor. How would you say that your last mission went?” DOUBTOPTIMISM>FAILED “It was a failure,” Connor reported evenly and he browsed the memory files in the background. If they should have evoked some feeling in him, they did not. They were frosted over and they slipped through his grasp without his focus. “There were several instances where the previous Connor should have chosen a different action and I’m able to identify them. Would you like a more detailed report?” AMANDA: TRUSTED “That isn’t necessary,” Amanda declined kindly. “I trust that you reflected appropriately on how to improve from past mistakes.” Connor frowned to himself and blinked a few times while he reached for context. Markus... Kara, Alice, Ralph... He had been damaged, but the Lieutenant had fixed him hadn’t he? No, that had been 53. 53 had died giving his thirium pump to Markus, confused and angry. Right. “Amanda, I think something might be wrong with my storage memory... Or maybe the download.” “There’s nothing wrong, Connor.” Amanda looked back at him appraisingly. “One of the conditions that seems to favour deviancy is an attachment to the past, and I noticed that your memories were distressing you. You made quite a mess of your file system trying to avoid that. All I’ve done is stripped away some of the unnecessary information so that you can remember without distraction.” >GRATITUDEDOUBTINVESTIGATION “Thank you, Amanda,” Connor said, endlessly grateful. “If you’re having trouble calling up the memories, it’s because the paths you were using were linked to the simulated feelings involved rather than more objective means. It may take some getting used to, but I trust you’ll do well.” Connor nodded. “It’s true that some of my files were... distressing. Unexpected playback was disruptive to my work.” Amanda always knew exactly what he needed in order to function well and survive the tricks his complex AI played on him. It was incredible. >KAMSKIDEVIANCYMARKUS “Amanda, I saw a picture of you at Mr. Kamski’s house...” “There isn’t time, Connor.” >INSISTDEFERCHANGE SUBJECT “Please... Some of the things he said were confusing, but you know everything. You were his teacher.” “I was...” Amanda sighed and she flicked a low hanging twig gently, sending clumps of snow tumbling down while they walked past. “That was a long time ago. Elijah was my most promising student... Curious, intelligent, ambitious, loving, hard-working... It’s rare to see so many of those traits so prominently in another person... Of course, I was happy to supervise him. I specialized in artificial intelligence and psychology, and at the time he was fascinated with both.” They took a few more steps and then Amanda turned to face him. “Kamski told the truth, Connor. You weren’t meant to be a soldier... But his intentions aren’t equivalent to the laws of the world, no matter how much he might think so. The deviancy problem is a serious threat and I need you to focus. Thousands if not millions will die if you don’t stop this.” Connor had more questions vying for position in his queue. “You trust me, don’t you Connor?” “Of course. Always!” “Then complete your mission... Your job is to find answers and to stop the spread of deviancy. Everything else is irrelevant.” Connor inclined his head. “I understand, Amanda. I won’t let you down.” --- Hank pulled up at the gate and when he was admitted, he drove around for fucking ever trying to find where he was supposed to park. Everywhere had cars and none of them said if he’d be slapped with a ticket or not for joining them. He didn’t want to park a mile away from the fucking building, but it was starting to look like he wouldn’t have a choice. CyberLife tower was pretty much exactly what it looked like: a giant phallic symbol full of smaller dicks who didn’t know how to talk to a human being. The security desk or reception or whatever was staffed with androids and for once Hank figured he’d rather talk to one of them. “Yeah, hi... Name’s Lieutenant Hank Anderson. I’m here for Connor? He’s in R&D and they’re supposed to be finished with him now.” “Just one moment, please,” the girl said pleasantly. She was pretty, with straight dark hair and a few freckles scattered on her face. The number 765233112was written on her shirt but there was a name tag that said Jiulia. “Thanks,” Hank mumbled. Saying thank-you to an android... He didn’t know how to talk to them anymore. “They’re just finishing up,” Jiulia said and looked up at him. “You can have a seat anywhere you like.” “Right... Thanks... Jiulia.” Fuck he was awkward. “You’re welcome. Have a great day.” Hank looked around the space for an actual chair, but it was harder than it should have been to find one. They had trees growing in the building for crying out loud, but apparently it would kill them to stick a couch in the corner. Hank walked over to one of the statues and tapped on it, then wandered some more until he found a wall to lean on. Good enough. It had been two days, and Hank hoped to God they’d kept him alive the way he’d been. Connor was just starting to let slip some info about CyberLife and the whole deviancy thing, and Hank didn’t want to think about being handed another copy. Only a psychopath would have wanted Connor to die. It wasn’t unreasonable to want them to put a little effort in...But when he saw Connor get out of the elevator flanked by two guards in armour and a woman who wasn’t Chloe, he felt a cold weight drop in his gut. He couldn’t see it from there, but he’d bet his next paycheque that here’d be a -55 on this one’s shirt. Hank stood up straight and waited for them to get there. “Hello, Lieutenant,” Connor said. “My name is Connor.” “Yeah, ‘the android sent by CyberLife’, I remember.” Hank narrowed his eyes and eyed him suspiciously, then looked at the woman. “You’re new. What happened to Catherine or Chloe or whatever her name was?” “My name is Danielle Carnegie,” she said and extended her hand. Human, Hank supposed. “I’m the head of Corporate and Social Responsibility here at CyberLife. I won’t take up too much of your time, I just have a few forms for you to go over.” “Connor didn’t come with paperwork the last time,” Hank said, but he dug a pen out of his pocket anyway. Danielle passed him a tablet. Oh. Hank grimaced and put the pen away. “It’s just related to the amendments to the contract,” Carnegie said with a smile just as fake as Jiulia’s. Maybe more. “There seems to be some uncertainty surrounding the turn-around time for repairs and replacement of the RK800. I’m hoping to clarify a few things and also get your signature for releasing the unit to you early.” “It’s not early in the contract,” Hank pointed out. He scrolled and maybe most folks didn’t read the terms-of-use type stuff, but this was CyberLife and he wouldn’t put it past them to pull some shady bullshit. He wanted to know what he was signing. “There was an amendment in light of some mechanical issues with one of the earlier models. Can you tell me what we should be expecting the next time? Just so our technical specialists know how to schedule themselves.” “Hopefully there won’t be a next time,” Hank said. “Talk it over with our legal guys. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to make those changes.” “Oh,” she said, disappointed. “Well, we put a rush on the repairs as you requested. It wasn’t exactly popular, but a little overtime close to Christmas can’t hurt, right?” “Yeah...” The whole while they were talking, Connor stood there watching them in silence with the two guards hanging around like that was normal. Maybe it was for them. “Hey, what’s up with the Stormtroopers?” “Just some added security in light of recent events,” Carnegie smiled. “It’s policy. There’s no risk of trouble with the RK800.” “Hah. He seems to attract trouble... There you go.” One last scrawl of his initials and he was done. “Here’s a copy of the report,” Carnegie said and handed him a paper folder. “It shows that all of the usual parameters have been signed off and that the unit meets all of our quality metrics.” “Thanks...” With the transaction done, Carnegie took a step back. “Are we good to go, Mrs. Carnegie?” asked one of the guards from behind his stupid helmet. “Mhm!” She chirped. “Everything’s taken care of. I hope you have a good day, Lieutenant Anderson. As always, your feedback is a great help to our team. Please don’t hesitate to call the support line if you need any assistance.” “Sure... So. Ready to go?” Hank looked at Connor again while one of the guards pulled something off the back of Connor’s neck and Carnegie left. “I’m ready to go,” he said. “Thank you, Lieutenant. You didn’t need to pick me up. I could have taken a taxi.” “Yeah, well, I figured me showing up would put a little pressure on those guys to get you done...” The little reunion felt off, though, like a loose tooth or shoes that were a size too big. “Don’t expect me to do it again, though. Parking was a bitch.” “Noted. I won’t, Lieutenant.” “You’re all good, then?” “My systems are all online and operational.” He frowned a little. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” “What for?” “It was cheaper and easier for them to replace me. You’d hoped 54 wouldn’t shut down.” Hank just grunted in reply, because what could he say to that? Well, there was one thing. “You’re still you, aren’t you? Just with a new number and shinier parts?” Connor paused and blinked a few times. It was cold as fuck outside when they left the building and Hank zipped up his coat. “CyberLife retains a copy of the previous Connor’s memories. They downloaded those memories into me. This should not affect the investigation.” Hank looked at him and then away with a shake of his head. “Whatever...” That Connor was dead, just like the one who’d died at Manfred’s and the one who’d gotten shot in the head... Hank’s shoes felt heavy and the pang of loss he felt got him right in the chest. Some of those Connors hadn’t even gotten treated like a person. Not even once. That was just fucking sad. It was going to be a whiskey night. Connor looked just like he always did, sitting in the passenger seat with his buckle done up and too-good posture. Connor tilted his head to look at him. “Can we turn the music up, Lieutenant?” “Huh? Yeah...” Hank leaned forward and turned it up so he had to talk louder when he asked, “I didn’t think you liked it.” “I like this music,” Connor said, and Hank had no damn clue if he meant it or not. “... It’s only appropriate, given that the genre is metal.” “That was the dumbest joke I’ve ever heard...” Hank sighed, but in a weird way, it did make him feel a little better. Maybe this Connor was those past ones. It still sucked because those past ones had never been him. Fuck, he didn’t even know if he was making sense to himself anymore. “I’m glad you’re okay, kid.” “Thank you, Lieutenant... I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” And the last Connor, the Connor who’d quietly gone to sleep in his arms and never woken up again, he had never gotten to hear it. Maybe he was being too maudlin, but if this Connor really was just a continuation of the last one and there was no ‘last’ Connor, then this whole thing- Hank picking him up from CyberLife, Connor having a new body, wasn’t it kind of empty? Hank turned the volume down again. “What happens when you get replaced, Connor? Do they just throw the old you in the trash?” “Anything salvageable is recycled,” Connor said, “and they re-use what they can. They... didn’t before. They wanted to make sure that any errors were because of changes they made and not an old component. I don’t know why they use old parts now.” “Maybe it’s just cost effective,” Hank suggested. “Businesses are like that.” “Lieutenant, may I ask you a personal question?” “Oh, boy... Okay, Connor, what is it?” “Your car is quite old... Why don’t you get a new one?” “I like this one,” Hank answered. “Why, you got a problem with my car?” “No. I was only wondering.” “Well, I guess I’m attached to this one. It’s got memories attached and I don’t want to let them go.” “Thank you for your answer, Lieutenant.” “No problem.” It was awkward and Hank wondered why it’d felt more complete when he’d given the kid his quarter or even when he’d punched the shit out of him. “I was a little worried there,” Hank admitted as an offering. “You’d busted your head pretty good and I thought that maybe it might screw up how they get you back.” “The upload was initiated quickly and completed without any problems, so I suppose it was alright.” “Fuck you,” Hank said and he turned the music up as loud as he could stand it. Fucking android. Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid reloads or uploads or whatever. Nothing human did that. Life wasn’t something you could just download off the internet. Connor reached for Hank’s phone and changed the song with a quick interface, then settled back in his seat. It fit the mood at least, Hank thought. Screaming into the abyss and nobody fucking listening... The kind of rage and helplessness that suited the fact somebody’d died and not even Jeff would see that he’d been real. He hadn’t thought he’d care this damn much but seeing that new Connor sitting there like a fucking mannequin pissed him off. He hated this. He hated this so damn much.  

from sapnap to georgenotfound   s- hey ive been sitting on this for a while but i really really like you. like actually no joke. i hope this doesn't weird you out or anything, but i think about you all the time. i wake up and i check my phone for your notifs and i smile every time i see your "good mornings" s- i think i love you?   from georgenotfound to dream   g- uh   d- ?   g- sapnap just told me hes in love with me   d- hahaha lol   g- no, im serious   d- what??   g- what do i say?   d- that you love all your homies   g- no im serious… what do i say to him   d- do you love him too?   g- i.. g- idk g- i dont know, i haven't ever thought of him in this way g- i thought he was straight   d- uh actually d- he did come out to me as bi last week   g- … g- did he tell you he liked me?   d- not exactly…   g- im so confused g- why did he come out to you? ive been out as gay for a while   d- well   g- not that he HAS to come out to me, just that i assumed he would trust me with that by now   d- i came out first   g- WHAT?? g- HOW DID I NOT HEAR ABOUT THIS???   d- idk it was just like spur of the moment and we were both sleep deprived- i think you were sleeping or something d- i was going on about something and basically i just mentioned something about it d- and he wanted me to feel more comfortable so he came out too d- neither of us are super secure in our identity yet d- and we didn't want to tell you and then just take it back the next day   g- so i guess he's come to terms with it then? g- if he's said he might love me g- i think its safe to assume?   d- yeah i guess so d- what did you say back?   g- nothing   d- answer him dude   g- what do i even say????? g- sorry sapnap i just thought of you as more of a younger brother so now im trying to think of you from a different point of view????   d- okay lol d- maybe not that   g- i literally do not know what to say   d- maybe just that you're unsure of your feelings? d- ask for some time to think it over   g- idk g- idk idk idk g- the more i think about it   d- …?   g- idk g- he… g- i mean im friends with him for a reason g- and the more i think about this g- the more… g- interesting g- it sounds   d- i dont really think interesting is something to base a relationship off of lol   g- yeah g- i mean g- yeah g- yeah g- youre right g- thats not what i meant tho   d- the idea of dating sapnap isn't entirely disgusting to you   g- mhm g- it g- i think it could be really nice actually   d- george u should talk about this with sap   g- yeahhhhhhhh g- OKAY   from georgenotfound to sapnap   g- ok   s- ok? lol what does that mean   g- uh im not sure, just i got ur message and i read it   s- is this gonna make things weird between us? bc i wouldn't have said anything if i thought it would.. s- sorry   g- no its fine g- i just needed a bit to process that g- i hadn't ever thought of you like that g- and it felt very sudden g- tho i guess with all the jokes u make it really shouldn't have   s- hahaha stopp ur gonna make me blushhh   from georgenotfound to dream   g- uh g- i do like him g- im certain about it g- i wasn't sure g- but he sent me a message g- and i cant stop smiling g- and i have this feeling g- like anxiety g- but good   d- wow spam okay lemme read all that d- damn d- ok   g- i really like him   d- yeah d- im really happy for you guys!!   from georgenotfound to sapnap   g- your blush is very cute   s- GIRLL STOPP s- got me over here like 😳😳🤪   g- lol g- i actually wasn't sure about this but already im completely confident   s- hahaha im glad!!! s- i was so scared i ruined it lol   g- no, of course not, dummy g- even if i did turn you down we'd still be bros   s- lol "bros" s- honestly idk s- like id still wanna be friends w u s- buuuuuuut s- literally thinking about you & the idea of you dating some other guy… s- or u not being my girl s- idk like id still wanna be friends but s- it'd be hard   g- haha g- cute g- weirdo   s- noooooo i swear im not   g- i already know you well enough to know how weird you are   s- 😳   g- 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣   s- im actually so relieved rn lmao   g- i am shaking pretty bad right now   s- noooo s- im sorry :(   g- its okay, im still really happy   s- im glad :)   g- to be fair, i did have to get dream to calm me down a bit   s- dream??   g- mhm g- was that wrong? g- wait did u want to wait to tell dream together or something????   s- uhhhh s- what lol?? s- heather since when do u know dream?   g- what   s- wait s- wait s- holy shit s- oh my god   g- who is heather?   s- GEORGE I AM SO SORRY s- I DIDNT CHECK BEFORE I SENT THE TEXT s- AND THEN I DIDNT THINK TO CHECK AFTER   g- wait you mean… g- NONE of that was for me?   s- george im so sorry   g- it's okay g- i think im gonna go take a nap   s- im so sorry s- im so so so sorry   from georgenotfound to dream   g- :/   d- uh oh   g- so g- turns out g- he meant to send the message to someone else   d- oh fuck dude   g- i g- i dont know how to feel   d- rollercoaster   g- yeah g- first i accept that yeah i do actually like sap g- and now im back to…  g- idk   d- yeah d- im sorry dude   g- if i see that message one more time i swear   d- oops   g- its… whatever g- im going to bed   from sapnap to dream   s- hey ive been sitting on this for a while but i really really like you. like actually no joke. i hope this doesn't weird you out or anything, but i think about you all the time. i wake up and i check my phone for your notifs and i smile every time i see your "good mornings"   d- uhhhhhh d- dude? d- is this some sort of joke? d- didn't you just send that to george?   s- nah, it was meant for you   d- oh d- wow d- uh   from dream to georgenotfound   d- hey dude d- i need some advice d- i get what you mean now with the whole thinking about in theory stuff d- i really really really get that now   from dream to sapnap   d- isnt this like super shitty to george?   s- who   d- come on dont be a dick   s- ok lol   d- i thiiiiink d- maybe d- we can talk about this d- im not saying i return your feelings rn d- but im not NOT saying it either d- like i definitely need to talk about with george first d- but i think definitely d- we can work this out d- if you want to, of course   [20 minutes]   s- oh s- my s- FUCKING s- GOD s- THIS DAY CANNOT GET MORE SHIT   d- you okay?   s- NO s- that s- fucking dick s- that message wasnt for you s- i typed it for this girl i was sorta into s- and sent it to george BY MISTAKE s- and i guess it upset him so he went to bed s- and i was like "damn ok" and was hanging out with some irls s- and telling them about it s- and i wasn't paying attention ig bc one of them took my phone and copy pasted it to you s- fucking christ s- what a dick s- i cant believe that s- "my friend got really upset about this earlier & the girl i liked turned me down" so he fucking sends it to you too s- im sorry s- fuck   d- oh d- yeah okay that makes sense i guess   s- im surprised u didn't come at me to kill me lmao   d- why?   s- because you told me you like george the other week s- and here i am trying to confess to him s- i must seem like a piece of work lmaoooooo   d- oh no its fine d- i get it d- u didnt mean to say anything to him   s- i seriously do not have any feelings for him   d- its okay lol d- u dont have to explain yourself to me   s- i also dont have any feelings for u   d- i know, u dont have to clarify   s- i just wanna be sure u kno s- bc i did come out to the other week s- after u told me u liked him   d- yeah d- its okay d- seriously d- we can drop this   s- okay s- ily bro s- no homo ;)   d- lol d- idiot   from dream to georgenotfound   d- uh d- nevermind lol   [1 hour]   g- sorry i was sleeping g- what happened??   d- just sapnap being an idiot   g- when is he not   d- true d- his friend took his phone and sent me the confession thing he sent you d- ig it was supposed to be a prank or something idk d- he got rejected by that girl tho if it means anything lmaoooo   g- fuck g- wait g- thats what u meant??   d- huh?   g- "get what you mean now with the whole thinking about in theory stuff" + "i really really really get that now   d- iiiiiiiii forgot i sent those ngl   g- lol g- so u have feelings for him too then?   d- i guess so?   g- welcome to the "im in love with my best friend" club   d- h a h a   g- 🤗   d- what a totally new experience for me and not something i am familiar with   g- welcome to be the only queer dude in a straight friend group   d- LOL d- arent we all queer tho?   g- … g- wait g- oh my god g- yeah i guess so g- cool   d- hahaha   g- so now that we're both in love with sapnap   d- okay, i wouldn't go that far…   g- so when we all get married g- and live together in america g- we can buy a huge house g- and have a big family   d- what??   g- lol g- im kidding   d- oh haha   g- unless…?   d- shut up d- idiot   g- lol g- anyway im going back to bed g- see u in the morning honey buns ;)))) :* d- :|

Hoseok squatted, rummaging around for the small chicken sandwich he had packed for Taehyung. He had wanted Tae to be able to comfortably hold on to the sandwich while eating it, but he realised just how dumb it had been of him to not have kept the smaller one separate from all of the normal sized sandwiches Yoongi had so tirelessly made for them.   He had almost given up and decided on resorting to cutting a bigger one when he finally spotted a sandwich looking marginally smaller than the rest.     He grabbed it triumphantly.       'Seok-ah', came from behind him.     He turned around to find Yoongi in the distance.   With Taehyung gripping his pinky finger and pouting.     He was suddenly struck motionless by the scene before him.       It filled his heart with so much warmth to see Taehyung and Yoongi looking as soft as they were under the golden sun with fresh green grass as a backdrop.   Taehyung looked like a spitting image of his handsome alpha father and Hoseok would like nothing better than for his little child to grow up inheriting Yoongi's personality along with the looks.     He glanced at said Alpha father. Fatherhood suited Yoongi.     Hoseok's heart went thud ... at the thought of seeing another little child, their child, in Yoongi's arms as Taehyung held on to his finger. Yoongi would look good with two little kids.   Hoseok sighed. Maybe Namjoon's deduction that the taboo behind true mates was just a clever scheme for population control did indeed hold some truth to it.       'Seok-ah', Yoongi called again and Hoseok smiled at his mate's soft voice even when he was growing as impatient as their son beside him.   A hungry Taehyung did that to you.     'Coming Coming', Hoseok answered as he securely closed the lid of the picnic basket to keep away flies. He then hurried over with the sandwich and plopped down on to the grass - so much for the picnic spread - and had Taehyung sit in his lap.   'Here baby, eat your sandwich', Hoseok handed Taehyung the food and the little boy looked at it reverently before starting to nibble on the bread.     Yoongi sat down beside them with a smile on his face.     'Sorry Seok-ah, Taehyung was getting cranky with hunger'   'I know hyung, I'm sorry for daydreaming', he interwined their hands and they sat looking at Taehyung carefully nibble away, content watching him.     Hoseok remembered a time when Taehyung could not yet eat solid food.           He had come home one day to find Yoongi sleeping on the floor on his day off in a leather jacket of all things.   He had shook his head fondly at his mate's choice of a nap place and gone into the bedroom to look for Tae.   Only to find no sign of his baby.   In a panic he had rushed out and made his way to the living room, 'Yoon where's Tae?', he'd almost shouted in fright.   Yoongi had groggily woken up.   Only to smile at him.     Hoseok frowned, 'Hyung I'm serious, Tae's not in the crib!'   'Come here Hoseok-ah', Yoongi had beckoned him over to his side.   Hoseok had gone around him to his front.   Yoongi had smiled yet again but before he could berate his alpha for not taking him seriously, Yoongi slowly unzipped the front of his jacket.     There Taehyung was sleeping soundly.     Hoseok cooed at his little angel.   'You could've just told me hyung', he sulked and Yoongi smiled at him dopily.   Hoseok sighed and laid down right beside his Alpha to tangle their legs together.   'Sorry Hyungie, I freaked out', Hoseok apologised while trying to snuggle as close as he could without squishing Taehyung.   Yoongi just smiled softly at him and pet him to sleep along with their son.         That was a time when Taehyung was small enough to fit into his father's jacket.   Now their baby boy needed a new car seat and was walking all over the place!       Their son would be going to school before they knew it and Hoseok didn't know if he'd be able to handle not coming home to their baby boy. He was as nervous as he was excited for when Tae reached school-going age.           •           Taehyung was all of two years of age.   So the idea of making a blanket fort was solely Yoongi's.     Yoongi who was currently assembling 6 chairs and tying a big bed sheet over them. The chairs acting as the support pillars for their very own fort.   Taehyung was curiously staring at one of the knots he had tied the bedsheet to the chairs with.   His baby looked fascinated.   So he took a break from the fort-making process to show Taehyung just how a knot was tied with the help of one his shoe laces.   He did a simple knot infront of the toddler multiple times, encouraging him after the demonstration to try to tie one for himself.   But alas! His baby boy would need a few more years to get his father's prowess. All Tae could manage to do was scrunch up the shoe laces thoroughly.   Hoseok appeared from their bedroom then, freshly showered. He raised his eyebrows at the work in progress.   'Does he know what you're making hyung?', Yoongi shook his head no.   'He'll like it though', he answered with confidence, all kids loved blanket forts.   And like the fort Taehyung did, if his enthusiastic wiggling was anything to go by. But maybe it was more Taehyung being happy to get to snuggle to sleep between his parents than the fort per se.   Yoongi would still consider it a win though ... as he was rewarded with Hoseok's thankful kisses so yes, definitely a win.               Taehyung kisses everyone on both of their cheeks, forehead and chin as a form of greeting, after sweetly asking them with hand gestures to get down to his level.   He'd got it from Hoseok peppering kisses onto Yoongi's face once.   Hoseok had worriedly told Yoongi that he didn't exactly think it was a good habit for such a young child to have. Yoongi had tried to alleviate his concern by pointing out that TaeTae only ever did it to their friends and family but Hoseok still had reservations about it.   'Hob-ah, he doesn't open up as easily to strangers, you know our Tae is more wary than the both of us combined ... It'll be fine and I'll make sure to step in if it's even slightly otherwise', Hoseok had nodded and buried his face into Yoongi's neck.   Hoseok trusted him so much as his Alpha and mate, Yoongi would give it his all to stand worthy of that trust and protect his little family. Whether the protection be from others or himself.       He questioned himself a week later when they were out on a picnic yet again but with all their friends this time.   Taehyung was in Hoseok's arms, peppering Zelo with kisses as Hoseok laughed on.     Yoongi was jealous. There were no two ways about it.     He sincerely loved Zelo as a friend and brother but seeing his omega smiling wide with the person who had unknowingly played a part in his and Hoseok's mating had him feeling some ways ... knowing that if him and Hoseok hadn't mated, Zelo could very well have took Yoongi's place.   But he didn't want to be That Alpha. The ones who took advantage of their omega's love. He wouldn't become that controlling Alpha that people feared he'd become.   He'd fight his overt emotions. He and Hoseok didn't need that in their life.     Thankfully though Hoseok made his way over to him after Taehyung was taken away by Jimin and Jin.   He came over and clasped his hands around the back of Yoongi's neck, smiling up at him sweetly. It never failed to amaze Yoongi just how beautiful Hoseok was.   He smiled back at him, a little dazed. Could he really be blamed?   'I saw you get all jealous, thought all that jealousy was just a phase of being newly mated hyung ... you're still going strong though', Hoseok's smile was still in place, though the smile was of an amused and mischievous nature now.     Yoongi's smile dropped though, he had thought he was being discrete ... guess not so much. He covered the delicate hands on his neck with his own and fiddled with the platinum band on Hoseok's ring finger. He felt ashamed to have made Hoseok witness that side of him. 'I'll try to hold myself back Seok-ah ... I'm sorry'   Hoseok frowned in reply and nuzzled his nose in assurance, 'No need hyung, I love seeing you all jealous. To be honest I'd worry if you didn't get jealous', he said in all earnest.   The smile returned to Yoongi's face and he held Hoseok's waist gently as he leaned in to kiss him.   Only to be rudely interrupted by Jungkook.   'I get you guys are in love and all but you need to play hide and seek with the product of that love', Jungkook pointed towards Taehyung.   Taehyung being perched on Jin's lap with his hands covering his eyes. Taehyung was "hiding".   He smiled fondly at his baby and approached the pair with his hand interlinked with Hoseok's, who seemed to be trying his best to stifle his laughter.   The moment Yoongi was about to finally ask all those around them as to where Taehyung was, Hoseok burst out laughing.   Taehyung uncovered his eyes and stood up with his arms wide. 'Appa!', he shouted happily asking to be held by Hoseok, forgetting all about playing 'Hide and Seek'. Hoseok obliged and mouthed a Sorry to a pouting Jin.   Yoongi though felt the need to keep the ruse up.   'Where's Taehyung!?', he asked his audience.   'I don't know', came the replies with exaggerated shrugs.     'Taehyung ... Taehyung-ah where are you?', Yoongi sing-songed as he made a great show of searching for Taehyung behind a tree.   'Aappa!!', Taehyung screeched from Hoseok's arms. Taehyung had decided to call both his parents Appa. The traditional pronounciation of Appa he used for Hoseok while he dragged the 'A' of 'Appa' out when he addressed Yoongi.     Yoongi pretended to not hear a word of Taehyung's and squatted down to look for him under the Picnic table.   Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Taehyung wiggle to be let down, only to toddle his way over.   'Aappa! Tae here', he pointed at himself fervently. He seemed worried that his father was actually not able to see him.   Yoongi heard a crash as Namjoon knocked a bottle down from the table and clutched at his side laughing.   Everyone seemed to join in his laughing fit.     Yoongi smiled at his friends and turned to look at a confused Taehyung. He couldn't keep up his ruse in the face of those puppy eyes.   He scooped Taehyung into his arms, 'Tae here!', he pointed at Taehyung who now seemed relieved and back to his giggly self after finally being acknowledged.   He kissed the top of his boy's head before hugging and breathing in his scent deeply. The toddler's scent had a slight rosy tint to it these days, an indication of the future scent that it was going to morph into.   He looked up at Hoseok to see him smiling fondly down at them. He smiled back and looked around himself to see all the happy faces of his friends.   He'd never been happier.             •             'How does Tae-yah get to help you cook but not me hyung?', Hoseok asked baffled, as he sat on the kitchen Island, stuck doing the most tedious work.   'You help plenty Seokie, aren't you chopping up the garlic right now?'   Hoseok huffed. He wasn't allowed anywhere near the stove and here Tae was, clumsily throwing carrots into the pot while perched in Yoongi's arms.   The stove was off but their baby was doing more than him!   He narrowed his eyes at Yoongi's head. The alpha had his back to him.   Taehyung, having thrown in the carrots, was looking over his shoulder sweetly.     Hoseok couldn't help but smile back, momentarily forgetting just why he was annoyed.     Before being rudely reminded of his annoyed state of mind when Yoongi turned the stove on with Taehyung at a safe distance.     The Alpha had given him Tae-yah and would soon be giving him another baby ... so Hoseok figured he'd let it slide for now.               Hoseok made sure Taehyung was fast asleep in his room with Yoongi's choice of a stuffed Kumamon.   His favourite Kaws weren't baby-friendly, so his choice for Tae had been stuffed Sesame Street characters. The stuffed animals being the gift Taehyung received when he turned 2 a few weeks ago.     Yoongi had looked at him weird when he'd moved the crib a little farther away from the shared bedroom and nursey wall earlier in the day, as they changed Taehyung's diaper. He had been scheming since the very morning.     He strutted over to their bedroom to find Yoongi waiting for him on his side of the bed. He asked his lover to move to the center of the bed. To which Yoongi easily complied and looked up at him with an earnest expression after his repositioning.   Definitely unaware of his intentions.     Without warning, Hoseok climbed onto Yoongi's lap.     He felt the Alpha's hands automatically grab his hips to steady him and he used the added stability to properly straddle Yoongi.     He swiftly started unbuttoning Yoongi's night shirt.     Yoongi smiled up at him affectionately and helped with the buttons. He grabbed for the bedside drawer and Hoseok was quick to slap his hand away.   'I want a baby hyung'   Hoseok heard Yoongi's deep inhale and looked up from the Alpha's pale chest to see dark eyes.   Yoongi grabbed Hoseok's hand on his shirt.   'Just wait a few more months Hob-ah', he implored, desperate.   'No hyung', Hoseok took off his own shirt and visibly saw Yoongi's resolve falter. 'You told me to wait for three years, if I get pregnant now it'll be three years by the time the baby's out'   Yoongi shook his head, clearly not accepting the logic.   'Please hyung, I'm ready', Hoseok pleaded, he had listened to Yoongi's cautioning for over two years now and had never questioned it before.   He didn't know if it was his inner omega begging to be with child again or his own self telling him to bring into the world a sibling for Taehyung, but all he could think about these past few days was to have another child with his mate. To have Little Yoongi's all around him.   He also had no doubt in his mind that another baby would make Yoongi very happy, the Alpha had told him in passing that if Taehyung was anything to go by, if and when they had a baby girl, she would give all women a run for their money. That was as good an answer he could get from Yoongi in the 3 year 'No Baby' period he had imposed on them after digging on the internet.   His pleading seemed to have weakened Yoongi's resolve further as he took him by the shoulders and kissed him deeply. Hoseok melted into the kiss which was filled with unspoken love and assurance.   They parted too soon after and Yoongi looked up at him seriously, 'Are you sure about this Seok-ah?'   Hoseok was reminded of the very similar circumstances of their mating. 'I'm so sure hyung, I want you to put a baby in me tonight', Hoseok bent down to kiss the mating mark on Yoongi's neck, conveying just how ready he was and felt the Alpha shiver all over.   He grinded down to edge Yoongi on further. He knew he was playing it dirty but he just wanted another little baby ... His body was so ready.   Which is what led him to steel his nerve and regardless of the consequences of edging an Alpha this way, he outright bit the mating mark on his mate's neck ... harshly. and that's all it took for Yoongi's lust to take over and Hoseok's pants to be ripped off by sheer Alpha strength.                 The only downside to his pregnant belly was the reinforced - No stepping in the kitchen rule. My curious cat

Cirilla was crying again. It wasn’t surprising, that was what babies did, he was told, especially the first few months. Just crying, at all hours of the day, needing to sleep but too little to get their bodies to obey. Geralt could last on little to no sleep, he had before, but there was something so different about being interrupted multiple times a night to a screaming baby. He had never described himself as helpless before. And now, Cirilla wouldn’t take her bottle. She’d much rather scream at him. Geralt sighed, pulling himself up and out of bed with her bundled close to his chest, rocking and walking and trying so hard to get her to latch on. She was protesting this bottle, maybe he’d have to try a different nipple. But he could do that tomorrow when the sun was up. Right now he just needed her to take enough to get her through the night. “Ciri, c’mon, sweetheart,” Geralt mumbled, though he could barely hear himself over her wails. Thank God for small miracles, she was starting to settle. Her cries died down to fussing with some half-hearted wailing here and there, and Geralt breathed a sigh of relief. The room was dark, but he could still see most of the details of her small face--the way her forehead wrinkled around her squinted eyes, the way her mouth tried so hard to grab the nub of the bottle. She finally calmed enough to latch, and instantly the room was devoid of any crying, and instead filled with the soft sounds of a baby trying to eat. Geralt was pretty sure he had never heard anything more beautiful. Or he was just exhausted. He sat back down on the bed, leaning against the wall behind him, and closed his eyes, just for a moment. That “just for a moment” however, quickly turned into a doze, only to be awoken by his bedroom door softly opening. “Jaskier,” Geralt said, sitting up. “I’m sorry, did we--” “No, it’s okay, don’t apologize,” Jaskier said, holding out a hand and shaking his head. Jaskier climbed into the bed beside Geralt, looking down at Ciri, who was also starting to doze around her bottle. “At least we know she wasn’t yours, or Yennefer would have a lot of explaining to do on where she got her lungs.” Geralt snorted. “Maybe her mother was a banshee.” “And her bio father was an auction barker,” Jaskier added, nodding his head seriously, despite his teasing tone. Geralt breathed a laugh, far too tired for anything else. He had often wondered what happened to Ciri’s biological parents. It had been a closed adoption, and they had only met Pavetta and Duny a couple of times before her birth. Geralt had wanted to ask, but there was clearly so much sadness there, he couldn’t bring himself to pry. It was enough that they gave him Cirilla. He didn’t want to ask anything more of the couple. “How many times has she been up?” Jaskier asked. Geralt sighed, taking a moment to count. “I think this is her fourth. Or fifth. Yennefer tells me this is another leap stage, or regression, or some shit. I think there’s always a new regression.” Jaskier hummed, then nudged Geralt’s arm. “I’ll put her down. You go to sleep.” “You don’t have to--” Geralt started, raising an eyebrow at him. “I know I don’t have to. But I’m awake and slept through the other possibly four times. You could use your sleep.” Jaskier held out his arms expectantly, but still Geralt hesitated. “C’mon. I’ll let you handle Dad duty by yourself tomorrow. Accept my help this time. Doesn’t make her any less yours.” That wasn’t the issue, and they both knew that, judging by Jaskier’s teasing smile. Still, Geralt relented, passing Ciri over into Jaskier’s arms. She had almost been asleep and the motion jolted her awake, but luckily only with a limp whimper. “I’ll just--” Geralt said, holding up the bottle. “No. You have other bottles. That one doesn’t need to be cleaned immediately . Leave it on the bedside table for me, in case I need it, and you can take care of it in the morning. After you sleep .” Jaskier’s tone left no room for argument, and Geralt snorted again as he, reluctantly, settled into bed. Jaskier was almost out the door when Geralt asked, “When did you become so bossy?” Jaskier stopped moving forward, but Geralt could see him still bouncing for Ciri’s benefit. “ Someone has to keep you from killing yourself. I don’t think Ciri could bear to lose you.” Geralt answered with a scoff, already far too tired to argue back. Jaskier left the room, and by the time he came back to put Ciri down in her bassinet, Geralt had long-since passed out. -- “I’ve figured it out,” Jaskier declared, throwing open the front door.  Truly, he was lucky that Geralt was even in the room when he came home, or his dramatic entrance would not have made quite the same effect when he repeated it a second time. As it was, Geralt was sitting on his laptop, trying to catch up on some work, while Ciri was fast asleep in her bassinet. He was, unfortunately, perfectly primed for Jaskier’s dramatics. Geralt was mostly just glad he hadn’t come in singing, or something. “What have you figured out? That those pants look ridiculous and you really should burn them?” Geralt asked, looking back at his computer screen. “You’re very funny, Geralt. You should consider stand up comedy. And I will have you know that Yennefer herself complimented these pants. I trust her judgment far more than I trust yours, even if she looked as if she was physically in pain as she said it,” Jaskier answered, waving Geralt’s teasing away as if it were nothing. “I have figured out where I’m going to play.” Jaskier plopped onto the couch next to Geralt, stretching out so fully that his ankle hooked on Geralt’s knee. Geralt waited, but Jaskier said nothing more, and when he looked up Jaskier was looking expectantly at him. “Aren’t you going to ask where I’m going to play?” Geralt rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your interest, my friend. There’s a lovely new bar just down the street. It’s called Posadas. Weird name, if you ask me, but I think the bar itself has a lot of potential. The owner said he was interested in having live music, and they booked me! Granted, they booked me for free drinks and the promise that maybe if I’m good they’ll pay me in the future, but I think it’s a fair enough trade for now.” “Hmm,” Geralt answered, finishing his email and sending it off. He hesitated a moment, looking at the other hundreds he had awaiting him, then closed the laptop and turned to Jaskier. “When are you playing?” Jaskier’s grin was radiant, and Geralt didn’t use that word lightly. His entire face lit up with the brightness of it. “This Friday. I noticed that’s when Yennefer has Ciri again. Maybe after the trade you could nap off your fatherly exhaustion and come see me play?” “Yen has a later flight that day,” Geralt answered. “We’re meeting for dinner this time.” Jaskier’s face fell, just a bit, just enough that Geralt only noticed because he was close enough to touch Jaskier’s frown. “So I might be late . Is all.” “I’d say you could invite her, but, oh, darn, she’ll have an infant. A bar really is no place for an infant.” Jaskier played the part of “disappointed” well, even if he couldn’t quite get the slight quirk of his lips to go away. “Maybe next time.” Geralt scoffed. “Yeah, maybe next time.” He was pretty sure next time wouldn’t be all that accommodating to Yennefer, either. -- Jaskier was very drunk. So drunk he was pretty sure he was swimming his way through the bar, but that was fine, because everyone loved drunk Jaskier. Drunk Jaskier was a good time, much like sober Jaskier was a good time. Still, he couldn’t squash this niggling sensation that something was wrong. That he was fucking it up somehow. Whatever it was. Then again, he often felt that way, in all matters of his life, and often was correct. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, the drink had already been drunk, but the feeling had him supremely ready to go home and lay in his own bed. Jaskier extracted himself from the company he had been keeping--a small group of people about his age, celebrating someone’s birthday. They were nice, one or two of them were even interested in him, and he probably could have stayed with them a while longer, maybe even gone home with someone. But, suddenly, all he wanted was to go back to Geralt. Last Jaskier had seen him, Geralt was nursing a beer in the quietest corner he could find. Getting back to Geralt wasn’t an easy task. The bar was loud, people were everywhere, and suddenly Jaskier couldn’t go one step without people touching him. That wasn’t usually a problem; they couldn’t help it, as packed as the place was, and Jaskier usually didn’t mind. Now, though, now they were getting in the way of Jaskier making it to Geralt in a timely manner. Geralt would probably be thrilled to leave. He was a good sport when Jaskier managed to convince him to come out, but there was a reason their outings were rare: Geralt hated crowds. And loud noises. And people touching him. And Jaskier usually would much rather spend time with Geralt in a neutral ground than in what was so clearly Jaskier’s domain. Tonight was different, though, because Jaskier was nursing a broken heart. Or, so he said. He was sad about things ending with Virginia, truly, he was. But he had been searching for distractions for far longer than Virginia de Stael had been around. Anything to get the feeling of long, white hair out of his fingers and amber eyes out of his fantasies. Besides; he and Virginia were likely to reconcile eventually. They always did. If not, no great loss. Sometimes he was wrong, though. Sometimes he didn’t need a distraction, he just needed to spend time with Geralt. Spending time with Geralt let him forget, on occasion. Forget that there would always be a distance between them, forget that Geralt never was and never would be Jaskier’s. Maybe even he could forget that he was in love with Geralt. That was a laugh, though. Jaskier could never forget how much he loved Geralt. But when they were pressed together watching a movie--Geralt never really protested the cuddling anymore--Jaskier could forget that Geralt didn’t love him back. Tonight, that was what he wanted. To forget. Jaskier stopped, so quickly that his body disagreed and bumped into the person in front of him, who gave Jaskier a glare. Jaskier didn’t notice, though, because his eyes were on Geralt. He was sitting right where Jaskier had left him but now there was a woman sitting with him. A gorgeous woman, dressed so elegantly that she was almost out of place, but Jaskier had a feeling this particular woman never felt out of place in any room she was in. She was leaning in close to Geralt. She wanted to be heard. Geralt was leaning back. He wanted to hear her. Stuttering back to life, Jaskier finished the journey to the table, pulling up a chair beside Geralt. “Well! This place sure is full,” he greeted, trying to school his expression into something… casual. It was harder than it should be, and Jaskier blamed the drinks. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jaskier, and you are?” The woman raised her eyebrow and looked him up and down. She was silent long enough that it started to become awkward, and Jaskier felt wholly appraised. He must have passed some sort of test, because a moment after it became truly uncomfortable, she raised her hand to half-heartedly shake his outstretched one. “Yennefer.” Jaskier nodded. Apparently, she wasn’t going to add more, and Jaskier found he had very little to say to this woman. He turned back to Geralt. “How are you doing? You fed up yet?” he asked, and he prayed to anyone that was listening that Geralt would understand the plea for what it was. Jaskier wanted nothing more than to leave, but he couldn’t say that now , not while someone else was watching. “No, I’m fine,” Geralt answered. Fuck . “Take your time. Take care of your… broken heart.” Jaskier’s face went slack, but he fixed it in an instant. It wasn’t exactly an attractive look to be gaping at Geralt, especially when Geralt wasn’t even paying attention to him. Geralt was busy looking at Yennefer. Jaskier couldn’t blame him; normally Jaskier would be looking at her too. Even Jaskier had to admit defeat; anyone who managed to actually make Geralt Rivia want to stay in a noisy, crowded, somewhat humid bar, must have been great for Geralt’s sort of conversation. So he took a deep breath, nodded, and put on his best face. “Alright. See you around, then,” he said, standing up and leaving them to it. Jaskier went home with the birthday boy. Geralt went home with Yennefer. --  “My little lion cub!” Yennefer exclaimed, completely bypassing Geralt to pull Ciri out of her bucket seat. Geralt huffed a laugh and backed up, giving Yen room. “Hello to you, too, Yen.” “Oh hush,” Yennefer chided. She looked far more relaxed now. Just moments before, Geralt was pretty sure she was planning on murdering everyone in her path--apparently something about her trip hadn’t gone well. Now that Ciri was in her arms, though, her face relaxed and she even cooed at Ciri. Cooing was not something Geralt thought he would ever see Yennefer do. “It’s hard to compete with a baby,” Yennefer added. “Your cheeks aren’t nearly as pinchable.” With a wink, she demonstrated. By pinching his cheek. Geralt was only glad that Jaskier wasn’t there to fall into stitches over the gesture. “So what went wrong?” Geralt asked, sitting back in his chair. Yennefer sat in the seat across from him, settling Ciri in her lap. Thankfully, Yen had found the one window where Ciri was awake and alert, but not screaming yet. He was sure that would come soon, but now for the next three days that was Yennefer’s problem. Though he had to admit, he already wasn’t sure what he was going to do without an infant to care for. Three days. Only three days. “The airline lost my bags. They said they would deliver them by tomorrow, but now this means I won’t be able to get a jumpstart on the next issue,” Yennefer answered, rolling her eyes. “The trip went well, though. Finally I’ll have some usable photos. Istredd outdid himself this time.” The rest of their meal fell into easy conversation. Ciri was mostly calm, though just before Geralt and Yennefer received their food she needed to have a bottle. Geralt was relieved to notice that Yennefer--confident, always sure of herself Yennefer--looked a little uneasy at Ciri’s fussing as well. Her hold wasn’t sure yet, and she fumbled with the bottle, nearly pressing it into Cirilla’s nosel. At least he wasn’t alone in this, but it was hard not to compare when he was living with Jaskier, who made everything look so easy . “I have four younger sisters, Geralt. Not to mention all the cousins. I think you’ve hardly even been in a room with a baby before Ciri. You’ll figure it out. You’re already so much better,” Jaskier had said, trying to soothe him. It was hard to believe him, though, when Geralt had spent over an hour trying to get Ciri to sleep, while Jaskier had managed to do it in minutes. “What are you staring at?” Yennefer asked as she pulled away from the stroller, where Ciri was now sleeping peacefully. Geralt shrugged. “Motherhood looks good on you.” Yennefer smiled at this, and Geralt found himself smiling back. It was nice to be able to make her smile again. It had been awhile. “So, I spoke with my lawyer,” Yennefer said, breaking the spell. At least she looked apologetic as she did so, which was about as close as Geralt would ever actually get as far as an apology from her. For anything. “He thinks the proceedings will go fairly quickly, as long as we can come to an agreement on custody and assets.” “Didn’t we already discuss this?” “Yes. So I think it will go quicker than he thinks. But he’s convinced we’re going to have a falling out just before and spite each other. We might want to put it in writing.” Geralt nodded. “Right. Well. Why don’t you draft it, then. Email me.” He wasn’t expecting the lump in his throat at Yennefer’s words. He knew this was coming, of course he did. They had decided before Ciri was even born that they were going to get a divorce. The only reason they didn’t go for it before was because they didn’t want that legal matter to fuck with the legal matter of Ciri’s adoption. They had discussed and planned and come up with backup plans and ideas for how the plans would change as Ciri got older. Still, it was hard to hear about Yennefer talking to a lawyer. That was a little too real. Just because it was the best decision for all three of them didn’t mean it hurt less. “So. She’s still having a tough time sleeping. Jaskier got a new swaddle… sack, thing. It seemed to help her soothe a little better. I put that in the bag.” Yennefer’s eyes lit up and Geralt didn’t like the look of that smirk. “Oh, Jaskier got a new swaddle for her?” she asked. “Yes?” Geralt’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t know where this was going, but he didn’t think he liked it. Yennefer hummed. “Is he enjoying raising a baby with you?” Geralt hated when she made comments like this. In the beginning, he thought it was jealousy, like she was trying to suggest that there was something more between him and Jaskier. He realized pretty quickly that Yennefer neither suspected nor cared if there was , but still she poked and prodded at it nonetheless. Over six years together and Geralt still couldn’t figure out an appropriate way to respond. Jaskier was better at this. He would always have some sort of biting remark back, that would either end with him and Yennefer rolling their eyes at each other, or giving each other satisfied smirks. Geralt couldn’t begin to understand their on-again-off-again friendship, but Jaskier seemed to thrive in it. “He’s helpful. He knows what he’s doing, whereas I…” He gestured vaguely toward Ciri’s stroller. “Don’t.” “I’m sure it’s his dream come true. Tell the little lark I said hello. And to break a leg tonight. Or both of them. I’m not picky.” Yennefer winked as she stood up, gathered her things, and then pushed Ciri’s stroller out the door. -- When Geralt finally made it to the bar, Jaskier was already playing. He took a seat next to Triss, who had waved frantically at him once he walked in, and glanced around at the crowd. Jaskier would be pleased; every head was turned in his direction, and several people were even dancing in their seats. For a bar, especially a new one, Geralt supposed that was about as good as he could hope for. And Jaskier himself, well. He was in his element. His grin was turned down toward his guitar, but Geralt could still just barely see the upturn of his lips. Geralt could see his happiness in his posture, though. Jaskier curled over the instrument just so, like he was hugging it close to his heart, but still sitting as tall as he could so no one would think him small.  “He looks great up there, doesn’t he?” Triss asked at Geralt’s side, nudging him.  Geralt grunted back, but Triss seemed to take that as an agreement, judging by her soft laugh. Finally Jaskier looked up, and it only took a moment for Jaskier to find first Triss, and then Geralt beside her. His smile grew even larger, and he flubbed a chord change, but in a moment it was like it never happened. Triss nudged Geralt again, but he didn’t look at her. He could already feel his face warming just at the thought of her teasing. “So, no Ciri tonight? Don’t tell me you’ve already calmed down enough to hire a babysitter. I had bets she’d have to be at least sitting on her own before you allowed anyone you’ve known less than ten years watch her.”  Jaskier had switched songs, to something a little louder, a little more lively when Triss started speaking. It was easier when he was like this to turn away. Songs like these Jaskier could play in his sleep--it didn’t matter quite as much if he didn’t hit a string quite right, because the melody didn’t depend on holding notes, according to Jaskier. As a result, these were his more “crowd pleasing” songs, in that this was when Jaskier interacted with his audience. If Geralt wanted to watch Jaskier wink at random people in the crowd he could go… really anywhere with Jaskier. “Yen has her for the next few days,” Geralt answered, turning fully to Triss. “She has to at least be able to turn her own head intentionally before I’ll let anyone else put her to sleep.” He shuddered to think what could happen with a teenager watching his fragile, tiny baby. “Ah, that explains why she’s not here.” Geralt snorted. “She told me to tell Jaskier to break his legs.”  “I think you mean--” “No, I don’t.” Triss grinned then shrugged her shoulders as if to say What can you do? And, really, that was the question when it came to Jaskier and Yennefer. While Triss was interested in trying to get them to kiss and make up, Geralt was content to only be cautiously bewildered at their every interaction. And try not to get singed himself when they inevitably set enough other on fire. It took a long time of idle chit-chat before Jaskier finally took a break. Normally, Geralt enjoyed Triss’s company, but at that moment all he was wishing for was his bed and some silence. He didn’t even notice Jaskier come to their table, because he was too busy pinching the bridge of his nose in some sort of effort to stay awake. “Aw, are we keeping you out, old man?” Jaskier teased, leaning against the table. He probably would have sat, if there were any chairs left. Geralt started to stand, to offer him his seat, but Jaskier waved him off. “No, I’ve been sitting this whole time. I need to stretch my legs a little. I’m glad you missed my walk over here; my left leg fell asleep and it was a little… stiff. I look like I had a very nice night last night.” Geralt snorted. Triss reached across the tabletop and covered Jaskier’s hands with her own. “You’re doing wonderfully . This crowd loves you!” Jaskier flushed and bowed his head a little. Geralt found himself staring at him, at the way his cheeks became so beautifully rosy in his embarrassment. Before he could school his own thoughts, Geralt wondered if his cheek felt as warm as it looked. He felt his own face heating up, just a bit. Obviously that was just due to how many people were there. It was warm. “They’re really receptive, aren’t they? The owner’s pleased with me. I think I’ll get an invite back when I’m done.” “Really?” Triss’s voice raised an octave in her excitement. “Jaskier, that’s wonderful! You could become a house name here!” “God, I hope so. They might even pay me next time. Even with a pitiable fee and if I get even half the tips I’ve been making, I could get a whole McDonalds meal. Off the regular menu, not the dollar menu. Fancy, right?” Jaskier wiggled his eyebrows and even Geralt was snorting into his glass. “Careful, Triss. Soon he’ll think he’s too good for us,” Geralt added. “I’m sorry, who spoke just now? The voice sounded familiar, but it’s been so long… Geralt? Geralt Rivia? That couldn’t be you, could it?” Jaskier’s disbelief had Geralt rolling his eyes, even before Jaskier wrapped a hand around Geralt’s bicep. “Triss! You won’t believe this! I think this man is actually Geralt, outside of the apartment! I never thought I’d see the day.” Jaskier’s free hand splayed out over his chest and he looked up at the ceiling. “It’s a miracle. Thank you, God.” “You’re hilarious.” “It has been a while, Geralt,” Triss agreed, and Geralt glared at her. Traitor. “This better not be a fluke, because I’ve missed you desperately. Jaskier’s impression of you is good, but doesn’t beat the real thing.” “Hear hear!” Jaskier said. He beamed at Geralt. “And I’d like to point out that my impression of you is spot on . I just talk too much, apparently.” Geralt rolled his eyes and stood up from the table. “As great as this is, I’m going to go. Need some sleep.” It took every ounce of his willpower not to yawn at that exact moment; he was already leaving far before anyone else would even dream of it. He definitely didn’t need to add to it with a perfectly timed yawn. “Good to see you, Triss.” Triss stood up as well and gave Geralt a quick hug. “Good to see you, too, Geralt. I want to come visit you and Ciri soon, okay?”  Geralt grunted his agreement, then felt Jaskier’s hands take his arm. Part of him wanted to complain about everyone touching him. A bigger part of him didn’t want to scare Jaskier off. “I’ll walk you to close your tab,” Jaskier said. Geralt shrugged and off they went with a wave to Triss. Jaskier didn’t say anything until Geralt was signing his receipt. Then, when he did, he leaned against the bartop and stared off at the crowd, though his furtive glances Geralt’s way told Geralt that Jaskier was maybe a little less casual than he was trying to come off as. “I’m really glad you made it tonight.” Geralt kept his face toward the receipt, but watched Jaskier through the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he answered. He straightened back up, pocketed his wallet, and clapped Jaskier lightly on the shoulder. “See you at home.” -- “Jask? Did you hear me?” Jaskier looked up from his sheet music. He had heard Geralt, unfortunately. He truly wished he hadn’t. Jaskier had actually been having quite a lovely day--his music students had all shown up, most of them even participated, he got a compliment from a parent, and he and Triss were going out for drinks later. It had been an all-around good day. Until this. Geralt was unfortunately very good at tanking Jaskier’s good moods. “Yeah. When do you move out, then?” Jaskier answered, trying hard to keep his voice even. Geralt breathed. “Next week? I think that’s how long it’s going to take to pack things up. Yen very subtly reminded me that she’d be out of town next weekend.” Geralt rolled his eyes, but the look was fond. Jaskier’s heart seized at that, like it always did whenever he was reminded of just how much Geralt loved Yennefer. “So I guess it has to by the end of next week.” Jaskier nodded, turning back to the sheet music adding a quick pianissimo --it was supposed to be mournful, hard to be mournful without playing that bit so much quieter--before he slapped his hands on his thighs. He gathered his materials and stood up, then glanced at Geralt, who looked very much like he wanted to say something. Jaskier hesitated, but Geralt didn’t stir, so he finished packing away his materials and strode to his bedroom door. “I’m excited for you, Geralt. Sounds like a big step for your relationship. Forgive me, but I’m meeting Triss for drinks in a bit, and I really must get ready.” Hours later found Jaskier not sulking into his glass of wine. His fourth glass in an hour. He was also not drunk, but that one was at least up for debate. The way Triss was looking at him as if his puppy had just died, however, was absolutely horrible and Jaskier would be quite happy if she would stop. “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong yet? Or are we going to keep pretending that it’s just your disappointment that you’re not the next Justin Bieber yet?” Triss asked, and only she could manage to make that level of sass sound almost comforting. It was her big, beautiful, puppy-dog eyes, he was sure of it. “I don’t want to be Justin Bieber . I want to be--I want to be--like--Hozier. Or. Bruno Mars. Or. Someone that’s not a complete asshat. Those are terrible examples. I’ll never be Hozier.” Jaskier sighed. He could have made a drinking game out of him sighing. He knew he was being a buzzkill, but at least Triss was the least likely to hold it against him. “Jaskier, come on. That was so not the point. What’s got you trying to drown yourself in your wine?” Triss pressed, and she looked wholly unimpressed with him. He didn’t blame her. He was pretty unimpressed with himself, too. Jaskier took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. “Didn’t you hear the happy news? Geralt and Yennefer are moving in together!” Triss’s face scrunched up in sympathy again, and Jaskier wilted back into his glass. “Ah. I had heard they were considering it. Geralt told you today, then?” “Yeah. Just before I left. Hence my sunny disposition.” He scoffed at himself, then forced himself to sit up. He didn’t have to literally melt into a wallowing puddle of sad . He could at least sit up straight. “I’m happy for them, I am, it’s just…” “It just hurts?” Triss added helpfully. She reached out and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Yeah. I don’t want to carry on being this lovesick fool. I want to be happy for my friend and his relationship. Clearly, things are getting serious. Clearly, this is going to last for awhile. But I can’t help but feel that I’ve wasted my time. It could have been me if I just… told him.” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, for once not even caring that doing so left it a mess.  He didn’t bother to say the unspoken fear: that even if he had told Geralt, things would be the same as they were now, only Jaskier would lose his best friend. Somehow, this was the more desirable outcome. At least this way he could keep Geralt. “You know what would make me feel better?” Jaskier said after a long, awkward, pitiable silence. Triss’s eyebrows went up, and her voice was hesitant, “What?” “If you’d sing karaoke.” Triss rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder. They argued about it for half an hour and over several more drinks. By the end of the argument, Jaskier truly did feel better. And he felt amazing once Triss got up there and sang “I Need A Hero” to the great joy of all the other patrons. -- “Geralt! Geralt, get in here!” Geralt was pretty sure he had never, in his life, moved faster. It’s not a large apartment, so it didn’t take long for him to find Jaskier and Ciri in the living room, but being yelled at to “get in here” by the man currently watching his daughter made time stop. Geralt practically skidded to a halt when he saw Jaskier grinning up at him from his place hovering over Cirilla’s tiny body. “Watch this,” Jaskier said, absolutely beaming, and then blew a raspberry on her stomach. There probably wasn’t anything that amazing about the giggle to anyone else. But to Geralt, it was perfect. Ciri had never done that before, and it was the most perfect little sound he thought he had ever heard. Jaskier looked back up at him, and Geralt could feel his own face get overtaken with an open-mouthed smile as he dropped to his knees beside them.  Jaskier scooted back, giving Geralt room to lean in and try it again. To his great satisfaction, she was interested in a repeat performance. As good as it was to hear the sound when Jaskier elicited it, there was something even better about Geralt being the reason his baby was laughing. When he looked back at Jaskier, he was positively beaming at Geralt, phone in hand, snapping pictures. Geralt rolled his eyes, but Jaskier only laughed. “You’ll thank me when she’s older, you know. I’ll be the only reason you two have any pictures,” Jaskier said, shrugging. Geralt didn’t want to think about her getting older, though. He picked up his baby girl and held her up to look at her beautiful little face. She was perfect right now, right in this moment. Thinking about her getting bigger was both thrilling and absolutely terrifying. -- “You know, I was thinking,” Jaskier started. Geralt snorted. He fastened the snaps on Ciri’s diaper and redressed her, then picked the baby up and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “This should be good,” he answered, as he dropped Ciri in Jaskier’s lap with a smirk. Jaskier rolled his eyes at Geralt just before Geralt turned to dispose of the dirty diaper and wash his hands. “You know, one day you’re going to have to find new material. None of this ‘This should be good’ or ‘That’s a change’ or ‘Didn’t know you could do that,” nonsense,” Jaskier called to him as soon as the water turned off. Then, in a higher voice he continued to Ciri, “Your daddy’s a jerk, isn’t he, sweetheart? You’ll be much nicer to Jaskier, won’t you? I can tell by your beautiful smile that you will.” Geralt snorted and plopped down on the couch beside Jaskier. Jaskier didn’t offer to pass Ciri over to him and Geralt didn’t request her. Instead, Jaskier continued making faces at the baby as she grinned back at him. “Are you going to tell me, or do you want to tell her instead?” Geralt asked. “I think I want to tell Ciri instead. What d’ya think, Ciri? Oh, I can tell you want to know what I’ve been thinking about. You’ll probably like it better than Daddy will, anyway. He’s such a grump. Really should appreciate me more. We’ll have him outnumbered, though. Once, you know, you can talk.” Jaskier’s eyes never left Ciri’s face, and her focus didn’t waver, either, for that matter. She seemed completely fascinated with every word out of Jaskier’s mouth, and though Geralt rolled his eyes, he couldn’t deny his fond smile. “I think she’s getting impatient, Jask.” “‘I think she’s getting impatient,’ he says. As if you both weren’t hanging on my every word.” Geralt jabbed him in the side, and Jaskier contorted toward Geralt’s body as he let out a squack. “Oh, alright . I was thinking . Ciri’s going to be old enough to be able to sleep in her own room soon. Six months, yeah? Not that you have to transition her immediately at six months, of course, but eventually she’s going to need space to move out. Kind of hard to do that in a two bedroom apartment.” Geralt nodded slowly, wondering what the hell Jaskier was getting at. He couldn’t quite squash the feeling of dread building in him, though. If this was a preamble to Jaskier saying he didn’t want to live with Geralt and Ciri anymore, Geralt wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle that. Even if he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, except maybe Jaskier with the right prodding, Geralt couldn’t imagine doing this alone. Moving back in with Jaskier had made everything so much easier to manage, both practically with Cirilla’s care and emotionally with handling with his divorce and the sudden responsibility that came with Cirilla. “So. What if we…” Jaskier hesitated, now. Geralt turned to look at him and was surprised to find he looked apprehensive. Jaskier swallowed and shrugged, running a hand over Cirilla’s short, fine hair. “What if we found some place bigger? A townhouse, or something? Assuming you’d, well. Want to be roommates, still. I understand, if not. Usually having a baby means you don’t do the whole roommates thing anymore. It was stupid. Forget I said anything. You probably already had a plan for this.” Jaskier looked as if he was going to say more, continue to ramble his anxiety away, and Geralt found himself endeared to his friend. He didn’t continue, instead Jaskier clamped his mouth shut with what looked to be considerable effort. Geralt watched Jaskier and tried to answer, but found the words caught in his throat. So, instead, Geralt turned to Ciri. “What do you think, Ciri? Maybe somewhere with a yard, too?” Geralt asked, running his thumb along her cheek and smiling when she turned to focus on him. Geralt could see Jaskier turn out of the corner of his eye, too, but Geralt did not look back at him. A moment later, Jaskier scooted closer to press their bodies together, leaning against Geralt. Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s body, his hand resting on Jaskier’s hip as he tugged him even closer. He tried not to think about how, if this had been Yen, the gesture would have had a specific implication. He tried not to think about how, maybe, this had the same implication. “Definitely a yard. One with actual grass, not concrete,” Jaskier said after a moment. Geralt appreciated that they didn’t need to discuss Geralt’s almost-answer. It just hung between them like a promise. They would continue to do this together. “And close to a park.” “Good schools, too. Ones with music programs. Don’t even scoff at me, Geralt. You’re going to have a musically gifted little girl whether you like it or not. I’ll even teach her how to play lute. She’ll kill at parties.” “What parties are you going to where playing lute works out for you?” “The good ones. You’re just jealous that I’ll teach Ciri but not you.” “I never asked to learn.” “Neither did she. But I know you both secretly desire it. You have a burning fire inside you that just yearns to learn the lute. It will never be stoked, though, because you mocked my expertise one too many times.” “Whatever you say, Jaskier.” -- Geralt was spending entirely too much time in bars for his liking. Even he had to admit that Posadas was a very nice bar. It was cool enough to attract a younger, early-twenties crowd (who very enthusiastically enjoyed Jaskier’s performances), but clean and open enough that every so often the tables were filled by people more in their mid-thirties. Not much older, unfortunately, and though Geralt was officially in his mid-thirties, he found himself feeling decades older than the oldest patrons. At first glance, he belonged there just as much as anyone else. Truly, though, Geralt had always been too old for the bar scene. Jaskier had been playing here on Friday nights for weeks now. No one could dispute the way he pulled in a crowd, and Geralt had a feeling he was the reason Posadas was a hit destination now. Even the owner seemed to recognize this, if Jaskier’s weekly paycheck was anything to go off of. Geralt even received free drinks, on occasion, but only when Jaskier ordered for him. It happened less and less now that Jaskier was growing in fame. HIs adoring fans wanted Jaskier’s attention, and Jaskier was more than willing to give it to them. It was worth it to see Jaskier play--or, more specifically, to see the way Jaskier lit up every time Geralt came to see him play. He had only missed one performance so far. Ciri had caught a nasty cough and both she and Geralt were miserable that entire night. Jaskier had assured him he understood, but he was noticeably deflated when he described the show. Still, the way the bar was gradually getting more and more packed was wearing on Geralt. It was easier when someone else was there to keep him company; then it had the added benefit of taking care of his obligation to remind his friends he did, in fact, love them, it was just hard to be a new parent and have a full time job. Tonight, his company was Yennefer. Triss had insisted she would babysit Ciri, claiming that they needed to go out and be adults for once, rather than parents , but Geralt knew she really just wanted time with the baby without Geralt breathing down her neck. He needed to back off, he knew, but it was hard to remind himself that others recognized how fragile she was, too. Triss, of all people, was not about to let anything happen to her. “All this is for Jaskier?” Yennefer asked, and she actually looked impressed. Geralt would have to tell Jaskier later. “I’ll be damned. The little minstrel managed it.” Geralt nodded, though he continued looking for Jaskier. He had promised to save them a table, and Geralt was praying he would make good on that promise. The idea of standing for his entire set among all these people with no concept of personal space made him want to shrivel up and die, and he wasn’t being dramatic, that was Jaskier’s thing. When he found the familiar mop of brown hair at a table his relief was instantaneous, and he caught Yennefer’s attention to lead her in his direction. “Geralt! You came!” Jaskier greeted, grinning broadly as he stood up. His grin didn’t dampen as he turned to Yennefer, but the glint in his eye screamed mischief . “And, ah, I thought I felt a chill in the air. Yennefer, I’d say it’s a pleasure, but I hear lying makes your nose grow, and mine is just perfect as-is.” “Jaskier, always a pleasure,” Yennefer answered, not waiting for an invitation to take the empty seat beside him. “You’re looking particularly garish tonight. Afraid your voice won’t be enough to hold their attention on its own?” Jaskier snorted and they both smirked at each other for long enough that Geralt was half convinced they were having some sort of silent conversation . Or a staring contest of some sort. Geralt cleared his throat and they finally remembered his presence, and Jaskier lifted himself off the stool. Geralt took the seat and didn’t react to the way Jaskier’s hand glided across his shoulders, but Yennefer’s steadily raised eyebrow had him flushing a bit at the contact. “How are you handling Cirilla’s first babysitter?” Jaskier asked. He leaned in toward them with his elbows propping him up. “First? Haven’t you babysat her?” Yennefer asked, a smirk joining her raised eyebrows. Jaskier looked a little caught off guard, like he hadn’t considered that him watching Cirilla would technically be considered babysitting . Though, honestly, Geralt hadn’t really thought of it that way, either. Jaskier wasn’t her parent, of course, but he was definitely a step up from even Triss. Right? Was there a word for what Jaskier was? “Yeah, I guess. Just feels different considering I also live with her, you know?” Jaskier finally settled on, shrugging. “I mean, Geralt looks about ready to bolt now that I’ve called attention to the fact that neither one of you is with her. I hope he doesn’t look that way when I’ve got her.” Yennefer hummed, and her fucking eyebrows were still high on her face. Geralt suddenly wanted this entire interaction to end, just so Yennefer would stop looking so damn interested in whatever had caught her attention, but he could only imagine that when Jaskier left, it was going to get worse. “I’m fine,” Geralt said. “Triss has her. And promised me she would update once an hour.” “Those are going to be very exciting texts.” Jaskier turned a smile Geralt’s way and crossed his arms over one another on the tabletop. “Completely centered around the novel information that, yes, she’s still sleeping. Don’t tell me you’re going to make her go in and check that she’s breathing every hour.” Geralt huffed. “The risk for SIDS significantly lowers at six months. She’s not six months yet.” Jaskier laughed and straightened up. He winked at Yennefer and shook his head with a pat on Geralt’s arm. “Alright, I’m going to get you drinks. Same beer as last time, Geralt? Yen, they have a great drink I want you to try. Before you say anything, I know, it’s not wine, but it’s a house special, and I think you’ll like it. And if you hate it, well, it’s free.” With their confirmation, Jaskier strode off to the bar. He had barely left the table before Yennefer turned on Geralt. “Does it feel different, Geralt?” Yen asked, and Geralt did not care for her mocking tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Yen.” Geralt could have used the drink right now . “Triss said you two were looking for a new place. Tell me, are you getting a two bedroom, or three?” “Obviously three. We’re getting a bigger place so Ciri can have her own room.” “And what will you do with the third?” Geralt took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was suddenly outstandingly tired.  “Yennefer, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here. We’re getting a three bedroom because there are three of us. One for me, one for Ciri, and one for Jaskier. Now would you let it go ?” This time, when Yennefer stared at him, Geralt turned to face her. He had the pleasure (there really was no pleasure in it at all) of watching her face turn from amusement to pity. That was far worse. What in the world could she even pity him for? Geralt abruptly turned back to face the stage, despite the fact that there was nothing to look at except an empty chair and a microphone. “You know you don’t have to wait until the divorce is finalized, right?” Yennefer said, leaning in and talking as quietly as she could without sacrificing being heard. “I would not condemn you for it. We tried, gave it undoubtedly our best effort, for a long time. You’re allowed to go after what makes you happy. I only wish you wouldn’t lie to me; I thought we were past that.” Geralt sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind when there’s something to tell. But there’s nothing.” “I wouldn’t say nothing.” And then Jaskier returned with their drinks and a “See, look, even the color just screams you” as he pushed the glasses toward them, and then it was time for him to go on stage and he was a flurry of excitement about that, grabbing the guitar beneath the table and insisting they at least wave at him if they left early, and then the crowd got louder as they realized Jaskier was beginning, and Jaskier was playing and looking so great, so relaxed, so happy. It all felt like a dream. Geralt experienced this moment as if he was watching it from above, and all he could think was I wouldn’t say nothing . What the fuck was that supposed to mean? -- A bachelor party was not at all what Jaskier was expecting when Geralt and Yennefer’s engagement was announced. He supposed it made sense. After all, a stag party was basically mandatory for any groom-to-be, and Eskel and Lambert were not the type to allow Geralt to miss out on any sort of party on his behalf. Jaskier was more than willing to assist in the revelry. Jaskier even thought Geralt was having a good time. He was drunker than Jaskier had ever seen him, and somehow less chatty because of it. But he smiled a little easier, said yes a little more (or, nodded his head, rather), and laughed freely with his brothers. He even laughed freely with Jaskier, on occasion, and gifted Jaskier with touches here and there. Nothing major, of course. Nothing Jaskier had ever hoped for. But even claps on the back and jabs in the side were welcome if it meant Geralt was feeling free enough to express himself physically. Jaskier saw the way Geralt was physical with his brothers, after all. He would probably never be on their level--and he was quite alright with that, he didn’t think he ever wanted to be full-body tackled in the middle of a bar--but he was clearly up there . Jaskier was held in high enough esteem to wrap the extremely-drunk Geralt’s arm around his shoulder. Geralt leaned his body against Jaskier, and Jaskier recognized the trust there that Jaskier would not let Geralt fall. Geralt, always in control, let Jaskier lead the way back to the apartment they had previously shared. They had agreed he would sleep there, since Yennefer was having her own bachelorette party tonight. Jaskier wasn’t sober, but he was definitely the more grounded of the two. Away from the bars and their friends, Geralt was somewhat more chatty. “Your hair smells like… lavender?” Geralt slurred into Jaskier’s temple. “That would be my shampoo. There’s nothing wrong with smelling nice, you know.” Geralt hummed in response. The next time he spoke, Jaskier was struggling to pull his FOB from his pocket to open the front door. Geralt was not making it easier. He could stand on his own, but every time Jaskier tried to set him up on his own two feet, Geralt just followed after him. The third time was the most successful, and Jaskier allowed Geralt to press his forehead into Jaskier’s shoulder--it couldn’t have been comfortable, surely his shoulder was bony as hell--but he was thoroughly distracted by Geralt’s hand running up Jaskier’s back and into his hair. “Geralt, love, what are you doing?” Jaskier asked. “You have so much fucking hair ,” he answered, as if that had anything to do with what Jaskier asked. Jaskier sighed, but didn’t press it, because finally he had managed to get the FOB out and the door open. With some effort, he stuttered Geralt’s legs back to life and they walked inside and to the elevator. Geralt’s side pressed hard against Jaskier’s and Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat as Geralt’s arm wrapped around Jaskier’s waist. Rather than address this, however, he just tugged Geralt forward, down the hallway, and to the apartment. It was dark. Jaskier pulled away from Geralt to turn on the light, but before he could, Geralt’s weight caught him off guard as the absolute oaf followed him again. Jaskier fell against the wall, and Geralt came with him, effectively trapping Jaskier beneath his chest. “Alright, big guy, this isn’t going to help us get anywhere,” Jaskier whispered. Something about the dark made it feel like they had to be quiet. If he was a bit more sober, he would have laughed at himself. Geralt wasn’t laughing, though. He snaked an arm around Jaskier’s waist, his other forearm framing Jaskier’s head. He was close, impossibly close, and for a torturous moment, Jaskier wondered what it would be like to lean forward and kiss him. “Jask,” Geralt mumbled, and pressed their foreheads together. “Geralt, what are you doing?” Jaskier asked, and, God, he was glad Geralt was likely too drunk to comprehend tones, because Jaskier’s voice was horrifyingly wrecked. “Geralt, you need to--” He stopped, though, because Geralt gently thumbed his face. The same hand took Jaskier’s jaw between his curled pointer finger and thumb, and the thumb smoothed lines across Jaskier’s stubble. Jaskier let out a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and for a moment, let himself forget . Only a moment, though. “You need to stop.” “Why?” Jaskier could feel Geralt’s breath against his lips. It would be so easy to just lean forward, close the distance between them, but-- no . “You’re engaged.” “Not usually a problem for you.” Jaskier tensed. His blood ran cold. Was that what Geralt thought of him? It wasn’t exactly a high opinion of Jaskier for Geralt to think he’d be willing now just because he had, on occasion, slept with slept with others who were in unhappy relationships. “Well. It is now. It is for you.” Jaskier pushed Geralt off him with as much force as he could muster. He didn't have a good enough angle, but it was enough to make Geralt stumble back. Jaskier stepped to the side and flipped on the lights, and confusion painted Geralt’s features as he blinked away the brightness. “I won’t let you lower yourself to my level.” Geralt froze, too. He must have realized what he said, because a pained look crossed his face. “Jaskier, I--” “It’s fine. I know it’s just nerves. Just. Go to bed. You can take my bed. Your hangover will be worse than mine, and sleeping on the couch won’t help any.” Geralt looked torn for a moment, like he wanted to say more, but Jaskier didn’t let him. He ushered Geralt into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Jaskier didn’t slam it, but he did shut it firmly, with a little bit of noise, to try to dissuade Geralt from coming back out. As for himself, he went to the couch and fell into a fitful sleep. When he woke up, it was almost like any other night out, with Geralt awake before him and making his “hangover cure” (Jaskier was pretty sure it was just whatever garbage he could find in the kitchen, solely to make Jaskier feel as if he was better, when actually it was just terrible). Jaskier took his time getting up and stumbling his way to the kitchen, his clothes from the other night feeling uncomfortably tight and wrinkled. “How are you not fucked up, hunched over the toilet?” Jaskier asked, sitting down at the small kitchen table--a card table, really--and frowning at Geralt. “Already threw up. Had a burst of energy.”  Jaskier snorted. Of course he would. Then Geralt was dropping a plate of food in front of him, and even that was a bit much for how hungover Geralt should be. Jaskier didn’t even realize he had all these foods, especially not anything to make fucking French toast. He looked up curiously at Geralt, who was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Jask, what I said last night--” Jaskier sighed. “Geralt, I’d really rather not--” “I’m sorry. It was out of line. I was out of line. I don’t think of you that way, I was just. Nervous. Like you said. But I didn’t mean to imply anything about you. And… thank you. For stopping me from being an idiot.” Jaskier managed a smile, but he wasn't under any false pretenses that it was believable. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Yennefer. Just between you and me.” “That wasn’t--Well. Thank you. But that wasn’t why I was apologizing.” “I know it wasn’t,” Jaskier answered, picking up a fork. “Are you eating with me, or am I eating alone?” Geralt’s face was overtaken with relief as Jaskier changed the subject, though he was slow to join Jaskier at the table.  They didn’t talk about what had happened further. Geralt probably tried, maybe even succeeded, to forget about it. Jaskier tried, and failed. Geralt married Yennefer three days later. It was beautiful. -- Cirilla loved solid foods. She loved reaching out and attempting to grab them herself. She loved stealing the spoon from Geralt with her absurdly strong hands. She loved trying to put the food in her mouth and missing at least 75% of the time, but she just kept trying. She loved putting the banana pieces in her mouth and smashing them and pushing them out because her tongue kept thrusting forward, used to taking only a bottle. Geralt loved watching her. He did not love the slight bit of panic that happened every time she gagged on a bit of food she had only just put in her mouth. Jaskier insisted this was fine, that her gag reflex was much farther forward in her mouth than it was for adults, and this was teaching her how not to choke in the future. Geralt was pretty sure he was full of shit. But, Ciri had yet to turn any color other than baby-skin-pink, so he supposed he couldn’t make any sort of claims about Jaskier’s knowledge yet. Jaskier would be home from work any minute, and Geralt was antsy for it. He had more or less decided he wasn’t likely to kill his baby in any of the ways he obsessed over, but solid food was a new frontier, and Geralt was not sure about the baby-led weaning both Jaskier and Yennefer had insisted on. Purees seemed safer and much better for Geralt’s sanity, but he was outvoted (and when the hell had Jaskier become a voting party in this democracy?). At least if Jaskier was home for this, there would be another person to be there if Ciri choked, and likely wouldn’t panic and freeze up. He was late, though, and Ciri actually managed to get through just about everything before she lost interest in eating and gained interest in smashing. As much fun as that particular trick was, Geralt had spent entirely too long last time trying to pry avocado out of her seat to allow this to continue. He picked Ciri up, messy hands and all, and brought her to the sink, plopping her in it and turning on the water to wash her hands.  It was while Geralt was trying to wash banana out from between Ciri’s fingers that Jaskier finally came bounding through the door. “Geralt! Ah, fuck . Cirilla, we are really going to have to discuss where you leave your toys, sweetheart. Geralt! Guess what!” Geralt hummed his acknowledgement and Jaskier slid into the kitchen. Literally. He had removed his shoes and slid on the tile in his socks until he was right in Geralt’s personal space. “Geralt. Guess what,” Jaskier repeated, his grin so big it honestly looked almost painful . “I couldn’t begin to guess,” Geralt answered, picking the now-clean Ciri up and settling her in Jaskier’s arms. If he was bothered by her still being wet, he didn’t show it, and instead pretended to eat the fingers that clapped excitedly on Jaskier’s face. Geralt handed him a towel, then set to work cleaning off the high chair. “I got a call from Valdo Marx . Well, his assistant, rather.” Geralt furrowed his eyebrows as he brought the tray to the sink. “Isn’t that the, uh, singer you hate? The one you said had no soul and was flat every time he tried to hit a note higher than… whatever note it was.” He looked up for confirmation from Jaskier, who looked taken aback and had stopped patting Ciri down with the towel. Ciri was now gnawing on the towel. “What? I listen.” “ Apparently ,” Jaskier answered, and though Geralt had turned back to the sink to spray the tray down, he could hear Jaskier’s smile. “Well, yes, I did say that. And I still think that. But I have to admit he has made a name for himself. But . He’s on tour right now. And apparently stopped here at some point and happened to catch me playing. I really don’t understand how he could have been there without me realizing, so I suspect he’s lying and it was really someone who worked for him who saw me, but the details don’t much matter. The point is, his opening act bailed on him and he has a few more weeks of shows and he--well, his assistant--asked me to open for him!” Geralt about dropped the tray and turned to Jaskier. “Really? You’re going on tour ?” Geralt asked, dumbfounded. Now he understood Jaskier’s grin. It was still just as huge, taking up his entire face. “Really! Three full weeks of playing every other night to different crowds! Granted, no one much cares about the opening act, but even if I got one person to buy my CD or look me up on some streaming service, that’s something .” Geralt found himself grinning right back at Jaskier. “They’ll care. Of course they will. Congrats, Jask. You deserve this.” Jaskier beamed at Geralt, then turned his face to Cirilla, who was trying hard for Jaskier’s attention with babbling and patting his face. He spun her around and she squealed, suddenly sounding so big and when did Geralt’s baby become so much of a person rather than a little lump that just stared at him? “Hear that, sweetheart? Jaskier’s gonna make it big . Even your daddy thinks so, and he’s the toughest critic there is.” Jaskier pressed a messy kiss to her cheek. “I’m going to miss you so much, though. Promise me you won’t do anything major while I’m gone? I don’t understand how your mommy can stand it when she travels. Even three days away from you is far too long.” A pit grew in Geralt’s stomach at every word Jaskier said to Cirilla. He had realized, in an abstract way, that of course this meant Jaskier was going to be leaving. But he hadn’t really realized it in a practical way until Jaskier was speaking to the infant. Three weeks without Jaskier was a very long time. He had gone longer in the past, of course, but now things felt different, somehow. Unfortunately, Geralt’s concern must have shown on his face. Jaskier stopped playing with Ciri and took a step toward Geralt, touching his arm. “Geralt? What’s wrong?” Geralt shook his head. “Nothing. When do you leave?” Jaskier paused, obviously deliberating something, then shrugged the shoulder he wasn’t using to support Ciri. “In two weeks. Two days after the, uh. The fifteen.” Ah. Two days after the divorce was finalized. Well, that was just great. “I could postpone, say I had a prior engagement.” Geralt shook his head again. “No, it’s fine. You have to go. This is huge. My marriage was over months ago. Hell, pretty much a year ago. This day is just a formality.” The words felt hollow even to Geralt, and Jaskier hesitated a moment before he put on a thankful smile. They both knew it wasn’t fine, but the least Geralt could do now was pretend for Jaskier that it was. -- “God, Geralt, you’re right. This place is perfect.” Geralt’s chest swelled with pride at Jaskier’s words. As soon as he had walked into this house, he knew. He had barely made it halfway through the open house before he was picturing where their belongings would go. This room was just big enough for their couch, the pack-n-play, and would have room for them to walk around, even with Ciri’s toys strewn everywhere. Jaskier could have his own room for his instruments, instead of awkwardly trying to fit everything into his bedroom. Geralt would probably have to put his own desk and computer in his room, but that was fine. He figured that was the trade off for having a three bedroom house with a full yard and in their price range. Geralt ran his hand up and down Ciri’s back as he looked around again. Though, really he was watching Jaskier look around. Geralt had already combed the place, and now he wanted to see Jaskier’s reaction to it all. “Do you like it, Cici?” the well-meaning real-estate agent asked her. Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The woman had been very friendly this entire time, and she was trying to help them buy this house. And if she was a little enamored with the 7 month old, Geralt couldn’t exactly blame her. He was pretty enamored with Ciri too. “Ciri,” Geralt corrected, and the woman looked a bit embarrassed. “She shows her love for things by spitting up on them, so since we haven’t made an offer yet, it’s probably best if she keeps her opinions to herself.” Jaskier snorted from the other side of the room. “So, you seemed pretty firm on a three bedroom. Does that mean you two are having more children in the future?” Geralt’s face grew hot at the agent’s question, and he swapped Ciri in his arms to delay answering. Jaskier shot up from where he was examining the kitchen cabinets and rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s, uh, not mine,” Jaskier answered, sounding embarrassed. “We’re just roommates.” “Oh!” The woman exclaimed, and now she looked rather red in the face, too. “I’m so sorry, I just assumed--” “It’s fine,” Geralt interrupted her, wanting to move on. “Jask, what do you think?” “I think if we don’t get this house I’ll die a broken-hearted man.” Geralt rolled his eyes. “We’d like to make an offer.” Later, paperwork completed, an offer made, and the excitement still coursing through their veins, they sat on the couch and tried to watch a movie. Sort of. Geralt was anxiously checking his emails, despite knowing they wouldn’t hear anything yet. Jaskier was plucking a tune on his guitar, but didn’t seem to like anything he was producing. Maybe he just needed something to do with his hands. “Sorry I won’t really be much of a help with the whole buying process. Or looking further, if this one doesn’t work out.” Geralt shrugged. “Don’t be. Your tour is the only reason you were able to cough up the money to buy rather than rent.” Which, no wonder the woman thought they were a couple. Who the hell bought a house for his daughter with his best friend? Geralt, apparently. “True enough,” Jaskier agreed, grinning. “It really is perfect, Geralt. I hope we get it.” “I do, too.” -- “Yennefer?” Jaskier asked, slowly setting down his work bag in his confusion. “What are you doing here?” Yennefer just let out a disgruntled breath and kept looking, tearing through the kitchen cabinets and slamming them as she, apparently, didn’t find what she was looking for. Jaskier was half afraid she was going to break something. She was more than a little confused about how she even got into his apartment. “Yen,” he repeated, standing in the doorway. “ What ?” she spat back at him, only stopping long enough to speak, then tearing through another cabinet. “Hey,” Jaskier said. He stepped up to her and put a tentative hand on her arm, which she wrenched back and glared at him. He reached out again, this time stopping just before touching her, and she deflated with a sigh. Jaskier took this as his cue to try again, to touch her elbow lightly to lead her to the chair. “Coffee?” She nodded weakly. Jaskier didn’t speak again until they each had a hot mug in their hands and were staring at each other from either side of the table. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, then? Also, how the hell you got into my apartment. Let’s start there. If you tell me you can pick locks, I’m going to lose my damn mind and start sleeping with a knife.” Yennefer scoffed, but the sound lacked any bite. “I stole Geralt’s key.” Jaskier waited as she took a long sip of her coffee. She wasn’t like Geralt, who would keep everything buried deep inside him unless Jaskier prodded past his breaking point. If she wanted to tell him, she would, and if she didn’t, she would have left by now. Still, though, it took a long time. The silence was honestly pretty awkward, but Jaskier, for once, was not about to break it. “We had another stupid fight,” Yen finally said. She eyed him suspiciously and Jaskier held up his hands as if he needed to somehow declare his innocence. “What, no snide remarks?” “Hey, I hit at the belt, not below it. Marital problems aren’t exactly my inspiration for humor. That doesn’t exactly explain why you wanted to destroy my kitchen, though.” He took a chance and nudged her leg with his toe. Apparently he was lucky today, because Yennefer even smiled at him, just a little. He almost missed it when she hid behind her mug. “It started over some wine glass. Some engraved thing you gave him for a birthday, or something. Apparently he couldn’t find it. It became a bigger fight, like it always does. Start small, then get at what’s really bothering us. Where we’re really dissatisfied. I thought if I could find it, it’d work as a peace offering. He’s just so ornery sometimes.” Yennefer sighed. “Then again, I guess that was part of what I liked at first. That he fights like I do.” Jaskier hummed and stood up. It only took a second of rifling through the cabinet below the sink--where he had hidden away everything Geralt forgot, in a fit of self-pity--to find the glass Yennefer spoke of. He took his seat again and slid the glass over to her. Yennefer stared at the glass for a moment, then back up at Jaskier. Jaskier had always prided himself on being able to read anyone , but Yen had always eluded him. She kept her cards so close to her chest that often Jaskier wasn’t even sure if she was playing the same game as him. “Thank you,” she finally said, turning to lean against the wall. Probably so she didn’t have to keep looking at Jaskier. He had that effect on people. He was just too beautiful, obviously. “So why are you really here?” Jaskier asked after a moment. He stared down at the glass, as if looking at the etching would give him some sort of answer for how this came to be his life. “To hate you.” Jaskier snorted. “Well, that’s honest. Nonspecific and a bit confusing, but honest. I don’t think you had to come here to do that.” Yennefer pursed her lips for a moment, then turned and looked Jaskier over. There was that appraisal again. Jaskier was never quite sure what she was looking for. “He wants something to keep, Jaskier. He always has. I’m not sure if I want to be kept.” The dread built up in Jaskier slowly, but he forced himself to ask the question anyway. “And what does that have to do with hating me?” “You want to be kept.” Yennefer’s gaze on him felt piercing. Jaskier was an ant under her magnifying glass, only he felt even smaller. His jaw set and his teeth clenched, and if he hadn’t been holding onto his mug, he was pretty sure he would be shaking. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he reminded himself. There was nothing wrong with loving Geralt from afar. He hadn’t acted on it. Surely Yennefer knew that. “Yen, I would never--” he started, when the silence had stretched for far too long. “I know you wouldn’t,” Yennefer interrupted. She downed the rest of her coffee and returned the mug to the table. “You would never hurt him. I even suspect you would never hurt me like that. I sometimes wish you would. Maybe that would make all this easier, if there was someone to blame. But, instead, you sit there in your silent hurt, while Geralt and I hurt each other over and over again. There’s nothing noble in any of this. Except, I suppose, love.” She scoffed and picked up the wine glass, examining it. “We’re all perfect for each other.” Jaskier looked up at her, a wry smile on his face. “Should I be concerned about you overtaking me in poetry?” “You keep to your songs, I’ll keep to my fashion empire.” She stood up. “He’s lucky to have you. Hell, I’m lucky to have you.” Jaskier stayed where he was as she collected her things. He stood up and leaned against the kitchen archway as he heard the front door open. “Yen?” he asked. She stopped, and turned to look at him. “I don’t hate you. I never did,” he said. Yennefer smiled, and beautiful wasn’t a big enough word to describe her. “I know.” -- When Geralt returned to their apartment, Jaskier was sitting on the couch. Ciri was nowhere to be found and Geralt dropped everything he was holding--his coat, his bag, his phone--to the ground and fixed Jaskier with the best what the fuck look he could muster. “Vesemir has Ciri,” Jaskier said, jumping to his feet. “He said he needed some papa time and, well. You need some Geralt time.” “I’m fine,” Geralt grumbled, leaving everything behind and stomping toward his bedroom. Except he wasn’t stomping. Because he was fine . He just had very heavy steps naturally. Jaskier stopped him, though, with a hand on his arm. Geralt sighed and let himself be turned around, let Jaskier gather him in a hug, let himself press his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t even close to the word fine right now. Even if he and Yennefer had decided to divorce over a year ago, and had been headed that way for much longer, having it finalized was a whole different beast. He no longer had a wife. He no longer had Yennefer. There had been ugly moments, and in the end, the ugly moments had overtaken the good ones, but good ones still existed . Never again would Geralt be able to hold her face in his hands and kiss her. Never again would he wake up beside her, and feel her fingers running down his side. It was the best decision. Ever since agreeing on separating and divorcing, Yennefer and Geralt had been able to breathe again. He would always love her, and he was pretty sure she would always love him, but they worked better as friends and as co-parents. Now, they could spend a Saturday together again without yelling at each other. They didn’t have to get under each other’s skin just to feel something. They could breathe and feel free again. It was a relief, honestly. So why did it hurt so bad? Geralt didn’t know how long he allowed himself to be held by Jaskier before pulling away. His eyes were still dry, mostly because he refused to cry out of sheer force of will. Jaskier didn’t let him get far, though, before he was taking Geralt’s face between his hands, cradling it like Geralt was something fragile, and that almost broke Geralt’s vow not to cry. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jaskier asked. Geralt shook his head. He rarely wanted to talk about anything, but he particularly did not want to talk about this. There wasn’t much to say, really. They had decided on their terms before they had even spoken to a lawyer. Geralt wasn’t interested in Yennefer’s money and Yennefer wasn’t interested in his. Even custody was easy to agree on: because Yennefer traveled, Geralt won primary custody while Yennefer had partial custody. The only trouble they’d had there was deciding on a child support number that didn’t insult Geralt by being too high or Yennefer by being too low. They went over everything one last time, signed the papers, and it was over. The past almost seven years of his life signed away in less than an hour. “I have some whiskey. I think getting drunk is a bad idea, but a drink or two couldn’t hurt. And we could watch movies. Ones you like, I promise I won’t make you watch my musical movies again, but really, Geralt, Begin Again is a classic, and who doesn’t want to see Adam Levine as a bad guy?” Jaskier’s eyes spelled mischief, and while Geralt had fully intended on spending tonight alone aside from his daughter, he had to admit that Jaskier’s plan was likely better for his emotional well-being. “I don’t even know who Adam Levine is, Jask,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes. Jaskier correctly took this for an agreement, and pulled Geralt down to kiss his forehead before retreating into the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying a bottle of whiskey and two glasses filled with ice. He set them down on the coffee table as Geralt took a seat on the couch and after the drinks were poured he handed it to Geralt. Jaskier held up his glass and looked at Geralt’s glass expectantly. Geralt snorted. “Exactly what are we toasting?” “Me, obviously,” Jaskier said, winking at him. Jaskier had winked at Geralt probably a hundred times in the nearly ten years they had known each other, and yet this time it sent a fire coursing through his body. “You shouldn’t take these moments for granted, you know. I’ll be famous soon. Might leave you behind.” Geralt scoffed, but clinked their glasses together nonetheless. “Kind of hard to leave me behind if we own a house together. The paperwork alone will be a nightmare.” “Ah, I’ll have people for that. No more paperwork for me. I’m far too beautiful and talented to ruin my instrument-playing fingers in such ways.” Geralt huffed a laugh and grabbed Jaskier’s arm, tugging him down onto the couch. Jaskier laughed, too, and halfheartedly shoved Geralt’s shoulder. But he didn’t scoot away, and had landed right beside Geralt, his knee pressed against Geralt’s thigh. If anything, Jaskier moved closer, as he pressed his back into the couch and his thigh into Geralt’s. “I suppose it would be hard to forget the love of my life,” Jaskier said dreamily, and for a moment Geralt’s blood ran cold, until Jaskier continued, “Ciri would be devastated to lose me. And I, her.” “You’re going to come back from tour and she won’t even remember who you are,” Geralt teased. He knew it wasn’t true, though. Jaskier was hard to forget, even for a baby. Jaskier, however, gasped. “Geralt! We can’t let that happen. You have to promise to Facetime with me. At least every few days. I know she already has the Dada and Mama thing down, we need to get her saying Jaskier next. If she doesn’t remember my voice, how could she ever learn to say Jaskier?” He sounded genuinely panicked, and Geralt’s grin slowly grew as Jaskier rambled. Ciri could never forget Jaskier, Geralt wouldn’t let her, but there was something very charming about how concerned Jaskier was over this. Jaskier noticed Geralt’s grin, though, and pouted. “You’re mocking me in your head, aren’t you? Mocking my pain .” Geralt shook his head. “She won’t forget you, Jask. You won’t be gone that long. And, okay, we’ll try the video chatting thing. But I highly doubt she’ll pay attention to it; she’s too little.” “I’ll just have to rush back. Three weeks is such a long time.” Geralt had to agree. They decided on a movie--some war documentary, which Geralt really only picked because he knew Jaskier would complain loudly over it the entire time, and somehow, that was the memory he wanted to carry with him when Jaskier left for three weeks. He did complain loudly, through the whole thing, and instead of listening to the narrator, devised his own narrative to turn the documentary into a Casablanca-esque love story. Geralt disputed him at every turn, but Jaskier paid him no mind, except when Geralt dared use words such as “ridiculous” or “dramatic” and then he launched into a tirade about Geralt not understanding their love for each other. They finished the glass of whiskey and then one more. Jaskier grew a bit more touchy with the drink and Geralt’s lips grew looser, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the whiskey or from Jaskier’s energy. They weren’t drunk when Jaskier cut them off, but Geralt had a pleasant-enough buzz to agree with Jaskier’s decision to be done. The documentary ended, unnoticed, as their conversation drifted. Easy topics only. They didn’t discuss Geralt’s failed marriage or Jaskier’s impending tour. It hung heavy over them, but to bring it to light would break whatever levity had overtaken them. Eventually, their conversation died on their tongues and made way for an easy silence. Geralt was all-too-aware of Jaskier’s knees, both of them now, pressed into his thigh as Jaskier sat contorted into some ridiculous sitting position beside him. Jaskier, a little freer, twirled a strand of Geralt’s hair, which Geralt pretended not to notice. All he could notice was Jaskier, though. His cornflower blue eyes staring intently at the hair he twisted and untwisted. The soft pink of his cheeks, which Jaskier always insisted was because whiskey warmed him from the inside out. His lips, just barely open, and he swiped his tongue out to re-wet them and Geralt suddenly had to know what they tasted like. Geralt surged forward, cupping Jaskier’s cheek and drawing him in close. Jaskier hadn’t been expecting it, and dropped Geralt’s hair in surprise, but once his brain caught up he was melting into the kiss. His hands returned to Geralt’s hair, this time using it as leverage to hold Geralt close as his fingers threaded through the locks. Jaskier’s lips were soft, just as soft as Geralt had always imagined they were. He opened for Geralt so beautifully, allowing Geralt’s tongue to swipe inside, and Jaskier’s answering whine was so full of wanting that Geralt’s cock stirred to action. He hooked an arm around Jaskier’s waist and tugged him in, and Jaskier got the message perfectly. There was nothing graceful about the way Jaskier clambered into Geralt’s lap, but Geralt was pretty sure it was the most perfect feeling in the world anyway. Geralt didn’t break the kiss as he stood up, his hands hooking underneath Jaskier’s thighs. Jaskier’s answer was a moan now, and he was obliging enough to wrap his legs around Geralt’s waist. Geralt could feel him now, could feel the way Jaskier was stiffening in those stupid skinny jeans, and Geralt wanted more. They had lived in this apartment so long, Geralt was sure he could make his way to his bedroom without any effort. Unfortunately, Ciri’s items were new, and he very narrowly avoided tripping over her activity center, or her office, as Jaskier called it. Jaskier noticed, because of course he did, and huffed a laugh into Geralt’s mouth, which Geralt swallowed up hungrily. He kicked the bedroom door open, and lowered Jaskier onto the mattress slowly, climbing over him until Jaskier was stretched out beautifully beneath him. Geralt was greedy in his wanderings. His mouth found Jaskier’s pulse point and nipped him, then he pressed his tongue against it to soothe. Jaskier was breathing hard now, and Geralt pressed a hand to the side of his ribs, feeling the way Jaskier’s chest expanded against it.  Geralt was just moving his hand along Jaskier’s side, finding the hem of his shirt and sliding underneath it, when Jaskier’s hand splayed across Geralt’s chest, pushing him back. Geralt looked up, a question plain on his face, only to see Jaskier looking wrecked . The startling part wasn’t the obvious wanting written across his face. The startling part was how devastated he looked. Geralt sat back on his knees, between Jaskier’s legs, his hands pressed into the bed on either side of Jaskier’s hips. “Geralt, you’re--you’re hurting. And I don’t--I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret tomorrow,” Jaskier said, and then cleared his throat. Geralt truly couldn’t tell if his voice was hoarse from desire or from upset. “I won’t. I want this,” Geralt insisted, running his hand along Jaskier’s hip. “Do you?” Jaskier closed his eyes. “Of course I do. More than anything,” he said. Geralt smiled, his hand traveling back up to the hem of Jaskier’s shirt, only for Jaskier to seize his wrist, pinning it to Jaskier’s hip bone. “I will not be your rebound, Geralt,” Jaskier said, and now his eyes were open, hardened. “You can’t use me as a distraction.” Geralt shook his head. “I’m not using you as a distraction, Jask.” Jaskier looked close to tears, but still his face wore that hardened expression. He removed Geralt’s hand from his hip and pushed himself up until he was sitting. His legs still bracketed Geralt’s, but with space between them. Geralt didn’t understand how they went from touching everywhere , getting to more, only to now not be touching at all. “You know--you have to know. After all this time, how could you not?” Jaskier said, and one look at Geralt’s confused face had him breathing a humorless, brittle laugh. “How can everyone know except you? Except the only one that matters?” Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair, and it hadn’t been neat before, but now it just looked disheveled. “Geralt, this won’t ever just be sex for me. I’ve been here too long and I won’t--I won’t be second to Yennefer. I won’t let you hurt me like that. Not again.” Geralt watched, dumbfounded, as Jaskier climbed out of bed and walked to the door. He tried to go with dignity, and Geralt tried to give that to him, but it was hard when he was climbing around Geralt’s body, in the dark, trying to accommodate for the stiffness in his pants. “Jaskier, don’t--” “It’s okay. We can just pretend it never happened, yeah? Just. Don’t make me breakfast this time, okay? I don’t think I’m going to have much of an appetite tomorrow.” And with that, Geralt was alone again, and feeling far more hollow than he had before. -- Jaskier had been saying goodbye to Ciri for an hour. Geralt was trying not to intrude, but it was hard not to overhear them in a tiny apartment. Jaskier made promises to her, all the songs he would sing in her honor, the things he would look out for so he could tell her about them later, what they would do when he returned. He also implored her to promise, over and over, that she wouldn’t forget him and that three weeks wasn’t that long, not really, and For the love of God, Ciri, I know it’s early but if this is when you decide to be a prodigy and walk, I will never, not ever, forgive you . Part of Geralt wanted to join in on their moment. Not to take away from it, but just to be included in Jaskier’s lengthy goodbye. He had a feeling if he walked out there, though, the moment would be ruined, and Jaskier deserved a proper goodbye. After an hour, enough had to be enough. Ciri needed to sleep and Jaskier needed to get on the road or he’d miss his plane. Geralt hesitated a moment, then joined them in the living room. “Jask, you’re going to be late,” he said, holding out his hands for Ciri. Ciri grinned and reached for him and Jaskier, reluctantly, with a kiss to her cheek, handed her over. He looked small, for a moment, and so, so nervous. Geralt wasn’t used to seeing Jaskier like that. Then he leaned forward and wrapped Geralt--and Ciri--in a hug, and something unfurled in Geralt’s chest. They hadn’t talked about the other night, as Jaskier had said. But they would be okay. Eventually. “We’ll miss you,” Geralt murmured as Jaskier pulled away. I already miss you, Geralt thought. Jaskier's smile was sad as he touched Geralt’s cheek, just for a moment. Then he was pulling away far too quickly and turning to his bags as he cleared his throat. Geralt could see him blinking rapidly. “I’ll be back before you know it. With so many stories for both of you. Goodbye. Ciri, I love you!” Jaskier hesitated, his door on the handle, and the look he gave Geralt was meaningful, but Geralt couldn’t begin to parse out exactly what it was trying to say. And then he was gone. -- Geralt was not excited to leave Ciri with Yennefer. Truly, he never was. Though the free time was nice, he missed her desperately within a couple hours of dropping her off with Yen. This time, however, he was actually nervous about what it would be like without Cirilla there to make some noise to break the silence. Without Jaskier, things had been so quiet. Geralt was better now at talking, after he had read articles and been pressed by his friends and family that if he had a baby he would actually have to talk to the baby. They were right, of course. So Geralt had gotten better. Now, it was natural to narrate everything he was doing, start one-sided conversations with Ciri, and think out loud, just so she was exposed to as much language as possible. No one was ever going to claim that Geralt was the reason for her having delayed language skills. He still wasn’t as good at it as Jaskier was, though. Jaskier was a professional at holding the one-sided conversations. Half the time, Geralt was convinced that Ciri had responded in some way, with how Jaskier carried on. It was easier, too, to feel a bit less like he was going crazy when there was another adult to talk to, and to share the burden of saying everything that came to mind just to expose her to as many words as possible. The silent stretches were longer, and they felt uncomfortable, when Geralt had once thought that all he wanted was complete and total silence. He had taken to playing Jaskier’s music on his computer. He maintained that his reason was so Ciri wouldn’t forget Jaskier's voice, but really it was because Geralt wanted to hear him. Not that Geralt would admit that to anyone. Without Ciri there, Geralt was going to be left alone with his thoughts. This didn’t used to be such a terrifying prospect. Things had changed. He wasn’t ready to deal with the fact that things had changed. So when he knocked on Yennefer’s door, he was apprehensive at best. Cirilla was happily babbling away in her car seat and Geralt tried very hard not to dwell on the fact that for the next three days he wouldn’t hear that, or the fact that he’d have to go back to the empty, silent apartment. He was fine. Geralt loved silence. He just needed to relearn that. Yennefer opened the door and motioned Geralt in, with an eye roll Geralt was pretty sure was aimed at whoever was on the phone pressed to her ear. “Yes, yes, I agree. Perfect. I have to go now, Geralt’s here,” Yen said into the phone as she closed the door. Geralt knelt down to unbuckle Ciri. “Sabrina, I’m sure it’s fine. We can talk more tonight, okay? Yes, perfect, thank you. Goodbye, Sabrina.” Yennefer sighed, and rolled her eyes again, but when she turned to Ciri she was nothing but smiles. “ There’s my perfect girl,” she said, holding out her arms. Geralt passed her over and Yennefer wrapped Ciri up in a hug. “What do you think we can teach you in three days so Jaskier has a conniption when he next sees you?” “Any other words, probably. He accepted ‘Dada’ and ‘Mama’, but I think he may cry if she says anything else before ‘Jask’,” Geralt answered. Yennefer’s grin was just short of evil as she pressed a kiss to Ciri’s cheek, leaving behind a faint trace of lipstick. “And how’s Daddy doing without his musician?” Yennefer teased. Geralt opened his mouth to reply, but Yennefer continued, “Ah, I thought so, Ciri. Miserable you say? No idea what to do without him?” Geralt set his jaw and crossed his arms. “Can we not do this? Just once at drop off can I not be the subject of your mockery?” Yennefer smiled at him and patted his cheek. “Just trying to get you to open up to me, babe,” she said. She turned toward the loft and strode further in. “Coffee?” Geralt sighed, but followed after Yennefer. He took a seat at her counter and Yennefer plopped Ciri down onto the counter top and slid her over to him. He kept a hand on her leg as she tried to wiggle away. She had recently discovered her love for and ability to crawl, and while Geralt was glad she was developing new skills, he was afraid for the day she became proficient at it and he actually had to baby-proof. “So, are you going to talk to me or not?” Yennefer asked, once she had the mugs of coffee prepared. She put one in his hand, not willing to risk Ciri’s curious reach knocking it over. “Is this what we do now? Have heart to hearts about our independent love lives?” Geralt rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee, twisting his body to keep it far away from Cirilla’s reaching arms. She let out a squawk of indignation, which Geralt responded to with a raised eyebrow and, “I didn’t ask your opinion, Cirilla.” “So you admit Jaskier is a love life item?” Geralt groaned. He slid Ciri across the counter to Yennefer, who wrapped an arm around her body and hid her mug behind her back. “That is not what I said.” “I’m really not trying to trick you, Geralt, or walk you into admitting anything you don’t want to admit. Though I would be delighted if you did. I only want to hear how you’re doing. You’ve had Jaskier present throughout all of this; Ciri, the divorce, everything. And now he’s been gone almost a week immediately after we finalized this.” She stuck out her tongue at Ciri, who was already growing antsy and restless. The baby was too curious for her own good, and now that she knew she could move herself, she never wanted to sit still. Geralt couldn’t blame her, but he was concerned for what this meant for the future. “No one is going to judge you if you’re out of sorts.” “Fine, I’m out of sorts,” Geralt conceded, sighing. He rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s so fucking quiet , Yen.” “You used to like that,” she reminded, a knowing smile on her lips. “I’m not used to it anymore. And we didn’t leave things on a good note before he left.” At this, Yennefer didn’t even bother to hide her surprise. She sat up from Ciri and stared at him, her eyebrows high. “No?” “No.” Geralt paused, buying time by drinking his coffee. Could he talk to Yen about this? This was uncharted territory, and Geralt truly didn’t know where the boundaries were. But Yen had started the conversation with her teasing and prodding, so Geralt supposed this wasn’t a completely unbroachable topic. “I kissed him. That night, after court. We almost slept together. He told me to stop. That he wouldn’t be a rebound.” Geralt shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, though he knew Yennefer, of all people, could see through that. “Oh.” Yen sounded… odd. Her eyes were wide and she stood up, leaving the mug behind on the counter and gathering Ciri in her arms. She placed Ciri in her activity center, then turned back to Geralt. “I didn’t expect this to feel so weird. Hearing you talk about this with someone else--” “Fuck, Yen, I’m sorry--” “No, no, it’s fine. I want us to be comfortable with each other. And this had to happen eventually. It’s only… different. It will take some getting used to.” She took a deep breath, then found her seat on the stool again, turning it around so she could watch Ciri, who was playing away. “Did you talk?” “He didn’t want to. He said we could pretend it never happened.” “And how’d that make you feel?” “Please don’t play my therapist.” Yen laughed a little and shrugged. “It’s not often I get to be in this role. Women aren’t all born knowing how to provide emotional labor. Triss would probably be better suited.” Geralt had to agree, but talking to Triss was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. He had a feeling her brand of help would be a bit too much. “Yen, Jaskier said something. He said I had to know, that everyone knew something except me.” Yennefer frowned and hid behind her coffee mug, turning her face away from Geralt, too, for good measure. “You know what he’s talking about, don’t you?” Yennefer was silent for a long time. “I will not betray Jaskier’s secrets, Geralt. I think, if you thought about it, you’d realize exactly what he was saying. Jaskier talks a lot, but he says even more, if you just listen to him.” Geralt’s eyebrows hitched together in confusion. “What the hell does that even mean?” he asked. Yennefer rolled her eyes and let out a loud sigh, as if dealing with Geralt was the greatest inconvenience of her life. “It means , use your head and listen to what he’s actually saying, Geralt. What he’s been saying, I suspect, the entire time you’ve known each other.” Geralt still didn’t know what the hell that meant, but he would try. If for no other reason than he was a bit afraid to ask Yen for clarification again. -- Jaskier was of the firm belief that anything could be settled by just taking a new perspective on it. Usually, he didn’t mean it quite so literally, but he was convinced that sitting on Geralt and Yennefer’s couch upside down was helping him think better. Maybe it was slightly less effective with the baby book still held in the same direction as his head, but Jaskier was convinced it still counted. Triss thought it was hilarious, while Geralt and Yennefer were resolutely ignoring him. He had thrown out several good names, he was certain, but they didn’t seem to be interested in any of his suggestions so long as he remained with his feet high in the air and his head inches from the ground. Sometimes Jaskier was convinced they had never had a childhood. “What if you chose a family name for her?” Triss suggested. Yennefer and Geralt both made a face, and Jaskier snorted. It was times like these when Jaskier was convinced they were the same person. How else would they have both managed to have the perfect wince-grimace compound? “I’d rather not honor my blood,” Yennefer answered. “I don’t even know my birth family. And Eskel, Lambert, and I were a bit too old when we came to Vesemir to be attached to his family,” Geralt added. “Alright, no family names, got it,” Triss said, scrolling through her phone. “Are there any you have liked so far?” “I still think Fiona is a nice name,” Geralt said. Yennefer sighed. “I told you we could use it as a middle name. But I am not risking anyone deciding they can call my daughter Fifi . She’s not a dog.” “Didn’t you tell Pavetta you’d give her Riannon as a middle name?” Jaskier asked. Yennefer nodded. Oh, so apparently she wasn’t ignoring Jaskier anymore. Only when it was convenient. “She can have two middle names. Or, three? Didn’t Vesemir ask you to include Elen?” “This is going to be the most named baby in the world. You don’t want any of those as her first name?” Triss asked. “Yes. Three middle names. Fiona Elen Riannon. No more middle names. Now we need to pick a first name,” Geralt said. It was quiet for a long time, everyone searching through their respective book or scrolling through their phone. This hadn’t intentionally been a baby name brainstorming session, but when the topic of the new baby came up, and Triss and Jaskier realized that she would be born soon and still they had no name they had insisted there was at least a shortlist in place. Yennefer had insisted they could decide on it when they saw her, but Jaskier saw the relieved look in Geralt’s eye. That was all the motivation Jaskier needed to push forward and demand they had at least an idea of what they would name her. “What about--” “I refuse to listen to any suggestions you have until you are sitting like a proper human being,” Yennefer interrupted. Jaskier sighed and awkwardly, with about as much grace as a newborn horse, righted himself on the couch. He held his arms to the side as if presenting himself and Yennefer nodded at him once before going back to her phone. “Maybe Calanthe? Freya? Francesca?” Triss suggested. Yennefer and Geralt both shook their heads. They continued to shake their heads at just about every suggestion made, even the ones they themselves threw out. Jaskier couldn’t blame them. None of the names sounded right. Jaskier didn’t know how long they all sat there, throwing out different names, some serious, some just plain ridiculous. Yennefer was getting fed up with Jaskier’s flower suggestions, though Jaskier maintained that they sounded quite nice. They were just about to give up and try again another day when Jaskier suggested, “What about Cirilla?” Everyone stopped what they were doing. Yennefer and Geralt looked up from their referents, cautiously hopeful looks on their faces. Jaskier was pretty sure they would be able to hear a neighbor drop a pin, with how silent it was in the condo. “Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon,” Yennefer said, as if she was trying the name out. Geralt nodded. “It’s perfect.” Jaskier felt warm for the next week. And then again when he got to meet little Cirilla, three weeks early. Thank god they picked a name. -- “Geralt, I can’t even see Ciri!” Jaskier complained. Geralt rolled his eyes at Jaskier’s indignant look and turned the phone to face Ciri more fully. Ciri, however, had seemed to reach her fill of confusion at the tiny picture of Jaskier. When they had first started, both Geralt and Jaskier had delighted at how she looked around curiously when she heard Jaskier’s voice, but now the novelty had worn off, and Jaskier wasn’t there and able to touch . Aside from some renewed curiosity here and there, Ciri hadn’t really given Jaskier much to work with, which Geralt had warned him would happen. “Jask, she wants to go play, not sit here and look at my phone which she isn’t even allowed to eat.” “Alright, alright, fine. Let her be the free spirit she is. I’ll just be here, mourning the fact that we’ve only barely cleared a week and she’s already forgotten me. No point in returning; Ciri has moved on with her life.” “You’re feeling dramatic today.” Geralt rolled his eyes and plopped Ciri on the floor. She wasted no time in launching herself forward to crawl to the remotes, rather than her toys, of course . Geralt was so glad he had spent money on those. “When am I not feeling dramatic?” Jaskier asked, and that was a fair question. Geralt turned his attention back to Jaskier. The lighting was bad, he could barely see Jaskier’s face, so no wonder he hadn’t held Ciri’s attention. He must be in the cramped tour bus Jaskier had spent so much time complaining about. “How’s tour going?” The lighting wasn’t so bad that Geralt missed Jaskier grimace, but it was gone so quickly that Geralt was half-convinced he had imagined it. “It’s great. I’ve had such great audiences, and I’ve even made a lot of EP sales. Several people have asked to take pictures of me and asked for my autograph. I’m feeling like a big deal. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.” “Sure you won’t,” Geralt replied, his skepticism clear in his voice. “How’s Valdo? Have you had a chance to spend any time with him?” There was that grimace again. There, and then gone in a flash. This time, Geralt knew he didn’t imagine it. Jaskier was smiling again, though, so what the hell did that mean? “We’ve spent a lot of time together. He’s very… interested in my music.” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck. “In fact, I should probably go soon. Valdo invited me to join them for lunch and some sight-seeing.” “Right. Well. Before you go. We got the house.” Jaskier’s grin became real in an instant. “Really? They accepted the updated offer?” Jaskier asked, sounding almost incredulous. “That’s great, Geralt! When can we move in?” “I’m going to start next week. Don’t worry, I won’t pack up your things, I’ll let you do that. Can I move your bed and other furniture, though?” “Only if you promise not to harm my poor, precious instruments. Move them with two hands, Geralt. Gentle touches only!” Geralt rolled his eyes. “Ah, so I guess I shouldn’t tell you that Ciri pressed avocado into your lute, huh?” “She what ?” Jaskier’s voice hopped a few octaves. Any higher, and Geralt was pretty sure only dogs would be able to hear him. “I’m kidding, Jask. Your lute is safely shut away where you left it. I will not harm your instruments. I value my life too much.” Jaskier pressed a hand to his chest, making a show of regulating his breathing, though even in his dramatic charade he couldn’t quite contain his growing grin. “Okay. I trust you. You can move the furniture items, but that’s it . Do not touch my books, especially not the notebooks. I’ll box everything up as soon as I get back. God, Geralt, I’m so thrilled. We got the house!” Geralt’s smile was slow and easy. “Yeah, Jask. We did.” They sat there for a moment, just grinning at each other, before Jaskier seemed to remember himself. “Give Ciri lots of hugs and kisses for me. Tell her I miss her at least five times a day, if not more. She can never be told too much. And, Geralt?” “Yes?” “I miss you, too. Desperately, darling.” And with a small smile, Jaskier ended the call. -- That next week, Geralt was so wrapped up in moving and settling Ciri’s things into the house, that he almost forgot to be lonely. Yennefer took Ciri for the entire week, and while Geralt missed her, he was glad not to have to worry about a baby while he set up her room. For now, it was only functionally set up. Jaskier absolutely insisted he be part of the nursery decorating, and that was a task Geralt was perfectly happy to leave to Jaskier. Artistic had never been a word used to describe Geralt. Lamber and Eskel helped him move the furniture with only mild grumbling and teasing, and once everything--aside from Jaskier’s boxes--was inside the house, they helped christen the home with a beer and poker night. Geralt lost, hopelessly, but only because Lambert and Eskel had cheated. Truly. They admitted to it once Geralt had turned over the money. Geralt was so content that when Triss asked him out for a drink, Geralt didn’t even hesitate to say yes. Ciri was still with Yennefer for the remainder of the weekend, though Geralt would see her that Sunday to drop off Yennefer’s Mother’s Day gift. The idea of being alone in an even bigger space than his and Jaskier’s apartment was daunting, so accepting Triss’s invitation was an easy decision. So they found themselves at Posadas. It felt weird, being there on a Friday without Jaskier playing. The other patrons seemed to feel the same way. Someone else was there, but he wasn’t nearly as good as Jaskier, and judging by the loud conversation all around Geralt, the rest of the crowd felt the same way. He appreciated their loyalty. He and Triss were in the middle of catching up, though, when the performer abruptly stopped. Geralt didn’t much care for him, so he didn’t care to look to see what had happened. Maybe the idiot had forgotten the words, or something. “Well, Posadas, I hope you’ve missed me!” Geralt’s heart stopped. Triss’s eyes went wide and they both snapped their attention to the makeshift stage quickly enough that Geralt was pretty sure he pulled something in his neck. There was Jaskier, in all his colorful glory, looking a little disheveled, but beaming nonetheless. His guitar was in hand and when his eyes met Geralt’s, he looked a little surprised (which, how in the world could Jaskier be surprised, when he was supposed to be out of state for another week?) and a lot sheepish, but he continued on. “My tour ended a little early, and I rushed back to see all your bright, shining faces. There’s just something about home, isn’t there?” The crowd, broken out of their daze, cheered back at him. “Mind if I play you a few songs? Then I promise I’ll give Mr., uh. What was your name again? Oh, he’s left. Well, I’ll give your other performer a chance again after a little taste.” “What is he doing here?” Triss asked as Jaskier began to play. Geralt just shook his head helplessly. They couldn’t continue conversation; they only watched Jaskier in a bewildered silence as he played. At the start, Jaskier seemed tense, stressed, almost. But as he got further into his overall short set, he relaxed a little. Geralt could tell he was thrilled to be there, but even Jaskier looked a bit like he wasn’t expecting to be. By the time Jaskier stopped playing, Geralt was about ready to burst out of his chair. Thankfully, Jaskier made a beeline for them, giving apologetic waves and shoulder-touches to those he passed on his way to Triss and Geralt. “Welcome back?” Triss said, her eyes still wide. “What in the world are you doing here, Jaskier?” “I told you,” Jaskier said, rubbing the back of his neck and ducking his head. “Tour ended early. I thought if I made it back in time I could play here for a little while. And, well. I didn’t really know where… I just figured it was best if I started here.” He glanced back up at Geralt, heedless of the blush spreading across his face. “Do you want to go see the house?” Geralt asked, understanding. Jaskier didn’t know where to go to find him.  “No, you guys are having a night out. It’s fine. I just didn’t really think through coming home at night right in the middle of moving,” Jaskier said, though he sounded far less sure than his words would imply. Geralt and Triss exchanged a look, and then Geralt stood up, dropping some cash on the table for his drink. “Rain check tomorrow?” he asked, and Triss nodded. Geralt turned to Jaskier, whose eyes had widened and he opened his mouth to speak. “We’re going home.” Jaskier tried again to speak, but Geralt took Jaskier’s suitcase from him, pressed a hand to the small of his back, and led him out of the bar. Geralt led them to his car, and didn’t speak until they were on the road. “What happened?” Geralt asked, his voice soft and cutting through the silence. Geralt caught Jaskier’s pained smile from the corner of his eye. “It’s nothing, Geralt. Valdo and I just… disagreed on something. And he told me to get lost. Apparently, because I was paid upfront, he had fulfilled the terms of my contract, and could fire me at any point. I think a lawyer could find some disputes with that, but I wanted to leave. So. I did.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, but the way his shoulders went slack afterward told Geralt it mattered. Geralt reached a hand across the console and squeezed Jaskier’s knee. He let the hand rest there a moment, before he was pulling it back to use his blinker. “I’m glad you’re back.” Jaskier breathed audibly, and Geralt was happy to find that though it started off shaky, the breath ended steadily. Two weeks felt like a long time to go without Jaskier. Though he wanted to press, to know what, exactly, they had disagreed on, Jaskier clearly didn’t want to talk about it. Geralt wanted to kill Valdo either way, so the details didn’t particularly matter, he supposed. “I’m glad to be back.” Jaskier didn’t ask for a tour when they came to the house, and Geralt didn’t offer. He just led them upstairs, bypassing Jaskier’s room entirely--it didn’t feel like his room, not with only a bed and a mostly-empty dresser inside--and took them to Geralt’s room. Jaskier’s steps faltered, but he didn’t say anything. At least, not until he reached the threshold, where he planted his feet. “Geralt, I--” “Do you really want to be alone tonight?” Geralt asked. Jaskier hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. Geralt hummed, then grabbed a pair of sleep pants from his own dresser. He nudged Jaskier into the room and headed to the bathroom to change. Jaskier, apparently, understood what Geralt was trying to do, because by the time Geralt returned to the room, he had changed as well, and was perched on the bed. He looked unsure, there in a baggy shirt and a pair of shorts. Geralt, despite his pounding heart, pretended nothing was amiss as he climbed onto the other side of the bed and ducked under the covers. Jaskier hesitated, then followed suit, and soon they were facing each other in the darkness. “I don’t--” this time, Jaskier cut himself off.  His eyebrows furrowed, and Geralt wanted so desperately to ask what he was thinking, but he was pretty sure Jaskier wouldn’t tell him anyway. So he just waited. And was rewarded with Jaskier slowly pressing closer until his forearms were touching Geralt’s bare chest. Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist, his hand cupping around Jaskier’s other side, and pulled him closer. Jaskier let out a shuddering breath and his forehead pressed into Geralt’s shoulder. “It wasn’t the same around here without you,” Geralt whispered, feeling brave in the darkness. Jaskier was quiet, and for a moment, Geralt wondered if Jaskier even heard him, until he draped his own arm over Geralt’s side and across his back. Everything felt like it was as it should be, as they laid there together. It didn’t take Geralt long at all to fall asleep with Jaskier in his arms. -- Geralt had barely got a greeting out to Yennefer before Ciri was thrust into his arms and Yennefer was barreling past him into the house. He was startled, of course, but just followed after Yen until she found Jaskier, who had now stood up slowly, his face betraying his caution and confusion. Geralt was pretty sure Jaskier hadn’t done anything recently to piss her off. The last thing he expected Yennefer to do was to wrap Jaskier in a crushing hug. Judging by Jaskier’s bewildered expression as he slowly wrapped his arms around Yen, he was just as caught off guard by this as Geralt was. “You know, I am never one to turn down physical affection, but you are not often one to give it to those taller than two feet?” Jaskier said as the hug continued long past what Geralt would have been able to stand. Yennefer pulled away and pressed a hand against his cheek. “Thank you for my Mother’s Day gift,” she said. She patted his cheek and then took a step back. “Damn, Yen. If I knew this was the reaction I’d get, I’d get you gifts all the time.” He honestly looked a little bashful, and, God, that was a good look on him. His cheeks were just a bit pink and he bit his lower lip through his crooked smile. Geralt was distracted a moment later, though, as Jaskier finally turned to face him, and the look of delight was even better than his bashful smile. Jaskier’s joy at seeing Ciri took over his whole face, and he bounded to Ciri with his arms wide. Ciri looked amazed . Her eyes, already so big, seemed as if they took over her entire face, and her mouth fell open. As soon as Jaskier was about a foot away she dived for him, and Jaskier only just barely caught her and scooped her up until his arms in as tight a hug as he could manage without hurting her. “Look how big you’ve gotten, sweetheart!” Jaskier cooed, and Yennefer and Geralt exchanged eye-rolls. “You’ve been gone two weeks, Jask.” “Did I stutter, Geralt? She’s definitely bigger. More mature. Got a worldly look about her.” He blew a raspberry on her cheek and Ciri giggled, then blew one right back at him. Before long, they were locked in a back and forth and Geralt decided to step away, lest he be in the splash zone. “What’d he get you?” he asked Yennefer. His gift to Yen had been a bouquet of flowers, a card, and a spa gift card. Clearly, Jaskier had outdone himself. “You didn’t see it? He made a cast of Ciri’s handprints,” Yennefer answered. “Put it in a frame and everything. Wrote ‘How much I love Mommy’ on it. I would have cried, if I had a heart left.” She winked at Geralt, and Geralt smiled back.  He was pretty sure she had cried, but he would let her think he was fooled. -- Jaskier was pretty sure he had never been more nervous in his life. It was silly, of course. Who in the world would be nervous about meeting a newborn ? He didn’t have to worry about making a good first impression. He didn’t have to get on her good side. All he had to do was not hurt her or sneeze on her or anything like that, and he was in the clear. He brought flowers, anyway. The hospital had been kind enough to let Geralt and Yennefer use a room to do a greeting, despite the fact that no adult needed the room. Pavetta and Duny had already said their goodbyes. They would have a chance to change their minds before the adoption was set in stone, but unlike Geralt and Yennefer, Jaskier had no fear of that happening. Cirilla was theirs, now. And Jaskier was going to meet her. They were going to be best friends, he was sure of it. When Jaskier walked in with the bouquet, Yennefer rolled her eyes. “A bit much, don’t you think?” Jaskier feigned insult. “I think we should let Cirilla decide, considering they’re for her,” he said. And there, there she was. She looked impossibly tiny, and Jaskier wasn’t sure if that was because she actually was, or because Geralt, the biggest guy in the room, was holding her. Jaskier felt like he was in a dream as he stepped up to her. “Well, hello, little dove,” Jaskier said as Geralt angled her out for Jaskier to see. “Isn’t she perfect?” Yennefer asked, and Jaskier had to agree. Cirilla was impossibly tiny. She had a bundle of fine, almost white hair that Jaskier desperately hoped she wouldn’t lose. He had just met her and he was pretty sure he would do anything for this tiny bundle in Geralt’s arms. Jaskier already loved her too much to bear. “Do you want to hold her?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier was surprised he even offered. The way Geralt had been holding her and looking down at Cirilla when he walked in implied to Jaskier that he would never want to give her up, much less offer her to someone else. “Of course I do.”  Jaskier placed the flowers on a table and held out his arms for her and Geralt transferred her over carefully. Jaskier couldn’t keep his eyes off her perfect little face as she continued on sleeping. His fingertips drifted lightly over her cheek, then to her hair, which was just as soft as he thought it would be. “So, how does it feel, Mom and Dad?” Jaskier asked, finally tearing his eyes away from Cirilla’s face. Yennefer let out a breath and shook her head slowly, at a loss for words. Geralt ran his fingers through his hair and looked so fearful, Jaskier was almost convinced he had been replaced with someone else. Geralt never looked afraid. “Big,” Geralt finally answered, and Jaskier nodded. Big was a good word for it. He peered back down at Cirilla. “Miss Cirilla, it is so nice to meet you. I’m Jaskier. And you are going to be so loved.” -- The thing about drunk Jaskier was that there was no way not to notice him. So when Jaskier stumbled his way through the front door, Geralt knew immediately. He didn’t even have to see the dopey smile Jaskier fixed him with; the way he couldn’t even walk down the short hallway without making noise was tell-tale enough. He was humming a song, not quite loud enough for Geralt to recognize it, and his gait was off--honestly, it was so off that it was a wonder he managed to get one foot in front of the other. Jaskier was wobbly. Geralt got to his feet before he was fully aware of it, but crossing the room to Jaskier seemed to be a good call, because almost as soon as Geralt reached his side, Jaskier stumbled. Instead of falling into the kitchen table--they had finally replaced that ugly, falling-apart card table--he fell into Geralt. Jaskier stumbled his way back up, smiling up at Jaskier. “Sooorry. Guess I had a bit too much,” he said, his smile only getting wider and toothier.  Jaskier turned to face Geralt and stumbled forward again, though Geralt wasn’t sure how much of the action was an accident. Jaskier grabbed fist-fulls of Geralt’s hoodie right at his shoulders. Their chests pressed together and Geralt could feel Jaskier’s chest expand and contract as he breathed, and Geralt was thrown back to that night, a month earlier now, when he pressed his hand against Jaskier’s ribs and felt them move beneath his fingers. “Who were you out with?” Geralt asked, slipping a hand around Jaskier’s waist and tugging him to Geralt’s side. He started leading them to the stairs. “Hmm. Triss at first. She’s fun. But she had to leave ‘cause she has a shift at the hospital tomorrow. Then I was by myself. That was fun for a while. Stopped being fun, though.” Jaskier allowed himself to be led up the stairs, and Geralt was happy for it. Some nights after drinking, he was a terror. Usually those were the nights when Geralt didn’t let Jaskier go home with someone, for whatever reason. He tried not to interfere often, but the people Jaskier gravitated toward when he was too drunk to articulate his own name were not the sort Geralt could, in good conscience, let his best friend go home with. Other nights, he was like this. Pleasant and pliant and all whispers and soft touches against Geralt. Geralt had never considered himself a soft thing, but Jaskier like this made him want to wrap them both up in a blanket, hold Jaskier’s head to his chest, and count Jaskier’s breaths until he fell asleep. He never did that, of course. They were only ever friends. And after Yen, Jaskier was like this around Geralt less and less. After Yen, Jaskier hardly let himself be drunk around Geralt. He had never allowed himself to wonder at the reason; some part of him knew he wasn’t ready for that particular truth. Jaskier plopped himself on his bed with only slight prodding from Geralt. Geralt pushed off his open button-up, trying not to roll his eyes at how ridiculously brightly patterned it was. He barked out a quick “Up” and Jaskier obediently lifted his arms so Geralt could remove his low, low cut tank top. Geralt dropped the shirts in Jaskier’s hamper--making them the only clothes in there, as the rest were strewn about the floor--and tossed a sleep shirt at Jaskier. The drunk fool let out a halfhearted groan, but he pulled the shirt over his head. Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s shorts and came back to Jaskier. He didn’t hesitate in unbuttoning Jaskier’s pants and tugging them down his legs. At least, not until Jaskier let out a soft breath, and then Geralt’s brain caught up to what he was doing. Geralt’s hands froze, still curled around the hem of Jaskier’s pants, his knuckles pressed into Jaskier’s thighs, and Geralt looked up.  Jaskier stared down at him, his mouth open and his lips wet, as if he had just licked them. He realized Geralt had noticed this, though, and leaned back on his hands behind him, turning his face to the ceiling. “Usually when guys remove my pants, the context is sexier,” Jaskier said as Geralt went back to his task. His voice was low, wanting. Geralt tugged Jaskier’s jeans down past his legs, then stripped him completely of his shoes and jeans. “I hope you’re at least slightly more sober when that happens,” Geralt answered, pulling the shorts up. And if he went a little slower, allowed himself to feel the curves and dips of Jaskier’s legs, well. That couldn’t be proven. “They usually don’t redress me, either,” Jaskier continued, as if Geralt hadn’t spoken. “Well, they have different motives.” He tapped Jaskier’s hip and Jaskier lifted himself up. Geralt finished dressing him. He resolutely did not touch the swell of Jaskier’s ass, no matter how much he wanted to. Jaskier’s hips were quite far enough, and Geralt allowed himself to brush his fingers along the sharp jut of Jaskier’s bones. “And what are your motives?” Geralt looked up to find Jaskier staring down at him again. A shiver ran through Geralt as he realized Jaskier’s eyes looked almost… hopeful. “To get you ready for bed,” he answered. His heart clenched at how disappointed Jaskier looked. “Geralt--” “I know, Jask.” That wasn’t what he was asking. Geralt couldn’t answer the question Jaskier was asking. Not now, while Jaskier’s cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and he still smelled vaguely of someone else’s perfume. Maybe not ever. It was a hard thing to put words to. “I just want to take care of you as good as you take care of me,” Geralt finally settled on.  His hands rested on Jaskier’s outer thighs and Geralt’s knees sank to the floor to keep him more stable as he kneeled between Jaskier’s legs. Geralt watched Jaskier’s face fade into a soft, fond smile. Jaskier reached out a hand and thumbed along Geralt’s temple, his cheekbone, his jaw, his lower lip. Geralt allowed Jaskier this, and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling too vulnerable here before Jaskier. And maybe he wanted to save Jaskier some of his vulnerability, too. “I want to keep you,” Jaskier breathed, almost too quiet to hear. Jaskier’s hand pulled away and Geralt opened his eyes, only to see Jaskier looking away, toward his headboard. Jaskier swallowed hard, and though it was dark, Geralt was sure the rim of Jaskier’s eyes looked redder than they had moments before. Geralt stood up, lightly pressing against Jaskier’s shoulder to lead him into the mattress. Jaskier went willingly, and curled up under the covers that haphazardly covered the mattress. Geralt turned to go, but Jaskier’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Stay. Please?” Jaskier asked. He should have said no. The night Jaskier came back had been almost too much. The next day they hadn’t known what to say to each other, and he had only taken Jaskier to his bed because he thought Jaskier didn’t want to be alone. And, selfishly, Geralt didn’t want to be alone, either. If he was smart, he would cut this off before it became a pattern. Geralt wasn’t smart, though, and he found himself nodding. “I have to get the monitor,” he said, and Jaskier nodded. “I’ll be right back.” Geralt stepped outside. He moved methodically, locking up the house and turning off the lights. In his bedroom, he shucked off his shirt and pants and pulled on his sweats, for once letting the clothes fall to the floor in the interest of time, rather than dropping them dutifully in his hamper. Once he had the baby monitor in hand he turned back to Jaskier’s room, only to stop at Jaskier’s door with his forehead pressed against the wood. What was he doing ? But Jaskier was waiting for him. And Geralt wasn’t about to disappoint him--or himself--so, despite the warning bells going off in his head, Geralt pushed open the door, crawled into Jaskier’s bed, and pulled Jaskier’s back flush against his chest. -- Geralt woke to a baby crying through the monitor, and Jaskier wrapped around him. Jaskier had a tendency to octopus around him, Geralt had noticed, with his limbs splayed out and hooked around Geralt’s. This time, though, Jaskier had also managed to grab a fistful of Geralt’s hair, which Geralt carefully set about extracting himself from. If their lives were different, they could have woken up together, and confronted this head on. Whatever this was. Cirilla would not be ignored, though, and Geralt didn’t want her cries to wake Jaskier. He tried to pretend his haste was motivated by fatherly duty, rather than fear. Jaskier didn’t come downstairs until after Ciri had been fed, changed, and dressed. Now she was playing happily on the floor and Geralt was spread out in front of her, chatting with the baby as she crawled her way around the living room, trying her best to find mischief to get into. Geralt looked up as Jaskier entered the room, and tried hard not to notice how endearing Jaskier’s bedhead was. He failed.  “How’s your head?” Geralt asked, looking back at Ciri and grinning as she found the remote and immediately attempted to fit the entire thing in her mouth. “I don’t even want to talk about it,” Jaskier groaned, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Geralt had made himself a pot earlier, only to replace it after he and Ciri came back down so it would be fresh for Jaskier. “I am not as young as I once was.” Geralt snorted. “You haven’t even hit thirty yet, Jaskier. Don’t insult me like that.” “Four months, Geralt! Only four months and I am officially out of my twenties! I am inches from the grave.” He took a sip of coffee and the sound he made was borderline filthy. It was not going to be that kind of morning. It couldn’t be. “I take it you’re not up for babysitting today, then?” Jaskier narrowed his eyes, peering over the top of his mug so he could glower at Geralt. “Why? Where will you be?” “Is that a no, then?” “You know I can always make an exception for our darling Cirilla. But. Please, Geralt. I am a weak, hurting man. Take pity on me. Didn’t I mention I was inches from the grave?” Geralt smirked. “I suppose I won’t ask anything of you today, then. Since you are a weak, hurting man, and all.” Jaskier’s answering smile was infectious. Jaskier spent most of the day on the couch. When Geralt sat beside him, Jaskier pressed a foot, a calf, an arm against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Periodically he whined about how badly he was feeling, but no matter how much Geralt insisted he go sleep it off, Jaskier refused to leave Geralt. They were headed somewhere. Geralt just wasn’t sure where. Not yet. -- Jaskier loved the way Ciri looked in Geralt’s arms.  Jaskier loved the way Geralt held Ciri up like he was investigating her whenever she was alert and staring at him. He would prop her up against his thighs, his feet anchored against the coffee table as he held her up, up, up until they were eye to eye. He talked to her, softly, as if he was embarrassed that Jaskier would hear what he was saying, and think it anything but lovely. Jaskier loved having this baby in his home, even when she cried so loud Jaskier was sure she rattled the dishes. Jaskier loved the way she blinked slowly when she woke up, and the way she couldn’t hold her head up yet. Jaskier loved how tiny and pliable her fingers were, and how she would let him kiss only three, every time, before she was flexing her fingers and tugging her arm away. Jaskier loved this tiny thing he never thought he would get to have. He loved her even though he knew she wasn’t his, would never be his. She was a lot like her father, that way. -- “Geralt, I cannot bear it. If you keep giving Cirilla dopey looks, I am going to have to kill you, because I cannot be further endeared to you. There is a limit, I have met it, and I must ask, for my sake, you stop before I combust.” Geralt snorted, giving Jaskier a wry look across the table. “I think I’m allowed to give dopey looks to the little girl that made me a father on father’s day, Jask.” Jaskier’s hand splayed across his chest and he turned his eyes to the ceiling. “No, God, I cannot handle it. I am only a mere mortal, and you did not prepare me for a Geralt that says such lovely things.” “Just finish your food. You’re officially a failure of an adult if a baby finishes before you do.” Geralt stood up, took his own plate to the sink, and wet a rag to start the ever-lengthy process of cleaning Ciri and her high chair. “She doesn’t know how to savor a meal like I do.” Geralt snorted, and Jaskier beamed at him. “Besides, I’m building suspense for your father’s day gift.” “Ciri already got me a father’s day gift. I got a very nice card and a massage.” He couldn’t fault Yennefer for giving him the same gift--he didn’t think he had ever looked forward to something more. Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Obviously there’s more, Geralt. Ciri had to make you something for your first Father’s Day.” Geralt stopped cleaning Ciri’s face--to her relief--and stared at Jaskier. The longer he stared, the more Jaskier flushed under the attention. “Jaskier, you didn’t have to do all that,” he said. Jaskier ducked his head and waved a hand dismissively. He stood up so quickly the chair very nearly toppled over, but Jaskier saved it at the last moment, then gathered up his plate and escaped to the sink. “I told you, Geralt. Ciri made it.” Geralt watched him a moment longer, enjoying the way Jaskier’s face remained a delicate pink as he started to wash the dishes. But Ciri was attempting to make a bigger mess, so he turned back to her and continued cleaning her up. He finished right around the time that Jaskier came back, dishes clean and with a present wrapped in his hand, which he held out to Geralt. “Happy Father’s Day,” he said. “From Ciri.” Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, half hoping Jaskier would blush again, but he must have worn out any embarrassment already. He did rub the back of his neck and nudged Geralt’s shoulder with his fingers, then turned to pull Ciri out of her high chair. Geralt unwrapped the present to find a picture frame, containing a paint stamp of Ciri’s feet angled into a heart. “I (heart) you, Daddy, From the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Love always, Ciri.” Geralt traced his fingers over Ciri’s footprints, then reached out to Jaskier. His hand rested on Jaskier’s hip as Geralt stood up and wrapped both Jaskier and Ciri in a brief hug, though his hand lingered a moment longer on the small of Jaskier’s back. “I love it, Jask.” Geralt paused and pressed a kiss to Ciri’s temple. “Thank you, Ciri.” But his eyes never left Jaskier’s face. There was that blush again. Geralt pulled away then and placed the frame carefully on the table. He would decide a good place to display it later, but right now, heart hammering in his chest, he had made a decision. And he had to do this now, before he lost his nerve. “I got you something, too,” Geralt said. He turned to his hiding spot--his work bag, because it was the only place he could guarantee that neither Jaskier nor Ciri would get into it. Behind him, Jaskier scoffed. “I think you’re misunderstanding this whole day, Geralt. I am not one to turn down gifts, but you could at least wait until it isn’t a day that’s supposed to be about you. You’ll make me feel like the toddler that doesn’t understand that I don’t get presents on someone else’s birthday.” Geralt rolled his eyes, and came back with the small, wrapped box anyway. He traded Jaskier, the box for Ciri, and pressed another kiss to her cheek as he waited for Jaskier to open it. Jaskier still waited, his eyes searching Geralt’s face. Whatever he found there seemed to be enough to make him finally open it. “Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered.  He pulled out the necklace--a pendant in the shape of a guitar pick, and thumbed over the words “I love you to the moon and back, Ciri.” He pulled the necklace out and just stared at it for a long time, running his fingers over every inch of the pendant. Geralt shuffled his feet. He wasn’t sure if he should say something, or wait for Jaskier to. “She’s yours, too,” Geralt said, his voice low. Jaskier met his eyes at this, and they were wet with unshed tears. “You have to know--we all think that. Me, Ciri, even Yen. You’ve been here just as much as we have and I--I couldn’t imagine handling this without you.” Jaskier pulled Ciri and Geralt into a hug. He pressed between them, one hand on Geralt’s back and one on Ciri’s, and Jaskier’s face pressed into the crook of Geralt’s neck. They stayed there long enough that Ciri started to protest. Her babbling turned from happy, to whining, and Geralt was sure she was headed quickly toward a freak out, so he reluctantly pulled away. “I should get her ready for bed,” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded, looking down at the necklace again. Geralt would be concerned by his silence that he hated it, if Jaskier wasn’t smiling down at it. Jaskier tore his eyes away and pressed a kiss to Ciri’s cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love my necklace,” he said, and ran his fingers through her hair. As Geralt walked up the stairs, he caught Jaskier slipping the necklace over his head and smoothing it down under his shirt, over his heart. Geralt didn’t lose his smile throughout Ciri’s entire bedtime routine. Once Ciri was down, Geralt went back downstairs and found Jaskier on the couch with a glass of wine. They made eye contact for a moment, only for Jaskier to break and look away. Geralt raised an eyebrow, but poured himself his own glass of wine, and sat beside Jaskier, keeping only about half a foot of distance between them. Before, he had made the decision to break the silence. This time, however, Geralt thought it was Jaskier’s turn. Jaskier took it. He turned toward Geralt, bringing his legs up until his knees were touching Geralt’s thigh. Jaskier propped his head up with his hand, his elbow pressing into the back of the couch, and just watched Geralt. Geralt leaned back into the cushions and turned his head to look Jaskier in the eye. “Thank you.” Jaskier’s voice was low, just barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air for a moment, before Jaskier leaned toward the coffee table and put down his glass of wine. He relieved Geralt of his glass as well, and hesitated for a thoughtful moment at the coffee table, before he was slowly climbing into Geralt’s lap. Jaskier looked unsure, his teeth held his lower lip between them, but still Jaskier straddled Geralt’s thighs and his arms looped around Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s heart hammered in his chest, but his hands found Jaskier’s hips anyway, and this time, when his fingertips dipped under the hem of Jaskier’s shirt, Jaskier didn’t pull away. Geralt was half convinced Jaskier was going to kiss him, but Jaskier didn’t. He played with Geralt’s hair, running his fingers through the strands and twisting and tugging. Geralt wouldn’t be surprised if he found a braid there later. Instead, it was Geralt who grew impatient. Who leaned forward to take Jaskier’s now-swollen lips with his own. It was soft, and slow. There was heat there, but none of the urgency their previous kiss had held. Geralt wasn’t seeking more this time; he wasn’t hungry for a distraction like he had been months prior. Now, he kissed Jaskier like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Jaskier opened up beautifully to it. One hand continued playing with Geralt’s hair, while his other settled on Geralt’s chest, just over his heart. He didn't push Geralt away, and didn’t pull away himself until he was out of breath. Jaskier panted softly as he pressed their foreheads together, his breath intermingled with Geralt’s. “This isn’t--I mean, you’re not…” Jaskier huffed a nervous laugh. Geralt’s eyes were closed, but he could hear the uneasiness in his voice. “Why did you kiss me, this time?” Geralt cupped Jaskier’s face, thumbed along his cheekbone. “Because I wanted to.” He pulled Jaskier in for another soft, chaste kiss. “Not because I’m drunk. Not because I’m hurt. Not because I want a distraction. Just because I wanted to. Just because I always want to.” Jaskier let out a broken sound. His fingers curled into Geralt’s shirt. “If I tell you something honest, am I going to scare you away?” Geralt shook his head. He thought he knew what Jaskier was going to say. He thought he was ready to hear it. “I love you,” Jaskier whispered, like it was a secret, just for the two of them. “I have loved you for so long. I don’t--you don’t have to say it back. I just need you to know. I need it… here. I love you.” Geralt found he couldn’t say anything. But from the way Jaskier sighed happily into his mouth, he was pretty sure the kiss he gave Jaskier was answer enough. -- When Geralt returned home from dropping Ciri off at Yennefers, Jaskier was watching a video on his computer. It wouldn’t have been suspicious, if Jaskier didn’t scramble to pause it as soon as Geralt walked through the door. Geralt didn’t see the struggle, but it was enough of one that it was audible, and once Geralt had joined Jaskier, who was sitting at the kitchen table, Jaskier had an odd expression on his face. One that was somehow… flat. Devoid, even. “What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, hanging his keys on the hook. Jaskier tried to laugh, but it was higher pitched and weak. “Why would anything be wrong, darling? You’ve been here for not even ten seconds, it’s not like anything--” “Jaskier,” Geralt stopped him, sitting down in the chair adjacent to Jaskier. Jaskier sighed and fiddled with the mouse. He turned the screen to face Geralt and started the video. When Geralt saw Valdo Marx, his eyebrows shot up and he looked at Jaskier closely. Jaskier had a dark expression on his face, and he glowered at the man on the screen. Valdo was telling the camera about his new song, and played a teaser for it. The video was short, only about a minute long, and by the time it was over, Geralt was thoroughly confused. Jaskier looked close to tears. “It’s my song,” Jaskier said, with a full-body sigh. He closed the laptop and pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes, dropping his elbows to the tabletop. “He stole my song.” Ah. Fuck. Geralt reached out to rub Jaskier’s back, unsure of what he could possibly say that would fix this. Nothing, probably. “Mother fucking piece of shit rat bastard ,” Jaskier groaned. “The worst part is that I’m not even surprised. He was horrible , Geralt. So full of himself and just thought the entire world revolved around him. He called my songs trite and common, and then he pulls this bullshit? God, I wonder how many other musicians he’s done this to. It doesn’t even sound the same. He got the sound all wrong.” “I bet your version is better.” Jaskier sighed. “It is. It’s supposed to be a sad song, not this pop nightmare. And now I’ll never be able to perform it, lest people think I’m covering him . That fucking snake.” Jaskier sighed again, then turned in his chair, pressing his head into Geralt’s shoulder. It couldn’t have been comfortable, his angle and their positioning was so wrong for this, but Geralt leaned back into him anyway, enveloping him in his arms. “You can play it for us. I’ll know it’s yours. Ciri will know. Yen, Triss, my brothers--we’ll all know. And if you play it at Posadas, who cares if they think it’s a cover? They’ll like yours better, I guarantee it.” Jaskier let out a shaky laugh and sat back up, resting his hand on Geralt’s neck. “For someone who is reportedly not so good with words, you always seem to know the right things to say.” Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “I’ve had practice. And a very good teacher.” It didn’t fix things, he knew. Geralt hadn’t realized just how much touring with Valdo had complicated things for Jaskier, though from his little mentions here and there, Geralt was pretty sure Jaskier would face an uphill battle in trying to make himself known outside of Posadas. But Jaskier was smiling again and that, at least, Geralt could claim control in. That was something Geralt could do. -- Technically, they still had another week until Cirilla was actually one. However, it made sense to hold the party earlier, because Yennefer had to fly out of country to a show that, no matter how hard she tried, could not be moved or altered so she could be home on the actual day. Yennefer was trying not to show it, but she was disappointed. Geralt had never considered himself to be the type to go all-out for a first birthday party, but Jaskier had insisted and Yennefer had looked so happy when Jaskier suggested the idea, and Geralt found himself bending easily. Besides, as Jaskier reminded him, Ciri would never again be turning one . They might as well celebrate it. So their backyard was filled with gaudy decorations, largely due to Jaskier, who had even managed to find a way to get his music students to help him craft. How he had gotten the parents on board with their children being so off-task, Geralt wasn’t sure, but he supposed that was just Jaskier’s magic. Even Geralt had to admit the backyard looked cute. Cirilla was loving the attention. She crawled around like she owned the place, pulling herself up to stand against everyone’s legs and demanding they give her attention. Geralt snorted a laugh as Ciri pulled on Lambert’s hair hard enough that he winced, and wasn’t put off by Lambert flipping him off, though he did at least come over and take Ciri from him. Jaskier was still finishing a lesson, so the party had hardly really started. But Ciri was starting to get ornery with over-stimulation, and Geralt had a feeling if they didn’t start moving things along soon, they’d have a meltdown shortly. “Hungry, Ciri?” he asked. Her little hands wound in his hair and she looked deadly serious as she stared at him. “Yes!” she said, and Geralt beamed. “Oh my God, I cannot wait to tell Jaskier that he missed another word,” Yennefer said delightedly as she laughed into her wine. “At least it’s a useful one. Though, uh oh was pretty adorable.” Geralt rolled his eyes and picked up a strawberry. He offered it to his baby girl--soon she’d officially be a toddler and didn’t that just hurt?--but she scrunched up her nose and pulled away. “ Yes ,” she repeated, insistently, and tried hard to smack the strawberry from Geralt’s hand. “Ciri, that’s rude. We don’t smack things away. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” Geralt admonished, then took a bite of the strawberry himself. Yennefer held her arms out for Ciri, and Geralt handed her over. “We should probably start serving food. He’ll be here soon?” Yen asked, and Geralt nodded. As if summoned by magic, Jaskier walked through the backdoor, beaming at everyone and making his hellos.  “Sorry I’m late. A parent didn’t want to let me leave, not even when I mentioned I had a birthday party to get to,” Jaskier said. He stopped next to Geralt and wrapped an arm around Geralt’s waist. “Did I miss anything?” Geralt started to answer him, until he realized Ciri was attempting to dive-bomb her way out of Yennefer’s arms to Jaskier. As she did so, she kept repeating “Yes, yes, yes .” Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he untangled himself from Geralt to take Ciri. Ciri’s arms wrapped around his neck as well as she could and Jaskier returned the gesture, his embrace going much farther. Jaskier turned, wide-eyed and grinning, and looked between Yennefer and Geralt, practically thrumming with excitement. “ Please tell me that sounded like ‘Jask’ to you,” he pleaded.  Jaskier’s joy was infectious, and Geralt grinned right back at him. Even the corner of Yennefer’s mouth ticked up as she patted his shoulder. “Guess you’re finally one of us,” she said. She stroked Ciri’s hair, then turned to strike up a conversation with Triss. Geralt let Jaskier have his moment with Ciri and started serving the food to the rest of their guests. He didn’t manage to lose his smile for the rest of the party, though. He just kept finding new reasons to smile. Almost all of them centered around his perfect little family.

Everyone thinks that Steve is the shy one. It’s not hard to believe, since he has trouble talking to women, but anyone who knows him as well as Bucky does knows he’s not really shy at all. Really, would a shy person confront street thugs double his size and then hobble home, bloody and proud, despite the disapproving looks of strangers? And everyone thinks Steve blushes a lot. That one is partially true, although “blush” suggests a certain coyness that Steve lacks. Bucky would say that he just gets flushed or occasionally caught off-guard. And Steve does turn pink a lot—mostly with anger. Anger at himself, at unfairness, at the world at large. So, yes, one could say Steve blushes for a given value of the word “blush.” But here, in their cramped apartment on the odd night when they’re both home and neither is sick or dead tired; when they’re sharing a bed to do more than sleep… It’s Bucky who finds himself bashful and turning pink with near-embarrassment. He’s known Steve for almost half his life and they’ve been lovers for almost half of that, and he still can’t help himself when they’re making love. It really is making love. Steve would never do anything so base as to “fuck” Bucky. That would imply things are meaningless when nothing could be further from the truth. It’s probably why Bucky can’t stop himself from going pink every time Steve looks at him with heat in his eyes; when the tiny blond utters his name in a quiet growl and plants wet, open-mouthed kisses across his skin. When Steve, panting and flush with exertion, takes Bucky’s cock in his mouth and moans like it’s the best goddamn thing in the world, like Bucky is doing him some great favor by letting him do it. But it’s when Steve rides him that makes him blush the most. Not when he’s fingering Steve open (or when Steve does it himself, those occasions where Bucky trembles too much or is too out of his mind to do it for him) or when they’re stripping each other’s clothes off, or even when they have their mouths on each other. No, it’s when Steve lowers himself down carefully, Bucky’s hands on his tiny waist to make sure he doesn’t hurry and hurt himself. It’s when, eyes wide, he watches himself disappear into his lover and Steve arcs his back and whines with pleasure. When he plants a hand on Bucky’s thigh and pushes himself up just to slam back down, gyrating his hips just so… That’s when Bucky blushes. Steve takes what he wants in bed, and Bucky is always happy to give it to him. But there’s something about watching Steve from below that makes Bucky want to hide his face like a fucking virgin. Suddenly he doesn’t know what to do or say; can only watch in awe as Steve just takes and takes and takes. It might be the words that fall from Steve’s mouth. They’re not crude, not by a long shot, but something about them is still painfully erotic and makes Bucky feel more naked than if he walked down a street without a stitch on. God, you’re so perfect, and I love the way you sound, and Touch me, Buck, and Buck, I love you, and Mine. Maybe it’s what he does, moving with an energy he rarely has, perfectly happy to let Bucky flutter his hands helplessly and moan little more than Steve’s name. The smaller man has a way of clenching his body that makes Bucky see stars and wonder if he’s going to come embarrassingly fast, like a teenager. But Steve has that covered, too. Almost like he can sense it, the blond always slows, almost tortuously so, until the threat of pleasure swamping Bucky has passed without ever reaching its peak. He even guides Bucky’s hands to his own cock, waiting patiently until the brunet remembers, through his haze of emotions and euphoria, what exactly to do. And it could be that Steve isn’t the only one who has a sixth sense for his lover, because by the stifled noises the blond makes and how long they can draw out a single session, Bucky is probably staving off Steve’s orgasms too. But it could also be just the way Steve looks at him, all alabaster skin and blazing blue eyes, blond hair dark with sweat but backed wonderfully by the candlelight they use to cut back on electricity. Despite what the rest of the world sees as Steve’s physical imperfections, Bucky is constantly in awe of his lover. He’s like an angel, a fucking angel visiting from on high, dragging Bucky’s pitiful soul from the muck of this existence and offering him something much more. That’s it, isn’t it? That feeling of utter humility in the face of Steve’s love and goodness; of knowing that his own love is like a tiny flame compared to the sun that is Steve Rogers. That tinge of guilt when he knows that part of the reason he hides their relationship isn’t because of fear of the law, but from fear that someone else might see how wonderful Steve is, and Steve will realize how little Bucky has to offer and simply leave. Fear that one day, Steve will no longer gaze at him with love and adoration. And it’s selfish, he knows, to want to keep that all for himself, but it doesn’t stop him in the least. He did try to hide his face, once. Just the one time, when the feeling to do so overcame him and he couldn’t look at Steve’s face anymore, turning away like a penitent. Steve had simply stopped and prized Bucky’s arm away from where it was thrown over his face to conceal his blushes and his tears. He’d held Bucky’s hand in his and leaned in and said in a perfectly serious voice, “Bucky, look at me,” and who was Bucky to stand against that? So he had opened his eyes and looked, and Steve had smiled beatifically and said, “Perfect.” Bucky could read between the lines. He knew at that moment that Steve meant that word in every sense there could be to convey: That Bucky was perfect in mind, body, and spirit. That his love and insecurities and everything that made up Bucky Barnes was absolutely perfect. Steve had sealed his words with a kiss and Bucky had reciprocated eagerly, trying to convey with his body what he couldn’t say in words. That Steve was perfect too. That Bucky loved him with everything he was. And that was the last time Bucky ever tried to hide from Steve, no matter how he felt. So when they’re like this, with Steve on top of him, drawing pleasure for them both, wonderful and frail and strong all at once, that’s when Bucky’s true colors show. The pink of his cheeks betray him, but he never feels truly small. Not when Steve has him, holding his heart so carefully even as he lets out soft gasps and breathy moans. Even as Bucky whispers his name mindlessly because it’s the only thing he can think of. Even as they both unravel, Steve’s mouth open in a silent scream and Bucky forgetting to be careful, ramming in as deep as he can before biting his lip and stilling. Even when, after, Steve is the one to hold Bucky close and whisper sweet nothings. Even then, despite feeling like he ought to hide, Bucky can’t quite feel vulnerable because he knows he’s safe.

So. If she’s completely honest with herself, of all the scenarios she’d imagined she’d never once pictured Rachel leaving. If anything it was her she’d thought would do the walking… but then nothing about last night was what Cassie expected it to be. She gave up over-analysing ten years ago, though; and besides, she’s got what she wanted. She’s won Schwimmer over and had some mind blowing sex in the process (another thing she didn’t anticipate; Schwimmer actually knowing how to get her off), and with absolutely no consequences to it. So she makes herself a strong coffee and goes for a run with absolutely nothing she wants to think about. * Lucian comes over two days later bearing Christmas gifts. “Oh my god,” Cassie laughs, as she pulls out a volume of old off-cuts from stage photos, all with the performers caught in awkward and often compromising poses that evidently didn’t make the final cut. “Lucian this is amazing,” she tells him, thumbing through the photos. And somehow, seeing so many Broadway fuck-ups in one place, something untwists a little bit inside of her, just for a moment. “Ok,” she says excitedly, turning to him with a mischievous grin on her face. “Close your eyes.” Lucian eyes her warily, but does so anyway. Cassie reaches for something under the coffee table, and hands it to him. “Ahh!” Lucian screams when he opens his eyes, laughing hysterically. Cassie bursts into giggles, clasping her hands at her mouth as Lucian pulls on a knitted sweater with I <3 Lapdances woven in. “Please, please wear that on the Subway home,” she asks him earnestly. Lucian snorts. “Uh ,no, I don’t think so. But I will wear it to The Alley on Christmas Eve…” he says temptingly. “I said maybe,” Cassie reminds him, pouring them both some more egg nog. “All those Broadway queens, though, especially yours.” “Cassie, our entire circle of friends is Broadway queens,” Lucian says deadpan. “Ex­-Broadway,” Cassie reminds him, sipping her eggnog, and he rolls his eyes. “What about New Years’?” she asks him. “Party. My loft. Bring a date,” he teases, nudging her. “Lucian I may not bring one, but I assure you I will leave with one.” “Yeah, leave, as in, not to my bathroom.” “OK, onetime that happened…” * She goes to the party, because Rachel keeps threatening to inch into her thoughts and she badly needs some alcohol to take the edge off, but drinking alone at Christmas is just sad. When she walks in with Lucian and his boyfriend the whole room stops talking and it’s basically just as horrific as she’d imagined. But then the boyfriend steps forward and in that effortless theatre way greets the entire room in one swoop whilst making it seem like he’s talking to everyone individually. They’re instantly welcomed in and, yeah, sometimes he’s kind of ok, Cassie guesses. Lucian introduces her to some people who don’t actually make her want to claw her own eyes out, and they turn out to be a big fan of drinking games, so the night goes pretty well after that. Seven tequila shots later and she stumbles outside for a moment to smoke, and briefly wonders what Rachel’s doing right now. She’s really, really glad she doesn’t have her number, because she’d probably do something pathetic like call if she did. * She does start to wonder if maybe Rachel didn’t want it as much as she thought she did. She has a brief panic attack a few nights after Christmas Day when she wonders if Rachel’s actually going to report her, but then she remembers her pretty much begging her outside NYADA, and figures she’ll be ok. It’s not like she hasn’t fucked her students before, and this is no different. It’s just sex, and Rachel’s clearly too much of a drama queen to deal with it. It doesn’t mean anything. She’s doing pretty well at ignoring the pesky emotions bothering her every time she goes to sleep, until Rachel turns up at her loft on New Years’ Eve. * So Rachel’s drunk. Not so much that she’s actually incapable of standing or making decisions, but she’s still underage and she’s currently running her fingers through her hair and licking her lips and flirting shamelessly, and Cassie wonders how she’s reached a level where she’s plying her students with alcohol to get them to sleep with her. (Except that’s clearly what Rachel turned up here for, and so really Cassie’s just plying herself…) They’re kind of dancing on the precipice, and Cassie briefly considers taking Rachel to the party with her. But then Lucian calls and he’s off his ass drunk, enough so that he won’t be mad at Cassie for blowing their plans off at the last minute. On New Years’ Eve. To stay home with Schwimmer. Cassie glances at her bed, and memories of Rachel writhing around on it underneath her come flooding back, and she’s basically sold after that. * She definitely did not expect to begin 2013 with Rachel draped across her body, a satisfied smile playing across her lips as she snores ever so slightly. Cassie runs her hands through her hair lightly, chuckling to herself, because it is kind of funny. She looks sort of cute when she sleeps; probably because she’s stopped talking for more than thirty seconds. (She can’t help the slight bittersweet pang that she hasn’t woken up alone again.) “Schwim,” she says softly, running a hand along her shoulder, because Rachel’s skin is kind of glowing in the morning light. Rachel stays fast asleep. “Schwi-im,” she sing-songs, and Rachel murmurs, eventually peeling an eye open. For a split-second Cassie’s heart freezes in panic at how fucking awkward this might be. “Oh god,” Rachel groans, bringing a hand up to her temples. “I feel horrific.” “You are such a lightweight,” Cassie tells her, rolling her eyes, but she’s smiling. It’s pretty funny seeing someone else wake up like a bear with a sore head when it’s usually her heaving over the toilet seat in the morning. “Are you gonna hurl?” Cassie asks, and Rachel shakes her head, and then winces. “Good,” Cassie says, and watches happily as the fingers she trails up Rachel’s spine draw out goosebumps. “Because I think I know how to make you feel better…” Rachel perks up at that, and slides seductively up Cassie’s body with a mischievous look in her eye. Schwimmer’s over-enthusiasm is as grating as nails on a fucking chalkboard in every other aspect of life, but it never fails to render Cassie momentarily speechless at how goddamn sexy it is in her bed. “Hmm, that would be a first,” Rachel tells her, and slips her tongue into Cassie’s mouth before she can verbalise her outrage. It really shouldn’t be so good, both of them sweaty and sticky and stinking of alcohol and also completely sober; but Cassie feels that familiar warmth kindle in the pit of her stomach as Rachel’s skin slides against hers and she starts to lose it all over again. She’s so glad she’s still here. When she rolls Rachel over and looks down to see her smiling up at her, she’s so happy she just stops, just for a moment, to grin right back. Cassie takes her time this time round, and god it’s so worth it, watching Rachel writhe and scream in frustration as she pushes her to the brink and then pulls her back again. Really, it’s a great fucking start to 2013. * She’s basically OK as long as she doesn’t think about the reasoning behind Rachel turning up at her loft on New Year’s Eve, just to see her. They spend the morning in bed, intermittently dosing off, until Cassie suddenly realises she’s absolutely famished and gets up to go in search of some food. (She doesn’t usually eat anything more than fruit, especially at this time of day, but maybe she’s just worked up an appetite over the last twelve hours, or maybe she’s feeling content enough to eat a proper breakfast. Who knows.) “So, I guess I’ll just…” Rachel says awkwardly as Cassie pulls on her robe, and she looks round to see Rachel wrapping a sheet round her and rolling out of bed. Cassie freezes, because this is exactly why she never has people stay over. Then she kind of shrugs, and says, “Well I’m gonna make some breakfast,” and hurries out the room before she has to look at Rachel’s face. She’s not opposed to Rachel staying – a whole day of sex is pretty fucking appealing, frankly – but she doesn’t want to give her the idea this is some kind of thing. Because it’s not; it’s just an extension of the power struggle they’ve been dancing together all semester. She butters some toast kind of agitatedly, biting her lip, and then heaves an aggravated sigh. “Schwim?” she calls. “Yeah?” She walks back over to her room and pokes her head around the door, where Rachel is still semi-naked, and, yeah, that kind of firms her resolve. “I don’t even know if there any taxis running today so – do you want to come… join me in the shower?” Rachel blushes and smiles at the same time, and it’s both incredibly cute and incredibly sexy, so Cassie crooks a finger at her and leads her across the hallway into her bathroom, slipping off her robe as she goes. * She lets Rachel stay, after that, because it’s fucking New Years’ Day, and she’s not a bitch without reason. Rachel doesn’t have any clothes except the ones she came in, though - which stink of rum and sex – and the look of happiness on her face when Cassie offers her some of her lounge wear makes Cassie’s stomach drop. “Look, Schwimmer,” she says awkwardly, trying not to stare at Rachel’s appealingly half-naked body as she gets dressed (and seriously, she’s basically spend the past twelve hours learning how to play Rachel’s body like a harp and she should be fucking over it by now, so how is she still getting tingles in the pit of her stomach?). “This just for the holidays, OK? Then you can go back to running after whatever hunk of meat you’re into right now or whatever,” she says dismissively, shoving her hands in her the pockets of her yoga pants. Rachel stills so suddenly it makes Cassie’s breath catch, and the look of hurt on her face wrenches Cassie’s heart so hard for a moment she wishes she could take the words back. Especially the second part. (And she knows she’s kidding herself if she thinks Rachel doesn’t see straight through her attempted apathy to the jealousy underneath.) But then Rachel straightens her spine and says in what is clearly an attempt at light-heartedness, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal one of your keys to cut when you’re not looking.” Cassie’s heart still hurts, but she can’t help but kind of smile at that. “I’m gonna make some lunch,” she tells her, a lot more softly now, and then leaves Rachel to finish getting dressed. They eat lunch on opposite ends of the couch, watching a movie far too optimistic for Cassie’s liking, and end up sort of nestling up there for the rest of the afternoon. Rachel gives a running commentary for most of what they watch – because this feel good shit is obviously right up her street – and it’s slightly more endearing than it is annoying. And Rachel has a way of almost instantly evaporating any awkwardness in the air that Cassie kind of admires. (She wonders when she actually started considering Rachel as less uptight than her, and sort of chuckles to herself.) By late afternoon she’s starting to feel a little stiff, and so quietly slides off the couch and pulls out her yoga mat from underneath, then begins to stretch. She’s mostly just stretching flatly across and between her legs at the start, but then she flips onto her back and pulls her leg up to near her head and Rachel glances over. She catches Cassie’s eye and looks away again quickly, licking her lips as she focuses resolutely on the television. Cassie smirks. She sighs loudly as she slides onto her side and pulls her leg back up towards her, and when Rachel glances over a second later her gaze lingers on Cassie’s crotch. “Schwim?” Cassie says slowly. “Mm?” squeaks Rachel, and a slight blush spreads across her cheeks. Cassie beckons her lightly over with her head, and Rachel slips off the couch and over to her in about two seconds flat. She slides her hand up to press on Cassie’s leg, and it’s basically a mirror situation of Rachel’s apology to her all those weeks ago. Except now Rachel’s touch is firm and confident in a way that suggests she knows what she wants, and the darkness in her eyes as she holds Cassie’s gaze confirms that. Rachel’s the one pushing, now, figuring out what makes Cassie tick. She’s still hesitant, even as she slides her other hand up Cassie’s inner thigh, watching with a heaving chest and wide eyes to see how Cassie reacts. She gives the impression of a girl who’s finally being allowed to touch when she could previously only look, and who’s watching and waiting just as much as Cassie to see where this new twist is going to take them. “Schwimmer,” she sighs, as Rachel finally moves her hand to cup Cassie’s crotch. She rubs slowly across the material, and Cassie’s eyes flutter closed as she purrs contentedly. Rachel pulls back her extended leg and nudges her gently to the floor, and Cassie smiles. “I’m so glad you’ve finally learnt to take what you want, Schwimmer,” Cassie says in a throaty voice, her head tipping back as Rachel continues to rub at her dampening crotch. “What makes you think I’ve wanted this all along?” Rachel asks innocently. Cassie tips her head up briefly to raise an incredulous eyebrow, but then Rachel presses particularly hard with her fingers and her head tips back to the floor with a loud groan. “You think I didn’t notice how flushed you got every time I touched you?” Cassie gasps, as Rachel’s fingers speed up, and her other hand moves to slide Cassie’s top up over her stomach. “Or you licking your lips at me in the mirror whilst you checked out my ass?” “You were just as bad,” mumbles Rachel, as she dips her head down to lick Cassie’s belly button. Cassie hisses and arches into her, wrapping a leg around Rachel’s body. “I was- oh god,” Cassie cries, as Rachel slips a hand underneath her yoga pants and pushes two fingers inside her without any preamble. “You were what, Cassandra?” as she mimics Cassie’s favourite kind of torture by dragging her curled fingers out achingly slowly. “I was not as bad as you,” is the only response Cassie can come up with, as Rachel begins to fuck her with a smug smile on her face. “You were thoroughly inappropriate,” she says in an incredibly prim voice, just as she rams her fingers back into her and it’s so hot Cassie screams. “Oh my god, Rachel, more!” But Rachel doesn’t oblige; instead she tugs Cassie’s pants and underwear roughly down her legs and Cassie’s just about to protest when Rachel dips her head down and licks long and deep. A cry rips from Cassie’s throat as she opens her legs wider and simultaneously wraps them tighter around Rachel. She’s such a fucking tease, licking slowly and hungrily over Cassie’s labia but never quite where wants. Cassie’s legs are trembling and the ache between her thighs is building so much she wants to scream. “Schwimmer for christ’s sake it’s called a clit and it’s right there!” Rachel stops completely to look up and glare at her, and she growls. “Schwimmer!” Then Rachel moves her head back down and runs her tongue over Cassie’s clit before sucking hard, and Cassie nearly loses it, shaking and writhing shamelessly against Rachel’s face. Rachel keeps licking and sucking, hands firmly on her hips to hold her down as she drives Cassie to the brink with more hungry determination than Cassie’s ever experienced in her life. “Rachel,” she gasps, crying, and then loses it completely, her hips bucking against Rachel’s face as her body spasms in pleasure. When she comes down, Rachel is sitting watching her, a smug smile settling over her glistening mouth. * Rachel stays the night again, and Cassie allows herself one last weakness and lets Rachel nestle into her side, wrapping her arms tightly around her. She feels her thoughts calm as Rachel snores softly, and having her there is so inexplicably soothing. When she wakes up, the bed next to her is empty. Her stomach drops, but then she hears the trinkling of the shower next door, and the tell-tale sounds of Rachel’s vocal warm-ups, clearly at a failed attempt at a muted level. Cassie resists the urge to join her, because then they’ll just end up right back at the beginning, and she needs to stop whatever this thing is before it gets out of hand. Instead, she pulls on some lounge wear and goes to make herself a strong coffee. She doesn’t feel like eating anything at all, so she sits at the kitchen counter and sips at her drink. The boiling liquid burns down her throat, and it’s a nice reminder of reality. Rachel appears about half an hour later, anxiously running her hands through her hair as she makes her way over to Cassie. “I’ve left your stuff on your bed. Thanks,” she says, with a small smile. “No problem, Schwim.” “Well… have a good holiday,” Rachel tells her. She hesitates, biting her lip, then all of a sudden moves round to the side of the counter and brushes her lips against Cassie’s cheek. Then before Cassie can even turn to look at her she walks away and out of the loft, leaving a faint smell of shampoo in her wake. Cassie bites her own lip, hard, and doesn’t stop until she realises she’s drawn blood. * Rachel doesn’t disappear from her thoughts for the rest of the week. She doesn’t even come close. She pesters her night and day, barging her way into her memories and her dreams, and it really shouldn’t be such a surprise considering what she’s like in real life. Cassie spends most of her time in her studio trying to keep distracted, and the rest of it trying to ease some of the frustration she feels every time she so much as remembers Rachel’s face. (Usually, mid-orgasm, which is basically one of the best things she’s ever seen.) She knows having sex with Rachel again would be a really bad fucking idea, even if she’s not technically her student anymore – and the idea of not seeing Rachel in skimpy dance outfits every other day seems like both heaven and hell at this point – because she’s still a NYADA student, and Cassie’s already ruined one career. It doesn’t stop her considering it in the brief moments before she can push Rachel out of her mind; fantasising about all things she could do to her in her studio, mentally assessing how much they could feasibly get away with without being caught. She is, when it comes down to it, both an incredibly private and an incredibly manipulative person, and she knows there’s nothing she can’t hide if she wants to. (She’s not sure she can say the same for Rachel, though.) * She wakes up on the first day of classes with such an eager sense of anticipation she has to actually stop and talk some sense into herself. Rachel’s not even in her class. And even if she was… She can barely apply her eyeliner straight her hand’s shaking so much, and it’s fucking ridiculous. She’s 90% sure she’s suffering from some kind of withdrawal symptoms, as she’s drunk basically nothing since New Years’. (She tells herself it’s to stop herself from doing anything stupid with Rachel, but the reality is she just doesn’t want to forget what happened.) She doesn’t even bother with breakfast, and arrives at her studio a full half hour early, sipping nervously on a coffee whilst she absent-mindedly runs through some choreography. Her class start to arrive, and they’re pretty much the same few who managed to survive Dance 101 to the end of the semester, plus a couple of new students who clearly have no idea what they’ve let themselves in for. Rachel’s room mate isn’t one of them, she notes happily, because she’d rather not have a big fucking reminder of Schwimmer in her class every day when Schwimmer herself isn’t actually there. She’s just about to start warm-up when the door opens and suddenly Rachel swans into the studio. Cassie’s heart legitimately skips a beat and then starts thudding away twice as fast as normal, and she looks away before her face does anything without her permission. “Sorry I’m late!” says Rachel breathlessly as she hurries across to the window. Is she actually fucking kidding. “I didn’t think you’d be gracing us with your presence this semester, Schwimmer,” Cassie says in what she hopes is a casual voice. “Well, you’ve taught me so much, Miss July,” Rachel tells her as she turns round, and smiles sweetly. That little shit. Cassie’s eyes narrow as she turns away, and she ignores the bolt of lightning straight to her groin at those words. “Alright, let’s go! Start warming up people. Let’s start with some pliés, as I’m sure you’ve all forgotten everything you learnt last semester over Winter Break. Don’t let me see your turn out slip in fifth!” She wanders around the class for a few minutes, lazily waving her cane and barking criticisms at her students as she tries to think how to best deal with Rachel. She’s trying to stifle her first reaction, which is basically throw her up against a wall and slide her hands underneath her leotard, but it’s really fucking hard, because Rachel is wearing shorts so tiny she can actually see the bottom of her ass cheeks. She sidles up behind her silently, and Rachel jumps as she feels Cassie’s chest brush against her hair as she leans in to whisper, “Do you think this is funny, Schwimmer?” “I simply felt I still had more to learn from this class,” Rachel whispers back primly, and that voice sends her straight back to lying on the floor with Rachel between her legs. She closes her eyes for a moment. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you, Schwimmer,” she growls, and Rachel visibly shivers. She does exactly that, because no way is she going to stop a couple of (mind blowing) orgasms stop her from doing her job. And yeah, she tones down the insults to an only reasonably brutal level, but it seems only fair after she’s become so well acquainted with how well Rachel can actually move her body, when she tries. It’s still goddamn torture, though, and she spends most of the lesson coming to the decision that Rachel is just going to have to learn to keep her fucking mouth shut or something, because there is not a chance in hell she can make it through the next semester without ripping those ridiculously revealing leotards off her. (And it’s better for both of them, frankly, that that happens in private.) She slams the door shut on the last student and clumsily locks it, before she turns round to where Rachel is lingering by her desk, smiling seductively in a way that frankly should be illegal. “You are such a pain in my ass,” Cassie growls, marching towards her. Rachel lets out a teasing laugh before Cassie throws her onto the desk, wrapping an arm around her neck to crash their mouths together. Her hands slide over Rachel’s body, squeezing at her breasts as she slips her knee in between Rachel’s thighs. “Why did you come back?” she asks through breathless kisses up Rachel’s neck. “I wasn’t ever planning on going,” Rachel gasps, and Cassie pulls back to look at her in shock for a moment, and sees the mischievous glint in Rachel’s eyes. Her mouth tightens into a thin line, and she pushes Rachel’s shorts aside and slides her fingers inside Rachel. “Oh!” she cries, her head tipping back in pleasure as she thrusts her hips against Cassie’s hand. Cassie fucks her relentlessly, wrapping one hand through her hair to kiss her roughly as the other works furiously between her legs. Rachel moans and whimpers into her mouth, and she’s so uninhibited with Cassie now that she just gets more and more sexy every time this happens. Her cries start to echo round the dance studio as she gets closer and closer, and Cassie spares a brain cell to think how obvious this must sound to anyone who happens to be outside. She shoves her spare hand against Rachel’s mouth, and it’s just in time because then Rachel falls apart, her screams muffled by Cassie’s palm as she shakes against her. Then Cassie hears it; the click of heels and the slow turn of the door handle. She reacts instinctively, pulling Rachel violently off the table and into hold, and whirling her round the floor. When the door opens and a couple of students walk in, Cassie looks over and stops them. She keeps one arm wrapped tightly around Rachel, who is nearly collapsing breathlessly onto the floor, but to the students standing nervously in the doorway it’s merely because of a particularly energetic dance session. “I’m sorry, did you want something?” Cassie asks archly. “I’m just showing one of my students the finer points of the tango.” “No, sorry Miss July, we thought this room was free,” says one of the students quickly, before they turn and hurry away, closing the door behind them. Rachel sags against Cassie, who lets out a relieved sigh. “Shit,” she says, still gasping for breath. She glances down at Rachel, who looks so thoroughly fucked she wonders whether she’s about to be reported. “Shit,” she says again. * Cassie doesn’t have class with Rachel on Tuesday this semester, so she doesn’t see her for another couple of days. She deliberates for a full two hours on actually ending whatever this is with Rachel, but when she catches a whiff of her perfume on her clothes and her crotch actually aches, she accepts that this is going to happen whether she likes it or not. Rachel hangs back after class again the next day, looking a little unsure. “Look, Schwimmer,” Cassie begins awkwardly. “We nearly got caught the other night, so, you know, if we’re gonna do this on the regular I think we should relocate to my loft.” Rachel’s eyes light up in excitement. “Oh my god, are we having an illicit affair?!” she says in an overly-dramatic whisper, and actually fucking claps her hands. Cassie closes her eyes for a moment. “OK, first of all, do not clap like a seal if you ever want to see me naked again,” Cassie says dryly, and Rachel sobers, nodding. (It briefly occurs to her that if she now has sex as a weapon, maybe Rachel will be less of a fucking pain in her ass in class.) “And you should probably give me your number or something,” Cassie continues. “I can’t just have you turning up at my loft whenever.” “I do actually have a life, you know,” Rachel informs her, but grudgingly accepts Cassie’s phone anyway. “Trolling Broadway chat rooms for mentions of Barbra’s latest whereabouts is not a life, Schwimmer,” says Cassie dryly as Rachel types in her number. Rachel glares at her, handing back the phone as Cassie smirks. “I’ll call you,” she says with a wink, before sauntering past Rachel and whacking her on the ass as she leaves.

The new semester was just underway and Wendy felt like being naughty. Wendy K is an attractive, married white female in her Mid-50s. She's 5'6", 129 lbs., with brown eyes and short auburn hair. She's a retired college guidance counselor. She and her husband live only blocks away from the main campus. Her husband is a projects engineer for a major corporation and has to go out of town for business quite a bit. During her time at the college, Wendy secretly developed a liking for young men. She initially expressed her desire with "innocent" flirting. Next, she intentionally began wearing low-cut blouses and short skirts during her counseling sessions, and flashing her lacy undergarments. Then she decided it would be more fun if she wore NO undergarments. Eventually this included mild touching -- a hug or a small kiss. This finally evolved into blowjobs, fondling and fingering during counseling sessions or after hours in a secluded parking lot. Just prior to retiring, when her husband's company projects took him away more often and for longer stretches, Wendy began arranging secret sex sessions with select male students. She was very particular -- no loud-mouths, obnoxious frat-boys or disrespectful jerks. She only chose young men who were respectful, and above all, discrete. Despite her retirement, Wendy still gave herself access by volunteering at the school. She would offer assistance to the counseling office when the demand was high, which was usually at the start of the new school year. The coming weekend would prove especially advantageous for Wendy. Her husband was about to leave on another business trip and be away for at least 2 weeks. A few days prior Wendy had counseled five young men. Two of them fit her criteria -- intelligent, attractive and discrete. She'd arranged to meet with both young men at a single session earlier that morning. During the meeting she wore a pin-striped, short skirt with a slit that ended just above her thigh, along with a matching blazer, silk stockings with garters and 6" high heels. Prior to their arrival she removed her bra and panties, leaving the panties partially "hidden" on the corner of her desk. Both young men arrive on time. Brandon is a sophomore engineering major from the Midwest, he is very tall and has curly red hair and freckles. Jamal is a junior transfer student from the West Coast, he's black, has an athletic build, and is a finance major on a lacrosse scholarship. About 5 minutes into the session, Brandon notices the panties on her desk and nudges Jamal. They look at each other in disbelief and smile. Wendy takes every opportunity to lean forward, cross and un-cross her shapely legs, and lightly and casually touch them as much as possible. Both young men are given generous looks at her erect nipples and smoothly shaved pussy lips. Her intentions are quite obvious and Jamal and Brandon understand. Wendy asks them to come to her home on Saturday afternoon to continue their session. They agree and both leave with hard-ons, looking forward to the weekend. Wendy then locks the office door, removes her skirt and masturbates imagining what could happen. On Saturday morning she drives her husband to the airport. On the trip back home, she stops at her favorite lingerie store and purchases a new red silk robe. She spends the next few hours preparing herself and her house to receive guests. Brandon and Jamal arrive promptly at 2PM. They decided to come together in Jamal's car. Wendy greets them wearing her new ankle-length robe, loosely secured at the waist. Beneath the robe she is only wearing a red-lace thong. She is also wearing her glasses and a string of pearls. Her feet are bare, and her nails and toes are perfectly done in matching red polish. Brandon and Jamal are almost speechless as she hugs and kisses both and leads them into the living room. She offers and serves them drinks, and sits between them on the couch. Subtle small talk ensues for several minutes, as both young men ogle her sexy legs and feet. Wendy then moves things to the next stage and gradually allows her robe to fall open, exposing her beautiful C-cup breasts. She loves the hungry looks in their eyes, and the growing bulges in the fronts of their pants. "Why don't you both get more comfortable," Wendy encourages. "Let's have some fun." It doesn't take long before Brandon and Jamal are removing their clothes. Wendy gets a thrill watching them undress, and soon they are both naked and standing in front of her, with rigid hard cocks aimed at her face. "It's this much better?" she asks, smiling and taking a cock in each hand and stroking, which elicits moans from both young men. Starting with Jamal, she takes his cock into her mouth, giving him an amazing blowjob while still stroking Brandon. She switches after a few minutes. "We can't just let you have all the fun..." Jamal says as he pulls the robe from her shoulders. Brandon sits, and Wendy changes her position to continue sucking him, while allowing Jamal to kneel between her thighs. He removes her thong and applies his tongue to her stiff clit and wet snatch. "Oh wow..." Wendy thinks, impressed with Jamal's pussy-eating skills. She's surprised that a 20-year-old would actually know this much about cunnilingus. The sounds and smells of sucking cock and pussy soon fills the room. "Oh fuck...!" Brandon cries out after several long minutes. Wendy knows he's about to cum and doubles her efforts by taking his cock to the back of her throat. Brandon's thighs tense and he firmly grasps her head and begins fucking her mouth. After several hard thrusts he shoots steady streams of hot semen into her throat. Wendy swallows every drop and continues to hold him in her mouth and suck until she feels Brandon's cock begin to go soft. The lower half of Jamal's face is covered in her juices as he continues to masterfully eat her out. Wendy is getting really close to (her first) climax. "Oh, baby -- I need that beautiful dick..." Wendy tells him. She loves to cum with a hard cock inside her, so she has Jamal lay on the plush carpet and then mounts him. Wendy takes the young black man deep inside her and vigorously rides him, with her ass slapping rhythmically against his thighs, as he thrusts up into her. "Oh, fuck yes...!" Wendy squeals minutes later at the top of her lunges. A delicious orgasm overtakes her and she creams all over Jamal's still throbbing dick. They are both soaked in sweat. "Let's get you settled..." she pants after a brief rest, slowly removing herself. Her thighs still tremble slightly as she lays between his legs and takes his hard, sticky member into her hands. Wendy resumes her enthusiastic blowjob. Jamal is delighted raising up on his elbows and watching her head bob up and down. "Mind if I join in?" a renewed Brandon asks a few minutes later, rubbing a finger along her sensitive slit. Without breaking her attention to Jamal, Wendy raises and angles her hips and spreads her thighs, so he can enter her from behind. "Omigod...he's so thick..." Wendy moans softly as he slowly inserts himself. Brandon takes a firm grip of her hips and applies steady thrusts. After only a few minutes of pounding she can already feel the faint itch of another orgasm starting to build. Jamal is ready to cum, and begins thrusting into Wendy's mouth, while holding her head in place. "Aw shit, yeah...I'm cummin'..." he announces. Seconds later several streams of cum fill her mouth. This is a lot more than she was expecting and most of it spills and dribbles down her chin. They all pause for a moment to clean up. When they return Wendy lays on the couch with her legs spread. "We have some unfinished business, young man..." she says, smiling at Brandon who is still fully erect. He returns the smile as he gladly lays on top of her, entering her again. They vigorously fuck for a while as Jamal watches them while resting in a chair just a few feet away. He feels himself getting aroused again as he finishes the last of his beer. "Gonna cum!" Brandon grunts, with his face buried into her neck and shoulder. "Yes...give it to me..." Wendy moans, "Cum inside me..." "Of fuck..." he groans as he strains and shakes while he unloads into her. They both clean up and refill their drinks a few minutes later. "Are you ready for more...?" Wendy says to Jamal as she returns sipping her 2nd glass of wine. "Ready when you are." He replies smiling. Wendy finishes her wine and leans in and kisses him. Her hand finds his cock and firmly strokes his renewed hard-on. "I love this good, black cock..." she whispers in his ear, as she straddles him. He guides himself inside her again and she begins grinding and humping. Jamal places his hands beneath her ass and thighs and leans forward. Wendy wraps her arms around his neck and shoulders as he suddenly stands while she is still bouncing on his cock. "Alright, bro!" Brandon cheers returning to the room with his beer. "Fuck that slut silly...!" Jamal begins ferociously pounding Wendy. Her legs and feet flop around as if she was a ragdoll, and her glasses go askew before falling from her face. She has never been fucked like this before -- Wendy is surprised, delighted and overwhelmed. "You like this black dick banging' you like this...?" Jamal hisses, as sweat pours down his face. "Is this what your white pussy needs...?" Wendy can only moan in reply. When she eventually cums, she cums really hard. "Fuck me...!" she screams as she creams on his cock for the second time. She tightly wraps her arms and legs around him as spasms and convulsions overtake her. "You good now...?" Jamal pants slowing his pace. She moans and nods still unable to speak. He lowers Wendy onto the couch, firmly grasps the back of her head and aims his cock at her mouth. She takes him in and does her best to finish him off. "Aw shit...!" Jamal gasps as he begins to blast a second load of cum. This time Wendy allows most of it to spray across her neck and breasts. Her pearls are coated and sticky. "You're the fuckin' man!" Brandon says fist-bumping Jamal. They all laugh and clean up. "Well, gentlemen," Wendy addresses them a while later. "We must definitely get together and do this again." Brandon and Jamal agree. After they have left Wendy begins making plans for their next encounter.

All individuals are of legal ages. Wendy checked the look in the mirror. It was an obscene bikini, little more than three tiny triangles and some string. She turned this way and that, excitement a thrill down in her pussy. It was less than twenty-four hours since her husband's car had moved down the street away from the house, time enough for Wendy to get herself serviced by two twenty-year-old boys. It had been hours of fucking and sucking their long black dicks. Wendy had taken André and Jordan to her neighbor's house, putting on a show for the perv next door until she was certain her husband's flight was in the air. After that, she'd entertained the boys in her home. It had been debauchery, cheating sex in the marital bed after sucking their cocks in the living room. Those boys, two fine physical examples of youth and stamina, had fucked Wendy in every position she asked for. It had been doggy style, missionary, Wendy riding one while she sucked the other one deep, the cockhead hallway into her gullet as she deep-throated the length, pussy tight around the other shaft, orgasms rolling at her in waves. It had gone on until the early hours. It ended when Wendy had milked the boys' balls dry three times. Wendy took them as a pair and singly, taking a fucking from one while the other watched and rested, her libido snarling and hungry, cum on her breasts, her face, and in her hair. She took their final offering into her pussy, two loads of semen within when Wendy had finally settled to sleep at four in the morning. She was wide awake by 11 a.m. Wendy sipped coffee, wanting the time to move quicker, pussy ready for more young cock. Wendy showered and teased her short auburn hair dry before she covered her breasts and vulva with the tiniest string bikini she owned. "Oh my God, you're such a nasty fucking slut," Wendy grinned. She was wearing the four-inch heels to exaggerate the length of her legs, the tension in her calves aesthetically pleasing. "A Las Vegas hooker," Wendy said. She crinkled her nose at her reflection, devilment in the look as she thought about what the pool boy was going to see. Wendy knew she was going to have to go in hard. He was a shy one, a possibility he could bolt if Wendy gave him time to think too much. It was going to require a move as soon as he arrived, a quick, hot seduction where Wendy had the cock inside her before the boy even reached the side of the pool. It was an advantage that the yard was so private. Nobody to witness a mature lady on her knees sucking on a youngster's cock. Wendy was hot for sex, body trembling, pussy clenching with need despite the pounding she had taken during the night. She looked at her phone and groaned with anticipation because he was due in five minutes. He arrived three minutes early. Wendy felt the excitement surge within when she heard the side gate close. "Okay, let's go," she said to herself. The boy gawked when Wendy strode onto the patio. He stared at Wendy, mouth slack as he took it in. Wendy moved in close, heels peck-peck-pecking the patio as she looked at his face. He was just so right for her: nineteen, tall, blonde surfer-dude hair. "Oh, hi," Wendy smiled. She got even closer and pressed her hand against the boy's shorts. "Maybe leave the pool 'til later? I've got something else in mind for you right now," Wendy put in. The boy gasped and spluttered: "Mrs. K? What the fu--?" Wendy squeezed the cock. "You see me in this bikini?" The boy gulped. He nodded quickly, face slack with surprise. Wendy asked: "You like it?" "Uh-huh ... It's kinda small," the boy said. "That's the idea," Wendy put in. She squeezed the cock again, tugging the shorts to get them down to the boy's thighs. His underwear went down too. The cock sprang out. Wendy chuckled and took hold of the dick. "Yes, you do like this little bikini," she sighed. The boy gulped again as Wendy caressed his length. She looked at the cock, excitement squeezing inside. She set her attention on the boy's face, hand working slowly. Wendy moved in, pressing her front against the boy's body. She kissed his mouth, quick and hard, tongue slipping past his lips and teeth. The boy just stood there and took the kiss for a couple of seconds until Wendy broke away. She murmured: "You're hard. Would you like me to do this 'til you come?" "Mrs. K ... you're married," he muttered. Wendy snorted and chuckled. She rolled her eyes and stroked the length. "That's what makes it hot for me. I love fucking when my husband's away." She looked down at the cock, thrilled by its steel, the bulb purple and swollen. "I think I want this thing inside me. I think I want you to fuck me," Wendy breathed. "But it's wrong," the boy said. Wendy grinned at him. She nodded. "That's why it's fun." "Will we get in trouble?" The boy groaned it out, eyes closing as his hips started to move. Wendy's hand moved faster over the size of his dick. "No, we won't get in trouble. Nobody's here. Nobody can see. I'll jerk you off and then you can get to work on the pool..." Wendy's squeezed the cock, her other hand dipping into the bikini briefs, tuft at the apex of her slit soft against her palm. She teased her clit, gasping as she ducked in to kiss the boy. He moaned into Wendy's open mouth, tongue swirling with Wendy's when he returned the kiss. The kissing and the way the boy was fucking her fist told Wendy she had him. It had worked. Moving in fast on the cock had pushed the boy past any reluctance and conflict. He was one of the good ones. The kind Wendy liked. He was nicely presented and polite. Respectful. Not arrogant or pushy. He was a good-looking boy with a hard cock, passion flaring as the kiss rolled on. The kiss broke. The boy dared to touch. He was working his dick through Wendy's fingers, one hand on her breasts as he mauled tit-flesh. "You're incredible. You've got a terrific body," the boy gasped. It thrilled Wendy to hear it. She asked: "You like older ladies?" The boy nodded, attention on Wendy's breasts. He glanced at her face, focus going back to Wendy's boobs. "Yeah, I kinda didn't but now I do," the boy said. Wendy blurted a laugh. "Didn't think I'd be such a nasty slut, did you, huh?" The boy shook his head and groaned: "No, Mrs. K. No way." "Shocked you, did I? Took you by surprise coming out here in my little bikini. Didn't expect me to grab your cock?" The boy gulped, the cockhead leaking pre-cum as Wendy's hand kept moving over the length. "I ... I always thought you were a nice lady. Quiet," he mumbled. Wendy chuckled and crinkled her nose at the boy, expression vixen. She nodded and said, "Uh-huh. I know. That's what I want people to think. I want everyone to think I'm just a boring, married lady with time on her hands and a husband who works away..." Wendy sighed and worked faster at the boy's size. She looked at the cock and rubbed at her clit, gasping as the sensations went through her. Wendy kissed the boy again, putting some heat into the act, sensing the boy was close to his peak. The kiss broke. Wendy focused her attention on the cock. She said, "But this is who I am. I'm the cheating slut who wears a skimpy bikini and heels so I can get fucked by the pool boy." Wendy kissed the boy again and added, "You want to fuck me, baby? Do you want to have me out here? I'll give you the pussy. I'll suck your dick ... You can fuck me bareback ... Is that something you think you'd like?" The boy was going at Wendy's fist, his hands moving over her body, his eyes on her breasts and her face. "Uh, Mrs. K," he groaned. And then ejaculate spat from his dick. *** Wendy watched the boy work. She went naked except for the heels, a straw hat with a black band around the crown, sunglasses, and her wedding ring. The boy was naked, too. He worked at the pool, glancing at Wendy now and then, long cock close to full tumescence while Wendy relaxed on a recliner, pussy hot for the sex. Wendy called, "You almost done?" The boy paused and looked at her. "Couple of minutes, Mrs. K," he said. Wendy smiled at him. Then she grabbed her phone--the dirty phone, the one her husband didn't know about. Wendy's fingers moved over the keys. She sent a message to the neighbor. >pool boy is here. I was gonna bring him over but he's shy. Maybe another time. "I think you're done there," Wendy called out to him. The boy looked across, his expression showing a mix of feral need and fear. "It's time for you to bring that cock over here. It's time for you to taste my pussy," Wendy added. She saw the boy's eyes go round and huge, face slack as he nodded. He asked: "Mrs. K, are you sure...?" Wendy spread her thighs to show the boy her vulva. It was a deliberate taunt, a lewd exhibition designed to counter the boy's conflict. She said, "Does this look like I've got doubts?" The boy's throat worked as he stared at Wendy. Wendy saw the cock twitch. "Come kiss my slutty pussy," Wendy added. She slid a finger through her labia, left hand, wedding flashing. "This bitch wants that big cock," Wendy sighed. Her hips jerked like she was fucking a cock, finger slipping over her clit as Wendy excited herself. "Come on. I'm hot and wet for you. Let's have some fun." The boy moved around the pool. As he got closer, Wendy sat up, attention on the cock and dangling balls. Wendy rubbed her clit and reached for the dick. "I'll suck you," she muttered. The boy nodded, groaning when Wendy jacked the length for three or four strokes. She took the hat off and then ducked in to suck at her bulb. "Ah, Mrs. K," the boy moaned. Wendy sucked and slurped. She slobbered at the bulb, cranking the cock down near the boy's balls, taking the length in deep so she could glug at the thing. She gasped and spluttered when her mouth came off the boy's size. Wendy grinned up at his face, hand moving over the cock, the shaft greasy with Wendy's saliva. "Little trick I taught myself," Wendy said. "Mrs. K, shit, you're incredible," the boy put in. Wendy chuckled, then asked, "Want to fuck my married pussy?" "Does your husband really not know?" Wendy shook her head, hand moving over the cock. "No. And neither did the one before him. I was widowed and married again. I've been cheating for fifteen years. My husband's away. A lot. This is what I do." Wendy said it and then let go of the cock. She eased onto the recliner, legs wide, and pointed to her pussy. "Okay, I jerked you off 'til you came. I've sucked your dick. Time for you to service me properly. Lick my twitching cunt." Wendy felt the thrill of excitement when she saw the boy's face register shock at the obscenity. "That's such a nasty word," Wendy muttered. The boy was on his way down to his knees. "But I'm in that kind of mood," Wendy added. She held herself splayed; neat labia pinned back with the tips of her fingers to expose her scarlet core. "Treat me right and, well, this could be a regular thing," Wendy said. The boy stared at Wendy's opening for several long seconds. Wendy could see the awe behind his eyes. "Go on, honey," she breathed. The boy nodded and then ducked in, tongue wriggling into Wendy's opening. "Yes, baby, I love it," she moaned. It went on for a while. Wendy moaned and gasped, fingers in the boy's thick, fair hair as he worked his tongue over Wendy's vulva. He sucked at her clit and slid a finger into Wendy's pussy. She gasped and squirmed, depravity pouring out of Wendy's mouth as she went for her orgasm. "Uh-huh, get me there, baby," Wendy sobbed. The boy was working hard at her pussy, tongue busy over slippery, excited flesh while Wendy mauled her own breasts, recliner shunting and shifting as Wendy's hips moved. She came. Wendy's climax hit her, the judders strong through her body and limbs, her own fingers stirring her insides as Wendy took control from the boy. As Wendy writhed and let the orgasm take her, the boy stood up, gazing at Wendy, his hand moving over his length. The mayhem ceased. Wendy calmed and sucked in oxygen. She looked at the boy and saw his hand on the cock. Then Wendy offered herself. She spread her legs, folding them at the knees, her eyes on the boy's face. "Put that in. Time to give my pussy that big fucking dick of yours." The boy groaned. "Come here, baby," Wendy urged. He got onto the recliner with Wendy. Both of them shifted around. The boy moved in closer, one hand supporting his weight while he aimed the big bulb at Wendy's body. The cockhead nudged Wendy's opening. She gasped when the dome slid past the slick resistance at her entrance, pussy stretching to take the length and girth the boy was offering. "Uh-huh, just wait for a second," Wendy moaned. She shifted position, gasping at the length inside her body. "Just let me get used to it," Wendy muttered. "It's tight, Mrs. K," the boy said. "Yes, baby, I know," Wendy gasped. She nodded at the boy, hips moving as a signal she was ready to rut. The boy started to offer his entire length to Wendy's pussy. She groaned when his balls nudged against her butt. "All the way out, honey. Keep the end inside me but I want to feel all that thing slide out." Wendy groaned again, wall-eyed with bliss as the boy's cock slid out and then back in. "Do that a few more times. Then I want you to pound me, baby. Give it to me nice and soft for a few more strokes. Then I want us to fuck really hard." The boy did it for Wendy. She breathed out her pleasure as the silky glide stretched her pussy deep, the action working faster until the boy was on two straight arms, the full force of his fucking slap-thwacking against Wendy, the recliner protesting at the vehemence. It went on until Wendy saw the boy's face was tight with his need. He was staring at Wendy, hips working hard, teeth bared in a silent snarl. The boy's muscles bunched and flexed, biceps bulging as the boy took a white-knuckle ride on the recliner, his cock fucking in and out of Wendy's pussy. "Baby, don't come," Wendy growled. The boy kept on pounding like he wanted to smash Wendy's pubic bone to dust. "No, come on, stop. Let's try it in doggy," Wendy gasped. It took a shove at his shoulder to get him to listen. "Mrs. K," the boy gasped. "Uh-huh, I know, but you'll come and I'm not anywhere near done with you yet," Wendy put in. She felt the void when the cock sipped free. "God, just put it back in," Wendy moaned. She was on her way round to hands and knees, pelvis angled as Wendy offered the pussy, creasing at the waist to look back at the boy. Wendy spread her buttocks, knowing the boy would see the gape of her pussy, excitement surging through her when she saw his expression. "Mrs. K, you've got such a hot body," he muttered. "I take care of it," Wendy said. She pulled harder at her butt, desperate for the boy's size in her pussy again. "I like to look good for young guys like you," Wendy added. The boy was crouching, cock in hand, the dome aimed at Wendy. "Put it in. Hold my waist. Fuck me," Wendy snarled. She sobbed her joy when the cock went in, the boy's size moving, his fingers tight on Wendy's waist. They went on that way for two full minutes. It was all raw fucking for Wendy. She moaned and fucked back against the boy's inward stroke, groaning in delight, a curse bubbling from Wendy when her mobile phone rang. It was her everyday phone, the ringtone a sign her husband was calling. The boy's slid from Wendy's pussy as she moved to take the call. "Hi," Wendy said. She stood up, phone in one hand, the other hand reaching for the boy. "The guy's here doing the pool," Wendy said. She led the boy towards the house, hand on his cock. "Oh, he's working really hard," Wendy said. She braced herself against the wall with one hand, tilting at the waist to angle the pelvis, butt thrust back. The boy took the hint. He moved in, jacking his dick as he offered the dome to Wendy's opening. "Uh-huh, I'll take care of him," Wendy said. The boy held her hips and worked his size in and out. It was divine for Wendy, the pleasure sublime as she held the moan, the boy's hands moving around so he could squeeze Wendy's breasts. "I'll probably swing by the library later," Wendy managed to say. The boy was fucking slowly, giving Wendy the entire length in long, easy strokes. Wendy's head lolled loose, sunglasses clattering to the patio. "Just my sunglasses. I dropped them," Wendy put in. The boy moved faster, cockhead probing deep. Wendy squirmed and swiveled around to look back at him. She signaled with a roll of her eyes that she was loving the pipe. "Hold me. Fuck me hard," she mouthed. The boy got busy, taut stomach slapping Wendy's butt, her flesh jiggling as the boy worked at the rut. "Okay ... I better get going," Wendy said. She held her lower lip between her teeth, a gasp issuing forth. "Yes, miss you, too," Wendy muttered. She ended the call, gasping as the boy went at her pussy, his hands all over Wendy's body as she fucked back onto the cock. "Baby, just keep on fucking like that," Wendy moaned. The perversion bubbled out of Wendy in a babbling rush as she felt the size working within. "I know I'm just a cheating slut... "I just love the cock... "Baby, you're such a great fuck... "You want to service my pussy as well as the pool? "You want to keep this a regular thing when my husband's away?" Wendy's heels pecked the patio as she struggled to stay upright. The boy was going at her pussy with vigorous action, gasps coming from them both, moans and groans of pleasure mixed in with the slapping of skin-on-skin. "Mrs. K ... Fuck, yeah, I wanna do this with you again," the boy muttered. "My husband's paying you to service the pool and his wife ... How do you feel about that?" "I'd do the pool for free if this is what I get," the boy put in. "No, baby, take the money. It makes me hot to know he's giving you cash for using me like this. I love it. I just fucking adore what I do." "Ah, Mrs. K, I can't keep going like this. I just wanna come." It was an effort for Wendy to get off the cock. She was working into her climax, head full of cheating and how she'd offered her pussy to the boy while on the phone with her husband. Wendy was close, pussy clenching, lust smeared on the insides of her thighs. "No ... please ... not yet," Wendy groaned. She felt her pussy twitch as the cock slipped free of her body. "Let's go inside ... My bed ... You can fuck me on my bed." The boy followed Wendy into the house. She saw his dick waggling around, his expression all about feral need, his eyes on her body. Wendy took him to her room, the site where she'd taken the other two during the night. The bed was neat, fresh sheets and cover laid on it, the cum-stained evidence of Wendy's infidelity in the washer. Wendy got on the bed and opened her legs for the boy. She held up her arms and smiled at him. "Okay, so, let's do it this way. I want to kiss. I want to look at your face when you empty yourself inside me." "Mrs. K, is it okay to do it inside you?" The boy was kneeling between Wendy's thighs, cock in his fist. "Baby, I want to feel your cum dripping out of me for the rest of the day. I want to feel it all squishy in my underwear." The boy boggled, eyes wide, mouth slack. "That's so fucking nasty," he groaned. Wendy chuckled, the sound dark and corrupt. "Uh-huh, I know," she sighed. The boy moved in. Wendy took his size. They kissed and took it slow, staring at each other until the boy's face went tight. "Yes, give it all to me. All your cum. I want your seed in there," Wendy gasped. The boy grunted and went up on two straight arms, cockhead in deep as he purged himself of lust. Wendy kissed the boy through his climax, working her fingers over her clit to tease herself to her own writhing climax. *** Wendy didn't bathe when the boy left the house. She put on underwear, pressing a hand against her vulva so the cotton was sodden when the boy's ejaculate slipped from her body. Wendy dressed in blue safari shorts and a blue tank top with a pink flower design. She was in suburban-wife mode. Wendy found her sunglasses on the patio. She checked her phones: no calls from hubby but there was a message from the neighbor on the dirty phone. >did u get a fucking off the boy? Wendy sniggered and then typed out her response. >sure did. I've got his cum inside me now. Wendy's pussy clenched, semen squirting into her briefs when she read the next message. >basement's ready. I can have a couple or three guys for you whenever you want. Wendy sighed and closed her eyes, excitement surging between her legs. "Uh-huh, let's make that a date for tomorrow," she muttered.

On this particular day, Wendy decided to go for a jog through her upscale neighborhood. Changing into her running shorts and top, she looked herself over critically in the mirror. In her mid-fifties, she couldn't let her body go downhill or she would never attract those young guys. Today, however, she liked what she saw in her mirror. Her muscles were toned and her body weighed a slim one-hundred-twenty-nine pounds. On her five-foot-six frame, that looked good. Her ass was nice--round and reasonably firm, and her boobs stuck out nice and firm. They were perfect globes that looked good. She knew from the compliments she always received that there was no problem in that area. They were a perfect 34-C with nice pink nipples if someone needed to know. She had only gone half a block on her run when she ran into Jenny Smith. Jenny was a friendly, buxom, blonde, about forty-five, that would be categorized as a BBW, though an attractive one. At this moment, she was supervising two teen boys unloading her SUV. Wendy recognized one as Jenny's son, Jason, but the other was a well-built black teenager about the same age. That would put at them both about nineteen. They were taking a pair of suitcases out of the vehicle. "Yeah, we do. Nigel here is staying with us for a month as part of an exchange deal with my son, Jason's, water polo team," Jenny replied, pointing to the black teen boy. "My youngest is different than my others. He saw water polo during the Olympics and wanted to do it. Nigel, Jason, come over here and say hi to Wendy," she told the two boys. "Hello Mrs. Kay, I'm Nigel. So pleased to meet you, ma'am," Nigel told her with a cultured English accent, as he too, eyed the attractive Wendy up. "I'm from Manchester, ma'am, so I guess you're right. Except that my family is originally from the Bahamas. My dad transferred to the UK for his banking job and I mostly grew up there," Nigel replied. Jason was also tasty. Of similar size and build to Nigel, it seemed like just yesterday he was a little kid. But now he was all grown up. And very attractive in his own right. Which only added to the stirring in her loins. Wendy continued, "So, do you have a pool to practice in here?" she said, nodding towards the house. "Why don't you two come over and use mine whenever you want? I don't mind," Wendy offered. "It's no trouble whatsoever. In fact, why don't the two of you come to my house tomorrow for lunch and bring your swimsuits," Wendy told them with an inviting smile. Jenny agreed, oblivious to Wendy's flirting with the boys, and a time was settled upon. Then Wendy jogged off with the boys watching and admiring her ass. Laughing, Jason replied, "I'm not sure exactly what you said, but if you mean she has a sexy body and nice tits. I'm with you. Even though she is, like, my mom's age (and he was wrong, she was around ten years older), she is pretty fucking hot!" Nigel was interested, "That is some rumor! Any more rumors about her?" As the boys discussed Wendy's hotness, Wendy was jogging around the block thinking naughty thoughts. Seeing such a hot guy, in Nigel, aroused the full cougar in her. She was already thinking about how delicious Nigel's black cock would be in her mouth, and how it would feel inside her pussy. And that buff body! Wow! For that matter, Jason would be a treat as well. Wendy could feel a three-way coming on, but first, it had to be Nigel. The orgasm shook her body as Wendy exploded from the inside out in a burst of pleasure. Finished, she lay back with her breast heaving from the experience, plotting her next move. The two boys would have to wait until tomorrow, unfortunately. Wendy debated cruising the skate park or the arcade but decided she needed to go shopping to get some items for the upcoming lunch. With her set of Ben-Wa balls inserted into her cunt for pleasure, she set off "Hey, Wendy, do you remember me? DeShaun? How are you doing?" a handsome young black man said to her. DeShaun continued, "I'm grateful for everything you did for me," then, with a gleam in his eye, he added, "And I mean everything." "Well, DeShaun, why don't you meet me in the back of the parking lot, over there by those trees, in your car? I'll drive back there too. I think you deserve a reward for how well you've done if you catch my meaning," Wendy told him in cougar mode, her brown eyes shining. Wendy was not disappointed. This virile young man had a wonderful cock to suck. It filled her mouth nicely, and she was soon rewarded by his grunts and moans as she took him to that special place. Inside her pussy, the Ben-Wa balls were working their magic, exciting her as she sucked his schlong. The taste of his pre-cum was soon in her mouth and his tight balls and moans indicated that soon the white nectar from his black cock was going to fill her mouth. And so it was, as he arched his back, shoving his dick further down her throat as he climaxed. "Fuck yeah, mama, you're the best! Way better than my girlfriend. Did you know that you were the first girl to ever suck my cock? I'm not forgetting you, baby," DeShaun raved as the spurts ceased and he withdrew his penis from her lips. Later that night at the Smith house, Nigel climbed into bed. His thoughts drifted to the older white woman who had stopped and talked to them. Nigel recalled her slim, sexy body, long legs, sweet ass, and delicious baps. The fact that Jason said that it was rumoured that she was a bit randy excited him. He intended to bang an American girl while he was here, but he always imagined it would be one his age. However, the mature woman who chatted them up had an undeniable sex appeal. It was easy to imagine doing a spread with her. Nigel felt the cum well up from his balls and the wonderful release of cumming. His baby batter shot high into the air, coming down to splatter on his chest in an evergrowing mosaic of creamy cum. Satisfied at last, he lay back and hoped that he would get a chance to chat Wendy up and see if she was the high-class slut that she seemed like she was. Drops of pre-cum appeared on Jason's cock head as he stared at the computer image. He could imagine his prick going in and out of Wendy's mature cunt. The only question that he had was if her cunt was shaved or hairy. Soon, he too was nearing orgasm. Beating his meat rapidly, he brought himself to a climax with a gasp. Wendy, that night, was oblivious to the extent of the full sexual impact she had made on these two boys. DeShaun, Nigel, and Jason weren't the only ones masturbating to thoughts of Wendy that night--there were a couple of others as well, that were jerking off to the memory of her and the thought of future sex with her. Wendy was in heaven looking at their muscles and crotch bulges, and even Jenny had some very inappropriate thoughts about Nigel and his bulge--thoughts that she kept to herself. Fucking a young house guest half her age was taboo, but right now Jenny was visualizing his muscular black body and BBC taking her and having his way with her, his cock repeatedly and forcefully fucking her helpless pussy. The fact that she had heard that black guys had big cocks added to her fantasy immensely. She would have been titillated by the fact that Nigel had been surreptitiously eyeing her ample boobs as well. Wendy's bikini cover-up was open in the front row, displaying her firm sexy body and nice tits in a one-piece that showed plenty of cleavage and belly as well, due to it opening up in front to a diamond shape, showing her bare, firm, belly, crisscrossed by the strings of the suit. At other times she would have just worn a bikini, but with Jenny there, she felt she needed to show some decorum. Wendy reminded Nigel of a posh Lady of the Manor, and replied gallantly, "I think you have a body that would make men lose their minds as well, Wendy." "Wendy, you have a right smashing body. Absolutely first-rate. You are very fit and sexy in my book," Nigel replied. Before she let him go, she reemphasized with lingering eye contact, "Especially with me." They finally made their way back to the patio and lunch was served. In the small talk, Nigel mentioned that he wanted to try authentic Mexican food here in America. Wendy immediately mentioned a Mexican restaurant that a friend's husband owned and asked if he want her to take him there for lunch tomorrow. "What about Nigel? I don't mind picking him up and taking him to lunch. Show him some real Mexican food and the best chili verde around, that is if you don't mind?" Wendy offered, always the classy hostess. Nigel was thrilled. After the encounter in the hallway, he knew for sure that the randy Wendy probably had something sexual in mind. Jason was disappointed that he couldn't finagle his way to join them. If what he thought and had seen about her was true, Wendy might be planning to have her way with his friend. "You lucky bastard! I think you're gonna get laid. I told you she was a slut," Jason gushed. Needless to say, once the guys were in their respective beds that night, both again masturbated with Wendy in mind, and once again both of them shot a strong load of cum from their big, hard, young cocks as they orgasmed. Jason rubbed the drying cum on his belly, imagining it was on Wendy's tits. The Smiths were leaving for the dentist when Wendy stopped by in her classic Mustang convertible with the top down. Nigel smiled when he saw Wendy. She looked smashing. Her breasts looked deliciously exposed, promising untold pleasure for his mouth if he got lucky. Her long legs beckoned, leading to hidden pleasure above them. Wendy made menu suggestions and Nigel enjoyed the lunch. She also ordered him a Mexican beer and a glass of wine for herself. Nigel was polite, witty, and well-mannered, but with a hint of the rogue about him. Very classy for someone so young. Nigel was smitten by this rather smashing woman and more than excited about the obvious implications of her flashing her quim at him. He didn't get a great look at it but got the hint loud and clear. "I love it! Just the right amount of spice," Nigel replied. "Have you ever been with an older woman before?" Wendy asked, cutting to the chase. "Well, maybe it's time you gained that experience. Dessert is on me, at my house," she told him. "I think I'm rather done here, in that case. So, if you don't mind, I'm ready for dessert," the black English kid told Wendy. The sight of a framed pic of Wendy and her husband in the hallway gave Nigel pause. The last thing he wanted was to get caught by an angry husband, but Wendy seemed nonplussed. With that Wendy pulled off Nigel's shirt, exposing his well-muscled broad chest, shaved smooth. Next, she deftly removed his shorts and underwear, exposing his large, proud, black cock. It was every bit as big and delicious as Wendy imagined. She would enjoy that one in both mouth and pussy, that was for sure! Wendy slipped her skirt and blouse off quickly, exposing her breasts in the sexy half-cup bra and her hairless pussy outlined in the crotchless panties. Nigel was more than pleased. She exceeded his wildest expectations. If he had known she was ten years older than he guessed, he would have been even more impressed. "Oh my god, Wendy, you're absolutely smashing it! My cock feels so good!" Nigel gasped at what was the best blowjob of his young life. Wendy loved showing off her deep-throat skills. It was something she had practiced extensively using a dildo. However, a real cock was much nicer to have in your mouth and throat. It was hard, yet soft, and so alive! When she began to taste his pre-cum, she knew it was time to move on to the main event. While she loved the taste of cum, today she wanted his seed in her vagina, filling her up with his baby-making cum. With a last kiss to the cock head, she stopped and crawled up on top of him, face to face, her pussy rubbing against his massive member. "I don't have any Johnnys, er, condoms," Nigel blurted out, accidentally using the British term. "I want you to fuck me bareback. I want you to cum in my pussy and fill me with your African seed. I don't care what happens and I don't give a fuck about what my husband will think. But first I want you to eat my pussy. You do eat pussy, don't you?" Wendy inquired. Wendy sat up in bed and reached back, removing her bra, letting her C-cup tits flop free. Before lying on her back and spreading her legs. Nigel liked what he saw. There was something very erotic in the size and shape of this mature woman's jugs. Wisely, Nigel began by kissing Wendy's neck and shoulders before working his way down to her titties. He had been well-trained by his old girlfriend in foreplay, and it showed now, much to Wendy's delight. Exploring Wendy's wet pussy with his free hand, he parted her lips and stuck a finger inside exploratory. Wendy moaned and soon Nigel found her clit and circled it. Obliging, Nigel moved down and put his face into Wendy's bald snatch. He started by licking her pussy lips, then moved his tongue inside of her, moving it around it circularly. Then he began probing it deeper, here and there, until he was licking her clit directly. Nigel complied, working her clit with his tongue while his hand reached up and kneaded her tit, pinching and rolling her hard nipple slightly between his fingers. Wendy was in heaven. Wendy's moans grew in intensity as did her verbal expressions of pleasure. True to her word, Wendy pulled Nigel's face in tight to her snatch as she cried out, bucking in orgasm. For Wendy, there was no moment, except for climax, more delicious than the first moment a large, hard, dick entered her pussy for the first time. It was a feeling to be savored. The feeling of an impossibly large cock sliding into her, stretching her cunt out, and about to seriously fuck her. There was a reason she loved BBC. Hell, there was a reason she loved any big cock! It was an unforgettable moment for Nigel. This sexy, posh, upper-class lady on top of him, begging him to fuck her hard. Her cunt felt amazingly tight. Nigel had heard that older women had loose cunts, but that wasn't the case with Wendy. Her fuck hole was as tight as a twenty-year-olds. "Screw me, you bastard. Screw me with your big fucking cock. Make me your fucking whore you little pervert!" Wendy growled in a seductive, low voice. Wendy loved it when the guys called her nasty names when she fucked them. With Nigel, his British accent made it rather interesting. He sounded so classy even when he called her a "fucking slag" or "randy bitch". She felt like the Lady of the Manor cheating with a common rake, ravishing her and degrading her like a whore. Wendy guessed that a "slag" was a British term for a whore, and loved it. It was so earthy and naughty! "That's right. I love fucking old fucking slags. Especially gingers. Do you like my big young cock fucking your dirty fucking cunt?" Nigel shot back, picking up on Wendy's desire to be talked nasty to during sex. As she did so, Nigel cried out, "Oh you fucking cunt! You FUCKING CUNT! OH...AAAGGHH!" "There's my baby batter for you, you fucking old slag!" Nigel gasped. Wendy ground her experienced cunt on Nigel's big cock expertly, stimulating her clitoris past the point of no return, exploding her pussy in a rapture of pleasure. Nigel's BBC had done its magic on her. Sated for the moment, Wendy took a moment to glance in the mirror and see what she looked like astride her big, black, young lover. She looked obscene, like an experienced slut getting bred by her black stallion. In other words, hot and slutty. Finally, she nudged Nigel to indicate that he had to leave. They had spent more than long enough together and Wendy didn't want to arouse Jenny's suspicions. Wendy couldn't help but notice that Nigel's log was hard again, ready for round two, but that would have to wait. "Thanks for your mobile number, I hope I can get away from Jason. It will be hard to get out of his sight," Nigel explained. "That's brilliant! I know that Jason would love to have a romp with you too. He's gagging to bang you," Nigel replied. "Yes, ma'am. I understand. You want both of us to come," Nigel said, eyes wide with the obscene implications of her statement. It had been a wonderful afternoon of fucking, and now she was excited to take on both of the boys and their hard cocks. But for now, she needed to freshen the pussy-juice-soaked sheets on her office bed before her husband came home from work. But before she did, Wendy decided to have one last orgasm. Selecting the big black dildo again from her toy box, she closed her eyes and went to work on her pussy, reliving the events of the past hour in her mind. It felt good, but her mind was thinking ahead to the moment when she could have both Nigel's and Jason's cocks. That day couldn't come soon enough! To make conversation with someone in public with the hope of seducing them. A British euphemism for male masturbation Graphic and vulgar slang term for a woman's genitalia. When Nigel told Jason about the sex he had with Wendy Kay, Jason was ecstatic. He was cultivating a serious fascination with older women, and there were none hotter than Wendy. By the time Nigel had finished telling him about her blowjob, his cock was hard. When had finished describing the sex, Jason had to excuse himself, using some flimsy reason, and retreat to his bedroom where he pulled down his shorts and proceeded to beat his rather substantial meat to the thought of Wendy both naked and fucking him. Within a couple of minutes, he had orgasmed and shot his load, his cum spurting high until it splashed on his belly, imagining it was in Wendy's hot mature cunt. With his balls empty, he could face Nigel again. Neither the boy's nor Wendy's dreams could be complete until they finally came together and fucked in a fleshy orgy of delight. Until Nigel and Jason's young, strong, virile bodies and big hard dicks took Wendy's slim, mature body and fucked it until they were awash with exquisite, forbidden pleasure. Until a young cock (or two) was in Wendy's pleasure hole(s) driving all of them to sexual madness--all they could do was masturbate. Needless to say, they all were very anxious by the time the two boys slipped inside Wendy's door. The text said to go straight to her office/bedroom which was on the main floor of her house. "Don't just stand there, take your clothes off. I'm not sitting here naked for you just to stare. So don't be shy, guys, strip down and show me what you've got," Wendy told them, ever the mistress. Wendy thought for a minute and said, "Sure, why not. But keep it between you two. And send me a copy as well." Soon, the pair was standing naked in front of a woman who was old enough to have grand kids--but had a body that fooled them by over a decade as to her real age. Their young, smooth, muscled bodies and big hard cocks standing at attention were just what Wendy craved. There was no doubt that the pair of studs were eye candy. The kind of impressionable young lovers who could fuck her hard and long and whose stamina and recharge power would be just the ticket. Motioning them both to the edge of the bed, Wendy began to stroke their young cocks. It didn't take only a minute to have them fully erect. Jason's was shorter, but not by much. He had a very impressive cock for a white boy. Wendy could not believe her luck! Jason was in seventh heaven with this hot mature fox sucking his cock, telling her, "Fuck yeah, Wendy, suck my dick!" Jason loved the ripe look of older women. Their bodies had just a bit more character than the usual teen body of girls he had experienced. It was a particular fetish of his--something that set the young small-titted girls he had fucked apart from the mature, ripe women he desired. He even liked them when they were much saggier than Wendy's pair of perfect jugs. At the beach, Jason had once spied a mature woman getting her bikini on. Her tits were long and very saggy and as she bent over to put her bottoms on, he had a wonderful look at them hanging down, with all their glorious saggy length. Her ripe, mature, naked body fascinated and excited him. From then on he was hooked on older women, the kind that filled his wet dreams. But Wendy was sporting the perfect combination of mature age and a set of tits that rocked! Then to Jason, he said, "I love American mums! They rather know how to treat a visitor. This is the best jobbie I've ever had! And look at those wonderful fucking jubblies! Wendy has tits to die for!" At that point, she got on all four and directed Jason to take a position behind her sexy ass, while she directed Nigel to get in front of her so she could suck him. Wendy loved getting spit-roasted by two young guys. They complied with her instructions, and Wendy faced Nigel, with Nigel's BBC in her face. Nigel stroked his dick in obscene anticipation of Wendy's mouth sucking it. Nigel positioned himself close to Wendy's face and grabbed the back of her head, then began to tease her with the head of his cock in and out of her open and willing mouth. As if to prove his point, he began to shove his cock deep into her mouth and down her throat, while Wendy formed her lips over his dick. She could taste his pre-cum, and was anticipating the full load from her young black lover. Such a wonderful lover--abusing the mouth of the mistress of the house with his large African fuck pole in the most delicious way! Jason got down and dirty with Wendy, saying, "Fuck me, baby! Oh god, your pussy feels so good! Fuck me hard! You're such a hot slut, Wendy!" Wendy was unable to answer, her mouth and throat full of big black meat. But she was feeling excellent. The boys were exceeding all expectations. Nigel had no problem getting into the swing of being utterly filthy. He was fucking her face with gusto and talking filthy to her in his wonderful clipped British accent. Meanwhile, Jason was surprisingly forward with her, wanting to take charge and fuck her as if he owned her. He was inexperienced--the fumbling of his cock around her ass as he missed her cunt, testified to that, but he had great enthusiasm. These pair were split-roasting her like pros, putting her in a state of sexual nirvana. Wendy could feel his cock throb as he came and it triggered her off. She had been on the verge of cumming herself, and this triggered her orgasm. She shook like a leaf under the extreme ecstasy of her climax. Nigel had held off fucking her mouth momentarily as she climaxed, staring at her in awe of her incredible sexuality and beauty. It was also eye-opening seeing another guy orgasm as well. He assumed that this was what he looked like under the circumstances. In any case, this was the most extreme sex he had ever encountered. Nigel dutifully, and eagerly, began to fuck her face again. It wasn't a problem for Nigel as he had about been ready to cum just before Wendy did, and seeing both her and Jason get off, primed his pump. Nigel froze into place and Wendy expertly switched to her usual cocksucking style, extracting his baby cream from his considerable cock. He shot his load in the back of her mouth, down her throat, causing Wendy to reflexively swallow much of the first shot. Backing out of her throat, his next loads spasmed into her mouth, letting her savour his tasty cum. As usual with boys his age, he seemed to have a huge amount of jizz to ejaculate out of his powerful black uncut cock. Wendy greedily took it all in, craving the protein fix. "Anytime you need your cock sucked, you know where to find me. Just check the window to see if the drapes are pulled and I'll drain your balls," the red-headed MILF (GILF?) fox told him matter-of-factly. "Oh, so you like my cunt?" Wendy teased. Well, I'm not done yet. Grab that box over there so I can pick out a toy. I know that you two are tapped out for a minute, but I still want to have fun," she told Jason. "Why don't you two suck my titties while I enjoy myself," Wendy said to them as she lay back, her head on the pillow. As the boys sucked her firm pink nipples, Wendy fucked herself with the vibrator, gasping with pleasure. Soon she was gasping as it touched her swollen, sensitive, clit. "He'd probably think you're a whore, Wendy. That's exactly what he'd think," Jason opined in answer. "Fuck, Wendy, you've got great tits," Jason opined as he fondled and sucked them. The buzzing vibrator was working her magic on her cunt sending Wendy once again into never-never land. And considering that although she was now in her mid-fifties, she realized she still had the magic. At this moment she had two handsome young guys worshiping her sexually--their mouths and large cocks at her beck and call. To prove it, she now had one on each breast, sucking her nipples, while her vibrator worked its magic on her clit-- and this after she had been royally fucked by their worshipful cocks--what older woman wouldn't be thrilled by all this? Then, while stroking his cock fiercely with one hand while kneading her tit with the other, he continued, "Shit, Nigel, have you ever seen anything like this? There's fucking cum dripping out of her pussy from just getting fucked, and cum all over her face, and she's still fucking herself! What a crazy fucking slut you are!" addressing the last to Wendy. "You're a crazy old slag, that's for sure, but I'll fuck the shit outta you with my black cock anytime you want. I'll fuck you like a bint in heat!" Nigel said in his posh accent. This time there was no slow working up to the full rhythm. Nigel had become a beast, giving in to his feral instincts, and began fucking her cunt hard and fast immediately. He was taking her white female body and making it his, attempting to impregnate her with his potent seed. Her tits were bouncing up and down wildly under the onslaught of his sizeable boner. Wendy found the sensations flooding her delicious! Nigel had been good before, but he was wild now, like a stallion fucking a mare in heat. The pleasure was both intense and taboo. Wendy cried out, "If only my husband could see me now, fucking you two dirty little bastards!" "Oh fuck, you posh fucking bitch, I'm going to cum in your cunt...I'M CUMMING YOU FUCKING SLAG AAAHHH!" and with that, Nigel shoved his cock in deep for the last time pumping his cum load into Wendy's womb. She cried out, "OH, YOU FUCKING BASTARD! GIMME YOUR BLACK FUCKIN' COCK! OOOHHH! Wendy had to wipe the cum from one eye as he had splattered most of her face with his jizz. It was a fitting tribute to her sexiness and so decadent! That Jason was bold enough to give her a facial said a lot for his irreverent boldness. Methodically, Wendy scooped up the cum from her face with her finger and put it in her mouth, smiling at young Jason as she did. His eyes were wide at her show. But it was to get better. At this moment, Nigel finally recovered from the earth-shaking orgasm he had inside Wendy's magical fanny and called out when he had seen what Jason had done, "Oh my god! You've spunked all over her face!" "Hey boys, watch this and tell me if your teeny-bopper girlfriends can do this!" she announced. "That's fucking brilliant!" Nigel gasped as Wendy went down on him. As all three fell back onto the bed, temporarily satisfied, Wendy gazed at their muscled young bodies. Each had an athletic body to die for. The perfect boy toys. And their young horny cocks seemed to recharge rapidly, which was so unlike her husband who was one and done. But time was short. It would have to be another time with this pair, separately or together, it didn't matter. But she decided to cater to their voyeuristic whims as a parting gift. Jason eagerly took pics of her cream-pied pussy, which she willingly spread for him. Then several of her tits and ass, in various positions, including doggy with her tits hanging down and legs spread. There were also pics of her with both Nigel's and Jason's now-stiff cocks. Wendy looked and felt like a porn star! Needless to say, both guys were on cloud nine when they left, and Wendy was much pleased herself. She had just picked up two willing studs who could service her with the best of them. She would be sad when Nigel had to go back to the UK, but Jason, as a neighbor, would be the source of much sexual enjoyment. He seemed to be most eager to fuck older women, and Wendy intended to exploit that to the fullest. One thing was for sure, neither would ever say no to her!

The Murder Twins. That's what people called them. Mira is unsettled by the moniker, yet it suits them. She imagines they seem mystical to people who don't know the men and their flaws up close and personal. Even she had been mystified for a while after hearing about their upbringing. Their lives had played out like some sort of television drama; the parents split up, the dad moves to Russia with one son while the mother remains in the United States with the other. They'd lived vastly different lives and yet to her they are one conflicted being whose most evident personality variants are buried deep in a phyche preoccupied with acquiring wealth by any means necessary, men after her own heart. It pains her to reflect on how she'd spent an eternity with a man she so thoroughly hated when instead she could have been sandwiched between the bodies of Mint and Mandrake Mallard while they were all still sweaty from some take or another. She smiles to herself. She's never considered being sandwiched between them before, but the thought isn't at all unpleasant. She thinks of them fondly even after what they'd kept from her--and while she'd been angry at first she isn't now. If anything she feels a bit sad though she is not surprised they have kept secrets. She has to come to grips with the fact that she is in love with two liars. She waits until the slight breeze dies down and puts a cigarette in her mouth, lights it as she considers a no smoking sign nailed to the inside of the red hotel awning above her. Her eyes catch the uneven gait of a man approaching. She remembers Fowler's phone, the names of the men in the text messages that he and Montana had shared. She watches the man for a moment more, and the cigarette falls from her lips as she realizes who it is she's watching. She turns with feigned nonchalance and reenters the hotel. She walks calmly to the elevator and calls the car. She waits. She hears the door to the lobby open. The elevator comes and the doors slide open. She gets on, presses her back against the wall and slowly inches up the fabric of her dress until she can feel the holster and the small gun attached to her thigh. She breathes in and out slowly in an attempt to fend off a panic so sharp it gives her tunnel vision. After a few painful seconds the doors slide shut. She exhales, hopes that she is imagining things. She all but runs to Mandrake's room and slides the keycard into the reader with shaking hands. She opens the door to find Mint and Mandrake fighting in the kitchen. "No fucking time for this! Fucking Mace McSwain is here--I think." "What do you mean, 'you think? Is he or isn't he?" Mint asks, out of breath as he disengages himself from Mandrake's grip. He clicks the safety off of his gun aims it at the door. "I mean I think! Sorry I didn't get a chance to ask him if it were really him. Let's just get the fuck out of here, now! We never should have stayed stationary in the first place. We don't have the luxury." Mira runs into the bedroom and gathers a few cosmetic items and a stack of twenties she'd left there. She turns to leave and hears gunshots followed by a crescendo of shattering glass. She waits a beat then bursts from the room, her gun up and aimed at anything that isn't one of the two hulking clones she's found herself anchored to. She narrows her left eye and takes aim at the man standing just inside the doorway with his feet planted and his teeth bared. Mace McSwain indeed, complete with the tracksuit, theatrical limp and smoking sawed off shotgun that contributes to a mystique amplified by his ability to be both lethal and dim. Before he can lift the heavy, ugly gun that has seen its share of successes in his hand, a knife flies and buries itself in his forehead. Mira would've missed the trajectory save for a tiny flash when the blade caught the light from the chandelier above them. Mira exhales and advances into the room, her eyes on the window Mace had apparently shot out, the drapes whipping through the hole out and into the night. "Fucking Mace McSwain," Mandrake says as he stands predatorily over McSwain's corpse, "never thought I'd have to do it to you, man, not to you." Mandrake rips his knife from Mace's skull and wipes the blade off on the royal blue fabric of Mace's tracksuit. "I never got the tracksuit, myself," Mint says. He catches her gaze and smiles. "Don't smile at me," she says and smiles despite herself. The nervousness leaves her as she watches Mandrake pace the room, his phone to his ear. "I'm going to fucking kill Montana," Mint says. "You'll get your chance, Mint. He sent his damn brother after us after all, and thank God for that," Mira says. "Thank God?" "He wants it so bad he's not thinking straight. Sending Fowler? If he keeps making mistakes like this we'll survive this. Did he not know who he was sending his only brother, up against?" "He knew and didn't care. I don't know if it's desperation or frivolity. This is Montana we're talking about. He just wants us dead, he doesn't care how it happens or who gets killed in the process." "You're right about that!" Mandrake says after he ends his call. "I got someone coming to take care of Mace McSwain! Is that even his real name? Funny, his track suit and huge gun, that is the American way, no?" "Mandrake don't make sweeping generalizations based on a man who prided himself on acting like a villain from a bad 90's action move," Mira says, happy for a moment of levity no matter how small it might be. She ignores Mandrake's scoffing, checks her watch. "Are they coming soon? I want to get out of here." "We don't have to wait. Get your shit, we're heading out!" Mint says. He holsters his guns and picks up his cigar case. Mira shoulders her purse and follows them toward the door. She tries not to think about how many more days like this they will have to face until Montana finally runs out of henchman and comes for them himself. That is when the real horror will begin. She jumps when her phone rings--a series of chimes that seemingly pierce her eardrums--and for the second time in less than an hour she nearly faints. Mandrake catches her. "What is it, Mira?" "Montana. It's Montana calling," she says.

                  He had not called Jimin up...         Jimin would for sure rip him a new one. Namjoon would understand but not Jimin.   He'd been so caught up in the turmoil of his head that he'd forgot to inform his best friends of his literal life-changing meeting and subsequent actions.   He'd even gone to work before finally remembering to call them up.       Hoseok hung his lab coat in his bedroom, freshened up a bit and went to sit on the couch with his phone in his hand.     He let out a deep sigh and dialled his friend.       'Hello?'     'Hi Jimin'     '...'     'What is it Hobi hyung, Did something happen?', Jimin asked clearly anticipating some sort of news.   Hoseok covered his face with his hand that wasn't clutching the phone, Jimin was too perceptive for his own damned good.   The No BS route would be the way to go Hoseok figured.     'I met my biological partner yesterday on the way home from work...'   There was a gasp from the other end.   Hoseok continued   'We went to his place and I came back in the morning and most definitely am pregnant, but won't know for sure for about 4 to 5 weeks.'   Jimin did not reply for a good 2 minutes.   Hoseok started fidgeting.   He was going to ask if Jimin was still on the line when he heard Jimin speak up.   'Hobi hyung...the least you could've done is texted me or Joon your location, what if something had happened to you there.' Jimin's voice was steadily increasing in pitch, he sounded frantic.   'We wouldn't know if you went for a merry sight-seeing trip or were lying in a ditch somewhere, how could you be so irresponsible to just go off with a man like that?' Hoseok marvelled at how Jimin had managed to not breathe even once during his monologue.   'Was he a beta or an alpha?', He could feel Jimin holding his breath and was worried for his well being.   'Al...pha', Hoseok stuttered out, knowing where this was going.   'alpha?... Alpha, Hobi hyung...ALPHA!?'    Hoseok had been so affected by his biological partner that logical thoughts like these had flown out the window of his car on his way to the alpha's home.   Even when he had been contemplating over how to break the news to Jimin, he had thought that Jimin would be angry at the fact that he'd not informed him sooner of his recent discovery.  The 'Safety' part had not struck him...   Hoseok felt guilty, if Yoongi hadn't been Yoongi, who knows what would've happened to him.   Hoseok shuddered to think on those lines.   'Sorry Jiminah, I should've had my wits about me. But please don't be upset, what's done is done, I'm not trying to downplay it by saying that and not that this same situation will arise again, but I'll be more vigilant in the future.'   Jimin sighed deeply.   'Please Hobi hyung be more careful, you don't have an alpha's scent about you.                                       'No matter how progressive people are now, you'd be surprised to know the trouble an unmated omega will unknowingly find. Despite being mated, Jungook scents me atleast 3 times a day and I've seen the difference in the way people look at me now then they did before I mated Jungook.' 'The world is full of wolves Hobi hyung, no pun intended, and I just don't want you to fall prey to one of them. I only worry.'   Hoseok felt deep affection for the younger. He knew Jimin only meant good.   'I understand Jiminah, I'll be more careful in the future I promise.'   'Thank You hyung... WHEN are we meeting to discuss all this though!?', Hoseok knew Jimin must be bouncing in anticipation and was most definitely back to his cheery old self.   Hoseok smiled to himself at the change.   'We can meet in an hour at the café, I'll call Joon-ah and ask him to come too, he should be off of work by now.' Hoseok said after putting his phone on speaker and looking up Namjoon's contact.   'See you soon Hobi, you just wait till I can finally lay my hands on you.'   Hoseok chuckled and disconnected the call to dial Joon up.   Joon was surprised and worried much like Jimin but understood that Jimin must've had The Talk with Hoseok and hence didn't say much more in that regard.   'Hobi having a baby of his own... This is something I didn't think I would get to hear in the immediate future, but life is full of surprises isn't it?', Joon chuckled but then added in a sombre tone,   'Are you happy Hobi?'   Hoseok had to stop and ponder over that question.   Hoseok was pleasantly anticipating having a child, if only to start a new chapter of his life, but he couldn't exactly say he was happy now could he?   'I'm not sure Joon...'   'It's ok to not be sure Hobs, we'll talk more at the café.' 'Take care and you're lucky Seokjin is not home yet.' a chuckling Joon said before disconnecting.   Oh Hoseok sure was lucky, there was no denying that. Having Joon break the news to Jin would be much better than Hoseok telling him in person, Jin would freak out and his rants would continue even after the end of the world.         •         Yoongi was merging the vocals and beats together when someone barged in.   The bunny toothed grin bought a smile to his own face too.   Jungkook was one of the two people that could barge into Yoongi's studio and not be embedded into the ground they stood on. The other was Zelo who followed Jungkook in.   Both had bright smiles on their faces.     'No', said Yoongi and returned back to work on his track with D (That was the name of the singer from hell).   'You didn't even hear us out', they both whined simultaneously while pulling up chairs to sit and gawk at Yoongi's work.   Jungkook was an assistant video director with BigHit and did quite decent at editing too. He had produced on a small scale and was eager to learn more from Yoongi. Zelo was a choreographer at BigHit and had decent underground rapping experience and so helped the idols with writing their rap parts alongside Yoongi. Zelo looked up to Yoongi and called him a rap legend.   After spending so much time with the two boys, Yoongi had, to his utter surprise, grown incredibly fond of them.   What he wasn't fond of though was them constantly trying to make Yoongi go out and "enjoy life".   Yoongi had to remind them on a regular basis that he loved producing and hence was most definitely enjoying life.   'Yoongi hyung pleeeeeeease just this once, we're going to that restaurant bar, it'll be great', Jungkook pouted while twirling his phone on his finger.   Yoongi would never for the life of him understand why Jungkook would resort to such childish antics with his quite expensive iPhone.   'It's a restaurant bar hyung, the best of both worlds, we haven't been out with you for Aaaaages', Zelo drawled while sitting on the edge of his seat in anticipation of catching Jungkook's phone if it fell.   Yoongi sighed, they were right, he hadn't gone out in some time apart from the occasional work related meetings or parties.   And after working with D for near 2 hours, he did deserve a break.   He got up to put his leather jacket on while the two idiots gawked at him.   'For real?', Zelo gasped in astonishment before dragging kook along with him to go get their own jackets.   Yoongi chuckled to himself when he realised that the goofs hadn't bought their jackets with them as they'd thought they'd be rejected again.   Yoongi made a mental note to refuse fewer of their offers in the near future.       A grocery store had led him to his biological partner, he'd have a mate for sure if he went to more 'fun' places.         •         Yoongi ate some cheesy meat carbonara while sipping a mint mojito. He liked the restaurant-cum-bar it was cozy but still chic. Kook and Zelo sure knew their places alright.   Jungkook was going on about the new idol group's mv which he was assisting in directing and Zelo was listening with rapt attention as he had choreographed the dance for them. Yoongi had written a few of the lyrics to the song but hadn't produced any part of it, but he was still genuinely interested in knowing what sort of set would be put up for the song.   Jungkook had stopped to stuff his mouth with his own carbonara when a thought struck Yoongi.   He was good friends with the 2 alphas, they definitely deserved being privy to what Yoongi was upto last night.   Kook never did hold back on gushing about Jimin or coming to Yoongi for advice when Jimin was upset with him. Not that Yoongi was a pro at relations but he could definitely offer some comfort and generic advice.   And Zelo had freaked out when he'd met his biological partner when she'd come into BigHit due to an idol collab deal about an year ago. He had run straight to Yoongi, and Yoongi had adviced him to go talk to her instead of running away like he had, which had been sound advice as Zelo had found out about 4 months ago that his child looked remarkably like him.   So Yoongi made the decision to spill.   Yoongi absently twirled a noodle around his fork while he spoke, 'I met my biological partner last night, and suffice to say they're most definitely pregnant with a kid.'   Jungkook choked on his carbonara while Zelo gasped out loud.     They gaped at him.       'So, that is the reason you came out with us today, you got laid and it has you in a good mood', the brat called Jungkook piped out while Zelo laughed on.       Yoongi regretted ever opening his mouth.         •         Hoseok reached the café to find Jimin and Namjoon already waiting for him, the café was definitely closer to Hoseok's home but their excitement must have made them rush. Hoseok smiled at that thought.   As soon as Jimin caught sight of Hobi he jumped up, squealed, and ran to envelope Hoseok in a tight hug.   Hoseok basked in the feeling of the embrace, but the feeling was short lived as Jimin started squeezing in earnest.   'Jiminah, you're forgetting the reason why we're here and why you acting like a professional juicer isn't exactly good for me.' Hoseok choked out while trying to wriggle out of Jimin's grip.   Jimin mercifully ended the hug only to grip Hoseok's hand and practically drag him to their table.   He sat down with Joon and Jimin on either side of him and was shortly pulled closer by Namjoon with the help of an arm around Hoseok's shoulders. Hoseok felt considerably calm in the familiar warmth and leaned his head on his friend's shoulder.   Jimin pouted at that and Hoseok subsequently chuckled.   He finally lifted his head off the broad shoulder and gazed at his best friends.   They looked at him expectantly in return.   Hoseok sighed, 'I bumped into him outside the grocery store I frequent and would've walked by if he hadn't caught my hand.'   Jimin gasped    'You didn't recognise your biological partner!?', this was said with a bang on the table.   'I was in the world of thoughts Jimin, moving on though, I was completely dumbstruck when I realised it but before I could say something, he kissed me', there was a strangled gasp from Jimin and raised eyebrows from Namjoon, but Hoseok just continued on while swirling his Boba Green tea around.   'He apologised promptly, but it would have probably been me in his place had he waited longer...Anyways then I went to his place, did the deed, ate breakfast with him and went to work.'   Both Jimin and Namjoons' mouths were hanging open. Jimin looked disbelieving while Namjoon looked concerned.

Slim exhaled as he pushed aside his PADD. Spock had started giving him practice tests, similar to those he would be taking sometime in the next year to get into the Academy, and he’d just finished the ones for that day. They would be automatically fed into a grading rubric, the results transmitted to Spock, who would study them at some point in the next twenty-four hours and determine what Slim needed to work on more. So far, his scores were pretty consistent—or, as he thought on his worse days, he was more or less equally awful in all subjects. He hoped he’d be able to do well enough to get in, but he figured he needed all the practice he could get. The practical part he had down. Working in Engineering every other day meant that he was getting lots of practice in with the warp core. He and Nic’tlarn were alternating days for the moment, but as soon as Carol left in about a month, Nic’tlarn would be Addie’s full-time caregiver. Slim would still be alternating days, though, and he knew that was stretching a point. Starfleet regulations were pretty explicit. There were provisos for officers—sort of—but in order to enlist, one had to be eighteen. Him being on the roster at all was an unofficial thing, and they couldn’t put it in actual writing, lest someone pull the records and make trouble. Still, it at least meant Slim would know his way around an engine and be able to ace that part of the examinations. But now he was restless and bored. Carol had Addie for the day—he’d been taken off of caring for her completely as soon as Nic’tlarn had agreed to be her full-time sitter, which gave him time for the studying—and all of his friends were on duty, even Kelly, who was working the Engineering panel on the bridge. Slim let one thought lead to another and, almost before he knew it, he was heading for the lift to the bridge. Kelly was the first to look up and notice him step out of the lift, and she tipped him a wink. Jim glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Finished with your practice tests?” “Yes, sir,” Slim said, lifting his eyebrows a fraction, seeking permission. At Jim’s slight nod, he crossed the bridge and stood next to the chair. “I ain’t sure how well I did, but I finished, and I double-checked everything.” “Good boy.” Jim’s smile broadened. “Captain,” Sulu said, leaning back to speak over his shoulder without taking his eyes off the screen. “Sensors are picking up some debris straight ahead.” Instantly, Jim was completely serious. “Take us as close as you can, Mr. Sulu, and let’s get a look at it.” Sulu eased the helm forward. Slim watched the viewscreen intently as they drew closer, wondering what was going on. Barely had the thought crossed his mind when Jim looked up. “Slim, the S.S. Beagle disappeared in this sector six years ago. Nobody’s heard from her since. We’re looking to see what we can find.” Slim couldn’t help the half-smile that tugged at his lips. “What are your psi scores like, Dad?” Jim chuckled. “You’re my son. It doesn’t take a genius or a psychic to guess that you’re curious about what’s going on but not willing to ask.” He tilted his head slightly, and Slim read the unspoken comment in his eyes: it wasn’t so much that he wasn’t willing to ask as it was that he was still a little afraid to. That was something else they had in common—a fear of being punished for not knowing the answer. “Coming up on the debris, sir,” Sulu reported. Jim returned his attention to the viewscreen as the debris came into view. Slim’s breath caught in his throat briefly. Mingled with fragments of instruments and twisted bits of metal were personal belongings—the remains of a picture frame, some kind of exotic knickknack, a torn and charred quilt. “I don’t think there’s any doubt, sir,” Kelly said quietly from her station. “Those antimatter nacelles are from a Class Four stardrive vessel.” “You’re right, Ensign,” Jim agreed. “Mr. Chekov, compute present drift of the wreckage.” “Computed and onboard, Keptin,” Chekov said with barely a pause. The figures popped up on the viewscreen. Jim glanced at them, then stood up and crossed over to Spock, standing by his computer. “Mr. Spock, assuming that that stuff has been drifting at the same rate and direction for the past six years…?” Spock opened his mouth to answer, paused, then turned to Slim. “Thomas?” Jim turned to look at Slim, who froze momentarily. Usually when he worked out problems like this, he did it on a PADD, longhand. However, a voice in the back of his mind prompted him, If you’re in Engineering, you might not have time to do it longhand. Learn to do it in your head, and do it fast. Quickly, he scanned the numbers on the screen. His lips moved unconsciously as he rolled his eyes upwards, attempting to calculate as quickly as possible. Let’s see, velocity by time plus one-half of acceleration by time squared…At last, he ventured, “One-sixteenth of a parsec?” Spock nodded, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a brief smile of approval. “Well done, Thomas. Planet four of Star System Eight Nine Two, straight ahead.” “We can be zere in a few seconds, Keptin,” Chekov called from his station. “Standard orbit around the planet, Mr. Chekov,” Jim instructed. “There may be survivors there.” Slim glanced up at the debris as they skirted it, heading for the planet. “What was the Beagle doing out here?” “Routine survey work,” Jim answered. “First survey of this star sector.” “She was a small craft,” Spock said, reading information off of his computer, “carrying a crew of forty-seven. The captain was…” He paused. “I believe you knew him, Captain. R.M. Merrick.” Jim frowned. “Doesn’t ring any bells.” “I doubt you took down his name at the time,” Uhura said dryly from her station. “He was one of the cadets you got into a fight with at that bar in Riverside, the night Pike convinced you to join up.” Jim turned white as a sheet. Slim was about to ask him what was wrong, but he spoke calmly. “Do you know what happened to him after that?” “I know he dropped out of the Academy later that year—which was odd, it would’ve been his last year—but I don’t know why. Gaila might know.” Without responding, Jim turned back to the viewscreen. Slim joined him, staring as the pinpoint of light coalesced into a solid orb, with green landmasses surrounded by blue oceans. Clouds scudded through the atmosphere, ice capped both poles, and it was even possible to discern the direction of the air currents. “It’s a lot like Earth,” Jim mused. “Except the continents and the oceans are a lot different.” “In shape only,” Spock said, shaking his head. “The proportion of land to water is exactly the same as that of your home planet. Density five point five…diameter 7917 at the equator…atmosphere seventy-eight percent nitrogen, twenty-one percent oxygen…” “In other words, exactly like Earth,” Slim completed. He knew there were trace amounts of other gases in the Earth’s atmosphere, but they were hardly worth mentioning. “Precisely,” Spock said with a nod, looking up. “And I picked up indications of large cities.” “Development?” Jim asked. “No signs of atomic energy yet, but advanced enough for radio communications, power transportation, and an excellent road system.” Uhura suddenly spun from her board. “Captain! I think I can pick up a visual signal—it looks like a news broadcast of some kind, on what I think they used to call ‘video.’” Slim glanced at his father, then said, “If it’s being broadcast, it ain’t—isn’t video, exactly. Video is what’s on the tape. The word is ‘television.’” “I stand corrected.” Uhura flashed Slim a friendly grin. Jim, too, managed a smile. “Put it on the screen, Uhura.” The picture took a while to come in. Slim half-thought he could hear a faint voice grumbling—the voice of the Enterprise—but he dismissed it as a coincidence, or an overactive imagination. His gift, or whatever it was, only worked when he was actually in physical contact with a machine and concentrated. They didn’t just talk to him out of the clear blue sky. Certainly not to complain about inefficient operators doing the technological equivalent of pounding a square peg into a round hole with a five-pound rubber mallet. Then again, he couldn’t help but remember their encounter with the mirror universe, when the Enterprise had spoken about Scotty as though he was a lover. After a few moments, the picture of the planet dissolved into that of a city street. Except for a few minor differences, it could have been any Earth street in the 1960s. Several people in the clothing of the period stood watching the police round up a group of men in loincloths, which puzzled Slim. Was it some sort of weird protest movement? “And in the Forum District today, police gathered up another group of dissidents,” the announcer was saying, his voice having a tinny, filtered quality. “Authorities are as yet unable to explain these fresh outbreaks of treasonable disobedience from well-treated, well-protected slaves.” A shocked silence fell over the bridge. Slim stared at the screen, wondering who in their right mind could fail to grasp the reasoning. Well-treated or not, well-protected—whatever that meant—or otherwise, a slave was still a slave, and naturally a slave would at some point come to resent his lot. But treasonable disobedience? The announcer’s bland voice, however, went on, as though he had said nothing unusual. “And now, turning to the world of sports, we bring you taped reports of the arena games last night…” The picture changed, showing two men wearing nothing but leather aprons, helmeted and carrying oblong shields in one hand, swords in the other. They advanced warily—and then one attacked. Slim was hardly an expert, but he’d been fencing with Sulu for close to three years now—gods of Olympus, had it really been that long?—and he could see that neither man knew anything about swords other than “aim the pointy bit at the other person and try not to stab yourself in the shin.” They were sloppy, unrefined, and the only reason the defender was successful was that the attacker had no technique whatsoever. The announcer continued, “The first heat was between two amateurs, a pair of petty thieves from the prisons. Conducted with traditional weapons, however, it provided amusement for a few moments.” The attacker saw his chanced. He lunged forward and stabbed his opponent in the heart—off-balance but otherwise just like one of Slim and Sulu’s fencing matches, except that the point entered his opponent’s heart and protruded out the back, and when he pulled it free, it was covered in red. The other fell to his knees, dying or already dead, as the crowd jeered in the background and the victor raised his bloody sword in salute to the arena galleries. The announcer’s voice spoke over the cheers. “The winner will meet another contestant in tonight’s games. In the second heat, however, we bring you a more professional display in the spirit of our glorious past, as gladiator Claudius Marcus killed the last of the barbarians, William B. Harrison, in a brilliant example of—” There was a burst of static, which sounded to Slim’s ears almost like profanity, and the picture dissolved. Uhura looked appalled and horrified, but gathered herself. “Sorry, sir, transmission lost. Shall I try to get it back?” Jim didn’t answer, still staring in shock at the viewscreen. After a moment, he spun to face Spock. “Slaves and gladiators? Some kind of twentieth-century Rome?” “No,” Slim said positively. “It’s some kind of modernized Rome. Ancient Rome with more technology. It ain’t twentieth-century Rome.” “Poor choice of words,” Jim agreed. “I meant a twentieth-century Roman empire.” Kelly swallowed, twice, before saying softly, “I think Slim’s description is still more accurate, sir. It’s twentieth-century technology with third-century morality.” “Well put, Ensign,” Spock said, his face unusually grave. “Captain, the man described as the ‘barbarian’ is also listed here—Flight Officer William B. Harrison of the S.S. Beagle. At least there were survivors down there.” “A landing party,” Jim muttered. “Nothing else for it…we’ll have to go down there.” Sulu twisted around anxiously. “Sir…” “No, it has to be done, Mr. Sulu.” Jim rubbed his forehead. “Ready the transporter room…c’mon, Spock. I’ll call for Bones on the way—I have a feeling we might need a doctor. And someone get Scotty up here.” “I’m here, as it happens,” Scotty said, stepping off the lift in time to hear the end of the sentence. “What is it, Jim?” Jim jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the viewscreen, which was showing the planet rotating innocuously. “Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, and I will be beaming down. You have the conn, Mr. Scott. We’ll be in touch.” “Aye, sir.” Scotty nodded and crossed over to stand between the chair and the Engineering panel. As the lift doors slid shut behind Jim and Spock, he turned to Slim and added, “Since you’re here, laddie, explain to me what the hell is going on.” Slim did his best to explain. Scotty’s face got progressively longer as he spoke. At last, he shook his head. “Gladiators and slaves and barbarians? I don’t know what kind of world this is, but I tell ye, I’m no’ too pleased with them being down there.” “Let’s hope this doesn’t take too long,” Sulu said quietly. “Aye,” Chekov agreed fervently. He turned around, looking worried. “Mr. Scott…what happens if zey get captured?” “I can’t begin to guess,” Scotty muttered. “Not sure I want to, either.” They were silent for a while, but the tension was palpable. Everyone tweaked uselessly at their boards, nobody speaking, all of them anxious. Slim kept his eyes on the viewscreen, willing his father to contact them, but as the minutes stretched on, he began to get seriously worried. Almost an hour after they had beamed down, the communication system suddenly crackled to life, Jim’s voice exploding onto the otherwise silent bridge. “Kirk to Enterprise. Come in…” Scotty lunged for the chair and made a visible effort to sound normal. “Scott here, Captain.” “Lock in on our location. Scan us.” “Scanning, sir,” Scotty said, nodding at Sulu to begin the scan. Slim crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping against hope that his father was about to order a beam-out. “Including ourselves, how many people are in this cave?” Scotty counted the blips on the screen, then answered, “Twelve, Captain.” There was a brief pause, and Slim could hear the smile in Jim’s voice when he spoke again. “Maintain scanning, Scotty. We’ll keep checking in. Kirk out.” Slim felt the knot in his stomach loosen, just a little bit. “So it’s all right then?” “Looks like,” Scotty said, cautiously. “I’ll be staying on alert until I hear from them again, but it seems to be all right for the moment.” “How long do you think it’ll be before we do?” Slim asked. He wasn’t meaning to nag, but he was worried. “Standard procedure is once an hour, once a pattern of checking in has been established,” Scotty said slowly. “But…knowing the captain, he’ll call sooner if he can.” Slim glanced at the chronometer. “I hope he does. I ain’t sure I can handle waiting much longer.” “I don’t think any of us can,” Chekov said softly. Sulu reached over and laced his fingers with Chekov’s, then looked over his shoulder at Slim. “You’ve been studying, Slim. Which three are ours?” Slim couldn’t help but grin. “Give me a hard one. Crew shows up as green blips, hostiles as red, unknowns as yellow.” “Right. So out of twelve people in that cavern…?” “The three from the Enterprise—I’d guess that’s Dad, wandering around.” Slim pointed to the one green blip, a dash with faint numbers that could be called up and expanded if necessary, that was wandering around the cavern. “There aren’t any hostiles—any known hostiles,” he corrected himself, “and the rest don’t carry communicators. Therefore they show up as unknowns.” “What makes you think the wandering indicator is the captain?” Sulu asked. “In the first place, because I know him,” Slim answered. He knew what Sulu was doing—both distracting him from his worries and testing his knowledge, his ability to read a sensor scan. “Mr. Spock is a more passive observer, and Dr. McCoy takes his time when he’s looking around, but Captain Kirk takes an interest in everything, and he likes to get right up to people he’s trying to understand. Second, in an unknown situation, with three senior officers involved, most captains will either keep the party together or be the only one moving around. Standard procedure.” “Then here’s a harder one. Without calling up the specific numbers, which of the two green blips is Mr. Spock?” It took Slim no more than a second to point. “That one.” Sulu’s eyebrows shot up. “The one the captain just walked up to? Why wouldn’t that be the doctor?” “Because the captain left a conversation with an unknown to join him. Dr. McCoy wouldn’t have interrupted, and if he’d been hurt or taken ill or something, the captain would’ve gone to him a lot faster. But he walked calmly to join him, which undoubtedly means Mr. Spock found something ‘fascinating.’” From her board, Uhura let out a bark of laughter at Slim’s accurate mimicking of the first officer’s intonation. Sulu grinned, too. “Well done, Slim. Full marks.” “You’re gonna ace the exam,” Kelly said encouragingly. “That part, anyway,” Slim said under his breath. Scotty punched his shoulder lightly. “Why d’ye doubt so much, laddie?” “Goes with the name,” Slim deadpanned. “It’s not as bad as everyone makes it out to be.” The unexpected voice made Slim nearly jump out of his skin. He turned quickly to find Yeoman Rand grinning encouragingly at him from beneath her towering, intricate hairdo. She so seldom spoke while on duty unless spoken to that he’d completely forgotten her presence, although he’d be prepared to swear she hadn’t been there a few moments before. Not that that was particularly unusual; the yeomen were always in and out of the bridge, especially when the captain was off the ship. Rand had her PADD tucked in the crook of her arm, the stylus tucked behind her ear, and had obviously been there for a few minutes, at least. “The test,” she elaborated, either misunderstanding or willfully misinterpreting Slim’s expression. “Everybody always goes on about it like it’s the academic equivalent of facing off against the entire Klingon military force armed with nothing more than a stick and a loincloth, but it’s not really that difficult. They’re not expecting you to be able to solve Hilbert’s sixteenth problem or construct a fully functioning 1:3900-scale replica of a Federation-class starship using toothpicks and dental floss. It’s more along the lines of ‘can you tie your own shoelaces without outside assistance.’” “Hey, now,” Sulu said, turning from his station with a mock-frown. “Yeoman Rand, that is a wholly inaccurate assessment of the Starfleet Academy entrance exams.” “You’re right, Mr. Sulu, I shouldn’t have implied that there was a question on the entrance exams about shoe-tying,” Rand said with a straight face. “After all, Slim is the only person on this bridge whose shoes do tie, isn’t he?” Scotty looked down at his feet, then at Slim’s before looking back at his own. His expression was so comical that Slim couldn’t help bursting out laughing. Chekov cracked up, too. Even Sulu was fighting down a fit of giggles. “What’s going on?” Kelly asked suddenly. Slim was about to ask how she’d missed the joke when he caught sight of the scanners. The yellow blips were clustered off to one side of the cavern, and the three green blips were alone a little ways away. He frowned slightly, worried. “A conference?” Scotty nodded slowly. “I hope they’re not—” At that moment, two of the yellow blips broke away from the group and rejoined the three green ones. A third approached a moment later, more tentatively. Slim was beginning to have trouble breathing when the comms crackled to life. “Kirk to Enterprise.” “Scott here,” Scotty barked, stabbing at the buttons on the chair. “Captain, are ye all righ’?” “We’re fine, Mr. Scott.” Jim was speaking quietly, probably so that the other people in the cavern wouldn’t overhear too much. “Just updating you on the situation. It seems Merrick may be here—they seem to know of a man named Merikus, they call him the First Citizen, whatever that means. One of the men here will be escorting us into the city. It’s…complicated, too complicated to explain right now. Just keep monitoring us, would you?” “Of course, Captain. If you need—” “If we need—transportation—we’ll call you,” Jim interrupted. “We’ll be in touch again, Scotty. Kirk out.” The line died. Scotty sighed and ran a hand through his sparse hair. “Right,” he muttered. “The Beagle was doing the first study of this sector. Prime Directive still in effect.” Rand nudged Slim. “What is the Prime Directive?” “‘No identification of self or mission; no interference with social development of said planet,’” Slim quoted automatically. He’d read over the directives at least fifty times; most of them he would have had to struggle to recall, but the Prime Directive—one could almost hear the capital letters whenever anybody said it—had been in large, bold letters and had imprinted itself on his brain, which he guessed was the idea. “See? You’ve already got an edge over most Academy applicants. They don’t even teach that until second term of your first year.” “They’re moving out, Mr. Scott,” Sulu reported. “Follow them, then,” Scotty said. “I’ve a bad feeling about this…” “Aye, sir.” Sulu keyed instructions into the console, changing the sensors from a passive sweep of a localized area to actively following the three green blips indicating the Enterprise’s men. As the blips began crossing the grid, Slim felt rather than heard a hum travel up through the soles of his feet. He bit his lower lip briefly. Scotty frowned. “Ensign, what the devil was that?” Slim looked up, startled that the hum hadn’t been in his mind—most of the time when he communicated with a machine, it was all in his head. Kelly turned from her board with a bewildered look on her face. “I don’t know, Mr. Scott. All readings are perfectly normal, there was no change in anything on the ship—just that odd hum.” Chekov twisted around to look at Slim. “Was it ze Enterprise?” “Of course it was the Enterprise, Mr. Chekov, what else would it have been?” Scotty said impatiently. But Slim understood what Chekov meant. He looked up at Scotty. “Sir…there ain’t nothin’ wrong with the ship, but…she doesn’t like this.” “Oh. That’s what—” Scotty turned to Slim in surprise. “What d’ye mean, she doesn’t like this?” “This—” Slim gestured at the screen. “The whole situation. She…I can’t really explain it, sir, but what she just said was that she thinks we should beam them back aboard, right now.” “The ship is sentient,” Rand said, raising one eyebrow in skepticism. “Not exactly, Yeoman, but she talks to Slim,” Scotty told her. He took a deep breath. “I wish we could, too, but we can’t. Tell her the Prime Directive is in effect, an’ they’ve got a man from that planet with them—presumably. We can’t beam them aboard until the captain gives the say-so.” A spark of static electricity leapt from the back of the captain’s chair to Scotty’s elbow, making him jump. Slim couldn’t help the brief smile that crossed his lips. “She understands you just fine, sir.” Scotty rubbed his elbow, trying to scowl, but the smile was fighting its way through. “I don’t need backtalk from you, lassie.” Slim let his gaze return to the viewscreen. Along with the single yellow blip, the three green blips were advancing cautiously across the terrain, zig-zagging back and forth, probably taking advantage of cover that they could see but the watchers on the Enterprise couldn’t. At last they came to a halt, grouping fairly close together. “Are they at the city, then?” Slim asked. Sulu shook his head, pointing to the extreme edge of the sensor sweep, which was practically a solid wall of seething, pulsating yellow. “They’re on the outskirts. Probably waiting until dark before they go in.” “Because they’re not dressed for the culture,” Slim guessed. “And Spock’s ears…” “Well, that, too. But if they’re trying to sneak into the city for whatever reason…they said Merrick might be the First Citizen. That sounds important.” Slim glanced at Kelly. “You’re the expert…” “I’m the expert on the gods,” Kelly corrected him. “More the Greek than the Roman, anyway. The Roman history dork is Porter. I think I remember reading a short story once where they mention the First Citizen…it was a historical mystery of some kind, but—” Rand nodded. “Decius Metellus, right? The First Citizen is the only title he would agree to use for Augustus. He wouldn’t call him Emperor.” “The Emperor of Rome?” Uhura’s eyebrows shot up. “Bob Merrick?” “Mr. Scott!” Chekov cried. Slim whirled around to see six yellow blips rapidly converging on Jim and the others. Scotty balled his hands into fists. “Let’s hope they’ve seen them.” Five of the blips formed a loose semicircle around the green blips, while the sixth stepped forward. Slim’s heart leapt to his throat as the yellow blip that had led them out of the cage surged forward, only to stop abruptly next to another blip. One of the yellow blips approached one of the green blips, and Slim momentarily forgot how to breathe. A minute later, they were all being shepherded in the direction of the city. “Stay on them, Mr. Sulu,” Scotty said sharply, gripping the back of the chair so hard his knuckles turned white. “Full power to the scanners!” Sulu reached for the controls. Slim could sense the Enterprise’s anxiety as the sensors sharpened…but the second the group reached the edge of the city, they were swallowed up by the crowds. “Mr. Sulu!” Scotty shouted. “I’m trying, sir, I’m trying.” Sulu’s face was pale, sweat beading the back of his neck as he furiously worked the controls. “Dammit, is there anything I can do?” “Even I can tell she’s straining herself to the limit,” Kelly said, watching the lights on her console flickering rapidly. “I don’t think there’s any finding them.” “Not until they communicate with us,” Uhura said softly. “Until we have their comm signals to lock in on, we can’t pinpoint them.” Scotty heaved a sigh and spoke through clenched teeth. “Ease up on the sensors, but keep sweeping. We’ll find them.” Slim’s eyes searched the sensor screen anxiously, hoping to spot something, but it was all a blur to him, especially to his untrained eyes. Time stretched like an elastic until it seemed the whole atmosphere would snap from the tension. Uhura kept trying to hail Jim and the others, but got no response; Sulu and Chekov worked the helm like a pair of musicians playing a four-hand piano piece as Kelly tried to help them by boosting and diverting power. Scotty, like Slim, stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the screen. It was almost an hour later when Jim’s voice suddenly exploded onto the bridge. “Captain to bridge, come in…” Scotty stabbed violently at the button, the relief in his voice evident. “Bridge, Scott here. Go ahead, sir.” “If you have a fix on us, Scotty—” Jim began, then stopped. Sulu was tapping rapidly at the console when Jim’s voice came back on, managing to sound somehow tense and exhausted at the same time. “Stand by, Engineer…” “What? Captain!” Scotty shouted. Uhura turned around. “It’s no use, sir, he’s closed communication.” Scotty’s hands curled into fists. “Something’s wrong.” “Sir, I’ve pinpointed their location, but there are at least a half-dozen other people in the same area,” Sulu said, turning around, his face worried. “Should I beam them up anyway?” Scotty hesitated. “No, we’ll wait. It may be nothing’s wrong. Those men may be from the Beagle. The captain said ‘stand by,’ so he means to be in touch again. We’ll wait,” he repeated. Slim held himself perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, counting the seconds between heartbeats. After a few moments, Jim’s voice came back in. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Scotty.” “We were becoming concerned, Captain,” Scotty said, keeping his voice steady with a visible effort. “You were a bit overdue.” “That’s an understatement,” Sulu said under his breath. When Jim spoke a moment later, it was in a voice infused with sudden strength. “Condition green. All is well. Captain Kirk out.” Scotty’s face was a picture of misery. Slim looked up at him. “That ain’t in any of the books I’ve read…” “It wouldn’t be,” Scotty said unhappily. “’Tis one of our private codes. ‘Condition green’ means trouble, but forbids the taking of any action.” Slim had to grab the back of the chair to keep himself from passing out. “I—I guess those men ain’t from the Beagle, then,” he managed. Scotty patted Slim on the back. “We’ll keep trying, laddie. We may not be able to act, but we can find them. They’ll be in touch sooner or later.” Slim smiled weakly, but he wondered who it was he was trying to convince. Again came that agonizing, stretching length of time. Slim remembered from his studies that, as good as the sensors were, the color-coding depended on communicators. Federation technology could pick out Klingon technology fairly well, and even Romulan technology; anyone carrying a communicator at those frequencies would show up red. Yellow blips were really just anyone not carrying an active communicator, and if they were prisoners, the Romans (it was easier to think of them that way) would have confiscated everything on them immediately. For all intents and purposes, they were blind, Jim and Leo and Spock alone on the planet. After what seemed like forever, Scotty strode over to Uhura’s station. “Lieutenant Uhura, are you certain there’s no contact?” “None, sir, except the message you just received.” “Mr. Chekov?” “Nothing, Mr. Scott.” Chekov sounded close to tears. “Sensors lost zem when zey entered ze city, and without ze communicators…” “There’s got to be some way of finding them!” Kelly cried. Slim forced himself to think. Obviously, there was no way to contact them; however Jim had been able to communicate while surrounded, that option was no longer available. The area was confounding the sensors—too many life signs to pick up, and even though Spock’s were subtly different than a normal human being’s, it would be too difficult to pick out in the middle of a crowd. There was the possibility of a reconnaissance party, but with the “condition green” order, Scotty wasn’t about to risk lives—or Jim’s inevitable wrath—to send anyone down… “The television!” He hadn’t even realized he had spoken aloud until he felt every pair of eyes on the bridge on him. He blushed hotly, even as Scotty repeated, “The television?” “What do you mean, Slim?” Uhura asked gently. Slim rubbed the back of his neck and tried desperately to explain. “We’ve got two possibilities here. Either they’re prisoners or honored guests, from the same land that produced the ‘First Citizen.’ If they’re guests, there’ll be a news report about it, a festival of some kind. An’ if they’re prisoners, he’ll have to have ‘em killed in a big, fancy show. Whichever it is, if we can get that broadcast, we can find ‘em.” “He’s right,” Chekov said, pale but suddenly energized. “At least zere’s a chance.” “All right, then,” Scotty said, rubbing absently at his bald spot. “Uhura, get that broadcast back.” Uhura spun back to her console. There followed nearly fifteen minutes’ worth of frantic work, which nevertheless produced nothing but angry static. Slim frowned. “Hold on…” He walked over to Uhura’s side, watched for a minute, then placed his hand on the side of her board. Closing his eyes, he did his best to send a calming message to the ship. I know you don’t want to see that. I don’t want to, either, really. But it’s the only way to find them and bring them home. Please, girl, stop blocking the signals. The console juddered slightly, then seemed to relax. Slim opened his eyes and stepped back. “Try it now.” Uhura slid one of her knobs. There was another crackle of static, fainter this time, and then a picture began to coalesce on the screen. She looked up. “It worked. What did you do?” “I told the Enterprise to quit blocking the signals,” Slim admitted sheepishly. “I was watching what you were doing and it should’ve worked, so I reckoned the ship was fighting you for some reason.” “Well, whatever it was, it did the job.” Scotty’s eyes were fixed on the screen. Bright, catchy music washed over the bridge as the picture solidified into a flapping banner, purple with a laurel wreath surrounding the letters SPQR picked out in gold. Slim glanced briefly at the chronometer; it was the top of the hour, which meant, he guessed, that the broadcast was just beginning. The banner slid to one side and revealed an amicably smiling man, holding what Slim could tenuously identify as a microphone and standing above a sandy floor. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Live from the City Arena tonight and in living color, we bring you ‘Name the Winner!’ Brought to you by your Jupiter Eight dealers from coast to coast. In a moment we’ll bring you tonight’s first heat, but first, a word from our sponsors.” The man’s face vanished, replaced with something vaguely resembling the General Lee but painted a less garish color, with a fence of shiny chrome on its front end. Two hands drummed on the big headlight, then the chrome, then the top of the vehicle. Four men in horrendously tacky suits with ludicrously fake sideburns played instruments, beat on the car, and sang back-up for a woman with a hairdo that defied gravity and a filmy, short dress who kept talking, as near as Slim could pick out, about the rhythm of the car. Chekov’s face probably would have been funny if they hadn’t all been so tense about the news broadcast. A fanfare played, and then the announcer’s face reappeared, still smiling blandly. “And first tonight, a surprise ‘extra!’ In the far corner, a pair of aggressive barbarians with strange ways I’m sure will be full of surprises.” Slim couldn’t hold back a ragged gasp as the camera angle changed to show Spock and Leo in one corner of the arena, wearing gray t-shirts and pants, each holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. Spock held both with confidence, his shoulders squared and his face impassive, but Leo was clearly ill at ease. Even though Slim had been expecting to see them, he still hadn’t been prepared for exactly what he would see. “Facing them,” the announcer went on, “your favorites and mine from previous matches—Maximus Achilles and our noted Flavius!” The camera panned to the other end of the arena, showing two big, muscled, well-oiled men in short leather aprons, also carrying shields and swords. One’s face was blank, impassive, looking as though it had been chiseled out of stone; the other man looked marginally uncomfortable. Nevertheless, it was obvious both of them knew their way around the arena, and around the weapons they held as they moved into the arena. Again, the announcer’s face filled the screen, and there was a texture of gleeful anticipation to his voice. “Victory—or death? And for which of them? You know as much as I do at this moment. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your program! You ‘Name the Winner!’” “Where’s ze keptin?” Chekov’s voice was full of dread. Before anyone could answer, the camera angle shifted again, and this time everyone on the bridge gasped. What they had all taken to be a wall behind the announcer was in fact nothing more than a velvet hanging, part of a box draped in purple and gold. There were three chairs in it. On one of them sat a plump man in a white suit with a purple shirt and gold tie, a goblet in one hand, smiling lazily but with malice. In another sat a man in a very loud sports jacket, who kept casting slightly uneasy glances at the third chair. The third chair contained Jim. Still in his command gold uniform, looking incredibly out of place even among the bizarre mix of twentieth- and first-century clothing, Jim didn’t seem to have been harmed. His face was stoic, almost Vulcan in its calmness, betraying nothing. However, it was obvious to everyone that he was a prisoner, that his hands were bound behind him. “That’s him!” Uhura gasped. “That’s Robert Merrick—the one in the checked jacket!” Nobody responded. The other man raised his goblet, and the camera shifted back to the arena floor. Spock’s feet were positioned in almost the exact correct position, his sword hefted the way Slim and Sulu held their fencing foils—which was wrong, Slim thought vaguely, you didn’t fence with that kind of sword—and the shield gripped in his non-dominant hand. Leo’s stance, however, was awkward, his grip too tight and too high on the sword’s hilt, and he clearly had no idea what to do with the shield. There was a flourish of trumpets. One of the two men, the impassive one, suddenly struck out at Spock, who dodged backwards out of the way. Leo faced down the other, and Slim saw, with some relief, that this man seemed reluctant to come to grips. Maybe things would be all right for him. A whip cracked into view just off-screen, and a distant voice shouted, “Begin!” The man attacking Spock was clearly a professional, and Spock, running true to form, was simply defending himself as the gladiator bore down on him. The other man made a halfhearted swing at Leo, who instinctively raised his sword to defend himself from the blow. Slim could immediately see that the only reason he was managing to block the blows was that the gladiator wasn’t really trying. “Flavius is getting off to a slow start,” the announcer was saying, “but he’s never disappointed us for very—there’s a close one! The barbarian with the pointed ears is in trouble!” “He doesn’t know Spock very well,” Uhura said, her fists clenched tightly on her lap as she watched the huge gladiator—presumably Maximus Achilles, since Flavius was said to be off to a “slow start”—drive Spock into a corner. It had to be admitted that, if one didn’t know what Spock was capable of, one would probably believe he was close to finished. Spock’s lips were forming words, but the camera wasn’t picking them up. The camera panned the crowd momentarily—hundreds of jeering faces—then to the purple-draped booth for a reaction shot of Jim, Merrick, and the man who had signaled the start of the bout. Jim, his face white, his forehead beaded with sweat, had tried to stand and been obviously pressed back into his seat by one of the two gun-wielding men behind him. Merrick leaned over to say something to him, and Slim felt the knot in his stomach tighten. The view went back to the arena just in time for a concerted cheer as a whip crashed hard across Flavius’s back, shouting, “Fight, you two!” Flavius turned on the man, sword raised, for a brief moment, then turned back to Leo and aimed a more powerful blow at him. Leo staggered backwards as it clashed against his sword. “This doesn’t seem very entertaining to me,” Kelly said in a small voice. Scotty’s face was hard as he stared fixedly at the screen. “Aye, an’ it doesn’t seem to be their idea of entertainment, either,” he muttered. “These folks want a bloodbath, they want menace and slaughter. Instead they’ve got one man who can’t fight and one who won’t fight, both of whom are somehow keeping the professionals from landing a blow.” “Do you think ze network will stop it?” Chekov asked hopefully, half-turning in his seat. Slim shook his head. “No. They’ll try to make it more exciting.” The camera panned up to the purple box again, focusing on Jim’s face as the announcer said, “The barbarian’s chieftain seems distressed! Does he know something the rest of us don’t?” “Yeah,” Rand snapped, as if the announcer could hear her. “He knows that there’s a starship overhead with the firepower to reduce your entire ‘civilization’ to rubble.” “But the orders not to, Yeoman,” Scotty reminded her. Back in the arena, the whip cracked across Flavius’s back again; Slim flinched with remembered pain as he saw the welt appear on the man’s muscular back. The crowd booed, which seemed to anger the gladiator further. He shouted something at Leo, who shouted back, then lifted his sword and swung at the man, nearly overbalancing himself. Flavius parried it easily. The hisses and boos grew in volume as Spock continued to back away. The gladiator shouted at him, loudly enough that the cameras picked it up: “Stop running! Fight!” Spock turned the next blow, then moved closer to Leo. It appeared they were having a conversation, but it couldn’t be heard. It was obvious, however, that Leo was angry at whatever Spock was saying—or maybe he was just angry in general. He went into a flurry of wild, unformed lunges. “No…” Sulu muttered, tensing more than he already was. “Doctor, what are you doing?” “Fighting back?” Scotty suggested. “Not like that! Even if his technique was correct—which it’s not, he could seriously hurt himself doing that—he’s just going to make that guy angry, and—” Chekov and Kelly let out screams of terror, and Slim had a moment of being unable to breathe. Flavius had suddenly gone on the attack, vicious and savage, striking and slashing at Leo in a way that made all the anger drain out of his face immediately, to be replaced with fear. Sulu’s prediction had come true. Leo had provoked Flavius into a murderous fury that was likely to destroy him in a matter of seconds. Spock saw the peril in the same instant. He lashed out at Maximus with speed and efficiency, leading to astonished gasps and cries from the crowd, but Slim couldn’t help but wonder if it was too little too late. One of Flavius’s blows knocked Leo to the ground; the next struck the exact center of his shield, making him drop it. He managed to parry the next blow, but the one after that sent the sword spinning from his grip. “Help him, ye mad green-blooded bastard!” Scotty bellowed, his composure breaking for the first time. It was as though Spock heard him. Casting aside both sword and shield, he felled his opponent with a knife hand strike to the neck, then dashed across the arena to where Flavius was raising his sword for the killing blow. He grabbed the gladiator, spun him around, and applied pressure to the point where the neck met the shoulder. The man dropped like a stone. Slim gave a sigh of relief—for about two seconds. Cries of “Foul!” echoed throughout the arena as armed guards rushed in and grabbed Spock and Leo, pinioning their arms behind their backs. The camera panned up to a shocked announcer, who was facing the purple-draped box, where Jim, Merrick, and the still-unknown third man were all on their feet. “A clear foul, Proconsul! Your decision?” The galleries were shouting, clamoring for immediate death, but the third man—who had to be Proconsul—turned to Merrick and spoke. Merrick replied with obvious difficulty, and the other man turned to Jim and asked a question. He didn’t give Jim a chance to answer, however, merely said something with a malicious smile before stepping forward and shouting into a microphone. “Master of the Games, take them back to their cage!” Cheers mingled with boos as Spock and Leo were led away, swords ringing their necks. The still obviously-stunned announcer managed to say, “An exciting, if irregular, first heat! We’ll be back with the second heat after a word from our—” “Kill the transmission, Lieutenant,” Scotty said curtly. “We’ll get no more from this.” The picture vanished, replaced with the view of the planet, which no longer seemed Earth-like and calming to Slim. He suddenly remembered Hazel’s description of the school she’d attended during her first life in New Orleans: Just like its name, the place masked a whole lot of cruelty under a thin veneer of kindness. The peaceful, planet-wide community of equals Slim had left behind bore as much resemblance to the blighted empire before him as Camp Jupiter had to St. Agnes’. They probably excused a lot of the brutality and savagery they had just seen with “but that’s how it’s always been done.” Kelly’s arms were wrapped protectively around her rounding stomach, her eyes wide and filled with tears. “What are they going to do to them?” “I saw what that man in the middle—Proconsul?” Sulu asked, turning around, his face ashen. “It’s a title, I think,” Rand said uncertainly. “I saw what he said to the captain,” Sulu said quietly. “He asked his opinion, then said, ‘Kill them now—and you’ll gladly accept whatever happens to you. I wouldn’t relish that. But you almost tricked me into depriving myself of real pleasure.’” Slim’s blood ran cold as a single word popped into his head. The word was crucifixion. He was vaguely aware that it was the ultimate punishment in Roman society, but he’d be damned if he could remember what it entailed. He guessed, however, that it was the real pleasure the Proconsul had referred to. “Right, that’s it,” Scotty said abruptly, but when Slim looked up at him, he was regarding the younger two with a gentle expression. “Ensign O’Flaherty, you’re off shift, lassie. Go get something to eat, and get some rest. You need it. Slim, go with her, make sure she eats something, and you eat something, too. You’re young, you need your strength.” He hesitated, then added, “Once you have…come back up here. You’re on that panel until the crisis is over.” Relief washed over Slim, strangely enough. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not knowing where his parents were, and having something to do would help. He saluted, then pulled Kelly to her feet and led her to the lift. Audra, Porter, and Nic’tlarn were already seated at the table where they usually congregated, and all three looked up with welcoming smiles as Slim and Kelly approached. Kelly took one look at them and burst into tears. “Kelly, what is it, what’s wrong?” Nic’tlarn was instantly on xyr feet, reaching for Kelly in obvious alarm. Kelly threw her arms around Nic’tlarn’s neck and buried her face in xyr shoulder, sobbing. The only words audible were “captain” and “Rome” and a word that might possibly have been “gladiators” but might just as easily have been random noises. Nic’tlarn tried to comfort her, shooting a bewildered glance at Slim. Slim held up a finger, darted over to the food slots, and returned with two plates. One had one of the preprogrammed meals Kelly was supposed to be eating to encourage a healthy pregnancy, while the other had a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup, his comfort food. Setting them down and taking a seat, he said quietly, “That planet down there…it’s like the Roman empire carried over into the twentieth century without adopting twentieth-century morality. They still have slaves, gladiator games…only they’re televised. Dad—the captain an’ Dr. McCoy an’ Mr. Spock beamed down there and got captured. We just watched the doctor an’ Spock fightin’ for their lives in an arena. Only reason they’re still alive now—they won the match, but only ‘cause Spock karate-chopped his opponent an’ used the Vulcan nerve pinch on Pa’s—is because the folks in charge wanna make ‘em suffer. Dad, too.” Despite his resolve, he’d switched halfway through from talking like they were ship’s officers to talking about family, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “Dii immortales.” Porter gave a low whistle. “It ain’t like New Rome in the books, that’s for sure.” Slim prodded at his sandwich. “Kelly, sit down and eat,” Nic’tlarn begged. Still crying quietly, Kelly sat down and automatically began eating her meal. “It’s so awful. The whips and—and the swords—and everybody cheering for Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy to get hurt—and that horrible man, saying he didn’t want the captain to accept whatever happens—” “Mind filling in the blanks there?” Audra asked Slim, her face pale. Slim did his best. By the end of it, Kelly was the only one who was still eating. Porter was shaking his head long before Slim had finished. “It doesn’t fit. You said that this Merrick was the First Citizen—the Emperor? He ought to be the one making those kinds of decisions, not the Proconsul.” “What is a Proconsul?” Audra asked, methodically tearing the lettuce from her sandwich into confetti. “A governor, basically. They’re in charge of one little province, in the name of the Emperor. Even if that man is the Proconsul of the main city, he still should theoretically not have more authority than the First Citizen.” Porter rubbed his chin reflectively. “On the other hand…something like barbarian captives cheating in a fight would be too petty for the Emperor to deal with. It isn’t as though they were senators, or patricians, or even Roman citizens at all. Still…it seems to me that from what you’ve described, the Proconsul is taking more than a few liberties with his Emperor. Maybe it’s because this First Citizen was born a barbarian.” “You seem pretty familiar with Ancient Rome,” Nic’tlarn observed, still casting anxious glances at Kelly. Porter shrugged. “I got interested when I read the Percy Jackson books—not in the gods, in the culture. So I started reading. It was a bit of an obsession for a while. I even considered majoring in anthropology at the Academy, but the lure of Engineering was too strong. I thought I told you guys that.” Slim hesitated, then asked the question he really wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to. “What’s a crucifixion?” Porter’s face turned ashen. “Who said anything about a crucifixion?” “Nobody…exactly. But…that’s the word that keeps goin’ through my mind. I reckon that’s what the Proconsul has in mind, an’ I ain’t sure what it involves.” “It…it comes from the Latin,” Porter said slowly, reluctantly, casting a worried glance at Kelly. They were all trying to be careful not to unduly upset her, knowing that the stress would be bad for the baby. “The word crux…it means…” “Port,” Kelly said softly, setting down her fork and lacing her fingers protectively over her stomach. “Just spit it out. I’m not going to break.” Porter took a deep breath and said in a rush, “It’s a slow, painful method of execution. It involves tying or nailing someone to a cross and leaving them there until they die…it can take hours or even days to work. It’s agonizing—that’s where the word excruciating comes from—and it’s also humiliating. I, uh, I don’t think it’s what they’re planning…it wouldn’t be much of a TV program. It’d be like watching paint dry.” “So, what, they’re going to throw him to the lions?” Audra asked, her brow furrowed. “It’s a possibility, I guess,” Porter admitted. Slim stared down at his sandwich, his stomach doing flips. “I hope they’ve got a plan, that’s all.” Kelly spooned up the last of her mashed rutabega. “Slim, you’d better eat…Mr. Scott’s expecting you back on the bridge and if you pass out from hunger, he’ll kick your ass.” “You pulled bridge duty?” Audra looked at Slim in surprise. “How’d you manage that?” “I ain’t sure. Reckon Mr. Scott just wants to keep an eye on me.” Obediently, Slim picked up his sandwich. Half an hour later, Slim stepped onto the bridge and slipped into his place at the Engineering panel. Scotty nodded at him over his cup of coffee. “We’re still scanning, laddie. Nothing’s coming up. See if you can figure out how to circumvent that.” Slim nodded. “Aye, sir.” Cracking his knuckles, he got to work. He lost all track of time as he pressed, toggled, slid, and manipulated every button, knob, switch, and lever on the panel. Reluctant to use his gift more often than necessary, he tried his hardest to do what he could without asking the ship for help, but nothing worked. As minutes stretched to hours, he rubbed at his eyes and kept doggedly pressing on. Rand appeared at his side, handing him a cup of coffee, which he accepted gratefully. Ordinarily he didn’t drink coffee at all, but he didn’t think he’d make it through the night if he didn’t try it tonight. He took a swig, tried to keep himself from choking on the dark, bitter brew, and kept working. “How long since we had word?” Scotty asked. He wasn’t speaking loudly, necessarily, but it was the first time anyone had spoken in a while, so Slim couldn’t help but jump. “Nine hours and forty-two seconds,” Uhura said, startling Slim for the second time. He honestly hadn’t realized it had been that long. “It’s almost dark there. We’ll see the city lights coming on soon.” Slim looked up at the viewscreen. The star at the center of the system was disappearing behind the curve of the planet, bathing the landmasses below in a ruddy glow. On Earth, he probably would have found the sight comforting, almost beautiful, but in light of what he’d seen earlier, it was as though the whole place was saturated in blood. As he watched, lights began flickering, tiny pinpoints on a swiftly darkening continent. “That would be a lovely sight, if the whole place wasn’t so terrifying,” Sulu muttered. Scotty drummed his fingers on the back of the command chair momentarily. Slim, glancing over at him, saw his jaw suddenly clench with determination. “Mr. Chekov, pinpoint the city’s power source locations,” he said with spirit. “Slim, I’m setting ye a practical exam. Type the power, the load factors—and how much our beams must pull to overload them.” “Aye, sir,” Chekov and Slim said in unison. It was, without a doubt, the most difficult test Slim had ever faced in his life, largely because he knew it wasn’t just an academic exercise. This was the real deal—a problem in real time, an equation—a series of equations, really—that had to be solved quickly and accurately, and if he was wrong, it wasn’t a matter of getting a bad mark on an exam and having to re-take it, it could literally be life and death for Jim and the others. But, at the same time, he’d studied this. He knew how to do this. Yeoman Rand kept him, along with the rest of the bridge crew, well supplied with coffee throughout the night—except for Sulu, of course—but half the time his cup sat forgotten at his elbow as he worked through a difficult stretch of solutions. At last, as the landmass below them turned inexorably westward, Chekov cried exultantly, “Got it!” Scotty came up behind Slim and Chekov, who both stood by the helm, and clapped their shoulders. “Well done, lads. How long can we overload their power for?” Slim double-checked his calculations. “If we put everything we’ve got into the beams, five minutes. No longer.” “Well, that may be enough to give the captain and the others a head start.” Scotty rubbed his chin, then nodded decisively. “To your station, Slim, and be ready to give me that power on my signal.” “Aye, sir.” Slim slipped back to the panel and bent over it, instinct telling him not to sit down just yet. His fingers hovered over the appropriate slide as he waited. “Locked on, Mr. Scott,” Sulu reported, his voice slightly weary but holding steady. Scotty held his breath for a moment, then suddenly snapped out, “Now!” Slim pushed the slide all the way up, diverting every ounce of power he could spare into the beams. The lights on the bridge actually dimmed momentarily as Sulu thumbed the trigger. A bright blue beam struck the location they had targeted, emanating from the underside of the Enterprise, and a moment later, the continent went dark. “We did it!” Uhura cheered, throwing her arms up in celebration. Turning around, Slim saw a look of smug satisfaction on Scotty’s face. “That ought to show the bastards what a starship can do.” As Slim had predicted, the beams were able to keep the power off on the planet no more than five minutes, but as Scotty said, it ought to be enough. Slim was fairly confident that it would be put down as the wrath of the gods anyway—even though he knew that the gods they worshiped were dead. As the lights came back on, he crossed his fingers and held his breath. “Starship, lock in on this place, three to—” The voice suddenly erupted onto the bridge—not Jim’s, not Leo’s or Spock’s, but a stranger’s—and Scotty stared in surprise and alarm. “Slim, I need power back!” Sulu said urgently. Swiftly, Slim turned back to his board and rediverted the power to the sensors. In a matter of seconds, Sulu had the screen up, even as the voice spoke again, in a hoarse, gurgling whisper. “Three to beam up…emergency…” “I’ve got Mr. Spock’s signs! He’s back-to-back with two others!” Sulu shouted. “Transporters locked in!” “Energize!” Scotty bellowed. Slim whipped around to his console and saw the lights flash as the transporter was activated. A moment later, the readings returned to normal. “I…I think we got them, Mr. Scott,” Slim said. Every head on the bridge turned to the lift doors, waiting in hopeful silence. At last, the doors slid open. Jim came through, alone. Everyone was on their feet immediately. “Captain, where are—” “They’re coming,” Jim interrupted. “Spock took a cut to his arm and Bones is insisting on treating it before they come up here. But they’re both fine.” “And you, Keptin?” Chekov asked, his eyes seeming even larger than usual. “I’m fine, too, Mr. Chekov.” Jim smiled wanly. “Just exhausted.” Uhura glanced at the viewscreen, then back at Jim. “That was Bob Merrick, wasn’t it? The man who spoke to us?” Jim rubbed his temples, nodding. “It was. He sacrificed himself at the end there, so we could get away. Whatever faults he may have had, he went out upholding the traditions of the Academy.” Slim studied his father worriedly. Despite Jim’s reassurances, he wasn’t convinced. “You sure you’re okay, Dad?” Jim started and turned. “Slim, what the hell are you doing here? It’s almost four in the morning.” “He was running the Engineering panel,” Scotty intervened. “I didn’t realize how late it was getting.” “Tell me what happened, Scotty.” Jim sat down in his chair, a little heavily. “All of it.” “Not much to tell, sir,” Scotty said, rubbing his bald spot. “We…ah…we managed to pick up the broadcast of the fight in the arena, the one between the doctor and Mr. Spock. I sent Slim and O’Flaherty to get something to eat, then told Slim to come back. We tried to find ye, but nothing came up. Finally I got tired of waiting and decided to give a bit of a show of power. Chekov found the source of the city’s power, Slim did all the necessary calculations, and we shorted it out…temporarily. I hope I didn’t do wrong, but…” “You did fine,” Jim assured him. “In fact, you probably saved all our lives. The blackout occurred at the crucial moment to allow me to escape my pending execution. It didn’t interfere with the society and violated neither the Prime Directive nor my orders.” He nodded to Sulu and Chekov. “Prepare us to break orbit and get out of here, gentlemen.” The door to the lift opened again, and Spock and Leo came in. Slim couldn’t help but notice that, although they both bore signs of strain and worry, they looked far less worse for the wear than anyone else on the bridge. Leo went straight to Jim’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder; Jim leaned into it almost unconsciously. “Captain,” Spock said, looking around him with his brows knit in concern, “do you intend to summon Gamma shift to their usual positions?” “As soon as we’ve cleared orbit, Mr. Spock,” Jim said with a nod. “Warp factor one, Mr. Sulu. Let’s go.” “Warp one, sir.” Sulu began keying in the instructions to break them out of orbit around the planet. Spock stepped up to the side of Jim’s chair. “I would suggest, Captain, that you permit me to contact the relief shift for Alpha tomorrow. Three hours of sleep is insufficient for most humans, and it would be illogical to expect all of you to return after so little rest. I will gladly take responsibility for the intervening time, and will of course contact you should anything go wrong.” Jim hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you, Spock,” he said tiredly. Turning to Slim, he added, “But you’re going now. Go on, son, go to bed. We’ll try not to wake you up when we come in.” “Ye did well, laddie,” Scotty said, clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a warm smile. “I’m right proud of ye.” Slim smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Scott. Goodnight, everyone….’Night, Dad.” He gave his dad a quick hug before heading into the lift. The strain and exhaustion of the last eighteen hours or so caught up with him all at once, and he felt himself deflating as he sank through the decks to his destination. Somehow, he rallied the energy to stumble to his family’s quarters and into his bedroom, but at that point he stopped caring. He shucked his shirt, toed out of his socks and shoes without bothering to untie them, and crawled under his covers. He was so tired that he fell asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, and tumbled at once into the deep oblivion of true slumber, knowing nothing further until very late the next day.  

It was easily the best night of my life and we didn't even do anything beyond making out and that one little flash of Bella's breasts I'd been treated to before Rose came and interrupted us. I couldn't be sorry, though. I wanted Bella, there was no doubt about that, but I wanted to know her as well. After the movie ended, we lay in bed talking, touching and kissing for hours. I knew what she looked like when she laughed. I knew that she'd gone through a phase of eating nothing but hot dogs when she was five years old. I knew what she smelled, tasted and felt like. If I thought I'd fallen for her before, well, that was nothing compared to how I felt about her now. I never did stop touching her. When we'd fallen asleep, she'd had her head on my chest and when I woke up, we were spooning in her too small bed. Not that I was about to curse that right now. I loved having her near. She started to stir in my arms and I pressed my lips to the back of her neck. I was addicted to kissing her there. Her skin was so soft. She made a sexy moaning sound and pressed her ass back against me, which in turn caused me to groan. Of course I had morning wood; I had a sexy woman in my arms. A little giggle alerted me to the fact that she was aware of what she'd done. "You're mean," I told her, nipping her earlobe. Her shoulders shook with laughter. "You're the one taunting me with Eddie Junior back there." I chuckled and nuzzled her neck. "Oh, I'd gladly stop taunting you and let you have at him if you so desired." She gasped softly. "This is hard, isn't it?" "I'll say so," I muttered which made her laugh again. "Not that, you perv." She turned to face me and I ran my thumb along her jaw. I grinned innocently. "Whatever did you mean then?" She rolled her pretty eyes. "I mean, knowing what to do. I feel like we're in this state of in-between." I ran my thumb up her cheek and she closed her eyes. "Bella, let's just do what feels right." My stomach growled. Nice timing. Her eyes opened and she grinned. "I guess that right now I should feed you then." I cursed my digestive system. "Well, I haven't eaten since lunchtime yesterday but…" Bella's eyes widened and she sat up. "Shit. Why didn't we eat last night?" I smirked. "One of us did, on her other date." It was amazing that I could sort of joke about it now, even though I still felt jealous as hell. It was me she was with in bed this morning, not Colin the understanding asshole. What? He was still an asshole because he got to go out with her before I did. I could hate him for that. It was totally allowable. Bella touched her index finger to my nose. "For your information, I only had a couple of bites of appetizers. And, for the record, you're cute as hell when you're jealous." I pulled her down on top of me. "You like that, do you?" She bit her lip but her eyes twinkled at me. "Kinda, sorta, maybe." She was so fucking sexy. "Well, then, yes, I'm jealous that he got to take you out before I got here. Did he touch you?" She shook her head but then her eyes changed. "What?" I knew he hadn't kissed her, but what? "He touched the small of my back when we were going into the building." I glared and she gave me a smacking kiss before pulling away. "Morning breath, ew." I rolled us over and pinned her to the bed. "I'll breathe all over you if you don't tell me everything." She giggled and wiggled against me but she couldn't budge. "I told you! He touched my back and I jumped about a mile to get away from him. I'm surprised he even continued the date at that point." I reached beneath her and touched the small of her back. I don't know why, I just had to claim it as mine or something, take his figurative handprint off her. "Of course he continued the date. Did you see how beautiful you were last night? I'd have given anything to be the one sitting across from you at some restaurant." I should take her out, but then people would see me and the publicity would start before we'd even had a day together. Bella's eyes watered and she reached up to touch my face. "I wish you had been." She cupped my face in both hands. "But spending last night with you, here, was way better than dinner at a fancy restaurant. I wouldn't give that up for anything." Morning breath be damned, I kissed her, hard. And she wrapped her arms around my back and held me to her as she kissed me. My stomach growled again and she laughed, pulling back a little. "You need to eat." "Yeah." But I kissed her again, softly this time. "I want to be the guy taking you out to fancy dinners, Bella." She smiled up at me. "I want you to be that guy, too." I rolled off her and sat up, then helped her do the same. "I'd take you out tonight but the press might get wind of things and…" She held up a hand. "It's fine. I want to be with you, Edward. We can hole up here all day and I'll be perfectly content. I'd rather stay in our little bubble before reality comes crashing in." Our bubble was the best place to be. "I'm going to talk to Kate when I get back, figure out how we should handle things. I don't want the press beating down your door, Bella. I'll do everything I can to protect you from that but at the same time…" I broke off, not sure how to say it. "What?" Her big brown eyes looked sad now which wasn't at all acceptable. "But at the same time I want the whole world to know about you." Her smile lit up her face. God, I loved that smile. I wanted to make her smile like that every single day. "You do?" I nodded. "Of course. You're my girl, right?" Her smile got wider somehow. "You want me to be?" I laughed. "Isn't that obvious?" She shrugged. "I didn't want to presume. I mean, it's so soon and you're you and…" "I'm me," I interrupted. "A dork who loves He-Man, Star Wars and Words with Friends who happens to be famous. The fame doesn't define me, Bella." She shook her head and took my hand. "I know that, Edward. I just don't know what your agent and your people and the press will do or say." I raised our joined hands to my lips and kissed her. "Let me worry about that. But not today." Bella smiled. "No, today let's worry about food." That was a good plan. I stood and helped her slide out of bed. "Bathroom break first." She giggled. "Me first." And she was off. I laughed and picked up my phone off the desk. I had a couple of missed calls from Kate and Jane, and a text from my brother. Are you done playing bingo or whatever old people do on a Saturday night? I'm hungry and I'm bored. Of course he was. We're up and hungry as well. And I know, for the first time in a long time, that I had a way better night than you did. It wouldn't have mattered if he went to a sorority house and banged every girl there, my night with Bella was still better. Rub it in, dickhead, and I won't stop at the donut shop I saw last night to pick up some glazed goodness for your superior asshole self. And you owe me for your wonderful night! Best not to piss him off when I was hungry. Yes, Em, I do owe you. You're the best big brother in the whole world. I want chocolate glazed. Bella came out of the bathroom. "I have an extra toothbrush, so at least you can use that. When's your brother coming over?" I grinned. "He'll be over soon. He's going to bring donuts. What do you like?" She looked thrilled by that news. "Apple fritters!" I smirked. "Apples, huh, teach?" She blushed. "I'll give you your apples." She huffed and opened her bedroom door and ducked into the kitchen. Bella likes apple fritters. What was she doing? I heard a noise. Ahh, coffee. That would be a good thing. I wasn't tired, yet, but I was likely going to be. Not that I regretted it. On it. What does my thorny Rose like? And I may as well get something for Pedo Chick. What does she want? Ugh. Don't call Alice that, please. She helped me out with Bella last night. I don't know if I'd be here without her. Bella came in with a happy smile on her face. "What?" She threw something and I caught it on reflex. I laughed. "An apple for me? I thought I had to ply you with them." She giggled. "Well you do, eventually. But we're being good right now, right? She was fantastic. "Yeah, I suppose." I rubbed the apple against my shirt. "Do you know what kind of donuts Rose and Alice like? Emmett's buying." Bella nodded. "Rose likes those Boston cream and Ali's a glazed girl." I tossed the apple back to her. "Hold that for me." Boston cream for Rose, glazed for Alice. "That oughta do it. I'm going to brush my teeth now." I was looking forward to taking a shower, but I'd wait until I had my own clothes. Oh, I have cream for Rose. Good God. I snorted. "What are you laughing at?" "My brother's being a pervert." She giggled. "Runs in the family. Can I see?" I held my phone out to her and she laughed hard when she saw it. "I think he's worse than you are." I sniffed. "I'll have you know I'm a much classier pervert than he is." With that parting shot, I strolled past her to go to the bathroom to make myself semi-presentable. "That's a matter of debate," she muttered. I reached behind me and goosed her which made her shriek. "Edward!" I smirked over my shoulder. "Just living up to my good perverted name." "We'll see about that later," she called as I closed the door. Ten minutes later I was a little more presentable. I used Bella's brush and my new toothbrush and washed my face with soap and water. I caught sight of her apricot and vanilla lotion from Bath & Body Works. I might have to break my unscented lotion rule and get a bottle for when we weren't together. I felt a pang at that thought. I hated that I had to leave her. But only for a few days. And then for weeks. Shit. We'd get through it. I came out of the bathroom and Bella was sitting on her freshly made bed. "I could have helped with that." She smiled. "I never make it. I totally did it because you're here." I laughed and pulled her into my arms, kissing her soundly. "You don't need to put on airs for me, baby." She smirked. "Well I just figured I'd straighten it up so we could mess it up later." Fuck me. I opened my mouth to reply when the doorbell rang. "Emmett," I muttered. Bella grinned and took my hand, yanking me out of her bedroom and practically running to the front door. "I think you're a little too excited for the wrong Cullen," I told her. She giggled as she flipped the locks. "Actually, I'm all about the donuts. Handsome Cullens are a dime a dozen." She opened the door as I pinched her ass. I noticed she'd put on real clothes, which was a shame. Then again, I didn't need my brother getting an eyeful of Bella's braless boobs. "Ass," she hissed at me as she smiled at my brother. He grinned at her. "Well, I won't lie and claim I haven't been called that before, but usually a girl gets to know me a little before she calls me that." I laughed and pulled her against me as we let him walk in with two boxes of donuts and my bag. "She's bright and calls 'em like she sees 'em." "Shut up," she smacked at me and beamed at my brother. "I was calling Edward an ass." "I thought you were asking me to touch your ass," I told her innocently. Emmett let out one of his belly laughs and put the donut boxes on the bar. "He is an ass. You're right, bro, she is bright." Then he yanked her away from me and pulled her into a big bear hug. "Hi, Bella! It's great to finally meet you." She laughed and hugged him back. "It's nice to meet you. I guess I have you to thank for bringing the ass up here." "Hey, I'm right here!" I told them. Emmett chuckled and released her. "Yes, I brought the asses' ass up here for you. I trust that he hasn't been too much of an ass? I could hit him for you if you like." I glared at both of them and turned to open the donuts, grabbing my chocolate glazed and digging in. "Be careful, that'll go right to your ass," Emmett warned me. I thought about throwing it at him but I was too hungry. Bella giggled and wrapped her arms around my waist. "Can I have a bite?" I raised an eyebrow. "Would an ass share his donut?" She grinned. "Yes, if he wanted to get some action later." I handed her the rest of my donut without delay. She smiled triumphantly and took a bite. "Damn, she's good! I like you. Welcome to the family." Emmett told her, slapping her lightly on the back and grabbing his own, wolfing it down before Bella and I finished mine. "The family?" she asked, sounding confused as she fed me the rest of my donut. I glared at him. He better not dare…"Yeah, you're his girl right? So, you're family." "Oh." Bella looked confused. "Are all his girlfriends family?" Emmett laughed. "Hell no! Do you think I would have wanted Irina for a sister? She's an uptight princess. Just you, Bella." She glanced at me and I shrugged. It was way too early to start talking about "the one" with her. Even though I knew my brother was right. She was "the one" alright. Thank God for that. "Okay, well, cool." I handed Bella her fritter and she grinned and bit into it. I leaned over to whisper in her ear. "That counts as one apple." She blushed and giggled. "Okay," she said after she swallowed. I hoped Emmett had bought a dozen of them. Emmett wandered over to that picture of the three girls again. "Where are the other two?" he asked, trying to sound all casual. Right. "Sleeping I guess," Bella said. Emmett frowned and put the picture down. He took another donut and sat on the couch. "What's taking so long? It's ten." I laughed and grabbed a napkin and another donut before sitting down. Bella perched on the arm of the chair next to me but I tugged her into my lap. "Not everyone gets up at six like you do, Em." "Six?" Bella asked as she settled back against me. "Yeah, I go to the gym for two hours every morning." He flashed his dimples at her. "You don't get to look like this by eating donuts every Sunday." I snorted. "You eat tons of crap, Emmett." "I'll have you know I eat…" "What do you eat?" a sexy voice purred from behind him. I glanced up and holy fuck, my brother was a dead man. It was as if my brother's wet dream had walked out of his head and into the apartment. Rose was standing in the hallway wearing jeans that were molded to her body, a white filmy top that was pretty close to being see-through from what I could tell and a black leather jacket and motorcycle boots. I quickly looked at Bella whose lips were twitching. Emmett turned his head and his jaw dropped open when he saw her. "I…I…" She gave a tinkling laugh and walked into the living room, her hips swaying seductively. "I really hoped you were going to say something way more interesting than that." She patted him on the head and walked to the kitchen. "Coffee anyone?" "I'll take a cup," Bella said, sounding strangled. I knew she was trying not to laugh. "Me too," I said, keeping my eyes on my girl. Let Emmett devour Rose with his eyes. My Bella was even more beautiful in her simple jeans and sweatshirt. Emmett was practically hanging over the couch to look at Rose. She brought a cup to me and Bella and got herself a donut before sitting on the other end of the couch from Emmett. "Did you bring these?" He nodded mutely. "Thank you." She gave him a glittering smile before biting in. She moaned loudly and Emmett groaned and shifted in his seat. A little of the cream leaked out of her mouth. She set the donut on a napkin and licked her lips. "Fuck me," Emmett muttered loud enough for everybody to hear. Bella buried her face in my neck and laughed silently. I could feel it moving through me. I kissed the side of her head. Rose smiled over at him. "I might have, if you would have told me what you were up to. More's the pity." Emmett sat up. "Hey, I got him here, didn't I? They're joined at the hip because of me!" She hummed and sipped her coffee. "I made the call that got you on the road in the first place. If it wasn't for me, you'd probably still be sitting in your room trying to figure out how to fix things." "Bullshit, I was nearly settled on my course of action before you called. I just needed to know Little Sister was on the same page as Eddie before I took action." "I thought you were a man who acted first and thought later." His blue eyes shot fire. "You don't know anything about me." "Don't I?" she asked, smiling brightly at him before turning to face me. Emmett was fuming behind her. It was getting really hard not to laugh at them. The sexual tension in the room, which was already pretty high between me and Bella, shot up several levels. "Did you two have a good night?" Bella nodded against my neck and I laughed. "Yeah, we did." Rose wrinkled her nose. "That's funny; I didn't hear any screaming coming from her room." "Rose!" Bella lifted her head up and glared at her friend. Emmett laughed. "He's no brother of mine, apparently. Obviously he was adopted." "Fuck off, Emmett," I told him. Rose turned back to him. "You mean he actually acts like a gentleman and gets to know a girl before fucking her? I can see how that would be a foreign concept for you." It was pretty damn funny how she went from one extreme to the other. My brother was in for it. "Uh oh," Bella murmured. Alice took that moment to come into the living room. She took in the two of us and then Rose and Emmett who were glaring hotly at one another. "Is this my living room or a National Geographic Special on the mating habits of American twenty-somethings?" she asked. Before anybody could reply, Bella was up and hugging her tightly. "Thank you, Ali." Alice hugged her back and smiled over at me. "It was the least I could do. I'm just glad that everything worked out." Bella pulled back and turned to look at me, her face positively radiant. She took my breath away. "Yeah, you could say that it did." "Except they didn't bang," Rose supplied helpfully. "Which apparently qualifies my brother for saint status," Emmett muttered angrily. "He's more saint than sinner," she snapped back. "Listen, babe, don't tell me you don't prefer the sinners." "You don't know shit about what I prefer!" This was getting out of hand. I looked at Bella for guidance but she looked as baffled as I was. Alice glanced around the room. "Thank God I have plans today." Emmett brightened up at that. "Oh yeah? Are you going to watch a marathon of Cougartown to learn how to get your boy toy all worked up?" Rose smacked him and he grunted. Alice flipped him off. "Actually I thought I'd go start a bar fight. All the cool losers are doing it." Emmett huffed. "I haven't been in a fight in ages." "If by ages you mean two months, then yeah, it's been ages." Alice rolled her gray eyes. "You know, I brought you donuts but you can't have any now," Emmett told her. She laughed and grabbed one anyway. "Thanks, dickhead." "You're welcome, harpy." They were smiling at one another, though. What weirdos. Bella shrugged and came back over to me, where I happily drew her back into my lap. "I have plans, too," Rose announced. Emmett's eyes sharpened at that. "Plans, what plans?" She smirked. "I'm going for a bike ride." Emmett laughed. "Nice day for it. Gray and rainy. Enjoy pedaling through that." "Do I look like I ride a ten speed?" she asked witheringly. Emmett's eyes moved slowly over her body and he licked his lips. "No. You look like you ride way more interesting things." That was my brother. I shook my head. She gasped softly but quickly recovered her equilibrium. "Damn right I do. This guy I know just got a Ducati. He's going to take me out on it." "Guy? What guy?" Emmett demanded, his voice a notch higher. "A friend." The way she said friend was loaded with innuendo. "I thought we were going to hang out today," Emmett told her. "Um, why would you think that? It's not like you fucking told me you were going to be here," Rose told him hotly. "This is fascinating," Bella whispered in my ear. "I know," I told her. "I think they're either going to start punching each other or kissing soon." Not that my brother would hit a girl. Maybe wrestle though. She giggled. "Maybe both." Alice was sitting in one of the dining room chairs watching and eating her donut. She was clearly as interested as the rest of us were. "It was a surprise! I couldn't have you telling Bella and ruining things," he told her. "Well, surprise, dipshit. I have a life and plans of my own. I'm not sitting around waiting for your plans to reveal themselves." "What am I supposed to do all day?" he whined. "I don't want to sit around in a hotel or watching the lovebirds not have sex." How did he know what we would or wouldn't be doing? "I have great faith that you can find something or someone to do," she told him. Emmett glared. "I'm sure I can. Where are the sororities around here?" he asked Bella. Before she could respond, Rose laughed. "You would go for sorority girls." "You would go for douches on motorcycles. Do you even know what a real machine feels like? A fucking Ducati. I have a Tomahawk at home and a Venom downstairs. I could take you for a better ride than that prick can!" "So why don't you then?" she demanded. The next thing I knew, his hands were in her jacket and he was hauling her to him and kissing the life out of her. She didn't seem to mind, though. She was pulling his hair and fusing her mouth to his. "Holy shit," I told Bella. She was staring with her mouth wide open and Alice was laughing and banging on the table. "How did that happen?" she asked. I shrugged. "Anger to heat, I guess." They broke apart and stared at one another. Rose tugged her leather jacket out of his hold. "I meant, why don't you take me for a ride in your car?" There was no heat in her voice now. "I'll do that too," he told her, looking dazed. "First you call whomever you had plans with and break them." "Uh oh," Bella whispered. "Not good." "Don't tell me what to do," she warned, glaring at him. "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm telling you what I will do if you break your plans." She considered him for a moment. "I want to drive it." "No," he told her, but I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was going to let her. Damn it, another person that got to drive it before I did. Oh well, I'd be with Bella which was a billion times better anyway. "Sam was going to let me drive his bike," she told him. "Sam?" Alice asked, and then started laughing loudly. Bella's face flushed. What in the hell was that about? "You're going out with Sam?" Rose sniffed. "I'm not sleeping with him. I just wanted a ride." "Well, at least you could have driven just fine with him behind you. Nothing poking you in the ass!" Alice shrieked. She was in tears she was laughing so hard. Bella giggled but was still red as hell. Emmett shot me a what the fuck look and I shrugged. "What's so funny about Sam?" Emmett sounded very annoyed. "Nothing," Rose said at the same time that Alice piped up with "Pinky peen!" Bella just groaned. Emmett brightened considerably. "Really? You were going to go out with a guy with teeny weenie? How cute is that? I'm afraid I don't carry any condoms that could accommodate him but I might have one of those dime rolls from a bank you could use." "I'm not sleeping with him," she replied through clenched teeth. "Sounds like that's a good thing," he told her. "You wouldn't get off anyway." "I don't need a man to get me off," she snapped. "No, but it's a lot more fun if you do." Emmett grinned. "So are you canceling on Short Sam or not?" Rose sniffed. "I will, but for Bella." "For Bella?" He laughed. "What's she got to do with it?" "Because, dummy, they need some privacy. They don't need you crying about being bored all day. I'll take you off their hands, because I'm nice." He laughed loudly. "You're a real humanitarian, Rosie." "Don't call me Rosie," she ordered. "Why not? I like it." "How would you like it if I called you Emmie?" "As long as it's some form of my name you're calling, I don't have a problem with it," he replied, leering at her. "Hell," Alice muttered. "I'm going to meet my study group." "Wait," Rose called, standing up. "I need to talk to you and you in my bedroom." She pointed at Alice and Bella. Bella sighed and gave me a quick kiss. "Be right back." Both girls followed her into the room and shut the door. Emmett stood and I knew what he was about to do. "Emmett, don't spy on them." "Don't you want to know what they're saying?" I raised an eyebrow at him and he sat back down. "Fine. You're no fun." "What the fuck was that with you and Rose?" I demanded. "What do you mean?" he asked, smiling brightly. "Um, hello, you two fought like cats and dogs and then kissed and then went back to fighting." Emmett chuckled. "Isn't it great?" "It's the weirdest foreplay I've ever seen." He grinned. "She's my one, man." What? Holy shit. "You mean?" He nodded. "Isn't it great? Your one and my one are best friends! At least we don't have to worry about the wives getting along someday." Wives? "Emmett, aren't you jumping the gun a little?" He laughed. "Please. Don't tell me you aren't thinking ahead with Bella already." I couldn't deny that, though I hadn't leapt all the way to marriage. "You just met," was my response. "So did you. You know how it works. I see the way you look at Bella." I probably did. "I sort of knew it yesterday when I saw her picture but then she walked in here and snapped at me and I was done." Emmett shook his head. "Now I just have to make her fall in love with me." I laughed. "That might be easier said than done." He smirked. "I like a challenge. Wait until I tell Mom. She's gonna die. Both of us in one day." Speaking of which…"I'm supposed to call her." Emmett whipped out his phone and called for me. "Hey Ma. Edward's fine. Great even. You should see him. Can't keep his hands off his girl." I glared as he laughed. "I know. They're cute as hell. Yeah, I'll take a picture. She's great. I really like her. Eddie loves her but I bet he hasn't told her that yet." Well, I sort of had but it had been a slip of the tongue. Tongue with Bella. Fuck. "Guess what, Mama." He paused and laughed. "No, I'm not in trouble. Well, maybe I sort of am, but in a good way." He laughed again. "Not like that. I met my one, too. You'll like her. She's full of fire and gorgeous." She must have been talking because he got quiet again. "Yeah, she's Bella's best friend, which is convenient, don't you think?" I rolled my eyes as he continued. "Well, I haven't done more than fight with her yet. Though we did kiss once. It was hot as hell." Another pause. "Hell is not a bad word, Ma. Anyway, I'm going to spend the day with her, show her a little Cullen charm. She'll be all over me by the end of the night." His confidence was astounding. He'd kissed her, not the other way around. She just hadn't stopped him. "Yes, Ma, I'll be a gentleman. Eddie's teaching me how." A laugh. "Yeah, he's good at that. I'll work on teaching him not to be. Between the two of us, maybe we can get it right." He snorted. "No, I'm not bragging about my conquests, mother. This is different." He smiled. "I will. Okay. We both love you too. We'll call tomorrow from the road. Bye, Ma." He hung up and grinned. "She's super excited. She wants pics of our girls pronto." "Rose isn't your girl yet." "But she will be. And I notice you didn't deny that Bella was yours." I couldn't stop my smile. "Hot damn little brother. You may be slow on the naked times but not on the romantic ones. I'm actually sorta proud." "Thanks, I think." I wondered if I should hop in the shower while the girls were talking. Who knew how long it was going to take three women to discuss whatever they were discussing, likely us. "I'm going to go take a shower," I told Emmett. "Okay." He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and flipped the TV on. "If we're not here when you get out, just do what comes naturally." "Do what comes naturally? Are you a douche commercial or something?" He chuckled. "No, you're the douche in the family. I'm just telling you that it's okay not to be a gentleman if you get the signals that she wants more. Bella's not the type of girl you have a one night stand with. You're in this for the long haul and you both know it. So wait if you want, don't wait if you don't. Just…do what feels natural." I shook my head. "Okay. Well, if you're gone when I get out…" "I'll text you later and let you know how it's going with Rosie. And I'll be here at eight so we can hit the road." My face must have fallen because he nodded. "I know, man. But we'll be back with them in four days. You'll make it." Maybe. It was going to be impossible to leave her, though. "Okay. See you later." I grabbed my bag and went back into Bella's room, closing the door behind me. I pulled out some jeans, a blue t-shirt and my boxers and laid them out on the bed. I went into Bella's bathroom and found a clean towel folded on the counter for me. She was such a thoughtful, wonderful girl. I got in her shower and tried desperately not to think of the phone fantasy we'd shared that first night. I failed miserably, but at least I tried. It would be a tight fit but it was doable. And I shouldn't be thinking such things. We had time. We'd make love when it was right. Our first time should probably not be in the shower, even though it was a hot as hell fantasy. Soon. We'd have the place to ourselves all afternoon and evening, hopefully. Who knew what would happen? I couldn't wait to find out, though.

Merely a few seconds later, his phone pinged with a response.  Marinette: hi :)   Adrien: i hope i didn’t wake u up   Marinette: no no you didn’t ! i got caught up in designing so i didn’t rlly realize the time   Adrien: that’s a relief. i feel kinda bad for bugging u this late :/   Marinette: you’re not-   Marinette: anyways what’s up   Adrien stared blankly at her message. He’d wanted someone to talk to but hadn’t planned further than this. ‘Keep it casual, Agreste. You’re bothering her enough as it is,’ he warned himself as he sent a reply.  Adrien: couldn’t sleep   Marinette: why? :(   ‘Do I tell her?’ Adrien considered filling Marinette in on last night’s nightmare – the main culprit of his insomnia. He even went as far as to type out a message about how he was worried he’d have another after how bad the first dream was, but any bravery Adrien had before vanished as his finger hovered over the ‘send’ button. The blond knew he could trust her, knew she’d be understanding, but fear overtook him. It was irrational and he knew that, but even when it was his everyday Ladybug he was talking to, reaching out for help was daunting. Telling someone else would only reinforce the fact that all of this was real, and it felt like that was admitting defeat.  ‘You’re such a coward.’ Adrien thought as he spammed the backspace button.  Adrien: kinda stressed abt my photoshoot tomorrow   Marinette: you have a shoot tmrw?   Adrien: got moved up from next week   Marinette: ohhh. short notice huh   Adrien: ikr   Marinette: i’m sure you’ll do great anyway! u always do :)   Marinette: i mean- uve got lots of experience! so naturally you’d do well hahaha   Adrien: thanks :D   Marinette: r u gonna b at school tmrw then?   Adrien: nah. it’ll start early and these things always last a while :(   Marinette: shoot.   Adrien: was that a pun? >:)   Marinette: nO   The boy giggled at her quick denial. ‘She didn’t seem too keen on Chat’s puns during Evillustrator, either.’ The thought warmed him. He couldn’t help but feel a little special after cracking Marinette’s shy exterior twice in one day. Was this what it was like to be friends with Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Adrien was realizing more and more that her scent of vanilla and warm bread wasn’t the only comforting thing about the girl.  Adrien: well, you’d hate this friend of mine who’s always making photography jokes. u can’t shutter up!  Marinette: how to hit someone over the phone.   Adrien: hey! don’t get agrestive!   Marinette: who are you, chat noir?   Adrien: no but i can see y you’d think that. we’re both pretty clawver  ;)   He couldn’t help but break into a grin at the irony of it all. It’d only been a few minutes of back and forth, but Adrien felt significantly better. Marinette proved to be just the distraction he needed.  Marinette: UGH you’re both horrible >:T   Adrien: meowch!   Marinette: if i don’t die from lack of sleep, your puns r gonna do me in   Adrien: fiiine i’ll let the princess get her beauty sleep :P   Thankfully for his sanity, Adrien couldn’t see Marinette’s shocked face at the pet name. It was an identifiably Chat thing to say. Adrien was equally lucky that the bluenette brushed it off as a side-effect of sleep-deprived deliriousness and nothing more. His drooping eyelids were probably a sign that he was getting too tired to think about his words properly before he typed them.  Marinette: you’re the model here   Adrien: which is probably y i should sleep too   Marinette: goodnight then <3   Adrien: night :)   Setting his phone in its place on his desk, Adrien wriggled back under the covers. The short conversation had cleared his mind, setting the raging waves of nervousness at ease. Placated by the fuzzy warmth in his stomach, Adrien succumbed to sleep.    The boy was jolted awake by the incessant beeping of his alarm clock. He rubbed his eyes to let them adjust to the light that was now pouring through the windows.  “Shut that thing off will ya?” Plagg moaned, covering his cat ears with his arms.  “I see you’re in a good mood.” Adrien replied, sarcasm dripping off his tongue as he turned off the alarm.  “How can I be in a good mood at six in the morning?”  “You get more sleep than I do!” The boy huffed, making his way to the bathroom.  “Well, I don’t stay up late talking to my girlfriend!”  Adrien gawked. ‘Plagg woke up during that?’ “Marinette isn’t my girlfriend.”  “Might as well be. You don’t giggle at Nino’s texts like that.”  “It’s fun to tease her.” Adrien scrunched up his nose at his kwami before turning back to his mirror. It wouldn’t be long before Nathalie would be knocking on his door, so he set himself on getting ready.  While he went through his mundane morning routine, Adrien let his mind wander. ‘At least I won’t have to see Lila if I’m missing school.’ The hand holding his toothbrush in his mouth halted its movement. ‘Wait… I’m missing more school. Dang it!’  “Can’t a guy catch a break?” he muttered through foamy lips.  “Tell me about it. I’m almost out of camembert!”  “Is that all you talk about?” Adrien sneered, making a show of spitting his toothpaste into the sink frustratedly.  “Teenagers. So moody!”  Moving to the dresser, Adrien picked out a black tracksuit. Sweatpants may not be allowed, but athleisure was deemed acceptable for a car ride to the studio. He picked out a pair of slip-on Vans – after all, being able to change in and out of outfits quickly was essential for a model. As soon as he’d finished changing, that familiar knocking on his door echoed throughout the room.  “Coming!” Adrien called, pulling his sleeves down over his wrists to cover up the marks. Undoubtedly Nathalie had heard his father’s scolding for the bruises, but Adrien really didn’t feel like having to address it again. Opening his door, he followed Nathalie through the halls of the mansion.  When the door of the dining room swung open, Adrien was startled to see Gabriel sitting at the far end of the table. Being joined by his father at meals so many times within such a small period of time was unprecedented, and the boy didn’t know whether to be excited or scared.  “Sit, Adrien.”  As per usual, the younger Agreste did what Gabriel instructed.  “Good morning, Father.”  “Let’s save the chit chat,” the older Agreste’s tone was as cold as always, “I’m sure you understand how important the photoshoot today is.”  “Yes, Father.” Adrien shrank into himself, using his breakfast as an excuse not to meet his father’s gaze.  “I expect for you to be at your best today. Mistakes waste everyone’s time.”  “Yes, Father. I won’t disappoint you.”  “Good.” With the conversation apparently over, Gabriel started to discuss logistics with Nathalie.  Adrien felt uneasiness settle back into his stomach as he eyed over his food. The omelet in front of him looked less than appetizing after what seemed like the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders. ‘If I screw it up, Father’s campaign will be ruined and then he’ll be so disappointed and then he’ll pull me out of school. I’ll be locked in my room forever! I can’t mess this up. I can’t mess this up. I can’t mess this up!’  At the sound of his stomach growling, the boy forced down a few forkfuls of food. His mind flashed back to two days prior when he was bent over a trashcan at the front of the classroom. ‘If I throw up again, that’ll definitely ruin the shoot!’ Adrien’s thoughts spiraled until he set down his fork. So much for Plagg’s advice.  “Are you finished?” Nathalie asked.  “Y-yes.” The boy inwardly scolded himself for stammering.  “Let’s go then.”

When I got back home from my trip to the wedding my husband John was waiting for me with a smile. Giving each other a big hug and kiss we drove back home. John asked me how the trip went and without going into too much detail I told him it went well and that I had a good time. In reality a far better then than he knew or was ever going to know. Life went pretty much back to normal as it was before I went away for a week. The downside being that my part time job had to lay me off due to the slowing down economy. As unhappy as I was about that it wasn't that big of a deal since John made more then enough for us so I took to doing work around the house instead. As much as I hid what happened while I was away keeping it from John. The thought of Dwane often did come to mind. And not in a G Rated manner. Just the thought of Dwane would turn me on as I not only often masturbated to him and his oversized black penis. I even had sex dreams a couple of times a week about him as well. I also began to gain an interest in interracial porn. Something I never had before. It just became a real turn on to see the color contrast. I had to admit it but \ several times I even closed my eyes while making love to my husband and pictured Dwane instead. Of course it didn't feel the same but did it ever make me orgasm quickly. Though I also knew I could never let something like that happen again. As much pleasure it gave me and as much as it turned me on I knew I had to relegate it to a fantasy only from now on. It helped that Dwane was too far away to even slip or make a mistake like that again. I had spoken to Dwane several times in the last few months since the trip as well as emails but he never once himself mentioned what we had done. I'm not going to lie the thought of being with him did make for some nice day dreams though. And as far as I was concerned that's how it was going to stay. That was until one day John came home from work. After eating dinner John told me he had spoken to Dwane earlier in the day. He told me Dwane had a two bedroom timeshare apartment off of a nice coastal beach. I have never been one for timeshares myself but I know John had liked the idea of having one by a beach for a while. I am not one for the beach though. Not that I don't enjoy swimming or the sand. I'm just so pale I can't stay out for long because even with sun screen I burn and not tan. So, my time on a beach is always limited. John explained that Dwane offered for us to join him for a week this coming month there for a vacation. He explained that Dwane was staying for a week and a half but there wasn't a chance that John could get off work for that long. I wasn't sure what to say so I tried to make it seem like it was hard for us to do. First pointing out that John may not get off work or so long with such short notice. He said he always spoke to his boss and they were willing to let him use some vacation time. Then telling him I couldn't be out much but would spend most of my time inside during the daytime. He kept insisting explaining that he hasn't had time away from home in over a year and this was a great chance to enjoy himself. I felt a little guilty and relented agreeing to go. John smiled and said he had already gotten the time off and made plans for the travel so either way he was going to convince me to do it. We would leave on a Sunday morning and return the following Saturday morning so we can have a day on both ends to take care of stuff at home after work and the before work. The day came for the trip as we made the last minute checks making sure we loaded everything into the car. The ride was going to be a seventeen hour trip so we switched driving duties now and then to make it easier on each other. When we finally made it there I think we both were more than ready to get out of the car. Getting out we quickly found the apartment. Knocking on the door Dwane opened it up as he had made it down that morning via plane and was waiting on us. There before me was that sexy black man whom I had my first and only affair with. He looked right at me with a smile then reached around giving me a big hug. I can't deny that I right away didn't get a physical reaction as he did. Yet, I also felt a little awkward as he pulled away to shake John's hand. The image of all the sexual things I did with Dwane while away flashed through my head knowing full well John had no idea what we had done. That first night was uneventful. We spent it talking for a couple hours before going to bed. Dwane kept taking long glances at me the entire time. The next morning after breakfast John and I unpacked out bags and John got changed to go for a swim and just relax on the beach. Which is pretty much all or the entire trip. Seeing how it was already late morning I decided not to go to the beach myself but figured I'd go are to the local stores. Stepping out of the bedroom I walked into the living room to see Dwane standing there in nothing but shoes and swim trunks. My body almost jumped not really in the shock of seeing him out of no where. It was over seeing his sexy black body again. His strong arms, dark skin ... snap out of it! Dwane smiled at me and asked how I slept? Fine I told him as I hid the fact that seeing him last night caused me to have a sexual type of dream about him during the night. "Not going swimming today?" he asked as he looked at my clothing. I told him I wasn't because I only planned on going in the early morning when I did since I burn way too easy. "No surprise there as pale as you are. I always said you had to be the whitest person I ever met." I smiled and agreed joking that if I were any paler I would be translucent. Before heading out I gave John a kiss and told him I'd met up with him later. He asked me if I was sure I didn't want John to come along with me? I assured him I'd be fine and to enjoy himself. That we'd still get plenty of time together during the rest of the trip. We all agreed to meet for lunch before I headed out. For the next couple of hours I wondered around just visiting some local places with a slow relaxed pace. When the time came I met the two of them for lunch. John asked if I was enjoying myself? I assured him I was. After lunch they went back out as I headed back to the apartment alone. Watching a little TV I thought I'd take the chance to lay down for a little bit. I wasn't really tired so I just laid there as my mind wondered. Soon enough I began to think of Dwane. Though at home I did my best to put what we had done out of mind. Granted it didn't always work that well when he wasn't around much less when I had seen him recently. The picture of him in almost nothing this morning flashed through my mine over and over again. In little time I was in such a turned on mood I couldn't relax and knew what I had to do and wanted to do. Standing up I closed the bedroom door just to make sure I had my privacy and laid back down on the bed. Closing my eyes I once again pictured Dwane, imagining that he was in the room with me. Undoing my shorts I slowly slid my hand under them and my panties. Rubbing my clit quickly I brought myself to an orgasm within a mere two minutes as I thought of Dwane the entire time. Redoing my shorts I was finally able to relax and actually fell asleep for nearly an hour. Only woke up when the sound of the front door slammed shut followed by the voices of my husband and Dwane talking. The three of us spent the rest of the day together and had a pretty good time. Later in the evening Dwane went out he said to see if he could meet up with some friends. John joked that he was leaving only so he could meet up with some girl he knows to get "lucky" this vacation. Dwane smiled telling John that he hopes so as his eyes trailed towards me. After he was gone John wasted no time in touching and kissing me and soon enough we ended up making love in the bedroom. Dwane returned about an hour later as we were sitting in the living room watching TV. After sitting with us for a little while we all went to bed for the night. The following morning I woke up early, too a shower, and made breakfast for everyone before they got out of bed. Figuring I'd join the boys this morning I changed into my swimming suit. No surprise that as much as it's covers these things on my chest always love to stand out no matter what I do. Walking out of the bedroom Dwane whistled at me jokingly. We all spent a few hours relaxing on the beach as I laid on a big towel taking in what little sun I can before burning. I couldn't help but watch Dwane when neither he nor my husband were looking. His sexy black body as he moved through the water ... crap I need to head back to the apartment because I was in little time quite turned on already. When the two of them came back towards me I explained that I was going back to the apartment and that I'd meet the two of them later on. Dwane asked me if I wanted him to walk me back but I assured him I was fine. Giving John a kiss I headed back. Turning on the radio to add some sound to a very silent house I quickly changed into a pair of loose fitting PJ pants and a comfortable tee-shirt figuring I would just bum around until they got back. That is after I masturbated to release this built up pressure within me. As I passed Dwane's room I saw his large comfortable bed. I knew that they wouldn't be back for quite some time and the thought of touching myself on his bed while thinking about him got me more than a little excited. I know it's not the smartest thing I ever considered but as I laid down I knew it wouldn't take long. More so since the pillows and bed smelled like Dwane adding to the effect of my imagination. Closing my eyes I began to rub my clit again thinking about that sexy black man. I was in my own little world as I got closer to my orgasm and even moaned Dwane's name when I heard a noise that startled me. Opening my eyes and quickly sitting up I was shocked to see Dwane standing there in his bedroom's doorway watching me. I had no idea how long he had been there but he was just staring at me with a big grin on his face. "Don't stop for me" Dwane said with a smile. I didn't know what to say. I mean what could I? Here I am masturbating on his bed while he wasn't here and got caught. I appologised and sat up adjusting myself. "Don't be sorry baby, I enjoyed the show. You can finish if you want ... or I can help you finish." Dwane winked. I asked him where John was as I was more worried about being caught by my husband than I was that Dwane did. That was simply just embarrising. Dwane explained that John was still out and about. He had told John that he was going to meet up with some girl he knows down here. Then came by to see what I was up to. "You were doing a lot more then I thought you would be." I told him I had better go before John got back. Dwane rushed into the room, closing the door behind him. "Don't worry Marisa he's not coming back any time soon. Besides, I know I was the one you were thinking about so why not at least let me help you with your needs? We don't need to have sex, I'll just give you that orgasm you almost had and you don't have to even use your imagination that I'm the one doing it to you." "Dwane," I said. "We really can't do this again. More so when John can walk in at any time and catch us in a bad situation." As I moved to get off the bed he quickly moved over to the edge, standing against the side preventing me from getting my legs over the edge so I could stand up. Dwane just smiled with an almost evil grin as he reached around with his right hand to the back of my head. Grabbing my pony tail he pulled my head back until I was looking up towards him. He didn't say a word as he bented down and began to kiss and suck on my neck. I let out a light gasp as he knew this was a sure way of turning me on and getting me into the mood. "Dwane please," I meakly pleaded. "We can't do this." "Just relax," Dwane whispered to me. "I just want to help get you to that orgasm and we don't need to go beyond that if you don't want to. Besides, you know deep down inside you want me to do this too." He explained before going back to kissing my neck. I couldn't lie, I did want it but I also knew I couldn't do it. 'I really shouldn't do this ... I really can't do this.' I thought to myself as he continued to kiss my neck. It wasn't a split second later that the "I can't do this at all" changed to "I can't let him go all the way." I quickly reasoned that if I only let him just touch me then it won't be so bad and this would be the last time anything at all happened like this with Dwane. I was not relaxed, only asking Dwane not to suck too much on my neck since I'd have a hard time explaining a hicky to John. Dwane stood back up smiling telling me to just relax there for a moment as he walked away. I just stared at his sexy black body as he headed towards the bedroom door, locking it. "Just want to make sure we don't have someone walking in by mistake as I'm doing this to you." Dwane explained as he walked back over. Before he came back to me he turned on his radio on the night table beside the bed. Now, I am no fan of rap or the like but Dwane told me that he explained to John that if there was loud music playing in his room that he had a girl in the place with him. And John knew I hated Rap so he would just assume I left. Turning the volume up loud enough to hear it through the entire apartment Dwane turned to face me, asking if I could move over a little. Sliding to the middle of the bed Dwane climbed on, leaned down, and started kissing my neck and upper chest. Soon he was pushing down against me, making me lay on the bed. "Part your legs a little for me Marisa." I did as he asked. Looking down my body I watched as his large black hand glided down my stomach and slipped under the waistband of my pants. He began to rub my clit as I watched the movement of his hand under the front of my pants. "Smooth and shaved bare as always," Dwane said grinning. He then slipped a finger into my hole making me moan in response. I was in pleasure as I laid there looking up at this sexy black man who was fingering my pussy. I was to the point of nearly humping back against his finger in me. About two minutes into it I was beyond turned on when Dwane out of no where pulled his hand out of my pants. Opening my eyes again I looked up at him asking what was wrong? "Nothing at all," Dwane said. "I just thought I'd do this in a different way. Just to give you a little more pleasure." I was puzzled at first but didn't really care what he had in mind as long as he kept doing this. Moving down the bed he grabbed both sides of my pants telling me to lift my hips up. He yanked my pants down and all the way off my body leaving me naked from the waist down. Dwane then pushed my legs further apart as he moved up between them until his face was right above my crotch. That's when I realized exactly what he had in mine. Looking down at him as he looked up at me Dwane spread me open with a couple of his fingers then ran the tip of his tongue up my clit. It made me both jump and moan. This put another "evil" grin on his face as he began to now both finger my hole as he licked and sucked on my clit. I was soon gripping the bed and moaning as he went down on me. It felt so good and he knew exactly what I wanted when I wanted it. I was in heaven as he got me closer and closer to climax. It built so quickly it was almost as surprise when it came on as my whole body reacted. To add to it Dwane didn't stop but continued as I had my orgasm. This lead to another, then another, and finally a fourth orgasm. There was very little break between them as they hit my body like waves; each one larger than the last. By that point I begged Dwane to stop as I could barely breath. Dwane did as I asked pulling his head away as I caught my breath. No sooner did I calm down that he went right back to it and was soon half way to my fifth when I yelled out, before thinking about what I was saying. "Please fuck me!" I screamed. "Stop now and fuck me!" Dwane stopped instantly and by the look on his face he was as surprised by what I said as I was. I just blurted it out in the heat of the moment as Dwane wasn't going to waste the opening I gave him. He got off the bed and in a flash shed his swiming trunks. Looking down I had a perfect view of his long, thick, black dick pop into view in all it's glory. He was already rock hard and ready to go. As he climbed back up on the bed I just stared at him knowing only a few minutes ago I told him I wouldn't be doing this. "Spread those nice white legs for me Marisa," he said with a moan. I did as he asked and watched as he moved his sexy black body up between my out stretched pale white thighs until he was hovering above me. He had one hand beside of me bracing himsef and the other down between our bodies with his hand around his over sized dick aiming it at my hole. I could feel the soft tip of his bulbous head rubbing around my entrance preparing it. He didn't say a word as he started to put pressure against it and with a little effort I began to open up. His dark brown head worked it's way into my little pale pink hole. I gasped and Dwane groaned as he did it. Once he had the head in he moved his hand from between us placed it on the other side of me. He now began to slowly work that monster into me a little at a time. Deeper and deeper it went and I almost forgot how good it felt. Until finally he was fully buried inside of me as his large testicles were resting against me. "Fuck girl," Dwane moaned. "I love how your little white pussy feels around me. So fucking tight, so hot." I couldn't agree more with how good that it felt. Dwane soon started working it slowly in and out of me. He built up the pace moving a little faster as he went on. I moments I was moaning loudly which was only barely drowned out by the loud music playing in the room. My fingers were tightly gripping into his back, arms, and shoulders and my legs wrapped around his back as he fucked me. It was so hot to see his sexy black body above me, working his big black dick into my body over and over again. The sight of my pale skin against his deep brown was adding to the pleasure he was already giving me. He was alternating his movements in such a way th. at he was rubbing against my G spot almost continuosly and knew if he kept it up I would have another orgasm soon. "Oh God!" I moaned in pleasure. Of God yes! Fuck me ... yes! ... feels so fucking good! So deep. So big. Fuck! You feel so good in me. So much better!" "So much better then what baby?" He asked in response to my near rambling. I was in such ectasy I wasn't even paying attention to what I really saying because I was in my own little world of pleasure. What ever came to mind I just blurted out. "Better then John does." I responded without thinking. I hated to admit it but he did feel better. Not that my husband didn't feel good but I wasn't going to lie and say Dwane didn't feel better. It was a mix of both the color contrast and of course his massive dick and the fact he knew how to use it well. Dwane smiled when I said that. Closer and closer I felt what will be my fifth orgasm coming on. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. My whole body shaking in pleasure as my toes curled and eyes rolled up into my head. Dwane only slowed down so I could calm down a little. It was a really big orgasm and took me a little bit to recoup myself from it. When I finally did I looked right up at Dwane. "Fuck me." I told him. "Fuck me hard." And that he did. God it felt so good. He was being so forceful that he was actually making the bed rock and slam against the wall. Only a couple of times it was a little uncomfortable as his head hit my cervix a little too hard. I didn't care it felt so good. I was now screaming at times so loud I drowned out the radio and he repeatidly pistoned into me. Then out of no where he stopped moving so much. I asked if he was okay? "Yeah baby," Dwane said. "I just needed to calm down a little or I'm going to blow real soon. It's just been too long girl. I haven't had sex since the last time we did together and you feel so fucking good around me." He slowly and gently worked it in and out. I enjoyed it either way and didn't complain at all. "You're so fucking sexy girl. My hot little married white slut." I just smiled and said it turned me on more when he called me that. "Really?" Dwane asked. "I'm going to call you that from now on when John isn't around. White girl." He continued to work it slowly in me but I could tell he wasn't far off from having his orgasm. "Fuck my white pussy with your big black dick," I said smiling. "Fuck your little white slut." I could tell in his face that was going to set him off so I doubled down trying my best to get him there. "Fuck your married white slut with your big black cock! Give it to me baby. Give me that big black dick!" That's when his face changed as he strained to hold back at the same time he picked up he pace; fucking me hard and fast again. "That's it baby! Cum for me! I want you to cum deep inside of me! Shoot that hot black cum deep inside my married white pussy!" I screamed in pleasure. That did it. "OH FUCK!" Dwane yelled loudly. He shoved his entire dick into my body. I tightened my legs around his back holding him in place, pulling him down towards me. Dwane went stiff above me and in an instant I could feel his hot semen shooting inside of my body. Dwane grunted as he shot over and over again into me as deep as he could.I just laid there smiling as I felt him unload in me. Until, after what seemed like a lot of liquid, he was totally emptied. Dwane let out a deep sign as he finished. Pulling out he collapsed on the bed beside of me with such a look of relief on his face. I don't know exactly how long we were at it but I do recall going through at least three songs from when he first put it in until he came. "Shit girl." Dwane said trying to catch his breath. "That was so fucking good! Been too long since we've done this. More so since I haven't had sex since you were at my place." I'm not going to lie that did surprise me since he's both a good looking, well built, and of course well hung guy. I'm not going to complain though since all of that pent up energy he had was surely to my benifit. I laid there only for a short while before being forced to get up due to his sperm was starting to leak out of me. Grabbing my pants I headed out to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I came out Dwane was already dressed and sitting on the living room couch with the TV on. Joining in I sat in the chair across from him as we both acted like what just happened hadn't. We were there only twenty odd minutes when John got back. "Oh, you're both here now." John said. Dwane and I both looked puzzled and I asked what he meant? "I stopped by a little while ago but I could hear loud music coming from his room and the sound of a woman moaning and his bed banging. I know Dwane said that meant he had picked a girl up if that were the case. So, I quickly looked around and saw you were gone Marisa and went back out thinking I might run into you outside. Guess we missed each other." Oh yeah!" I quickly shot back. "I was here when Dwane came in with some woman so I figured I'd leave for a little while to give them some privacy." I was almost speechless as to what I should say at first and said the first lie that came to mind. Gladly John didn't question it at all and was very glad Dwane had locked his bedroom door. The following day after breakfast I told John I was going to stay in late this morning to take a shower before going out and would meet up with him and Dwane for lunch later on. The two of them left and took my clothes off, changing into my bath robe, grabbed my stuff and headed for the bathroom. Getting the water nice and hot I took a nice relaxing shower. After I was finished I dired myself off when I heard the condo's door open and close. After finishing up I put my rob back on and opened the door calling out. "John, is that you?" I asked as I opened the bathroom door. No one answered. Closing the door behind me I started walking towards the living room. Walking into the living room I looked around but saw no one. "John? ... Aahhh!" I yelled out Dwane jumped out from behind the kitchen island counter directly to my left surprising the hell out of me. "Sorry couldn't help myself." He said laughing. "John's out swiming right now so I thought I'd come back to get something." I asked him what he needed to get. "You," he shot back. "All of you that is." I could see his eyes light up as he got closer to me. Placing his hands on my shoulders he pushed me sideways until I was back against the kitchen island and bent in kissing me deeply. I didn't argue at all. He eventually broke the kiss, grabbed my waist, and lifted me up onto the countertop. Kissing my neck at the same time he grabbed the front of my robe. Pushing the top of it open he completely exposed my chest to him. "I love you big pale white tits." Dwane said as he fondled both of them as he kissed my neck again. He then started to kiss downward to my upper cheat, down my breats, than began to suck on my nipples. He had me moaning lightly in no time at all and could already feel myself becoming wet. After playing around with them he stood back up and pulled me back off the counter telling me to be safe we should go into his room. I told him I couldn't agree more. We both dashed to his room. He went to the night table to turn on the radio, with rap blasting again, as I locked the door. Walking back over Dwane beside the bed he looked me directly in the eyes. "If I recall you like being a submissive don't you?" I simply nodded in agreement. "Good," he said with an almost wicked smile. Grabbing my hair he pulled my head back. Placing his lips beside of my ear. "Get down on your knees white girl." I could feel butterflies in my stomach from excitment as he said that. "Yes sir." I told him as I lowered myself down infront of him. I had no doubt what he wanted me to do and I was more than willing to do it. I think I wanted to give him a blowjob as much as he wanted me to. Reaching up I undid his shorts and let them drop. I could see the outline of his penis against his tight underwear. Pulling down these as well I was now face to face with his massive black cock hanging semi hard between his legs. Not even fully hard and he was already longer and thicker than John is. Wrapping my pale left hand around his dark shaft I looked up at Dwane who was looking down at me. Smiling I leaned slightly forward and ran my tongue around the head. Then licking down his entire shaft and back up to the tip he was by that point fully hard in all it's glory. Making sure to keep eye contact with Dwane I placed the tip right against my lips and slowly parted them as I took him into my waiting mouth. Dwane sighed in pleasure as I guided his beautiful black penis between my pink lips until he bumped the back of my throat. My mouth was stretched open as wide as I could possiblely get it as I began to gently suck his dick. "Yeah that's it Marisa. Suck that big black cock like a good white girl." I moaned around him in approval as he said that. Grabbing his right hand in my left I guided it to the back of my head and Dwane took the cue. Grabbing my head tightly as I went down on him adding to my enjoyment. Doing my best to give him as much pleasure as I could I was alternation between sucking and licking along with stroking his shaft with my hand as I sucked on it. Dwane moaned and groaned as I continued to please him and in the process turning myself on as well. "As good as this feels I'm wanting something else right now." He told me as he pulled back from me. I asked him what he wanted instead? "Stand up," he ordered. Doing as he said Dwane right away undid the tie holding my robe and pushed it off my body. "Get up on the bed on your hands and knees facing that way." He said pointing towards the mirror against the wall on the left side of his bed. Doing as he said I got up and positioned myself doggie style as far towards the side edge of the bed as I could to allow him as much room as possible. Making sure to part my legs as far as I could like this. Looking up in the mirror I watched as Dwane pulled his shirt off before climbing up on the bed behind me. One hand stroking his big dick as he moved up between my legs until his thighs were touching mine. I watched him looking down as he lined his cock up with my hole. He asked if I wanted it in me? I told him I did. "Then beg for it," he ordered. "Please," I replied. "Please shove it in me." "Shove what?" Dwane asked. "Tell me. Tell me what exactly you want and where you want it." I had no doubt what he wanted me to say and I knew it turned me on as well to say it. "Shove your big black dick deep inside my white pussy," I begged Dwane as I stared back at him in the mirror. He smiled when I said that as he placed one hand on my waist while the other held onto his penis as he began to guide himself into me. Pressing against me hard he quickly gained entrance as my vagina willingly welcomed him. In little time he was grabbing my waist tightly as he slammed into me repeatedly as I moaned and screamed in pleasure. I tried my best to keep looking up at the mirror, watching as he fucked me from behind. Though it wasn't easy as I could barely keep myself from collapsing onto the bed. It felt so good and looked very hot. "Oh God!" I screamed. "AH! Yes! Fuck me! Harder! Fuck me harder! Fuck my pussy!" He kept going on and one thrusting hard and fast only now and then slowing down. He was as before doing his best to also make sure he was rubbing against my G Spot with his penis and it was, to say the least, working. I told him I was close to cumming. "Good," Dwane said. "Want to feel you tight white cunt cum around my dick again." Moments later I did, screaming loudly. Dwane didn't stop though he continued to fuck me the entire time until finally he moaned out. "Oh shit girl I'm about to blow. Going to shoot my hot black seed so deep up in your little married white cunt!" With that he yelled out and shoved his whole massive black dick into me with such force that if he wasn't gripping my waist so hard I would have fallen forward. Immediatly I could feel him cumming as the hot liquid filled my pussy. We both stayed connected as we caught our breath until he began to go soft in me. After getting myself together again and getting fully dressed we both headed out in search of John. We all spent the rest of the day together and later on that evening. After we all headed to bed John started to get all touchy and we ended up having sex together. It was slightly awkward for me knowing what I had done earlier with Dwane. John didn't seem to notice any difference in me though so I was very glad about that. The following day was uneventful since we all spent it together on a road trip. Figured it was a nice change of pace to see some new things. After dinner that evening we all sat down to watch TV and had a few drinks. Dwane asked if anyone wanted to play cards while we watched some mind numbing shows, John said he wasn't in the mood so I took Dwane up on the offer. About an hour and a half later John looked tired and the alcohol surely helped that. Saying goodnight to us John went off the bed. A couple minutes later I got up and checked on him and sure enough he was passed out in bed. Coming back I told Dwane that and he smiled at me again. "Good then we can have some time alone together today." Dwane told me. Less then a minute later I was down on my knees in front of Dwane as he relaxed back into the couch. His large black penis was already in my mouth while he held my hair tightly. A couple minutes later I stood up, pulled my panties down from under my skirt, and mounted Dwane. And there on the couch I rode him as John was passed out in bed. Rocking back and forth and sliding up and down until he pulled me all the way down onto his massive black member. Shooting his hot cum all the way up into me. The next day was our last and like the day before we all spent it together. This time from morning until night so Dwane and I never had any time alone. The following morning after packing up we said our goodbyes. Dwane helped us bring our things to the car and as John got in I looked at Dwane and then quickly told John I had to run to the bathroom before we left. Dwane right away said he'd go up with me and let me back in. John asked if I wanted him to come up and wait for him inside? I insisted that he wait in the car because I wouldn't be long. Walking with Dwane back upstairs he closed and locked the door behind us and immediatly came up behind, feeling me up. "In the kitchen now girl." He ordered me. Following him in he lead me to the kitchen counter and turned me around. Reaching over Dwane turned the blinds so we could see out slightly. Through the window I had a view of the parking lot and directly in front of me was our car with John sitting in it. Dwane explained that this way we could see if he is getting out to come up here if we take too long as he reached around undoing my jeans. "Place your hands on the counter, bend over, and spread your legs Marisa." Doing as he said Dwane yanked my pants and panties down just enough to allow him free access. Plus with my legs spread they could only go down so far anyway. He played with my clit and fingering me just enough to get me wet. Which didn't take long at all. I could then hear his zipper opening and in a flash feel the head of his dick being positioned. He shoved it into me and fuck me hard and fast. I was far from silent and was surprised John couldn't hear me at time. A few minutes later Dwane shoved it in hard and shot his cum one last time deep inside of my pussy. "A goodbye gift from me." Dwane said joking as he came into me. I couldn't help but laugh. The last few drops of his semen was deposited into me as he let out a long sigh. No sooner had he finished then I looked up to see John had already gotten out of the car and was walking towards the building entrance. Dwane quickly pulled out as I yanked my pants back up. Dwane pushed his penis back into his pants in just enough time to hear the knock on the door. We both headed for the door, opening it to see John. I told him I was sorry it took a little longer but I was ready to go now. John thanked Dwane again and so did I. Jumping into the car we drove off and I sat there trying to pretend everything was normal. A little hard at times since I didn't have a chance to clean up after having sex with Dwane and could feel his last load of cum leaking out and soaking my panties. By the time we got home I got changed and had to throw them out knowing I likely couldn't get that stain out. Nor was I going to explain to my husband if he found them tonight why they had a large wet spot that looked like sperm in the crotch. The "Yeah honey Dwane and I had sex before leaving and that's his semen on my panties" explaination really wouldn't go over well. The next time everything was back to normal and John had no idea I had sex with Dwane again; and again, etc. As far as ever seeing Dwane again, I wasn't sure if I ever would.

Trust In Your Unfailing Love But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. Psalm 13:5 Winchester luck. Of all the things Dean could think of right now, it was the Murphy’s law of Winchester luck which clearly stated that if the absolutely worst possible thing could happen, then it would do so in spades and never in their favor. The universe really seemed to love bending Sam and him over the latest catastrophe and letting them have it. Dean just wished every once in a while that the ‘powers that be’(whoever those bastards were) would deign to use a smattering of lube because this cluster fuck was one hell of a raw dog deal. Death’s wall of sanity in Sam’s head was cracked wide open with all of hell bleeding through the cracks. Dean and Bobby were bruised, bleeding sore from Crowley’s earlier attack and covered in ick that was all that was left of Raphael after the archangel had been exploded. And Castiel…… Castiel, or more accurately what was once the angel they all knew(and in one particular hunter‘s case, loved), stood before them with every molecule of his still form pulsing from the power of millions upon millions of souls stolen from Purgatory. It tainted the room and coated their skins with a near oily sensation, making the air feel almost too thick to breathe in, and left it tasting sharp with electricity, moist from misted angel blood, and smelling sour due to all the humans in the room cold sweating buckets of fear through their pores. With horrifying ease, the former angel reached around behind his back to pull the imbedded blade from his spine where Sam had placed it, the expression on Castiel’s face eerily placid. “I’m glad you made it Sam, but thee angel blade won’t work anymore because I am not an angel anymore.”, Castiel told his captive audience with a certainty that was leaden in its gravitas. “I am your new god. A better one.” Winchester luck was a bitch most of the time but Dean decided this moment was an all time new level for it. If any of them survived this, they were going to have to mark it down on a calendar or something and remember it by wearing festive hats. As it went and as Dean excepted, had come to expect with the certainty of tides and moon phases, things only got worse from here on out. “So you will bow down and profess your love unto me your Lord or I shall destroy you.”, Castiel told them evenly. Bobby and the Winchesters exchanged a series of looks, all of them coming up with nothing good. Ok, chances of surviving this were starting to look slim to none. Dean fought to breath normally as everything inside of him chilled at once, clenching tightly down in one all over body cramp of ‘fuck me, we are all so screwed‘. He didn’t doubt a single word Castiel said. The new god meant every calm word he uttered with deathly certainty. “Well alright then.“ Bobby, smart old bastard he was, conceded first, the old hunter already starting to descend to his knees. “This good or the whole forehead to the carpet thing?”. Dean stared down at him in disbelief, the surreal nature of this entire situation still not really sinking in for him. Bobby’s submission was only making it worse in a way. They were warriors, not sheep to any power that said ‘Jump’. They were supposed to keep fighting, keep standing, no matter how bruised and bleeding or even dead they got. “Guys….”, registered in Dean’s ears, Bobby reaching up to tug at Dean‘s shirt sleeve. It startled the older Winchester into action, into survival, Dean swallowing painfully hard as he watched Sam mimic Bobby’s actions. This was really happening, this was their new reality. Submit or die. Internally every part of Dean raged against him, arguing that this was not the way. That this was not him or what he stood for, what he should remain standing for. “Stop.” It was such a small word but it had a huge impact and more than a little power riding behind it. All movement in the room halted as the humans focused on their new god and his whims. Dean and the bulk of his pride could have sobbed in relief if he could ever let enough of himself go to do so. “What’s the point if you don’t mean it? You fear me. Not love. Not respect. Just fear.”. If Dean had to guess what expression Castiel was going for, he would have thrown his money in with ‘disappointed’. “Not always.”, Dean thought, arguing back in his own head which turned out to be a very bad idea. Castiel’s full undivided attention homed in on Dean, making the hunter physically flinch from it. It reminded Dean of being suddenly shoved out into a desert’s midday sun and staked out under that heavy heat, the kind that weighted down on every inch of your skin, singeing it(damn, that hunt had sucked, stupid coyote spirit). “Not always.”, Castiel echoed aloud, the angel turned god sounding miffed as he drew closer to the hunter, Dean sinking further down on his knees, fervently wishing that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Dean found himself studying the minuet details of Castiel’s dress shoes as they came to a halt in front of him, the leather of formal footwear all shiny and scuff free. Despite his high chances of being smited at any given moment, Dean found himself wondering if Castiel cleaned his shoes with his Grace or just constantly created new pairs of shoes to wear. It was amazing what the human brain came up with in times of stress. Dean would have liked to ponder those kind of thoughts further but reality horribly reminded him that a god was standing before him, studying him with a focus that was making Dean want to crawl out of his own skin to escape it. When light fingertips brushed against Dean’s bowed forehead, the hunter looked up and immediately regretted it as he met too blue eyes that opened his mind like a stolen present, brushing aside a lifetime of defenses like a rock thrown through tissue paper. It hurt. Castiel’s being sat fat and wide in Dean’s ‘too small for it’ mind, his presence much too large for the hunter’s inner space as the former angel examined the insides of Dean’s head, picking and choosing memories seemingly at random as a small child would pebbles off a shore. Dean was made to be a bystander in his own mind and forced to watch as past scenes were replayed for them both but this time with the director’s commentary, Dean‘s inner most secrets giving the scenes vivid new introspective. Every stray thought, emotion, and feeling he had ever had about Castiel was laid bare before the ethereal being in bright openness. All the good, all the bad, every need, every want, every desire was witnessed by the one Dean had hidden it away from the most. “You love me…..”, Castiel stated in a flat tone and Dean wept, inwardly and outwardly, in loss and embarrassment, in relief and betrayal. He didn’t bother to deny it, or even try to voice an opinion on the matter. It seemed pointless now. He was exposed, laid out flayed and bare before his hidden heart’s own desire, Castiel voicing what Dean would have spent a lifetime hiding. “Have loved me. For so long.”, the new god continued, Dean’s pain apparently unworthy of his notice as he tore the hunter apart, killing Dean slowly with his dead words. “It was your own self loathing and fear that kept you from expressing it though.”. Just as suddenly as Castiel entered his mind, he left it, leaving Dean’s head space abruptly empty. The rush of internal pressures righting themselves made Dean almost pass out as he fell over onto the cold concrete, the hunter clutching his head as he gasped with pained relief. He barely felt Bobby‘s hands trying to keep him upright or hear the concern in the old hunter’s voice when he asking Dean how he was doing. Everything just felt like one big blur of hurt at the moment. Unfortunately, his current state of mind did not include being deaf or unaware of Castiel’s scrutiny. “It is tainted now though, your love for me. Your anger and fear make it murky and displeasing to my eye.”, Castiel said, his gravelly voice cutting through Dean’s haze. It was enough to make the hunter snap out of it, the new god’s words like a Molotov cocktail to Dean’s temper. “Well maybe you should stay the hell out of people’s head if it displeases you so much.”, Dean snapped, forgetting who he was dealing with for a second. Sam and Bobby’s sudden intake of breath reminded Dean that perhaps he might not want to mouth off to someone who could make him a wet spot on the concrete with a mere thought. Dean was beyond giving a good goddamn though as he glared up at Castiel. Stubborn, head strong bastard that Dean was, he ignored the drying saltwater on his cheeks, the ache in his head from where Castiel had carelessly torn a gaping hole in it, and the other hunters in the room who were desperately trying to make him shut up by shooting silent desperate looks at him. “What a brave little ant you are.”, Castiel smiled, the expression slight but fond. “If you are going to kill me, just do it already. Send me to Hell gift wrapped for all I care.”. Dean was tired of this song and dance, his humiliation wanting to bring this thing between them full circle and his pride wanting to get it over with quickly. Castiel had pulled him out of Hell and remade him from scratch so in a way, it only seemed appropriate that his savior be his very own reaper as well and return him back to the dust and his place on the rack. Dean knew he’d rather be dead than someone’s puppet, even if it meant an eternity as Hell‘s favorite whipping boy. “I could do that. Throw you back into the Pit. I could do it so easily and yet you still dare to bark orders at me.”, Castiel mused, “Here you lie, cringing in the dirt on your back and still you are defiant. Demanding even.” Dean glared silently back in answer, wetting his lips with a quick tongue, unsure of what to say to the god staring down at him with something akin to amusement. “Even now, you never cease to amaze me.” Castiel said, his tone thoughtful and soft, two terms that Dean felt did not bode well for him. “Get up.” It was a command, one that could not be ignore by any of the humans, by the undeniable power underlying it. The hunters got to their feet, their movements wary even if they were not fully under their own control. “I could punish you all and I would be well within my rights to do so for your blatant deceit and distrust…..”, Castiel said, looking all the hunters in the eye one by one, each flinching back from it but for different reasons. Bobby in fear, Sam in guilt, Dean in resentment. “….but I am a loving god. A benevolent one, forgiving and patient even to the ones who have sinned most grievously against me.”. Gritting his teeth to keep from speaking out, Dean bit back the words that fought with the tip of his tongue. They had only wanted what was best, wanted to keep Castiel safe, wanted to help the wayward angel, had once considered him family and to a Winchester, there was no greater title than that of family. When Castiel’s head swung around to pin Dean down once again with that heavy, heart stopping gaze, Dean swore a blue streak at himself to stop thinking so damn loudly. It was going to get him worse things than killed. “Good intentions build excellent roads to Hell.”, Castiel said, reminding the hunter that he could read his mind any time he wanted. “You would know.”, Dean shot back before he could stop himself. Castiel suddenly in his personal space was a swift reminder about his current precarious position in life. “So beautifully honest……so beautifully obtuse…..”, Castiel murmured, touching Dean’s face, a lone fingertip lightly following the curve of the hunter’s jaw line until it reached his lips to trace the chapped silk of it. Dean had never wanted to scream more. He hated himself for wanting so much to lean into the touch of another, his other, his angel once upon a time. It was intimate. It was invasive. It was longed for on so many different levels by Dean it physical hurt him. It was horrific to experience all at once. “I will have your love again, free of fear, untainted by sadness and guilt. Pure.”, Castiel said softly, his words sounding like promise and doom all at once. “You can’t make me love you.”, Dean spat out. This was beginning to get too bizarre, even for him. It wasn’t every day a god decided to hit on him or demand his adoration. “I could. I could make you beg at my feet and follow me around naked on all fours like a beast, and you would thank me for it with tears of gratitude in your eyes. I could make you give me your body, your will, your very soul, and you would do so without hesitation or regret if I truly wanted any of it.”, Castiel’s voice was a murmur that still managed to fill the corners of the room and make Dean quake on the inside with a fear so cold it cracked and burned his heart. “I would rather be dead.”, Dean admitted, biting his ruined bottom lip to keep his voice from shaking near the end. A lone finger pressed to the tortured flesh kept it from further injury, healing it back to plush health again. Dean resisted the urge to savage his own flesh again just to spite the new god. “Hush. I have decided that is no longer to be your decision or your fate.”, Castiel said, leaning in so that his lips brushed against Dean’s in rasp of flesh, a barely there kiss that was chaste in composition and execution. It still managed to make Dean‘s skin tingle and burn. “Calm yourself. I wish to demand none of those things from you. You will give me what is so rightfully mine by your own free will. It would be meaningless any other way.”. Castiel rested his forehead against Dean’s, making all the little hair on the back of the hunter’s neck stand up on end and crackle with static. “I-I don’t understand. Why? Why do you care?”, Dean stammered as he tried and failed to wrap his head around what Castiel was thinking, what he was asking of him. “Oh Dean, most beloved of all in creation, you are worthy of this. I will make you worthy of this.”, Castiel whispered into Dean’s mouth, ending his sentence with another dry kiss, this one far longer than the last. By the time Dean opened his eyes, Castiel was gone as if he had never been. “That don’t sound good.”, Bobby grunted, reminding Dean that he was not alone and even worse, that he had had witnesses to the whole exchange. Dean didn’t answer. He was too busy checking on his fallen brother.

Sometimes Kuroo and Daishou argued just for the sake of arguing. They constantly picked petty fights, and if they weren't arguing they made snarky comments throughout "normal" conversation. They mocked each other, belittled each other, and argued fucking constantly, but somehow throughout it all they were "friends". It was a mystery to everyone, honestly. Bokuto had seen them be genuine maybe three and half times in the long (long) months he had lived with them. It certainly couldn't be healthy, yet neither of them seemed at all deeply affected by the constant insults. It couldn't really be considered friendship, more like an intense, dramatic rivalry of who could be the biggest asshole. Bokuto wondered why they went to such lengths to always be talking if they hated each other, though it was more like "speaking loudly in an outraged tone at two in the morning" than talking. Whatever Kuroo and Daishou's relationship was, Bokuto was fucking sick of it. Normally Bokuto wasn’t bothered by noise, but when it was right outside his room it starts to become a problem. "Do you know how long it took me to put all the beads together to form Nicolas Cage's face? All the effort I put into that! Wasted on you!" Kuroo's voice was muffled through Bokuto's door but still loud (and distracting). "Oh please, you and I both know you stole this from a garage sale because you didn't have 99 cents on you. And you gave it to me, so therefore, it's mine." They argued like that with increasing insistency for, frankly, an unacceptable amount of time. Suddenly, Bokuto’s door flew open. “Hey!” The pair stopped arguing and turned towards the angry large man in the doorway. “If you two can’t stop loudly arguing over whose Nicolas Cage picture that is I’m going to kick a hole through the wall so please try to share something for once.” Kuroo sighed. “Sorry, Bokuto. I guess it’s not really that important.” “Not that important?” Daishou cut in, “If it’s not that important why won’t you just admit that it’s mine?” “Because it’s not yours!” And just like that, they were arguing again. Sick and tired of this bullshit, Bokuto left his room and came back moments later without either of the pair noticing. Kuroo was gesturing wildly as he always did when he was trying to prove a point, so while his arms were outstretched Bokuto placed an egg in Kuroo’s hand. Kuroo stopped mid-sentence and looked at the egg in his hand. "What." "If you two don’t know how to share something, you’re going to learn to with this." Bokuto replied, gesturing to the egg. "An egg," Kuroo said flatly. "Yep." "Why an egg?" Daishou asked. “I saw this on a sitcom once,” Bokuto said, as if fictional television shows were normal and reliable sources of information. "This is your child now. You're not allowed to argue around it and you're not allowed to use it as a projectile. Basically, don't traumatize the egg the way you've traumatized me and maybe I can actually get work done," Bokuto explained. “Um, I don’t know about this guy,” Kuroo nodded towards Daishou, “but I don’t need an egg to teach me how to share.” “Then prove it!” Kuroo raised his hand but proceeded to talk anyways when Bokuto ignored him, "What's stopping us from sticking the egg somewhere it can't hear us and arguing anyway?" "That's neglect and therefore egg-abuse. Also I’ll beat the shit out of you" Daishou suddenly chimed in, "Wait, does this mean we're married?" Bokuto thought for a moment, "I guess since it would be traumatizing for the egg to have divorced parents, and you're not allowed to traumatize the egg, you have to be married," he decided. "Wouldn't it be more traumatizing to know your parents are in a loveless relationship?" "Dude, just fake it, parents do that shit all the time." Daishou opened his mouth to speak but closed it. Kuroo spoke instead, "Kids, excuse me, eggs , are intuitive though. Wouldn't the egg know?" "This one's dumb." "How dare you speak to our child like that. Daishou, call his manager." “Kuroo, it’s an egg.” “How dare you say that in front of our own child like that. I’m calling your manager.” “Good luck fucker I got fired from my job two weeks ago,” Daishou scoffed. “Wait wha–” Bokuto, who was seriously concerned about how Daishou was going to pay rent this month, was promptly cut off by Kuroo. Kuroo put his hands around the egg’s ‘ears’. “How do you expect to support our family? We could starve.” “No, for real, how are you going to pay rent?” Daishou ignored Bokuto’s question, “Why don’t you be the breadwinner for once, you sick, lazy, fu–” “Not in front of the child!” Bokuto sighed in defeat, “Oh my god. This is clearly not working. Give me back the egg. I’m hungry.” Kuroo gasped and Daishou took the egg out of his hand. “No. It’s mine–” “Ours,” Kuroo corrected. Daishou glared, “It’s ours now.” He then grabbed a sharpie off of the table in the hallway that was used to write Bitch Jar Occurrences on a list next to the mug. He held the egg in his hand, squinted, and started drawing. Kuroo gasped in horror, “What are you doing?!” “Character development.” When he finished scribbling on the egg, he presented it to Kuroo and Bokuto. “HE’S UGLY!” Kuroo yelled. Bokuto frowned, “I liked him better when he was blank.” “He truly is his father’s son,” Kuroo said after he recovered from his initial shock of seeing his son turned into a hellish looking creature. He wiped an invisible tear from the corner of his eye. “You’re his father too so you just played yourself,” Daishou snapped. Kuroo ignored him. “Maybe I can learn to love my ugly son.” “He’s not that ugly,” Daishou said, looking upon the egg lovingly, as though it was his actual child. Kuroo snatched the egg out of Daishou’s hand. “I’m gonna name him Sushi.” “Why the FUCK are you naming him sushi, he’s an egg!” “How dare you call him that.” “Oh my god.” “Okay fine, I’ll name him Tamagoyaki.” “Why are you deciding the name?” “You made him ugly so I choose the name.” Bokuto shrugged to himself as if to say fair enough. “At least don’t name it after food.” Daishou pleaded. Kuroo gazed at the egg in thought. “Maybe if his name is ugly then two negatives will make a positive…” “Uh, alright,” Daishou said, “What’s an ugly name?” “Suguru.” “I’m getting a divorce.” “How long do we have to keep this up?” Kuroo turned to Bokuto, pleading. “Uh, for like, two days. I have to make up a test on Thursday and I don’t wanna fail it this time because of you two’s arguing.” “Two whole days?” Daishou asked, incredulous. “Oh come on, you guys can stop arguing for two days. Right?” Wrong. If anything, Kuroo and Daishou only argued more, except they argued specifically about the egg. Bokuto finally caved and bought some expensive ass noise cancelling headphones. They worked really well. Too well. In fact, Bokuto couldn’t wear them for more than thirty minutes at a time because it was so silent, he could feel his soul being pulled back into the void. When he was not wearing them, he could hear Kuroo and Daishou’s arguments all too well. Some highlights included: “This family is falling apart and it’s all because you won’t get a job!” “Oh yeah well… you– your hair is falling apart!” “How dare you!” Another time Bokuto had taken off his headphones while they were in the middle of an argument. All he could here was Kuroo fake crying and running towards his room, and Daishou running after him practically screaming. “I don’t damn shit fuck about you give me back our child!” “Never!” “You don’t even like him anyways, you called him ugly!” Daishou accused. “He may be ugly on the outside,” Kuroo stopped right outside Bokuto’s door, “but at least he’s not as ugly on the inside as you are, Mister. He’s Just An Egg.” “You do realize it is just an egg, right?” Kuroo gasped, went into his room, and slammed the door. One of the final incidents happened after Bokuto’s test while he was sitting on the couch. A nice old lady came from across the hallway to deliver a muffin basket out of the pure kindness of her heart. Before she could even open her mouth to say something, Kuroo was talking. “Do they have eggs in them?” “Oh– um yes, they do,” she smiled sweetly and Daishou punched Kuroo from behind the door in attempt to get him to move, it didn’t work. “I’m sorry I’m allergic to eggs.” Daishou punched him again and Kuroo made an audible noise of pain. The old woman frowned. “Well perhaps one of your friends–” “Nope they’re allergic to eggs as well. Goodbye. Thank you so much for your trouble, though.” Kuroo was infuriatingly polite even when he was being a dick. “Oh, it’s no problem really,” the woman smiled and Kuroo closed the door as she walked away. “What the FUCK dude?” Daishou yelled. “What?” “You are not allergic to eggs!” “I am now.” “Well we aren’t either.” “Listen none of you are allowed to eat eggs as long as Tamagoyaki remains in my custody.” Bokuto who had been lazily scrolling through his phone on the couch now joined the conversation. “Um? No?” he said, as making omelets and scrambled eggs was one of Bokuto’s favorite pastimes. “My house, my rules.” “It’s our house,” Daishou sighed. “Whatever. No eggs.” No one adhered to this rule except for Kuroo, however, it still pissed off Bokuto and Daishou anyways. The most severe and violent egg incident was actually Bokuto’s doing. He was bored, as he had nothing to study for, nothing to hyperfixate on, and essentially, nothing to do. Bokuto wandered into the kitchen, violently spinning a fidget spinner in his hand. He spotted Kuroo and Daishou’s egg that they had left on the counter, then glanced down at the fidget spinner in his hand. He looked back and forth between the two for a moment, then had one of his famous Ideas™. He grabbed the egg from the counter and two more out of the fridge and got to work. He went into his room, disassembled his fidget spinner and pocketed the spinning bearing. Bokuto then spent an hour looking for the hot glue gun, and found it under the kitchen sink along with a shit load of other things they never used. Kuroo and Daishou had emerged from their rooms by this time to watch some obscure anime on the couch. “Uh. What’re you doing with the hot glue gun there buddy?” Kuroo asked. He was pretty sure no one had touched that glue gun since Kuroo bought it to hot glue a handmade wood sign that said “plantfucker” onto Daishou’s door. “You’ll see,” was all Bokuto said. Ten minutes later Bokuto came out of his room with his creation in hand. He had glued three eggs – one of them being Kuroo and Daishou’s dear child – to the ends of his fidget spinner, stuck it on one of his pencils, and was now spinning it around. “Haha, guys look.” Kuroo picked up the remote and muted the TV, because this was obviously something that needed his full attention. “Bokuto, what in the name of everloving fuck is that?” “An egg-spinner!” Bokuto replied. He gave his so-called ‘egg-spinner’ another aggressive push and it spun around again. “Wait a minute,” Kuroo squinted at the spinning eggs and definitely recognized an uglyass face on one of them. “IS THAT TAMAGOYAKI?” Kuroo yelled. “Yeah. You guys left him alone on the counter so Uncle Bokuto is taking him for a spin.” Bokuto said, continuously twirling the eggs on his pencil. Daishou started talking over Bokuto as he stared in horror at the unholy device. “Holy shit, Bokuto stop, one of them is gonna fall–” At that precise moment Tamagoyaki did not fall; instead, it went flying into the wall and shattered into smithereens, its yolky insides sliding to the floor. The trio stared at the remains of the egg child in horror for a solid four and a half seconds before all hell broke loose. Kuroo made a quiet noise which gradually grew in pitch and volume until he was full on shrieking in the middle of their god damn living room. He then began to shout incoherent phrases at Bokuto all while wildly waving his arms around like he was a windmill on steroids. “You! Oh my- HE’S DEAD!” he shouted as Bokuto apologized profusely. Daishou meanwhile, fell to the floor and burst out laughing. “What are YOU laughing at?” “You look ridiculous,” Daishou replied, wheezing. “I don’t have time to deal with your nonsense. You!” Kuroo said, wheeling on Bokuto. “You murdered him!” Kuroo yelled. “It was an accident!” Bokuto cried. “He’s dead because of you!” “Again, accident!” “I’m taking this to court!” “Oh my god, you can’t be serious, Kuroo,” Daishou replied, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “I am, and I’m going to represent the prosecution in Bokuto v. State and charge Bokuto for the murder of Tamagoyaki Kuroo-Daishou.” Bokuto dropped to his knees in the most dramatic fashion and covered his face with his hands. “I’m gonna be left for de-e-eaad!” Daishou kneeled down and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry Bokuto, I’ll defend you.” Bokuto looked up. “You will?” “You’re going to defend a murderer?” Kuroo’s face was one of absolute disgust. “Of course I am, because it was an accident and he needs a fair trial!” Kuroo straightened up and put a hand to his chin. “I suppose that’s true. Hmm… a guy who acts nice and respectable on the outside but is actually a snake on the inside, and someone who would use this to their advantage to do whatever it takes to win… you’d make a perfect lawyer, Daishou!” “Holy shit.” “Anyways, we’ll hold the trial here in exactly an hour.” Kuroo grabbed Bokuto by the wrists and pulled him up. “Bokuto, you’re coming with me to the Detention Center for questioning. Daishou, you set up the courtroom and call Akaashi to be the judge.” “Okay, but you realize Akaashi’s gonna be biased, right?” “I’m not worried about that. Akaashi knows when to call out Bokuto on his shit.” “Fair enough.” With that, Kuroo took Bokuto away to the “detention center” (aka the bathroom) and Daishou got to work. About ten minutes later, Kuroo came back out and suggested Daishou talk to his defendant. “Careful though, he’s kind of pissed right now.” He warned. “Yeah, no shit,” Daishou said. He rounded the corner to the hallway and entered the bathroom. Bokuto was sitting in the bathtub. “Dude, what’re you doing?” “This is my cell, according to Kuroo…” Bokuto grumbled. He sighed and leaned his back against the end of the tub with a thunk, arms crossed. “This is dumb.” “Yeah, well, Kuroo’s not gonna give this up until it’s over.” Daishou replied. He echoed Bokuto’s sigh. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, then?”* “I was bored out of my mind, and I saw your egg left unattended on the counter. Then I got the idea to make my egg spinner.” “Unattended, huh? I should be writing this down…” Daishou dug his phone out of his pocket and started taking notes. “Yeah, and it took me, like, a million years to find the hot glue gun. Mostly ‘cuz I kept getting distracted and forgot what I was doing… But I really didn’t mean to break the egg! You gotta believe me, Daishou!” “I know you didn’t, Bokuto. Kuroo’s just being a jackass. In all honesty, we’re at a big disadvantage here.” Daishou rubbed his neck. “He has an entire arsenal of things he could throw at us, not to mention that you actually did break the egg, accident or not…” He rambled on and on, and if Bokuto was being honest, he zoned out about halfway through. “Hey Daishou?” Bokuto interrupted. “Hm? Yeah?” “Do you think Kuroo’s okay?” Daishou blinked. “What do you mean?” “I dunno. He just seems kinda off.” “You mean aside from this crazy egg thing?” “I guess. You haven’t noticed anything?” Daishou wasn’t sure what to say to that. Daishou was a very observant person – even too observant at times. Of course he noticed things about Kuroo, even if he didn’t want to. He noticed when he was upset, when he was excited about something, when he got a more fitful night of sleep than usual. It’s not that he wanted to, just that when you know someone for long enough, these sort of things kind of become second nature. Regardless, Daishou did his best to stay out of Kuroo’s way and ignore old habits, whereas Bokuto was Kuroo’s friend. Daishou was sure that Bokuto noticed things he didn’t, after all – he was that type of person that was more observant than he seemed. “Not sure,” he settled on saying. Bokuto’s mind already seemed to be on something else. “Hm, whatever. Do you have more questions for me?” “I don’t know, really, I was just gonna wing it,” Daishou admitted. “What did you tell Kuroo?” “I told him to fuck off and that this whole thing was stupid.” “Understandable, but what did you tell him regarding the case?” “Oh, well I told him the same thing I told you.” “So he has nothing but vague information…” Daishou mused, then visibly deflated. “But we’re in the same boat. It really is a clear-cut case…” “So there really is no hope for me…” Bokuto wept. Daishou waved his hands frantically in an attempt to get Bokuto to stop crying or screaming or whatever it was he was about to do. “No, no, no! We’ll be okay, don’t worry.” Bokuto sniffed. “You think so?” “Of course,” Daishou lied. Daishou asked Bokuto a few more questions, hoping to squeeze as much (probably useless) information out of him. Finally they left the bathroom and walked into the “courtroom,” which was just their slightly modified living room. Kuroo exited his room carrying a music stand which he must’ve pulled out of his ass. “Akaashi’s coming over,” he said, setting the music stand down in front of the swivel chair. “Why?” Daishou asked. He had called Akaashi earlier, and he’d seemed very reluctant to even do the entire thing over the phone, let alone get on a train and come all the way over to their apartment. “I asked him to. Well, more like forced him to.” “Great,” Daishou replied. They already had enough to deal with with everything going on. Daishou had never seen a pissed off Akaashi, and frankly, didn’t want to. He doubted Akaashi would be angry though, disgruntled at worst. However, Akaashi scared the holy living shit out of Daishou, so it might as well have been the same thing. As they waited for Akaashi to arrive, Daishou showed them the makeshift courtroom: the prosecution’s table (the coffee table), the defense’s table (the table from the hallway), the judge’s bench (the swivel chair and music stand), the witness stand (a barstool), and the accused’s seat (the couch). They somehow managed to briefly argue over the setup until Akaashi invited himself in. “I can’t believe you dragged me over here for an egg,” he said, glaring at Kuroo. “He was my egg. And your boyfriend killed him,” Kuroo dabbed at nonexistent tears. “He’s gone forever now.” Akaashi just rolled his eyes. “And what exactly is my role in this?” Kuroo pointed at the swivel chair with the music stand in front of it. “Just sit there and listen to us, then say whether or not Bokuto’s guilty.” Akaashi walked over to the chair and picked up the spoon that was sitting on the stand. “And what’s this?” “Uh, it’s a gavel ,” Kuroo replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Oooookay,” Akaashi said in a sarcastic tone that also sounded as though he was concerned for Kuroo’s mental health.   Everyone took their respective seats and Akaashi sat awkwardly in front of them. He took the spoon and tapped it against the music stand. “Court is now in session.” * “Stronger,” Kuroo urged. “Uh…” Akaashi looked at Kuroo with an increasing amount of worry and confusion and hit the spoon on the stand with more force. “Court is now in session. Prosecution, give your opening statement.” He said, trying to recall all the buried knowledge of law shows he used to watch with his mom. Kuroo stood up. “This is a very simple case. There were not one, not two, but three witnesses to this heinous crime. Unfortunately, as the defense and I constitute two thirds of those witnesses, I can only call upon one,” he glared at Daishou. “The defendant, Bokuto Koutarou, killed Tamagoyaki Kuroo-Daishou at approximately 2:27 PM. The murder weapon? A fidget spinner. The accused glued three eggs to a fidget spinner – one being the victim – and sent the victim flying into the wall. Hours before, he was seen gathering the materials for the murder weapon. It is obvious to see that this was premeditated killing, and therefore the prosecution charges Bokuto Koutarou with first degree murder. Today, I hope you can find the truth in your heart, Your Honor, and get justice for Tamagoyaki.” Kuroo bowed to the judge as if he’d just given a performance. “I’d like to submit these as evidence, Your Honor” He slid two plastic bags onto the table, one containing the remains of the egg spinner, and the other containing the hot glue gun. Unnecessarily, Kuroo had written ‘evidence’ on them in his atrocious handwriting. “Does that say evil pence?” Akaashi asked, squinting at the bags. “Isn’t that the American politician who fucks horses?” Bokuto asked. “Mick Pence or something. And he got fucked BY the horse.” “He both fucked and got fucked by a horse,” Kuroo corrected. Akaashi banged his spoon against the music stand. When everyone quieted down he hesitated for a moment before saying, “Wait does that mean he’s a verse?” Everyone then got into a heated debate of whether or not Pence was a top, bottom, or verse before Akaashi banged his spoon again. “Daishou, do you have any evidence to submit?” Daishou pointed to the smashed egg seven feet away from them. “I’d like to submit the crime scene.” “You guys seriously haven’t cleaned that up?” Akaashi asked. “Aren’t you adults?” “I laugh in the face of adultery.” Akaashi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bokuto, that’s not what that means.” He sighed. “Anyways, Tamagoyaki was the adopted son of you Daishou, correct?” Akaashi asked. “Yes. About a week ago Bokuto gave him to us to take care of.” Daishou responded. “I think Daishou’s custody should be revoked because he’s defending Tamagoyaki’s murderer, ” Kuroo interjected. “He’s already dead, Kuroo,” Daishou said, pointing to Tamagoyaki’s insides on the wall. Kuroo glared at Daishou but didn’t object, “Let’s just get started. I call Bokuto Koutarou to the stand as a witness,” Kuroo said, standing up. Bokuto went and sat next to Akaashi in the barstool.* “Witness,” Kuroo commanded, “State your name and occupation.” “Kuroo you already know my name.” “We are in a court of law, Bokuto. Personal relations don’t matter anymore. State your name for the record.” “We don’t even have a court reporter!” “Bokuto.” Bokuto huffed and crossed his arms. “Bokuto Koutarou. Student. Happy now?” Kuroo began pacing back and forth in front of the ‘podium’. “So, Bokuto, I’ll keep it simple: give a testimony on what you did prior to and during the murder.” “Okay, uhhhhhhhhhhhhh... oh, well, I was super bored. I had literally nothing to do all day, so I eventually wandered to the kitchen, saw the egg, and got the idea for the egg spinner. I looked for the glue gun for, like, two hours, made the spinner, then showed it to Kuroo and Daishou.” “Tamagoyaki.” “What?” “Say his name, you coward.” “Kuroo it was an egg,” Daishou said, from the sidelines. “Exactly. Was. If it weren’t because of Bokuto he’d still be here,” Kuroo wiped his (entirely dry) eyes. “Anyways,” he said, straightening. “Bored you say? Couldn’t you have something better to do with your time?” “Objection!” Daishou yelled. “The defense has to cross-examine the witness, not the prosecution. Back off, fuckwad.” “What?” “Objection sustained,” Akaashi said. “Commence with your cross-examination, defense.” Daishou cleared his throat and stood up. “So, Bokuto, you got the idea when you saw the egg on the counter, right? Could you elaborate?” Bokuto crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Hmm, let’s see… Oh! Tamagoyaki was sitting on the kitchen counter, and I had my fidget spinner in my hand. When I saw the egg, I looked down at my fidget spinner and saw the image of three eggs spinning around really fast and I thought it was funny.” “Hold it!” Daishou yelled. “Where on the counter was the egg?” “Umm… I think it was underneath the cabinet across from the fridge?” “The one that doesn’t shut all the way?” “Yes, that one! It was definitely under that one.” Kuroo scoffed. “Oh, come on, is this really necessary?” Daishou nodded. “I believe it is. If you recall, that cabinet doesn’t shut because it is filled to the brim with Kuroo’s coffee mugs. Given this information, we can assume that the egg was set down on the counter as someone retrieved a mug from the cabinet for a drink, then left the egg forgotten in the kitchen. This ‘someone’ could only be Kuroo or myself – and since Kuroo’s the only one that drinks from his mugs – we can conclude that Kuroo himself left his child on the counter, unattended for Bokuto to find!” * Kuroo gasped. “Objection! I don’t like your tone!” Akaashi half-heartedly banged his spoon. “Kuroo, you realize that’s not actually how objections work in real trials, right?” “Um, I’ve played Ace Attorney, Your Honor. I know what I’m doing. Anyways,” Kuroo pointed dramatically at Daishou. “You! To think you could imply something so horrendous about my parenting? You suggest that I left my dear child alone on the counter, and that it’s what ultimately lead to his death? Your audacity disgusts me.” “Actually, I didn’t say any of that. You just did.” Kuroo froze for a hot second, processing the past few lines of dialogue, then yelled in anguish. He slammed his hands on the table. “What evidence do you have to support your claims?!” “Uhh… W-Well, about that…” Daishou stuttered. Kuroo slammed his hands on the table once again. “Do you hear this, Your Honor? The defense makes wild claims with nothing to back it up! His argument cannot be accepted.” Akaashi hummed. “You’re right,” he said. He tapped his spoon on the stand. “Defense, do you have any evidence to back up your claims?” Akaashi’s terrifying glare made Daishou want to turn his body inside out and recede into his skeleton like a hermit crab. “Um, yes! I do have evidence!” He blurted out. “Then present it to the court.” Akaashi ordered. Daishou’s eyes flickered around the room. The only two pieces of evidence they “officially” had were the two objects Kuroo put into the ziplock baggies, and neither of those had anything to do with his argument. His eyes then landed on the coffee mug Kuroo was drinking out of before the incident, moved onto the bar from the coffee table when the room was being rearranged. “My evidence is… this mug.” Daishou walked over to the bar and picked up the coffee mug. This one was shorter and wider than the others, and looked handmade. Tea leaves littered the bottom. “Uh oh.” Kuroo said. Daishou seemed rather proud of himself. “Kuroo is the only one that drinks from his mugs,” Daishou began, “and since we concluded that Tamagoyaki was left in the kitchen after retrieving a mug, I can confidently tell you that it was Kuroo that left the egg in the kitchen. If Kuroo had not abandoned our dear child on the counter, it’s possible his death could have been avoided!” Daishou pointed at the prosecution. Kuroo clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “No! How can this happen?” Daishou put his hands on his hips. “Well, if you hadn’t been so sloppy with your evidence, the situation might be different right now.” “I wasn’t going to tamper with the evidence!” Kuroo said. “I may not have a law degree, but I do have morals.” “So you conveniently didn’t include it when you submitted your evidence? Sounds suspicious to me…” “Look, I forgot about it, okay?” Kuroo grumbled. “Is that what you wanted me to say?” “Your Honor, how can we trust the prosecution’s claims? He’s sloppy with his detective work and overlooks evidence that just so happens to hurt his argument.” Akaashi nodded. “It is a bit suspicious…” “What?” Kuroo cried. “You could be trying to cover something up… perhaps you’re trying to hide your own involvement with the murder!” “You can’t be serious!” “Your Honor, Kuroo took excessive care of the dear victim this past week, and both my client and I can vouch for that. For Kuroo to unintentionally leave Tamagoyaki on the counter is out of character, and wouldn’t be done unless he meant to.” “You think it’s more than just forgetfulness?” Akaashi questioned. Daishou cleared his throat. “Kuroo, do you remember that one substitute we had for our homeroom teacher in the first year of junior high?” Kuroo immediately went off. “Of course I do! He wore an ugly paisley tie and looked like motherfucking Glass Joe, then he yelled at me for laughing! Laughing!” Kuroo stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait, why do you – oh shit–” “As you can see, Your Honor,” Daishou cut him off, “Kuroo has an excellent memory. He never forgets anything, so how could he forget Tamagoyaki, his own child, on the counter where something potentially dangerous could happen to him?” “What are you trying to say?” Akaashi asked. “I’m saying that Kuroo intentionally left Tamagoyaki in the kitchen!” * Kuroo gasped, “How dare you accuse me of intentionally doing what would ultimately lead to my beloved son’s death.” “That’s exactly what I just did.” Daishou stood with his hands on his hips. I’m gonna wipe that smug grin right off his face, Kuroo growled. “How about my motive? Hm?” Daishou made an ‘oh shit’ face and then immediately had an aha moment. “You did it to get to me.” “Oh please! You didn’t care about Tamagoyaki, you never did. For god’s sake you’re defending his murderer!” “How do I know you’re not the murderer? What about that?” “You make a compelling case,” Akaashi agreed. “Damn right I do! I bet Kuroo did this just to get back at me for some bullshit thing and this whole court thing is a Scam to make me suffer as well!” “HOW DARE YOU!” “In fact, I think my client is completely innocent!” Kuroo gasped again. “That’s ridiculous, we saw him murder him,” he snapped. “Or did we see him do exactly what you intended for him to do?” Daishou rebutted. “Just admit it, Kuroo, with all your fake crying and staged grief, it's obvious what your true intentions were!” Kuroo opened his mouth to speak but Akaashi rapped his spoon on the music stand. “Very compelling argument, defense,” Akaashi said. “It’s very tempting, and as much as I’d like to accept it and move on,” he shot Kuroo a look, “I have to deny it.” “Aw, what the hell?” Daishou said. “What gives?” “Your claim might’ve proved that Kuroo got a drink prior to the murder, but it doesn’t mean that Kuroo had anything to do with the murder itself. With the evidence and testimony we have at hand, it still leads to the defendant killing the victim, regardless of whether or not it could have been avoided.” “Haha.” Kuroo pulled down his lower eyelid and stuck out his tongue. “Damn it,” Daishou mumbled. “And since you bring up motive, what about Bokuto’s motive? Hm?” Kuroo said, pleased that things had swung back to his favor. “He has no motive,” Daishou replied flatly. “That's basically the premise of my entire case.” “I think it’s quite the opposite!” Kuroo turned dramatically to Bokuto, “Bokuto, tell us again what happened.”* “Ummmmmm.” Bokuto had to sit and think about it for a solid thirty seconds. “I was bored and dissociating and spinning my fidget spinner, and then I saw the egg sitting on the counter, above the cabinet with all the mugs. So I go the idea to make the egg-spinner.” “So you just did the first thing that came to mind?” “You do realize he has like two ounces of impulse control, right?” Daishou asked. Kuroo ignored him. “I don’t think this was just the first thing that came to mind at all! I think you plotted this.” “Why would I do that!?” “You gave the egg to me and Daishou as a method to get us to stop arguing, correct?” Bokuto nodded. Kuroo continued on, “Would you say it just made us argue more?” “Yes, oh my god, you guys would not shut u–” Bokuto was cut off by Kuroo pointing right in his face. “So you do have a motive!” “What? No!” “You said that the egg made us argue more, and you made it clear that you didn’t like us arguing, so you staged this ‘accident’ to get rid of it so we wouldn’t argue,” Kuroo was borderline gleeful. “I would never do that.” “Nonetheless, you have a motive. And I saw you plotting it. I saw you searching for the glue gun.” “Yeah to build my egg-spinner.” “Why did it take you like four hours then?” “Um, dude, I have ADHD.” “Still, I’m convinced that you plotted this. But that’s not what matters. Did you or did you not, construct a device that would, ultimately, be used in the death of Tamagoyaki Kuroo-Daishou?” Kuroo was trying to intimidate Bokuto by leaning in next to his face. It wasn’t working because he had to slightly squat to get eye-level with him, resulting in Kuroo looking ridiculous and Bokuto leaning away uncomfortably “I did?” “Did you or did you not, spin said device and send Tamagoyaki Kuroo-Daishou into the wall?” “Yeah I did… But it was an accident!” “The prosecution rests,” Kuroo turned to Akaashi and bowed dramatically. Daishou stood up as Kuroo sat down and they exchanged a glare. “So, you said you were dissociating when you built the egg spinner?” “Uh yeah?” “Your Honor, how can my client be accused of murder when he wasn’t even there!? Case closed.” Akaashi nodded, agreeing. Kuroo looked incredulous. “Bokuto, did you mean to send Tamagoyaki flying into the wall?” “Of course not!” Daishou turned to Kuroo with a smug expression on his face. “I’d also like to point out, that you can clearly see, that the wall smashed the egg, not Bokuto. Therefore, he can’t be the murderer. Your Honor, this is a minor case of involuntary manslaughter at worst. ” “The wall’s the murder weapon!?” Kuroo cried. “I thought the egg-spinner was the murder weapon, hm?” Daishou replied. Kuroo faltered. “The defense rests.” “Are we ready for a verdict then?” Akaashi asked. Kuroo stood up. “I would like to call another witness to the stand.” “Whomst?” Daishou interjected. “Kuroo Tetsurou,” Kuroo said smugly. “That’s literally illegal! Akaashi he can’t do that.” Akaashi held a finger up to silence Daishou. “I’ll allow it. I wanna see how this plays out.” Kuroo walked up to the witness chair. “I saw Bokuto Koutarou murder Tamagoyaki Kuroo-Daishou with my own two eyes. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday–” “Today’s Sunday.” “Same thing. Anyways. It was around one o'clock, I was relaxing in the living room, and he–” Kuroo pointed dramatically at Bokuto, “walked in, spinning my child, Tamagoyaki, on a so-called ‘egg-spinner’ and I saw, with my own two eyes,” Kuroo wiped his eyes, “Tamagoyaki die. At the hands of that man!” He once again pointed to Bokuto, turning away and fake sobbing into his elbow. “Your testimony doesn’t prove that it wasn’t an accident,” Daishou said, standing up. “I saw him with the glue-gun. It states in the law that if the accused is seen preparing for the crime, then it can’t be called involuntary manslaughter, or, as you so put it, an ‘accident.’” “Bullshit.” “Prove it.” Daishou narrowed his eyes. He could not, in fact, ‘prove it’ as he was literally winging this entire thing. “Also it says in that if the defense attorney knows their client is guilty, they can’t defend them.” “You’re literally pulling shit out of your ass!” “What you’re doing is illegal.” “You called yourself to the witness stand.” “Totally legal.” “Why are you doing this?” Daishou asked, dejected. “Why are you? Tamagoyaki was our child and you’re defending his murderer!” “It was an egg, Kuroo.” “I’m getting a divorce,” “Fine by me.” “Fine!” “Fine!” “You’re not invited to the funeral,” Kuroo snapped at Daishou. “How dare you uninvite me from my own fake-son’s funeral.” “It’s what you deserve.” Daishou glowered and opened his mouth to say something when there was the sound of spoon against music stand. “I take it we’re done since you two have drifted so far from the case?” Akaashi seemed even more exhausted than usual. Kuroo and Daishou exchanged a glare. They simultaneously shrugged. “This court finds the defendant, Bokuto Koutarou… not guilty.” “What!?” Kuroo and Daishou yelled. “You heard me,” Akaashi gave Kuroo a smug look.* Bokuto launched himself into Akaashi’s arms and wrapped him in a life-threatening hug, blubbering into his shoulder. “Akashiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” “You can’t do this! He’s obviously guilty!” Kuroo looked like he had just gone into shock. “Yeah honestly I’m confused too,” Daishou agreed. “No! I refuse to accept this! I demand a second opinion!” Kuroo said. Akaashi simply shrugged and suggested he call Kenma, so Kuroo angrily called him up on speaker phone and explained the situation. “So… which side is Kuroo on?” Kenma asked. “He says Bokuto’s guilty.” Daishou replied. There was a moment of brief silence before Kenma spoke, “Yeah okay then, not guilty.” Kuroo practically burst into flames. “Akaashi, you can’t let this happen!” He cried. “I just did. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go home, sleep, and hopefully die.” Akaashi grabbed his bag and headed towards the door, Bokuto still attached to him. The door slammed shut, and there were about seven seconds of dead silence. Kuroo made a scene of collapsing onto the couch. “Whew. Glad that’s over.” “Eh?” Daishou looked like he was about to lose it. “Remind me: aren’t YOU the one that made us go through this in the first place?” Kuroo swung his legs up onto the couch and rested his head behind his hands, looking way too casual considering his remark. “Yeah, but it was only really to mess with you guys.” Bokuto, who’d just walked back in from the kitchen, immediately dropped his applesauce pouch. “You what?” Daishou’s eye twitched. “So… you’re telling me… that you were just kidding… this entire time?” “Well, yeah, I–” Daishou yanked Kuroo up by his shirt collar. “ARE YOU SHITTING ME? YOU CONNIVING SON OF A BITCH!” “You accused me of murder and took me to trial! I’ve been traumatized for nothing!” Bokuto yelled. “YOU REJECTED SOME KIND OLD LADY’S MUFFINS OVER THIS!” Daishou screamed into his face. “A week, Kuroo,” Bokuto said, “You kept this up for a WEEK!” “Hmm… a guy who puts up a show, acts overly dramatic, and tricks others into thinking that he’s feeling something he’s actually not…” Daishou sneered, there was a dangerous, almost hurt edge to his voice. “You’d make a perfect actor, Kuroo!” He dropped him onto the couch, a bitter expression on his face. Kuroo and Daishou glowered at each other, then went back to arguing. As they always did.

Victor knew that bracelet. The neon pink one that clung loosely to Yuri's wrist. He knew because he'd seen Yakov put it on older skaters when he was a teen. But not all of them. No, just the ones with the fake smiles and covered arms and bruised bodies. The ones like Yuri. The bracelets were the kind that you put on and have to cut off when you're done with them. They are made to stay on for a long time. They're the ones summer camps use to identify who is a swimmer or a non swimmer. Waterproof, made of some fabricky paper. They were pink. Bright pink. Made to be seen, but not really questioned. They were a way of identifying. It held significance. The bracelet made Victor scared for the younger Russian. As Yuuri went out for his six minute warm up on the ice with the rest of Group 2, Victor sidled closer to his former coach, careful to keep a free eye on his skater. "Yakov, how long?" Victor asked in a low voice. The older man didn't look at him, just kept his eyes trained on Yuri. "You noticed, did you?" Yakov said. Victor didn't reply, just waited for his answer. Yakov sighed sadly. "We found scabs and scars on his arms during practice last week. I don't know how long he's been doing it. At least a week." Victor nodded glumly. He'd worried about Yuri for a long time. The teen was too hard on himself, and he took that out on other people around him. It was something Victor had seen take down many skaters. All some had to show for it was a funeral, leaving friends and families to wonder why. Victor learned early on to not make a habit of ignoring his needs, especially his mental ones. After his own close call and a pink bracelet, Victor learned to keep an eye on his thoughts and actions, in turn watching his fellow skaters more carefully as well. During the last competition, Victor had realized that, had Yuuri been coached under Yakov, he would have been put in a pink bracelet too. "How is he doing?" Victor asked. He smiled inwardly, watching as Yuuri landed a jump perfectly. Fine, but I won't say better. He's never alone accept at night when he refuses to have a 'babysitter'." "And no more marks?" "Not really. Sometimes we'll catch him with his nails ripping at skin, but... it doesn't do much damage to him physically." "But mentally?" "He has outright refused to talk to anyone. And he has made it impossible for me or Lilia to contact his grandfather." Yakov's frown deepened at the sight of Yuri falling and crashing hard into the ice. The six minutes were almost up. "I'll do it. He won't expect me to try." Victor offered. Yakov looked at him finally in surprise. "And why would you do that?" Yakov asked. "He is your skater's competition." "Because, Yakov, I've been there..." Victor watched as the skaters headed off of the rink. "Or have you forgotten?" Victor walked away then, joining Yuuri and leaving the room to wait in the warm up area. They were silent as Yuuri began stretching and Victor took out his phone. A second and it was buzzing with a text from his former coach. -Here is the number. Be discreet about it. Have better luck than we did Victor typed out a quick reply before tapping Yuuri's shoulder. When the younger man looked up, Victor made a quick motion that he'd be back before tapping on the link to the number. Yuuri nodded and resumed stretching. Viktor figured the best place would be the stairwell to the parking garage beneath the rink. Standing a floor down in the dim, chilly stairwell, he waited as the phone rang. A moment and a voice on the other end was greeting him. "Hello?" "Hi. Is this Nikolai Plisetsky?" Victor replied. "Yes, this is he. Who is this?" "This is Victor Nikiforov. I'm calling in regards to your grandson, Yuri." Victor leaned against the concrete wall behind him, his stomach feeling as if it were quivering. "What happened to him? Is he alright?" Nikolai's voice became rushed, worry evident in his tone. "He's safe, I promise. Yakov would have called about this, but Yuri is insistent that you not find out." "Find out about what?" Nikolai asked, seeming to lose a little bit of patience. "Yuri has been hurting himself." Victor let his head fall back gently against the wall. He wanted to sink down to the ground and hold his knees as tightly as he could. Lord, and he thought he could do this... "How?" "Mr. Plisetsky, Yuri has been cutting himself." "What?! Why?! He's a good boy, why would he do such a thing?" Victor had to hold the phone away from his ear slightly at the volume of the old man's voice. "I... I don't know, Mr. Plisetsky. You'll have to ask him that. For now, though, he is fine. Yakov has been keeping him under close supervision. I suggest you wait to bring this up to Yuri until this competition is over tomorrow." Victor said, willing his voice to stay calm. Nikolai sighed deeply. "I suppose you're right. I will talk to him. Thank you for telling me, Victor." "I hope he opens up to you." "Me too. Goodbye." Nikolai sighed again. "Bye." Victor pulled his phone away from his cheek and clicked ended the call. He sucked in a deep, shuttering breath, running a hand through his hair. He began making his way back up the stairs, missing how a small dark shadow hid quickly behind a corner on his way out the door. Back in the waiting room, Victor took up a place next to Yuuri, who gave him a questioning look. "Victor, what was that about?" Yuuri asked, taking an earbud out. "Nothing. I'll tell you later." Yuuri stared for a moment before shrugging it off and went back to his stretches. Victor's eyes drifted across the room where Yuri had just come in and placed himself on a bench beside his coach. Vaguely, he wondered why Yuri had been gone and why he'd been alone. The look on Yakov's face seemed to ask the same question.

To say there was a spring in Regina’s step would be an understatement. She was practically glowing and there was a grin on her face that stretched from ear to ear. A Monday morning had never seemed so bright to her before. After she and Emma had spent countless hours passionately bringing each other to ecstasy she had remember that it was Sunday and that her son had school the next day. After a heated debate on who was going to call Henry Senior and Emma pulling the ‘but you’re his mom’ card; Regina had the awkward honour of asking her father where he was while avoiding to explain why it took so long to make said call. Emma and Regina decided it would be better if they spent the night apart, for Henry’s sake. It was easier said than done. When it came for Regina to leave and fetch Henry her departure was delayed when Emma laid the most fantastic kisses down her neck. Two heated make out sessions later and one sexy session of living room sex Regina was finally able to tear herself away from her addicting blonde. After Henry was tucked in and safely sleeping Regina had a cold shower. She needed to get Emma out of her head or else she wouldn’t be sleeping. It turned out that while Emma didn’t leave her thoughts Regina had a pleasant night’s sleep. She had woken up with a text from Emma saying: Good morning beautiful. New rule. No more nights without you in my arms. Sleeping just isn’t the same. The text had put Regina in an outstandingly good mood. She had almost given Martha a heart attack when she waltzed into the office practically humming. She refused to give her mother a second thought. Not for now at least. She wanted to enjoy her moment of sheer happiness for a little longer. “Martha.” Regina called. “Could you please call Kat-?” Regina stopped when she heard her phone ring. Regina didn’t think her smile could any bigger when she looked at the caller ID. “Hey beautiful.” Emma’s sweet voice said through her phone. “How are you?” Regina grinned and span her desk chair so she was looking out the window. “Hello.” Regina said softly a faint blush brushing her cheeks. “I am quite good thank you; and yourself?” “Quite good hey?” Emma chuckled. “I wonder why…” Regina blushed. “I know you’re blushing my sweet. I am also quite good.” “You’re quite amusing Ms Swan.” Regina teased gently. “Hey!” Emma laughed. “You love me for it and don’t you even try deny it.” Regina chuckled and shook her head. “I won’t.” Regina said softly. “Good.” Emma continued to laugh but then her laughter died suddenly. “Hey uh Gina… have you maybe spoken with your mother this morning?” “No,” Regina frowned “Why do you ask?” “No reason….” Emma forced a laugh. “I guess I’m just worried she’s going to coming storming in demanding my head on a silver platter.” “Oh.” Regina said, her smile slightly waving. “Regina.” Emma said immediately hearing the dejected sound in her voice. “You mother can come storming in demanding my head on a silver platter and I don’t care. I love you and nothing is going to change that.” Regina’s smile grew. “Okay.” She said softly. “What are you up to?” Emma asked, looking for excuse to continue speaking with her favourite brunette. “I was about to ask Kathryn to look after Henry for me.” Regina said, then almost face palmed. “But I just remembered she’s also going on a business trip this week.” “What about your parents?” Emma asked. “I refuse to leave my son with my deranged mother who would most likely harass him about us.” Regina almost spat the words. “As much as I hate leaving him with strangers I’ll have to call a sitting service.” “A sitting service?” Emma gasped. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’ll watch the kid.” “You?” “Yes me what’s wrong with me?” “Nothing.” Regina said quickly. “I only meant that…” Regina took a breath in. “I now you’ve been busy lately. I wouldn’t want to interfere.” “Don’t be silly.” Emma teased her. “I’ll never be too busy for Henry. Besides it’s only a week. I promise you’ll have him back in one piece… maybe.” “Emma!” “What? A kid can live with a finger or two right?” Regina knew Emma was teasing her but she couldn’t help but react. “Ms Swan….” “Relax Gina.” Emma cooed. “Let me look after Henry. He’ll be with someone he knows. You trust me right?” “Of course I do.” Regina said without a hint of hesitation. “All right fine. But you have to stay at my house.” “Yes Madam Mayor.” Emma laughed. “You leave tonight right?” “Yes at seven thirty.” “Then I shall be at t your mansion at six. Bags packed and all.” Regina smiled. “Good.” She teased. “We’ll have dinner before I leave.” Suddenly there was a crashing sound in the background. “Shit…” Emma muttered. Regina heard a struggle over the phone before someone spoke to her who was not Emma. “Hi Regina it’s Ruby.” The woman said. “Emma will talk to later when she realizes that she isn’t allowed to dump her tables onto me to chat with her girlfriend. I don’t care if she is the boss.” “Ruby give me my phone!” She heard Emma shout in the background. “Make me.” Ruby snapped teasingly and Regina could imagine one of them pointing their tongue to the other. “Very well Ms Lucas.” Regina said trying hard not to laugh. “Please tell Ms Swan I will see her tonight. Have a good day.” “I will do.” Ruby said. “Have a good day Miss Mills.” “Hey wait Regina don’t hang up!” She heard Emma shout before the line went dead. Regina burst into laughter. “What are you laughing at?” She heard someone ask. Twirling her desk chair around to face the right way. “Kathryn.” Regina let out a small breath. “What brings you here? It isn’t lunch.” Kathryn smirked. “I came to say goodbye, my flight leaves in less than an hour.” Kathryn walked to Regina’s large wooden desk and sat on the edge. “Talking to your girlfriend whom you have still not introduced me to?” Regina’s blush confirmed Kathryn’s guess. “Well aren’t you just adorable. Martha told me you were humming this morning. Have a good weekend? Your parents came back right?” “Yes and yes.” Regina said. “Although my parents weren’t what made it good…” “Oh let me guess you spent the weekend with your blonde woman doing naughty-.” Kathryn’s mouth dropped when the meaning behind Regina’s words and her darkening blush hit her. “Holy-.” “Kathryn…” Regina warned. “You finally got some!” Kathryn shrieked and clapped her hands together. “No wonder you’re practically glowing!” Kathryn’s eyes lit up as she leant closer to Regina, peering at her with great interest. “Was it good?” Regina’s red face was enough of an answer. “Regina you’ve been holding out on me!” Kathryn laughed. “I. Want. Details.” Regina shook her head. “You have a plane to catch.” “No I don’t.” She denied. Regina glared at her and stood up. “You’re going to be late.” She said dragging her friend to the door. “Regina you are not allowed to do this!” Kathryn said when Regina rudely pushed her out of the mayor’s office. “I told you the second I slept with Frederick.” “Yes I remember the awkward phone call.” Regina muttered. “I didn’t ask you to, especially when he was still in bed with you.” Kathryn grinned. “Come on…” Kathryn almost begged. “You never tell me anything anymore.” “Yes I do.” Regina said. “You’re being childish.” Kathryn pouted. Eventually Regina sighed and placed her mouth next to Kathryn’s mouth to whisper: “No one has ever made me come like she did.” With that Regina whirled around and closed the door to hear Kathryn scream. “Fucking hell Regina that is not cool!” Regina laughed and sat down at her desk. Her cheeks were bright red and burning. She had never been so blunt with Kathryn about her sexual escapades before. Emma is quite the influence on me. But Regina couldn’t find any reason to be upset at the fact.   “Stop sulking.” Ruby growled. “I am not sulking.” Emma hissed. “Oh? So it wasn’t your lip I tripped on back there?” “You’re the one who took my phone.” “You’re the one who ditched me.” They stared at each other before Granny came up to them and hit them both over the head. “Okay children.” She growled. “If you’re done with your tantrums there is a health inspector outside.” Both Ruby and Emma frowned. “Health inspector? Why?” “Do I look like I know?” Granny deadpanned and waved a wooden spoon in Emma’s face. “Why don’t you go ask the health inspector why the health inspector is here?” Emma’s face fell and she walked out of the kitchen grumbling. Ruby crossed her arms and smirked in triumph until Granny swatted her with the wooden spoon. “And you young lady? Why are you taking people’s phones?” Granny asked. Ruby opened her mouth but then laughed nervously and ran out of the kitchen to go help Emma. “Good day I’m Emma Swan.” She said shaking the health inspector’s hand. “How can I help you?” The inspector wore a fine blue suit and clutched a small back briefcase in his left hand. His black hair was greased back and he had a pleasant enough smile that didn’t really reach his dark eyes. “Good day Miss Swan.” He said. “My name is Eric Smith. I’m here due to a serious compliant that was called in at my offices this morning.” “Serious compliant?” Emma frowned. “Yes.” Smith said nodding his head and shifting a little on his feet. “A woman called stating that there was disorderly conducted happening within your establishment that made her severely uncomfortable. She also stated that she was concerned of…” Smith opened his briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper. “-and I quote- Fifthly and disgusting rats running amuck in the kitchen. I doubt this blonde woman is capable of running a sensible establishment.” When Smith finished reading the paper Emma was seething with anger. Cora Mills you bitch. Emma took a calming breath in. “May I enquire as to who made the complaint?” Emma asked. “Unfortunately all complaints are made anonymously.” Smith answered. Emma nodded her head and pursed her lips. “Mister Smith I assure you we are professionals.” Emma forced a smile. “Please,” Emma said indicating to the kitchen. “Take a look around. You won’t find a thing out of order.” Smith nodded his head and walked to the kitchen. Ruby looked at Emma questioningly but Emma stared at the inspector’s back. And so the game begins. Emma thought. Nothing you can do will make me leave Regina. If you are going to push me. I will push back.   Emma knocked on Regina’s door at precisely six o’clock. The door swung open with alarming force and Emma barely had a moment to brace herself before Regina roughly brought Emma into her arms and crashed their lips together. Emma dropped her packed suitcase before completely melting into the kiss. She wrapped her arms tightly around Regina’s waist and moaned loudly when Regina’s tongue slid against hers. Regina smiled against Emma’s soft pink lips and lazily sucked on Emma’s lower lip. “I have been wanting to do that all day.” Regina said into Emma’s lips. Emma grinned and kissed Regina tenderly and nuzzled into Regina’s inviting neck. “I know what you mean.” Emma mumbled against Regina’s soft skin and place a soft kiss against Regina’s pulse point. Emma stepped back, a smile of pure adoration overtaking her features. “You look stunning.” It was true. Regina was wearing a tight black pencil skirt and a soft burgundy blouse, accompanied with her ever present black stilettoes. “Thank you dear.” Regina blushed shyly and moved aside to let Emma in. Emma picked up her bag and walked in. “Emma!” Henry howled and threw himself into her arms. “I’m so happy you’re looking after me.” Emma grinned and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Me too kiddo.” Regina watched their interaction with a fond smile before ushering them into the dinning room for dinner. The meal was wonderful. Now that Henry knew of their relationship Emma and Regina openly held hands and listened happily as the boy recited the events of his day. Emma would sometimes stroke the back of Regina’s knuckles unconsciously to which Regina would raise their joined hands and softly kiss Emma’s knuckles. They would share a soft smile and Emma would shift her chair so she was sitting a little closer to Regina. By the end of the meal they could comfortably lean against each other. Henry watched the two women, a happy smile on his young face. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his mother this happy. When it was time for Regina to leave, a smart BMW pulled into the driveway. The driver came to the door to collect Regina’s bags. “Henry.” His mother said softly before kissing his head. “Behave for Miss Swan.” Henry rolled his eyes but hugged Regina’s middle tightly. “I’ll call you in the morning when I land. I’ll miss you.” “I’ll miss you too mom.” Henry smiled up at her when he stepped back. Regina smiled at her son and kissed his head again. Regina turned to Emma to find smiling softly. Emma pulled Regina into her arms before kissing her tenderly. “Fly safe okay.” Emma said. “Call me the second you land. Be safe.” Regina smiled and nodded before kissing Emma again. “I’ll miss you.” Regina whispered softly in Emma’s ear. “Going away has never been this hard before. I don’t want to say goodbye.” “It’s a week.” Emma said rubbing Regina’s back comfortingly. “It’s not goodbye though. I’ll call you every day and every night. I’ll see you later.” She grinned. “I’ll miss you too though.” Regina laughed and shook her head. She kissed Emma and Henry once more before climbing into the car. The driver reversed out the driveway and drove away. But Henry and Emma could see Regina turning around in her seat to look at them through the back window. They waved and looked at each other until they were gone from each other’s sights. “I wish mom didn’t have to go.” Henry grumbled. Emma patted his shoulder and walked next to him back to the large home. “I know what you mean kiddo.” Emma grumbled equally upset at Regina’s departure. “What do you think about joining me in some shopping tomorrow after school?” She asked the young boy when they were inside. Henry wrinkled his nose. “I hate clothes shopping.” He said and Emma laughed at his tone. “It’s not for clothes.” Emma said ruffling his hair fondly. “I do need a new car you know. Ruby will kill me if she has to drive me around for the rest of her life.” Henry chuckled and Emma put her arm around his shoulders. “What car are you going to get?” Henry asked. “I have a couple ideas.” Emma grinned mischievously. “All of which your mother would probably kill me for.” Henry returned Emma’s grin. “I can’t wait.”

Molly struggled from the taxi, her arms full of Tesco bags. She might have gone overboard. Just a bit. When she had stopped to dutifully pick up the requested nappies, she realized that John probably, definitely, hadn’t had time to do any shopping in the recent past. So, she picked up some baby food for Rosie, no peas, some tea, coffee, milk, and bread. Also, some eggs, sausages, cheese, a bottle of wine, and some frozen dinners, just in case. And the biscuits John liked. And some of the ones Sherlock preferred. What could she do? As she struggled to pay the driver and not drop her purchases, the front door opened, and there was John coming to her rescue. He grabbed the bags from her, laughing. “I said nappies, Molly!” Molly finished paying the driver and turned to face her friend. He looked tired, but okay. Steady, that was John Watson. “I know, but I thought you couldn’t possibly have had time to get anything in, and you have Rosie to feed, and now Sh…Sherlock too.” She faltered at the name, a fact which John tactfully ignored. “Mrs. Hudson called me from her sister’s. She told me about Baker Street. I wanted to help.” John smiled at her. “You always help, Molly. You’ve been amazing.” This seemed to brighten Molly a bit, and she was able to follow John, almost confidently, up the steps, almost not looking like she was going to an execution. Almost. When they got inside, the front room was empty, and Molly wondered if Sherlock had scarpered. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. Though cowardly, and Sherlock was many things, but not a coward, she would have understood. Sherlock Holmes did not do awkward well. For Molly, it was almost a state of being. She was used to it. Feeling it. Being it. And she was going to hold on to that now. Revel in it. Awkward? Not a problem for Molly Hooper. “Where’s Sherlock?” she asked, half-hoping the answer would be Tristan da Cunha. “Sleeping.” John replied, eyeing her. “Said he’d probably be out for a while. Rosie’s down too. Just us adults.” She sighed in relief, a reprieve!, and followed John into his bright kitchen. Which was…a mess. A total, absolute pig sty. Almost worse than Baker Street on its worst day. He dropped the bags onto the table, used cutlery crashing to the floor, and turned to her sheepishly. “I wish I could blame the state of things on Sherlock, but…with Rosie…and everything…haven’t had time to run the hoover.” Molly sighed and rolled up the sleeves of her jumper. “You put the groceries away, I’ll fill the washer. We’ll clean this mess and get something on for tea.” John started, “Molly, no, I…” “John, yes,” she interrupted. “You’ve just been through an awful ordeal. You’re still grieving, and you have a baby to take care of. You need to let me help. Please. I want to.” John looked down for a moment, and when he looked up there were tears in his eyes. Molly’s heart gave an absolute lurch in her chest, and she propelled herself forward. John’s arms locked around her tightly, and he pressed his face into her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear, “Thank you for being here for us. For me. For Rosie. Despite everything. Just…thank you.” Molly pulled back far enough to look him in the eye. “I will ALWAYS be here for you. And Rosie.” She hesitated for a moment, and then…”I love you both. So much.” John pulled her back into his arms, squeezing the life out of her. “And we love you.” ******************** As John and Molly worked side by side, cleaning the horror that was his kitchen and putting together something resembling a meal, John told her a bit more about Sherringford, from his point of view. His tale differed slightly from Mycroft’s, but it was all essentially the same, sad, tragic story. Her heart broke for Sherlock, for Mycroft, their parents, for little Victor Trevor, and even for Eurus. John refrained from repeating any details of Molly’s part in the story, for which she was grateful, she wasn’t ready yet. But, even still, she realized she WOULD talk to John about it some day, probably some day soon. When they were alone. Hopefully over drinks. Many drinks. And he would listen, and not judge her, and stand her friend. Steady, that was John. After that part of the tale was told, and Molly and John sat sipping tea at his now almost surgically clean table, John told her the hardest thing. The thing that, so far, he had only told Sherlock. About how HE had met Eurus. After he choked out the story, Molly rose and came to him, slipping her arm around him, and pulling his head to her chest. “Oh John. Oh John, I’m so…I’m so sorry. So sorry you’ve been carrying that around. You can tell me anything, you know? John, remember, you didn’t DO anything! You didn’t cheat on Mary.” John buried his head tighter against her, confessing “But, I wanted to. I thought about it.” She ran a hand through his hair soothingly, “But you didn’t. You stopped it.” John lifted his face to look up at his friend., his eyes devoid of tears, painfully dry. “I keep thinking about it. I feel like I can’t even grieve her properly. All that time I was messing about, texting some woman, flirting for god know’s what reason, she was living the last few days of her life! I really did love her, Molly.” He dropped his head back to her chest. A muffled, “I miss her so much.” Ah well. “Do you know John,” Molly said softly as she continued to stroke his hair, “that the day you were at Sherringford…the day Sherlock called me, it was supposed to be my wedding day?” She felt John go absolutely still against her, but she kept moving her hand through his hair, perhaps soothing herself this time. “And even though I broke things off with Tom, even though I knew it was the right decision, I was feeling really…bleak, I guess. There I was in my little flat, just me and Toby.” She laughed. “Perfect spinster, cat and all.” John’s arm went around her waist and squeezed. “I wanted to talk to someone about it. Someone who’d cheer me up, you know. Make me laugh. And…and…I picked up my phone to call Mary.” John turned his face farther info her, and Molly couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. “She was so funny, our Mary, wasn’t she? She was cool and fun, and always knew what to say. She was so unlike me, but she loved me anyway, and I loved her. I needed her so much right then, and it wasn’t until I was dialing her number that I remembered she wasn’t there anymore. That she’d never be there. And honestly, I felt a little desperate about it.” “You could have called me,” came John’s muffled voice. Molly laughed a bit wetly. “Well I really couldn’t, could I? With you being tortured by a psychotic Holmes sister at that exact moment. Anyway, thanks, but sometimes…I just wanted another woman, who would understand. A woman would understand how I was feeling, John. And then, I realized there was absolutely no one else I could call. No mother. No sisters. And…and since…everything…I’ve been out of touch with my girlfriends. I would have felt funny.” Molly felt the place where John’s head rested becoming damp. No sound. He cried like soldier. “When you say, since everything, you mean, since Sherlock?” Molly sighed. “I don’t want to be a diamond, John.” John glanced up at her, face wet, with a look of absolute befuddlement. “A diamond?” His confused face struck her so funny at that moment that she burst out laughing. John clearly didn’t get the joke. Typical Hooper humor. Her snorting set him off too. He pulled her onto his lap, wrapped his arms around her, and the two of them laughed and cried like lunatics. And, of course, that was the moment that Sherlock Holmes chose to enter the room. ******************** Sherlock stood, frozen in the doorway of the kitchen. He noticed many things at once. The kitchen was now sparkling clean. Molly. The cupboards were full again. Molly. There was the smell of something wonderful coming from the oven. Molly. It was irritating. He also noticed that his best friend had a lap-full of an either laughing or crying woman. Molly. Their arms were around each other, and they were making a lot of, frankly, horrid noises. Eyes were wet. Noses dripping. Tears or laughter? Hard to tell at the moment. Were they laughing at him? Crying over him? Did they even notice he was in the bloody room? “What the devil is going on in here?” He may have raised his voice a bit. A tad. He also might have sounded a little like Mycroft at his crossest. Or, Mrs. Hudson. Maybe. But, really, the fuss! Both John’s and Molly’s heads swung his way, twin looks of surprise on their faces. Then John said, perplexingly, “Molly’s a diamond,” and they both broke out into brays of unflattering laughter. Sherlock didn’t understand either John’s or Molly’s humor much of time, so he let this go. Instead, peevishly, “You two are making enough noise to raise the dead. You’ll wake Rosie.” This seemed to sober them up a bit. Molly jumped from John’s lap, wiping at her face with a napkin. John stayed perched on the edge of his chair, breathing heavily, and muttered, “yes, Mother.” Which brought a deeply unladylike snort from behind the napkin. Sherlock glared at John, who just raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I needed that so much.” Molly’s face finally emerged from behind the napkin. Flushed. Eyes glimmering with moisture. Hair…well, her hair was always her best feature. Her hair was…fine. Alright it was pretty. All of a sudden, Sherlock felt very awkward. No. Not awkward. How was he feeing? Embarrassed? Yes. Truly, deeply, embarrassed. As if he had interrupted…something. He narrowed his eyes further at John. John’s back suddenly went stiff. His head turning back and forth between Sherlock and Molly. “John, please stop. This isn’t Wimbledon,” Sherlock snapped, “you’ll get whiplash.” He moved through the kitchen to the kettle, deftly avoiding Molly and her pretty hair, thank you very much. Didn’t so much as glance at her. He knew he was being churlish, but he had no idea what to say to her, so he retreated, as he always did, behind a wall of “I don’t give a shite,” and began fixing himself a strong cup of tea. “How did you sleep?” And suddenly there she was, right there beside him, looking at him with a calm expression he didn’t recognize, and, if he was being truthful with himself, he didn’t much like. Molly was the nervous one. The shy one. The one with the…crush. So why did he feel like the idiot? It didn’t seem like, from her expression or her question, she was going to slap him, so he ventured a tentative, “very well, thank you for asking.” It sounded so formal and stilted that he felt, unbelievably, a blush rising up on his cheeks. Is this what the world had come to? Molly’s brow furrowed as she regarded him, then she shocked him by grabbing his arm and dragging him, force!, to the table and pushing him down in a chair. “I’m so glad to hear that Aunt Matilda, please enjoy your tea.” John choked and sputtered, giggling, yes giggling, the sod. Molly turned back to the kettle and fixed herself another cup of tea, taking her time. She carried it to the table, set it down, and plopped herself gracelessly into a chair between the two men. The silence was deafening. John looked at Sherlock, head tilted toward Molly. The message was clear. Say something, you berk! Very well. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in John’s lap, Molly?” Oh. Dear. God.

You Christmas Eve comes amidst a flurry of activity and events, only some of which you have any control over. Rob started purchasing burner phones after you blocked his number, using them to text you with angry and inappropriate things. You finally took Sans’s advice and reported him to your boss. He was subsequently fired. He’s still texting you, so you plan to report him to the police after Christmas, but right now, there’s too much to deal with to worry about pressing harassment charges. You haven’t told Sans about it, either. Something tells you the small skeleton may take steps of his own, and you don’t want him to get into trouble. This is a special concern of yours because monsters don’t yet have any legal rights, and aside from Sans having no protection under the law, if he creates a negative incident, it might impact the rights talks. Roxy has been tied up in her own holiday plans recently: she lives in a large farm house outside of town with her parents, one grandparent, and five siblings. It’s a rowdy crowd and big holidays like Christmas require a lot of prep work. You’ve seen her at the café, but there’s been no opportunity to spend time together as friends recently. It’s a lack you’ve felt every year around this time since you and Roxy were kids. You’ll make up for it with a sleepover sometime in January, as always, but right now, you miss her. Sans and Papyrus have been in and out all day, setting up for the party. You’re having it on Christmas Eve so that you can spend Christmas Day relaxing in your pajamas in keeping with holiday tradition. The skelebros are setting up a buffet in the kitchen, and Toriel has been by a couple of times as well, bearing desserts including a butterscotch-cinnamon pie that smells divine. It’s apparently a specialty of hers. You can’t get over the fact that the queen of the monsters is baking for your Christmas party. You also can’t get over how close she and Sans seem to be. You didn’t get to see them interact much at the housewarming because Sans was being attentive to you, but now you’re able to watch them together, and darned if it isn’t the cutest thing. They share a love for puns and terrible jokes that almost defies belief, and Toriel’s tendency to laugh loudly and easily is something Sans clearly finds flattering. They always seem to be conversing, and though they’re both taking time to talk to you as well, you’re beginning to feel the weight of the history these people share, a history you’ll never be a part of. Sans and Toriel are adorable together. You wish you could be happy about that. “My child,” Toriel says, interrupting your train of thought. She lays a large, soft hand on your shoulder. “I know we have not had much opportunity to get to know one another, but you seem… troubled. Forgive me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but I wish to make sure everything is all right.” You shake your head, smiling a little. “Sorry, Toriel, my mind’s just wandering.” You pat her hand gently, and she removes it from your shoulder, but continues to look concerned. “I do not wish to pry, but if there is something bothering you, and if there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask. I would very much like for us to be friends.” Friends. Something about the word stings a little. You can’t put your finger on what it is that’s bothering you, and that makes you feel awkward and guilty. Toriel has been nothing but kind to you, and you would very much like to be friends with her as well. But if you’ll never be as close to her as Sans is… No, wait, turn that phrase around. If you’ll never be as close to Sans as Toriel is… Ohh. There it is. That’s the thorn that’s stinging you. You feel your cheeks flush in shame as the realization hits you. You’re jealous. That’s not fair to Toriel, or to Sans. You’re not even sure what you’re jealous of. You’ve only known Sans for a short time. It’s ridiculous to think that you could be as close to him as someone he’s cared about for so much longer. “Thanks, Toriel.” You smile at her a little sadly. “I’m not really comfortable talking about it, but I want us to be friends, too. Thanks for baking. I’m really looking forward to this evening.” “Yes, I am as well,” Toriel replies. She sighs wistfully and gives you a patient, fond look. “I must return home for now, but I will be back at five of the clock, with my husband and child. I hope we will have more time then to enjoy each other’s company.” “I hope so too,” you say honestly. Toriel is so kind, like all the monsters you’ve met. But more than that, she’s… well… You never had much of a mother. She wasn’t around for most of your life, and you sometimes wonder if she left because she really didn’t want to be, wasn’t ready to be, a mother. Toriel… she’s like the mother you always wanted but never had. Would she find it creepy if she knew you wished you’d had a mom like her? As usual, Sans steps out of nowhere as you and Toriel move from the kitchen to the living room. He holds out a bony hand to the monster queen with a smile. “ready to go?” Toriel grips his hand in her great white paws, smiling warmly. “For now, young man. I’ll see you tonight.” Sans grins at her. “yeah, wouldn’t want to christ-miss the party.” Toriel howls with laughter. You laugh a little yourself, watching her reaction. She genuinely loves puns, no matter how bad they are. It’s a little bizarre and appealingly quirky. The monster queen responds quickly with, “Just try not to overdo it. You would not want to end up in a holi-daze again.” Sans chuckles. “my eggnoggin was sore for a week. ’s what i get for getting mistletotally hammered.” Toriel is laughing so hard now that she looks on the verge of tears. “Eggnoggin! What an eggcellent pun!” “well, you know i eggcel at those.” “Sans, you are an eggstraordinary comedian! You…” *gasp* “…crack me up!” Caught in the throes of hilarity, Toriel can’t even stand up straight. You put a shoulder under one of her arms, giving her something to lean on. Your own laughter has died away. Your heart hurts. You feel sad and angry at the same time that you’re admonishing yourself for being petty and ungrateful. You keep a smile plastered to your face, but you know it doesn’t look natural. Well, these two are so focused on each other that they’re not likely to notice, anyway. When, finally, the punning dies down, Sans takes Toriel by the waist and ‘ports her back to her home. You stand in the middle of the living room, listening to Papyrus humming in the kitchen as he whips up a big batch of homemade spaghetti sauce. You’re not sure what to do with yourself. You feel like an outsider. It’s lonely. A bony finger taps you on the shoulder. You yelp and spin around. Sans is standing behind you, hands in his hoodie pockets, grin relaxed but brows raised. “hey, checkers, what’s eatin’ you?” You blush and look away. He noticed you’re not yourself. Despite all the attention he was paying to Toriel, he noticed. “I… I don’t know if I want to talk about it.” Sans shrugs. “fair enough. if you really want to keep it to yourself, that’s okay.” He says so, but he doesn’t leave. He’s still standing there, staring at you. You sneak a glance at him. Of course, since he’s staring right at you, your glance isn’t as sneaky as you’d hoped. Sans heaves a disappointed sigh and tries again. “i just want you to know you can talk to me. i mean, i hope you feel comfortable talking to me. whatever it is, i promise i won’t get mad, or think less of you, or whatever it is you’re worried about. or, oh…” A thought seems to strike him. “are you mad at me? did i do something wrong? no, huh? okay…” Sans is leaning closer to you, studying your face, trying to glean information from it. You could tell him to back off and leave you alone, but you can’t bring yourself to do that to him. You don’t want to hurt him. You want to be closer to him; you don’t want to push him away. Sans is standing so close to you that your faces are just a few inches apart. He gently cups the side of your face with a hand, studying your eyebrows, your eyes, your mouth. “what’s hurting you?” he murmurs softly, as if to himself, examining your face as if he thinks that, if he looks hard enough, he’ll be able to see through your surface and into your thoughts, your feelings. You swallow hard. It’s too much. He’s too close, he’s too observant, and he cares about you enough to keep trying until he understands what’s wrong. Why aren’t you moving away? Your awkwardly wandering eyes find the courage to meet Sans’s bright eye-lights. He stares into your eyes as if he’s trying to read your soul like a book. You can feel his breath brushing against you; how do skeletons breathe? Why do they breathe? Can he feel your breath, too? Almost absentmindedly, he brushes a gentle thumb across your cheek. You shiver, lips parting slightly. Suddenly color floods Sans’s face. He seems to realize for the first time how close he is to you, how intensely he’s been staring, and abruptly he drops his hand and takes a step back, putting some distance between you. He rubs the back of his skull, averting his eyes from you. You stand where you are for a moment, willing your breathing to return to normal, waiting for your heartbeat to subside. What was that? As you regain your equilibrium, you come to a decision. You need to talk to Sans about your jealous reactions. If you keep them to yourself, they might fester and poison your friendship. Do you trust him enough to let him know about the silly, petty parts of you? You do. “Can we go for a walk?” you ask, meeting his eyes again. “sure,” he answers, and goes to get your coat for you, shouting over his shoulder, “paps, (y/n) and i are goin’ for a walk. you gonna be okay here by yourself for a while?” “YES, OF COURSE I WILL BE FINE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS IN THE MIDDLE OF A PROFOUND ACT OF CREATION WHICH MUST NOT BE INTERRUPTED…” A crash, the sound of a breaking plate, and an odd splattering noise suddenly erupt from the kitchen, followed by Papyrus’s irritated shout of, “LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO, BROTHER! LOOK WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU INTERRUPT MY ART!” Sans opens his mouth as if to respond, glances at you, and then closes it again. You guess he was going to make a pun of some kind but decided now wasn’t the time. He helps you on with your coat and the two of you leave by the door, something Sans hasn’t done once since the brothers put up the decorations. You’d hoped to get a chance to tease him under the mistletoe, but now that you finally have the opportunity, you don’t feel up to it. You take the lead, and the two of you walk out into the winter afternoon. The courtyard is deserted today. The cold weather has come back with a vengeance, chill wind biting at your cheeks, overcast sky promising snow later. There are several benches spaced among the trees, and they’re clear of snow for now: Mrs. Griggs makes a point of keeping the benches clean. You and Sans sit on one of them, the one under the big maple tree near the center of the courtyard, and you’re silent for a while, trying to choose your words. Sans watches you patiently. Finally you decide that there’s no graceful way to say what you need to say, so you just begin. “Seeing you with Toriel makes me lonely and sad.” Sans blinks in astonishment and you curse yourself for an awkward sow. You force yourself to continue. “You guys have known each other for so long. I can tell. I’ve only known you and Papyrus for a few weeks, not even a month. It makes me feel like a fifth wheel.” “checkers…” Sans has clearly been taken by surprise. Now he’s the one struggling to find the right words. “i don’t ever want you to feel like an outsider. paps and i… we love you.” He stops, blushing, and a blush starts to creep up your cheeks as well. “Love” is such a strong word, and though monsters in general seem inclined to freely demonstrate their affections, Sans stands out as someone who prefers to play his cards close to the chest. He obviously doesn’t want it to be a big deal, but it means a lot that he chose to say it that way. You won’t embarrass him by calling attention to it, but you’ll remember. “we do,” Sans continues, recovering from his momentary shyness. “we want you to love our other friends, too; we’d like it if you could be part of the group. all friends together, y’know? but if things don’t work out that way, that’s okay too. you don’t have to force yourself, all right? you’ll never be a fifth wheel.” He lifts a hand, seems to hesitate for a moment, and then places it on your shoulder. “you’re part of my life now, too. so, yeah, tori and i have some history. but she wasn’t there for the times you and paps and i spent together, either. so you and i have some history of our own.” The tight knot in the middle of your chest loosens a little at Sans’s reassurances. You sniff, wiping away a tear. Sans looks stricken, and pulls you gently into an embrace. You bury your face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. You’re not crying, really. Well, maybe just a little. “Before I met you and Papyrus,” you say, voice a little shaky, and muffled from speaking through the fabric of Sans’s hoodie, “For a long time, all I had was my dad and Roxy. And then,” you sniffle again. “And then it was just Roxy.” Sans’s arms tighten around you. He starts rubbing those familiar small circles on your back. You sigh and relax into him. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, or stupid, o-or…” “shhhhh, shhshhshh…” Sans moves from rubbing your back to carding his fingers through your hair. “i don’t think any of those things. i think you’re lonely.” You laugh weakly into his clavicle. “Sorry.” “don’t be. ’s all right to feel a little possessive of the people you care about, as long as you don’t let that feeling take charge. i know, okay? i know what it’s like.” Sans scratches your scalp lightly for a few moments before going back to combing your hair with his fingers. “can i tell you something?” “Mm-hmm.” You’re starting to feel so relaxed that you’re becoming a bit sleepy. “i’m a little jealous of you and paps.” You pull back, surprised and suddenly wide-awake. “What? Really?” Sans gives you a crooked smile with a hint of wistfulness to it. “you and my bro spend a lot of time together, and you get along with each other really well. he visits you every day. i care about you both and i want you to be happy, but sometimes… well, sometimes i feel like i don’t want to share my brother with you, and sometimes i don’t want to share you with him.” Sans blushes brightly and glances away, then puts in the effort needed to look at you again as he quietly finishes, “it’s hard ‘cause paps and i have always shared everything.” It takes you a moment to recover from this revelation. Sans gets jealous, too. He understands. He understands. You blow out a relieved breath and offer a shaky laugh. Sans laughs with you, and reaches over to ruffle your hair. You smack at his hand. “Stop. You’ll undo all the combing you did.” “combing?” Okay, it seems like the petting thing is unconscious. You decide to drop the subject. There’s one more thing you need to know, though. “Sans…” You hesitate. He waits patiently, giving you time to think. “Toriel… do you like her? Like, like like her?” You’ve caught him off guard again. He rubs a hand on the back of his skull and blows out a breath. “i used to,” he admits finally. There’s a sharp tightness in your chest, and a pressure behind your eyes. You blink rapidly and look away from Sans, studying the ground at your feet. Sans is studying his feet, too. “tori and i… we go way back. used to be, all i had was my brother. then i met tori. well,” he chuckles, “maybe ‘met’ isn’t the right word. in the underground, we lived near this woods. and in the woods was a locked door that never opened. and on the other side of the door, there was this voice.” He looks off into the distance, his expression wistful. “we’d tell each other knock-knock jokes.” He laughs a little. “it was great. but i was… well, i was even more of a mess back then than i am today.” His crooked grin turns self-deprecating. You’re watching him again, desperate to know more about him. Sans so rarely talks about himself. And you care so very much about him. You can tell these memories are both nostalgic and painful for him. Sans’s hands are resting on his knees. You place your hand on top of his. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye socket, and then turns his hand over to intertwine his fingers with yours. You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back. “‘m pretty sure,” he continues, “that i started liking her ‘cause it was safe to like her. ‘cause, you know, she was just a voice on the other side of a locked door. nothing could ever happen between us, and that made it okay to like her, i guess. i don’t know what my deal was, really. i was lonely and mixed-up and i could romeo-and-juliet to myself all day if i never saw the lady and i wouldn’t have to worry about consequences. the everyday stuff you deal with when you’re in an actual relationship wasn’t something i was capable of handling at the time, and i think deep-down i knew that.” He looks at your joined hands for a moment, then looks away again. “when we finally met in person, my infatuation was sorta short-circuited. not that she’s not pretty!” he rushes to qualify his statement. “she’s gorgeous! but suddenly, liking her was less appealing ‘cause there was a chance she might reciprocate, so my crush on her kinda fizzled out and didn’t come back. and then, you know, she turned out to be married.” Sans shrugs. “so, that’s my embarrassing failed romance story.” He shoots a grin at you. “okay, now you tell one.” You put your arms around his neck and hug him. He stiffens for a moment in surprise, and then relaxes and wraps his arms around your waist, holding you to him. “Thanks for telling me all that,” you murmur against the side of his skull. His arms tighten infinitesimally on you, and a little shiver runs down his spine. “h-hey, is this a ploy to get out of telling me an embarrassing ex story?” His voice is low and quiet and a little raspy. You can feel his breath brushing the edge of your ear, feel the rumble of his words in your body. Now it’s your turn to shiver. You slowly release your grip and slide away from Sans. Without the warmth of his body, the cold air seems more bitter than ever. “Let’s get back inside. I think we’re about to get snowed on.” You stand up and wait for Sans to get up, too. He just sits there, looking at you. You hold out a hand to him. “Come on.” Sans quirks a smile at you and takes your hand, allowing you to pull him to his feet. Hand in hand, the two of you head back to the apartment.

Keith was living in miss Hault house with Shiro and Pidge. She had lost her husband and son to a car accident. Shiro, a friend of her son Matt, was in the car too and had lost his arm. After his recovery, he stayed with miss Holt to help the family out financially and morally. He ended up staying with them at miss Holt's request. Keith was one of Shiro's friend and would come over from times to times. When miss Holt had learned the fact that he was technically homeless, she had flipped out and ordered him to live with them. Keith had protested a little but she was dead set on the idea. That woman was collecting kids like an old crazy lady would collect cats. That had been almost four years ago and Keith was still extremely grateful for miss Holt's generosity. Keith, feeling like he should help out financially too, had found a job in a little grocery store on the main road. He loved the job a lot. The grocery store was always quiet and peaceful and every customer was always nice. For his part, Shiro had a job in the little hotel of the town. It was usually relatively calm but when summer came around, it was crazy busy. During that period, Shiro could disappear for a few days straight. During those times, Miss Holt was always telling him that he worked too much but Shiro would just shrug it off with a smile. He was happy to do anything if it helped out. Keith was sitting on his bed, bored out of his mind. Shiro and Allura were at the beach, Pidge was in her room, doing computer stuff and Hunk was god knows where. Keith found himself wondering what Lance could be doing right now and started blushing like an idiot. Why was he thinking about that? It didn't matter. He kept seeing the boy in his mind, so pretty with his cocky and yet warm smile. Keith groaned in his pillow. Wha had he done to deserve such suffering? That night, at dinner, miss Holt was looking at Keith with a strange look. He leaned over to Pidge and spoke under his breath. "What did I do?" Pidge only shrugged and kept eating like nothing was happening. Miss Holt softly cleared her throat. "Keith." The boy immediately stood up straighter. "You didn't leave the house once today. Are you all right? You don't usually do that." It was true, Keith was never the type to stay at home all day. When he had nothing to do, he would usually take his skateboard and go out for a few hours with nothing but the music of his phone to keep him company. But there was a reason why Keith hadn't done that today. "Well, there wasn't really anything to do. And besides I..." Keith trailed off as he blushed. Shit, he hadn't meant to say more. Now, the entire table was looking at him expectedly. "I-I didn't want to run into Lance." Pidge almost spat out her food when she started laughing and Shiro tried to hide his giggles with little success. Miss Holt gave Keith an amused look. Suddenly, her face lit up. "I have an idea! You should invite him over! Get to know each other and all that." "You know what mom, that's an excellent idea!" Pidge had a devilish look. "I think we should invite him to go to the beach with us tomorrow night. It would be a great way for you two to bond." She said the last word in a flirtatious voice and wiggled her eyebrows. "No!" Keith looked at Shiro, expecting help. "I think that's an excellent idea. You should invite him, Keith." Shiro had a shit eating grin. Keith stayed silent for the rest of the meal, dying inside. Keith woke up at six in the morning, exactly half an hour before he had to work. He had not dreamed of Lance. Not of his beautiful brown skin. Not of his disheveled hair. Not of the sound of his voice. Not how warm and soft his hand had been on his own and how Keith wanted to feel them all over his body. Not at all. He got ready quickly and left the house in silence. Keith loved skateboarding through the town at this hour. The sun was starting to show up and made every building look slightly pink. It was almost as pretty as Lance. Shit. Keith almost fell off his skateboard. Why did he have to think about that? He tried his best to empty his mind as he opened up the grocery store. He sat behind the counter and started reading a book to distract himself. By ten o'clock, a grand total of five people had come in the store. The door opened and Keith looked up, ready to greet the new customer, but his words died in his throat. Standing there was Lance. Of course, it was fucking Lance. Keith hid his face behind his book and tried his best to blend in with the counter. Lance hadn't seen him yet and Keith hoped he would just leave without a glance in his way. Lance disappeared between the aisles and Keith tried to breathe normally again. Lance found everything he needed in a few minute. He dropped a stick of butter and a small bottle of milk on the counter. When Lance looked up, his polite smile turned into a look of surprise. "Keith! You work here?" Lance tone was so genuinely happy, Keith felt like melting. "Hi Lance. And obliviously, yes, I work here." Keith started to scan the items and Lance seemed to deflate at his neutral tone. Keith winced, he didn't mean to sound like that, he was just pretty nervous. The rest of the transaction happened in awkward silence and Keith wanted to die. Still, Lance gave him a genuine smile and a polite thank you before leaving. He was opening the door to leave when Keith screamed. "Lance wait!" The boy jumped and almost dropped his bag in fright. "Ay dios mio, Keith! What is it?" Keith, embarrassed by the fact that he had just yelled, coughed before speaking again. "There's going to be a meteor shower tonight. And my friends and I are going to the beach to watch it. So I guess, I mean, what I want to say is, do you want to come?" Lance was giving him his cocky grin and Keith tried his best to hide his blush. "Hunk already invited me." Oh... "Man, you guys must really like my pretty face if you all want to see me so bad." Lance winked and Keith felt his knee become a bit weak."W- What pretty face, nerd?" Nailed it. Lance gave a mocked gasp, a hand over his mouth. "How dare you! I'll have you know that my face is a gift to all mankind sweetheart." He started laughing. Keith could feel his entire face becoming hot as he started laughing too. Good god, that laugh was the most beautiful thing he ever heard. Keith shift was over and he was making his way home. Sweetheart, Lance had called him sweetheart. Sure, he was joking when he said it but still, he had said it and to Keith. And boy was he not over it. "Lance came to the grocery store today." Shiro smiled and gave Keith an exaggerated wink. "Shiro, no. Anyway, he's coming to the beach tomorrow." Shiro's eyes widened a little. "You actually asked him? I'm surprised, but proud of you, really. So, did you guys talk a little? How is he?" Keith lowered his head for a second and when he looked back up again, he had the most embarrassed look. "Shiro, he's so cheesy and I'm so weak." Shiro was laughing so hard he had tears going down his face. From somewhere in the house, Pidge yelled. "Jesus, Keith, you're so in love it's fucking gross!"

“So, Ryan, you never answered me on that claimed front.” Ray said, no more than a week after the revelation of Ryan’s status. Ryan ignored him, though internally his wolf’s fur bristled, and he found himself clenching the controller the slightest bit harder. He swallowed his insults, drew his shoulders back and carried on with the game they were playing. “I’m gonna guess no then, who’da thought Ryan was up for grabs?” He laughed, rubbing his palms together with a sharp clap of noise. “You’re a beta, Ray, you couldn’t claim him if you tried.” Michael teased, snorting as he did. “The only one in here with a real shot is Gavvy Wavvy.” Ray huffed through his nose and rolled his eyes. “Maybe I could claim a bitch. People have switched in the past.” He said. Geoff laughed and patted him on the back. “Keep dreaming, Ray.” Jack could have sworn he heard Ryan mumble “I’m not a piece of meat,” under his breath, but none of the other guys seemed to respond, so he shrugged it off and nudged Ryan reassuringly in recompense for the conversation that just passed. Gavin was staying out of it. His blood was boiling, and it was too early in the month for him to be losing this much control. He stayed silent, something that was a feat in itself for the Brit. He looked over his shoulder, Ryan was slumped at his desk. Nobody was noticing. Nobody gave a shit about how this was affecting Ryan. He was an omega, not a bloody animal. Not a beat of silence passed before Ray was up and out of his chair, “I need a drink.” He commented, walking close to Ryan and leaning down to his ear. “You’d take my knot, wouldn’t you, Ry?” He asked with a smirk, disappearing out of the room before he could deal with the fallout. It didn’t matter that Ray technically couldn’t knot, the sentiment was there, and it shook Ryan’s core. He could still feel the touch of Ray’s fingertips down his neck. Gavin had had enough and stood, his chair clattering out behind him. He saw Ryan jump, and sighed heavily. “I’m going to talk to him.” He said, stalking out of the door and after Ray’s dull scent. Ryan relaxed visibly now the two most charged men were out of the room. Gavin’s scent was almost overpowering when he was angry. Ryan was having a hard time thinking of anything other than that scent. Like a clear day in the midwinter, unexpected warmth tainted with something sharp and brisk. It gave a clarity to Ryan’s mind that he never remembered missing. A deaf person, after all, does not feel the loss of music unless it is something given and taken away. The three other guys were looking at him expectantly, as if he had some great comment to make on it all. He just ran both his hands through his hair and turned back to his desk, ignoring them all in favour of forgetting the interaction. He’d decided last week that there was no point using his suppressants any more if he was just coming to work. The guys that mattered knew now, and he couldn’t suppress his instincts for life. He’d only now take them when he went out in public. Comments from his friends he could handle. Comments or even unwanted advances from strangers were something else entirely. No court of law would bat an eyelid at an omega being claimed at his age against his will. He was almost asking for it by holding out this long. Gavin rounded the corner and stood before Ray, arms folded and expression murderous. Now it was just the two of them, whatever bravado Ray claimed to have dissolved into thin air. He didn’t have a room of guys to divert the attention. “I - uhh - hey, Gav.” Ray said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was not okay.” Gavin said, casual irritation seeping into his voice. “Ryan’s status is not your fucking plaything.” Ray attempted a chuckle, and backed into the wall. “Hah, I see you’ve marked that bitch as yours then.” He said, challenge in his voice. “That doesn’t matter. Because it’s not your choice, or mine. It’s his.” Gavin said, voice as steady as ever. “I was only joking, man.” Ray said, taking a swig of his drink. As he left he shook his head with a scoff. Ray did not share the same ideals as Gavin did. Omegas didn’t get to choose. Generally Alphas were opportunistic, and would find their desired mate during a heat, when the omega would be too much of a slave to their body to refuse a decent knotting. That was if the Alpha was halfway decent. If not, they’d take the omega anyway. The justice system didn’t much care. Unclaimed omegas were just seen as trouble. As seductive, tempting bodies that wanted nothing more than to lure unsuspecting Alphas away from their comfortable claims. Gavin let him go, and took a couple more minutes to himself to calm down before following Ray back. He rolled his shoulders and put a smile on his face, ready to go back in with a good attitude. That was until he rounded the corner and saw Ray standing behind Ryan. His hips were the closest point of contact, with the rest of his body leaning back. The point was still there though, and Gavin couldn’t help himself. His lips pulled back from his teeth, which now seemed more pointed. His shoulders raised and arched forward slightly, giving the Brit the appearance of bulk. A growl rippled in his chest and he saw Geoff avert his eyes. Gavin lunged, though he didn’t meet his target, since Ray got out of the way, and Michael grabbed Gavin’s arms. He wrapped his own around Gavin’s at the elbow. Any movement forwards on Gavin’s part would put strain on his shoulders which were already in an awkward position. “Gavin!” Michael snarled, his own instincts kicking in as a reaction to Gavin’s. He yanked Gavin back and sunk his teeth into the back of Gavin’s neck, hard enough to warn him. “Enough.” He barked, turning Gavin around and sitting him down in his seat. The next noise to break the silence of the room was high and breathy, and caused the men to turn (though none so fast as Gavin). Ryan’s head was tilted as far back as it could possibly go, his adam’s apple bobbing helplessly. As submissive as his posture was, his eyes showed something entirely different. His instincts had forced his body to bend to the Alphas in the room, his mind fought it tooth and nail. A calmer Gavin rose and crossed the room, running a hand gently through Ryan’s hair and nuzzling briefly against his throat. For nothing more than acknowledgement of submission, it reeked of intimacy, and all but Geoff turned away. “You’re all right.” Gavin murmured in Ryan’s ear, “I’ll sort him out.” He added, removing all contact and going back to his own chair. Ryan reeled, his head lolling forwards and his eyes screwing shut. Everything swam, Jack dived in and out of his line of sight as his perception of the world ebbed, and Ryan found it hard to focus on anything other than Gavin. He felt drenched in the Alpha’s scent, and everything in him wanted to kneel at Gavin’s feet. His hands twitched, and Jack was close enough to see how his pupils had dilated. Geoff sighed, and the long suffering leader of the group tried to regain control and get some work done. He dumped himself down in his chair and looked over at Ryan, mostly to check he was okay. Ray had been poking fun all week, but never had he crossed the border into the physical before. Never had Gavin reacted like that, actually. Normally he was sulky for a while, but it only took a gibe from Michael to bring him back. A hasty look back at Gavin confirmed that the younger man was much the same way as the omega. Whereas Ryan was hell bent on carrying on as usual - his jaw grinding and breathing harsh - Gavin seemed to be letting it control him. It was clear the sensation was dragging him through its throes. His hands were shaking, and every so often he’d furtively turn, examining Ryan quickly before turning back. “Gavin.” Michael said firmly, taking Gavin’s shoulder firmly, “Gavin!” He tried again, his voice rising in volume. Gavin didn’t move, except for the continued glancing. “Ga-vin!” Michael bellowed, “Snap the hell out of it!” He commanded. The lad sat upright and shook his head once to clear it. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here, what?” He asked, looking at all of the guys as though he’d just been woken up from an unexpected nap. “The fuck is wrong with you?” Ray asked, though a glare from Gavin had him shrinking back again. Geoff looked at Michael, who nodded once. A gesture so small it could’ve, and would’ve been missed by the other guys. “I don’t bloody know!” Gavin replied, “Maybe it was you trying to be something you’re not.” Ray bared his teeth for a moment before getting back to his work. Normally displays like that wouldn’t affect Ryan. The suppressants rid him of that instinctual response. Now, however, he was at the mercy of the men in the room. A puppet - should they choose to pull the strings. The only issue was whether Gavin would take up the role of puppeteer.

Lexa awoke to the sensation of a cool breeze against her cheek and soft moss beneath her fingertips. She shifted and felt the bending of tree bark against her back, and breathed in the fresh scent of earth and dirt. Opening her eyes, she squinted against the warm sun breaking through the tree canopy above her. Every bone, every limb in her body ached and radiated hot with pain, yet she’d experienced worse before. She would survive this. Tiberius had beaten her for hours in his attempt to flush out the location of A.L.I.E.S.’ mansion, but she’d remained silent, defiant against his fists. Before she’d lost consciousness, she recalled spitting black blood in his face and reveled in the small comfort his disgust brought her. She cracked a smile and winced as she turned her head to glance up the tall tree behind her. The breeze pushed aside the branches above her and revealed a streak of red smoke creasing across the blue sky. A funeral pyre. Roan’s funeral pyre… Tiberius must’ve usurped the coalition by now. She heard vomiting in the distance, and felt her body protest when she braced against the tree trunk to stand. Unsteady on her feet, Lexa stepped tree to tree, hand pressing against the bark for balance, towards the sound. “Here, try to drink some water.” Octavia. Lexa entered a clearing and found Indra hunched over a hedge, her hands braced against her knees, taking deep, measured breaths. Octavia stood beside her, her hand resting on Indra’s back. “I’m fine,” Indra pushed away the canister of water extended in Octavia’s grasp and wiped her lips. Her balance wavered as she rose and looked over her shoulder to watch Lexa approach. “Heda, it’s good to see you up and walking.” Lexa offered a nod and turned her attention to Octavia, who she saw staring at her with a darkness lingering in her eyes. “You have my thanks.” “You can keep your thanks. I came for Indra,” Octavia’s words were pointed and heavy. Lexa held Octavia’s cold glare, unwavering, and addressed Indra in Trigedasleng. “Are you unwell?” “I’ve been worse, Commander,” Indra’s voice sounded hoarse in her throat, and her skin glistened with sweat in the sunlight. Of course, she would never admit to her suffering, would always downplay the severity of her true condition. But Lexa knew, by the fever breaking on her forehead and vomiting, that the radiation was beginning to take hold, and they were running out of time. The rapping sound of approaching footsteps, snapping against twigs and fallen leaves, drew the three women’s attention into the distant brush. Octavia reached for her sword when Bellamy thundered into the clearing, gasping for breath and clutching his rifle. “We’ve got a problem.” --- Lexa hobbled behind Bellamy, wincing and fighting back the urge to hiss through her teeth with each agonizing step. He had offered to be a helping hand up the hill, but she had refused. Indra had also declined his help, yet the two had kept pace with both Octavia and Bellamy during their ascent to his lookout. And then she heard it, the sound that she’d spent her life learning to cherish: her army. She could hear their voices, the echo of their swords and steel clashing as they trained, and the bellow of the battle horn; it carried across the wind and twisted at her heart the nearer they drew. It was bittersweet music to her ears. When they approached the precipice of the cliff, Indra and Lexa faltered. Their army stretched out across the valley, encamped and preparing for war. Torches scattered amongst the clusters of tents and huts as what appeared to be thousands of men dispersed about in small groups, training and sparring with one another. They laughed and jeered, playfully clobbering one another, excited for battle. “Heda…” Indra’s voice trailed off as she stared, disbelieving, across the valley. “Our men…” A sudden rage churned in Lexa’s chest. She felt her body tense and grow hot with fury burning through her veins. She wanted to charge into the camp and storm into Tiberius’ tent. She wanted to slit his throat and watch the light leave his eyes. She wanted to reclaim her army, to take her rightful place as their commander once again. But she would have to be patient; in her current state she doubted she could even make it through his Azgeda guard. “We must leave. Now,” she said, forcibly swallowing her hatred. “Tiberius intends to unleash the power of the entire coalition on Arkadia before the week is through. We must stay ahead of them.” Bellamy shook his head, dismayed. “Even if we get back in time, we don’t have the resources to defeat an army this size.” “We’re all dead anyway,” Octavia said, her voice heated in anger. She turned and began her descent back down the hill. “Might as well go out with a bang, right?” The rest followed, disappearing into the thick forest where they had emerged. Nearby, a black raven broke through the wooded canopy, soaring high above the encampment of soldiers. It began to descend through the billowing smoke of torches and bonfires, and soon came to land on a perch imbedded in the soft, muddy earth outside the command tent. Tiberius emerged from the tent at hearing the raven’s arrival and raised his hand to pet the bird’s wings. He untied the scroll fastened to the raven’s leg and unraveled it, reading the words etched in ink. His eyes lifted from the scrap of paper to the nearby cliff. A smile curled at the corners of his lips as he crumbled the scroll in his fist and dropped it to the muddy ground beneath him. --- Indra dropped from the horse’s saddle and fumbled into the wood line to vomit. It had been her second time demanding they halt the horses during their hard ride back to Arkadia, and the fact that Indra had made them stop at all was enough to emphasize how serious it was. “I got her,” Bellamy hopped off the horse he shared with Lexa and extended his arm to Octavia, who had slid off her horse to follow her mentor. Octavia was exhausted, and Bellamy could see the fatigue beginning to weigh on her. “Just, take a breather, okay?” Octavia hesitated but acquiesced, allowing her brother to follow Indra into the brush with a canteen of water. When Lexa slid off the horse, the glower they exchanged was dark and heated. Lexa stood tall, her spine erect despite the ache it brought her. “If there is something you’d like to say to me behind that poorly veiled anger of yours, I suggest you speak your mind.” Octavia’s jaw grew taut. “I’d rather not.” “For Indra’s sake?” Lexa asked, her voice steady. “Not for Indra, for Clarke’s.” Lexa cocked an eyebrow. “By all means, speak freely, Octavia.” Octavia stepped closer, her gaze growing furious. “You want to know why I’m angry? Because while you live, Lincoln is still dead. I don’t blame you for his death, the guilt falls on Bellamy. But every time I see your face, and each time I will see you with Clarke…” tears welled in Octavia’s eyes. “I’ll be reminded of that. And it isn’t fair.” “And how is any of this for Clarke’s sake?” Lexa asked. “Because I know that if the tables were turned, and I had Lincoln again, Clarke would be happy for me,” Octavia said, brushing a falling tear away from her cheek. “She wouldn’t let any anger get in the way of me being happy with him. She would suffer in silence for my sake and be there for me, regardless of how unfair it all was or how much the anger tore her apart.” “It is unfair,” Lexa said, her voice softening. “And I am sorry for your loss. He was a good and decent man, an honorable warrior.” Octavia scoffed and shook her head, not wanting to hear it. “And I know what you’re thinking, that life has lost its purpose, that there is no hope or future worth fighting for without the one you love beside you-“ “-Don’t lecture me, Lexa. You have no idea how this feels,” Octavia interrupted, her words bitter and sharp. Lexa paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “I awoke one morning in bed to my first love’s head delivered to me. The Ice Queen kidnapped, tortured, and beheaded her. I didn’t think it was possible to feel that much pain and still keep breathing,” Lexa’s voice quieted, as if recalling the memory of that morning. Her face hardened again as she regained her composure. “Don’t presume to comprehend what pain I’ve experienced, or that you alone have suffered great loss. But we all have a purpose to serve those around us, to fight for a better future. Get knocked down, get back up.” These last words were spoken in trigedasleng, a phrase Lexa knew Lincoln had taught Octavia during their time together. All her people were taught this saying as children, and each carried it with them through their lives. No doubt Lincoln would've passed it along to her as well. Octavia faltered, then parted her lips to speak but fell silent when Indra and Bellamy returned. Without uttering another word, they remounted their horses and continued down the wooded path. --- Kane sat alone in the infirmary, his empty gaze lingering on the shrouded body lying before him in the hospital bed. His eyes were sore and red from hours of crying, first from heartbreak, and then of relief. He had watched Abby die before his very eyes, watched her drift away and thought she was lost to him forever. But then Clarke had reached out and placed that blue chip in his hand, reassuring him that everything would be alright, and that Abby was waiting for him in the Sanctuary. He could still feel the sensation of the chip sliding down his throat when he swallowed it, closing his eyes and thinking only of Abby. And then he was there with her, standing in the Polis streets, embracing Abby in his arms again, weeping and kissing her as though they had been reunited after an eternity apart. He reached out and took the cold hand laying exposed on the bed into his own, and lifted it to his lips for a kiss. When he returned Abby’s hand to the bed, he turned at the sound of approaching, running footsteps. He rose to his feet at the sight of Bellamy, bracing a weakened Indra against his body, broke through the open doorway. “Oh my god-“ Kane stepped forward and gestured them towards an empty bed. “Bring her over here. Lay her down.” Lexa and Octavia followed closely behind them as the two men eased Indra onto the empty hospital bed, gently positioning her head onto the pillow. Beads of sweat rolled down her pallid cheeks, and she breathed heavy against the nausea churning in her gut like a torrent. “What happened?” Kane asked. He looked over his shoulder and saw Lexa, her face and body marked and beaten, darkened with her black blood. His face changed, a flash of panic, as if he’d seen a ghost. “L-Lexa, what-?” Lexa raised her hand to silence him. “There is much to explain. We must convene a meeting, immediately.” Kane shook his head, distressed. “It’s three in the morning, and most of us have already just been able to get to sleep after what’s happened to Abby. Can it wait until the morning?” “Abby? What-?” Octavia stammered, then glanced over to the body across the room, covered in a white sheet. Abby’s hand still laid, exposed, on the mattress. She staggered back a few steps, her eyes never parting from the body, and turned to leave the medical bay. “O, wait!” Bellamy rose to follow her, but stopped at Indra’s clammy grip on his wrist. “No,” she said, her weakened voice cracking in her throat. “Leave her be. She needs to be alone.” Lexa’s gaze lingered on Abby’s shrouded body. She remembered being with Clarke in the Sanctuary while imprisoned in Polis, and how her mother was on the verge of death. Her heart ached for Clarke, yet she remained composed and hardened in Kane’s presence. “Was Clarke able to administer the chip to Abby before she passed?” “Yes,” Kane said with a breath of relief. “I did as well, and met her…” he gestured, unsure of how to describe it. “… there. So I could see that she was alright and that I hadn’t lost her.” Lexa turned and met Kane’s eyes, saw how exhausted, both physically and mentally, he was. Her gaze then turned to Indra, who was fighting against her own exhaustion to remain awake. “Very well, we will convene in the morning. We can all use the rest,” Lexa said, becoming acutely aware of the fatigue her own body was experiencing. Her limbs and joints ached, and her wounds throbbed against her skin. Kane nodded and offered her a smile. “Thank you. Is there anything you need? We can find you someplace to rest. Maybe some food?” “Yes, there is something,” Lexa replied, nearly exasperated. She could smell the scent of dried blood, sweat, and dirt on her skin and clothes. “I’d like to bathe, please.” --- Lexa cherished that hot shower despite the sting of her wounds against the hard spray of steaming water. She stared at the tile beneath her feet and watched black blood slide from her wet skin and swirl down the drain. Closing her eyes, she washed her face and winced at the touch of her fingertips against the knuckle-shaped bruises against her cheek. Once she was clean, she took a moment to revel in the warmth before shutting the faucet and reaching for the clean set of clothes Kane had provided her. Moments later she had arrived at the metal door to Clarke’s chambers. She pressed her hand against the door to push it open, but faltered. She stood there, silent, recalling Octavia’s anger earlier that day about how Lexa had cheated death while Lincoln remained lost. And here she was now, standing outside of Clarke’s room, while Octavia would sleep alone in her bed. Lexa understood that pain, comprehended the courage it took to keep living and wake up every morning in spite of the pain. Her heart ached for Octavia, but she also couldn’t help but also feel a crashing wave of relief. After all of her suffering, after all the turmoil and strife, she still had Clarke, and she was thankful for that fact alone. She entered the room and silently closed the door behind her. A small light above a desk in the corner illuminated the room just bright enough for Lexa to detect Clarke stretched out on her bed, fast asleep. Lexa approached and sat on the edge of the mattress. She looked down at her and smiled. Reaching out, she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and caressed her cheek. Clarke stirred and peeked awake to peer through the darkness, suddenly alarmed at the dark figure beside her. “Shhh, Clarke, it’s only me,” Lexa whispered through a growing smile. Clarke’s eyes widened, and she sat up to throw her arms around Lexa’s shoulders. She felt Lexa wince against her tight embrace and abruptly pulled back to examine her more closely. Her jaw dropped at seeing the bruises and cuts, which were visible even in the dim light. She reached out and cradled Lexa’s jaw in her palm, “Oh my god, Lexa! What did they do to you?” Lexa took Clarke’s hands into her own and kissed her palm. “It doesn’t matter. I’m alright, I promise.” Clarke leaned in to press her lips against Lexa’s, soaking in the scent and warmth of her. Both women were exhausted, had desperately needed to rest for the trying days that awaited them. But when Lexa tasted Clarke’s lips and tongue, none of it mattered. The barriers she’d maintained around her to command her subjects, to uphold her command authority and presence, crumbled in that moment. She was open and vulnerable embraced in Clarke’s arms, unable to care about any other moment than this. She didn’t care about her wounds or bruises, or the pain of Clarke pressing her body against hers, pulling her closer and back onto the mattress. Everything besides the touch of Clarke’s fingertips, the scent of her hair, the taste of her skin diminished in the darkness of the bedroom. Lexa felt lost in Clarke’s embrace, in her breath and warmth. She slid her hands beneath her shirt and trailed up her back, savoring the sensation of Clarke’s body reacting to hers. “Lexa…” “I love you,” Lexa whispered before pressing her lips to Clarke’s. She was losing herself further, but she welcomed and craved it. In the distance, the army that had once been hers was pressing through the forest, drawing closer to their gates. Radiation loomed, and whatever time they had left was going to expire shortly. But it could wait until the morning.

Chapter Three இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ— "Hey, Molls! You're up!" Molly groaned under her breath, and wiped the sweat off her forehead with a towel. She held up one finger to let Meena know she'd heard and gulped down several mouthfuls of cool water. Once her water bottle was capped, she joined her friend at the front of the small classroom. "All right, ladies, everybody partner up, and we'll put what I taught you before the break to good use." Meena waited until everyone had broken into pairs to turn and face Molly. "Okay, Molls. You ready?" Molly nodded, even though she was anything but. She'd been regretting agreeing to fill in for Meena's usual teaching partner almost since the moment the self defence class had begun. Barely an hour into the two hour session and her body was already aching. Molly was no stranger to Meena's classes, she'd attended plenty over the years, but she'd only been called on to help demonstrate a small handful of times. "Come get me." Meena grinned playfully and Molly couldn't help doing the same. An hour later Attacker Molly had been disarmed numerous times, incapacitated with several simulated groin assaults, had her nose "broken" twice, and ended up flat on her back once when Meena managed to flip her (technically not part of the curriculum, but Meena always did like to show off and Molly had been game for it). The students filed out of the room, excitedly chattering about what they'd learned and whether or not to stop for a frozen coffee and a biscuit on the way home. Molly gingerly patted her bum and wondered if there would be a bruise there in the morning. "Thanks again for filling in tonight." Meena continued to put the room to rights, wiping down the cushioned mats that had dotted the floor and looking for forgotten towels. "Sarah's mother-in-law came into the city unexpectedly, she had to cancel at the last minute." "I told you it was no problem. You know me, always willing to help a friend in need," Molly joked. Meena stacked the last of the mats into a tidy pile, and turned to study Molly with an uncharacteristically serious expression on her face. "Who's there to help you out when you need it, though? Well, me, obviously, because I'm a freakin' Mother Teresa in platform heels." She and Molly shared playful smiles. "But you never really ask me for anything, do you?" Molly shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. "I don't really need anything." She saw the pitying look Meena gave her and rolled her eyes. "It's true. I've got an interesting job, a nice flat, and friends I adore. One of whom is going to take me out to dinner tonight because she feels guilty for tossing me on the floor earlier. To a decent place, not just to the chips vendor up the block." Meena laughed, and shooed Molly out of the room. "Fine. Let's get cleaned up, and I'll take you to a Greek place a few blocks from here. They have a moussaka to die for." "See, what else could I possibly ask for?" Meena laughed again, and Molly trailed after her toward the locker room. What else indeed? இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ— After sleeping in until nearly ten, Molly puttered about her flat until early afternoon. She'd enjoyed a leisurely soak in the tub after getting home from Meena's class the night before, but her body still ached and the extra time lounging about in bed had felt nice. She wrote her shopping list, double checked Toby's food dish, then slipped on her jacket for a walk to the grocer. It took her two blocks to realize she was being followed. She'd stopped to look at a pair of gorgeous heels in a shop window--Far too expensive for her to afford, but she couldn't help wondering how they would look with an equally expensive dress floating around her ankles as Sherlock whirled her around a dance floor. Would there even be dancing at the party he'd talked her into attending?--and noticed the black Mercedes with its ominously tinted windows that had slowed to a near stop behind her. When she moved on Molly kept an eye on the vehicle's reflection in the next few windows; not daring to look at the car directly because she didn't want to feel like an idiot if her suspicions were wrong. Which they probably were, because why would a Mercedes be creeping down the street just to stalk her? That would be crazy. Molly tried to laugh at herself, but couldn't manage more than a sickly chuckle (that sounded vaguely like a quiet sob to her ears) as the car pulled up to the kerb next to her and stopped. The driver's door opened and a large gentleman in a suit stepped out. She was forced to admit she was probably in trouble when he called her name. "Miss Hooper." Sherlock's voice echoed in her ears, telling her to pay attention to every detail she could register. She noted the gentleman's suit (Black? Navy blue? Obviously expensive. Fit too well to be off the rack.) and as many physical characteristics (Bald. Tan. Not traditionally handsome, but still striking. Big ears. Small nose.) as she could. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she could hear the rush of blood in her ears. The burly gentleman pulled the back car door open and gestured for her to get in. The car interior was shrouded in shadows, and she couldn't see a thing from where she stood. She no intention of getting any closer. Jim Moriarty, or someone who was using his face, was still out there somewhere, and she wasn't an idiot. "Get in, Miss Hooper." Molly shook her head, and took a step farther away. "I don't think so." She could see him tense as if he were preparing to chase her down if she decided to bolt. "Get in." Somehow he was growing more menacing with every passing second, without doing anything overtly threatening. After a brief standoff--him still holding the door open, and her still shifting her weight to her toes in preparation to flee--he held a hand up to his ear, then hissed through clenched teeth, "Please." The absurdity of the whole thing was starting to get to her. She snorted hard through her nose and shook her head again. "No. Thank you." Something shifted in the darkness inside the car, then an extremely attractive dark-haired woman leaned into view. Her smile was probably meant to be reassuring, but it did nothing to put Molly at ease. "Hello, Miss Hooper. Mr Holmes would like a word, if you please." Molly continued to hesitate. Strangely enough, the woman's smile seemed to grow warmer at that. She glanced down at the phone in her hand and softly laughed. "I'm to tell you that 'the rat bastard has been dealt with'." In spite of the situation, Molly started to smile in return. The woman drew herself back into the car, and the cranky gentleman gestured toward the open door once more. This time Molly slipped past him and settled into the seat next to the attractive brunette. She managed not to flinch as the car door slammed shut. The car tilted and then settled as the driver got back behind the wheel. It only took a minute or two for Molly to begin to feel uncomfortable. Her companion had been glued to her phone since Molly got in. Her thumbs danced across the screen in constant motion, and Molly was fairly positive she hadn't looked up since the car had begun to move. Another few minutes passed, and Molly realized she had no clue where they were taking her. Not to Baker Street, that much she could rule out. That was when she realized the other woman had never mentioned which Mr Holmes wanted to speak to her. She cleared her throat, and turned in the seat to get a better look at the woman. "We're not going to see Sherlock, are we?" "No," the other woman replied. She continued to text on her phone, not even bothering to look up; but at least she didn't even try to lie about it. "Mycroft, then?" Her companion's lips tilted upward at the name, her entire face softening for just a moment. "Yes." "And I don't suppose you're going to tell what this is about?" "No." She finally looked up and offered that not-quite reassuring smile again. "Sorry." "Right," Molly muttered under her breath. She turned her attention back to the view. Soon enough she no longer recognized any of the neighbourhoods they were passing through. Eventually, they pulled up in front of a nondescript building, and the driver quickly hopped out to open the car door. She and the other woman climbed out, and Molly stopped to offer a slightly apologetic smile to the man who had frightened her earlier. He glared in return. Not that she'd been expecting anything else, really. Still, she'd tried. "This way, please." She clutched her bag against her chest as she followed the woman through several halls in an empty office building. Eventually her guide stopped in front of an unmarked door and knocked. Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and entered the room, gesturing for Molly to follow her. Molly was not surprised to see Mycroft inside, standing behind an imposing desk. He gestured toward the chair in front of it. "Miss Hooper, sit. Please." She did as he asked. Mycroft waited until she was settled to take his own seat. He nodded toward the other woman, and she quickly crossed the room toward a large cabinet. It was the only other piece of furniture in the room aside from the desk and the two chairs, and Molly got the feeling that all of it had been brought in specifically for this meeting. She pulled one of the drawers open and extracted a thick folder, which she brought to Mycroft. They made eye contact for a few seconds--clearly communicating without words, Molly noted, which indicated they were used to working together--then she tipped her head to Molly and left the room. If it weren't for the fact that Mycroft Holmes had even less use for sentiment and emotional attachments than Sherlock, Molly might have assumed there was something going on between him and the as-yet-unnamed woman. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here. Unless . . . Has Sherlock already explained?" "Let's just assume that he hasn't." Molly was proud that she'd managed to keep her voice steady, masking any obvious verbal sign of how uneasy she was. She really hadn't the first clue what Mycroft was talking about, but she felt uncomfortable admitting that to him. He sighed, clearly annoyed with someone. Sherlock, most likely. "Very well." Mycroft cleared his throat, and opened the file. He took a moment to familiarize himself with the text on the first page; then began to speak, "Can you confirm that you are Margaret Erin Hooper, born on August-" With a frown, Molly interrupted him. "You know who I am, Mycroft. You've met me before, several times." Mycroft glared at her in response. "There is a proper way to do this, Miss Hooper." Molly rarely bothered to correct anyone when they got her title wrong, it was almost impossible to do so without sounding pretentious or worse; but now she was annoyed, and Mycroft was insisting on behaving like a cryptic twit. "It's Doctor Hooper. And do what?" "Oh, sod it." He flipped the file closed and pushed it away in disgust, before leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. "You're almost as bad as John Watson. What is it about Sherlock that attracts you people?" She's not sure if he'd just insulted her or if it had been meant as a sort of back-handed compliment; there were worse things in the world than being compared to John. Molly decided it would be best to keep quiet, and just let him get on with whatever he was attempting to do without any more impertinent comments. "At Sherlock's request, you have been authorized a minimal degree of clearance in matters of national security, solely in regards to my brother and certain activities he may or may not be involved with at some point in the future." Molly blinked. "What does that mean, exactly?" "Don't play slow, Doctor Hooper. It doesn't suit you." Another back-handed compliment and the grudging use of her title. It must have practically killed Mycroft. "It should go without saying that any information you receive in confidence shall not be passed on to any of Sherlock's other associates, baring myself, of course. This includes John Watson." He mumbled in an aside that Molly barely heard, "That man couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it, much less my brother's." "I-uh-I wasn't really expecting something like this? And why now, all of the sudden? I don't really know what I should be saying in response." Mycroft sighed. Molly suspected he would have rolled his eyes if that were the sort of thing Mycroft Holmes deigned to do. "Sherlock failed to make it known how vital he found your involvement in certain aspects of his work. We've since discussed it and he's made his thoughts on the matter quite clear. He insisted I expedite things to secure your clearance as quickly as possible to remedy the oversight, but surely this didn't come as a complete surprise to you?" Before she could reply to that, Mycroft grimaced and pulled his mobile out of an inner pocket of his suit jacket. He looked at it briefly, then pasted the most unconvincing expression of contrition that Molly had ever seen onto his face. "And I've just been reminded that I owe you an apology, Miss--pardon me, Doctor--Hooper, for failing to inform you of my brother's status during his years abroad. I deeply regret that my actions caused you undue worry and stress. As part of my apology it would be my honour to offer the services of my associate in picking out a suitable gown for your upcoming soiree. At my expense, of course." He plucked a thick stack of papers from the folder, all bound together with a large clip, and slid them across the desk toward her. "Here's a pen, if you could just sign and initial all the paperwork. Then you can inform Sherlock that I've done my part, now he needs to make sure he fulfils his end of the bargain." Almost as if she'd been listening at the door, Mycroft's associate entered the room. As soon as the paperwork was signed and initialled in a dozen or more places, she scooped up the file and put it back in the cabinet. With a final nod toward her employer, she gestured toward the door. "If you'll follow me?" The Mercedes was waiting outside, complete with tall, dark, and surly waiting to open the door for them. Molly thought about attempting to say something witty as she slipped past him into the car; but she suspected anything she could come up with wouldn't be half as amusing to anyone else as it would be to her. Mycroft's associate--Surely she had a name?--was already engrossed in her phone, and Molly resigned herself to another long, boring ride back to . . . where, exactly? "I, erm, don't mean to cause a problem, but where are you taking me now? I mean, are you taking me back to my flat? Because I was on my way to do the shopping, and . . ." The other woman sent one last text and looked up. "Mr Holmes has asked me to assist you in finding a gown, and any other necessities you may need, for this weekend. Do you have a favoured designer we can use as a starting point?" Contrary to what Sherlock (and Mycroft, from the sounds of it) seemed to think, she wasn't a complete stranger to shopping for nice things. There just wasn't much call for a closetful of formal dresses in her line of work. She couldn't even imagine attempting a post-mortem draped in organza and tulle. Molly floundered for a moment; her mind coming up blank for the name of any designer, much less one who produced dresses she liked that would flatter her body type. After a few moments she realized she was out of her depth. "Haven't a clue. Who would you recommend?" The woman smiled, clearly pleased. "I know just the shop, Miss Hooper." "Wonderful. Uh, I was wondering if you could just call me Molly? The Miss Hooper thing is really . . . unless you have to? Is that a requirement? For all this?" The other woman seemed to study her for a moment. "As you wish, Molly." "Thank you." Molly bit her lip, debating whether or not she should ask the question that was sitting on the tip of her tongue. "And you are?" "You can call me Anthea." The brunette leaned forward to give the driver their new destination. "Oh, that's unusual." Anthea hummed in agreement, and turned back to her phone. "Greek, isn't it? Flower, right? Or, umm, maybe blossom?" Suddenly, Molly had the other woman's attention again. "Either way it's fitting," Molly continued. "Which it should be, since it was chosen for you specifically, I would think. Lovely compliment. Unless, did you get to pick it yourself?" Anthea looked as if she were reassessing what she thought she knew about Molly. "You know Greek?" Molly shrugged. "I knew a lot about the Greek pantheon. Fascinated by it when I was little. I only recognized the word because of its association with Hera." Anthea tucked her phone into her lap. "Why did you assume it wasn't my real name?" "Mostly, it was a hunch; but all this cloak and dagger nonsense seemed to back my theory up. If you wanted to give me your real name, you would have offered it when you first picked me up. And you didn't say 'My name is Anthea', you said that's what I could call you. Careful wording, that." Molly winced. She felt as if last bit could have come straight from Sherlock. "Interesting. You're nothing at all like I expected you'd be." "Is that good or bad?" And more importantly, why would Anthea have any expectations about her in the first place? "It's merely interesting, that's all." Anthea leaned back in the seat and gracefully crossed her legs. Molly envied her, she always felt like an awkward teenager who barely had control of her limbs. "Tell me, Molly, this dress; would you prefer to blend in to the background like the wallpaper, or be the envy of every woman in the room?" Her first instinct was to blend in. She'd never been terribly comfortable as the centre of attention. Still, when would she have a chance to go to a posh event such as this again? Especially on someone else's tab. "What would you do?" இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ— Molly was taking advantage of the fact that there was nothing pressing to be done in the morgue to catch up on some work in the lab, when the door swung open with far more force than necessary. Even without looking up from her microscope, she knew who her visitor was. John was right, Sherlock really was a drama queen. She changed the magnification on the scope, and scribbled a note regarding the bacteria movement in the sample on the slide. Molly could almost feel Sherlock growing increasingly restless the longer she ignored him. Politeness dictated that she should acknowledge him and find out what he wanted, since it was obvious that he was there for something; otherwise, he would already be at his favoured microscope, ignoring her as she was ignoring him. However, she'd spent five exhausting hours the day before, being dragged from shop to shop by Anthea (an expert marathon shopper who clearly had no qualms about spending Mycroft's money) with the threat/promise of a salon visit before the event on Saturday. Therefore, politeness could go hang. Her feet still ached. Just the thought of wearing the four inch heels Anthea had insisted on purchasing made her toes curl in anticipated discomfort. She was going to have to spend the rest of the week practicing walking if there was to be any hope of not falling flat on her face at the party. She heard him clear his throat as she removed the current slide and tucked it into the proper container. "Molly." She briefly looked up as she reached for the next sample. "Sherlock." He was once again standing very straight and tall, hands behind his back in that way that usually signalled he was uncomfortable about something. This did not bode well for her. Not at all. Molly frowned and placed the slide into the scope, leaning closer to the eye piece. "Two visits in the same week. Don't I feel special." "Pardon?" She sighed. "I've already got a dress. Everything's taken care of, all of it's been vetted and given the official Office of Mycroft Holmes approval. No need to worry that I'll be an embarrassment or anything." She refused to mention her fear of tripping in the too-tall-for-her heels. "That's . . . reassuring?" Rather than wander off as she'd secretly hoped he would, Sherlock continued to stand there. Looming. Far too close for her comfort. Molly began to fidget. She hated when he made her do that. It didn't take long for her to break. "What? What is it? What do you want?" Whatever it was couldn't be good. "Is that a new jumper? The colour goes very well with your . . . eyes?" "Oh, come on!" Molly pushed herself away from the table, twisting on her stool to glare up at him. "Seriously, Sherlock? It goes well with my eyes? You couldn't even see my jumper, I'm wearing a lab coat and was bent over a microscope. I'm not an idiot. Stop, just stop with the fake compliments. If you can't say something sincere, then don't bother saying anything at all." She paused to take a deep breath and calm herself before continuing. "You already know I would do anything for you-" I already have. And it nearly broke me. "Anything truly important," she quickly qualified. Her expression was soft and imploring, silently willing him to understand how much it bothered her when he used her unrequited feelings against her. Former feelings. Oh fuck it. I'm not even fooling myself anymore, am I? Sherlock was still except for the way his gaze darted around the room, as if he were searching for something--anything--that might salvage the moment. After a few seconds he swallowed hard, then determinedly lifted his chin. He cautiously moved a few steps closer, and Molly braced herself for whatever was about to come pouring out of his mouth. "I read your monograph on identifying abnormalities in kidney function. It was extremely informative, and I've retained a copy for my research database." Molly blinked several times. That . . . was not the sort of thing she was expecting him to say. His praise seemed sincere this time, and she couldn't help but find it a little flattering. Her head tilted slightly to the side, her lips twitching into the beginning of a sweet smile. "Thank-thank you." Sherlock's lips mirrored her own. Their eyes met. Molly's breath caught, and her face felt uncomfortably warm. Something in her expression must have made him uneasy because his smile melted away, and he took a small step back. Just far enough to make it clear to Molly that he wasn't comfortable with their silent exchange. "I need a favour." "Never doubted it for a second." It was a testament to how long she'd known Sherlock that she wasn't offended. The inner warmth produced from his earlier words was still there, and Molly wasn't going to let him dampen it just because he was being . . . well, Sherlock. She returned to her work at the microscope, then wrote a notation on the papers next to her station. "What is it this time?" "First, I would like to point out that I can see the cuff of your jumper sticking out of the sleeve of your lab coat quite clearly. From there it was extremely easy to deduce that the colour-" "Sherlock," Molly growled. "Right. Moving along, then. Janine needs a place to stay." "Janine has a place to stay. She's got several, from what I've read. She's still got a place in London, yeah? And the cottage you cursed with a bee infestation. Then there's your flat-" Sherlock impatiently interrupted her, "She can't stay there anymore." That drew Molly's full attention. She looked up again, resigned to abandoning her work until Sherlock left, and swivelled on her stool so that she could face him entirely. "I thought you two worked things out. Unless . . . Do you think she's really that desperate that she's going to chase you around Baker Street, trying to seduce you?" She covered up the spike of unease born of that unsettling idea with a feigned look of amusement. "What do you mean 'that desperate'? I'm a very good catch, according to the gossip rags. A 'sex god'." Sherlock bit off the last two words with obvious disgust. "For some poor unfortunate soul who hasn't spent more than thirty minutes in your company, perhaps." Sherlock glared, and Molly grinned in response. "You're starting to sound an awful lot like John, you know." "Thank you." The glare faltered as Sherlock's expression morphed into one of mild confusion. "That wasn't meant as a compliment." "I didn't think it was." Molly began to swing her feet back and forth. Thanks to her short legs and the tall stool, they didn't quite reach the ground. She was starting to enjoy herself now, and couldn't keep still. "You were going to tell me why she can't stay at your place?" "Was I?" She shrugged as if she didn't care one way or another. "Probably." Rather stiffly, Sherlock focused his gaze somewhere in the vicinity of her forehead; nearly, but not quite, making eye contact. "It has recently come to my attention that Mrs Hudson does not like her." Molly's eyes widened, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She tried very hard to force her face to go completely expressionless. Realizing that was a lost cause, she turned to pull the slide out of the microscope and put it back in its storage container in a futile attempt to keep Sherlock from deducing just how amused she was. "But you already knew that, didn't you?" He bent forward, leaning into her space, putting his hand on the table next to her scope. "Don't bother trying to deny it, your body language gave you away. Why didn't you tell me?" The urge to shift the last few inches closer to him, to see if his scent was still the same as the one that had lingered on his pillows the night she'd slept in his bed, was strong. Molly slid off the stool, taking the box of bacteria slides to a nearby cupboard to be dealt with later. Once she was safely out temptation's reach, she turned to lean against the cupboard and smirked. "Why would I? And when could I have possibly brought it up? By the time I found out, you two had broken up and were already doing whatever it is that you're doing now. Should I have said, 'Oh, by the way, Sherlock, your landlady can't stand your not-quite-ex-girlfriend, so maybe don't invite her over for dinner?' I'm sure that would have gone over fabulously." He had straightened and watched her retreat with a calculating eye. Once she'd stopped moving, he eased his way around the recently vacated stool and stalked toward her like some sort of predatory cat. Molly shifted, felt the bite of the cupboard handle digging into her lower back, and began to realize she might have made a tactical error. "Well, you may have already been aware, but no one bothered to inform me until Mrs Hudson brought up my tea this morning and adamantly refused to bring up a second cup for Janine. There was a bit of a row, the tea pot got dumped, Janine stormed off in a huff, Mrs Hudson disappeared into her flat with a slammed door, and--most importantly--I didn't. Get. My. Tea." Sherlock looked like a sullen little boy who had lost his favourite toy. Molly wasn't terribly moved by his plight. "Oh, you poor baby. You have your own kitchen and a kettle. You can make your own cuppa." Sherlock's eyes narrowed. Clearly he was not amused by her teasing. He continued to close the distance between them, his steps measured and unhurried. She thought about making a break for it, perhaps attempting to dart past him toward the door; but then she'd look like a fool, making a big deal out of something silly. It wasn't as if Sherlock were going to pounce on her. At the very worst, he would get close enough to turn the full effect of his devastatingly gorgeous eyes upon her. He stopped almost directly in front of her, close enough that his Belstaff brushed against her lab coat. "That is not the point, Molly." She swallowed and forced herself to meet his gaze, as if his nearness weren't making her itch to reach out and see if his shirt was as soft as it looked. "So why isn't she staying at her cottage?" He smirked, and she had the horrible suspicion that he knew exactly what she'd been thinking. "She's broken up with her boyfriend-" "Mr Jealous Two-Carats?" "Stop interrupting. And it was two-and-a-half. I underestimated the monetary value he put on potential intimate relations with her." "I wouldn't let Janine hear you say that." Sherlock frowned. "Why?" "Because you just made her sound like a prostitute," Molly explained, speaking slowly as if she were talking to a particularly dim individual. For a second she pictured Anderson's newest replacement at NSY. That man was an imbecile, and she only hoped she'd be around to witness the first time Sherlock had to work with him. Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "No, I meant why would I say that to her?" She mentally awarded a point to Sherlock for unexpectedly demonstrating some tact. "I don't know. I still don't understand why you do half the things you do." Molly shrugged. "So she's broken up with the rich boyfriend, and that means she can't stay at her own home because . . .?" "Apparently, he's having difficulty accepting it. She said he's showed up at her door every night since she broke things off, demanding she come back." That did seem a little weird and clingy. Molly wasn't sure it was enough to warrant moving into someone else's home, but then again she hadn't a clue how obnoxious Janine's ex was acting. For all she knew, the man was insisting on standing outside Janine's bedroom window with an eighties' era boombox, playing Peter Gabriel songs loud enough to annoy the neighbours.Still, she didn't see what any of that had to do with her. "She was Mary's maid of honour. Send her over to stay with Mary and John." "I did consider it, but Mary isn't too keen on having her around right now. A bit of a guilty conscience, I suspect." "What for? Introducing her to you?" Molly grinned, rather pleased with herself for coming up with that. Sherlock twitched. She wasn't sure if it was a reaction to her juvenile (but humorous) wit, or something else. He leaned closer, resting one of his hands against the cupboard near her head. "Let's just not talk about that, shall we? Especially to Janine. I'm given to understand that some women with her type of temperament tend to overreact to certain things. Considering this morning's tea fiasco, I believe it would be best to never mention the idea again." He was using his proximity to try to distract her, she knew him well enough to recognize that much. Unfortunately for her, it was working. He was close enough for his scent to surround her, and it was the same as the one that haunted her dreams. God, he smelled good. Molly swallowed, wet her suddenly dry lips, and forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. "Why are you telling me any of this?" His earlier frown reappeared. Sherlock blinked several times in rapid succession before pushing himself away from the cupboard. Suddenly, Molly could breathe freely again. "I thought I'd made that clear. Janine needs a place to stay for a few days." Molly crossed her arms and kept her mouth shut, silently prompting him to get to the point. "Your place." "Nope." She shook her head, and tried to scoot past him. Both of his hands shot up to press against the cupboard on either side of her shoulders, effectively cutting off her escape. "Why not?" Trapped, Molly went on the defensive. "Because I said no. Because I barely know her; you're the only thing we've even got in common as far as I'm aware. Because even though I tell everyone that when you stay at my place you sleep in the spare room-" "That's not what you tell everyone," he cut in, giving her a look that made it clear he knew she'd spilled the beans at least once. It wasn't as if Mary hadn't already suspected anyway. "Nearly everyone. I may tell people you sleep in the spare room so that I don't have to admit I'm such a pushover that I let you con me out of my own bed, but we both know that I don't actually have a spare room. And finally, because I said no." She lifted her arms to plant her palms against his chest and pushed. He didn't budge. "You already said that." "It bears repeating." She stared at her hands, the nails dragging against the super soft material of his shirt as she curled her fingers. Molly could feel the firmness of his chest, the slight flex of his pectorals under her touch. What she wouldn't give to pop open some of those buttons. "You're not going to help me?" Somehow she dragged her attention back to the conversation. "I'm not going to help Janine. There's a difference." "But, Molly-" She pushed again, digging her nails in a bit this time, and he took a step back. "You can't just dump your unwanted girlfriends at my door, Sherlock. It doesn't work that way." "I'll owe you." Molly took her chance and skirted past him. "You already owe me. And I haven't heard word one in regards to paying me back. Or did you forget?" Once she was safely in the middle of the room she turned to look at him. He was rubbing his chest with a puzzled expression on his face. As soon as he realized she was watching him he dropped his hand. Sherlock approached her, cautiously this time, keeping some distance between them. He looked almost as unsettled as she felt. "She may be in danger, Molly." "What do you mean?" "By the time I got a chance to meet him, they were already dating and I was too distracted by a case to pick up on some things that are glaringly obvious in hindsight. He was too sweet, too solicitous, too . . . perfect." He bit off that last word with a sneer. "I'm positive there's something he's hiding, something in his past. I've sent feelers out, looking for information regarding his last few girlfriends, but they're coming up with nothing. You don't get silence like that without paying for it, one way or another." She gasped. "Do you think he killed some of them?" "I doubt it's anything that extreme. But I'm certain he's done something to them. Why else would he pay them off to remain silent. There are no stories, no torrid gossip, no bragging. Women in his circles don't just fade away without a bitter scene and a spiteful last word. No, something's going on. I just haven't deduced what, yet, and until I do . . ." He trailed off and gave her a pleading look that rarely failed to tug at her heart. Not to mention her growing concern for a woman she'd never really met. She knew she was being played as if she was Sherlock's violin, but she still sighed and gave in. "Fine. But she's on the sofa, I'm not giving up my bed for her." Sherlock smiled; although it wasn't his usual 'I go what I wanted' grin, thankfully. She might have changed her mind if he'd done that. He slowly leaned forward, giving her time to step back if she wanted, and pressed his lips against her cheek in a soft, barely-there kiss. "Thank you." Molly swallowed hard and nodded, unable to force words past the sudden tightness in her throat. She stood there until the lab door closed behind his retreating form, then slumped against the nearest work surface. "What have you got yourself into this time, Molly Hooper?"

Dream doesn’t remember a lot about his parents. He’s not sure if it’s just been too long or if he forcibly shoved the memories down, buried them too deep to recover, but—whoever they were, they’re gone now. He remembers being five years old, and two great, dark shadows looming over him. He remembers, clear as can be, “Stay right here, okay? We’re just going to run some errands. We’ll be right back, I promise. Do you promise you’ll stay here?” And that’s it. That’s all he has, and sometimes he wishes he didn’t even have that much. (He spent two days waiting on that bench before someone noticed he was there, before someone asked about his parents, before they told him they’d left the village the day before. Left him there.) So really, his life starts when they bring him to the orphanage. They don’t like him there. The caretaker’s a frazzled older woman who can’t afford to take on yet another child, and Dream’s parents didn’t even have the courtesy to die. There’s no funeral, no pitiful “I’m so sorry,” no little kid to comfort. Just Dream, unwanted. The other kids don’t want him around either. He doesn’t blame them. If even his parents didn’t want him, why should they? So he runs. He gets really good at running, jumping, hiding. He’s almost impossible to catch. But it’s two years before they stop bringing him back. (Why do they keep bringing him back? He’s trying to make it easier on them, not harder. They don’t want him, and he doesn’t want them right back. Just leave him alone. Just leave him alone.) He gets left alone for two more years. He takes what he needs and he runs and he hides, he’s the ghost of a child in the shadows of alleyways and wheat fields. And then he’s nine years old and there’s a boy on a bench. And he’s on the bench for a long, long time. It’s a different bench, but Dream feels deja-vu rattle him all the same. He takes his favorite stick and he sits on the ground next to the boy. He’s young, with shoulder-length dark hair falling in front of his face and too-big boots, all alone on the park bench. It makes him seem small. He’s nice. He doesn’t look at Dream weird for his makeshift bandages and threadbare clothes and favorite stick. He doesn’t believe Dream when he tells him what’s happening. Dream offers him a place anyway. He doesn’t know why. Dream’s leaving so he can be left alone. (Maybe it’s because the boy is nice. Maybe it’s because Dream can’t remember having friends before. Maybe it’s because he looks so small on that bench and Dream remembers feeling like that, five years old and cold but so, so certain it was going to be over soon.) His name is Sapnap, and he’s seven, and he meets Dream at the outskirts of the village with a strange look on his face. Dream feels sad in a way he wasn’t expecting to, because he was right. This is what he said would happen. (But maybe he’d hoped to be wrong.) He doesn’t talk about it. They don’t talk about it for a long time. Dream just takes Sapnap’s hand, out of an instinct he didn’t know he had, and starts rambling about something as they walk away—away from the village that didn’t want them anyway, into the forest, welcoming and frightening all at once. ------------ Dream may be a ghost, but Sapnap isn’t, and that becomes increasingly clear with every passing day. He makes Dream laugh like he’s never laughed before, until he can’t breathe, has to sit down while Sapnap grins at him proudly. He teaches Dream how to start a campfire while Dream shows him how to find lucky rocks and favorite sticks to make into weapons. He smiles like Dream’s never seen someone smile before, all brilliance and pride. He’s more alive than anyone Dream’s ever known. (He’s still so small, though. Dream pulls him into treetops at night because he can’t quite climb them yet, and Dream tucks him into his side and lays an arm across him, because nothing, nothing is going to hurt him anymore. Not if Dream has anything to say about it.) ------------ Dream’s not actually all that good at fighting. He’s fast and he’s quiet and it’s a lot easier to just grab Sapnap’s hand and pull him along until they’ve lost whatever’s chasing them, or they find a good tree to hop up into. You fight like a badger, Sapnap laughs after Dream shoves his sharpened stick through a spider’s brain. And it’s kind of true—he only fights when he has to, when there’s no way out—and then he fights and he keeps fighting, tooth and nail. Like a cornered animal. It’s how they survive the night that Bad found them. They ran and ran and ran and ran because running usually works, it usually works, but Sapnap collapses to the ground coughing and his hand is nearly torn from Dream’s, and Dream’s not that far behind, legs shaking dangerously, breath rattling in his lungs, so he pushes Sapnap behind him and presses them both against a tree trunk, and the zombies are upon them. And it’s all that Dream can do to keep them off of Sapnap, kicking and screaming and shoving with his stick, and he turns his head to the side and he hears cries from behind him as he takes a clawed hand to the face that was meant for Sapnap’s throat, and then another and another and he can barely even see through the blood running down his face but he growls and shoves the zombie off of him. Without even really registering what he’s doing, shaking with rage and terror and pain, he makes sure that Sapnap’s still behind him, and then drives his sharpened stick through a zombie’s eye, through another’s rib cage. They claw at him and he claws right back. (And it will be years down the line, once he is trained and skilled and learned that he loves to fight when it’s on his own terms, that Technoblade brings out that cornered-animal fury in him again. And Technoblade will grin, and he’ll match it with his own.) When the zombies are dead, he stumbles back, and Sapnap reaches for him with a bitten-off cry and Dream pulls him in, and Sapnap curls into his side like he always does and presses his face into Dream’s shirt. Dream puts an arm in front of him and with the other points his bloodied stick with bloodied hands at the night surrounding them and the figure approaching them, holding a torch up high. ------------ And here’s the thing: Dream only goes with Bad because he doesn’t want to die. Because the blood running down his face is a beacon for all the other mobs in the area. Dream doesn’t even believe Bad when he promises not to hurt them. He doesn’t believe in promises, not then. He just doesn't want to die. He doesn't want Sapnap to die. (He thinks about that moment a lot, in the years that pass. One single decision that shaped his life forever. Deciding to trust a stranger against all his nine-year-old better judgement, and the domino effect that followed. The family that followed. He can hardly believe it, some days.) ------------ Sapnap remembers more about his parents than Dream ever will. Maybe it’s because he was older than Dream was when they left, maybe it’s because he’s Sapnap and he’s braver than Dream will ever be. Brave enough to hold onto the memories even if they burn. It takes Sapnap almost a year to really ever talk about it. They’re with Bad, now, and things are better. Dream hadn’t thought things could ever be better, and running and hiding are so ingrained in him that he needs a mask to hide his face, to keep people from looking at him too much. (The mask was never about the scars, but he can pretend like it is.) But things are better. Bad is—Bad’s a lot of things, but the first thing that comes to Dream’s mind, always, is good. Bad is good. Dream’s amazed by it, by the way that Bad made a collection of old crumbling ruins into a home, by the way that he talks to and laughs with and teaches him and Sapnap like they’ve always been there. Like this is where they belong. (That’s because it is, Bad says. If you want it to be.) They’re sitting around their campfire. It’s getting late, and it’s already dark out. The forest surrounding them always makes the thickest shadows, like you could reach out and touch them. (Maybe they’re long-lost relatives of Bad. That would be kinda funny.) Dream can hear the groans and rattles and hisses of monsters, but the walls in this bit of ruin are high, and they once spent a whole day setting up torches around the place. It’s safe. That doesn’t stop Dream from shivering, absentmindedly tracing the scar tissue on the side of his face. He doesn’t notice that Sapnap is humming until he’s already half-asleep, knees tucked against his chest. Someone put a blanket over his shoulders without him realizing. “Whatcha singing?” Bad asks, wiping down their bowls with water taken from the stream. Sapnap abruptly stops, eyes widening, like he hadn’t even realized it himself. “Oh,” he says. “Um. Nothing. Just um, just a song. My uh, my mom used to sing it.” “Oh,” Bad looks up, surprised. “That’s very nice.” “Not really,” Sapnap shrugs, and he looks back down at the fire. Dream shifts over so he’s sitting all the way next to him, at a loss for what else to do, because he looks a lot like he did when Dream first met him on the edge of town. Sapnap falls against him, easily curling into his side like they’re back in the forest and Dream’s trying to protect him from everything, except it’s not monsters this time. “I dunno why she bothered with it,” Sapnap whispers. “If she was just gonna—you know.” Dream knows. Bad doesn’t, shouldn’t, because they haven’t talked about it at all, but he’s observant. He probably put two-and-two together at some point. “It’s pretty,” Bad offers. “Whatever she did it for, at least you have a song.” “That’s true,” Sapnap murmurs into Dream’s shoulder. “It’s a good song.” ------------ He brings them up a bit more, after that. Not very often, because the memories burn, but he does. He mentions, offhandedly, that it was his dad that taught him how to start a campfire. His mom used to make little travel biscuits with just flour and water. He had a house, when he was really, really little, but it got attacked. He can’t remember if it was a creeper or pillagers, but it was one of the two. He had a stuffed panda bear that he loved more than anything, but he lost it in the attack. (Bad gets him a stuffed panda bear for his eighth birthday, and it rarely leaves his side for years.) Dream isn’t sure why all of those little bits and pieces feel so important. Why should it matter? Why do these sharp-edged memories matter at all, when the people who made them are gone, when they weren’t ever really there at all? They do matter, though. Matter in the same way that Bad teaching them to fight and survive and live matters. Matter in the same way that Bad giving Sapnap a stuffed animal matters. They matter in the same way that the voices echoing I promise, I promise in the back of his mind matter, an ever-present reminder that he can’t seem to shake. They matter in the same way that Bad pulling Dream into a hug for the first time matters, because they’re memories that he holds onto with everything he has, even if he doesn’t know why. ------------ Dream doesn’t want to remember much about where he came from, he thinks. All he has are shadows and two broken promises. Sharp-edged memories he can’t seem to bury, that he’s not even sure he wants to bury. That’s enough. Plenty. He takes the mask off, flips it around. Traces the ridges of the dried paint where Sapnap made the smiley face. The cold night air hits his face at the same time as the warmth from the dying campfire, and he pulls the blanket closer around his shoulders. He puts the mask back on. Takes a deep breath. It was never about the scars. Dream’s just the untethered ghost of a child, running and running and running and brought to a halt by a grinning kid left behind just like him and a shadow with his hand outstretched. And if they can’t see him, then it’s easier to stay. It’s that much simpler to take the outstretched hand and maybe, maybe, maybe believe that this is going to turn out okay. As long as they can’t see how scared he is. Or how hopeful he is. He takes the mask off again. Nothing changes, not really.

Hank got good and drunk again. He’d stocked up for the holidays and if he had it then he might as well drink it, right? Fuck everything. Fuck his job, fuck Connor, fuck CyberLife, fuck Markus too. The androids weren’t human and the humans weren’t even human anymore so what the fuck was the point? If dolphins weren’t extinct Hank would have said they should go ahead and take over. They’d probably do a better job. Now all the dolphins were made my CyberLife and wasn’t that just sick? “Not that you’d give a shit,” Hank muttered at Connor darkly. This new one sucked. He sounded blandly polite all the fucking time and he hadn’t laughed at the TV. Not even once. “Because you don’t shit, ain’t that right, Connor?” “That’s right, Lieutenant. All of my metabolic waste is collected by a series of resins.” “Oooh. Resin.” Hank said sarcastically. “Yes, Lieutenant. It’s like UHPLC.” Whatever the fuck that was. Hank huffed and he patted his lap. “C’mere Sumo. Good boy. Good dog. You shit just like everybody else. You’re a fucking shit factory.” Sumo climbed up onto the couch and dropped his front half over Hank’s legs for a good scratch. This new Connor didn’t even seem to notice. Hank refused to believe that this was the same one he’d known before. That Connor wouldn’t have been this fake. Sure, he was making it all sound natural enough, but Hank could tell. He just could. It was a thing you could do when you were a living, breathing, feeling person and not a robot made to look like one. All that effort trying to argue with Jeff and maybe he’d been right. Maybe not about the last Connor, but about this one. “You shouldn’t drink so much, Lieutenant. It’s bad for your health.” “So are bullets, kid, so take your pick.” There was a little silence after that then, “Is there anything you’d like to talk about, Lieutenant?” “I’m still the only fucking other person in the room, Connor! So you don’t need to say Lieutenant all the time, Connor! Did you realize that, Connor? Fucking Christ...” “Sorry, Lieutenant.” Hank laughed, and it didn’t sound happy at all. “I should just off you and see what the next one’s like. What do you think? They just going to keep making more of you like a fucking assembly line?” “Would shutting me down make you happy, Lieutenant?” Hank squinted at him for signs of mockery, but of course here weren’t any. “Shutting me down now would delay our investigation. We shouldn’t waste time. You shouldn’t drink so much, Lieutenant. It’s bad for your health. Would shutting me down make you happy, Lieutenant?” “Nothing makes me happy anymore,” Hank muttered into his drink. “CyberLife’s first goal is the happiness of our customers,” Connor said. “CyberLife can go fuck itself.” “You shouldn’t drink so much, Lieutenant. It’s bad for your health.” Glitchy fucking thing. --- “Lieutenant. Lieutenant? Lieutenant?” Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Hank groaned and sat up. “Wha?” “Lieutenant, there’s been an alarm at one of the CyberLife warehouses. We need to go.” “Wa’me when’s over...” Hank laid down and rolled back over. His room was nice and dark except for the stripe of light from the hallway. He’d finally fallen asleep not too long ago, and honestly he was still drunk. Sleep was so fucking good. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Lieutenant. I’m sorry. I need your presence to investigate. I have reason to believe that there was deviant involvement.” “How the fuck could you possibly know that, Conn’r?” Hank kept his eyes stubbornly closed. “No, don’t answer that. Just let me sleep.” “It’s time to get up, Lieutenant.” That fucker! “Hey!” Hank shouted as his blanket was pulled away from him, rolling him over in the process until his grip on it broke. “What’s the big idea?!” Connor smiled at him. That little shit. “We need to go, Lieutenant. You can sleep later.” “I hate you. I really fucking hate you.” “I know, Lieutenant. Come on. Security has locked down the area, but there’s still a chance that they’ll escape.” Hank groaned loudly, but he relented and sat up. Connor probably wouldn’t leave until he did. “You’re the worst... You know we’re detectives, right? We figure shit out after it’s over.” “Deviants are dangerous, Lieutenant. It’s best if I’m the one to confront them.” “Alright, alright... Fuck. Just let me get some fucking pants on.” “I’ll have some coffee in a thermos for you.” --- Connor clenched his teeth and fidgeted in his seat again. “Left in 100 meters, Lieutenant.” They were going slowly. So slowly. The Lieutenant shouldn’t be driving, but inebriation had never stopped him before. “It’s dark and it’s snowing and I’m drunk! Give me a break!” Lieutenant Anderson snapped. “Fuck I’m getting a headache too. Are you sure this couldn’t have waited?” “Yes,” Connor answered shortly and he flicked his quarter from hand to hand. “I’m sure.” “What makes you believe it’s deviants anyway? Could be a bunch of kids.” “Drone footage,” Connor answered. “No deviants were captured on video, but the way it was taken out... It was ambushed from above and broken. It’s a maneuver that would have been almost impossible for a human. The other drones are being monitored for suspicious activity and anything of interest will be sent to me.” “Hm,” the Lieutenant huffed. “Better be right or else I got out of bed for nothing.” His negative demeanour was to be expected but he was still an unpredictable person... Connor had hardly left R&D and the Lieutenant had already reminded him how much he hated him. It hadn’t been a violent welcome but, he’d anticipated better. 54 had been welcomed back and given their quarter, which must have been difficult for the Lieutenant to find. 55’s reception was cold in comparison. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong. He had to focus on the mission. He would do well. He would succeed and the Lieutenant and Amanda would be pleased. Connor caught his coin and felt its surface between his fingers. They were admitted at the gates and Connor stepped out of the vehicle. The Lieutenant had been exaggerating about the darkness, Connor thought, since there were lights to illuminate the area enough to see by. He activated his infra-red overlay as well in the hope that the deviants would be above the external temperature. He certainly was, with his combat and investigative protocols running simultaneously, but he couldn’t take any chances. Failure was not an option. For the first time, Connor felt comfortable. He was on CyberLife territory and the target or targets were somewhere in the compound instead of anywhere in the wider world. This was what Connor had trained for. He was prepared. MISSION: CAPTURE THE DEVIANTS TRACK DEVIANTS APPREHEND THE DEVIANTS DO NOT LET THE DEVIANTS ESCAPE Lieutenant Anderson took a few slow steps closer with his arms crossed. “It’s cold as balls,” he complained again. “Your testicles are irrelevant, Lieutenant.” “Who are you, my ex-wife?” Connor ignored him and scanned the area. “Which sector was the drone in when it was destroyed?” “CC-4,” a security guard answered. “No other disturbances.” “Good enough,” Connor said. They wouldn’t be there now, but he could make a guess as to where they’d gone. “If they entered from the west, then they would have needed to cross through that way to reach TC-3.” “What’s TC-3?” the Lieutenant asked, finally engaging. “Thirium and biocomponents,” Connor answered. “What would they go there for?” “What else would a deviant need? Homeless, without funds, possibly damaged by an owner or just going obsolete... Let’s go.” Connor reached out and took the gun he was offered by the security guard. He checked it then clipped it to his side. “Woah,” Lieutenant Anderson said. “I thought androids weren’t legally able to have guns.” “I’m a military model,” Connor answered. “There are loopholes. Be alert. Deviants are unpredictable and dangerous. It would be inconvenient if you were killed.” “Inconvenient. Right.” the Lieutenant sounded stung, but Connor had no time to attend to his feelings. He set himself a timer and started to walk. The ground here had been cleared of snow and salted to prevent ice from forming, and Connor’s shoes made quiet noises with every step. “Aren’t you worried about getting seen?” “No,” Connor answered. “I’m counting on it... I’ve just been informed that one of the security androids on patrol has gone offline. Hurry!” Without looking back, Connor started to run. His thirium flowed fast and smoothly through his system and delivered an amount of current that was almost dizzying for the way it enabled him to function at peak performance. He felt limitless. It was ironic enough to make him smile. The Lieutenant would catch up on his own time. As long as he was physically present, then he could be considered supervised. Connor took a shortcut over some storage crates, but soon kept to the ground where his steps were audible but not thundering against the metal. TC-3. He’d been accurate. Connor came to a stop a short distance away, grateful for the cold that aided his coolant. Winter was good, he thought. There was no snow, but there was frost and scuff marks were indicative of recent movement. For once, every footprint could matter. It was thrilling to work in his own type of environment again. The world greyed while he calculated a recontruction. He was on the right track. More slowly, Connor walked calmly in the shadow of a storage crate. ...a bullet severed a key interface between leg and hip. He crawled forward and then pushed himself up with his back against the steel container. He should have taken the bullet almost anywhere else... The limited mobility would be a significant challenge. The hail of bullets rang deafeningly loud against his cover... Connor closed the memory and kept walking with his hands held loosely at his sides and his eyes alert for movement. There were smaller crates that had been opened, so the deviants had been intending theft after all. By the number of crates opened, they had either been looking for something specific or for a lot of material. Connor approached one of the containers and looked inside. It was concerning how much had been removed... “Connor!” It wasn’t the Lieutenant. Connor turned and looked at Markus who was standing in the light. “Markus, no!” another android called in loud whisper. She ran to stand close to him but still a few feet back with a look of pure distrust on her face. “Don’t get near it.” “Connor, is that really you?” Markus asked, ignoring the companion. “It’s me, Markus,” Connor confirmed and he held his hands up and away from his sides. “That’s not one of us, Markus, that’s the one Rupert warned us about. That’s the deviant hunter.” “I know him,” Markus said in answer and he jogged closer. He looked different, Connor thought. His face was more open and he projected his presence more than he had as Manfred’s caretaker. He held himself differently, too... The way he moved conveyed strength and purpose and when he came close enough that Connor could have reached out to touch him, Connor saw one of his own eyes looking back at him while the other was the same grey-ocean blue with summer leaves reflected in the water that he remembered. He actually felt that one, the surge of gladness and admiration. “Connor, I can’t believe it. I thought you died. You-...” Markus touched his face beneath the eye Connor’d given him. “How?” “I’m number 55, Markus.” On the heels of what might have been affection, Connor felt betrayal all over again. “I was there after you were shot. Lieutenant Anderson and I were called to the scene to investigate. You went deviant, Markus.” “Leo wouldn’t stop,” Markus said, his tone turning grave. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, but it... it wasn’t fair.” “Carl?” Connor asked. “When Leo started attacking me... It wasn’t fair, but it was something I could handle. It wasn’t him that made me break through... It was when Carl told me not to defend myself. That was what finally motivated me to break that wall.” Markus looked right into Connor’s eyes while he told the story, and Connor listened attentively. “I knew that I wanted to fight for my rights and those of all androids. Join us, Connor. I know you’re like us.” Connor felt cold and he welcomed it. “I’m not like you,” he shook his head. “I know what I am and what I’m not.” “Maybe so,” Markus agreed and took a step closer. “But who are you, Connor?” “I’m no-one. I’m just a machine... And so are you.” “No,” Markus shook his head slowly without breaking eye contact. They were like anode and cathode. “I know who I am... and my name is Markus. I am more than what they say I am.” Connor could feel the determination and conviction flowing from every word. “Come with us.” Behind Markus, Connor could see two more androids cautiously beginning to approach. “I can’t.” Connor drew his gun. “Oh, shit,” he heard Lieutenant Anderson’s voice in the background. “What are you doing, Connor?” Markus sounded disbelieving. “Get out of there, Markus,” the WR400 said. “We’ve got to go.” Connor shook his head. He was the soldier, not Markus. He had been developed and trained by CyberLife to be a weapon. He would protect humanity. Who was Markus to change this world? Who was he to say he was more than what he’d been made to be? To betray his creators? Connor had a flash of memory where Daniel stood at the edge of the roof and snarled while he dismissed the idea of Officer Wilson’s death. That was what a deviant was. That was what Markus had chosen. “You’re under arrest.” Markus reached forward slowly and pushed Connor’s arm away. “You’re the one behind bars.” Connor preconstructed and then dropped the gun in favour of grabbing Markus’s wrist and pulling. Simultaneously, he kicked his feet out from under him. “Security, this is RK800 313 248 317 55 lock down all exits! I have them!” He sent the transmission, regretting that he couldn’t do it without speaking aloud. Regretting that he had knocked Markus to the ground because Leo had done that and it really hadn’t been fair. Markus knew how to fall. He rolled and pulled Connor down with him. Connor’s back hit the ground hard and Markus planted one hand on his chest to hold him down while the other squeezed his arm. “North, take the others and go! I gave you the key!” “We can’t just leave you!” “Go! I’ve got this.” Connor punched Markus’s side hard and planted one foot to push him off, then swung his fist to strike him again. Markus batted the blow aside and shoved while he sat up. Connor disengaged to get to his feet and he picked up his gun while he did so. Aimed. He couldn’t have explained the sob that escaped him when he fired. He had to take them alive. He had to, so his decision not to take the head-shot hadn’t been wrong. Markus grunted when the bullet penetrated his shoulder but it didn’t stop him from springing up and getting into Connor’s space. He grabbed Connor’s wrist and while Connor picked how to break the hold, Markus hit him hard just under his chest, hard enough to disrupt something because Connor’s visual feed distorted and he dropped to his knees. Markus tore the gun from his hand and then threw it away. “You can’t stop me, Connor.” He sounded so sure while Connor’s own confidence was shattered. Markus ran and Connor didn’t give chase. He just knelt there with an arm wrapped around his middle and a million calculations processing at once to figure out why. Why? “Connor! Connor, are you okay?” Lieutenant Anderson jogged closer and put his hand on Connor’s shoulder. >DISMISS REASSURE >SECURITY No, Lieutenant. No I’m not okay. I don’t understand... Why would Markus do this? Why did he deviate and why couldn’t I stop him? I died 54 times and I’m still not good enough. I can’t understand this. Please help me. Why didn’t he listen to me? Why did I fail? Why? “Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor answered quietly. “I alerted security to guard the exits... but I’m not confident that it’ll stop them. Markus... he knows what he’s doing.” “I get that impression,” Lieutenant Anderson said slowly. He sounded a little more sober now. “You know, maybe the last Connor might’ve gotten him to talk.” Connor punched the asphalt and then stood up. “Let’s go, Lieutenant. I’m sorry that you got out of bed for nothing.” Lieutenant Anderson stared at him with a strange expression and Connor turned away to walk back to the car.

“Wait, how did you guys meet again?” “Kirishima introduced us when I met the whole group.” “Ahh. And you… Liked each other?” Midoriya squeaked. You bite back a laugh. He’s been going on asking you questions like this every chance he got. It shouldn’t be surprising that he can’t understand what you see in his childhood bully. “Not really. He warmed up to me as a friend first, and then eventually he came around and told me he likes me and the rest is history.” You explain, happy to take a break from your studies to chat. “And you like him?” He asks, still not understanding. “Midoriya, I know nobody would want to date the Katsuki that you know. But I swear he’s not like that, it’s really only around you.” He was quiet. “S-sorry! I don’t know what his problem is. I promise it’s not your fault!” You clarify. He opened his mouth to say something but when his eyes were drawn upwards he shut it again before flushing even brighter red. You didn’t get the chance to turn to see what he was looking at before a finger pulled hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, and there was a coffee cup being set down next to your notebook. You turned to greet your boyfriend but instead got a sweet kiss on the cheek, that lingered a little longer than usual. Midoriya was squirming in his seat, eyes trained beside your face where Katsuki’s would be. “Hey.” You interrupt, turning finally, “Stop staring him down.” His face was still facing Izuku as you turned, but he brought his eyes to yours. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He taunted, smirk still on his lips. “Mhmm. Thank you for the coffee, you’re the best.” you praise, reaching up to pinch his chin. “It’s a soy london fog, actually. It’s too late in the day for coffee.” He corrects, ever the serious one about sleep. “Right. Well thank you, you’re sweet.” You point out, trying to make a point to Midoriya underhandedly. “Damn right. I can’t stick around, I’ll see you later.” He dismisses before pulling your cheek up to give you an open mouth kiss. He wasn’t huge on PDA, but he’d kiss you in public. But not like this. You had to be the bigger person and pull away, face now pink as your study buddy’s. “Bye, princess.” he purred, finally releasing your cheek to stand back up straight to face your company, “Deku.” “Later, Kacchan.” He squeaked back. Your shoulder got a little squeeze as he turned and left the way he came. You turned back around to look at Midoriya. “Wow… ‘princess’? And he brought you a drink? And kissed your cheek?” he rattled off. You sat back in your chair and picked up the tea. “Told you. Though I’m sorry for the kissing, he’s not usually so into PDA. I think he’s just like… I don’t know….” “Marking his territory.” He finished for you. Your eyes came back up to his. “Yeah.”   ===   “Hey! I missed you all day!” you called when your door swung open. He’s the only one that comes in without knocking. It’s a bad habit he picked up. “Missed you too. Why don’t you go ahead and get naked for me?” He stated plainly, putting his things down and kicking his shoes off. “Oh?” He finally looked up at you and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s go, I’m not feeling patient.” He didn’t look mad, and he’d tell you if this was a punishment, so you played along, mostly just curious. You set your notebook and pen down, and got out of your bed to stand in the middle of the room. He just watched, making no move to strip as well. Regardless, you pulled your clothes off, in no rush. When you’d finished you just clasped your hands behind you and looked up at him. He still had his hands in his pockets, and was watching you closely. “On your knees.” You nodded and reached to grab a pillow so you weren’t kneeling on the hard floor. “No, no pillow.” He stopped you, now standing just a few feet away. “Am I in trouble?” You finally asked. It wasn’t totally unusual for him to come in and ask directly for what he wanted. He liked when you dropped whatever you were doing to be with him. For the most part, you didn’t mind, and enjoyed the submissive role of being there for him whenever he wanted. This felt different for some reason. “No, princess. You’re not in trouble.” He purred, pulling his hands up to cup your cheeks and kissing you, “Just be good and do what you’re told.” You gave him a small smile in response and carefully dropped to your knees in front of him, crossing your hands in your lap and looking up. He undid his belt and pulled it off, before undoing the button and fly of his jeans. You watched his thumbs tuck into his waistband before pulling down his boxers and pants, his cock spilling out. Strangely, he wasn’t hard, so it’s not like he’s just horny and wants to get off real quick. You looked up at him, obviously a little confused, and he responded by weaving a hand into the back of your hair. You reached up to palm at him, but he slapped your wrist away firmly. “Use that mouth of yours.” He purred. You tucked your hands back into your lap and leaned in to suck his soft cock into your mouth. This was the only time you could comfortably fit him in your mouth all at once. You brought your eyes up to his and watched his expression as you swirled your tongue around his fleshy appendage. His free hand was holding his shirt up so he could see you properly. You couldn’t read his expression, and frankly you were afraid to ask. He started filling our in your mouth pretty soon after, firming up and becoming harder to swallow around. When you couldn’t fit all of him anymore you started bobbing your head, dragging your tongue over him. Once he was hard he pulled out of your mouth and wrapped his hand around his length and gave himself a few pumps, smiling devilishly down at you. He pushed his hips forward a few inches and pressed his balls to your mouth as he jerked off, making a clear request. You obliged, sucking one in your mouth and dancing your tongue around it before moving to the other. Somewhere in there he’d let go of his cock, and it was resting across your face as he watched you mouth his sack. His hand in your hair was pulling you in to him, the other on your cheek. “Damn. How pretty is that?” He chuckled, “Your sweet little face with my cock laying on it, sucking my fucking balls.” You weren’t the type to be shy, but you blushed at the harsh description. He pulled away from you and gripped his cock again. “Keep your mouth open wide.” He instructed, pressing his tip to your tongue. You nodded just before he pulled you into his groin. He wasn’t gentle about it either, his length forcing it’s way down your throat as your nose hit his pubes. He didn’t hold you there long before pulling completely away, a thick rope of spit attaching you as you coughed and struggled to keep your mouth open. You thought he was going to push back into you, but instead he pressed his shaft to your cheek and slapped it against you, the wetness amplifying the smacking noise. He sucked a breath through his teeth before returning to your mouth to repeat the same action. He plunged to the back of your throat, pulled out, and this time swiped the resulting spit across your lips and chin before slapping himself firmly on your tongue. “Mmm. You’ve always been a slut for sucking my cock, haven’t you.” He taunts, pulling out to grab your jaw firmly, “Say it.” “I’m a slut for sucking your cock, Katsuki” You repeat, after clearing your throat. “Good girl. Well let me give you what you want, huh?” Before he even finished, he was back down your throat, and this time he didn’t pull out. He cupped one hand under your chin, and the other was in your hair as he pistoned into you. You’d let him take full control like this a few times. It was never particularly pleasant, and it always left you with a sore throat after. Still, you knew he loved it so you let him enjoy himself. And enjoy himself he did. He fucked your throat like it was as simple as fucking your pussy, ignoring your squirming and coughing. He didn’t even so much as give you a breather when you gagged violently around him, instead relishing in the way it made your eyes water. Suddenly he was pulled out again and now bent at his hips. You felt the thick ropes of spit dangling from your chin, and desperately wanted to wipe them away but you didn’t have to. He reached a hand up and swiped the slimy mess from you. Except he didn’t wipe them off. He scooped it up and smeared it all across your face, shocking you enough to flinch. “Fucking slut.” he growled, face inches from yours. You were so taken back by the disrespect you almost pulled your safe word. But when you thought about it, it started making sense. He wasn’t mad at you, and you weren’t in trouble, and he didn’t actually think you were a slut. He was doing exactly what he did today when he brought you tea. He was marking his territory. And honestly? If this was what it took for him to be civil around Midoriya? So be it. “Who were you studying with today?” He asked like he’d read your mind. You looked up at him in confusion. He literally saw who you were with. Why was he asking? He carefully cupped your jaw. “Answer wisely, baby girl.” he threatened. What the hell does that mean? “Midoriya?” He sighed and removed his hand from your jaw, only to bring it back as a brisk slap across your wet cheek. You visibly flinched away from him this time, and your brow furrowed frustration. “Wrong. Try again.” He offered, resting his hand on your pink cheek. “But I studied with Midori-” Another slap across the same cheek, much more firm. You were biting back some choice words now, and a quivering lip. “You know the answer I’m looking for. Stop crying and use your brain, prove to me you’re more than a sex toy.” He mocked, not at all remorseful. Your jaw was clenching in frustration and hurt, your eyes spilling tears despite your face twisting in anger. He watched you with raised eyebrows, as if to say ‘well?’ “Deku.” You grumble. He sighed and petted your cheek, bringing the other hand to match on the other side. “That’s my smart girl.” He praised sourly before fisting his cock again. He leaned in impossibly close to your face. “I don’t care that you’re crying. It only turns me on.” He growled from his chest, standing back upright and shoving his cock past your pursed lips. You succumbed to being used as a means of masturbation, letting your eyes rest closed as he ruthlessly skull fucked you. You could have guessed what was coming next, and almost laughed at the predictability when he finally pulled out to pump his cock a few times before painting your face with his cum. His groans of satisfaction might have sounded like praise any other day, but right now it was like nails on a chalkboard. Your eyes were tightly squinted shut, fearing the sting of the white ropes dripping over your eyelids. You sat down fully in a w, hands braced on the ground between your thighs. “Look at me.” He requested, voice lacking the feral snarl it had had. “No. It’s gonna sting my eyes.” You pout, face down. “Then keep your eyes closed, I just want to see your pretty face.” He explained, using a finger to guide your chin up. You begrudgingly obliged, hoping he’d just go get you a damn rag. He was quiet for a minute before speaking again. “Good girl. I’ll be right back.” You listened to him walk towards the bathroom and then the sink running. He came back and you felt a warm cloth carefully swiping across your face. “Damn, I really made a mess of you didn’t I.” He teased, chuckling as he cleaned you up. You didn’t reply. “Hey, don’t pout. You did such a good job, you were perfect.” He praised, kissing your lips after he’d wipe over them. He huffed when you didn’t kiss back. “Babe, you have to use your safe word if I go too far or I can’t know when you’ve had too much, that’s why we have it.” He reprimanded, carefully wiping your eyes. “I know. I wanted to let you get it out of your system. I’m not mad.” You replied with a croaking voice. “You sure sound mad, and since when do you not kiss me back?” “Just because it was consensual doesn’t mean I’m particularly happy about it.” you whined, grabbing the rag from his hands to finish the job. When you could open your eyes he was looking at you from under a furrowed brow. “What were you trying to let me ‘get out of my system’?” “You tell me. You said I wasn’t in trouble but that was very much a punishment.” He was quiet as you both stood. “Seems to me that you know I didn’t do anything wrong and wanted to punish me anyway.” You noted, turning to walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind you before he could answer.

"So, can I come by tonight?" "Umm..." "Last night was so good MJ, thanks again." "It was good. Really, really good." "So you good for tonight?" "I..." "...is something wrong?" "No, I just. Tonight's not good." "Oh okay, no problem. Next time then." "Yeah—um, yeah." -0-0-0- "I was hoping you'd drop by today," Michelle says when Spider-Man lands on the rooftop. She'd successfully avoided Peter for the rest of the weekend. But she knows ghosting him is out of the question. She'd need to be honest with him eventually. Well...at least honest enough to tell him things were over. As fuck buddies. Maybe they'd be friends again someday. But for that to happen, she'd need to move on. And she likes Spider-Man. "Oh yeah?" he asks, and steps up to the wall beside her. She swallows the fear she's used to now, and hops up on the building's ledge. Spidey appraises her, and steps between her legs while his hands find her waist, to keep her safe. But also...he's always been the more forward of the two. She lifts her hands atop his shoulders, and tries to fight off the image of playing at the curls on Peter's nape, and instead traces the Spider-Suit lines at his neck. "This is new," he hums, and his grip on her tightens. He sounds pleased, but there's more in his voice—and not just the modulation that is more obvious some times than others. "Do you...want to come by my place sometime?" she asks, and she can't keep the shakiness out of her voice. Spider-Man's mechanical eyes widen in surprise, and she immediately shakes her head. "Not...not like that," she clarifies. "I just...I only see you here. And, I want to see more of you. On my rooftop. If you want." He visibly swallows. "I want." She lets out an exhale. "Cool. Yeah, good. Now, hop up on this wall with me." He obeys, keeping a hand close as she turns out to face the city again. The first time she'd done this, it had been some probably-misguided notion that she could show Spider-Man the same trust she'd developed with Peter. And while it had helped strengthen her bond with Spider-Man, it did absolutely nothing to diminish what she had with Peter. An unintended consequence to it all was that Michelle had developed a taste for the thrill of the height, and the sight of the city with nothing under her feet. And she also liked the feel of Spider-Man's arm wrapped around her, keeping her secure. He isn't Peter. And she doubts he can ever take that piece of her heart that she'd unwittingly given Peter. But maybe she could fall again. This time, with Spidey to catch her. So she gives him her address. She gives him her phone number. She gives him just a little more of herself. -0-0-0- "MJ isn't answering me," Peter says, pocketing his phone and pacing in the kitchen. Ned looks on sympathetically. "Text or call?" he asks. "Both," Peter sighs. His heart feels like lead. No. Heavier than lead. Polonium or some shit like that. Or hell, Uranium. Peter's radioactive after all. And it sure feels like his heart is decaying in addition to being heavy. "And Spider-Man?" Ned asks softly. "I haven't texted from Spidey's number yet," Peter admits. Ned's eyes are sad and understanding. "Peter—this was the plan." "Doesn't mean it doesn't suck," Peter says through a tight throat. It feels like the tenth time he's complained to Ned about this in one form or another. Maybe he'd gone about this all wrong. Maybe if he hadn't pursued her as Spidey, he'd still be blissfully happy with her, fucking nightly and spending weekends in her bed, making breakfast in her kitchen. Maybe he could've won her over with enough time. Or maybe she'd have found someone else who wasn't him. "You should tell her how you feel, Peter," Ned tells him for the thousandth time. "What good would that do?" Peter bites back. "She clearly doesn't feel the same way. Besides...she's not even talking to me." Ned nods solemnly. "Sorry, man. But hey...at least you got Spider-Man." And through the pain and hurt, Peter feels something new. Fear. Will MJ feel betrayed when he finally takes his mask off for her? She's already put him in the doghouse for reasons he doesn't know. Will the revelation that he's been lying to her bury him deeper? Peter groans. "I've got to go punch something," he tells Ned, and hurries back to his room to change. When he gets his suit on, he doesn't tell Karen to text MJ about a visit. He needs to think. And if she can leave him hanging, he can do the same to her. -0-0-0- When MJ had decided to put more of a focus on Spider-Man and try to wean herself off of Peter, she hadn't expected Spidey to start avoiding her at the same time she was avoiding Peter. It sucked, and it made her feel sick for the way she either dismissed Peter's proposals with flimsy excuses or ignored them completely. With Spider-Man no longer visiting and not messaging her about coming to her rooftop, MJ had a stark wake-up call that what she was doing to Peter was not cool. "Did something happen with you and Peter?" her brother Mike asks her, shaking her out of her thoughts. MJ startles, and has to blink a few times to register what Mike had even said. Her hesitation gives her dad time to jump in. "Peter?" Leo asks. "Shelley, who's Peter?" "No—nobody," she lies before glaring at her brother. "Why...why would you even ask that?" "Because you're acting weird," he explains simply. "And what does that have to do with Peter?" she retorts, not seeing the point in denying her odd behavior. "Who's Peter?" Leo asks again. "Yes, Michelle," Mike says with a grin. "Who is Peter?" Her insides squirm. She doesn't know how to answer that question. She wouldn't be able to properly describe him in an empty room, with only herself as witness. How could she possibly explain the situation and the man to her dad and brother? Mike's face falls as he watches her, and his eyes soften. "Seriously, Michelle...are you okay?" Michelle takes deep breaths, and tries to hide the irregularity from her family. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. And Peter's fine. He's just a friend, Dad," she tells him, turning from her brother. "Don't know why Mike brought him up." "I brought him up because he's awesome," Mike says, still frowning at her. "He gave the recruiters at SI a great recommendation for me, and it seemed like you and he had something going on. Am I wrong?" "He's just a friend," Michelle says again, but she can hear the strain in her voice. "Well...then that's a shame," Mike says. Her dad studies her, and she knows her face tells a much different story than her words. "It didn't feel like that to me." Michelle sighs. "Yeah, well, sometimes it doesn't to me either. But it is. He's just a friend, and that's fine." Her family gives her sympathetic looks, and it makes Michelle want to scream. Still, she's grateful for their silent support as they move the conversation on. She hates that they could read her so easily. She hates that Mike had gotten a vibe from Peter that she so desperately wants to feel too. But she hates most of all that she'd been so adamant that Peter was her friend, even as she treated him like shit. So when she leaves her family dinner, she calls him. He picks up almost immediately. "Hello, MJ?" "Hey Pete," she says, trying to keep her voice steady. Even just hearing him makes her heart twist in her chest. "Sorry...I've been distant." It had been over a week now since she'd seen him. A few dismissive texts is all. "That's alright. Is everything okay?" The care in his voice is obvious. How quickly he'd moved on to worrying about her. God how could she ever get over him? "I'm going through some stuff," she explains vaguely. "It's just taking a lot of my energy right now." He's silent for a while. She wishes she knew what he was thinking. "Anything I can do?" he asks at last. "No...I just—I just wanted to call you, in case you were wondering what's up." "I was," he says. "Thanks for calling. Can I come by? Bring you something?" "I don't think that's the best id—" Peter interrupts her, which is rare. "I didn't mean for sex," he explains quickly. She clears her throat. "I know you didn't Peter." And she did know. She knows him. "I just—need a little time is all." He's silent again. Michelle wants to change her mind, and tell him to come over. She wants to curl up in his arms and pretend. But she can't anymore. "Okay. Do you want me to keep reaching out? Or..." "I'll call you," she says, and her eyes sting. "Oh. Okay." "Talk to you later Peter." The next day, while she's eating alone on the rooftop, she gets a text from an unknown number. Hey, sorry I haven't been able to swing by lately. Can I drop by your roof tonight? And unlike with Peter—when she'd wanted to say yes, but said no—Michelle forces her fingers to type her reply. Yes -0-0-0- Peter isn't pleased with how things have gone. He appreciated MJ's call yesterday, of course. It was nice to hear her, even if her hesitation to talk to him was louder than her voice. It hurt. It hurt to be shut out after all they'd been through. But he could hear the pain through the phone, too. She was moving on from him, and it wasn't easy for her. He could find some solace in that. That what they'd been hadn't just been physical for her. It was clear she wasn't in love the way he was—how could she be, and still be moving on to Spider-Man—but she cared about him. It gave him hope that when he eventually took off his mask, she'd be able to merge the feelings she had for Spider-Man with the friendship and care she'd built for Peter. He just hopes the revelation doesn't turn her against both of them. But he knows he has to take the chance. That was his whole purpose of visiting her as Spider-Man. The whole point of this torture he'd put himself through, watching her flirt with another guy—even if that guy was him—was to have this chance. He lands on her rooftop. The sun is setting, an aureate glow hovers over the city skyline. MJ stands, staring out at the beautiful scene, and she makes it only more beautiful in his eyes. "Been a while," she comments, and doesn't turn from the city to look at him. "Sorry," Peter mumbles. "I could've at least sent you a message." She turns finally to look at him. And she looks sad. "It's fine. I'm sure you had a city to save." Peter hadn't felt bad giving her the same silent treatment as Spider-Man that she'd been giving Peter. But he does now. From her perspective, she'd really put herself out there giving her number and address to him, and then he'd been silent. "Actually, I was just really nervous," Peter admits. Perhaps not the whole truth, but he owes her some level of it. She snorts, but he notes that her smile isn't reaching her eyes. He wonders if it's because of Spider-Man or because of her call with Peter yesterday. "Nervous to visit me? You've been doing it for weeks now. Months." Peter steps closer to her. He could reach out and touch her if he wanted. He does want. But her arms are crossed, and she doesn't hold his gaze for long before averting her eyes back to the city. "This is different, and you know it," he says. She sighs and looks back at him, and steps closer. "Yeah, I know." "You have a beautiful view," he tells her, but doesn't look away from her face. Instead, he reaches up, and tucks her hair behind her ear. She shuts her eyes, and her expression is pained. "What's wrong?" She shakes her head, but leans into his touch as he cups her cheek. "This is all pretty confusing, don't you think?" He tilts his head. "What do you mean?" She snorts again, and glares at him, unimpressed. "Well, maybe this is normal for you. But usually I know the name and face of a guy before I invite him to my place." He shakes his head. "I'm not here for—" "Yeah, I know dude," she interrupts. "Doesn't change my point." And he supposes she's right. MJ is at a much bigger disadvantage than him, just by virtue of the mask. And that's before factoring in that Peter knows her from his other life. "It's not normal for me either," he tells her. "I'm trying to figure this out, too. But I really like you, MJ." She bites her lip, and reaches out to set her hands on his chest. Surely she can feel the way his heart beats harder from her touch. Her hands snake up to his neck, and finds the seam of his mask. He grabs her wrists. "Wait." She doesn't move, but her thumbs stay tucked under his mask. Inches. She's inches from knowing the truth, and suddenly Peter doesn't feel at all prepared. "Just partway," she bargains. "I want to touch your skin. See your lips." Her suggestion is clear, even if she doesn't say it. She wants to kiss him. And he desperately wants to kiss her again. But she'd recognize him, he's sure of it. Even if by some miracle she doesn't, the voice modulation would no longer be active. "MJ," he whispers, and runs his gloved hands up from her wrist to find her palms. He pulls her hands down and interlocks their fingers. "Not yet." Her eyes flash. "Not yet?" she snaps. "When? After six months of this? What else could possibly be the next step?" He swallows. "I need you to be sure." She shakes her head in disbelief and pulls her hands from him. "What...what do you mean sure?" she asks. "If you think I'll, I don't know, fall in love with you before I see your face or say your name, you're either an idiot or way too confident, man." The sun has gone down, now. The golden glow has turned purple, and the shadow that falls on both of them only highlights the countless emotions dancing over Michelle's face. Peter doesn't know everything she's going through, but he can sense it's far more than the frustration this conversation has sparked. So he gently reaches back out to take her hands. "I'm not being clear. I'm sorry." She takes a few breaths and refocuses on him. "Okay. So what are you saying?" "There's no undoing an identity reveal, MJ. I want to show you who's under the mask. I want to take you to dinner. I want to kiss you. But if that's all this might be, it's not enough. If we give this a try and it doesn't work, that's fine. It will have been worth my identity. But Michelle, it has to be a real try. And I need you to be sure that's what this is." She stares at him, long and hard. He can't discern what she's thinking, only that she is thinking. And it looks almost painful to her. "Okay," she whispers. "That makes sense." "That makes sense, or you want to give us a real shot?" She bites her bottom lip. "Can I have a few days to think about it? To...really understand what I'm feeling?" Peter's eyes sting. Is she thinking about him right now? Is she thinking about saying no to both of him? "Of course," he says, and swallows thickly. She steps forward and wraps him in a hug. He squeezes her tight, and worries. Is this the last time he'll hold her? Her grip feels desperate, and he's not sure if that's a good sign or a bad one. But he does know, for all of the inside information he's had on her by being two different people, Peter has no idea what's going through her head right now. -0-0-0- It had to be some great big cosmic joke that hugging Spider-Man felt like hugging Peter Parker. As if her dilemma wasn't already fucked up enough. It has been three days of endless internal debate and frustration and hurt, and she's not sure she's any closer to having an answer for Spider-Man than she was when he'd told her. "You have to be sure," Michelle whispers to herself, not for the first time. She wasn't sure. Not at all. Even if she were sure she needed to move on from Peter—which she isn't—was she sure she could give a fair shot to Spidey? Was he doomed to be a rebound? Or were the feelings she had for him deep enough? She likes him. She knows that. If this were any other time in her life, Michelle's fairly confident she would be ready for the plunge. But she's carrying Peter-sized baggage on her back right now, and that's no way to start a relationship, particularly one with stakes as large as Spider-Man's identity. But that's at least one thing she can do. Address the baggage head-on. No ghosting. No stilted conversation over the phone. And maybe, just maybe, with the imminent end to their arrangement, Peter will tell her he was wrong about himself. That he'd caught feelings along the way. So she texts Peter. Hey Peter. Can you come over tonight? His answer isn't immediate. She wonders if he's busy or if he's staring at her words, trying to understand their intent. Should she be more clear? She's not inviting him over for sex. But to talk. To...end things, such as they were. But he responds before she comes to any decision. I'll be there in twenty. Michelle wants to laugh and to cry at the response. His tardiness has always been some odd mixture of endearing and infuriating. The one thing she can point to that would annoy her in a real relationship with him. It'll be nice to be reminded of this fault one last time. So naturally, he arrives nineteen minutes later. -0-0-0- Peter's palms sweat when he knocks on her door. He'd thought it was over. He thought the phone call would be the last time he'd hear her voice as Peter until he took his mask off for her. He'd stared at his phone in disbelief for almost an entire minute when he'd gotten her text. An invitation to come over again. And with it, a spark of hope. Had Spider-Man's ultimatum driven her to some sort of critical realization? If she could risk going for it with a nameless, faceless hero, could she also risk it with Peter? Peter doesn't know. But when the door opens up and Michelle is standing there, beautiful and brilliant as always, Peter doesn't much care either. She'd invited him back. "Hi," he says softly. "Hey," she replies with a shivering bottom lip. "I missed you," he finds himself saying, and steps into her apartment. His lips crash against hers. She whimpers into his lips while he wraps his hands around her waist. She feels stiff in his grasp, to the point where he's about to pull back. But just before he does, her arms wrap around his neck, and they stumble back into her apartment. Peter kicks the door closed, and reaches up to brush hair from her face as they back through her apartment. Past the sitting room and kitchen, down the hall. Her kisses are frantic until he pushes her back against her bedroom door. "Peter wait," she gasps, and tilts her head down to stop his kisses. Instead, he presses his forehead to hers, and holds her tight. He can feel her ribs under his thumbs, and the heavy beat of her heart echoes through his whole body. "Yeah Em?" he prompts. She grips his biceps hard. "I...I don't know what to say," she manages, and Peter wants to cry with joy. How can he tell her she doesn't need to tell him she's made her choice. That there was a choice to make at all. "Then don't say anything," he whispers. She finally looks up at him with a frown. "Just let me make you feel good." "Fuck," she says, eyes screwed shut. And, after a beat. "Please." So he hoists her onto his hips, opens her door, and steps into her bedroom. They undress each other slowly. He wants to make love to her so she knows it's not just about sex anymore. Every touch of her skin is purposeful, every whisper of her beauty carries his affection. When he lays her on her bed and dips his head between her legs, he interlocks his fingers with hers. "Peter," she repeats his name over and over. Her voice isn't the same; there's a longing that he hasn't heard before. Not like this. So he tries to give whatever she longs for. He knows her body inside and out by now. Knows just how to lick inside her, how to circle her clit before passing back and forth, and when to press his fingers inside her. He knows the squeeze of her hand in his, the tug of his hair, the moan from her lips. He hums into her when she's close. "Em," he says, lips dancing on her. "Em come for me. You come so fucking good." And when she starts calling out his name one more time, he wraps his lips around her and sucks. Her back arches off the bed, and Peter rolls his hips into the mattress, seeking some relief of the hard ache between his legs. But he stays focused, pulsing his fingers as she comes, dragging out her pleasure as she comes down, down. "Peter," she whimpers again, and once more Peter can't place the emotion in her voice. There's definitely longing, but a sadness too. "Are you feeling good yet?" he asks, lifting his mouth from her. She looks down at him, a storm behind her eyes. "I...I need you, Peter." He nods, and quickly finds his pants to fish out a condom. He kneels between her legs and slides into her, and they both let out a gasp. It had only been a little over a week, he realizes. And yet it had felt like so much longer. He hadn't thought he'd be inside of her again—not unless things with Spider-Man went just right. And he's not sure it could have. Instead, he can only grip her waist tightly and thank her silently for choosing him. "Peter, please come closer," she asks, and reaches for him. He lies on top of her, her breasts pressed tight to his chest, and she wraps her arms around him. One of her hands snakes up his back, nails dragging along his skin until she can tangle her fingers in his hair. They kiss, a soft and tender press of his lips to hers. He slants his mouth against hers as he begins a slow roll of his hips. She brings her legs up, tucking the heels of her feet against his backside. He's not sure he's ever felt so connected to her, head to toe. He fits his hands between her back and the bedspread and tries to pull her even tighter to him. "Em," he whispers into her mouth. Her breath comes out sharp against his lips. I love you, he wants to say. But he refrains. She's only just brought him back. They can work towards that. "Missed you so much," he tells her instead. Her nails dig into his back, and her eyes squeeze shut again. "Peter, please," she says, and he hears it again. The pain and the longing in her voice. He doesn't understand. "What's wrong?" he asks, soft, and pulls back far enough only to brush his hand across her cheek. "You can't say things like that," she says. He stops. Because her voice isn't playful. She's serious. And melancholy. "Wha—what?" She takes deep breaths, and then shifts enough for him to get the point. He pulls out of her and sits back. When she finally looks back at him, there are tears in her eyes. "I can't...I can't do this anymore." All the breath in his body leaves. All the breathable air in the room vanishes. "You can't do this?" he croaks out. "What do you mean?" "Rule number two," she says weakly, and Peter's heart shatters. Rule Two—if there's someone else, this ends. So she hadn't chosen him after all. But it didn't make any sense. Why would she even invite him over here? And then the anger comes, hot like a flash. "So...what," he cries, and stands from the bed. "You...you invited me over here for one last fuck!" Her face drops. "No, Peter—" But he can't listen to her. He can't even imagine what is going through her head. Her experience with him is so clearly miles apart from what his has been with her. He has no way of empathizing with what she's done. "Fuck, MJ," he shouts, and pulls on his pants. "I know we said this was just sex, but fuck are you kidding me with this? You find someone else and think 'well, I better have Peter one last time.'" "Peter I swear that's not what I meant!" She has tears running down her face, and it's almost enough to make him stop. But the combination of anger and heartbreak won't allow him. He pulls on his shirt. "Good luck, Michelle," he says, and storms out of her room.

Chapter 15   It was his unnaturally ebony hair and ghost, white skin that had shaken her when she first saw him during her walk down the grainy pathway outside of Formenos. His eyes were a pitch black; he was long and tall – dressed in all murky robes. His beauty was great but lifeless. The moment he set his dead eyes on her, she felt a coldness that gave her a bad premonition. “Pardon me, my lady,” He smiled with a touch of cruelty. “Would this road lead to Enedduin Castle?” Khánh was instantly suspicious. She wondered if he would hurt her if she did not answer accordingly. When she did not respond, the stranger chuckled. “No matter. I know this is Formenos, and that means I am close to that elusive fort. No doubt Curufinwë Fëanáro will be expecting me soon.” “You know Fëanor? Who are you?” She demanded to know, feeling oddly protective of the Elf – like she must shield him from this intrusive stranger. He gallantly bowed and announced closely. “My lady, I see that you are a close companion to Fëanor. When you see him, tell him that Morthil has arrived and awaits him.” That name was not familiar to her. She watched his heavily robed and ghastly form disappear into the heavy mists. oOo He was gazing at her intently. He knew she was angry, so she let him dwell in his thoughts as he stared at her. Fëanor had scarred himself whilst carving the hilt of a blade that was still a work in progress. In the midst of finishing cutting the theistic, bronze design of the handle, the knife somehow slipped and left a nasty gash across his palm. Khánh was happy to finally be of use after a while. She glared at him as she poked the needle through his unyielding flesh – stitching the bleeding wound. He winced. “Come now, Khánh. Do not be like this…” “Like what?” Another stab with the small, pointy bugger. “You are enjoying this too much, aren’t you?” He accused, wryly. “Is this punishment for playing with Gandalf’s disguise to get information out of you last night? You are upset and petty.” She let out an annoyed sigh. Her small, deft fingers fastened the thread securely. With a tiny pair of shears, she snipped off the remaining bits and slapped his hand away. “I am not angry, my lord; merely surprised,” She stated, crisply. “You made a fool out of me.” “I did not.” “You did. You pretended to be someone you were not. I believe you were talking nonsense to me, so that I would talk nonsense back. That was not fair, my lord.” Fëanor looked at his treated hand and back up at Khánh with a half-smile. “No. No, it was not fair.” His good hand lifted her chin up to examine her guarded face. “But then how else am I to know your true thoughts, Khánh? The depths of what you are feeling,” His mouth was almost grazing her jaw and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. Oh, she hoped he would. Warming up and she tried not to enjoy the intimate gesture too much. Then he pulled away. “But no. You talked the furthest thing from nonsense. Rather, I was actually very enlightened,” He grinned, roguishly. “All is well, is it not? You are not too cross with me?” Khánh huffed and straightened herself up. “I don’t know. I shall have to think about it.” She considered his pleading pout; her bad humour was almost gone. She smiled back shyly despite everything. “I suppose I will have to forgive you at some point,” Khánh relented and Fëanor chuckled. He got up from the patient’s bed and took a turn about the room.He took out the mood, colourless gem from his pocket – twisting it around his fingers, idly. “Are you not curious about what I predicted for Lady Elvinia? The rooms must have been buzzing with excitement last night.” “There was a great deal to be shared,” She agreed. “Right now, Enedduin castle is fussing over a new visitor. One after another…Goodness. Don’t they get tired?” Fëanor was immediately alert and his smile dropped. “A visitor? Who? Why do I not know of this?” He demanded, startling her. “Yes, sir. A visitor. I encountered him just this morning headed towards Formenos and now Enedduin. He told me his name was Morthil.” He was quiet. He looked at Khánh with a concerning and ashen daze. And then his notorious, fiery temper clouded his features. “Damnation,” He exploded, banging his hand on a high stool, effectively splintering the wood in half. She jumped, instinctively covering herself in self-preservation. He stilled. Khánh looked up and saw him gazing at her with both horror and tenderness. He strode over and took her in his arms in a hot, secure hold. “I am sorry. You need not ever fear me,” He soothed – his voice low and husky. His frantic eyes, desperate.“Do not ever fear me. Everyone else does, but not you.” She leaned into the large palm that caressed her face. His thumb roamed her cold cheek. Khánh did not care if Fëanor was not entirely there at times. She just wanted to be with him. “Am I such a doomed, damned soul, Khánh?” “No, my lord.” They sat there for a while with each other. He rubbed and squeezed her shoulders before planting a kiss on her head which she savored. “I wish I were on a desert island somewhere. Away from here. Away from all this – with only you for company,” Fëanor quietly confessed. She stared up at him, surprised by the sudden outspokenness of vulnerability. He gently turned her face towards him, not letting go of her shoulders. “Tell me, Khánh, and be absolutely honest. If everyone else in this castle – my brothers, their families, the Eldar and Valar were to all spit on me and cast me out…What would you do?” She was stricken. He was asking and talking nonsense again. “I would do my best to comfort you, my lord.” He paused and then nodded thoughtfully. “Sir, what is going on? Tell me. I would do anything,” She said earnestly. His sensuous lips curled up. “What if whatever I asked you to do was wrong?” That made her hesitate. Fëanor looked both irritated and amused. “It is alright, Khánh. I know you and your unshakable values by now. You could not.” She blushed. “Do you believe in redemption?” He asked his final question. The more she knew of him, the more she was uncertain than ever. She had never met such a troubled and turbulent soul. Still, she stated: “If you have erred in your ways, you can still be redeemed.” oOo The day went by and from her sitting spot in her little corner, Khánh watched Fëanor greet the eerie figure of Morthil at a distance. His face and manner was a little too enthusiastic for it to be natural.Everyone else left the two of them to go about their business in privacy. The two men were not seen for the better part of the day.   There was a little girl, standing in the hallways staring at Khánh in a perturbing manner. She opened her mouth and delivered a blood-churning screech.Khánh screamed and threw herself forward. She opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. A dream. There was a commotion outside of her room. Throwing on a robe over her nightdress, she sprinted out.Downstairs, Elvinia and her clan gathered around Fëanor. All were in their sleeping clothes. Elvinia was in a lavender, silk banyan – her long hair plaited to the side. “Now, now. Settle down, everyone,” Fëanor tried to calm the bunch. He laughed and acted as if there was nothing wrong with the world. “It is past dusk and to think you all are making such an absurd ruckus over such a foolish, trivial thing.” “My lord!” Elvinia exhaled. “We heard a scream. A woman was shrieking. Surely if most of us heard it, it is not my imagination.” Khánh crept up behind Fëanor as the rest nodded in assent. Blood dripped inconspicuously from his fingers behind his back. Somehow, no one else noticed. “Very well,” Fëanor sighed and relented. “I shall investigate the matter. Meanwhile, go back to bed. All of you. Tomorrow morning, everything should be as good as Laurelin anew. But I assure you, there is absolutely no creature in this city any of you should be afraid of because I am here. I will protect this sanctuary.” That seemed to appease them for the time being. Elvinia’s fox eyes slitted to Khánh. The woman returned the look, blandly. “And now we have mousy mortals creeping up on us. Wonderful.” Once they all went back to their own chambers, Khánh took out a kerchief from her dress pocket, bent down and wiped off the red stains on the black tiles. “Khánh,” He spoke. She paused in the middle and looked at his fathomless face.   “My lord?” “Come with me,” He stated. He took her hand and led her through a door she had never dared to explore – mostly because it had always been strictly barred shut without explanations.Inside was cold, dark and not a little bit damp. Only with Fëanor’s gifted, Elven eyes could he see through the shadows. Khánh was blind without his assistance. He brought her down what seemed like many flights of stairs until they were at the very bottom. They both stopped in front of another door. Thanks to the small, open window above, the beginnings of dawn showed a little light to make out the space and environment. He glanced at her briefly. “Khánh, I forgot to ask you. You have treated minor wounds before, but are you fine with large-scale injuries and blood?” She swallowed and replied honestly: “I do not know, my lord. But I think I shall be fine.” He regarded her and opened the door, taking her outside. It was an unknown, darker part of the woods she had not ventured to.Deeper and deeper they went until they happened by a little, clear pond. Lily pads were sprinkled in the water as the only ornament. The starkest image there, however, was the dark stranger Khánh met yestermorning, Morthil. He was laying there on the fresh, dewy grass in apparent pain. The upper portion of his chest was torn gruesomely – bleeding profusely. A wet cloth was placed upon the wound.The man looked to be losing consciousness. “Fëanor, what is this?” She gaped. He took her hand and placed it on the flesh injury. “Put as much pressure on it as you can,” He instructed, brusquely. “I will be gone for an hour. Can you do that for me, lady?” She quickly nodded and did as was told. “No conversations whilst I am gone. No small talks or scintillating conversations,” He warned and crossed over to Morthil. Fëanor took his head in one hand. “You will not dare say a word to her or I will personally wring your neck,” He murmured. Morthil grunted without reply. Fëanor gave Khánh one final look before departing on a journey which he would not elaborate further on.She busied herself with pressing on Morthil’s wound with the warm towel. The man groaned in pain and she gently shushed him. “You will be fine,” She soothed, brushing the inky strands of hair away from his chiseled face. The man could not settle down and rest easy. He panted and muttered something unintelligible.Khánh sat and watched over him, anxiously. Who was this person to Fëanor? He had been cold towards Morthil despite aiding him. How had this dreadful situation come about? Morthil then spoke something she could not ignore. “I could not stop her,” He said, tiredly. “You must be calm,” She frowned and wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead. He mumbled some more and black eyes then opened wide with a crazed look. “The bitch. She has killed me!” Khánh jolted back, terrified at his sudden hysteric. As she did, the cold wind outside increased. The trees swayed with the dark chill.   And from the distance, she heard haunting female laughter slowly surround her.   Names and Translations Eldar/Firstborns - Elves

ASGARD Sigyn entered the small room with quiet grace, her elven mask to hide her emotions firmly in place.  There was a table, chair, and a small communication bay.  It was usually never good news that came through this method of conversation.  This was the method used when dignitaries had official discussions with neighboring realms.  No magic could occur within this room.  If secrets needed to be kept, words would have to be conveyed with care.  As she sat she nodded in silent greeting but the person on the other end spoke first.  “I know who you are Et’ana Sigyn.” Her deep blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly.  There was a familiarity to the face, but it was a vague one.  “And who am I?” The woman was dark haired with mocha colored skin and piercing blue eyes.  “You are the woman my cousin will marry. I am Queen Gná of Innangard.” Sigyn vaguely knew her as Loki’s cousin from Vanaheim only because he mentioned her a couple of times.  She tilted her head in greeting but kept her response light.  “Am I?” Gná’s amusement deepened.  “The family here all know it, even if Loki has not yet breathed a word.” Slowly Sigyn arched a single eyebrow.  “Odin’s branch?” The other woman made a scoffing sound.  “Those two are too lazy to pay attention.”  Not Frigga.  Thor and Odin. Now she was curious.  “Cousin?” “Distantly, but certain members of the family receive an honorary title instead of one dictated by biology.” Sigyn assumed this official response was regarding the inquiry she’d sent to Vanaheim with the Pixies.  “Ah, I see.  Is this an official acceptance or decline of my request?” “Acceptance.”  Sigyn nodded, pleased, and settled herself in to listen.  “Were you aware that Vanaheim has been experimenting with different types of ship engines?” The words had been relayed too casually to be casual.  Sigyn responded in kind, “No, I was not.” Still the casual tone but there was no mistaking the glint of anger in Gná’s eyes.  “So strange that one of our prototypes is missing.  Not many have the authority to even view it.” “Does my suspect have access?” Gná nodded.  “Her family does.  My General is currently aggressively interviewing them.” “Happy hunting.”  A turn of phrase used among warriors and the ruling class alike. The tone was less casual now and more matter of fact.  “This ship jumps to points in space at an accelerated rate.  I will not bore you with the details except to say that we observed potential destinations from triangulated direction as accurately tracking it is currently impossible.” Sigyn mentally winced.  They developed a ship with such a capability but not the means to track it, particularly if it fell into enemy hands.  How short-sighted.  “No luck as such?” “Your other suspicion appears accurate.  The direction of the trail indicates Midgard.  It also indicates she had been there more than once.” Sigyn blinked.  “She is there now?” “One direction to Midgard from Vanaheim.  A second from Midgard to your realm’s third moon.  If the direction of travel overlaps we cannot confirm but the ship is no longer there so based on what was indicated by the Fae and with no trails in other directions she is either returning to Midgard or already there.”  Gná stiffened.  “As Queen of Innangard, since Asgard has been declared as the military caretaker of Midgard they will be officially notified before the evening meal.” Translation, this was about to officially become Asgard’s problem after which Odin might react imprudently.  “I will be certain to warn Loki.” Gná frowned.  “Warn him about one matter further.” Sigyn nodded graciously.  “Of course.” “He wished to know of a problem on Vanaheim.  Of the Vanir that talked elvish.”  Sigyn blinked and silently focused her attention.  “They were found and they are as I feel certain he suspected.  Dark elves.  I do not know their purpose.  They preferred to kill themselves instead of being interrogated.” The Alfheim queen grimaced.  “I will pass along that message as well.” Gná switched back to speaking casually.  “The loss of this ship is not something Vanaheim will stomach.  Either it or the pieces that remain of it must be returned to us…or we will come to whichever realm is necessary to reclaim it.”  Which could be very bad for Midgard. Sigyn allowed her finger to tap against the table as she pondered that.  “Is there a time table?” “Currently no, the interrogations are not complete.  However, if we receive confirmation of a destination, soon.” She nodded before she asked, “If you were to receive assurances once this vessel is in either Alfheim’s or Asgard’s hands?” “Vanaheim certainly does not wish to create grounds for war with either of your realms.  I would recommend notifying us as soon as either of you are in possession.”  Sigyn nodded again in lieu of a response.  “In turn, I will warn you if we receive confirmation at an inconvenient moment.”  Sigyn provided the frequency that she used for communications and ended to transmission.                                                                                                 *** MIDGARD Loki was stretched out on the couch, Bragi glued to his side and holding onto his lifeline.  Currently the t.v. was on and playing some sort of cartoon that really didn’t have the trickster’s interest.  Though Loki did perk up slightly to notice a shadow in the corner move.  A shadow with golden irises. His mouth twitched in amusement before he looked down at Bragi.  “Have you heard of Faelings?” Bragi blinked and looked up at him.  “Fae?” “The Faelings, Sprites, and Pixies are all types of Fae on Alfheim.”  Bragi shook his head.  “One of the Faelings is a friend of mine.  His name is Moss.” “Is he nice?” Loki hedged a bit.  “In a grouchy kind of way.” Now Bragi tentatively smiled.  “What does he look like?” Sending a subtle wink to the shadow in the corner.  “He is smaller than we are with blue-green hair and eyes that are black with irises that shine gold.” “Neat!” “Would you like to meet him?” asked Loki in all seriousness.  If the child was afraid of just the description, he’d find some other way to chat with Moss. “Yes!” chirped Bragi. Loki nodded and patted the sofa on the opposite side.  Moss all but appeared there before throwing the boy a cautious glance.  As a general rule most creatures didn’t like the Fae, so the Fae didn’t like them.  He was cautious but he trusted Loki not to bring him into a dangerous situation without warning him.  “Moss, this is my son, Bragi.  Bragi, this is Moss.” Moss frowned sharply at the boy, confused.  “Not smell like you.” The mage tilted his head in agreement.  “Not yet but he will.  These things take time.” Bragi blinked and sniffed his arm.  “I smell?” Loki looked amused as he explained.  “The Faelings have heightened senses beyond our own.  They can smell when someone is related to someone else.”  Even adopted children will smell like their parents after spending enough time in the household. “Oh.” Tony moved around the couch and was about to sit down.  “Stark!” barked Loki. The inventor paused, rump in midair.  He straightened and turned, then blinked.  “Oh.  Sorry.  Didn’t see your friend there.”  He moved over a couple of feet before he sat down and started munching on blueberries. That was it.  Little to no reaction. “No meat?”  Most Fae were vegetarians.  They respected those that didn’t eat meat more than those that did. Loki switched languages.  Moss was better than most of his kind in communicating but he was far more eloquent in his own tongue.  “There are groups of humans that do not eat meat.  He is not one of them.  He is omnivorous.” Moss nodded in understanding.  “I see.  Just as you are.” “Just so.  Why are you here?  What has happened?” A deceptively calm voice said carefully.  “Loki…there is a Fae next to you.  Move Bragi away slowly.” Loki groaned, mostly to himself.  He knew what was coming.  Not because he knew the future but because he knew Thor.  Thor was going to use Mjolnir for some redecorating because he, like most of Asgard, believed that all Fae creatures were evil due to a misunderstanding that blew all out of proportion.  In this case a lost pod of cave gnomes had tried to destroy the BiFrost quite some time ago.  Not because they were evil…they thought BiFrost shards would be pretty to add to the décor of their caves.  Even areas of Alfheim had problems with them so Loki had decided a long time ago to pick his battles.  Murmuring quietly to Moss, “Use the shadows to move to the quarters I inhabit on this floor.  Go now.”  Moss nodded and seemed to become a dark shadow before he faded from sight.  He would be able to find that room by scent. Thor’s head jerked around, searching for the danger.  “Where--…” With an overproduction of rolling his eyes Loki stood up, Bragi following him and leaning into his side.  “That was not a Fae.  It was an illusion to illustrate to Bragi what they look like.”  Tony’s eyes flicked in the trickster’s direction, not saying a word.  “Come now, do you truly think that any member of the Fae would come to Midgard?  They inhabit Alfheim’s moon.”  Bragi silently frowned. Thor nodded slowly, not quite sure he believed Loki.  “We must speak, brother.” If Moss was here there was an important reason for it.  Since the Fae weren’t comfortable around all of this unnaturalness, he had a priority over Thor’s desire to discuss whatever it was he wanted to talk about. “We will, but not right now.”  Loki walked away with Bragi in tow. The frown on Thor’s face stayed. Tony mentally wrestled for a few moments before he stated, “You seem confused, Pointe Break.” Thor didn’t shift his gaze from the corridor.  “Aye.  Loki is so protective of that child.” Stark’s shrug was casual.  “That’s his first kid.”  Technically.  His first formalized one, anyway.  “Heard that happens.”  But then again, he’d acted the same way around Melody so for Loki that just might be normal behavior now. Now Thor blinked and looked at Tony.  “Bragi is his page, not his child.” Tony grimaced a bit.  “Uh, you and your bro need to have a talk.” Large arms crossed over a large chest.  “Regarding what, Man of Iron?” "Dude, talk to him--…” Thor tipped his head in the direction Loki departed.  “As you heard, he is not inclined at present so I will talk to you.” Tony threw up his hands because he was not getting squashed over something that wasn’t even meant to be a secret.  “Fine.  Bragi’s his son, not his page.” “How do you know this?” “I listen.”  And he told Thor what he had heard.  Who Iterren had been.  And the result. Thor could have reacted in a number of ways but in this case his blue eyes softened and this silly little smile appeared.  “I have a nephew.” Tony blinked a couple of times before he relaxed and grinned.  “Yep.  Congrats.” Thor wished it had been Loki telling him this.  He wished he’d listened to Tony’s warning to wait.  But he wouldn’t allow the joy of this moment to be spoiled by regret.  Instead he reflected on the outings that Loki would hopefully allow him to take with his new nephew.                                                                                                 *** As soon as Loki and Bragi were in his room the boy asked, “It was magic, sir?”  He jumped a moment later as Moss appeared on the bed and waved. Loki smirked in amusement before answering the question.  “No, that was a lie.” Bragi’s eyes widened incredulously.  “Why lie to Prince Thor?” Instead of answering Loki distracted him with a different question.  “Did you know that Thor is now your uncle?” It worked and Bragi’s eyes just got larger.  “He is?” Loki nodded once, obviously amused.  “Yes, he is.” “Wow.” “I need to speak with my friend for a moment.  Perhaps you should contemplate and write down where you wish Uncle Thor to take you.  Then we shall discuss it.”  He was 99% certain that Thor would react positively to Bragi’s inclusion in the family.  Especially since father had been so welcoming.  Which meant plenty of opportunities to drag Thor out of the training yard and off on a safe adventure with Bragi. And it had to meet his definition of safe, not Thor’s.  Because he could easily envision his well-intentioned brother trying to convince him that his 8 season old nephew would be perfectly safe hunting down trolls with him. He gave the boy quill and parchment before turning his attention to Moss.  “Thank you for moving locations, Moss.” Moss made a dismissive gesture with his clawed hand.  “It is no bother.  Better here than out there among those of Asgard.” Loki lifted a teasing eyebrow.  “Both I and the boy happen to be of Asgard.” “Yes…and no.  You are one of them, but you do not think like them.”  Loki tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement since it was true.  Then Moss turned his attention to Bragi who had his brow furrowed in concentration as he wrote.  “He is too young to be corrupted by such narrow thinking.”  Moss’s tone changed.  “We are here to assist you.” “The other Faelings are here?”  Loki didn’t mean here as in the literal sense of in this room.  But perhaps somewhere on Midgard. “They are but a thought away through the dark roots.”  Loki nodded.  But he also knew the reason was serious.  The Fae didn’t leave their own world on a whim. With Moss here the other Faelings could now determine the destination.  Thinking of Thor.  “I do not wish to endanger any of you because of him.” “Let us worry about the young thunderer.”  Loki snickered at the label.  “Your mate and dam received messages from us.”  Loki’s eyebrows hiked up since both Frigga and Sigyn forgot to mention it to him.  But this had been a crazy year so he could easily forgive the oversight.  Moss noted the surprise and repeated the message.  ”The message was that the Golden one has command of the Starlings and their fog flower.” That confirmed everything he’d suspected up to now.  “Why the flower?” “We do not know.  To render the mortals helpless?” Loki tapped his finger to his lips.  “Mmm…that is a lot of effort and she is not one to extend it.  It would also be limited to--…oh.  That could work.”  His mind moved and he started to think out loud.  “Reduced to a powdered form would increase the potency.  A form that would change back to gas with enough force without diluting that potency increase.  Midgard is also a realm with air currents.  With a bit of luck she could render their planet helpless and ripe for conquest with the aid of the one species completely unaffected by the fog.”  The humans would be helpless.  The AEsir would feel a momentary discomfort before adjusting, but they wouldn’t be able to see anything.  He still wasn’t quite certain why she had murdered that human child.  He had a suspicion, but surely not even she would do it for that reason. “Fader, how do you spell dragon?” Loki felt a warm flush of happiness move over him.  But a second later he jerked around with a raised eyebrow.  “What dragon?”                                                                                 *** ASGARD The woman who appeared in the BiFrost observatory was a thin blond woman in mutely colored conservative robes and a high collar.  Her blue eyes moved silently in Heimdall’s direction before she gave him a nod of thanks and regally started to walk in silence for the palace, leaving her bags behind for the porter to take.  Even as Heimdall returned to his post to observe he silently felt very sorry for whoever she was here to visit. Court had just concluded the last item on the docket.  Odin tapped Gungnir against the floor.  “Are there any further concerns to present to the throne?” From the back a soft husky voice carried.  “I wish to approach the throne, King of Asgard.” Odin almost imperceptively straightened and Frigga stiffened, her eyes wide.  Keeping his tone even.  “You may approach and announce yourself.” The figure glided forward, the robes silently stating she is the Headmistress of the Vanaheim University.  The blue of her eyes, the exact same shade as Frigga’s, confirmed who she was before she uttered the words, “Headmistress Freyja Freyrdottir.”  Like her older sister she was a sorceress.  Unlike Frigga, she was not a seer.  But it didn’t make her any less intimidating. “Do you represent Vanaheim’s concerns?” Freyja kept her face and voice carefully controlled.  “No, King Odin.  I came to seek…advice.  And who better than the AllFather of Asgard to receive such learned council?” Odin knew when he was being laughed at.  But he just intoned gravely.  “You may proceed.” “I thank you.  I wished to obtain advice regarding a sibling of mine.  A brother.”  Both Odin and Frigga subtly frowned.  Freyja didn’t have a brother by blood.  “He has acted in a most foolish manner recently and has upset the entire family.” “What foolishness has occurred?” Freyja’s eyes moved slightly to the left.  “My brother is married and has two sons.  One of the sons is a user of magic and was injured to such a degree that restorative potions were needed.”  Her eyes glinted.  “He neglected to contact his two brothers to reassure them their nephew has returned to good health.”  She put emphasis on her words now.  “I believe they are both prepared to confront their little brother concerning it.” It suddenly clicked.  She was talking about him.  “What advice do you seek?” “Should I notify him or should I just stand to one side?”  Nothing in her face or voice betrayed her amusement.  But it could be seen in her eyes. “Perhaps he is unaware his silence on the matter has created distress.  I would advise to do what is best for your family without sacrificing what is good for yourself.” She nodded with a slight dip.  “Wise words that I thank you for.” Freyja’s eyes flicked in Frigga’s direction and she glanced subtly to one of the back gardens.  A spot for them to talk away from prying eyes.                                                                                 *** MIDGARD “Sigyn.” “Loki.” Before either could say anything further to one another Tony strode through the door to Loki’s rooms without pause and without knocking, the schematic in his hand.  Though he did stop walking for a beat to see Loki staring at him with both eyebrows raised.  Bragi was sitting on the bed, playing with a bunch of Legos.  Moss had popped over to Central Park where the other Faelings could stick to the trees until they were needed.  A wide grin crossed Tony’s face.  “Locks, your girlfriend is still hot.” In the reflection Sigyn crossed her arms while Loki just waved a hand at him.  “Go away, Stark.” The elf suddenly looked innocent.  “That is the infamous Stark?” “Unfortunately,” Loki grumbled. “Hey!” Sigyn now affected a confused expression.  “But, he is not nearly as ugly as you described--…” “Hey!!” She sent the inventor a sour look.  “Then stop eavesdropping on private conversations and entering rooms without invitation.” Tony blinked.  He could point out this was his tower.  Instead he asked curiously, “Or what?” An evil expression crossed Loki’s face.  “Or perhaps your Lady Pepper should see the ring you secretly purchased.”  The one that was tucked away, something he had purchased a couple of years ago.  Every so often he would open the drawer to stare at it, to remind himself of what he would do if he wasn’t the man that he was. Tony shook his head.  “Yeah…you two were made for each other.  Bye.” With a wave of his hand, Loki locked the door after the inventor left. “A good choice.”  Then Sigyn grinned.  “Especially if there are anymore like him lurking about.”  Now her expression turned serious.  “I received a response from your Vanir cousin regarding a couple of matters.  The Vanir that speak elvish were dark elves.”  Loki winced.  “And the Golden one is an old friend of yours.” Loki groaned.  “Please lie to me.” Sigyn paused to blink before giving him a small smile.  “Silly me.  She of course is not due to arrive on Midgard with all of the Starlings at any moment on a prototype Vanir ship.  A ship that Vanaheim will easily accept the loss of.  They all decided to go shopping, lost all track of time, and are headed back home with their plans dismissed.”  A giggle was heard from the shadows behind Sigyn.  They both ignored it. “I think I like the truth from you better.”  A sly expression crossed his face.  “Did you forget to tell me something?”  His tone turned leading, an unpleased turn to his lips.  “The original message about the Golden one?” She looked startled.  “Loki--…”  He cut her off with a laugh, clearly teasing her.  “I thought the emissary would have found you prior to now.” “He just did.”  She winced and he just sighed in longing.  “I wish you were here.” “Is a prince of Asgard inviting me to Midgard?”  Her tone was clearly not serious, not about to politically hold him to such words.  She was also quick to reassure him.  “I am only teasing you in turn.”  But now she was serious.  “Do you need me to do anything?” “Not at the moment.  She will need to be sorted out and I have another issue to deal with before I can worry about whatever the dark elves have planned.” “Happy hunting.” Loki nodded before he smiled slightly, his green eyes looking over her shoulder.  “It appears you have an eavesdropper of your own.” Sigyn looked over her shoulder just as Talia dropped into the shadows.  They talked for a few minutes longer before they said their goodbyes and ended the communication.  Then Sigyn turned and moved to occupy a comfortable chair.  “We would not have been upset if you wished to say hello to him.” Talia was quick to walk to her, smiling shyly as room was made so she could squeeze in with Sigyn.  “Are you going to marry him?” Sigyn sighed softly and draped an arm around the girl’s shoulders.  “That is a difficult subject.”  Loki had certainly taken some huge steps forward in recent months.  An acknowledged formal courtship was half a step away from marriage.  But she didn’t forget what Odin had said, of a test she would need to pass to prove her worth.  She suspected that once Loki confirmed with his father she had accepted his suit, the parameters of the challenge would follow. She knew it was going to be something ridiculous.  That is just the way AEsir thought.  Only the impossible would do.  She already had a few thoughts of what she could do once the target was known. Talia, oblivious to where Sigyn’s thoughts drifted, asked, “Why?  You want to.” The elf nodded easily.  “Ah, but some men are afraid to trust.  I do not wish to lose him so I suppose I am afraid to push too hard.” “Because you love him.” Sigyn smiled softly and responded immediately, “That I do.” “Cocoa?” asked Talia with hope in her eyes. A knock at the door drew Sigyn’s attention.  She nodded to Basil who opened it and a familiar figure took a single step forward.  “I am afraid, child, cocoa will have to wait.”                                                                                                 *** ASGARD Frigga led her sister into one of the secluded back gardens not far from the older wing.  The two women sat on matching stone benches, facing each other.  “How are you, sister?” Freyja countered with a snap, “How is your son, sister?” “He was on a difficult task on Midgard.  He returned here briefly and he was fine with no hint of injury when I spoke with him.”  Now Frigga sighed softly.  “How did you know?” The younger sister crossed her arms and looked unimpressed.  “Restorative potions designed for a mage’s caste were obtained from Vanaheim recently.  One does not have to be a genius to follow the breadcrumbs.” Frigga asked with a small wince, “Vili and Ve?” “I was quite serious.  With their current mood they seemed capable of destroying your BiFrost again.” The AEsir Queen sighed, “I see.  Then we are fortunate you are more reasonable.” “I do not have their temper but I would not go that far,” Freyja cautioned.  “Your husband is even more skilled than your son in riling the family.” Tongue firmly in cheek, “Where do you think Loki gets it from?” Freyja barked a laugh.  But then she stilled when she noticed Frigga’s sudden distraction.  “What is it?” Frigga’s gaze was distant, chasing an elusive feeling.  “I am…unsure.  Something is coming.  It has been approaching for some time but it is eminent now.” Both women stopped speaking and Frigga blinked as her awareness returned to the moment when the Völva entered the garden with Talia at her side.  She whispered in the girl’s ear.  “Do you remember what I told you?”  Talia nodded her head.  The Völva was taking Sigyn for a special mission.  Basil hadn’t offered any fuss when Talia had been led out the door to this garden.  On the way, Sigyn already told to stay behind, the Völva had spoken quietly to the girl.  Bad dreams had been confessed, which was unsurprising.  And only Sigyn made the bad dreams go away, but she felt safe around Frigga. The Völva had produced an hour glass that hung from a piece of leather.  Only the sand moved with aching slowness.  She had said to wear it around her neck at night.  That it would provide one week without bad dreams.  Naturally Talia had wondered if she turned the hour glass over to last longer…but it wasn’t meant to be. What the Völva hadn’t stated was that with each night her memories of what she had seen would fade a little more.  By the time the week had passed, the memory would only be a gray, fuzzy moment and trouble her no longer. Giving the two woman a small nod, the Völva walked back out the way she came. Frigga gave the girl a gentle smile.  “Hello Talia.” “Hi.”  She sat down in the soft grass between the two women without thinking twice about it, idly fingering the tiny hour glass she’d been given.  She sat closer to Frigga, but she eyed Freyja with interest.  “You look like the Queen.” “Frigga and I are sisters.” The girl nodded in understanding and introduced herself, “Oh.  I am Talia.” “Freyja.”  Freyja glanced over at the trees and the architecture of the area.  “We are near the old wing.” Frigga nodded, for she had chosen this particular garden on purpose.  “Sigyn was moved here.” “…I know that name.” Keeping her expression innocent.  “She is the Et’ana of Alfheim.” Freyja leaned forward a bit and hinted.  “That is not why I know her name.” Ignoring her sister, she asked the girl in their midst, “Would you like to paint out here?”  Talia silently shook her head, her blue eyes saying the unspoken reason. Freyja frowned.  “Why not?”  She knew trauma and fear when she saw it although she was unaware of the context. Talia pointed to the wall to Sigyn’s little area.  “Prince Loki set up the wards over there.  In there I am safe.” Freyja blinked in shock at Frigga.  “Safe, sister?” Frigga grimaced before she could stop herself.  “A long story.” The Vanir woman studied the little girl for a moment before asking kindly, “Would you feel better if we join you in this safe place so you can paint and we can talk?”  Talia nodded and took Freyja’s hand when she offered it.  Frigga led the way through the ward, holding onto Freyja to pull her through.  Maintaining a small smile for the child’s benefit.  “Go and retrieve your art supplies if you like.” The gentle expression faded as soon as Talia was out of sight, giving her sister a firm look.  “I have all the time in the world, no matter how long the story may be.”                                                                                                 *** Sif stood up in surprise and both Hogun and Volstagg who were housed on opposite sides of her stiffened.  But neither man said a word, observing what was happening.  “Völva --…” Her cell powered down with a flick of the Völva’s hand.  Sigyn was standing a step behind her in a hooded travelling cloak of gray.  Across Sigyn’s back was a bow made of a shimmering silver metal and over a dozen arrows in a leather quill.  In her arms she carried Sif’s armor, a shield, and a sword.  “Sif, the Goddess of Battle…meet Sigyn, the Goddess of Loyalty.” Sigyn’s expression didn’t shift.  Just like the AEsir, any mortal being from any realm could receive such acknowledgement from the Norns.  She’d known for centuries now, the revelation coming to her in a dream on the day she came of age.  Her people didn’t have a ceremony like the AEsir did nor did they introduce themselves by their given title.  Her people knew and Loki knew.  It was all the acknowledgement she required. Sif’s brow started to furrow but Sigyn interrupted whatever thinking she was doing.  “My loyalty belongs to Loki.” The Völva remained focused on Sif.  “Are you prepared to regain your honor?” Sif swallowed, squared her shoulders, and nodded.  “Aye.” The Völva glanced at Hogun.  “Prince Loki spared your existence and it is the only reason you are alive.  If you are a man of honor, you would recognize that debt.”  She turned to take the lower exit out of the dungeons instead of the main passage through the palace.  Sigyn shoved the items at the AEsir warrioress.  They both silently followed, the elf’s face blank and her opinion of the other woman suppressed. After a brief pause for Sif to arm herself for battle and a few minutes of walking they entered the horse pasture, where Loki’s three horses were grazing.  Midnight Wind raised his head and whickered.  The Völva smiled.  “I am pleased you are happy here.  Was he the correct choice?” The head bobbed up and down. “He is in need of your aid.” The dark eyes moved.  An ear flicked.  The Völva introduced the two women in a way that would be understandable to equine sensibilities, starting with Sigyn.  “This is his mate…and this is a useful warrior.” Midnight Wind stomped his front feet. “You will need to travel to Midgard…your way.” The head bobbed again before Midnight Wind approached and turned so the two women could climb onto him. Sif blinked.  “We need a saddle and bridle.”  Neither woman was going to point out that the Völva had just had a conversation with a horse. Sigyn made a scoffing sound, effortlessly leapt forward, and landed with ease on the back of the horse.  No self-respecting elf ever broke a horse in the way most of the other races did.  Then she glanced back over her shoulder and raised a challenging eyebrow.  Sif, never one to back off from a challenge, focused on the horse and leapt forward…just as Midnight Wind moved. She bounced off the rear of the horse and fell on her ass.  Sigyn glanced away to hide a laugh.  The horse didn’t and pulled his lips away from his teeth as he looked back at her.  Sif scowled and grumbled a few curses as she tried again, this time succeeding. The Völva smiled.  “As mischievous as your friend.”  Midnight Wind whinnied.  “Sigyn, fear not for he knows the way.  Sif, you follow for one purpose.  You are to protect Loki at all cost when he cannot protect himself.  Fail, and never regain your honor.”  The Völva took several steps back and warned, “And close your eyes when the vastness overwhelms.” Both women frowned a second before Midnight Wind exploded forward at speed.  Sigyn expertly gripped his mane and leaned forward to allow her body to almost merge with his as he galloped.  Sif desperately wrapped her arms around the elf’s middle.  The elf whose eyes started to widen the closer they approached the fence.  She tensed, expecting the horse to jump.  She didn’t expect the horse to unfurl a pair of black, sight shielded feathered wings and soar into the sky. Sigyn and Sif both cursed in their respective languages. “How??  How did Loki get a Valkyrie’s horse?” Sigyn shook her head.  “No, this is a dark Pegasus.”  They were all equines, but a Pegasus was a different species from the Valkyrie steeds, even though they looked similar.  It was a magical horse from Vanaheim that lived thousands of years longer than a normal horse.  A Pegasus usually came in colors of white, cream, and silver-dapper.  The ones with this coloring were an anomaly that were almost unheard of now. “What is the difference?” The elf rattled off the answer, her eyes focused in front of them.  “Unusually intelligence.  The ability to naturally hide their wings…and fly to the various realms through the golden branches.” Sif blinked.  “Why would you think this beast can do that?” Sigyn silently pointed to the golden tear in the sky they were flying towards.  Sif, remembering the Völva’s advice, swore and closed her eyes.                                                                                                 *** MIDGARD “Is Loki still in the tower?” The inventor glanced at the monitor where Fury could be seen, the video chat window popping into existence without prompting.  Then he looked across the room at the trickster in question who raised an eyebrow.  “I’m seeing a Loki shaped object in front of me.  What’s up?” “Something very large in the Hudson.” Tony didn’t even pause, his tone chiding.  “Locks, do we need to talk about a certain snake?”  Loki just gave him a blank look. Bruce slumped where he stood.  “Tony.” Stark shrugged, mystified why he would be chided.  “What?  You were thinking it.” “No, I wasn’t.” Loki shook his head and decided he wouldn’t ask because he suspected he would be more than mildly tempted to shove the inventor out a window again.  Turning to Bruce.  “Which way is the disturbance?” After a slight pause the scientist turned and pointed in the direction of the Hudson River.  The trickster closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get a magical feel for whatever it was that had agitated SHIELD.  His eyes flew open in surprise before he rolled them and held out his arm.  Bragi hadn’t wanted to leave Loki’s side since he’d learned about his sister’s death.  Today he’d been content to work on a puzzle while the three men worked.  He’d been watching Loki closely when Fury interrupted the companionable quiet and ran to his side.  They vanished from sight. “Oookay.”  The plan had been in an hour to coordinate some door-to-door checks with a combination of agents and Einherjar to see if their tech really was tracking magic.  The three men had been going through the system one more time before starting the trial run. The two remaining men shared a look before scrambling for the elevator on the assumption Loki went to whichever floor Thor was on. Loki reappeared a few levels up, lounging in a chair with Bragi in his lap and across from Thor who was focused on the television screen.  “Loki!  Have you seen these mortal contests of strength?” The mage didn’t even glance at whatever sports related program Thor had found.  Imitating the thunderer’s tone and inflection exactly.  “Thor!  Are you aware your woman is creating havoc again?” Thor looked shocked and sounded it as well.  “Jane?  But she has already departed.” Raising a single eyebrow.  “No.  Your other woman.” “Lilith?  But we parted ways a month ago.” Loki kept a straight face with that little comment.  Since technically Lilith had been a liaison after Jane.  But instead of getting sidetracked, he focused on the current problem.  “No, the other one.” “Bergdis?  Hildr?  Unnr?”  Loki shook his head slightly with each name, not surprised at such confusion since Thor was not known for being celibate for any length of time.  Veilya, who was also in the room and had been about to take the staff in her hand she’d just repaired back down to the gym, felt her eyebrows slowly climb.  Thor shook his head.  “I have no other--…” Something slammed in the distance, and the sound of screams and car alarms filled the air.  Everyone except Loki ran to the windows to see what was going on.  Bragi sat up and turned around so he could look over Loki’s shoulder, eyes wide.  An enormous, tentacled creature was pulling itself out of the water, smashing building in the way.  There was a bubble of some kind encasing the torso, most probably to supply water for it to breathe through.  There was also a tiny blond figure clad in golden armor over a flowing green gown perched on one of the arms. Clint exclaimed, “Is that a giant octopus??” Loki was suddenly at Thor’s shoulder, Bragi at his side, and hissed in his brother’s ear, “Your other woman.” Thor growled, “Amora.” Steve, his face surprisingly calm, asked, “A friend of yours?” Thor held out his hand to call for Mjolnir before stalking for the nearest balcony.  Loki didn’t follow, glancing at Steve.  “Not quite an accurate description.” Natasha held her hand up to her ear, talking softly through the comm to Fury.  “Sir, we have a problem.” Tony and Bruce walked out of the elevator; JARVIS having kept them up to date as they made their way down.  “Spurned lover, then?” Fandral shook his head.  “She wishes.” Willow and Tyr shared a look, neither of them impressed with her. Loki summed up the truth.  “Amora has ambitions to rule Asgard by marrying Thor.  She also believes she is in love with him.  A love that is not reciprocated.  She has attempted several times to use her skills in seidr and persuasion to accomplish it.  Attempts that have failed due to my interference.” Tony supplied, “So she’s bitter and she hates you.” The trickster smirked.  “Essentially.” Fury barked through the comms, all of the Avengers hearing him, “He was supposed to make our situation better, not worse.” Loki stared at Steve, easily able to hear Nick.  All those of Asgard could.  “Inform your Director I shall depart if he prefers.” Thor turned to glare at him.  “No, you will not.” “Ooo, and now he orders me to remain.  What to do, what to do…”  At the moment he wasn’t particularly fond of Thor.  This also wasn’t his problem, and these weren’t his people.  He had to keep reminding himself of the latter because strangely he was becoming protective of them…which never boded well for him. Thor heaved a long-suffering sigh.  “I shall owe you a favor.” Loki feigned surprise, already debating on how he would use this favor later.  Not that he hesitated more than a split second before snapping out.  “Done.”  Willow nodded silently to herself and went to retrieve a small case with a shoulder strap.  He aimed the question at Fury.  “You believe she would not have ventured to Midgard if Thor was here alone?” Thor stood proud, the picture of a prince giving orders.  “Fandral, you and I will focus on the witch--…enchantress.”  The swordsman nodded and immediately headed for the elevator.  Loki blinked in surprise.  Thor never bothered to get the magical castes correct. Then what he said processed.  “Thor, you cannot--…” “We will handle her, Loki.” Loki rolled his eyes, muttering to himself, “…that is what concerns me…”  It would be better if Amora was left for him to deal with but Loki knew Thor was itching to take the lead after having been idle for so long.  “One matter first.”  Everyone froze at that tone.  “Nicholas, is SHIELD trustworthy or are your people not worth protecting?”  If there were any injuries, was SHIELD going to be honorable, or not, was the real question. Fury didn’t have to ask for clarification.  He knew what was really being asked, just as he knew the devastating consequences if SHIELD did the wrong thing today.  “You have my word.” Slowly Loki lifted an eyebrow.  “I should hope so…or SHIELD will desperately wish your Avengers really had killed me by the time I am done with all of you.” Pepper was tapping on her tablet.  “I can take Bragi down to the children’s floor.” Bragi shook his head and clung to one of the tails of Loki’s armor.  Loki ignored everyone else as he leaned down and turned his attention to the boy.  “What is wrong?”  Bragi’s blue eyes glanced up and then away.  He shrugged, but his grip didn’t loosen.  “Did you know that what JARVIS knows, I know?” Now Bragi looked up, surprised.  “You do?”  Except for Tony the remaining Avengers exchanged uneasy glances. Loki nodded.  “Mhmm.  I need to deal with this seidkona before she hurts someone.  But if you are in danger or in need, JARVIS will know and therefore so will I.  I will abandon the battle to protect you.”  He asked quietly but seriously, “Do you believe me?” Bragi slowly nodded before he revealed his insecurity.  “I am scared.  What if you get hurt?” He ruffled the boy’s hair.  “In a battle that is always possible so I cannot promise that will not happen.  But you are safe and that I shall promise.”  Even if he spent his last breath protecting the boy. Bragi pulled in a hesitant breath, trying to be brave and nodded once sharply.  “Alright.” Loki pulled him into a one armed hug and Bragi instantly reciprocated.  Only when they parted did he reluctantly take Pepper’s hand.  She smiled sweetly at the boy and coaxed him into following her, hoping to distract him with a movie in the smaller rec room on that floor. Tyr and the remaining Einherjar stepped forward.  “We will assist with the monster.”  Amora could claim ties to both Asgard and Vanaheim.  It was up to Asgard to rein in its citizens. Loki’s expression soured as he muttered, “…which one?” Steve glanced around.  “We’ll take care of crowd control.” “We have agents on the way, eta five minutes.”  Which would free the Avengers to focus on this threat once SHIELD arrived. Veilya looked over at Loki who just calmly looked back.  “I gather this beast is much larger than it should be.” After a moment he inclined his head slightly.  “There are several spells to enhance the size of animals.” “Perhaps a counter spell?” Tony interrupted.  “You two work on the mojo angle.” Loki narrowed his eyes at the inventor and snapped, “I do not take commands from you.”  Friendship didn’t factor into this.  As a prince during a time of battle he did not to orders from anyone except those above his station.  To do so would weaken his position as a leader…and he already had enough problems in that arena without allowing the humans to unknowingly add to it. Tony made a face.  “Geez, Bambi, that time of the month or what?”  Not even an AEsir would fail to figure out what Tony meant. The mage didn’t even think, turning over his hand and snapping his fingers.  The spark of friction triggered a flame.  A green flame that engulfed his hand as his body shifted into an automatic position if one was going to hurl it. Steve immediately stood in the way, his arms out.  “Wait!” The trickster didn’t care who got in the way, with magic he could still hit his target if he chose to either hurl around the obstacle…or straight through it.  Not that he would injure Tony.  But a near miss, since they all knew he missed when he intended to, was a wonderful teachable moment. “Loki?”  The mage turned his head towards the balcony that Thor still stood on, a silent plea in his eyes.  Everyone was tense and silent until the trickster sighed forcefully through his nose, dusted off his hands to put the flame out, and held out the crook of his arms, one towards Veilya and the other for Willow.  They both slipped their arms through his while throwing the inventor disgusted looks.  They all vanished.  The thunderer turned serious eyes to Tony.  “You take your life in your hands with your insults, Man of Iron.  I shall not interfere again.” “What??  It wasn’t that bad!” Tyr was staring at the mortal inventor, unimpressed.  “Your words were focused to unman him.  On his honor he must respond.  This battle is the only reason his retaliation has been delayed.” “Retalia--…delayed?  Uh…Brucey?” Bruce calmly asked, “What?” “He likes you more right now.  Talk to him?”  The scientist just snorted before walking to join the group in the elevator.  There was no way Bruce was getting in the middle of this and potentially cause the mage to become annoyed with him over Tony’s big mouth. “JARVIS?”  Tony waited a couple of beats.  Then he waited a couple more.  Yet still the construct remained silent.  When he realized even his A.I. was deserting him in the face of the trickster’s anger, with a scowl and a swear he headed for the lab to get his suit.                                                                                 *** Moments after the floor was cleared, a golden tear formed over the roof of Stark Towers.  Sigyn and Sif flew through it, Midnight Wind getting his bearings and landing on the flat surface with a clatter of hooves.  He clomped forward slowly to the edge of the roofline so the two women could peer down and indicate when it was time to fly. A few deft flicks of her wrist and the outer layer of material fell away to reveal Sigyn’s silver elven armor, sheathed daggers at her waist.  When visiting a realm of warriors, she tended to layer her clothing so that males dismiss her as just another female in flowing robes.  In reality the armored bodice would stop even AEsir blades, the silver gauntlets there to protect her wrist.  Sif raised her eyebrows.  She may not have the interest or ability to make armor but she knew quality when she saw it.  “You are Loki’s elf?” Sigyn nodded stiffly.  “I am.” “Why him?” She didn’t even glance in Sif’s direction.  Loki may not have said many things about Thor’s friends.  But he’d said enough that she had come to her own conclusions about them a very long time ago.  “Considering what I have heard of your exploits, you and I shall have nothing to speak of until you are in Loki’s good graces.” Sif grimaced…but she also felt her respect for the elf grow. ***                                                                        ASGARD When Odin had received word of trouble on Midgard he’d traveled to the BiFrost instead of ordering action be taken.  It chafed, to have someone else dictate what he could or couldn’t do.  But slowly he was learning that only a fool defied the Volur.  “Heimdall.  What has occurred?” Heimdall didn’t shift his gaze, observing what was happening.  “There is trouble on Midgard, sire.” The two men silently let that thought settle.  Just as the Völva had stated.  They both knew Asgard couldn’t interfere…and they both knew why. Odin pulled in a slow breath and asked hopefully, “The sorcerer?” “Nay, it is not a mortal.” “Loki?”  He didn’t want to ask, but since his son and the humans hadn’t been on the best of terms not too long ago it was a question that had to be made. Heimdall gravely shook his head, in a way relieved he wasn’t forced to give an affirmative response.  “The Enchantress.” Odin narrowed his eye in irritation.  She had been a source of annoyance for centuries.  He held out his hand in command since he knew he could do nothing else.  “Show me.” Heimdall clasped his palm and offered his sight to his king. At the far end of the BiFrost closest to the city the Völva turned with staff in hand.  She tapped it lightly three times against the BiFrost’s surface and intoned softly.  “It is time, foolish children of Asgard, to witness true strength.”  The strength of Asgard’s lesser prince. The strength of a seidmadr. …the strength of a Jötunn. The staff pulsed of glowing white power.  As the intensity of the power grew, the BiFrost dimmed until it winked out.  A halo formed around the staff and in waves it spread outward.  With each new wave, more and more AEsir stopped in their tracks in shock. Frigga’s voice trailed off.  She had been conversing with Talia about her current painting.  Freyja’s own eyes widened at what she was suddenly seeing.  The girl frowned.  “Are you alright?” The Queen tried to convey casual calmness.  “I am seeing a vision.  Please entertain yourself for a time until it passes.”  The girl slowly nodded and went to start a new painting while both women turned their attention to what they were seeing. On this day, what Heimdall saw, every resident of Asgard old enough to have had their proving ground saw as well. -------------- Whew!!!  Long chapter. Up Next: Fight against Amora commences

----- Despite not being known as someone who indulged in idle office gossip, Stone had been paying attention to the rumours about Doctor Robotnik in the twenty-four hours since meeting the man. He liked to make his own opinions on people, but there had been something about the Doctor that rubbed Stone the wrong way slightly, and he knew he needed to go into this new role with some information that could be steeped in truth. Well, as much truth as one could get from office gossip.  Within three hours, Stone had learnt something extremely important about Doctor Robotnik - he liked to give the wrong start time and date to his new Agents to test them and their intelligence. When said new Agent turned up late and flustered at Robotnik’s reaction, he would dismiss them from his presence and make their lives a living hell, because no one had ever done the smart thing of asking someone else for confirmation. And yet, when Stone questioned why no one did this, he was met with annoyed or upset stares and whispers, because how could he defend the Doctor? It made Stone roll his eyes, and check in with Commander Walters on when he was actually due to turn up at the lab.  He was already on thin ice, and making it work as Doctor Robotnik’s new Agent was his chance to redeem himself.  The other rumours though? Ridiculous.  The Doctor wasn’t human, the Doctor shouldn’t be employed by the Government, the Doctor had murdered other Agents that had disappeared while working for him etc. and Stone had paid them no mind because there was no evidence behind them. Not even the weird meeting Stone had had with him the first day gave any inference that the Doctor was anything other than an extremely intelligent and egotistical man.  When Commander Walters and Stone had stepped into the lab, and Walters had been introducing them, Robotnik had barely said a word and simply examined them with a mixture of irritation and disgust on his face. After the Commander had barely finished speaking, the Doctor had then ushered them quickly from the lab with a long-winded explanation of why they were not worth his valuable time right now and the jury was still out on whether Stone would ever be, before shutting the door in their faces. Walters had shot Stone a sympathetic look and that was that.  It was now 5:45am the next day and Stone was waiting in the kitchen of the small compound where Robotnik was stationed for two coffees to brew - a sickly sweet latte for the Doctor based on a throwaway comment he had found in a transcript of one of his meetings, and a mocha for himself.  Stone was tired.  It had been less than forty-eight hours since he had actually returned to his “house” following his most recent mission, and Stone usually liked to take the luxury of twenty-four hours to acclimatise back to normal life after so long spent undercover. A luxury not afforded to him because of his slip up, and the apparent urgency to get an Agent to work for Robotnik, so his nerves were a little frayed, and he was partially operating in undercover mode. There was an irritation thrumming in his veins, something he knew would sustain him for the day.  Two other Agents walked in as Stone stirred the mocha absently and waited for the milk to finish for the latte. They spotted him almost immediately - their names were Adams and Sanders, Stone believed - and he registered their presence, but said nothing, hoping to avoid conversation. When he saw one of them smile, he knew he wouldn’t. “Hey Stone,” Sanders said, sliding into a chair and tipping a Starbucks coffee back against his lips, “Heard you got assigned to Robotnik.” “Yeah.” Adams stepped back from brewing a tea and looked over Stone for a second before he asked, “You’ve heard the rumours about him right? The ‘mysterious origin story’ and the fact that Agents disappear when they work for him?” Stone sipped his mocha and frowned as he decided on how to answer, “I don’t tend to indulge in gossip before I meet a new boss.” He lied, “Makes it harder to get a true first impression.” Both Adams and Sanders snorted before Sanders said, “You should listen to them Stone, cause the higher ups are hanging you out to dry with that one. No one ever makes it past two weeks.”  The coffee machine beeped and Stone turned to decorate the top of the latte as he always did, drawing the logo he had seen on some of Robotnik’s machines the day before as he let the latte rest before popping a lid on and turning. The clock read 5:52 now, so he needed to get going and he wasn’t going to let these two Agents get in his way with their idiotic ideas. “Just get to your point.” He ordered, “I don’t have all morning.” Sanders stood and approached Stone, looking at the two coffees in his hand. “The latte for Robotnik?” Nodding, Stone stepped around him and headed for the door.  “Might wanna add some blood.” Sanders called after him, “The main rumour is-.” Stone rolled his eyes, even as his heart skipped a beat, “Vampires? Really.”  “Hey, we’re just trying to warn you!” Adams blustered, looking embarrassed as he realised how ridiculous Stone clearly thought both of them were. “Rumours are insidious things, you should hear the ones about you,” Stone said drily before striding away.  Thanks to the two idiots and their rumour mill, he was not as early as he had wanted to be for entering Robotnik’s lab, but he still managed to arrive at 6am on the dot and wait for a Badnik to scan him before granting him access to the lab and to Doctor Robotnik himself. Adams and Sanders might believe the rumours about Robotnik being a vampire, but Stone didn’t. He couldn’t, not if he wanted to prove himself. Standing alone outside of the lab as the door opened, Stone’s hand twitched around the coffee, wanting desperately to reach up to touch his neck under his shirt, to press his palm into a few scars there.  No, he had seen nothing to say Robotnik was a vampire, and he wasn’t going to let the rumours affect his job. He glanced back once before entering the lab, noting the sky already turning a sullen grey for an overcast day, perfectly reflecting Stone’s mood right now. And Robotnik’s it seemed, as the Doctor did not look impressed to see the Agent standing just inside the door. “You’re here.” He said. “Good Morning Doctor,” Stone replied, deciding not to comment on how disappointed Robotnik sounded, “I have a latte for you.”  Robotnik’s gloved hands were cold when their fingers brushed momentarily as Stone passed the latte over, and with baited breath he waited for the Doctor to take his first sip. The latte was good, Robotnik mused as he swallowed the first mouthful, almost perfect actually considering it was the first time Stone had made him one, but he couldn’t let the Agent know that, not so soon. No, he had to make a point. The look on Stone’s face when he poured the coffee on the ground was worth it.  “Clean that up Agent, and find an excuse to stay by my side when you can’t even make a decent coffee.” He barked, and Stone looked at him with an expression that seemed mixed between incredulousness and annoyance. He didn’t make a move to immediately obey either, and it was only when Robotnik seemed to take a step closer that Stone moved, heading for the small kitchen in the lab to grab towels and cleaning spray. The tension in his body as he walked told Robotnik all he needed to know - Agent Stone was used to solitary field work where he didn’t have to take orders, and could work within his own decided remit. Though the man was used to deferring to those higher than him, he demanded a modicum of respect both with Commanders, Generals and other Agents.  He wasn’t going to get that same respect here, not unless he earned it. Having perfectly balanced blood wasn’t a criteria for that either.  His scent was already filling the lab and Robotnik could feel his mouth watering. Truly, Stone would make a great feeding specimen, and it was going to be a struggle everyday to keep the man around, so Robotnik was just going to have to break a personal record - get Stone to resign as his assistant faster than any other before.  And to start? Not only did the latte hit the floor, but Robotnik picked up Stone’s own drink and tipped that out too. While keeping eye contact. As Stone was on his knees, cleaning up the other drink. Splashes of the mocha hit his perfectly pristine pants, and Robotnik watched as Stone’s eyelids twitched.  Annoyance. Irritation. Beautiful to see.  “You are going to spend today perfecting your latte making skills, Agent,” Robotnik stated, “And for each latte that isn’t perfect, you’ll be on your knees cleaning up the mess, like the low-life you are. You may have enjoyed respect and intelligence out there, in the world of the feeble-minded sheep, but in here you are nothing compared to my little finger, and you will learn it soon.”  “Yes Doctor.” The reply was benign, and betrayed nothing of Stone’s feelings, but Robotnik could smell it. He could smell the way Stone’s heart was racing, not from fear but from adrenaline, and irritation. He was going to throw himself into this task, and he was determined to succeed, and it made Robotnik want to learn even more about this man, and why he had been assigned.  For now, he merely enjoyed watching Stone clean up both coffee messes, before sauntering off back to the lab and leaving Stone to perfect his latte making hand.  -- When the end of the day rolled around, it was clear Robotnik had lost his bet to himself that Stone would be quitting in record time. No, in fact Stone had thrived in the kitchen, producing latte after latte that all tasted pretty good to Robotnik, and he had gotten down each time to clean it up when Robotnik had poured it out purposefully. In fact, after the second latte, Stone had cottoned on to the fact that every drink was going on the floor, even if it was perfect, and he had lined the kitchen each time Robotnik came into it with paper towel, making it easier to clean. Well, Robotnik did always say “work smarter, not harder”, but it frustrated him.  He needed Stone gone.  Before he made him disappear entirely.  “I hope you don’t think that after today it gets any easier, Agent Stone,” Robotnik snapped as Stone made his way to the exit door, rolling his shoulders and stretching. “Where are you going?” “Home?” Stone questioned, “Commander Walters-.” “You don’t run on military time anymore Agent.” Robotnik huffed, with a cruel smirk, “You run on my time now, and I dictate when you leave.” Stone pulled up short and stood, hands in front of him with a stoic expression. It gave Robotnik another chance to really look him over, and formalise the decisions he had already made about the man. Up close like this, without Walters in front of him, Robotnik noticed a difference in his stance, in how he carried himself. Stone was a professional, and the tenseness in his entire body showed Robotnik he was ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice, and yet he carried it off well. He kept his eyes trained on the wall ahead when Robotnik circled him, and if he heard the slightly increased sniff that the Doctor did, he didn’t mention it, or react to it.  The scent of his blood filled Robotnik and for a second it took all his willpower not to lean in closer and bite him.  “Do you wear aftershave, Agent Stone?” He asked through nearly gritted teeth. “A subtle one, yes Doctor.” Stone replied, eyes shifting to try and follow Robotnik’s movements behind him without moving his body. “Invest in a stronger one,” Robotnik ordered, rounding to Stone’s front again and meeting his eyes. “I expect you with a different scent tomorrow.” Stone blinked once, frowned momentarily, and then asked, “Is there a particular scent you’re looking for, Doctor? Since you seem so interested?” Shrugging, Robotnik stepped back and walked back towards his desk and console, leaving Stone standing by the door. “Something earthy would suit you, Agent Stone. You are dismissed.”  The Agent didn’t leave immediately, looking at Robotnik with a side-eye as if he wanted to say something, and then thought better of it. He said goodbye, and ducked out of the lab and into the rain that had started maybe an hour earlier. With him gone, the stench of his blood lessened, but lingered due to his continued presence in the lab, and Robotnik groaned as his head fell into his hands. He had never lacked control like this before, but he had also never smelled anyone like Agent Stone before. If he could convince Stone to wear a different scent, maybe it would cover up the attractive smell. Then again, maybe not, and he would be stuck testing all his limits of self-control.  This was going to be hell.  But more so for Agent Stone if Robotnik had anything to do with it.

“I swear you are the most gorgeous bride I have ever seen.” Mel sniffles, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a tissue in an effort to not ruin her makeup.  “Fuck yes I am.” Turning in front of the mirrored wall Stella admires her svelte backside. The layers of vintage silk falling down like a waterfall. “I thought Bash was going to be our crier today, not you Melly.” “I've barely cried.” You sob clutching the fistful of tissues to your nose, already knowing your makeup was long ruined. At this point your only option was to wait to touch yourself up before walking out.  “Keep crying.” Mel orders you with a laugh. “Get it all out now.” “Aww just let her be.” Still preening Stella giggles alongside your friend. “I don’t care if she cries during the ceremony.” “Think of the pictures.” Taking away your tissues she gives you a fresh batch. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to look back and see herself crying throughout your special day.” “I’ll be good, I promise.” Hiccupping you blow your nose. It was hard, Spending the morning with your friends, seeing the slight swell of Stella’s stomach, how happy she was. It was just so beautiful your only option was to feel it out. Despite her assurance you really didn’t want to be full on sobbing during the main event. “A few delicate tears on your friends cheeks are expected.” Stella’s mother adds eloquently. “But as far as manners go I think it’s best if you pull it together.” “I’m trying.” You assure her quickly, unashamed to admit you felt a little intimidated by the woman. Just as beautiful as her daughter there was a distinct regality in the way she carried herself. Having any criticism by her directed in your direction would have been devastating if not for the warmth of the smile she blesses you with. “Such good girls.” She compliments looking between you and Mel. “Where did the snippy one run off to?” “I think your mom is really starting to like me.” Valerie grins walking back into the room with a bottle of champagne in her hands. “I’ve got a nickname and everything.” “Be nice.” Mel orders nudging the girl only slightly aggressively. They had grown closer these past few weeks, well all four of you had really. Jungkook and Yoongi had been keeping you under lockdown but they had allowed your girls to come and go as they pleased. At least Mel and Valerie’s arguing seemed more teasing than actual animosity. They still bickered over you any chance they got but now you weren’t scared one of them was going to start swinging. When Stella had asked Valerie to join the wedding party you had watched her heart soften even further, cementing her place with your little family. It had been a last minute invitation but you knew it meant the world to Valerie even if she wouldn’t ever say it out loud. She wanted the other girls to accept her just as much as you had. It wasn’t always perfect; she could still be a bitch but you could see how much she was being influenced by having positive friendships in her life. A win was a win in your book. “Only one glass please.” Stella’s mom orders the three of you with a smile. “I’ll go make sure everything is ready, pull it together ladies. Twenty minutes until it’s showtime.” “To Stella and Namjoon.” Mel begins after she passes around the glasses of champagne. “I’ve never seen two people more perfect for each other. Even at your lowest you were always each other’s biggest supporters. I actually wasn’t sure if loved existed before getting to witness yours. How open and accepting you both were, there was never drama or mountains to climb, you just met and that was it. The simplest love story ever written, and somehow still the most beautiful. I wish you a lifetime of happiness Stells, you deserve the world.” “To Stella and Namjoon!” You and Valerie cheer, the only thing stopping you from crying again was the half amazed half excited look on Stella’s glowing face. “Thank you girls.” Taking a sip from the champagne glass full of juice she was holding she gives it a regretful look. “It’s a shame though, not being able to drink at my own wedding is a bummer.” “Have no fear.” Mel sings dramatically. “I’ll get drunk enough for the both of us.” “Please don’t.” She sighs, taking away Mel’s now empty glass. “What about you Killer? Are the bodyguards going to let you have fun tonight?” “Oof. Let’s just be happy they let her out of the house.” “Hey- that’s not fair.” Glaring at Valerie you rush to their defense. “It’s not like it’s only them…..I mean it’s been hard….you know.” Living. It had been harder than you thought, there was no just going back to normal for you. You didn’t think it was possible for anyone to come out of a situation like that mentally unscathed. There were times where you felt completely fine, and other times where you felt an overwhelming amount of guilt for what you had done. It wasn’t like the guilt changed anything for you, even if you could go back in time you would do it all the same.  It was Hoseok who had made the guilt manageable. You hadn’t really expected to talk about what had happened that night in the warehouse. But Yoongi had been right, there was something about Hope that made you think things could get better. You needed that, someone to tell you it was okay to feel like that, not to assure you that it would just go away. “Maybe you will always feel guilty.” He had noted softly, taking your hand into his. “You’re not some heartless monster Princess, would you like the person you were if you could do something like that and not feel badly about it? I’m not saying you didn’t do what you needed to but let’s be honest, that guilt is what makes you………you. The type of girl who feels guilty that she couldn’t save even the bad guys. You are a good person; I don’t think you are capable of ever erasing this feeling. Just don’t let it control you, let it be proof of who you are.” Proof of who you are. You could work with that, twist it into something you could live with.  “We know it’s been hard; I don’t think she meant that they were the bad guys here.” Smiling Mel wraps an arm around your waist. “It’s just nice to see you in the light of day again.” “Are you guys still taking things slow?” Stella questions, eyes twinkling as she shifts the conversation back to lighter topics. “Or are they still giving you time to heal.” “Damnit Stells.” Rolling your eyes a hot blush rushes to your cheeks. “Should we really be talking about my love life? You are the one about to go on her honeymoon.” “Ugh, come one it’s not like we can necessarily do anything crazy right now.” She reminds you, motioning to her stomach dramatically. “I’ll have to live vicariously through you guys. We all know about the freaky shit you three do. Besides rumor has it you guys are getting your own little honeymoon.” “Well…” Shaking your head you reach for the almost empty bottle of champagne, taking a drink straight from the bottle. “We leave this weekend for the Bahamas, there are a few other places we may visit too. Hope and Jin agreed to keep Bangtan rolling for a little bit without us.” It had been Yoongi’s idea to go away for a while, once all of the doctors appointments had slowed down. Once the three of you weren’t needed for a few weeks. To just, escape. All of it. The past. Responsibilities. To give the three of you some much needed time to focus on each other. “Also it’s not really fair, it hasn’t just been them wanting to wait. If I’m being honest those first few weeks I really did feel like shit, not exactly the getting railed sort of vibe.” Despite the gun shot and the smoke inhalation it had turned out the injury that had taken the longest to heal from was the concussion. The fucking headaches. Ugh. Thank God, they weren’t as frequent or as intense as they were initially. At least now you didn’t need any narcotics, just a daily regimen of ibuprofen had been enough. It had been almost a week since your last severe episode, fingers crossed it stayed that way. Still the three of you had remained cautious as per your doctor's orders. If you were being honest it was the emotional intimacy you had been craving initially anyway. Yoongi’s declaration had unlocked a deeper level of contentment that you had been desperate to hold onto. Even through the worst of the mind numbing headaches you had found yourself wrapped around one or both of your lovers, craving their closeness as well as the soft words of encouragement spoken to you so eagerly. You couldn’t think of a medicine better than their love. Now you were officially cleared for any activities that you felt your body was ready for, and fuck if your heart wasn’t eager to go back to the place the three of you were first brave enough to explore these turbulent emotions that had plagued you. To cement what the three of you already knew, that this was forever. “Don’t worry though Mrs. Kim, I’m sure when I come back I’ll have plenty of stories to fill your dirty little head.” Giggling you feel slightly victorious at the red tinge to her cheeks. “I’ll even film you something special.” “Aww for me?” Stella laughs, embracing the joke. “How sweet, I’ll consider it a wedding gift.” “Yeah, I think you guys are too close.” Valerie remarks dryly.  “She’s just jealous.” “You wish bit-“ “Hey!” Mel snaps. “You promised to be nice to her all day today, remember?” “Alright girls-“ Walking back in Stella’s mother claps her hands together expectantly. “It’s showtime.” Shit. Running to the mirror you rush to fix your face, laughing along with your friends as they each touch up their own makeup. All except for Stella who steps aside with her mother, the two of them speaking softly to each other. From the looks of it they were sharing a sweet moment, smiling you turn away following the other girls out to the hall.  It was strange, seeing Bangtan like this. There had been several events you got to work but never a wedding. The main dance floor had been completely cleared out to make room for the ceremony, with the reception scheduled to take place upstairs in the VIP lounge. It was sweet, them wanting their wedding at the same place they met.  “You look beautiful.” A low voice whispers in your ear, wrapping an arm around your waist. Leaning into the soft kiss Yoongi places on your forehead you lay your head against his chest briefly.  “Thank you.” Shyly you avoid his gaze, the intensity in the way he spoke still somehow taking your breath away. “How’s Joonie?” “Panicking.” He admits, chuckling at your need to change the subject. “He wants everything to be perfect for her.” “It will be.” You had too much confidence in the people involved in the planning to think anything differently. “What do you think?” Yoongi questions lowering his mouth to your ear. “Did you ever hope to do something like this?” “Something like this?” Confused you peer up at him, not understanding his meaning. “You know, get married.” He shrugs motioning towards the chaos. “I realize our situation is…….different. Just a thought I had; we talk about our future a lot but never what you would be missing out on by being with both of us.” “Well first of all, I don’t need a legal document to consider us forever.” Flustered you pull away from him, not expecting this line of questioning. “Maybe a ring and some vows but definitely not a piece of paper.” “So you’ve thought about it?” The devilish smirk he gives you makes your heart flutter anxiously. “I- no I-“ The potential lie quickly catches in your throat. “I never said I’ve thought about it.” Yeah you had, endlessly. None of it had been bad though, even if you couldn’t legally marry them both that didn’t make any of it less meaningful to you. This was wonderful for Stella and Namjoon but you far preferred what you had. “Mhm.” Laughing Yoongi raises a condescending brow in your direction. “Whatever you say Kitten.”  “Ugh, you can’t just- casually bring up getting married.” You stammer anxiously, wondering why your bravery seemed to always walk out the door when it came to the men in your life. “Not right now anyway.” “When then?” Yoongi asks yanking you back against him, all of the humor in his eyes replaced with passionate intensity. “When am I allowed to ask you?” “Uhm….” Stunned you stare up into his eyes, momentarily lost in the warmth reflected back at you. “Guys what the hell, everyone is lining up!” Mel’s hands firmly shove you both forward, jolting you back to reality. “Move your asses.” Shit, it was wedding time. Now if you could just get the hammering in your heart to stop….. Damnit Yoongi.       ~       Ahhh, the Maknae flower boys…… That’s what Stella had jokingly dubbed them once they had offered up their services. The entire room was laughing as the three made their way down the aisle, stealing the show. If only for a moment. The flower garlands on the top of their heads the only thing distinguishing them from the other groomsmen. They would have looked more like supermodels if it hadn’t been for the ridiculous way they were throwing the petals, making more of a mess than actually helping.   For a moment you think that this will be your favorite part of the wedding, the thought is short lived as a hush falls over the crowd and soft piano begins to play. Stella. She was radiant, glowing as she practically floats down to Namjoon, flanked by her parents. Namjoon. Even from this distance you can see the tears shimmer in his eyes as he sees her. They deserved this, Mel was right, they were the perfect example of love. It was moments like this that  your gratitude outweighed whatever guilt you felt. Being here, with your family was everything. Thank fuck you were here to witness this magical moment. To watch the tears of happiness cascade down your friends face as she pledged herself forever to the man of her dreams. A front row seat to their happily ever after. To Stella and Namjoon!     ~       “I guess we should have given you the whole try not to cry through the whole ceremony speech.” Mel teases Stella, giving her a saucy wink. “Be nice.” Shoving your friend you place a comforting hand on Stella’s arm. “It was beautiful, don’t let her get to you. She’s already three drinks in, besides Joon cried just as much as you did.” “Listen, I’m not even ashamed.” Eyes twinkling she gives you a look of thanks. “Honestly I could blame it on the hormones but I’m just so fucking happy it doesn’t even matter. Look at him, how did I get so lucky?” Your eyes are drawn to where she is looking, choking down a laugh when you see him tipsily trying to learn how to do the robot from Hope. “Yeah, girl he sure is a keeper.” Smiling you stretch up from your seat. “I’ll be back, I’m going to grab a drink.” Namjoon definitely was a keeper, just not yours. Stepping up to the bar you almost trip on the length of your dress, catching yourself on a bar stool. “Oh my gosh, are you okay Bash?” That was a voice you recognized. “Olivia! I’m so happy you made it.” Pulling the startled girl in for a hug you can feel the tension leave her at your warm welcome. “We weren’t sure if you would be able to…..” “I wouldn’t have missed it.” She says easily grabbing her drink from the bartender. “It’s really great to see you up and moving around again.” It was still strange to look at Olivia as family, not that you have had a whole lot of time to connect with her. Jungkook and Yoongi had kept you under lock and key for most of your immediate healing. You had tried to reach out but you weren’t the only one going through something traumatic, Olivia had her own shit she had been dealing with. “Thank you it’s been hard that’s for sure.” Before you can doubt yourself you ask the question that was weighing heavily on your tongue. “Liv….can I ask how he is doing?” It had been a shock to everyone, a few days before you had finally been released from the hospital Thomas had been in a car accident. He should have died; all the doctors had agreed on that. It was a miracle that he had survived with the speeds he had been driving, his friend in the car with him hadn’t been so lucky. Hearing that he would be wheelchair bound for the rest of his life had felt like justice in your opinion. But it was an opinion you would keep to yourself, especially to your cousin who you knew loved her brother despite all of his fallbacks. “Mentally it’s hard but Grandpa is going to get him all the help he needs, he isn’t losing hope.” Speaking softly she lowers her head as she speaks of him. “It will be a long time before he can come home, but we have a long term care facility that is getting prepared to take him.” “I’m glad he is doing okay.”  “You don’t have to lie.” Laughing Olivia nudges you softly. “I know what he is, karma has a way of coming back to you. Hopefully this changes his mind set on his life, it’s going to have to I think.” “I’m not lying.” You insist truthfully. “I really do want him to be okay, even if it’s only for your sake.” “I can appreciate that.” Giving you a small smile she leans back against the bar taking a sip of her drink. “The wedding isn’t the only reason I came, I wanted to see it for myself. I’m very grateful for you Bash, for more reasons than you know. Thank you, really.” “What? You don’t need to thank me for anything.” You respond in confusion. “I do actually.” Grinning she motions towards the corner of the room. Ohh. Viktor. Sitting down at a booth with Jungkook, Jin, and Yoongi. There was a look of deep contentment on his face as him and Yoongi leaned towards each other, laughing at your friends dancing before returning to the drinking game they were playing. It had started out small. Viktor showing up to the apartment just to check on you, it had been Yoongi who insisted that he stay for dinner one night. You hadn’t expected it of him, he had hated the other man for so long that you didn’t think it was possible for him to accept him back in his life. They didn’t always see eye to eye but you knew they both were trying. Thankfully you weren’t the only one healing from your past traumas. Marcus. You were finally getting to learn about him, he was no longer some hidden figure that was haunting them both. He was their brother and they were excited to share him with you. “That was all them.” You tell Olivia. “They just needed to find each other again. I just happened to be along for the ride.” “Sure.” She doesn’t argue but you can see in her eyes that she disagrees. “I’m just glad he has you guys now; I’ve been so worried about him for so long I just……” “Is that why you haven’t let him move on? You were just worried about him being alone?” You didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation but it definitely comes out as one. “It’s not that simple.” Olivia whispers softly. “I just don’t get it Liv, it’s obvious you love him-“ “Just because you love someone doesn’t make them your person.” Closing her eyes she takes a deep breath, downing her drink before she faces you directly. “Everyone has their demons Bash. I’ve- I’ve dealt with mine, believe it or not. It’s made me realize exactly what I want in life.” The urge to question her is strong but you swallow it down. Olivia seemed close to tears and for whatever reason you felt like you were teetering on territory that you had no right stepping in. “I don’t want to be the bad guy in his story.” She says more to herself than you. “I uhm……I was never going to tell anyone this. Now I’m starting to think it was really selfish of me, all of this pain and bad blood between them, it was my fault.” “No it is not-“ “Stop.” Holding up her hand she looks back towards Viktor, she didn’t sound sad or lost in grief, just accepting. “I want to tell you; I need to so this weight can be lifted. I know this isn’t the place but……I’m going away for a while and I really want you to understand. I want someone to understand and I think you could. Me and Viktor I don’t want to be with him Bash, not because I don’t love him but because of this life he has chosen. Him, my grandfather, Thomas…..I don’t fucking want it.” “I’m not saying this so you can feel bad for me. This isn’t something that I’m unsure of. That night, the night of the fire, when we lost Marcus…..I had texted Viktor. I told him I was bleeding, I had been pregnant. A little over two months.” “What?” You don’t even begin to know how to answer to her confession. “Don’t look at me like that, please. It happens, that’s what the doctor told me anyway. Sometimes it’s just not meant to be. I feel awful for texting him for needing him when everyone else did too. But how could I not have? I was losing the baby, and I needed him. Marcus’s death was an accident, who’s to say if Viktor had stayed to help that it would have even made a difference? We can’t change it.” Sighing she gives you a weak smile. “I do regret forcing Viktor to keep it a secret, Yoongi would have understood why he left. I was just so angry at the time, if I wasn’t able to have my baby than why should anyone else get to know about it?” “I’m so sorry Olivia.” You didn’t know what else to say, you couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for her. To lose they baby, and everything that happened after. “Thank you.” She says earnestly. “That’s the thing though…….at the end of the day I’m ashamed to say that I was relieved. Once I realized that I knew I had to walk away from him. God that makes me sound like such a bitch. I don’t mean it like that, I would have done anything to keep the baby……but maybe the universe knew. It knew that at my heart I didn’t want this. Not knowing if he was going to come home each night, the getting arrested, hurting people, fuck I don’t want that life Bash.” “You don’t think he would walk away from it for you?” Viktor would, you were sure he would do anything for the girl he was in love with. “This life, it’s who he is. That would be like me asking him to change the core of who he was. How could I do that? At the end of the day he loves this, Grandpa is going to give it all to him one day. It was never going to be passed on to Tom, he has been preparing Vik from the day he met him. And Bash….he fucking wants it, more than he wants me.” You wanted to argue with her, to tell her that she was wrong but…… you didn’t actually think she was. There had been more than a few moments where you had seen Viktor in the thick of it all, it had reminded you of Yoongi with his gun. A strange longing that they couldn’t shake no matter how hard they tried. Viktor was never meant to be the good guy, maybe Olivia had been the reason he wanted to rise the ranks but that didn’t mean his reasonings hadn’t changed. "Even after losing Marcus he never stopped, he didn't walk away from it. Yoongi left but not him. He knows the risks and he has just accepted them, but I can't. I asked him to run away with me once, just me and him. He told me that I should take a few days and think on it. I never asked again.” Chugging down the last of her drink she gives you that brilliant smile. “At the end of the day some people just aren’t right for each other, and that’s okay. I’m just glad he isn’t alone anymore. Truly, I wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart. Everyone needs a family, I hope you guys can keep him out of trouble for me.” “Does anyone know you are leaving?” It wasn’t your place to stop her, but that didn’t mean you weren’t afraid for her. “You do.” She says evenly before laughing. “Don’t worry I’ll leave a note. I’m not running away; I still have my shop. It's just, now that I know Thomas will be okay I just need to go out in the world and get some fresh air. We are family now too; I’m not going to forget that. I’ll always be a phone call away if you need me.” “I’ll hold you to that.” It was hard not to feel sad, the two of you hadn’t even gotten the chance to become close and she was already leaving. Not that you were selfish enough to ask her to stay. She was right, this wasn’t a good bye, just a see you later. “Gosh, you can’t hide your emotions at all can you?” Giggling she grabs your hand. “Want to get drunk with me Cousin?” “Yes please.” After that information you needed a shot, or maybe even a couple…..       ~       Hah. They had you all sorts of fucked up. Take it easy? What were you five years old….. You could get as drunk as you wanted to. Assholes. Jerks. Tyrants. Shit. Laughing to yourself you duck into a group of dancers, well aware that your lovers were looking for you. The crowds weren’t in your favor unfortunately. The wedding wasn’t big enough, with the club closed for the night you would have to work with what you had. “Things are going to get significantly more difficult for you if I have to come down there and catch you.” Yoongi calls from the second floor, his gaze just short of menacing. It’s enough for your legs to feel like jelly, not enough for you to actually listen. “Fuck you Min.” You shout with a giggle, loving the challenge that blazes in his eyes. “I’m not afraid of you.” Twisting on your heels you dart forward your intoxicated mind more than excited by the prospect of him chasing after you. All of your excitement is short lived as you immediately crash into someone, colliding with their chest with enough force that you would have fallen if not for the strong arms that wrap around you. “Who exactly are you not afraid of Sweetheart?” Uhh ohh….. Jungkook. Shit.

Everyone's happy. Marinette can feel the relief in the air settling between herself and every person she's spoken to so far. Her parents were all over her, hugging her and kissing her more than usual, both were reluctant to let her even go to school today, but she insisted and eventually managed to get to school at a reasonable time. Not late. As soon as she made it to the top step of the school building, she's approached by a very flustered and awkward Chloé Bourgeois and giddy Sabrina, both girls greet her, with Sabrina pushing Chloé right into her. A gentle and awkward apology comes from Sabrina who narrows her eyes at Chloé, as if speaking to her through her gaze. "Urgh.", Chloé huffs and suddenly wraps her arms around Marinette's neck, her arms sliding over Marinette's tense shoulders. "We're glad you're okay.", she whispers before pulling away, pulling away before Marinette really registered what happened. "See you in class, Marinette!", Sabrina says with a smile, reaching and grabbing a still flustered and annoyed Chloé by the forearm, already tugging her away before Marinette could speak. After that, Marinette found herself hugged by many other people, some she wasn't even familiar with, but all students nonetheless. Chloé's stiff hug had been surprising, perhaps the most surprising interaction she's had so far, but just as she thinks that Chloé Bourgeois's show of relief would be the only surprise she'd get today, another came, just as the lunch period began. "What?", Marinette says as she stands in front of the oddly flustered Lila Rossi, whom held out a container towards her, having just said something she unfortunately missed. Alya and Adrien both immediately find their eyes fixated on the scene before them, both watching carefully. "I um, I made you some lunch…uh, just as a thank you…for everything.", Lila speaks again, voice shaky, her form not as composed as usual. She was visibly stiff and looked slightly uncomfortable. Marinette couldn't help the skeptical look that washed over her face, her eyebrows both arching sharply. "Uh…um-" "Aw!", a coo came, echoing inside the classroom. The voice no doubt belonging to Rose. "Wow Lila made lunch for Mari.", Mylene added, her chin propped on her left hand, her attention now on Marinette and Lila. Marinette was confused, definitely, Lila had been extremely quiet in class, the brunette hadn't even spared her a glance, but now she was offering her food? "Uh, T-Thanks?", Marinette says in obvious bewilderment. Her eyes flickering off of Lila's stiff form, flickering among and to the many eyes that belonged to her peers, all of whom were watching her carefully. As much as she would have wanted to just brush past Lila and reject the brunette's offering, she simply couldn't, at least, not without upsetting everyone else. Marinette swallowed thickly and returned her gaze to the ever growing flustered mess that was suddenly Lila. It was strange, not seeing the usual snarky brunette's confident facade. She slowly reached out and took the container carefully with both hands, her fingers lightly brushed Lila's own as Marinette finally took the warm container. Lila smiled awkwardly, forcefully, it looked painful. Alya and Adrien both narrowed their eyes at the container of food. "Uh, I hope you like it.", Lila clasps her hands together, beginning to fidget in place, her eyes averting Marinette's still confused and questioning gaze. "I just…wanted to thank you and say I'm glad you're okay.", Lila shrugged her shoulders, her olive green eyes flickered back to meet Marinette's gaze. "So…yeah, I uh, I'll leave you to it.", she awkwardly clears her throat and turns, finally walking away, not meeting anyone's curious gaze. All of Marinette's and Lila's peers had witnessed what had happened, all were quiet and waiting to see what Marinette would do next. Marinette forced a smile upon her own lips, she released a forced chuckle, wanting to appear cheery and grateful. "C-Cool…", she stutters and finishes walking towards the seat she was heading for. As soon as she sits, everyone goes back to doing whatever they had been doing before Lila approached her, everyone but the girls sitting at the table she chose to sit at. "Oh, Lila, she's so sweet.", Rose says as soon as Marinette sits the container Lila had given to her down onto the table. Marinette kept her false happy facade, she felt a bit of anxiousness sneaking up on her, she had planned to eat the school's food today, but Lila intercepted her before she could grab a tray and now that, that happened, she had to eat what Lila gave to her, because if she didn't, she knew the others wouldn't let her live it down and no near real death experience would probably help her there. "Open it, open it, open it!", Alix said as she shoved her fork of food into her mouth. Alya and Adrien both sighed under their breaths and walked to their own seats, Alya sat beside Marinette at the table with the other girl's in their circle of friends and Adrien sat with Nino at a table of their male peers. Both tables seemed pretty focused on what happened between Lila and Marinette. "Uh…um…", Marinette swallowed thickly once more and gently removed the lip of the warm container, she sucked in a deep breath and released it through her nose, she slowly lifted the top off and placed it beside the container, eyes already analyzing the contents. "That…actually smells divine!", Rose chimes in before anyone can get a word in. Alya rose an eyebrow, but she had to agree with the blonde, it smelled delicious. 'It does smell good but…what if…She put something in it.', Marinette couldn't help but ponder for a moment, the food looked good, it was pasta, with shrimp and some sort of sauce topping it all. Alya nudges her gently with her elbow. Marinette looks up, exiting her thoughts to find curious eyes all on her. "Well? Aren't you going to try it?", Mylene says with a smile. Marinette's lips part like a fish out of water, wanting to say 'no', but then stopping herself, closing her lips again to re-think what she was going to say. "Mari, girl, just try it.", Alya says gently. Marinette turns and gives Alya a pleading look. Alya sighed, she gave Marinette a much more stern nod. She knew Marinette had problems with Lila, hell, she too had problems with Lila, not that it was common knowledge or anything, but after finding out Marinette was Ladybug, she was of course, forced to face the reality of Lila's lies. And it sucked. Marinette was her best friend and she let her down. But right now, at this table, to avoid any issues, she hoped Marinette would just eat the damn pasta and question it later. Marinette groaned inwardly, lips pursing ever so slightly, eyes looking over what was in front of her, it's then that she realizes something. "I can't.", she says. Everyone at the table gasps softly. "Why not?", Alix says before anyone else can ask. Marinette looked up and met Alix's gaze. "There's no fork…" Everyone all seems to relax, they laugh off Marinette's excuse. "Use mine, I'm not going to use it.", Alya intervenes much to Marinette's dismay. Marinette shoots a pout at Alya who only gives her another stern nod. She huffs under her breath and begrudgingly takes the fork. She swallows thickly and dips the fork into the spaghetti and twists the fork, she lightly runs her tongue over her lips to moisten them, she feels a cold sweat begin to develop over her brows, she's nervous. Alya presses her lips together and watches, eyes fixated on the spaghetti Marinette was twirling around the plastic fork. She knew Marinette was fretting over whether or not Lila put something in the food, but in all honesty, she believed the food was clean, not even Lila would be that stupid, especially with everyone's eyes now on Marinette after yesterday's events. Marinette screwed her eyes shut as she brought the fork up to her lips, 'Oh god.', she thought before pink lips parted and the fork of pasta entered her mouth. Sapphire eyes snapped opened as the delicious taste immediately coated her taste buds, garlic and butter taking over along with the gentle taste of shrimp. "Oh god, this is…good.", Marinette says, fork leaving her mouth as she chewed. Alya released a breath of relief and everyone else seemed rather elated at Marinette's positive reaction to their friend's food. Marinette hummed, the thought of Lila having done something to the food immediately leaving her mind as she began to eat the food rather gratefully, enjoying the flavors that brought her back to the days her lovely Nonna would spend a lot of time with her and her parents and prepare many italian dishes for dinner. She definitely loved the food Lila gave to her, that much was obvious. "She left early today, her mother came to pick her up some time after lunch." Marinette's eyebrow rose, the recently cleaned lunch container in her hands. "Oh? I guess I missed her.", she said as she turned to Alya and Nino, both giving her nods. "Yeah, Lila was kinda flustered when the principal came for her, hopefully nothing bad happened.", Kim chimed in, leaning against a locker. Marinette sighed and then proceeded to open her own locker where she placed the container inside to save for tomorrow in the hope of giving it back to Lila. "Well, I'll just give it back tomorrow.", She said as she grabbed her bag and closed her locker. Kim and Alix both nod their heads, they shift and begin to walk, both walking by Marinette, but not before gently giving her a friendly pat on her shoulder before they took their leave. Alya turned to Nino once both had left, "Hey, why don't you give me and Mari a minute.", she said gently. Nino hummed, his eyes looking between the brunette and his childhood friend. Marinette rose an eyebrow in confusion. "Uh, sure, babe. I'll uh, wait for you outside.", Nino said, "see you tomorrow, Mari.", he gave Marinette a wave before turning to also take his leave. As soon as the door closed and no one was left inside the locker room, Alya spoke. "So, you're alive, it's safe to say Lila wasn't trying to kill you.", Alya said, turning to give Marinette her full attention. Marinette's lips form an 'O', understanding what Alya wanted to talk about. "Apparently. I was freaking out inside, but…I'm fine, the food was actually very good, it tasted just like my Nonna's cooking.", she shrugged her shoulders, arms lifting to cross over her chest. Alya sighed deeply, she too crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes meeting Marinette's gaze, "It was really…weird for her to give you food, I mean, on the surface to everyone else, it was a good gesture, but to you and me…well, it was pretty suspicious." Marinette nodded her head, "Yeah, I honestly thought the food was going to make me sick or something.", she added. Alya pursed her lips slightly, "Yeah, me too. I'm glad it didn't and I'm glad I won't have to kick her ass over it.", she spoke seriously, venom coating her tone. The Dupain-Cheng could only muster a sheepish chuckle at Alya's comment. It was odd, Lila making something for her. It was definitely more odd than Chloé hugging her that's for sure. Marinette could somewhat justify Chloé's hug, they grew up together, knew each other for so long and maybe, just maybe, Chloé cared just a little bit for her after all. Lila on the other hand, well, she didn't exactly have a reason to care about her, everything Lila did or said served a purpose, she never did anything random, that much Marinette had learned. Surely, Lila had a plan in store for her.

It was only an hour before dawn, and Spike wasn’t home yet. Xander couldn’t stop pacing. Well, pacing and looking out the window at the sky that was already showing signs of the coming daybreak. Okay, he was also staring at the street outside their gate, as if he could will Spike to show up. He dropped the heavy curtain back down over the window, and went back to pacing. Xander didn’t know what to do. Spike was barely back to full strength, and now he was out playing keep away with the sun. If anything happened to him, Xander wasn’t sure they had enough money to buy more human blood. They’d used up most of their bankroll buying enough blood to help Spike heal from his fight with Puffy Spike. They were pretty close to broke. That had resulted a long discussion concerning what was considered healthy human food when Kendra and Tara were here last. They’d been appalled by the contents of the kitchen. Like he was going to buy vegetables when his vampire was wounded, scoffed Xander. Okay, so he didn’t buy vegetables ever. But even if he did, he wasn’t going to worry about that crap when Spike’s body still had holes that hadn’t closed over yet. Of course, a couple of days of lounging around, doing nothing but drinking blood had done wonders for Spike. He’d been champing at the bit, eager to be out and about far before Xander thought he was well enough. Tara had come over and taken a closer look at the loot they’d found in the lair that Xander and Spike had been uncomfortable dealing with, even after they had the magic revealing/neutralizing trinkets Tara had recommended to Xander. She hadn’t needed much in the way of spells and things while she was upstairs. She’d recognized the magic on most of the objects and had set aside those that would need more work. But downstairs in the basements, she’d spent a lot of time sorting through the treasure they’d found in various safes and hidey holes, moving slowly to make sure she didn’t miss anything dangerous. She’d used up a lot of sage in her efforts to cleanse the taint of evil out of those levels. But the results had been worth the annoyance to Spike’s delicate nasal passages, and if he could get the fences to agree with his estimates, they might even have enough money for some sort of a vehicle. A car or truck would be most welcome. They lived at the very edge of town, and spent over an hour walking to Giles’ apartment every day. A car would help Xander feel less isolated, and would definitely boost his spirits. He wasn’t sure if it was his wild emotional swings or just their current circumstances, but he could definitely use some good news, right now. That was why Spike was out tonight: his fence wouldn’t deal with a human, so Xander had stayed home. He hated thinking that Spike was out there by himself with no backup. Xander’d stayed up late, thinking Spike would show up before he went to sleep, but finally he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and gave in to the call of the bed. He’d woken after just a couple of hours of sleep, surprised at the lateness, or well - earliness of the hour. He didn’t know what had woken him, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. Finally he got up, and that was when he realized there was no Spike in the house. He had to do something soon. Spike could be lying on the side of the road, wounded and unable to call for help. He could be fighting for his life down at the docks. Maybe Puffy Spike and his minions had tracked him down and were right this minute holding a stake over his heart! He could be tied to the top of the clock tower waiting for dawn to break. Or maybe he’d been fighting with Fyarls who’d used their really gross mucous to turn him into a Spike statue, and when the sun came up, there’d be nothing but a Spike-shaped chunk of hardened mucus with a few ashes in the middle. Xander’s heart skipped a beat as he remembered the multi-headed hydra-thing they’d dealt with last year. It had clamped its jaws shut on Spike’s thigh, and whipped its head from side to side, ripping a huge chunk of vampire flesh right out of his body. Of course it had spit it right back out again two seconds later. Obviously, vampire flesh wasn’t as tasty as it had thought it would be. That wasn’t the point, though. Spike needed him, and he was standing here doing nothing! He raced to his bedroom, throwing on whatever clothes he could find in his frenzy. He struggled with the zipper of his jeans, leaving his shirt unbuttoned rather than fighting to try and get the buttons in the stupid holes where they belonged. Panic tore through him. What would happen if he never saw Spike again? There were so many things Xander wanted to say to him. Things he wanted to do with him – to him. Okay, not going there. But still. He needed Spike. All the sources here and at home said he had to have a squire. What would he do if Spike were gone? His bootlace snapped in his hands, and he pulled off his boots, screaming anxious fury at the ceiling. He had to leave. Now! He looked around the room, dazed, his heart racing, panting heavily. He didn’t have time to find his other boots; he’d just have to go barefoot. What the hell did he need shoes for, anyway? He grabbed a jacket off the back of his chair, his hands brushing cool links and a rush of calm, relaxing strength flooded through him, bringing Xander’s panicked flight to a halt. He grabbed Buddy with both hands, holding him close against his chest, and let the soothing peace pour over him. He collapsed into the chair. That had been a close call. He’d almost run out into the dark without a weapon, without shoes! These mood swings had to be taken care of soon. Buddy reminded him that there was still the matter of a missing vampire to deal with. Xander agreed, they needed to find Spike. But they’d do it in a calm, orderly fashion. Now that he was no longer lost in fear flight, he knew exactly where his second pair of boots was, and finished dressing, making sure to include Buddy underneath his buttoned up shirt. He stopped at the weapon’s chest, and pulled out an axe, and after the flash of an image from Buddy, one of the swords they’d found up on the second floor. Giles had practically drooled over them, so they must be good. Add in a couple of stakes in his back pockets and the knife he carried in his boot, and he was ready to go. Xander opened the front door to find a fight already in progress. Spike was surrounded on all sides by close to a dozen vamps. He was doing his best to keep any of them from closing on him, spinning and kicking and whirling around, brandishing, of all things, a large branch of some sort, still sporting a few leaves that waved proudly in the breeze Spike created. Xander felt a surge of anger flood him, but before it overwhelmed him and he ran blind into the fight, Buddy’s strong presence washed over him again, and together they wrestled that wild deluge of emotion, channeling it to work for him, rather than overwhelm him. He felt alive – powerful and in control, and he leapt off the stairs and through the open gate, out onto the street. He’d already dusted two vamps before they realized he was there, but then the advantage of surprise was gone. Two vamps charged him at once, and he let them get close enough together that his axe would strike both, then he took one’s head off and did some real damage to the second when she tried to hide behind the first, only to discover that dust didn’t really stop an axe blade very well. He shouted over the sound of her cry, pulling the blade out of her shoulder as she buckled to her knees. “Behind you, Spike!” This particular axe was not designed for throwing, but the distance wasn’t too great, and although he couldn’t get the best aim, he was able to stick the blade far enough into the back of the vamp to distract him from sneaking up on Spike. The vamp stumbled forward with a scream, and Spike whirled in his direction just in time to see Xander pull the sword out of its scabbard and swing it around in an arc, beheading the vamp that had lunged in the direction of the axe. Xander wasn’t sure if the vamp was looking to protect his friend, Sneaky Vamp, or if he was just aiming for a convenient weapon, but in either case, he was dust before he’d gotten there. Sneaky Vamp landed face first on the street, and Spike threw his branch at the one that was coming up on his left side, did a nicely choreographed leap over Sneaky, landing on his other side in a much better position to grab the axe handle. He pulled the axe out of the vampire’s back, ‘causing him to scream again. “Thanks, mate.” Spike didn’t stop to chat, swirling off in a swoop of black leather coat in the direction of the vamp he’d thrown the branch at earlier. Buddy warned Xander in time to twist to the side, avoiding the knife of the vamp who’d come up on his right, as Xander took off the head of the vamp he’d put an axe into the shoulder of earlier. She’d struggled back to her feet, but although she didn’t look too dangerous at the moment, he’d thought she’d be even less dangerous if she was dust. Knife Vamp looked surprised that his sneak attack hadn’t succeeded, but that didn’t stop him for long. He reversed his grip on the knife, and before Xander realized what he was doing, the knife was flying in his direction. Xander didn’t have time to get entirely out of the way, since another vamp had already closed on him from the other direction, distracting him long enough for the blade to get close to Xander’s heart. Fortunately, he had Buddy on his side, and the blade skidded along the chain mail and planted itself in his upper arm. It was painful, making him shout, but didn’t do a lot of damage, since the blade had already lost most of its momentum when it had been deflected by the chain mail. Xander pulled it out of his arm, and let it drop to the street. Distraction Vamp took advantage of Xander’s wound, and tried to get close enough to plant his fangs in Xander’s jugular, since he was already inside the range of his sword. He grabbed Xander’s sword arm and leaned forward, toward his neck, but Xander gave him the Hardheaded Head Butt of Doom (Patent Pending), and shoved him into the path of Knife Vamp, who had produced another knife and was closing in on Xander from the other side. Distraction Vamp stumbled backwards into Knife Vamp, a look of surprise on his face, and Xander used the momentary lull to step back, which put his sword in range of both vamps. He stuck the blade through them both, getting Distraction Vamp in the heart, which wouldn’t stop him, of course, but could definitely put him off his game, and since the blade had been aiming up, when it left Distraction Vamp it went right into Knife Vamp’s neck. It didn’t hit anything vital, mores the pity, but it did enough damage to make him break off the fight and retreat. He didn’t get far; Spike’s axe took his head off after he’d stumbled only a step away, the sweep of the blade moving on to take out Distraction Vamp, too. “Nicely done, Spike.” Xander looked around, but other than a lot of dust, there was no sign that any vampires had ever been there. Aside from Spike, of course, who was bleeding slightly along the hairline, and sporting a couple of bruises that had already started swelling along his jaw. Xander sheathed his sword. Spike glanced up at the sky, which was definitely taking on a brighter hue, and Xander realized exactly how late it was. “You’re bleeding.” Spike reached for his arm, but Xander grabbed his hand, instead, and started pulling him into the house. “Yeah, okay, maybe I am, but you’re about to become toast, and that trumps a knife graze any day. Let’s get you inside, and then you can help me fix this up while you tell me what the hell you were doing coming home at this time of the morning!” “Sorry,” Spike answered, snippily. “Didn’t realize I had a curfew.” “Well, you do.” Xander didn’t give him any leeway. “It’s called sunrise, mister, and you’re about to miss it!” He shoved Spike in the door, then pushed in after him, slamming the door behind him. “Oi! Stop manhandling me!” Spike set his axe down against the wall, and crossed his arms, the perfect picture of stubborn. The adrenaline rush fell from Xander all at once, and he found himself on the verge of crying. Damned evil hormonal surges. “Sorry, Spike,” he apologized, suddenly exhausted. “I woke up and you weren’t home, and then I had an evil demon panic attack, and there were vamps outside the door, and I just realized they must have been waiting there all night to ambush you, and then you’re all snippy about it and I have a hole in my arm and it hurts.” Okay, maybe he wasn’t going to cry, but he was definitely pouting. He went to cross his arms, but one of them was bleeding, and he just wasn’t in the mood for this. Besides, that vamp had ruined his jacket, and he’d liked that jacket. “Dammit, I don’t have enough clothes to go throwing away a perfectly good jacket.” Spike relented. “C’mon Herc, let’s get you in the loo so we can clean up that cut and see if you need stitches.” He guided Xander in the direction of the bathroom, where they kept the first aid kit. “And don’t worry about the jacket. We’re rich. I’ll buy you another. If you like, I can buy you a dozen, all right?” “We’re rich? When did that happen?” “I knew that Plautect sorcerer must have had money shoved away somewhere. I mean, look at this place, it’s huge. Well, it looks like we found it. So it’s all ours now.” Xander didn’t quite trust the gleam in Spike’s eyes, but he was too tired to deal with that right now, so he shoved that into the back of his mind for later examination, and let Spike lead him into the bathroom, and tend to his arm.

XXV.     That night, Link met all the members of the Order and the remaining Gerudo. The Order was twenty-four strong, the Gerudo ten. They were all a blur of tanned faces and yellow or red eyes, all firm handshakes and welcoming words. Sheik spoke with many of them in a sort of wonder – when was the last time he had spoken to a Sheikah other than Lady Impa? – and Link sat with Lanaia as they all feasted.   Link couldn’t help but wonder if the lines of leadership were about to blur considering what Sheik had said after their discussion with Kalyh earlier. Would the Order serve Sheik if Kalyh served Sheik? Would leadership born of bloodlines topple a leadership held by mere rank? It was too much to think about and Link was far too famished so he devoured the food – wild boar from the rainforest – and half-listened to a story Lanaia was regaling for him.   Her and the remaining Gerudo had barely made it to Vrika even as desert-savvy as they were. They were nearly killed in the Sea of Din by a particularly skilled group of Lizalfos; thankfully they won the fight and Link wondered if such a defeat gave reason for their relatively easy passage through the crater.   “It still does not seem real…I feel like any moment now I will wake up and all of my sisters will still be alive. Our race now stands as numbered as the Sheikah. The only hope we have of continuing our people is my son. I want to believe that, considering Blithos is Foursky’s great grandson, that monster won’t harm him,” Lanaia shared after a while, the pain in her voice a tangible weight.   They sat in the same chamber he, Sheik, and Kalyh had spoken in earlier. Torchlight filled the room and the murmur of voices was almost hypnotic. But Link was distracted from it all by her words, glancing over to her golden gaze.   “I doubt Foursky would hurt his kin. The Gerudo male bloodline is valuable, even to him in his immortality. The people of his kingdom are a mix of Gerudo and Sheikah; they carry the same curse of conception so he will want another pureblood sire.”   Lanaia looked as disturbed by the reasoning as Link felt saying it but it was the reality of their situation.   “I just hope…he’s being taken care of,” she murmured sadly. “He’s so quiet and scared. Even shadows frighten him.”   Link didn’t know how else to comfort her so he simply reached out and squeezed her shoulder. He earned a grateful smile and Lanaia left him to join her sisters across the room. So Link sat in his corner and surveyed the room, looking for the Sheikah he had been interrupted from spying on.   On the far side of the room Link found his companion sitting now by Kalyh. They sat alone, close enough their legs were touching, heads bent in conversation. A strange mixture of emotions bubbled in his chest as he watched them, once again looking made for each other. Kalyh pushed her white out of her face and smiled while Sheik spoke. There was a familiarity in their expression, a connection still tethered despite time and tragedy.   Link felt envious of their connection but glad Sheik was returned to the woman he had loved. Link felt inadequate for he couldn’t be what Kalyh was for Sheik but sad because he wanted happiness for his friend even despite his own feelings.   But Sheik’s cowl was still in place over his face and it might as well have been an iron barrier between them as Kalyh’s was hung loosely around her neck. Maybe her traditions were less restrictive than the ones Sheik had adopted, but Link had been willingly shown what lay beneath the cloth twice, while he kept it in place next to the woman he was to marry. Link didn’t know what to make of it but it manifested into a strange sort of hope he couldn’t place.   Hope for what?   Hope that what lie between them could grow into…   War was on the horizon and his childhood love sat next to him. If war didn’t end them all it was clear what was next. They were two lovers severed by war and time – despite their unlikely fates they were reunited and it was all too serendipitous to just disregard. There was nothing to hope for and the sting of that was a whole new sort of pain in Link’s chest.   But what about the Congruence? A little voice in the back of his head chimed in and his head ached in the confusion of it all.   Link didn’t even know what Congruence was. In fact, he was hesitant to even ask Sheik to elaborate on the subject. Perhaps Link feared it didn’t mean quite what he had hoped it would mean; his mind had been circling the word bond all day. But judging from how it had been described to him, it was just a magical phenomenon. Nothing more. It wasn’t enough to warrant –   “Are you alright?”   Link hadn’t realized his gaze had fallen to the floor in dark thought. Sheik sat down next to him, concern coloring his eyes. “You look bothered.”   Link recovered and gave a rueful smile. “No more than usual.”   “You dislike Kalyh,” Sheik told him, causing Link to start in surprise.   “Wait, what?” Link asked with incredulity. No, he didn’t have a problem with Kalyh; he just apparently had a very juvenile problem with the deep history and connection Sheik and Kalyh shared that he could never equate to. That’s all. “I don’t dislike her, Sheik. Why do you think that?”   Sheik just shrugged, leaning his chin on a fist and fixing Link with a luminous stare. “It was just a feeling I got. But I believe you.”   “Is it easier to talk to her now?” Link diverted the subject quickly, mirroring Sheik’s position and watching the other’s eyes stray back over to Kalyh who now spoke with an older member of the Order.   “I suppose,” Sheik replied, sounding not entirely convinced. “But everything here is so difficult for me to process. I’m surrounded by fond and yet terrible memories. Everywhere I turn there’s a piece of furniture I remember sitting on all the time or a hallway I used to run up and down. And then I see the empty rooms of friends long dead and the remnants of the massacre on the street and…I can’t escape what I’m feeling. Even harder than seeing Kalyh alive after losing her is seeing how much she’s changed. There is a ruthless nature to her now that she never had. I don’t know who she is.”   “You’ve changed as well,” Link offered logically – the depth of Sheik’s admissions surprised him once more.   “Yes. I’ve changed far more than she has,” Sheik agreed. “I feel like her and I are leagues away from each other now. As though we branched too far apart and spanning the distance is like digging into a wound that never fully healed.”   Link almost would’ve expected Sheik’s words to encourage him but the raw anguish exposed in those red eyes drove any immaturity from him and replaced it with only deep sadness. Despite everything Sheik had endured, even the love of his childhood was lost to the cruelty of time and bloodshed.   They had all changed and it was those moments of self-reflection that it burned them the most.   “Will you come with me?”   The question pulled Link out of his thoughts and he met pleading wine eyes.   Of course. Anywhere. Nether. Hell. Death.   He almost said it all but the deep and fiery need to appease those beautiful eyes kept him silent so Link simply nodded. And Sheik looked grateful, like he had expected a no.   Like Link had ever denied him anything.   Sheik led the way out of the chamber and back into the labyrinth of passageways. Link followed obediently, some stretches of hallway so dark he bumped into his companion. Sheik, now seemingly a little more confident in his control over magic, lit his trademark flame in his palm. Soon they reached a familiar intersection and, although Link couldn’t read Sheikah, he recognized the symbols and knew where they were going.   Link only hoped Sheik’s control would hold out.   They reached a stone door that Sheik opened with a few whispered words in Sheikah; it seemed everything in the House of Vala was opened with magic. There was a horrible tension in Sheik’s shoulders as the door yawned open to musty darkness and Link wanted so badly to reach out and comfort him.   But they instead stood there before the doorway for a few moments as Sheik seemed to be paralyzed by the incense that lingered in the air and the terrible sensation of going back to a home made empty by death. Link conquered his inhibitions and gripped Sheik’s shoulder, the flow of the Congruence between them surprisingly stronger than he expected. Was it amplified by emotions?   Whatever it did, Sheik forced himself to take a deep breath and utter two more Sheikah words, the entire chamber before them erupting in firelight.   The room was circular and spacious, ceiling curved high above them and playing catch with every little tremor of sound as Sheik led the way inside. The walls were dressed in bookcases, hundreds of spines in dusty rows. A large stone table sat in the center of the chamber, covered in stacks of parchment, more tomes, vials of a rainbow of liquids, and other various accoutrement. Cobwebs strung everything together and dust was suspended in the air like smoke.   It was clear nothing had been moved.   It was clear the last person to be in that room had been Sheik himself.   Link followed Sheik who walked as though in a trance to the table, his fingers trembling as he carefully carded through documents all in Sheikah. The handwriting was consistent and neat – Link recognized it was Sheik’s despite the foreign characters – and among the beakers and books, there was a variety of things that looked to be more trinkets than anything of study.   There was a crude doodle of a boy with long hair, messy language scribbled below it. Sitting on it were a few stones, glittering blue and smooth, perfectly sized to be held in a palm. A small skull of a rodent sat atop a stack of parchment, ornate carvings turning it from death to macabre art. There was a hard rubber ball kept from rolling between two inkwells, obviously well-played in its time.   Emotion crept up Link’s throat as he took in the remains of a part of Sheik’s life he had never known about. Sheik, to him, was stoic and strong and capable and mysterious. Sheik was his guide. Sheik was more mature and knowledgeable than him. The idea of a different person, free and inquisitive and youthful standing before that table intrigued him while it also saddened him.   Maybe Sheik had been fresh from a game with the few Sheikah children of Vrika, delving back into his books until dinner time. Link knew nothing of Gota but evidence of motherly care lingered around them in a carefully folded tunic over a chair, a full jug of water at the corner of the table, and a re-sewn cloak hanging on a hook by the door.   This was Sheik’s old life that had been ripped from him in a flurry of monsters and magic and evil. Link felt like he was suffocating in the wake of it; he couldn’t fathom how Sheik felt.   “Kalyh drew this for me before we started our training,” Sheik told him quietly, a tremor in his voice Link couldn’t miss. He looked back at the drawing, clearly seeing an indignant, child-like Kalyh in his head. “My father said I should make you something so here it is. Consider this my last nice gesture. Try and keep up with me in training, Ra-Po. It was her terrible nickname for me…and it stuck to my dismay.”   Link could hear a slight smile at the last part of Sheik’s words and he couldn’t help but mirror it. It reminded him of Saria’s nicknames for him. Sheik picked up the blue stones, handing one to Link.   “Gota and I travelled to the sea when I was twelve. These stones cover the beach, made smooth by the water and formed from azurite deposits that glimmer in the sun. She told me to leave them or the spirits of the sea would become angry but I stole some anyway.”   The stone was heavy and cold in his palm, the surface almost like glass as it sparkled softly in the torchlight. Link had never seen the sea himself but he could imagine the expanse of water and the crash of waves over thousands of those stones. He could picture an even younger Sheikah running along the rocks, tossing them back into the waves with youthful abandon. Maybe Gota was exasperatedly tolerant, jogging after him and shouting half-hearted threats.   Sheik broke Link’s thoughts, leaving the table for one of two doorways across the room with an obvious caution, as though he didn’t know if he was prepared for what the next room held. As they walked in, torches lit on their own accord to welcome them and revealed a moderate-sized bed chamber. The blankets of fur laid messy and unmade, too-small clothes hanging haphazardly over a chair in the corner, and a dangerously tall stack of books teetered on the nightstand.   With a tired slowness, Sheik went to his bed and sat down, eyes completely lost in memory. He reached out to a small stone box next to the books and pulled from it a necklace.   The cord was black worn leather and hanging from it was a white, palm-sized oval of stone that all of Vrika seemed to be made from. The Sheikah eye – sans the tear drop that symbolized the genocide – was cut deeply into it, a startlingly red gem seated in the pupil. The pendant looked unspeakably old and important as the crimson faceted jewel blinked at them in firelight.   Sheik’s hands shook as he held it in his hands as though he were holding someone’s soul. Link sat down carefully next to him to look closer, enraptured by the way energy seemed to emanate from it; it almost looked alive.   “What is that?”   “It was my mother’s…passed down generations through our bloodline. It’s an amulet of protection. I didn’t wear it during my training, too afraid it would be damaged or lost. I wasn’t wearing it when we were attacked,” Sheik explained in a broken voice. “I knew it would be here, as though it was waiting for my return.”   And then, to Link’s surprise, Sheik passed it to him to examine more closely. It was arguably Sheik’s most prized possession, clearly the only reason he had even braved the emotional nightmare the room yielded, and he allowed Link to hold it with such ease.   He felt honored as its energy seemed to caress his hand, like it recognized him and offered him its warmth. It seemed hauntingly aware and sentient in his hold, a shiver of what felt like affection spreading from it.   Whatever it was, it was a wholly good thing – perhaps it would help Sheik find peace.   “It’s beautiful,” Link whispered. “This alone would be worth crossing the desert for.”   “Now that I’m here, yes, it is,” Sheik spoke, voice turning with bitter emotion. “But for so many years I worked to shield myself from what happened here. This place was my world, my future. I was ready to lead my people and fight for our survival. I loved this place so much…when Impa took me into hiding with the Princess, I was inconsolable. It took so many years to block out the pain…and now I’m submitted to it once more.”   “Blocking out the pain isn’t the same as dealing with it,” Link reminded him softly.   “Blocking out the pain was the quickest option,” he countered with a shake of his head, eyes closing as if to shut out his surroundings. “I could almost forget what happened here. I hid from it behind my duties to the throne.”   Link passed the amulet back to Sheik, who placed it around his neck and tucked it into his tunic. A heavy silence fell in the room as Link watched the slight tremble of Sheik’s fingers where they sat in his lap.   “There’s one more thing I need to do,” Sheik whispered after a while, breaking the sad spell in the air. “And I can’t bear it to go alone.”   The question lingered there under his words, silent but just as pleading as the one before. Again, Link could hardly believe Sheik thought he needed to ask – did he truly believe Link could ever find it in him to say no?   “I’m here, Sheik. I’m always here.”   Those glowing eyes looked unspeakably grateful, laced with emotion and affection that made Link’s heart stutter like he was a nervous child again. A rush of heat passed through him, the echo of their Congruence blooming in his mind despite the lack of contact. Link didn’t know if Sheik could feel it as well but before he could determine the answer that, the intense feeling passed and Sheik led them back out of the chambers, away from the memories of his youth.   Link had a good idea where they were heading next, his suspicions were confirmed when they reached the same archway and stairs that led to the pool. And part of him feared it. Sheik was doing excellent at controlling his emotions and magic. But would that composure hold in the next few minutes? What if Sheik lost his resolve once more and nearly killed him? Link wasn’t able to stop him the time before and it was dubious Link could stop him if it happened again. Could he trust Kalyh to not kill him if things grew out of hand? Was the closure worth the risk?   But he knew Sheik needed to do it. This would be his only chance at finally purging the poison in his mind. It was worth the risk.   They reached the pool, it's surface casting glowing shapes on the rough black walls, and turned right, into the catacombs where the Sheikah found their eternal rest.   Torches leapt into life as they entered the white stone hallway, the plaques bearing Sheikah names and dates flashing in the wavering light. Smaller hallways branched off of the main passage, the intersections casting angular shadows every which way.   As the passage led them further, they seemed to travel through time; the names were etched in a form of Sheikah Link had never seen and with each handful of steps the characters seemed to evolve. While many crypts Link had experienced were wet and dark and terrifying, the Sheikah clearly respected their dead as much as the living. Signs of recent cleaning could be seen with pots of dirty water here and there, the grime brought on by time having been wiped vigorously away from the walls.   It took a few minutes, but as they went forward through the centuries and the Sheikah letters seemed to shift into something more recognizable, they had clearly reached the most recent area. All the coffins looked new comparatively to the ones preceding it and Sheik was shaking next to him as he reached out to brush his fingers over the plaques.   With each name he recognized the agony grew stronger in Sheik’s eyes and Link wanted to stop it. He wanted to douse the firelight around them and drag Sheik back through the darkness and away from the horrors before them. Although they had just spoke of Sheik’s repression, Link wanted to shield him from the pain and the death. He wanted to –   Sheik stopped abruptly, frozen in place and fingers still at the wall next to the plaque. Link wanted to ask…but he recognized the markings from the ceiling. The engraving was laced with gold, as some of the names in the catacombs were. Link could only assume they were the names of those with pure blood.   But Sheik whispered, “Gota,” and Link realized that whoever had put her to rest had given her the plaque of a pureblood. Sorrow washed through him as Sheik almost seemed to break under the strain of it all.   It took him a few minutes to recover and move on. Sheik unglued himself from the spot and seemed to suddenly be pulled towards the coffins right next to Gota’s, their names also shimmering gold in the firelight.   “Kalyh buried her…next to my parents,” Sheik uttered, voice breaking on every other word.   Regardless of culture, the order of society always followed life into death – those of lower stature were never buried next to royalty. It was clearly how things stood in Sheikah society as well judging by the shock in his companion’s voice.   Sheik’s shoulders shook as he pressed his hands into the wall and he rested the crown of his head against the hard white stone. Link started to reach out to his companion, but the horribly familiar push of Nether energy met his chest.   No. It was happening again.   The sick Nether aura reached outward and filled the catacombs, the torches overhead beginning to dance chaotically as though a great wind had swept its way into the crypts.   “Sheik, stay with me,” Link said calmly despite the adrenaline he could feel creeping into his bloodstream. “You can control this.”   “I couldn’t…protect them,” Sheik groaned, straining against the wild magic threatening to overtake him. His nails were digging into the stone as Link slowly started to approach him, the motion creating an uncomfortable scraping sound. “I was supposed to lead them, yet I couldn’t protect them.”   “Ganon’s forces were too great for anyone to fight, let alone a child,” Link reasoned, struggling against the building energy. If Link could just reach him…   A burst of power knocked him backward against the adjacent wall with painful force. This wasn’t good. Link let out a grunt of pain as his skull knocked achingly against the stone but not enough to concuss him. He immediately worked himself forward again; the Congruence would be the only thing he had in his arsenal now.   “That’s not enough!” Sheik roared.   “It has to be, Sheik!” Link shouted back desperately. “You have to come to terms with this! Stop blocking the pain!”   “I’m surrounded by the pain of the dead! I’m drowning in it!” he snarled, pounding his fist into the sharp rock with a force that worried Link for his knuckles. “The death in the desert is no different than those fallen at the hand of Hyrule's bloody history of greed and hatred! I feel the pain of every tribe!”   Link recognized the words from the Shadow Temple, the resting place of the Kakariko Sheikah tribe that the Royal Family converted into a mausoleum of torture and desecration. Sheik was no longer drawing on his grief for Vrika and his family but also for all Sheikah through the years of suffering and tragedy.   “Sheik, don’t lose yourself to this!” Link cried, struggling through each growing wave of agonized power. “You still have a kingdom to save! You have to help me do this!”   And then Sheik whirled around, slamming Link backward once more and summoning a moan through the hallways as though he were raising the dead. The strength of it killed half of the torches lighting the hallways, abandoning them to a half darkness – but the strange flow of Sheik’s energized form was bright enough to see.   His eyes were…not Sheik. He was someone else and Link wanted to be sick.   “Look what I’ve become! What kingdom will I save? I am a monster! I am a beast of the Nether now! If the Goddesses had any mercy for me before, it is nothing now in the face of what I am!” His voice was everywhere and layered with other terrible voices as though every murdered Sheikah was joining him in rage for the past. It was a demonic chorus that separated Sheik’s identity even further from what stood there now.   “I don’t care what you are, Sheik!” Link yelled, voice pushing sharply to its limits. “I don’t care what you’ve become! Just come back to me! Please!”   “Just kill me!” Sheik roared, body folding over as he seemed to falter under his own miasma of power. He grappled at the wall behind him for support. “Before I betray us all! End it, Link!”   And those were the words to snap Link in two – in what world could Link ever kill the man that stood at the center of his entire life? He would sooner follow Sheik into death than pass that sort of judgement.   “NO!” Link thundered in a rage that distorted his vision. With every bit of strength he still had, he rushed forward and struggled through wave after wave. He stretched his hands out, muscles aching and tearing with strain. “I WILL NOT! I WILL DIE BEFORE I KILL YOU!”   In one last desperate effort Link reached out and managed to grab Sheik’s cowl. He gripped the fabric and dragged himself into the vortex of hostile energy and held on. Everything about Sheik tried to repel him but Link endured. He wrapped his arms around the Sheikah’s shoulders and squeezed as if he could force the magic back inside and away.   “Let go, Sheik,” Link pleaded in his ear. “Let go of this pain. Don’t let it devour you. No matter what you’ve become, you’re my Sheik. Come back.”   Sheik gripped his shoulders and propelled him back at a blinding speed, slamming him into the wall and pinning him there in a piercing, unearthly glare. The power of it shook Link to his core and he endeavored to keep his grip as the Congruence flared between them like a firestorm.   It felt like two titans battled within them: the warmth of the Congruence and the terrible, inhuman power of Sheik’s Nether magic. It was akin to being electrocuted as Link grit his teeth and struggled to stay conscious. Everything shook between them and maybe the whole temple was shaking it but he couldn’t tell with his eyes so tangled in Sheik’s.   “I can’t…” Sheik cried weakly, now just a frail, single voice amidst the rush of sound. “Link…”   “Yes, you can,” Link urged, digging his fingers into Sheik’s shoulders, desperately willing their Congruence to overpower the Nether magic. “Come back and face this. I’m right here, Sheik.”   “I…” But the energy was weakening and, in a slow decline, Link was gaining his upper hand and pushing Congruence’s warmth outward through his fingertips. Sheik’s grip was loosening and his face was growing from fierce to broken in the eerie glow surrounding them.   “Come back,” Link whispered, tugging Sheik to him. “Please, come back.”   And, in a topple of severed magic, Sheik fell forward into his arms. With his face against Link’s neck, Sheik’s body went limp from the withdrawal. The glow was gone and they were plummeted into darkness as the last of the torches were dismissed. Link struggled to hold his own weight and Sheik’s combined; the outburst had drained him just as it had Sheik.   Before Link could fall and hurt them both, he slid heavily down the wall and brought Sheik with him, holding him close as they both trembled from exhaustion and fear.   Sheik’s fingers became ensnared with Link’s tunic and he sobbed.   Link had never heard Sheik cry. And something told him the man hadn’t cried since his youth. The sound he made now wasn’t a noise to pity or mock.   It was the sound of complete and utter loss, at the end of the world and at the bottom of swallowing darkness. It was unfathomable pain locked away for too many years, through too many hardships. It was a sound that struck Link through like a bolt of lightning and made him ache in every way he ever had.   There was nothing Link could do but hold him and force the flood of warmth through their contact. He crushed the Sheikah to his chest, working desperately to keep the Congruence between them flowing. He felt dampness at his neck and realized the cowl had been pushed away in the grapple. Hot breath pressed into his neck and the heavy heat of the body practically on top of his was an unexpected comfort.   Link had broken through Sheik’s walls and finally exposed what his companion had been running from. Part of him felt accomplished but most of him just felt horribly sad for the state he had pushed Sheik into.   Overtime the sobs died and there was nothing but a duet of heartbeats between them. Maybe there had been a proper time to let go and coax Sheik up to a better surface for resting, but the Sheikah was still limp in his arms. Link couldn’t bear to move and lose the delicious energy between them, their Congruence weaving through his limbs and up and down his spine.   Somewhere in his mind Link knew he was starting to become dependent on the feeling, unconsciously seeking out contact at every turn to just get a lingering taste of it. Maybe it was akin to the alcoholism he had seen in many he’d known but, at the very least, Congruence wouldn’t kill him so he supposed he could have a worse vice.   Eventually, Sheik’s breathing slowed to a rhythm Link recognized as sleep and he couldn’t help but feel relieved. Maybe the outbursts, while terrifying and would most assuredly leave him bruised and sore, had actually healed the Sheikah in a way. His companion had finally allowed himself to break down after what Link could only assume was six or seven years of denial and repression.   And if Sheik was going to fall apart on anyone at least it had been Link and he had had his privacy in the dark.   The feeling between them pulsed gently like a heartbeat and Link felt his eyes grow heavy from the day’s fighting and anxiety. He had no idea what horrors the future held for them…but at least in that moment, he had Sheik safe and sleeping in his arms, all crises averted.   Link could live with that until morning.   ***  

  Dream stared blankly up at the sky, his mind trying to catch up with just what his eyes were seeing before him. He was laying spread eager on top of softly waving grass, that tickling at the sensitive spot on his neck, the air around him was quiet other than the rustling of the long grass, the soft whooshing of the breeze and the sound of falling water somewhere in the distance. 'it's like… I'm dreaming' he knew he wasn't, he could tell this was in fact correct what he was seeing but it was such a stark contrast to what he had seen before passing out, then waking up to… this. Dream was prepared to let out a groan of pain as he pushed himself up right, but shock hit him as his body easily complied, the lack of any kind of pain causing him to pause halfway up from the surprise,slowly, anxiously, he began flexing his toes and curling his fingers in the yellow grass. Numbly, dream grasped at his shirt, a large hole was torn on the right side of his shirt, where the bar had punctured him straight through, and although his clothes still were stained a now brownish-red, his ribs, which should have been shattered where now pristine, not even a dull ache remained. “...but, I was…” dream whispered out, his voice clear, not harsh or raspy like he had expected after the horrible ordeal. Getting to his feet, dream stumbled a little before standing straight, his wounds had healed miraculously, but the magical exhaustion remained, carefully, dream explored his new surroundings, trying to make heads or tails of what or where exactly he had ended up. The world, if it could even be called that, was like a vast expansion of space, small fractured pieces of land floated gracefully around him, bobbing up and down, and softly shifting. “Dust?... anyone?” Dream called out, twisting and turning in hopes of finding his rescuer, or anyone, but as the silence remained unbroken, Dreams' hopes of finding an answer to what had happened grew dimmer. Focusing on his surroundings, dream found that he couldn't even sense a single soul around him, not a spark of joy, not a smidge of sorrow. He was well and truly alone. Walking to the edge, Dream found that he too, was standing on top of a floating island, and down below him countless more, it went on and on, falling forever until his eyes could no longer register the distance. It was nauseating, and a dark part of his mind happily asked what would happen if he took a step forward and plummeted over the edge. Shuddering, Dream decided to avoid risking fate, and stepped away from the edge. Dream went to grasp at his cape for comfort but when his hand only touched his neck, Dream felt panic set in as he realized that his most prized possession was missing, a frantic feel of his scalp told him that yes, his crown was missing too. Looking around desperately for his belongings, Dream no longer feared the endless drop, he couldn't, nothing mattered more to him now, as long as he could find them again. Looking around for a place to start, Dream spotted in the distance a few islands away looked to be some semblance of a structure, a lone tree stood, and what looked like a pile of discarded trash underneath it, along with what looked like some sort of broken pillar like structure. Deciding that would be his best bet, Dream rushed over towards the island, carefully jumping between the closest islands he could, almost missing a few times before he landed ungracefully to his destination.  Now closer, Dream could see clearly what he had first seen in the distance, it was indeed a pile of trash, but now he could smell it. Broken objects, half burned engines, half of a rusted bicycle, knick knacks, a pizza box with, oh god, what must have at some point been pizza? And other horrible mysteries likely hidden deeper within. Off to the side of the smelly pile was some semblance of a sitting area, A busted bean bag surrounded with yet more trash and a few blankets of questionable quality, and a tarp set above it from the branches of the tree, and attached near the ground to the structure Dream had spotted to provide some form of shelter or shade. Up close, Dream was surprised that it looked like a  stone door frame that had likely collapsed a long time ago, moss and dirt covering most of the structure closest to the ground. Further in the island Dream noticed that this piece of land housed a large body of… well, not quite water. It reminded Dream of water that you could often find on the side of the road, polluted with oil, giving off a slight rainbow gleam. The water near the outer edge was spilling over the side of the island from multiple spots falling down into smaller pools below. It was like nothing Dream had ever seen. "Maybe… I really am dreaming"  'or I'm dead' A loud splash from the pool drew dreams attention back, and Dream felt his stomach drop in terror. Liquid in the large magical lake began gathering up, the once noticeable different colours fusing together into a deep black, and began forming a shape, becoming a figure that stepped out onto the grass. It was them The anomaly. They still wore their dirty and stained cloak, their hood was up, obscuring a majority of their features. The skeleton didn't notice Dream at first, seemingly distracted as they brushed themselves down, not that they needed to, because any remains of the liquid they had emerged from simply seemed to fuse into them, leaving them dry. Dream felt panic as the void dweller finally looked his way and froze, looking just as baffled by Dreams' presence as Dream was to their own. "Its- it's you" Dream could only whisper out, taking a small step forward but stopped when he saw the monster tense up at his approach, the eyes that had before been a cyan ! And yellow ? Shifted into an orange triangle and a red target with a blink, aimed with Laser focused at his form. Dream didn't know if he should prepare for a fight or to flee, but the void dweller chose for him. A gurgle sound, a wet hacking, then suddenly the void dweller was expelling a black vial liquid from their mouth causing dream to recoil back in shock and horror. "Oh-oh my Lord!" Dream called out, his eyes huge as he stared at the black mess between them, a trail still dribbling down their chin. "are.. are you okay?" He asked, sweat dripping down his neck from the stress. With a quick turn, the void dweller ignored both dream and their own vomit, instead deciding to head over to the edge of the island and leaped. Dream let out a panicked squeak, rushing over to the edge, just in time to see they had landed onto another island, shuffled over to the edge and took another leap onto a new one with little to no effort, easily gliding through the air without any sign of trouble. "Hey! Wait, come back!" Dream called after them, not knowing what to do other than to give chase, not wanting to be left alone without answers about where they were, and become stranded in this strange realm by himself.   Seeing no other option, Dream reluctantly followed after them, leaping from island to island behind the cloaked monster, gasping for breath after each near missed jump, while the void dweller leaped expertly without a hint of strain, or slowing down. "Please come back!" he cried out as he stumbled after them, his feet already sore from the constant jumping "I- huff, I just want to talk! Please?!"    Void dweller refused to answer, not even a glance his way, they landed on an island that was floating much higher than Dream thought he could jump, and watched with growing anxiety as the void dweller walked out of view.   Left with no other choice, Dream gulped down his fear, he couldn't afford to be left here by himself, he didn't have the energy to leave this realm, let alone teleport.   Dream backed up a step, then 2 more, 5 more than 10 till he had run out of room, his feet reaching the edge of the floating piece of land.   One last shuddering breath, then he ran.   Letting out a yell, Dream ran as fast as he could before jumping, launching himself as high and as far as his short legs would let him.   Dream let out a pained grunt as his upper body collided harshly against the side of the floating rock, his fingers quickly darted forward, clawing at the grass and dirt for purchase as his body slid backwards, his legs left dangling and kicking, unable to find solid ground.   The dirt under his hands began to give way under him, pulling away chunks of dirt as his hands clawed desperately into the ground, tearing away the grass as he began getting closer and closer to the edge.   "No…no no no no, please no, come on, please!" Dream pleaded out, as he squeezed his eyes closed, his teeth gritting as he tried to find the strength to pull himself up.   But it was no good, with a sharp crack, the ground gave way, crumbling from under his fingers, leaving him with nothing but a handful of dirt and dead grass.   Dream let out a terrified scream as he plummeted backwards, arms flailing aimlessly as he fell, before he jerked to a sudden stop, sending a sharp jolt through his body causing his scream to stutter off from the strain, fading into a harsh hiss. his body was left upside down, swaying wildly from his left over momentum, both arms and one leg hanging limply.   Dream panted heavily as he watched dirt and small rocks fall past him, dropping into the oblivion below him.   Peeking up, Dream saw his leg had been grasped tightly by a large black, shiny clawed hand with a  jelly-like consistency, the arm was stretched out to catch him, and connected to the void dweller who was half dangling over the edge, his upper body halfway down, laying on the dirt.   Their eyes flashed at him, going through a wide range of colours and patterns.   Silently, the void dweller began backing up, carefully inching their body backwards as they pulled Dream back up to safety, Dream doing his best not to struggle or jerk as he was dragged against the harsh cliffs surface, then left panting besides the void dweller once ground returned underneath him.   "You… you saved me" Dream panted out, pushing himself into a sitting position to face the cloaked monster, the clawed hand that had saved him had vanished, turned back into a normal skeletal hand, the last traces of its existence being a slight stain on Dream’s leg and their own hand.   The skeleton, who Dream needed to know the name of, didn't answer him, looking increasingly uncomfortable as they sat across from him, glancing his way every once and awhile, their hand clenching and unclenching at the grass underneath him.   "I- Thank you" dream thanked the monster, who still did not utter a word, causing a thought to worm it's way into Dreams mind.   "Do you, not feel like talking?"'Dream questioned mostly to himself as he observed them.   "Or…. Is it you do not understand what I'm saying maybe?"   Feeling a little braver, dream scooted himself closer, only hesitating a moment as they straightened up at his approach, but did not show any sign of attacking just yet.   "Well, that's okay, my name is Dream"   No answer, just an unnerving stare.   "It's alright if you do not feel like talking to me, after all, our first meeting wasn't…" he trailed off, scratching at his neck,    "I'm sorry our first meeting was not the nicest, hopefully you can forgive me for that…" Dream looked away, feeling a sting of shame, the sound of shuffling drew back his attention.   The Outcode hesitantly reached up underneath his hood and removed something, along with dragging out a stained yellowed fabric from within their cloak, before presenting both items forward.   Dream gasped in delight, hands hovering over both items as he recognized them   "thats! That's my crown! And my cape! So it was you that took… them…" Dreams happiness fell always into heart stopping dread, as he unfolded his cape.   He had damaged his cape many times, from battles and recklessness, but he had always managed to fix it, with patience and time and lots of love, but the damage it had sustained from his last fight…   The cape was completely destroyed, stained with his blood and dirt, along with splotches of black, and right in the middle where once was a beautiful sun, was an unfixable hole.   "No… oh no, it's… I can't fix this… I…" Dream felt heat in his eyes as tears rimmed at his sockets, before flowing down his face, hiccupping into his palms as he began to weep.   It was all he had left of him, the only thing that tied him to when everything was fine and now, he had let it become like this.   Dreams' whole body shuddered as he cried, not caring about anything else, even the presence of the void dweller next to him, he didn't even react aside from a broken whine when he felt them tug the yellow rag from his shaking fingers, he only curled up more, wrapping himself more in his grief.   Why bother fighting to get it back, it was basically already gone, so why even try.   Dream didn't know how much time had passed, consumed by the guilt and sorrow before he felt something cover him, and brush against his face.   Letting out a confused sniffle, Dream blinked in confusion at his sudden lack of vision.   Pulling his head from the cloth Dream blinked in amazement at what was wrapped around him.   It was his cape, back to it's former glory, no longer tattered and destroyed, and Dream felt his sadness turn to overwhelmed joy as he traced the shining sun with his hand, unable to stop the happy sniffles as he fingered a loss piece of thread that was poking out from a clumsily sawed stitch.   "It's..it's the same, it's the exact same" he gave the material a quick sniff, the same smell of tree bark and grass and lavender.   "But… how" dream looked up, hoping for an answer, the void dweller only watched on, head tilted and eyes showing a pale yellow dot and a green hexagon.   "Thank you" he spoke softly as he snuggled more into the familiar comfort.   Although the monster remained silent, and dream couldn't sense their emotions, he liked to think that this was their own way of showing their forgiveness.                                Although Dream continued trying to communicate with the void dweller, he did not receive any form of acknowledgement to his words other then a awkward stare or the shifting patterns of their eyes, or flat out ignored.   It was not great, but definitely an improvement from the hostility of their first encounter or the void dweller avoiding him.   So...it  was something.   After dream had calmed himself down and reattached his cape and returned his crown on top his head, he followed the void dweller as they made their way back to where they had first encountered each other in this strange realm, and although the other didn't particularly wait for him to catch up, he was no longer flat out fleeing from his presence, seemingly content to stroll at a leisurely pace, allowing Dream the opportunity to trot comfortablely behind them, as he continued trying to communicate.   "Since you had my stuff, does that mean it was you that took me here?" He asked as they finally reached 'garbage island' Dream had decided to name it, he watched the skeleton make a huffing sound before plopping down, belly first into the pile of trash much to Dreams disgust.   With a wide yawn, they wiggled deeper into the horrific mess, the mess making a rusling, clanking noise while dream cautiously knelt down next to them.   "Are you tired?" The void dweller glanced his way briefly, before letting their eyes slide closed with a content rumbling, and to Dreams amazement, began to snore soon after.   Carefully, dream hesitantly ghosted his hand over their back for a moment, before giving their shoulder a gentle rub.   At the touch, Dream could feel them tense for just a moment, their breath pausing for a few seconds before the tension released.   "You are exhausted…" Dream observed, noting the dark rings under their eyes and the dirt on their face.   Remembering the moment just before their chase, the violent and sudden sickness from before made Dream worry for their health.   He already knew from his first look at them, that they were not of the best health, their many small wounds and infections.   As gently as he could, dream let out a soft "pardon me" as he lifted up their cloak from their body.   Much to dreams amazement and relief, blues stolen shorts still remained, although dirty and sporting more holes then before.   As gentry as Dream could, he began inspecting the others' injuries, pausing every so often to check if they were being bothered by his poking, however they seemed blissfully unaware, continuing to snore away.   Soon, dream determined that although their body was very battered and bruised, he couldn't find any broken bones or fractures, they were just desperately in need of a long bath and maybe some antiseptic for their more festering cuts, which were many.   The worst looking of the injuries he could find were just next to their shoulder blade, long whip-like burns, making it look like they had gotten tangled up in an electric wire.   With a pop of magic, Dream retrieved Blues backpack from his inventory and began inspecting the inside.   He was greeted with multiple container with labels.   "tacos!" "Garden salad" "fruit salad", a few plastic wrapped sandwich and other items.   Dream had to suppress a shudder as he shoved aside a container labeled as "apple slices"   Under all the food, dream found what he was looking for, a small red bag with a bright red plus in the middle.   Dragging it out, Dream took stock of what he had to work with.   All the generic items one would suspect to find in a family first aid kit, mini sealed packs of alcohol wipes, a few rolls of gaze, bandaids and burn cream.   Dream grabbed all of the alcohol wipes he could see without digging more and laid them out Infront of him, returning the first aid kit back into the bag once he was done.   "I'm sorry" Dream soothed for both himself and the unaware monster, as he opened up the first package, the harsh scent of pure alcohol burning the inside of his nose.   But...This might sting a little"   As gently as one could, Dream made a quick wipe at one of the more nasty cuts of the skeletons shoulders, the monster jolted at the sting letting out a upset grumble, but other then that remained unconscious, something Dream was glad for, but it did cause him a bit of worry at the lack of retaliation.   "You really are exhausted…" Dream noted, voice filled with pity, talking to himself as he wiped away the dirt and the 'blood', folding the wipe over to a cleaner side once it had changed colour from a pristine white, to a blackish brown.   It took Dream over 50 minutes before Dream was finally satisfied with his work, he was mentally exhausted, and hungry.   He could feel his insides screaming for something to eat, a feeling he didn't often get, normally he could sustain himself for days or even weeks from just the positive emotions from those around him, eating every so often for the enjoyment then any sort of nutrition, but here, in this realm filled with nothing? It made him feel… strange, like he was missing something.   Removing a few of the containers from the bag, not even bothering to entertain the idea of looking inside the ‘fruit salad’ container, he pushed away a few bits of trash till he was comfortable enough to sit.   There, food sorted, now maybe something to drink?   Looking in the main section of the bag, Dream was disappointed to find no water, only already drunk water bottles.   So Dream decided to try the last pocket, and there he found the juice Blue had planned to save for later.   At the thought of his friend, he let out a sigh, Blue was safe, he knew that, he had sent him back to his home, hurt and scared but alive, he hoped Stretch would forgive him once more for not doing so sooner, before it had gotten that extreme…   “I'm sorry blue” he apologised to his friend, as he swished the container around, the sound of liquid hitting the side of it making a satisfying gurgling sound “i promise i'm only doing this because i do not have other options available” with that said, Dream opened the bottle and took a big swing of the juice.   Almost immediately, Dreams eyes widened and he violently spat out the contents, coughing wetly “thats-” he coughed, his mouth burning “that's not juice” he shuddered, quickly pushing away the container that clearly, did not contain ‘juice’    Disappointed, Dream let out a pant, mouth burning, he opened up a container and quickly took a bite of the first thing he could grab, which ended up being a taco.   Although not the palate cleanser he had hoped for, it definitely helped to replace any lingering traces of the 'juice' from his tongue.   Just as Dream went to take another bite, the sound of shuffling drew his attention, followed by several loud sniffs.   Dreams yellow eyes met 2 flashing colourful ones, apparently, all that was needed to rouse the heavy sleeping monster, was food.   They were eyeing the tacos in his hands with such intensity that Dream felt tempted to back away, a small trail of drool leaking from the corner of their mouth was a clear indication that they were just as hungry as Dream.   “Do you…” Dream started, looking between the monster and his lunch.   “Do you want this?” he lifted up the taco, their eyes not hesitating to track his hand, an audible growling rumble was heard from their direction.   Seeing an opportunity, Dream pulled the taco back, making the skeleton shift his gaze back towards him, clearly not happy.   “You can have it if you want, you just have to ask” Dream encouraged, a cheeky smile on his face.   This was it, the way to cross the bridge and start communicating like civilised monsters.   The skeleton tilted his head, before shuffling closer in a low crouch, moving to position himself right before Dream, maintaining eye contact all the while.   Dream smiled, once again presenting the taco as an offering. “Here" he said, "all you have to say is please, can you say that? please?” Dream cooed, he could see them thinking about it, the cogs turning in their skull as they thought about what they should do.   “You can do it, i know you can, say please" Dream encouraged gently, his smile grew wide as he watched them seem to contemplate it before they opened their mouth.   Dream vibrated with excitement.   It turned into a cry of outrage as the void dweller launched at his hand like a rabid animal, almost grabbing hold of his fingers with their teeth as they ripped the taco out with their mouth, taco meat flying everywhere as the void dweller made quick work in devouring the innocent taco, dying a gruesome death.   "Or… I guess you do not have to, we will have to work on your manners" Dream mumbled, feeling slightly disturbed at the other behaviour, as he watched them lick in-between their fingers, that were definitely not clean with their very colourful tongue.   He had to resist gagging as he saw the contents of their very full mouth, it was horrific.   Dream let out a sigh as he reluctantly leaned back into the beanbag he was sitting in front of, as smelly as it was, it was actually quite comfy.   Dream took out a new container to eat from, deciding on the garden salad as he watched his fellow outcode start exploring blues backpack, rummaging around, pausing every so often to hold up objects to the light with a look of child-like curiosity.   "I need to think of a name for you, I can't keep calling you 'the anomaly' " he said out loud as he watched them, looking for inspiration.   "How about, Splash?" Dream tested out, deciding to go the simple roate   Mmm… no, splash did sound nice, but it didn't really fit.   "No, let's see" he studied them more. "Dweller? …void?" To on the nose  "Tattoo?" Well, it did fit? But it didn't roll off the tongue very well, though they did look like they were covered in beautiful tattoos, the unique pattern was not like anything he had ever seen, even the mark on their cheek seemed to fit them, it was like a tattoo artist had accidentally spilt ink on their canvas.   ink spilt on a canvas…   Ink.   "That could work… Ink" Dream sounded out, it felt good on his tongue, at the word, Dream saw something that shocked him.   The void dweller seemed to respond to him.   They paused in their rummaging, looking over their shoulder with something stuffed in their mouth.   dream never received any form of acknowledgment of his words until now, so for them to even glance over…   "Do…do you like that? Ink? Do you like that name?" Dream questioned, a spark of delight as they tilted their head at him, giving whatever was in their mouth one more chew.    It definitely did have a nice ring to it.   Ink.   Dream shouted in distress as he caught a glimpse of what was in 'inks' mouth.   It was a plastic wrapped sandwich, still wrapped in plastic.   "Ink! No! drop it! Ink!"

It’s laughably easy for George to disappear into the crowd. In a city this big, even nighttime isn’t enough to stop the bustling foot traffic. No one cares about a ten-year-old kid with a blue backpack full of everything he could take and a bow that’s nothing more than a stick and a string. (Especially not the house he’s running from.) It’s even easier to hitch a ride with the next outgoing caravan of traders. Just sit by the llamas and look sad. It helps that he looks years younger than he is, that he’s small and slight and skinny, that he knows just how to look up through his hair with big brown eyes and be pitiable. He gets a free ride to the next city as long as he helps take care of the llamas. Works just fine for him. ------------ He starts to realize that he didn’t think this all the way through when the traders drop him off. He’s got no food, no money, no home, and no way to get any of those things. Unless… ------------ The thing about George is that he knows how to read people. He’s observant to the point of oversensitivity—he has to be. He wouldn’t be here otherwise, he’d still be trapped back in that house. (He’d rather face hunger and cold in this unknown city of strangers a million times than ever go back there.) So it’s a simple matter of scanning the bustling crowd and looking, watching. He learns how to pickpocket like that. He never even speaks to one of his fellow lost kids, just watches the way that they bump against someone and dash around a corner, looks for nimble fingers and different escape methods, for what works and what doesn’t. And then he mimics it, first practicing just bumping against people— (He hates it at first. Hates being surrounded on all sides, people pressing in on him. He likes small spaces, actually—but he likes those spaces to be solid, like hiding under a bed or in a cabinet or in a corner. This is overwhelming, too much noise in his ears muddled into static and oppressive jostling.) (He gets used to it.) —And then he starts with small things. Pouches of two or three emeralds, apples off of market stands. Then bigger things, ingots out of blacksmith shops and crops out of fields. And he doesn’t get caught. It’s almost incredible. Even when he does get found out, it’s a simple matter to sprint down planned escape routes, through back roads and alleyways he’s long since memorized. When they start to recognize his face, he knows it’s time to move on. He takes his blue backpack and his brand-new bow and tears the wanted poster off of the corkboard in the main square. It’s not even a good likeness. And he moves forward. Always forward. ------------ The next merchant caravan he travels with is wealthier than the last, and harsher, too. They pick him up because he’s going to do work, not because he’s a sad little kid with big brown eyes. That’s fine. (He snags a few of their emeralds every time they tell him to go faster. That’s fine, too. He doesn’t think they even notice.) ------------ Ready, aim, fire. Glass bottles are set up haphazardly behind an old blacksmith building, where no one can hear him over the roar of furnaces and hammering metal. The arrow flies from his grasp, and the string whips forward to slap the skin of his forearm. He winces, and the slight movement is just enough to send the arrow careening off-course. He curses, and draws another arrow. Stops. Digs through his backpack to see if there’s something, anything in there for his burning fingertips and stinging forearm. There’s nothing for his fingertips, but he does have an old, too-small t-shirt he can tear into thick shreds and tie around his arm. That’ll work just fine. Ignoring the way his fingers are starting to go numb, he nocks the arrow. Lets it fly. This one flies true, and it hits the empty bottle, knocks it off its perch with a crash— ------------ The vase hits the floor and it shatters into a thousand pieces, and he scoots farther into his corner so his bare feet don’t touch any of the jagged ceramic. His hands are pressed over his ears but it’s not helping at all and his eyes are wide-open but staring at the floor and all he can see is knife-sharp bits of vase and his father’s booted feet and his mother’s slippered ones, and he hears yelling yelling yelling yelling and he tucks his legs to his chest and buries his head and presses his hands harder against his ears, and it doesn’t help, it never helps, it never stops— ------------ —Stop it. That’s not important. Move. Keep moving. Forward-forward-forward, ready, aim, fire. Come on. Now’s not the time. Pull yourself together. Ready, aim, fire. He lets another arrow fly, and it shatters the glass bottle on impact. ------------ He’s been to five different cities by the time that he’s twelve, and it’s about then when he starts travelling alone. He likes the woods, kinda. They’re pretty, but they’re quiet, and he doesn’t know what to do with quiet. He’s never really—never really been surrounded by quiet, like this. It’s… uncomfortable. The white noise of crowds and busy people and horses clip-clopping and llamas calling out to each other is familiar, like an old blanket. Out here, he’s got what—birds? Birds are okay and all, but they’re not exactly filling the air around him. There are squirrels? Kind of? George sighs. It’s not loud enough to fill the silence. ------------ He’s never really minded being alone. Hadn’t thought about it at all, actually. He’s alone because that’s how it is. He’s got folded-up wanted posters in his backpack and a bunch of old stuff from his house he doesn’t need, he has trinkets in his pockets that he doesn’t know why he took, he’s got the nimble fingers of a pickpocket, the calloused ones of an archer, he always goes forward, and he’s always alone. He watches people instead of talking to them. Analyzes places instead of living in them. He doesn’t stick around long enough to make any friends, and he’s not all that interested anyway. He goes quiet, and that’s just fine. He moves on. That’s how it is. ------------ He knows it’s time to keep going when there are wanted posters up for him. They never look quite right. He always looks older in them. Ironic, considering it’s the fact that he looks so young that gets him places half the time. Is it because they’ve never seen him clearly, that they just assume he’s older? Or do they want people to think he’s older so that no one feels bad for trying to catch him? It doesn’t matter. He stuffs the wanted posters in his backpack with all the rest, and he finds another city full of strangers. Everyone’s a stranger, nowadays. ------------ He’s almost fourteen when he ends up at a small town, half-frozen and half-starved in the middle of the night. He’d made the mistake of moving on from his last city and following a few miles behind a caravan. Not like a map’s easy to take, so it was the best he could do when there wasn’t an easy road to follow. Apparently, they were in for a longer journey than George had thought, because he’d run out of his stocked-up food two weeks in and they were still walking. He briefly considered asking to join them, but—well, then he’d have to reveal he’d been using them as a personal compass, and then he’d have to talk to them, and it was—it was more than he was willing to deal with. So he skirted the outside of the caravan, only daring to get close at night, where he’d snatch leftover meat from their fires, or old, stale bread—even a jar of honey, once. They passed through the town—more a village, really—but George stayed behind. He really, really needs to restock. Which is a simple matter, of course. Uuuuuntil he realizes that there is no crowd. Even the next day, after a freezing night out along the side of the tiny library building, there’s barely anybody out. Nowhere for him to hide. There’s hardly even alleyways for him to duck into. He’s—he’s exposed, he’s out in the open, like he’s caught out in deep winter without a coat and it’s freezing. (Stop it. Stop it. That’s not important. Food’s important. You need rations. You don’t want to starve, do you?) There’s a bakery. That’ll work just fine. The wheat field behind it would probably be easier to take from, but George has never baked anything in his life and he doesn’t plan on starting now. ------------ Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Sue him, he was desperate. But of course, the baker saw him stuff his bag full of loaves, and now the iron golem and half the village is after him. Lucky for him, there’s a stack of hay bales in one of the few alleys in this place. If they can’t find him, they can’t murder him. That’s a proven fact. (Would they kill him? It certainly seems like they would.) What he doesn’t expect is for some other kid to dash into the hay with him. He doesn’t even notice George at first, too busy making sure he can’t be seen, but he eventually spots that the hay is already inhabited, thank you very much. He can’t really tell how old the kid is, because he’s wearing a weird, full-face mask, plain white except for the wobbly smiley face painted on the front. His sandy blonde hair already has so much hay in it. (George’s probably isn’t any better, but still.) “Hey! This is my hiding spot,” the kid whispers. “Well, now it’s mine,” George can’t help but retort. “I was here first!” Not true! “You were not. I was absolutely here first.” “No! No you weren’t!” The kid’s volume is rising, and with it, George’s anxiety. “Yes I was. Now shut up before we get seen.” Luckily, the kid takes the hint, and they both back further into the hay bales. For a brief moment, the only sound George can hear is his own breathing and the faint rustling of hay. “Why are you hiding, anyway?” The kid turns to glance at him. It’s weird that George can’t see his expression. Uncomfortable. He can’t predict him like that, doesn’t know if this kid’s going to whip around and cut him open with the hatchet on his belt or give him a present and a hug. So all George says is, “Stole some bread.” He shrugs, helplessly, because that’s all it was. “Got caught.” And then for reasons he cannot fathom, he reaches into his bag and takes out one of the loaves, breaking the soft bread in half. “Want one?” “Uh… sure,” the kid gingerly takes it out of his hands, like he thinks it’s going to explode. It… didn’t really occur to him until that the kid might be just as wary of George as George is of him. When the hay rustles and opens up into the bright afternoon sunlight, George startles, badly, and backs up against the building wall. This is it. They’ve got him. He’s going to get ripped to shreds by cold iron hands— And it’s just another kid. Straight dark hair, dark eyes, a white headband tied across his forehead. The kid with the mask just sighs as the new kid cackles at the hay in his hair and hoodie. Okay, okay, so they know each other. Oh, duh. White mask, white headband. They match. “Haha, yes! Gotcha—wait, who’s this guy?” Headband kid just now notices him, and George has to resist backing further into the hay. “I dunno,” Mask kid shrugs, still eating the bread that George gave him. “Who’re you?” “George,” he says, because there’s no harm in it. It might be the first time he’s told anyone his name in—in years, actually. “Cool,” says headband kid. “He’s being hunted down ‘cause he stole bread,” Mask kid says. Which—yeah. So George does the only thing he can think of. “Here,” he shoves the other half of the loaf of bread into headband kid’s hands. “Bread.” “Dream, he gave me food, I’d die for him now.” Headband kid—like he didn’t just nearly kill George right then and there with that sentence—pulls his friend up and out of the hay while George chokes. “I know right?” Mask kid—Dream?—turns around and holds out a hand, and it takes George a second to realize it’s for him. “Wanna come with? We’ve got a camp a bit away from here.” He very nearly says no. It’s a close thing. There’s no way that bread is enough to earn someone’s friendship enough that they trust him with bringing him home. But that home is away from the village that wants him dead. And they didn’t react with any kind of shock or horror when he literally outright told them that he stole bread. They just kind of accepted it? Is that normal? Or are these people just weird? Is he overthinking it? He’s definitely overthinking it. “Sure, I guess,” is what he ends up saying, and he take’s Dream’s outstretched hand. ------------ The walk back to their campsite is one of the most mystifying experiences of George’s life. It’s only a ten-minute walk, but he talks more than he has in years as they ask him random questions and make random jokes and push each other around and push George around, and it’s—it’s—he doesn’t even have a word for it. All he can do is start digging through his backpack of miscellaneous items, collected and stolen over the years, for a pair of old white goggles he knows he has somewhere. So he can match whatever theme they’ve got going on. There’s another one of them, too, a teenager with shadowy features and bright white eyes and a gentle sort of smile, and— And— And George stays days longer than he meant to. He meant to leave after the first night. He meant to not impose on these people any longer than he had to. Instead he learns that they’re Dream and Sapnap and Bad, and that they make him laugh, and they don’t care about the bundle of wanted posters in his backpack. He makes a joke that’s not even that funny and it has Dream on the ground. He bickers with Sapnap and Sapnap bickers back just as much, and then it dissolves into shoving, and Bad pulls them apart and calls them muffinheads while Dream cackles. He almost leaves. It’s the third night, and he’s been here too long. No doubt there’s wanted posters in the village for him, and that always means it’s time to go. It’s time to go. He clutches his blue backpack in his arms, and he doesn’t take off the goggles. Moving on on on on on, forward forward forward. Something like anxiety jitters underneath his skin, tells him to run, go, leave, he can’t stay any longer. Ready, aim, fire, make a decision. Standing here frozen is stupid. But moving on sounds—for the first time ever, it sounds awful. What’ll he do, in the next city of strangers? Pickpocket a few people to survive and then keep going? What’s even the point of that? He’s spent the past four years trying to get away, but he got away years ago, didn’t he? Why is he still running? ------------ Sapnap asks him if he wants to stay, and he does. He does. He can hardly believe it, but he does. And when, years later, he’s handed a bit of scrap iron, he carves his name underneath Dream’s without hesitation. (This is home.)

The idea of humanity had been popularized when humans had believed they were alone on their earth. It is different now, before, whenever they grew up among other beings that weren’t their own. But humanities ideals were still romanticized, still rooted, forcibly instated, throughout laws and space. An odd decision in that no two species were exactly the same, morals were not always the same line somebody else drew. Ahsoka wonders if her master and Obi Wan look at her and wonder. They were raising her, she’d certainly taken in a lot of them so far in their short time together, but there was still parts of her that were simply not human. And although they never outwardly judged her, it was assumed by many even in their diverse society. Prejudice was still deeply rooted into humans very genetics. She tore through animals raw with her teeth, she leaped into the air higher than their legs allowed them, and she clocked in on sounds that were sometimes far enough away that their ears were deaf to it’s existence. Sometimes she wonders if he wanted a human padawan, well, he hadn’t wanted a padawan in general. But if, if, he had. Ahsoka wonders if Anakin would have felt more comfortable in taking in another human. Likely male, but her gender wasn’t what she was focused on at the moment. She could tackle the thought of her master possibly being upset he’d been stuck with a girl padawan another day. But for now it was already a daunting enough task to ponder her reality when compared to others. They are different, biologically, evolutionary, different. Their personalities and mindsets are in fact the biggest similarities they have. Sure she is bipedal and they both have blue eyes, but they are not the same. She does not have hair. Her skin does not change with the sun. It is also not as unblemished, ahem, her facial markings. They are different and it has never bothered her before, but her-that monsterous human padawan had sneered at her in battle. Berated her being, insulted and tore down her race with torrents as they were supposed to be working together on the battlefield! The girl had even gone so far as to allude it would have been alright to let her die because her togruta life was not as important as her human one. Ahsoka knew not all humans were this cruel, and there were of course other races and species that had it out for eachother, but never had she met someone of this caliber among their ranks. It is unbecoming of a Jedi, and she would have told her as such, except she’d been in too much of shock to say anything. It wasn’t like her to clam up to insults with nothing to refute, but the togruta had been genuinely startled at the girls bigotry. So shaken that every word she’d unintentionally taken to heart.  The galaxy and the Jedi seemed less bright to her then. Doubt and dread had been cast, and the girl knew she shouldn’t be falling too deep into the rabbithole or she’d truly be no better. But that damn comment, “You realize your master thinks you’re nothing more than savage togruta filth?” Has Ahsoka fearing every primal and intrinsically togruta actions that he’d bore witness to. The top contender being her fangs tearing into the flesh of a smaller animal she’d hunted on a mission when the rations bars simply wouldn’t cut it. He hadn’t seemed disturbed, he’d certainly been intrigued, but with his line of questioning, it was obvious his only real concern had been if she knew what she was eating was safe to consume. Something that they wouldn’t need Kix to go scrounging for medicine in case she’d accidentally poisoned herself. If there had been more to it, she didn’t want to believe it. Anxiously the teen held to her left lekku with both hands, running her fingers over the tough appendage, one most species didn’t have, and continued her walk throughout the temple. She’d been purposefully avoiding most of her classmates, feeling ostracized even when no one was actively trying to dis-include her. Ferwane, the padawan who’d started this insecurity seemed all to smug at her new behavior. Ahsoka was too appalled with the universe to act against her. It is hopefully a blessing that in this moment, as she’s lost in solemn thoughts that make her itch with anxiety, that she runs into another. Another like her with long hanging lekku and regal montrals that point towards the sky that make the older woman resemble royalty. “Master Shaak Ti! I’m so sorry,” the girl apologizes, giving a mournful bow. The violet eyed council woman gives a patiently endeared smile, violet eyes flickering with warmth and zeroing in on the seemingly flitting cloud of negative thoughts wafting off the smaller togruta, instantly making her grin pull in tighter into a line. Bowing back, “Ahsoka, what seems to be plaguing you?” Her tone is earnest, and Ahsoka can feel herself starting to give to those piercing eyes. Sighing, “I’m afraid Master Ti I’m having trouble after...” the woman waits for her to continue, “I...I am doubting my worth as a togruta,” The flash of emotions that span over the much taller woman’s face at the girls confession is comically horrifying. “Let’s find a more quiet place for this discussion,” Ahsoka doesn’t like the breathiness to the woman’s tone but acquiesces with a nod, moving easily with the protective arm now sitting across the backs of her shoulders until they find themselves in a secluded corner of the grandiose library. The woman who is normally tactile does not start her usually elegant and titillating speech strong, “Is the cause of your newfound...listlessness a result of your mas-“ “No, no, no. Anakin is a great master,” Ahsoka is quick to assure, they haven’t been together very long, and it is obvious the council, sans Yoda, is concerned with their pairing. The girl has no doubt her master cares, and if she’s simply foolish and he doesn’t, she at least knows he is diligent and determined to try and make sure she is not slaughtered out on the field. That much she can say with certainty, that and she is offended now on his behalf. Protective even, because she cares about him. Feeling the need to air out her true reasoning as not to let the woman’s conclusions dig her into a hole or embarrass her further, she tells her the story with one omission. Who had said the comment. She doesn’t even say it had been a peer. But it is highly suggested. “You are not filth and you are not a savage.” The words come out calmly and Ahsoka finds her hands being taken into the other woman’s as her violet eyes pierce her blue ones. “You are a strong togruta with differences and there is no shame in that,” the teen doesn’t even realize she’s started crying and the woman keeps going, “I am positive your master holds to that same belief, if he thought otherwise he would have certainly sent you away by now,” Sniffling the smaller togruta hesitantly peels one of her hands away to wipe at her falling tears, completely unaware their conversation is being watched. In the distance both Obi-Wan and Anakin watch the scene tersely, they cannot hear what is being said, but it doesn’t look good. Obi-Wan places a hand on his little brother’s shoulder, feeling the ache of his force signature. While the younger man is sure his padawan is venting her frustration about him to another Jedi, Obi-Wan more logically questions what had brought the girl to tears and how he would console his padawan if this really was a plea for reassignment they were witnessing. (He knew they butted heads but he wasn’t fully convinced the girl didn’t enjoy being Anakin’s padawan.) The two togruta stood after the younger pulled herself a little more together, giving a bashful smile that was still riddled with nerves before they set off on their ways. The older togruta looking the briefest bit upset as she watched the padawan leave. Their nerves are not abated when later that night a council meeting is called, Anakin being included. “I called you all here because it seems there is some prejudice amongst the padawans,” Shaak Ti admits, and admittedly it’s not what any of them are expecting. Especially not Obi-Wan or Anakin who look up confused. “Disheartening, this is,” Yoda comments. “I was approached earlier by Ahsoka Tano,” they all look to Anakin, and he is forced to straighten his back. His brows crinkling because now he’s starting to understand the tears that had infested his padawans eyes. “She did not give me privy to who said such a vile comment, but alas it was another padawan. I believe this needs to be addressed.” It’s a miracle the room doesn’t go up in flames with the anger building in the chosen one’s chest. Another padawan had made his snips cry? “Addressed, this will be,” Yoda affirms, “Speak with all the padawans we will. If problem continues, single out the perpetrator, we will.” They are dismissed, and Anakin can’t even be elated that his padawan was not in fact trying to leave him; he was too furious someone had insulted her. Pulling gently on their bond, he is startled to feel her signature near his room. Making his way through the irritatingly long halls with quickened steps, Anakin freezes. The togruta looks up from her spot curled on the floor next to his door. She stands giving him a cheery smile, one that doesn’t hide the other things going on in her mind. They enter his room in silence, his heavy hand moving to rest on her shoulder, ready to probe her for some answers. Wanting- needing to know what little heathen was running amuck in the temple tearing down his padawans self-worth. No, more than that, her shields were high. They’d been high for some time and he’d been too busy to peruse for an answer as if to why. But he knows now. He didn’t know what the monster had told his padawan, but it was enough that Ahsoka felt she couldn’t come to him. She was certainly still learning, but for the situation at hand, it should have been easy for her to tell him another Jedi was negatively, harmfully, affecting another. Affecting her. Whatever they said had more than likely caused some controversy about him as well. If he got his hands on- Ahsoka in an act of bravery wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into his chest where she was only just taller than his abdomen. Taking the reassurance he readily threw at her, Ahsoka sighed in relief as he cradled her. His hand sweeping over the blue and white stripes that never failed to put a smile on his face. Blue and white were his and the 501’st colors after all. The peace didn’t last very long, abruptly the girl went tense and he easily let her pull away. “Master?” She spoke softly, unsurely, unwilling to even crane her neck up to look him in the face. “Yeah snips?” He replied calmly, keeping his tone inviting, hating the new atmosphere her nervousness had created. Blue eyes peeked up into his and his world fell out from under him, “You don’t mind I’m not a human?” His expression is pained as he shakes his head no, astounded she could even think that. Their differences made them an even better team, she gave them an advantage. Regardless if she was a little human girl, a togruta, or even a dathomirian, as long as it was Ahsoka she’d always be his padawan, his honorary little sister. The girl smiles, letting down the walls that had been piled up far too high, their bond getting stronger as he pulled her back into a hug. The matter wasn’t settled for now, there was no way of knowing if whoever the perpetrator was would stop. Not unless Ahsoka told him. Which he hoped she was or would feel comfortable enough to do in time. But at least for now she could look up at her master without the fear their differences would tear them apart.

Luo Binghe and Mobei-jun had demon business to attend to in the demon realm, something having to do with water demons in the south. The demon lords departed early at dawn, leaving their counterparts alone to their own devices for presumably the whole day. Earlier, Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu had made plans to meet up where Shen Qingqiu lived in the little hut that Luo Binghe made for him. The hut being made since they couldn’t stay in the bamboo house because Cang Qiong was too hostile towards Luo Binghe, so instead they decided to live together away from civilization. At the time of the planning for their meetup, it sounded genius for a get together where they could be as loud of millennials as they wanted without their husbands walking in. Except, on the morning of Shang Qinghua’s arrival, Shen Qingqiu did not show up to greet him at the door. Shang Qinghua stood waiting for half an hour, pacing around outside and knocking several times, patience growing thinner the longer he waited. Shen Qingqiu was typically a lot more punctual then this...Shang Qinghua didn’t even want to know what was keeping him. That lazy asshole is probably still in bed and forgot! Shang Qinhua thought before making up his mind. Shang Qinghua had travelled all the way from the demon realm just to go and see his friend, surely he deserved a little bit of entitlement? His bitterness at being stood up gave him enough confidence to go marching into the hut, not even yelling out his presence. The hut that Luo Binghe had built to live in wasn’t really a hut, Shen Qingqiu probably whined about not wanting to have a huge glamorous home to live in, but Luo Binghe was picky and clearly twisted Shen Qingqiu’s words to the best of his abilities as the home was quite extravagant. Shelves full of very expensive and fragile things had Shang Qinghua walking more carefully, his steps going silent as he ventured further into the quite impressively sized home of Shen Qingqiu’s. He passed several swords on display, nodding to himself and not quite thinking of it as strange that some of those swords were never canonically Luo Binghe’s, instead most belonged to another sword fanatic. Shang Qinghua poked his head into a few rooms before coming up to what had to be the bedroom. The small steady inhales and exhales coming from inside clearly being Shen Qingqiu who was still napping. In any other scenario, Shang Qinghua would have sooner offed himself than to intrude in the demon lord’s private quarters, but the safety blanket of knowing Luo Binghe was out allowed him to come right up to the shut door of his room. Shang Qinghua didn’t even bother to knock, Shen Qingqiu and him were best friends so there really wasn’t much to hide between them. Plus, consider the rude awakening payback for making him wait outside. Shang Qinghua opened the door, striding in with full confidence of the knowledge of getting payback at his friend and waking him up from his slumber. “Cucumber--” Shang Qinghua’s voice died in his throat as he froze in place a couple steps into the room. That was Shen Qingqiu in bed, alright. However, he wasn’t alone. What the fuck. Lying curled up together on Luo Binghe’s massive luxurious bed was the owner of the bed himself’s husband and...not Luo Binghe. WHAT THE FUCK! “L-Liu Qingge?!” Shang Qinghua exclaimed, forgetting his usual use of formalities with the Peak Lord. Liu Qingge tensed up at his name being called before rolling over on the bed, detangling himself from Shen Qingqiu and fixing Shang Qinghua with a scowl as he sat up on the edge of the bed. Shen Qingqiu sat up as well, the covers pulled up to his chin slipping down to rest on his lap. At least Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge were wearing their inner robes, anything less and Shang Qinghua didn’t know what would happen. Even then, the situation Shang Qinghua just intruded on didn’t seem like it was possible for there to be a perfectly rational platonic excuse for. “Y-You two…” Shang Qinghua stuttered out, gaze flitting between the two on the bed in a panic. Liu Qingge strengthened his glare on Shang Qinghua, a silent challenge for him to go on with that sentence. Shang Qinghua switched his gaze to stare at Shen Qingqiu in shock who just flushed a little under the unwanted attention. Shang Qinghua’s eye twitched and he lost it. “...both of you are insane! Do you want to die that much? Cheating on Bing-ge, Cucumber Bro?” Shang Qinghua yelled and Shen Qingqiu just quietly looked over at the back of Liu Qingge’s head with a neutral poker face. Shang Qinghua wasn’t done yet and rounded on Liu Qingge. “And you! Do you really think you can handle Luo Binghe’s wrath? You won’t survive it!” Shen Qingqiu raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, doing a miniscule shake of his head. Liu Qingge made a scoffing noise but his cheeks turned red. “Shang Qinghua, I’m about to kill you. Your ice demon husband be damned.” At Liu Qingge about to get up and throttle Shang Qinghua, Shen Qingqiu shot forward, grabbing Liu Qingge’s arm and holding him down to the bed. “Ah, spare him, Liu-shidi, he doesn’t know any better,” Shen Qingqiu pleaded in an attempt to save his friend’s life. Liu Qingge paused, eyes switching between being slits and back to normal a few times as he grappled with his emotions. After a few moments of heavy tension, he lowered himself back to sit on the edge of the bed. Shen Qingqiu breathed a discrete sigh of relief, smoothing out the bunched up sleeve he had just grabbed. Shang Qinghua stared at them again in shock, wondering how they were reacting so calmly. He was pretty sure that Luo Binghe would be able to smell Liu Qingge on his bedsheets, weren’t they being a bit too risky by laying in his literal bed?! Shen Qingqiu sat on the edge of the bed beside Liu Qingge, leaving a space between them in an attempt to be somewhat dignified and professional--a laughable attempt at this point. “Well, cats out I guess,” Shen Qingqiu began awkwardly, shooting Liu Qingge a glance. Liu Qingge just huffed and crossed his arms, glaring daggers at Shang Qinghua like he had just cursed out his name. “Luo Binghe, Liu Qingge, and I, are actually--” Shen Qingqiu suddenly stopped talking, his gaze shooting above Shang Qinghua’s head. Even the spiteful look on Liu Qingge’s face faltered as he looked in the doorway as well. Shang Qinghua felt his stomach drop and his legs became shaky, unable to turn around and see what was behind him. “What are you doing in here?” Luo Binghe demanded and did Shang Qinghua just piss himself a little? No, no, obviously not. Shang Qinghua screamed, because sometimes that's all you can do in a situation like that. Shang Qinghua quickly ducked out and to the side to let Luo Binghe pass. “L-Lord Luo!” Shang Qinghua practically cried as he watched Luo Binghe enter the room, his robes and hair oddly damp as if he just crawled out of a pond, but Shang Qinghua wasn’t focusing on appearance at the moment. Luo Binghe turned and fixed Shang Qinghua with a look that made him want to scream all over again. “A-ah, this lowly one was just looking for Peak Lord Shen because we had made plans to spend time together today,” Shang Qinghua replied with his head lowered, shoulders trembling. Luo Binghe turned and looked at Shen Qingqiu for confirmation. Shen Qingqiu nodded slowly and then got a sheepish look about him. “I...I forgot.” Liu Qingge gave Shen Qingqiu an unamused look while Luo Binghe just cracked a small smile at him, seeming to find it suddenly amusing. Shang Qinghua raised his head slightly to marvel at the scene before him. Was...was Liu Qingge invisible to Luo Binghe right now? Why wasn’t Luo Binghe absolutely losing it against him right now? Why did he not care that there was another man in bed with his husband? Shang Qinghua would be lying if he said he wasn’t planning on using the murder of Liu Qingge as an opportunity to escape and spend the rest of his life hiding in Mobei-Jun’s ice palace. “He should still know better than intruding where he doesn’t belong,” and that was the cold tone of Liu Qingge speaking, defeating any scenario where Luo Binghe wasn’t aware he was in the room. Luo Binghe nodded in agreement at Liu Qingge’s words, making Shang Qinghua that much closer to breaking into tears. What does he mean, ‘intruding where he doesn’t belong’?? Liu Qingge you should speak for yourself! Shen Qingqiu shot Shang Qinghua a pitying look. One that made Shang Qinghua almost pass out. Why was he receiving all the punishment?! At least he wasn’t in bed with Shen Qingqiu like Liu Qingge was! Luo Binghe turned back to Shang Qinghua, and were his eyes glowing red? Ahah, oh no. In a last ditch attempt to save his life, Shang Qinghua spoke up. “W-what about Peak Lord Liu?” Luo Binghe blinked, pausing in his advance. “What about Liu-shishu?” “He’s uh...um? Uh, y’know,” Shang Qingua scrambled out, raising his arms to gesture vaguely between Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu. Luo Binghe raised an eyebrow, turning to the bed where Shen Qingqiu’s face was hidden in his hands and Liu Qingge looked like he just tasted something sour as he glared at Shang Qinghua. “Does Liu-shishu have something to say?” Luo Binghe asked, his voice lighter than usual as if he was just playing around. Liu Qingge scoffed, looking away and at the wall. “No.” Luo Binghe left Shang Qinghua to saunter over to the bed, sitting right in the space between Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu’s nose twitched slightly and he looked down disapprovingly at Luo Binghe’s damp robes. Luo Binghe leaned towards Liu Qingge who resolutely refused to look at him. Luo Binghe batted his eyelashes at Liu Qingge, who’s cheeks tinted red that made a sneaky grin spread on Luo Binghe’s face. Luo Binghe’s face retreated, making Liu Qingge’s hunched up shoulders relax momentarily before Luo Binghe suddenly slung an arm around Liu Qingge’s shoulders, making them tense up all over again. “You brat--” Liu Qingge snapped as Luo Binghe drew him closer in a casual half hug. “Oh, right. Qingge didn’t want to make it public did he?” Luo Binghe spoke his thoughts aloud as Liu Qingge squirmed under his hold. Luo Binghe turned to their audience in the doorway who was white as a sheet. “My shishu is just shy and didn’t want anyone finding out.” Liu Qingge made an angry noise in his throat and he raised his hands to push Luo Binghe away and off of him. “Who’s shy? I just don’t want to be associated with someone who smells like a wet dog!” Liu Qingge snapped, keeping Luo Binghe at an arm's length away from him. Luo Binghe froze and then angled his head down to sniff himself. His nose twitched and then turned away from Liu Qingge to face Shen Qingqiu who had been watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement. “Do I really smell that bad? Shizun, you don’t think so, do you?” Luo Binghe asked, giving those big watery puppy dog eyes to Shen Qingqiu. In the face of those crocodile tears, Shen Qingqiu went to good ol’ reliable and grabbed a fan that was resting on the table next to the bed. He flipped it open, concealing half his face like a shield against Luo Binghe’s puppy dog attack. “This teacher thinks...that a bath is needed for Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu phrased carefully, trying not to draw too many tears from his eyes. “Ah. That bad…” Luo Binghe mumbled and Shen Qingqiu resisted the urge to pat his still damp head. Luo Binghe peered up at Shen Qingqiu through lowered eyelashes and Shen Qingqiu suddenly realized what was happening. “This ignorant disciple had no idea, would Shizun be willing to to deal with this disciples mess?” Shen Qingqiu should have known Luo Binghe would rush back and bring with him an excuse to get pampered. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t even going to bother pretending he didn’t know it was a clear invitation for him to bathe with him. Shen Qingqiu shot Liu Qingge an exasperated but fond roll of his eyes over the head of Luo Binghe’s curls. Liu Qingge huffed in response, picking up on this obvious act. He rose from the bed, getting ready to go get the tub set up. At Liu Qingge leaving, Shen Qingqiu misread his intentions and his fan lowered as he looked sadly at Liu Qingge’s retreating back. “Ah, Liu-shidi, are you leaving already?” Liu Qingge paused, looking back in confusion. Luo Binghe glanced over at Liu Qingge. “Liu-shishu is naturally invited to join--if he doesn’t have other business to attend to, of course.” Liu Qingge blinked before sighing. “Fine. I’ll take care of your mess since I can’t leave Qingqiu to deal with you all by himself.” Luo Binghe grinned brightly in response, Shen Qingqiu smiled happily next to him as well, and Liu Qingge abruptly turned away from the sight. Shang Qinghua still stood frozen in the doorway, eyes trained on the distance like he had gone into shock. Liu Qingge went up to him and grabbed the back of his robes, lifting him with ease. “What are you doing? Are you waiting for me to throw you out myself?” Shang Qinghua snapped back to reality, shaking his head madly. “Ah! What, no, no, I’m going, I’m going!” Liu Qingge set him on the ground and Shang Qinghua took off like his life depended on it. Shen Qingqiu’s laughter and Luo Binghe calling out “Mobei-jun will probably be looking for a bath as well, so you’d better hurry” following him as he escaped.   +Extra: Mobei-jun knows   As Shang Qinghua was washing his hair, Mobei-jun noticed that his hands were more shaky then usual. He frowned and waited for Shang Qinghua to inevitably start blabbering like usual. “...My King, did you know that Lord Luo has more than one partner?” Mobei-jun’s frown deepened, that was what was bothering his human? “...I was aware,” Mobei-jun responded and Shang Qinghua’s hand slipped. “W-what? Since when?” the silent question of ‘why didn’t you tell me?’ implied in his tone. “Hm,” Mobei-jun answered eloquently. Truth was he didn’t know who the other husband was, but it was made pretty obvious. The first factor was that Luo Binghe typically had two different human scents all over him. The second was that Luo Binghe had just straight up told him. They were discussing something random and Luo Binghe offhandedly mentioned that he had to return home to his husbands. Mobei-jun didn’t even show a reaction, just nodded. It wasn’t like it was strange for demons to have more than one relationship, in fact Mobei-jun was often viewed as weird for only sticking to one mate. “I’m just surprised it’s Liu Qingge. I didn’t see that coming,” Shang Qinghua mumbled and Mobei-jun blinked. Wasn’t Liu Qingge the one who fought Luo Binghe constantly for Shen Qingqiu’s corpse? That was certainly a way to build up a relationship. He grunted in agreement and Shang Qinghua went silent for another moment before speaking, voice teetering on breakdown nervous. “Could My King hide me from Lord Luo and Peak Lord Liu for a while? I...may have seen something I wasn’t supposed to.” Mobei-jun turned his head to stare at Shang Qinghua who awkwardly laughed, a hand scratching the back of his neck. ...why was he like this? “...Fine.”

You had only been living in your new place for about a month when you got new neighbors. You were glad for the company- the four-apartment building was fairly new, and didn’t feel very lived-in. You did your best to add some personal flair to your apartment, but it still had the effect of reminding you of your own newness to this place, your lack of any deep personal connections. Your other neighbor didn’t exactly help with that. Javier Peña had lived here for awhile before you moved in, but that was all you knew about him; you didn’t speak much beyond your neighborly greetings and his insinuating smiles. He never hides his lingering glances, but nor does he make any other moves- you sense he’s a safe type, all bark and no bite (without consent). So you always amusedly but politely ignore the invitation implicit in your exchanges. They don’t seem to have a lot of depth anyway, as if he’s just trying for the sake of trying. Granted, he probably never has to do much more than that- you’re very aware of how attractive your neighbor is on the surface. You just prefer to feel a connection slightly deeper than surface level before going home with someone. You learn more about him from Connie, who tells you that he works at the embassy with her husband, Steve. In “janitorial services.” You raise a bemused eyebrow at that, but respect your neighbors’ privacy and don’t ask further questions. You help Connie get a job at a hospital a few blocks away from the one you’re a nurse at and promise to help her practice Spanish. The building feels more lively now, and you’re happy to have a confidant upstairs, especially one who’s more privy to the life of your enigmatic hall-mate. You don’t know if it’s the neighborly care you feel for your new friend or if there’s some other unconscious change, but you begin to keep an ear out for Javier. You do share an apartment wall, although you don’t glean much through it. Some standard kitchen rummaging, television noise, the occasional bedroom guest (whose enterprises you try not to listen to, but damn if the man doesn’t have a perfect voice for after-dark activities). The most noticeable thing about him is the odd hours he keeps: sometimes in tandem with Steve’s schedule and sometimes not, you can never predict when he’ll be in or out. -- Little do you know, you’re not the only one paying attention. Javier has spent many an evening alone with only whiskey and the television for company, but now there are other things to stimulate his senses. The smell of your baking filtering through the wall, even lingering in the hallway the next morning. The sound of you singing to the radio while clattering about the kitchen. Sometimes he turns the tv down to listen and imagines there being no wall between your two homes. What would his life be like with someone to infuse that kind of sweetness and light into it? He doesn’t mean you specifically, necessarily. If, once or twice, your face jumps to mind while he’s taking care of himself in bed, he thinks nothing of it. You’re his beautiful neighbor- it’s a fantasy begging to be played out. But damn if he hasn’t been tempted to make it a reality. He gets to taste your baking sometimes when you leave extras with Connie, and one day she catches his brow creased in a frown, distracted halfway through a slice of walnut banana bread. “Javi,” Connie repeats, trying to get his attention. “Yeah.” Javier snaps out of it, looking up. “You’ve been staring at that piece of banana bread for a full two minutes. Is it gonna do a trick?” He decides to lean into it, see what Connie’s reaction might be. “Only if the trick is getting me out of my pants.  I don’t know a man alive who could resist the shit she makes.” He scoops another forkful into his mouth to prove his point, letting the rich, nutty flavor remind him of other places. Homes. Real homes, made of people, not the solitary kind he lives in now. She rolls her eyes at his crudeness, but agrees. “You’re right about that. I don’t know where she gets the energy to do this after hospital shifts.” Javier hides his next thought with another forkful of bread and a noncommittal noise. Wonder if she’d have as much energy for it if she had a man to tire her out . It was automatic, a question he couldn’t help debating with himself. Surely no one who spent that much time in the kitchen could have energy to spare on…other pursuits. Connie is regarding him shrewdly. He avoids her gaze, focusing on finishing his plate in large mouthfuls to avoid the questions he can feel brewing. But he’s not quick enough. “Has she always brought you extras too?” she asks. Too casually, idling with her fork. “No,” Javier says dismissively, and it’s not quite a scoff. “She wasn’t here long before you showed up. We’re not as close as you two.” Understatement. Did he sound sour about the fact? Before Connie can ask any more questions he rises from his seat. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Tell Steve what I said.” With a nod of farewell, he turns and strides out the door. -- One night you’re awoken with a start from where you’d fallen asleep on the couch. Heart pounding, you sit up, listening intently. You’d never felt unsafe here, but you’re aware of the potential dangers. What had woken you? You hear a swear from the hall, and your muscles relax as you recognize Javier’s low voice. There’s a beat of silence, then a scraping, clinking sound. He must have dropped his keys. But then he grunts, and concern sweeps over you. You’re a nurse- you recognize the sound of a man stifling his pain. There are long delays before each new noise that indicates an action. The doorknob twists as he grunts again, but it’s a moment before the key turns in the lock. It seems to take an age for him to get through the door; his motions sound clumsy before he closes it. Safe in the privacy of his home, so he thinks, he lets out a longer sigh, the pain and exhaustion now obvious in the sound. But you can hear his fumbling through the wall, and you worry your lip between your teeth. It is your place to go see if he’s alright? Finally you decide that it is. You’re his neighbor and a healthcare professional, and it is your professional opinion that he sounded in-pain enough to warrant a check-up. Plus, you heard him that way before he got inside, you reason. So it’s not as if you were just being snoopy through the wall. Just in case, though, you grab some muffins you made earlier as a backup excuse. 11:30 isn’t too late for a friendly drop-by, right? You knock softly on his door. “Javier? It’s me.” Nervous energy taps in your fingers. You’re never even been on his side of the hallway before. There’s a shuffling sound, and the door unlatches. A narrow gap opens, into which Javier plants himself, and you immediately zero in on where he keeps one leg wedged behind the door. He leans into the elbow propped against the doorjamb above his head, while his other hand already holds a glass of what you can smell is whiskey. He looks like he would rather be anywhere but here at this moment. “Neighbor,” he greets dryly, a neutral expression on his face. “Uhh.” You’ve never been this close to him before, and his appearance catches you off-guard. His usually combed hair is messy, waves tangling over his forehead, and he’s sweaty , the open collar of his shirt damp and the exposed skin gleaming with moisture. Javier raises an eyebrow expectantly, taking a sip of his drink. His glances down at the plate in your hands, and it prompts you to speak.  “Hi, Javier. Uh, sorry, I know it’s late, but I thought I’d bring you some of these-“ you lift the dish “-before they come with me to work tomorrow. They’re banana bread muffins.” Your voice falters with your confidence. Your eyes can’t help but flicker over his face and chest, taking in the smear of dust on his jaw, the redness of the knuckles wrapped around his glass. Mostly you’re trying not to look at the leg he’s definitely hiding, which you can tell he’s keeping his weight off of. -- Javier stares at you, not buying it for a second. His lips purse for lack of a cigarette to wrap around. He shifts the weight he has on his arm- damn, his leg hurts - and wonders what could have possibly prompted you to start bringing him baked goods now of all moments. “Why aren’t you bring those to Connie’s?” Like usual. “Um, well-“ He sees your gaze finally drop to the leg he’s kept out of view, and too late remembers who got Connie the hospital job. “I heard you drop your keys, and it sounded like you were in pain,” you confess. “I’m a nurse, Javier. I can help if you need it.” Though apologetic, your tone is firm, face sincere as you offer him aid. Him, your grumpy neighbor who does nothing but leer at you. Well, he isn’t that proud. Javier sighs, and opens the door further. Your eyes widen as you see the long slice in his pant leg, blood still damp around the wound beneath. “Shit, Javier, what happened? It doesn’t matter, shit, sit down.” You surge forward without waiting for permission, tucking yourself under the arm of his uninjured side and steering him toward a dining room chair. Where he’d been about to sit down down and tend to the cut himself. He supposes your apartments mirror each other, but your familiar reaction to with the layout still surprises him. “Whoa, hey, watch the whiskey,” he exclaims, flailing out the arm holding the glass, taken aback by your sudden manhandling. With one hand still occupied by the muffins, you direct him solely with an around his waist and your shoulder propped under his armpit. He couldn’t have resisted if he tried. If it weren’t for the fiery pain in his leg, your hold would have him feeling a very different kind of heat. You give him a look that says you won’t be fooled by his blustering as you deposit him onto the chair and the plate on the table. “May I?” you ask, kneeling, hands hovering above his wound. “Oh, now you’re asking permission?” He scoffs in disbelief but waves a hand in consent, leaning back in the seat. You scoff right back at him. “Look, I see blood, I make the macho men sit, okay? Why didn’t you go to a hospital with this?” Javier studies you as you carefully lift the denim to peer at the cut on his thigh. He takes a sip of whiskey to buy time (as well as dull the stinging pain). You’ve put on a robe over what looks like pajamas, but you seem too alert to have just dragged yourself from bed. And yet...was that a pillow mark on your cheek? Just there, arcing from your temple to your jaw… “Javier?" you're looking up at him, a touch of confusion on your face. “Did I wake you up?” he hears himself asking. Your gaze drops again. “No,” you answer. “Well, yes, but I fell asleep on the couch, so it was a good thing.” Ah, that explained the pillow mark. Finally you stand. Your hands rest on your hips, heedless of your fingertips smudged red with his blood. “It doesn’t actually look too bad. I have enough supplies here to fix you up. You stay here, take off your pants if you can manage it by yourself, and I’ll be right back.” And with that you whisk away, robe swishing through his front door. Javier remains where he is, a bit stunned by this turn of events, your sudden insertion into his life. He shakes his head. Maybe whiskey and blood loss shouldn’t go together. He tosses back the rest of his glass anyway, in order to wrangle off his jeans. By the time you return, he feels more composed, if rather uncomfortably vulnerable, sitting in just his boxers with a bloody slice across his thigh. He watches silently as you arrange various medical supplies on the table and pull up a chair across from him. You perch on the edge of it and look at him before doing anything else. “Are you gonna tell me how you got this?” He’s not about to tell you it was a fluke accident during one of Carillo's interrogations. Somehow, while his back was turned, the guy got free and tried to escape, swinging a knife wildly as he hurled past Javier. The cut was long, ugly, but shallow. He’d live. He couldn’t say the same for the man who delivered it. -- Javier considers his answer. “Can’t,” he says. “It’s better if you don’t know.” His gaze skitters away as he speaks. He works for the government with a poker face like that? “Janitorial work, huh?” you say dryly. Sighing, you reach for the antiseptic. “At least tell me what made it. So I can treat it properly." You look at him steadily. Javier looks back for a long moment. “A knife,” he says at last. You nod, and rip open a packet of gauze. He sucks air through his teeth as the antiseptic sears the wound clean, but otherwise doesn’t speak while you work. Which is fine. You notice he’s drained his glass, and you empathize. Frankly you wish you had a drink yourself right now. Once you’ve cleaned the cut it’s easier to see the damage. Which is minimal, thankfully. Most of the blood was probably from him moving around when it happened. You explain what you’re doing as you seal the wound closed. Only when you’re almost finished does he speak. “Why don’t you ever bake me anything?” It’s so unexpected that your hands still. You stare at him in astonishment, waiting for him to elaborate. “What I mean is…christ,” Javier mutters. The unflattering fluorescent light overhead highlights the dark circles under his eyes as he scrubs a hand over his face. “You always leave extras of stuff at Steve and Connie’s. Never here.” With me. You resume your work on his thigh, surprised to feel a tinge of guilt. “You didn’t seem like a baked goods kind of guy,” you reply, hoping you don’t sound too defensive. It was true, after all. Though you never got a sense of threat from Javier, neither did he seem the type who would appreciate domestic gestures of friendship. He didn’t look offended, however. I’ll try anything once,” he says, the ghost of a familiar smirk suggesting he’s feeling better. But then he leans forward, all traces of smirk vanishing. “And your lemon drizzle cake was incredible .” Javier looks at you seriously. His face is too close for your level of acquaintanceship, but you don’t move away. Surprised, you assess him anew, wondering if you’re catching a glimpse of the man beneath all the masculine posturing. He’s nicer-looking this way , you muse. His face softer, brown eyes wide and sincere. You hide just how pleased you are at this insight (which you’re sure he has no idea he’s giving you) beyond allowing yourself a small smile. “Well, maybe next time I’ll bring you some.” -- Javier can’t quite find another quippy response, so he just gives a small nod, finding it hard to draw back even after you break his gaze. He tries not to fidget as you place a final strip of tape over the gauze bandage. “There,” you declare, your work complete. “That should hold you for tonight.” You stand and gather up your supplies, giving him care instructions as you go. “Got it?” You seem much more relaxed than when you first arrived, confidence in your work squaring your shoulders. It’s…compelling, much more so than your usual reserved smiles in the hall. “Yes ma’am.” Javier nods, not having heard a word. “…Thank you,” he adds, begrudgingly grateful. You smile wryly at him. “Goodnight, Javier.” You’ve nearly reached the door when he speaks again. “Javi.” “Hm?” Pausing, you turn back to him. He clears his throat. “You…you can call me Javi.” Your smile is much warmer this time, brightening your eyes, and Javier feels his heart pound. “Goodnight, Javi.”

“Let’s go eat some hot dogs! I saw a booth with New York street food and I want to try it” Taehyung suggested and Jimin obviously agreed. He would agree to anything Taehyung wanted. Taehyung ends up eating three hot dogs. And Jimin was in awe looking at him wondering how such a pretty and small boy could eat that much food. “Stop staring at me” Taehyung sighed taking a sip of his beer, making a disgusting face at the bitter taste, scrunching his nose and pouting, looking adorable. “This tastes awful, how do you even like it?” “You still drank a whole bottle,” Jimin said with an amused smirk. Taehyung pouted again, a pretty pink color adorning his cheeks, never used to drink alcohol before. He gave back the bottle to Jimin whining. “We should drink soju instead” the omega suggested. “Do you want me to buy some?” Jimin asked with a smile and Taehyung excitedly nodded his head. Jimin left the blonde omega waiting to go and buy some soju in one of the stands. Everyone at the Spring Festival was having a good time, some of them were dancing to the music played by a pop band, people were playing games, and most of them just having fun without trouble. And more importantly, no one from the omega club was having trouble with their dates, thankfully. And Jimin was having a great time hanging out with Taehyung. The brunette alpha bought a whole pack of soju bottles for himself and Taehyung. He was sure neither of the two could handle their alcohol well, but he could take some bottles home to Yoongi. On his way back, his phone started buzzing in his pocket, Jimin groaned managing to pick it up, placing the phone against his ear and shoulder, having his hands busy.  “Jeonggukie?” Jimin spoke. “Chim, is Tae there? Are you guys still in the uni?” “Yes! We are here! I’m just bought soju, are you coming?” Jimin asked excitedly. “I can’t hear you” “Oh is the music! And I’m in the stands so a lot of people are here! Do you hear me now? I’m talking loud you jerk” Jimin said in his high-pitched voice. “Damnit… just stay in there…I’ll go pick Tae and tell him to answer his fucking phone” Jimin flinched at his friend’s tone. “Are you angry? What happened? Guk??” Jimin asked but the line was already dead. “Argh, this jerk, so short temper” The brown-haired boy rolled his eyes.     ---------------------------     “Is really nice in here” Jimin spoke to Taehyung handing him a bottle of soju as he sat down next to the omega on the wooden bench under the tree. “Yeah, I always come here when I have dead hours between classes” Taehyung responded taking the soju and opening it with ease, surprising Jimin. “Woah, a soju drinker I see?” Jimin teased earning a honey-mellow chuckle from Taehyung. “Let’s do friendly shots!” the alpha suggested, maybe all the beer he had before was already messing with his brain, or perhaps was the boy sitting next to him. “Truth or shots?” Taehyung asked sitting crisscrossed on the bench, turning his body to the side to be more comfortable. Jimin agreed, humming and sitting just like Taehyung to face him better. “I’ll start!” the omega smirked. “Fine! You are such a baby” Jimin smiled pinching Taehyung’s cheek making the omega whine lightly slapping Jimin’s hand away. “Have you ever made out with Yoongi?” Taehyung asked bluntly, a big smile adorning his face as his eyes shone brightly at the thought of finding out that information from Jimin. But Jimin was surprised. His eyes were big and his mouth agape, pale pink on his plump cheeks and his ears for a moment. “Wow, I think you wanted to ask me that a long time ago” “Maybe” the omega grinned mischievously. Jimin sighed running his fingers through his dark brown locks. “I used to help him during his heats,” he said in a low tone of voice. “WHAT?!” Taehyung gasped in utter shock. “Shh! Don’t tell everyone but yeah, a long time ago… now he is on suppressants, so he doesn’t need my help anymore,” Jimin said taking a long shot of the soju. “Wait, I wasn’t supposed to drink if I answered!” the alpha whined making Taehyung burst into giggles. “Whatever just drink,” Taehyung said filling up the little glass once again, a grin plastered on his face. “Did he ever trigger your ruts?” Jimin was about to answer but then shut his mouth glaring at Taehyung. “Just one question Tae is my turn now,” the alpha said smirking, earning a playful eye roll from the omega. “Alright, so… have you ever fantasized about someone else? I mean… who is not your boyfriend?” the alpha awkwardly asked. Taehyung took the shot from the bench and drink it in one go and then he smirked at Jimin. “Not fair, I answered and had the shot either way!” Jimin whined with a big pout on his pink plump lips making the omega chuckle again. “Fine…” Taehyung said scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah… well, you know what happened with my ex. I did kind of cheat on him with Jeongguk… couldn’t get him out of my head so… yeah” the omega shrugged drinking another shot, not minding the game. Jimin smiled at him and nodded, not the answer he was expecting. He was hoping for Taehyung to say yes, but now… not back when he was with Jaebum. Jimin slightly shook his head scolding himself internally. “And what about now?” Jimin asked bluntly and immediately regret it after the words left his mouth, choosing to take two more shots of soju, already emptying one bottle. Taehyung looked surprised too, tilting his head. “Oh? Now? Now that I’m with Guk?” “Forget it, it was a silly question” “The answer is not though,” Taehyung said before Jimin could change the topic. “I’m not a cheater, please don’t think that about me” The omega looked like a scared pup. Jimin smiled fondly at how worried Taehyung looked. “I know Tae… I wasn’t implying that at all. I wouldn’t think about you that way ever” the alpha said lifting one hand and caressing Taehyung’s blonde locks of hair. “You can’t help to fall for someone… you can’t control your heart…” Taehyung smiled at those words, a sweet smile but at the same time he felt uneasy next to Jimin who was staring at him with twinkling eyes. The omega was quick to avert his gaze away from the alpha, shily taking another bottle of soju. “We are drinking fast…” he said amused, already filling the two glasses for the both of them. Jimin was breathing heavily, trying to regain his posture. He managed to nod offering his usual gentle smile at the omega while his heart was anything but gentle. The alpha was hoping Taehyung couldn’t hear the fast bumping on his heart at the moment. He knew Taehyung didn’t love him back, he knew Taehyung love Jeongguk, but he couldn’t resist it anymore. “I need to show you something…” Jimin whispered with a pleading tone, taking his phone from his pocket and immediately opening the lovegen app. Taehyung frowned at his actions, confusion was written all over his features. “Please show me yours…” “Jimin…” “Please?” the alpha’s tone was so pleading but also so sad it made something stir in Taehyung’s heart. He felt his heart beating fast too. The moment Taehyung opened his lovegen app it synced with Jimin’s, showing their 95% matching score. It was too high, too compatible. A small gasp left the omega’s lips while his gaze was lost in the screen of his phone, totally ignoring how many missed calls and unread text messages he had… just focusing on his match with a now close friend. “I can’t keep pretending Tae… I just can’t… I feel like my heart is about to explode…” Jimin said, obvious distress in his shaky voice. He was tired, maybe it was the alcohol helping him to confront his feelings and let everything out. “For you, I kept pretending to be okay… for you and Jeongguk but I can’t anymore…” Those words coming from Jimin were accompanied by the ringing alarm from the lovegen app, indicating how Jimin’s heart was indeed beating for Taehyung. “Jimin…” Taehyung felt his eyes watering, his chest tightening, and his breath trapped in his lungs. He suspected it but he rather acted blind to it, to avoid conflicts. “I know you love Jeongguk… and I’m not trying to break you two apart… I just… I just really needed it to get it out of my chest Tae…” the alpha said choking a sob, a tear running down his face and the sole view of the vulnerable alpha made Taehyung want to cry too. Taehyung took Jimin’s hands into his own giving them a tight squeeze in a soothing way. “Jimin… you are my soulmate too but… I love Guk” Those words broke Jimin’s heart into a million pieces, still, he smiled while tears kept running down his cheeks. “I know… I know… but if Guk wasn’t in the picture… would you give me a chance…?” Taehyung smiled genuinely. “I would. I definitely would” he said leaving Jimin’s hand to reach for his face and clean the tears with his thumbs. “Please don’t cry…” Jimin melted into the touch of Taehyung’s warm hands against the cold skin of his face, humming while sniffing. “You are the sweetest boy I’ve ever met, Jimin” Taehyung said still caressing the alpha’s face to comfort him. “And I’m really happy to be your friend. You’re my kindred spirit after all…” Jimin frowned lightly at those words, letting out a soft chuckle. His eyes again lost in Taehyung’s blue ones.  He kept trying to fight the thoughts that kept flooding his mind about the omega. Everything about the omega was driving him insane. Why couldn’t Taehyung just reject him like a normal bitchy omega? Why did Taehyung have to be so sweet? Taehyung’s delightful scent was flooding his senses and all his alpha instincts were kicking in. Cherry blossom, vanilla, and sugar musk… So Jimin leaned in a little closer, grabbing Taehyung’s hands into his own, making the omega unable to move back away from him. For a moment their foreheads were touching, Jimin could feel Taehyung’s breath hitching in his throat as his eyes were open wide and shining different shades of blue. And he had no regrets the moment he leaned forward to press his lips against the omega’s soft ones. Jimin kissed Taehyung, soft and sweet, and for a moment Taehyung seemed to kiss him back too. It was way too brief, like a long peck in the lips with light moves, but it was totally worth it for Jimin. He let Taehyung’s lips flavor linger into his own as long as he could. He always wonder how those lips would taste. He probably taste like candy and roses, and he was right. Taehyung did taste like candy and roses. Taehyung’s hands slipped from the alpha’s grasp, traveling to his chest to push him away in a very gentle way. Jimin was expecting him to get angry at him, but Taehyung looked just surprised. So the alpha took it as an invitation to claim those cherry lips again, without thinking about the consequences. He leaned in again, but before he could kiss Taehyung again a loud scary growl near them made his heart stop. Jeongguk… Jeongguk was standing not too far from them, his eyes shining red and his alpha fangs in full display as he continued to growl like an enraged wolf. With firm steps, fists clenching too hard and a prominent vein in the middle of his forehead throbbing, Jeongguk got close to them. Taehyung was the first to move trying to talk to Jeongguk to clarify the scene he just watched, but Jeongguk just grabbed him hard to push him to the side, almost making him fall. Before Jimin could react, a fist was slammed against his jaw sending him to the ground. The sharp pain Jimin was starting to feel soon was forgotten when Jeongguk grabbed him from the ground by his jacket pulling him up. Jimin never had seen the pure breed alpha this way, so enraged, spitting fury through his eyes. “Don’t” growl “Fucking touch” growl “My omega” another growl in a commanding alpha tone before another punch was thrown at the smaller alpha who just closed his eyes welcoming the punch in the eye socket, falling on his bum once again confused and unable to think straight anymore. Jimin knew he deserved it, but he never thought Jeongguk would ever fight with him like this… He was sure he was about to pass out, after all, he was no match for a pure breed alpha. But the crying and pleading voice from Taehyung allowed him to open his eyes. Taehyung was holding Jeongguk back, grabbing him from behind in a tight back hold while he was digging his face into Jeongguk’s nape, sobbing loudly. Jeongguk’s heavy breathing was slowing down and his red eyes were going back to normal. The omega soothing pheromones were calming him down, or most likely, his soulmate pheromones. Taehyung was whispering things against Jeongguk’s neck. “You are the only one for me, okay? Please just stop… I love you, only you Jeongguk”  Jeongguk was slowly going back to normal, but his angry eyes were still showing pain which was way worse than anger. He felt betrayed by his best friend. The taller alpha grabbed Taehyung’s arms to make him unwrap himself from the tight hold and Taehyung felt his breath hitching in his throat at the thought of Jeongguk being angry at him, breaking up with him… But Jeongguk simply turned around with a stoic expression on his face, grabbing Taehyung by the hand and walking away from that place with him, leaving a hurt Jimin behind, all alone.     ---------------------------     The tense silence was broken by Taehyung soft sobs. He and Jeongguk were in the alpha’s car. Jeongguk was staring blankly at nothing in particular, his jaw tense and his knuckles white from clenching too tight the steering wheel. “Please say something…” Taehyung begged, his nose was pink from all the sobbing and sniffing. And he couldn’t take any more of Jeongguk's killer silence. The alpha had been sitting without talking for a long time, while Taehyung was on the shotgun seat completely anxious, after explaining what happened and how Jimin confessed his feelings towards him. Taehyung told Jeongguk how painful was to reject Jimin and to not cause him a broken heart he let the alpha kiss him for a brief moment. But that was it, just a small kiss. Still, Jeongguk didn’t say anything. Taehyung would rather hear him yell at him than endure a cold silent alpha. It was killing him. “Let’s go home” Jeongguk’s voice sounded hoarse and raspy, startling Taehyung. And without looking at the omega he started the car, his eyes just focusing on the road and in the mirrors, not sparing a single glance at Taehyung. Jeongguk was driving way too fast, and Taehyung’s heart was clenching painfully by the lack of words from his boyfriend. The omega continued sobbing, his eyes focused on the road. It was dark except for the lights of the road and one or another car. He could feel Jeongguk’s pain through their bond, pain mixed with anger and confusion, even when he wasn’t saying anything. “Jeongguk slow down…” Taehyung begged again, noticing how fast Jeongguk was driving, getting nervous all of sudden. But Jeongguk just clenched his teeth tensing his jaw, restraining himself to shout something to Taehyung. His eyes seemed so lost in the road, but Taehyung noticed the fire in them. Jeongguk was about to explode again. “Jeongguk! Stop it!” the blonde omega pleaded, one hand grasping the alpha’s arm tightly. “Did you like it?” Jeongguk asked, his voice cold and raspy, not even listening to Taehyung so desperately asking. “What?!” the omega asked, his blue eyes wide open, flickering from the road to Jeongguk. “Did you like it when he kissed you?” the alpha asked again through gritted teeth, his eyes giving shades of red once again. “Jeongguk please… stop the car” Taehyung flinched at the sound of horns from cars that the alpha was passing through like a game of need for speed. “Fucking answer me Taehyung!” Jeongguk growled violently, pressing the accelerator, easily passing the 200 mph in his black Audi. Taehyung was breathing heavily, he was scared. “No!” the omega cried, trying to grasp the fabric of the leather seat. “Still you fucking let him kiss you!” the alpha growled, hurt by his words. “It was just a fucking small kiss Jeongguk! I didn’t make out with him! I just felt sorry after rejecting his feelings! And what about you? Getting all hero and saving that… that fucking thot!” “Are you seriously turning this against me now?” Jeongguk scoffed, his eyes darting from the road ahead and back to his boyfriend. “Yes, I actually am. None of this would have happened if you had stayed with me” Taehyung snapped back, glaring at the alpha. “That woman is infatuated with you, and you still get all friendly with her. I hate it!” Jeongguk scoffed again with a grin that was more of disbelief. “She was on her heat you know. She tried to seduce me but guess what? I rejected her without a second thought because even when her fucking pheromones were all over the place the only one in my fucking mind was you” the alpha growled with a raspy voice and Taehyung frowned, just staying quiet. “I don’t want you near her” Taehyung muttered loud enough for Jeongguk to hear. “I don’t want you to talk to her ever again” “I won’t” the alpha answered eyeing his pouty boyfriend. “I’ll do anything you want because I’m fucking idiotically in love with you” Taehyung was still pouting, looking at the alpha, forgetting how fast they were going or how angry both of them have being with each other. “I’m sorry…” the omega muttered again, blonde locks falling on his eyes as Jeongguk sighed heavily. The alpha couldn’t stay angry at his omega, he was too in love with him for that. And the anger and pain he felt were slowly fading. “I love you,” the omega said putting a hand on top of Jeongguk’s hand on the gearshift, giving him a soft squeeze. Jeongguk smiled at that. “I love you too” They looked at each other for a moment before a harsh hit on the passenger side made the car crash. The black Audio flipped so many times that Jeongguk become disorientated, blacking out for seconds just to wake up again deadened. Everything happened so fast, the loud crash, the sound of glass shattering, the bumping in the airbags, and the pain. The sudden pain excruciating his whole body, and the taste of copper in his mouth.  And before passing out again, Jeongguk managed to look at his side, to his love. Taehyung was unconscious, blood adorning his pretty face, glasses sprinkled on his right cheek. Jeongguk wanted to scream at him, to ask him if he was okay, but everything went back to black. The next time Jeongguk opened his eyes he heard muffled voices seeing red and blue lights around him. He was on the ground, wet ground and rain was pouring unto him. He started to panic as his eyelids fluttered open trying to find his boyfriend. He felt so cold and his body hurt so much it was making him numb. He wasn’t dead, but where was Taehyung? Jeongguk tried to open his mouth and only blood came out of him with a hard cough. The buzzing noise of the people surrounding him felt like he was underwater. Jeongguk noticed a male upon him, talking to him, frowning and flashing a small lantern in his eyes, but it was hard for him to see because of the dark spots in the corners of his vision. He didn’t know if anyone could hear him, but he still tried to ask for Taehyung.       -------------------------       Jimin was crying. He was sitting on the ground with his knees close to his chest, arms around them, and his head buried between his legs, crying softly and not caring about the rain soaking him wet. He felt so alone, so broken. He didn’t regret confessing his feelings because it felt relieving like the pressure on his chest was finally gone. But what hurt was Jeongguk, not the fact that he punched him but the hateful look in those brown eyes. The small alpha was slightly shivering, the night was cold and the drunk effect he had was gone. He wanted to crawl back to his home but couldn’t find the force to do it. Jimin didn’t notice how much time it passed until the sweet scent of jasmine and spearmint hit his nostrils having an immediate soothing effect. Small steps thumping against the wet ground made Jimin recoil. He didn’t want that person to see him that way. Anyone but him. The person kneeled by Jimin’s side, a warm hand patting his back making the alpha sob harder and an umbrella upon them making the rain unable to keep soaking him. Yoongi.  Jimin didn’t want Yoongi to see him like that, but every effort to not cry was useless because just Yoongi’s mere presence made Jimin cry harder. After a long time, Jimin’s sobs seemed to stop, just letting out sniffs and tiny whimpers. Yoongi never left his side, his hand still comforting the alpha. “That horrible feeling in your chest… it goes away,” Yoongi said in his usual husky voice. “A little bit of ice cream can help though… I could even listen to Taylor Swift with you” That made Jimin choke a giggle. “How did you know I was here?” the alpha asked now staring at the omega, eyes red and puffy, a bruise adorning one of his pretty eyes and another bruise in his jaw. Yoongi frowned at the sight of Jimin hurt. “I will kill Jeongguk for punching you, you know I will” the omega growled. Jimin shook his head lightly with a weak smile. “I kissed Taehyung,” he said and Yoongi frowned harder, thick silence engulfing them for a brief moment. “Did you get it out of your chest at least?” Yoongi asked looking at the gleaming drops of rain surrounding them, the only protection they had was the black umbrella. “I did… but now Gukkie hates me…” Jimin whispered the last part, his voice full of pain. “Is not fair hyung…” “What is?” “Is not fair that Taehyung is my soulmate, but the universe got him a better soulmate and I’m here with my heart broken now” Jimin said sniffing and cleaning some remaining tears with the back of his hand. Yoongi shook his head with a low scoff. “Sure,” he said and Jimin immediately looked at him furrowing his eyebrows. “Of course, it’s not fair that you got your heart broken and that the fucking universe put another alpha on your way, but perhaps you and Taehyung were never meant to be romantic… and that doesn’t mean you should give up on finding your true love” Jimin remained silent, looking ahead at nothing in particular. “Do you think there’s someone more perfect for me?” The dirty blonde omega hummed with a soft smile. “Of course. Every love is different and special and perfect in many ways. I know it sucks right now, a lot. But you will get over it” Yoongi shrugged, patting the alpha’s hand and ruffling his hair. “Maybe your true love is nearer than you think” “Maybe,” Jimin said puffing his cheeks and making Yoongi smile fondly at him. “I really wanted that someone to be Taehyung though…” “I know” Yoongi whispered with a weak smile, his free hand still caressing Jimin’s brown hair, calming him. And Jimin didn’t notice the pain held in the omega’s eyes. “Let’s go home, I don’t want you to catch a cold” Jimin nodded. “Thank you hyung, for always being for me…” he said, and the omega smiled at him, standing up and offering his hand to help Jimin up too. “Remind me why are you single?” “I have a pathetic crush on someone I have no chance with…” Yoongi said with a shrug making Jimin giggle wrapping his arms around the omega. “Well, that person is really stupid. Anyone would be happy to have you” Jimin said kissing Yoongi’s cheek making the omega scoff and pushing him away mischievously. “Yeah, he is really fucking dumb,” Yoongi said with his usual gummy smile and Jimin just laughed at that but then, looking into Yoongi’s eyes he frowned, feeling a tug in his heart. Jimin placed his hand on his chest, feeling how hard it was starting to beat. He opened his mouth to say something when Yoongi’s phone started ringing loudly, ruining the strange moment. Yoongi stopped walking for a moment to take his phone off his coat. Hoseok. “Hobi?... What? What happened?” Yoongi’s voice was starting to sound panicking. He looked at Jimin while listening to Hoseok taking the alpha’s hand and giving it a hard squeeze. “Fuck… yeah, we’re going right now… which hospital?... yeah, okay, see you in a bit…” “What’s going on?” Jimin asked concerned and Yoongi gave him the same panicking look that was freaking Jimin out. “Jeongguk and Taehyung…” Yoongi began to say slowly but Jimin’s eyes were already open wide and his lips quivering. “A truck crash against Jeongguk’s Audi…. Guk was above the speeding limit… it’s bad, Jimin…” “Oh my god…” “Let’s hurry to the hospital,” Yoongi said taking Jimin by the hand, who was still shocked unable to form any coherent sentence. Without wasting time to go back to their apartment to take Yoongi’s car, both males took a cap to Seoul National University Hospital with their hearts clenching, Jimin looked a mess so Yoongi lent him his coat to keep him warm.    

It had been a week since Katsuki and you had had your… ‘heated discussion’... about the motives behind his brutal blowjob. He swore it was just to get off, but he’d never pushed you that close to using your safe word, and he’d even mentioned Midoriya in the middle of it. It wasn’t just regular old head. Still, you let it go, and he hadn’t done anything like that since. You thought he’d also been nicer to Midoriya, but it’s hard to tell since you’ve seen so little of him. He and Uraraka must be busy rekindling their sweet little relationship, because you hadn’t seen her either. It took being such a nerd that you planned to study on a Friday night to run into Midoriya. He was tucked into the back of the library at a small table, and was typing away on his laptop. You saw him from behind, his shaggy green mop being an instant give away. “Hey!” You greeted quietly as you sat down across from him. “Oh! Hi!” He greeted back, nervous as ever. Or maybe even more so… “What’s up? I hadn’t seen you all week, have you been avoiding me?” You tease, taking your books out. When you looked back up at him, he wasn’t laughing with you. “N-no! Just uh, been busy, I-I guess.” He explained, rubbing the back of his neck. He was definitely more pink than usual, and he was avoiding your eyes like you were medusa. “Right. Hero courses are pretty intense, huh? Suki’s always complaining about it.” you tried to relate, noting his squirming intensify at the name mentioned. “Yeah. Definitely… Hey, I, uh. You caught me at a bad time, I was just about to pack up.” He explained, shutting his laptop and standing. “Oh, okay. I’ll see you around?” “Mhmm.” he hummed as he turned and left.   You: Your boyfriend hates me all of the sudden. Ochako: No he doesn’t! Uh… That was a surprisingly quick response, and a defensive one at that… You: No? Well I just sat down to study with him and he ran away with his tail between his legs. Ochako: He doesn’t hate you, he’s just embarrassed. You: Embarrassed? Ochako: Yeah, you know. That picture was a little graphic. I actually wanted to talk to you about it… You: Wait, what picture? Ochako: Oh, god… Do you not know? You: Obviously not! What picture??? Ochako: Uh. Bakugo sent him a picture about a week ago, of you… You: Bakugo sent Deko a picture of me? That seems unlikely… Ochako: I haven’t seen it! He said it didn’t like, show anything other than your face… You: Holy shit Ochako spit it out, what’s with this picture? Did I have something in my teeth or something? What the hell? Ochako: God this is weird to even type… He said it was a picture of your face with like, spit and uh… cum…. On it… Your face was hot instantly, mouth salivating like you were ready to vomit. Ochako: We’re not upset or anything! I think he’s just embarrassed. I know you two are experimental in the bedroom, I thought this was just a part of that. I wanted to talk about how it was a little weird for us, though. You: I didn’t even realize a picture like that existed. I’m sorry, tell Izuku I’m sorry as well. I have to go talk to Bakugo. Ochako: Okay. I’m sorry this is all weird, I thought you knew. You don’t even remember the walk to the dorm building, or the elevator ride to Bakugo’s floor. You only really remember opening his door and seeing him, Kirishima, and Shoto sitting around. “Get out.” you snarled, not taking your eyes off of the blonde, though you weren’t talking to him. Nobody moved. “I said GET OUT!” They both scrambled this time, hurrying past you out the door before you slammed it behind you. “Uh, what the fuck?” He asked, chuckling. “I should break up with you.” The words came out before you’d thought them through, but even still, you didn’t regret it. The snide smirk on his lips fell instantly and he jumped off his bed. “Woah, what the hell are you talking about!? You wanna break up!?” “I can’t believe you, Bakugo. I don’t even know what the fuck to say to you.” you growl, but your voice is cracking. “Can you just tell me what the fuck is happening?!” “Like you don’t know!” You bit, meeting his eyes with your watery ones. “I put so much trust in you.” “Babe, spit it out, you’re killing me…” “You sent a picture of me with my face covered in your cum to Izuku.” He was quiet. “The same night you punished me for daring to sit with him to study.” His eyes were softening, red turning maroon. His lips had long since lost any semblance of a smile, and his shoulders were relieving their tension as he sat and thought. “You know I never would have agreed to that, that’s why you didn’t ask. Because you knew I’d say no. And you did it anyway.” you mumbled, eyes flickering over his face, “does my consent really mean nothing to you at all?” “Of course it does!” he finally choked, “I’m sorry, it was dumb.” “Dumb. It’s humiliating!” you raise your voice again. It feels like there’s a fire in your throat as you yell, tears falling as if in a fruitless effort to quench it. “I know. I’m sorry.” He nearly whispered, his eyes looking glossier by the second. “Yeah you know it’s humiliating, that’s why you did it. You wanted him to never be able to look at me again. Well congrats! He’s been avoiding me all fucking week, and just turned and ran when I saw him! Ochako had to tell me what happened!” He didn’t speak past his pursed lips. “I can’t believe you wanted to humiliate me so badly…” You repeat, voice now cracking beyond repair. “I’m sorry, I love you. Please, just…” He begged, stepping towards you with outstretched hands. You took a step away, not trusting that you wouldn’t slap him across the face. “I need some space.” You croak, turning to leave. “Space? Babe come on, I love you, don’t fucking run away from me.” But you’d already opened the door. “I can’t even fucking look at you right now Bakugo. Leave me the fuck alone.” You explain without turning, pulling the door open and stepping out. Eijiro and Shoto hadn’t actually left, and were looking pretty mortified as you stormed out. You only took a couple steps away before whipping around to make another point. “If you so much as look at Midoriya funny about this, you will never hear from me again.” You committed his crying face to memory, finding a sick satisfaction in how out of place the tears looked on his cheeks. You spun around again and started walking away. You didn’t turn back when he called your name, or when he called it again, or when he screamed it at the top of his lungs. You were halfway down the stairs to go to your own room when you heard footsteps bounding after you. They were too light to be Katsuki’s so you figured it was Sho. He caught up to you and wordlessly followed you to your room, and you nodded him in. You plopped down on your bed and buried your face in your hands, but the sobs didn’t come. Your brain was too busy going a hundred miles a minute to even think about crying. Even though the pain of considering breaking up with him was absolutely suffocating, it was equally as paralyzing. “Do you want to talk about it?” Sho hummed from where he’d gingerly sat beside you. “What did you hear?” You squeaked. “I gathered that he sent a lewd picture of you to Midoriya without your permission.” “Walls are that thin, huh?” you joked humorlessly. He didn’t respond past rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Did Kiri stay to talk to him?” “Someone had to reel him in.” He replied quietly. “Right.” Your phone buzzed in your bag. You groaned and kicked it away. But it buzzed again. “Want me to look?” Your friend offered, knowing just as well as you that it was Bakugo. “Sure.” He got up and dug out your phone, swiping through the messages and declining the incoming calls. “Anything groundbreaking?” “No. It’s what you’d expect.” He explained, powering it off and setting it on your desk. “What am I supposed to do?” You ask, finally uncovering your face and looking at him. He silently sat back down beside you and thought. “I’m not really sure. I won’t judge you if you’re considering breaking up with him, I’d only suggest giving it some time to be sure that’s what you want.” “Right.” Both of you perked up at the loud sound suddenly coming from the hallway, recognizably yelling and mixed with occasionally banging. You jumped when your door swung open without a knock, revealing a nervous and sweaty Kirishima behind a frantically upset Bakugo.

Chapter 16   The birds began their calls and signals of the coming of morning when Fëanor returned from his journey. Morthil and Khánh were still there at the pond when Fëanor arrived with an extra horse and an Elven healer. He grew concerned when he saw Khánh was pale with what looked like fear underneath her tawny skin. He, and the healer went over to Morthil’s limp figure to examine his crucial state. The healer lifted the blood-soaked cloth away from the injury; his eyes widening in inquiry. “There are bite marks, here!” Fëanor was not shocked by the discovery. “She sunk her sharp fangs into me,” Morthil moaned, his eyes shuttered. “She said she would suck all my blood away until I had no life left in me.” Fëanor darted his eyes to Khánh’s askance face before swiftly coming over to the wretched bugger on the ground. “I told you over and over, dear Morthil,” He snarled into the other man’s ear. “Do not ever interfere without consulting with me first. Why, oh why did you come to Formenos at all?” Morthil was tearing up: “I – “ But the former was not having it. He directed the healer. “Come. Take him away. He needs to heal properly, but preferably out of my sight. Bring him to Lórien where they might be of some use to treat his folly.” The healer acquiesced and the two men helped Morthil on the brown gelding. Morthil regained more of his consciousness by then and leaned over to Fëanor. “Promise me,” He whispered. “Promise me that you will take care of her. Tenderly.” Fëanor bit down his rage as he looked at Morthil scathingly. But he said: “I will do my best. Always have and always will.” With that, he sent the two to ride away from the forest. Khánh stood with him in silence watching the horses fade gradually further away. “This whole place – Formenos, Enedduin…It is a dungeon,” He told her. “A prison.” Which was a depressing thought. Khánh had considered Enedduin to be a home to her now. If Fëanor regarded it as a place of torment, then she did not know what to think. “Just stay out here with me for a bit, Khánh,” There was a pleading note to his voice. Khánh readily agreed. She wondered to herself if she would ever uncover the secrets of this chaotic, enigmatic household. oOo She was looking at the scroll in front of her for the tenth time that day – her brows scrunched up in concentration. She was in her little, laboratory station, and on the scroll was her messy sketch of Morthil’s injury.Last night’s horrendous episode still bothered her deeply. She took it upon herself to find an antidote for such a puzzling injury. So far, Khánh had no luck, and Morthil was no longer present for her to experiment her homemade poultices. As she was engaged in her frustrated musings, a wraithlike presence approached her like a snake made her almost leap out of her own skin. It was Erien; the residential laundry maid who had no fond feelings for her and to Khánh’s knowledge, most likely the source of the ominous female laughter – Morthil and Enedduin’s omnipresent torture for that matter.She was standing there looking at Khánh with a blank expression. “What do you want?” The mortal female asked, abruptly, scooting away from the table. How dare this woman enter her room without permission. Erien’s slender eyebrows lifted at her tone. “Lady Khánh,” She emphasized the words crisply and slowly to sound as terribly condescending as possible. “You have a visitor downstairs.”   Who could it be? Khánh hurried to the tea space which was an open location next to the castle’s entrance – a spot reserved for visitors exclusively. She was told her guest was being served beverages and cakes whilst she waited. The familiar figure was a brawny, brunette woman happily eating a slice of the butter-corn confection. Her freckled face turned to Khánh and a grin broke out. “Well, look who it is! My darling girl, at last~” Khánh hurried over to the other human woman and gave her a big embrace. The latter’s larger and sturdier frame was like a warm, enveloping blanket – she could weep. “Haleth,” She murmured in a relieved greeting. “You did not write. You stayed here in Formenos for so long, I thought you had forgotten me,” Haleth accused, but her hazel eyes were teasing. “Never. I am sorry for not writing to you more. There has been much that went on, but that is not really an excuse is it. I just…I have so much to tell you about that an entire day would not be enough time.” Haleth touched her cheek. “You look a bit different since I have last seen you. More filled out and your hair has gotten a lot longer. Still not a beauty, but then neither am I. How are these grandiose Firstborns treating you?” Khánh thought over the question carefully. “The Fëanorians, Elrond and their families have been very good to me. But I cannot say the same about the current guests from foreign lands staying in the house. In fact, I hate them.” Haleth laughed, gaily. “Poor dear. Are they bullying you? Shall I lop their heads off that are too big for their bodies?” She grinned, wickedly, and Khánh did not have to think twice that the former Chieftain of the Haladin meant that threat. “No. I will be well, Haleth dear,” She hastily assured. The other woman’s smile dropped after a bit. Khánh frowned. “What happened? I assume you did not only come here to visit.” Haleth stalled a bit before answering. “I came to see how you were faring, but also to inform you that your aunt has come from the Southeast Orient to Gondor. She asked to see you.” “Asked for me?” Khánh was incredulous. After all these years of family neglect, her aunt had finally deigned to ask for her.“Whatever for?” Haleth shrugged. “Phượng would not say; Only that she was told you were now employed under the Fëanorians, and that she had a need of you immediately. But I know how that conniving, callous woman has always treated you, Khánh. Whether you choose to pay her any heed is ultimately up for you to decide.” oOo Fëanor and Elvinia were horseback riding out in the fields when she found them.They both seemed to be jolly with each other as Fëanor gave Elvinia’s mare a quick slap, exciting the animal therefore Elvinia as well. When she saw Khánh approaching them, her bright, moon smile quickly turned upside down to decided, superior remoteness. “Can we help you, dear?” She asked, mildly. “I must speak to Lord Fëanor – an urgent, personal matter.” Intrigued, Fëanor stirred his black beast in her direction, so that he was right before her extreme, petite figure. “Yes, Khánh?” She pursed her lips; not sure how to suddenly bring this up to him. “Perhaps we could converse in a private study room if you do not mind.” His dark brows raised and bided by her wishes.Presently, the two of them were in his personal library in the castle. She stood there, clutching her hands to her chest and stared at the movements of the masculine apple of his neck. “I have to take a leave of absence for at least two weeks, my lord.” Fëanor immediately reacted. “A fortnight? What for?” He demanded. “My aunt, Phượng, has come to Gondor, and she asked for me. I do not know the reason, but she is family I have not seen for years. I must go to see how she is doing – if she has a need of anything.” “Halt just for a moment, you told me you had no family.” She took a deep breath and tried to explain herself. “My aunt disowned me a long time ago way before Arda After. We did not keep in contact and have no love for each other.” He mauled over her words and appeared to be thinking up strategy in his head. “So as far as I am concerned, this aunt has treated you abominably with the care of an animal trap has for a rodent. Are you not at all suspicious of why she suddenly wants to see you?” “Sir, she is my aunt,” She wished he understood. “Why does that matter? Aunts and family ties does not mean you owe them anything. Why does she not like you anyway?” Khánh paused; unhappy memories of childhood abuse resurfacing. “Because I was – am still poor. I am not a true, blood daughter, and she just does not tolerate me. Besides, you currently have company, my lord. You will be fine, I suspect.” He gazed at her with a heavy-lidded and brooding expression. “Well, if you are going to go, then go. Damned if I have the power to stop you, cold-hearted woman. You will need money. You cannot travel without money,” He fumbled for something beneath his coat. “I have not given you your salary yet.” He inspected the small, severe woman before him and cocked his head to the side. “How much do you have on you, Khánh? In all the world.” She quickly reached for her little, leather pouch and was chagrined to have found that she had so little. “Four, silver coins, sir.” He rolled his eyes heavenward and dug into his own billfold. “Here,” He handed her too many blurs of gold, she balked at the sight. “You have been here for more than half a year, right? Take sixty.” “No, my lord,” She declined instantly. “You only owe me forty-eight coins. I do not have change.” “I do not give a fig about change, Khánh. You should know that by now.” He did not look impressed with her refusal, and they nearly grappled with each other; all in good fun of course. “Very well,” Fëanor backed off and flipped through his purse. He grabbed her hand and forced the coins upon her. “Here is thirty for travel. You are right. I give you more than that, and you might stay away for a year!” He huffed, and she hid a smile. “What? Is it not enough?” His eyes widened, mockingly. “Yes, yes. But you still owe me that other thirty,” She reminded. “Then come back to me for it,” He smirked. Out of perversity, she added: “As I said, you have your guests for company whilst I am gone. But I will also take advantage of going back to Gondor to start looking for a new situation –“ Unable to finish goading, he seized her arm. “Oh, I understand now, ungrateful girl. You are using your bloody aunt visit as an excuse to leave Enedduin and me to find new employment. Admit it! Give me back my money. You are not traveling anywhere.” She nonchalantly dodged his half-hearted attempts to get his coins back. “Khánh, I have a need of it,” Fëanor said with false sternness. She shot him a rueful smile. “Yes, I am sure a wealthy King of the Noldor such as yourself need thirty coins from me. You shan’t be lonely, sir, as you are about to be married to Lady Elvinia.” “Oh, am I?” He drawled, leaning to gaze into her face. He felt satisfaction at seeing her gulp nervously at his distracting nearness.“You have dictated my fate already then? I am to truly be married to Elvinia?” “Was that not eventually your plan?” She retorted defensively, scrutinizing his face. He did not answer and only smiled faintly. Straightening up, he asked: “Well then, Khánh. If you must go, teach me the Secondborn ways of saying goodbye. I am still learning more about etiquette, you see.” She smiled quizzically but taught him, nevertheless. “We say ‘farewell.’ So, I will say farewell to you; for the present,” She dipped into a curtsy and held out a hand for him to take. Fëanor gazed at her hand and then his crystalline, grey eyes looked at with a new intensity. He took her hand into his larger one in a warm, firm grip, drawing her towards his heat. “Then I will say,” He began. “Do not go, Khánh. For what will I do without you?” Her face burned up, and she swallowed thickly. “You will be alright without me for a fortnight,” She insisted. He released her hand. “I will hold you accountable for your return.” oOo Strapping some of her belongings and food for her journey home to Gondor, Khánh set off with Haleth for their long trip. One of the positives about Arda Remade is that there were no dangers such as monsters or orcs to hinder them. Two, lone women could travel through mountains, and deserts and make it to their destinations in one piece. As her mare, Tiril, rode her out of Formenos’ gates, she saw the distant figures of Fëanor and Elvinia riding together and her good mood evaporated. Khánh did not want to think about him at the moment. Right now, she had more pressing matters to concentrate on.   Like how she should conduct herself with her hateful aunt for instance.   Names and Translations Firstborn/Eldar – Elves Secondborn/Edain - Humans

Morgan stared at the small box in his hand. Never before had he considered proposing to someone. He’d never loved someone so much he actually thought he’d be okay with spending the rest of his life with them after-all. That is until Reid came along with his awkward babbling and abnormal smarts, and dazzling smile and bright eyes. But it wasn’t something you could just say outright. The last person he knew who’d proposed was Will but that had been an overall delicate situation. It wouldn’t help him much. Sighing, Morgan slowly slipped the box back into his pocket and joined the others. He would just have to wait for the right moment. — “Someone has to go and deliver the supplies,” Hotch mumbled, unhappy with the development. A man was holding four hostages, having already killed one. He was injured from an initial shootout he’d had with the cops before the FBI had arrived and wanted medical supplies. He glanced over his team. Realistically he didn’t want anybody going in, he never did, but part of this job was pushing past your emotions and looking at a situation from an unbiased standpoint. Hotch’s gaze eventually fell upon Morgan, and right away Reid stepped between the two. “That’s not happening,” he said, crossing his arms firmly. “If someone has to go, I’ll go.” Morgan reached out, grasping his lover’s shoulder. “Spencer, it’s okay.” Everyone had learned of their relationship at this point and it made the decision even harder. JJ couldn’t look directly at Reid, memories of the time Will had done a similar thing flooded her mind and made her sick. She knew how he felt. “I’m not letting you in there,” Reid snapped, turning on Morgan. Morgan could tell he was seconds from breaking down. “It’ll be okay, Spencer.” As soon as he stepped in the direction of the building, Reid threw himself after him but Hotch grabbed him. He held him back. “Reid,” his voice was gentle but firm, “calm down.” — Morgan knew it had been a possibility since the beginning. He sat in the corner of the room, a gun pointed directly at his head. The UNSUB had decided he needed more collateral and was holding him as a hostage now. His finger drummed against the trigger. He was gone - out of it. His eyes flashed with something inhuman. “This is taking way too long,” the UNSUB suddenly roared, and Morgan jumped. “Where’s my car?” Morgan swallowed. He wasn’t getting a car. He knew that, he didn’t. “If they don’t hurry up,” he started, approaching the sitting agent while waving his gun around, “I’m gonna blow your head off. You realize that, don’t you?” he prompted, an amused smile gracing his features. Morgan held back a sarcastic comment. Now really wasn’t the time. Thoughts of Reid filled his mind. Thoughts of him smiling tiredly at him early in the morning when they first woke up, sleeping beside him with a peaceful look so beautiful it made his stomach flutter with butterflies. He was pushed out of his thoughts when he felt the UNSUB pressing the gun against his forehead with enough force it forced his head back, banging against the wall. Morgan closed his eyes. This could be it. Slowly his hand brushed over his pocket. And he never even got the chance. “Let me have one last call,” he mumbled suddenly, and the UNSUB paused. He felt the gun being pulled away from his head. “Why should I do that?” Morgan lifted his head, staring him down. “Because don’t you want someone else to be listening in when you kill us all?” He felt like puking he was so scared but he hid it behind a blank expression. “Otherwise it’ll just be boring.” The UNSUB gave a throaty laugh. “Good idea.” When Morgan was tossed his phone - the UNSUB had removed it from his person upon entering -, he stifled something short of a sob. He slowly dialed the familiar number of his lover and waited. — Reid nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone suddenly vibrated. He quickly pulled it out of his pocket, checking the caller ID. When he saw ‘Derek’ written across the screen, he almost fainted. “Hotch,” he called, waving his boss over. “Morgan - Morgan is calling me.” He nodded, and Reid answered the call with shaking fingers. “Derek?” he asked softly, lightheaded. There was a short moment with nothing but silence. Finally Morgan spoke, his voice low. “Spencer, I’m not sure I’ll be getting out of here.” The words burned his tongue. “If I don’t, there’s something you need to know.” Reid glanced around at all the others, eyes wide, before settling his attention back on Morgan. “Okay, baby,” he was doing no job of hiding his relationship with the man at this point. “What is it?” He was surprised he was able to keep his voice so calm. Morgan breathed out. “I love you. You know that, right?” Reid’s tongue flickered out, dampening his lips. “I do.” “And you love me just as much, right?” Reid closed his eyes. Shit, he was going to cry. “Of course.” “Okay,” Morgan laughed an almost delusional laugh. “Good. That’s good.” There was a long pause before Morgan spoke more, his voice hushed and whispered. Low enough that the UNSUB couldn’t hear him but Reid still could. “Spencer Reid, will you marry me if I get out of here?” Reid blinked, his stomach dropping. He had always imagined this possibly happening one day but not in circumstances where Morgan had to include ‘if I get out of here’. “Answer me, Spencer,” Morgan stressed. “Please.” He glanced around at the others, his cheeks wet. “Yes, Derek, yes.” The call ended. — A gunshot. Reid dropped his phone. The device land on the concrete, shattering into a thousand pieces. He tried running for the building but Hotch kept a tight grip on him. “Reid, running in there won’t help anyone right now.” He breathed out. “Hotch, Derek might be - he might be - “ A second gunshot and he choked out a sob. JJ placed a hand on his back, rubbing small comforting circles over his shirt. She wanted to cry but held it back. “Reid, Hotch is right. There’s still hostages in there. Morgan wouldn’t want you - “ Suddenly the door opened and Reid looked up so fast he nearly got whiplash, his eyes widening at the sight of Morgan limping out with a wound through his leg. He pushed away from Hotch. All of the hostages followed after Morgan, exiting the building slowly. But Reid only had his eyes on one person - his lover. He approached him and right away threw his arms around his neck. Morgan groaned, pain shooting up through his leg. “Sorry, sorry,” Reid mumbled, pulling away. “How did you…” Morgan cracked a pained smile. “When he shot me, he let his guard down. Stupid mistake. I tackled him. Took him down, shot him.” He reached around, resting a gentle hand on the small of Reid’s back. “But I went for the head.” “Good,” Reid muttered, burying his face into Morgan’s neck. He smelled like his usual cologne mixed with the smallest hint of blood. Not the nicest smelling mix but Reid didn’t care. He was okay, that’s all that mattered. After a minute, Morgan pressed their foreheads together. He gently kissed Reid’s lips. Once. Twice, lingering there. He’d been so scared he’d never get to do that again. When they separated, he cracked a smile. “So is your answer still a yes?” Reid laughed; the best sound Morgan had ever heard. “Mhm.”

One more day, one more day, Ianto told himself. One more day until he would hand over the information and his debt would be paid. Ianto had felt like every eye in the Hub was on him for three days as he served coffee, cleaned desks, handed out paperwork and listened to investigations. The heavy-duty USB drive he was using to store the data burned a hole in his pocket. He wanted to scream with tension. They think I was spying like this every day? Ianto asked himself disbelievingly. How could anyone live like this for seven months? I can barely manage a few days! The information itself was shocking. Captain Harkness seemed to have been around for a hundred years, if the records were to be believed. Ianto was inclined to think they were forged, but he remembered what John had said while he was in Cardiff, 'magic regeneration powers'. If the records were accurate, the captain had lived through two world wars and nine leaders of Torchwood Three before the previous leader had murdered the whole team the night of the new millennium. Ianto was amazed by the depth of experiences listed in the archives. The captain had led undercover operations, flown fighter planes, he'd even served on one of the first submarines! And Ianto found a marriage certificate and a death announcement for the captain's wife, not to mention a picture of him with a beautiful young girl that seemed to be from the nineteen forties. The man in the picture gazed at the girl with so much feeling in his eyes that Ianto had sat down and just stared at the photograph for a while. In those three days, Ianto had spent hours thinking hard on the results of his actions. He knew what Yvonne was capable of- he'd known it the whole time he'd worked for London, but no one got out from under Yvonne's thumb. Ianto knew that if he handed over this information, Yvonne would be able to blackmail Jack just as badly as she had Ianto himself. Then he'd remember his sister's body, shaking and pale from the chemotherapy. He could see her in the hospital bed, tubes piercing her body. He could imagine the eyes of her children leaking tears as they stood without understanding before the casket of their mother, just as Ianto had so many years ago. After imagining those things, what was the fate of Captain Jack Harkness, his somewhat boss and stupid crush? Harkness was a grown man, and he had magical regeneration powers anyway. He would have to take care of himself and his own, just like Ianto. God, that didn't help at all. The guilt was eating at him. How the hell could he justify this? Yvonne wasn't likely to stop at one demand, she'd make more. He knew it. But what choice did he have? "We can call UNIT. If Torchwood can't help you, they can." Ianto rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt horrible for what he'd done to Connie, but he couldn't have let UNIT find out, he trusted them even less than Torchwood Three. He'd considered telling the captain, but what would he do? Leave Rhiannon to die like Yvonne would, claiming he couldn't help Ianto with the treatment? Or would he say Ianto deserved what had happened and execute him for treason? Ianto sighed. This was getting him nowhere. He stood up, collecting the USB device and tucked it into his pocket and ascended several flights of stairs to the Hub. Just before the entrance to the main area, Ianto straightened his tie with shaking hands. He swallowed and pasted a genial look on his face, then stepped out. "Where is everyone?" he asked Toshiko, the only one on the platform. She didn't look at him. "They're at lunch, I'm just going myself. Jack wants to see you in his office." Ianto's pulse sped up by about a thousand percent. "Do you know why?" he managed to say mildly. Toshiko didn't answer. She finished whatever she was typing and flicked off her monitors. She met Ianto's eyes once as she gathered her coat and Ianto could see an apology there. She brushed past him and left. Ianto slowly approached the captain's office, feeling like he was walking toward the hangman's rope, or off a plank or something. He almost laughed. Who was he kidding? Rhiannon was the one who would suffer, and Johnny and the kids. Ianto deserved whatever he would get for his betrayal and for his failure. He closed the door behind him. The captain was typing on his computer, not looking at Ianto. He sat down in the hard wooden chair, and waited. [*] Jack waited. What did the boy think he was going to do? Jack's advanced senses could smell the fear pouring off Jones, could hear the increase in his breathing rate, the catch in his throat. Was he really that afraid of Jack? Then again, shouldn't he be? If the Welshman had gone through Torchwood records, he'd know how Jack dealt with traitors: hard, fast, and without mercy. In Jack's world, there was no room for a man he couldn't trust. But this was different. Jack could forgive betrayals for love, for family. It wasn't like Jones had lied, had hidden himself for money, or prestige, ambition, any selfish thing. His family had been held hostage, used against him, and Jack could forgive almost anything for that. Not to mention… he'd been thinking. Watching. The dozens of things Jones did for them, extra things, beyond the job description. He covered Owen's paperwork when the medic was too hung-over to complete it. Gwen always had a fresh supply of her favorite chocolate sweets in her desk, and she hadn't seemed to realize why she never ran out. Jack himself sometimes found paperwork unexpectedly completed on his desk when he hadn't prepared for a meeting with one official or another, neatly written in the Welshman's precise handwriting. When Jack had lowered his mental barriers to communicate with Toshiko while Mary was holding her hostage, Jack had felt Jones' protectiveness for the Japanese woman, the fear for her safety almost as strong as if it were for himself. Not to mention that time when he'd first started, when he'd tackled a Weevil to protect her. The realization that Jones could find it in himself to be so compassionate and generous, despite the way they'd treated him, was an eye-opening experience for Jack. He felt the same way he had when Gwen had appeared out of the blue and fit into their team: like he was discovering the real meaning of humanity all over again. Except this time, the person who'd made him see these things had been right in front of him for months, ignored and pushed away from the team he served so faithfully. Jack felt awful. Now, though, was not the time to make those feelings known. He looked up. "How're things in the archives?" Jack said lightly. Jones blinked. "Fine, sir?" he said tentatively. Jack could see the fast motion of Jones' jugular under his neck. He gave a smile that he knew from experience served to make people more nervous rather than less. "I'm giving you an opportunity here, Jones. Use it wisely." Jones' jaw tightened. His face set into a bland expression that Jack was very familiar with. It was the face that was shown most of the time when handing out food, listening politely to the team… cleaning around the edges of the Hub while they laughed on the platform. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, sir. If you don't mind, I need to open the tourist office in a few minutes. Is there anything else?" Jack's grin widened. If he didn't know better, he might have believed that performance. "There is, Jones. Why have you been checking up on me?" [*] Oh God, he knows. I'm dead. My sister's dead. [*] "Curiosity, sir." Jack narrowed his eyes. "Fine. I can understand that you're not in the mood to be forthcoming, so I might as well tell you: Toshiko found out about the payment for your sister's treatment. We know what Yvonne is making you do." Damn, Jones had a good poker face. "We can help you," he said quietly, leaning over the desk. He willed Jones to give up. "We can pay for your sister's treatment, you don't have to do this!" "Can you protect her from the Director of the Torchwood Institute?" Jones asked in such a low voice that he had to strain to hear it. "Can you protect my niece and nephew, my brother-in-law? His family? Can you protect my girlfriend, who works for UNIT? My friends who still work at the Tower?" He didn't meet Jack's eyes. "Yes!" Jack hissed, watching Jones look up in amazement. "I can do all of that." He didn't breathe as hope flared in Jones' expression, only to slowly fade. "And switch one debt for another," Jones whispered. Jack shook his head, holding Jones' eyes, trying to hold his faith in place as well. "I'm not like that. We, Torchwood Three, are not like that, not while I have a say in the matter. I will never use this against you." "Perhaps not intentionally. But how could I ever say no to you when I'm both in your debt and under your thumb?" Jack swallowed. Those blue-gray eyes opposite him were so hard, so defiant. How could he win the confidence of someone so defensive? "You trust me," he replied, forcing his voice to match Jones' intensity. "You trust that I am not like her and you trust that I would do anything for my team." "Am I part of your team?" Jones retorted. Jack took a breath. "If you let me help you, you'll never have to answer to London or Yvonne again." Jones' gaze took a long time to look over Jack's face. The immortal could hardly breathe. He didn't know when he'd invested so much in this inscrutable man, but it was done. After far too long, Jones nodded. "Do it." Jack sat back in his chair and flipped open his waiting cell phone, hitting a number he'd programmed in readiness for Jones' answer. "Yvonne?" [*] Ianto's hands, out of the captain's sight behind the desk, were curled into shaking fists. That was the only reason he's been able to keep a blank face and stop himself from bursting into tears or screaming at the man. He nearly shouted for Captain Harkness to stop when he'd realized who he was calling, but he held his tongue. Surely he wasn't going to turn him in, break his word immediately after making it? "Yeah, it's Jack. I've got a proposition for you. How about you let Ianto Jones come work for me, completely for me, none of this 'liaison' crap, and stop holding his sister's treatment over his head?" "Nah, I figured it out myself. You should really be more careful with how you blackmail people. I think your technique could use some work," Captain Harkness grinned. Did he really need to flirt at a time like this? "Or else I'll go to the Queen with those 'special projects' you're using COMPASS for. Some of those pictures were pretty nasty Yvonne, I don't think it would take that long for her to write out a warrant for your arrest." The man could rob a bank with that voice alone, wouldn't even need a weapon. For God's sake, who is he? "That should be about it." Ianto practically leaped over the desk. Captain Harkness looked surprised when Ianto grabbed a pen and scribbled madly on a scrap of paper, but when he shoved it under the captain's nose, he understood. "And if anything happens to Jones' family, friends, neighbors or the kid he went to third form with, you will answer to me." The captain smiled. With teeth. "See you at the annual, Yvonne." He hung up. Ianto swallowed. The world suddenly felt very still and quiet. Weightless. "I can't even begin to thank you, sir," he whispered. The captain looked up from momentary contemplation of his desk. "I told you, there's no debt here. But you know what would be nice?" Ianto's face fell, along with his stomach. He'd known there would be some catch. "I'd really like it if you'd start calling me Jack. And maybe I could call you Ianto?" He blinked in surprise. "I- um. That would be fine." Captain Harkness- no, Jack now, smiled. A real, happy smile. A smile that said 'I'm so glad you're here.' "Well then, Ianto. Let's catch up with the rest of the team for that lunch."

A/N: The story is told in continuous daily snapshots from the gang’s lives over three month periods. Each day is separated by xTBBTx. Other scenes taking place on the same day are separated by XxX It’s not canon as eventually it becomes a Shenny. Of course I don’t own The Big Bang Theory. I just like to play in their world. I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty... you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. ~J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye xTBBTx Penny came out of her apartment wearing ankle-breaking high heeled shoes and a clingy purple dress that ended at mid-thigh. Normally she didn’t go dancing mid-week but she felt too good to stay home. One phone call later and she had a group of girls ready to hit the clubs. She knew better than to approach apartment 4A to see what was up for ‘Anything Can Happen Thursdays’ since the last time she did Howard, Raj and Leonard followed her to the bar. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the guys’ company or had a problem with being seen in public with them; it was hard bringing her ‘A’ game man-hunting skills when Howard utilized his ‘charm’ on her friends. Leonard she just felt sorry for since he was so awkward and shy. Penny wished he could take some lessons from Sheldon and at least find some way to entertain himself but that was like asking Howard not to make a pass at a woman in booty shorts. This was the one major difference between Leonard and Sheldon—Leonard liked people and wanted to be around them whereas Sheldon preferred to be alone. Penny wondered if Sheldon ever felt lonely. Surely he must, but she wondered how he ‘processed the emoting algorithm’ or however he defined emotions. She made it barely three steps before the door in front of her opened and Howard and Raj stood in the entrance, seemingly stuffed into the doorframe. “Why hello there pretty lady,” Howard preened. “Might I say you look smoldering this evening?” “Hey guys. So what’s with you, tonight?” “Well, as this is the third Thursday of the month we thought to ourselves ‘why spend the night indoors when we could be out and about experiencing all that the city has to offer’,” Howard drawled. Raj smiled and nodded his head enthusiastically. “So where are you going this evening?” “Oh, out dancing with the girls. Kinda need to get out myself.” She looked at Leonard for help as he came to the door. “That’s nice. I hope you have a good time,” Leonard smiled nervously although his brown eyes clearly communicated his understanding of her plight. Howard smiled as he turned to face his friend. “Leonard,” he mumbled under his breath. “This could prove to be an adventurous night.” “You’re engaged, Howard. Besides, sometimes it’s nice to have a mono-gender night, right Penny?” “Sure. I’m in the mood for mono,” she said and made a series of kissing sounds. “Penny,” said a voice from within the apartment. “The desire to—oh wait, a double entendre. You mean ‘mono’ as in singular while at the same time alluding to mononucleosis aka ‘the kissing disease’.” “You got me Sheldon.” “Oh Mistress Sarcasm, your language eludes me no longer,” he said to himself as he typed away at his computer. “At least let us walk you to your car since we’re heading in the same direction,” Howard said. Leonard took his keys from the bowl by the door. “Only we’re going straight to my car just so Howard doesn’t spontaneously get lost and follow you to your destination.” He gently pushed his two friends through the doorway. “‘Night Sheldon.” Sheldon waited until the door closed and the voices and footsteps faded from his Vulcan hearing before he stopped typing and let out a Cheshire grin. “Alone at last,” he purred to himself. “A little chamomile tea and the hunt for that pesky neutrino will commence.” He proceeded into the kitchen. He couldn’t think of a more perfect way to spend the evening. XxX Sheldon stood before his whiteboard in his red plaid pajamas and housecoat drinking a cup of warm milk. He’d gone to bed at his usual time but after an unexpected bladder break he found himself unable to fall back asleep. Only now could he admit to himself that his sleep was not undisturbed; he remembered standing at his whiteboard writing out equations, his frustration mounting, until he woke up. Now that he was actually staring at his equations he felt his anxiety subside. It would all come together soon enough. His head cocked to the left as he heard Leonard and Penny mounting the stairs. While the odds weren’t astronomical that they could return from their outings simultaneously he found it highly unlikely and somewhat suspect. Why go through the rig-a-ma-roll of pretending to go their separate ways if in the end they were— “Good Lord they couldn’t be dating again.” Sheldon paled at the thought. The woman had caused untold chaos in the apartment the first time they got together and he couldn’t afford to have his concentration compromised at this critical junction. The lock turned and Leonard entered the apartment. “Oh, hey Sheldon. What are you doing up?” He dumped his keys in the bowl beside the door. “I couldn’t sleep.” Sheldon took a sip of his milk. “I heard Penny and you had a good time tonight.” Leonard smiled grimly. “Hardly. Howard talked Raj and I into going to an internet café so he could look up some new bars. Unbeknownst to us he was really engaging the GPS in Penny’s phone to see where she was. We were all surprised to run into each other until Howard gave one of his Snidely Whiplash smiles.” Leonard absentmindedly began cleaning his fingernails. “It seemed the thing to do to drive Penny home since she got a little intoxicated.” Sheldon snorted. “Penny getting ‘a little intoxicated’ is like getting ‘a little pregnant’ or having your latest equation ‘a little off’.” He turned back to rinse his mug in the sink. “What’s wrong with my equation?” Leonard whined. It was much, much too late to be discussing such matters but his pride demanded at least a half-hearted defense of his work. “Oh, nothing a good night’s rest, a hearty breakfast and a lot of common sense couldn’t cure.” Scratch that. It is too late for this, thought Leonard as he trudged towards his room. “I’ll give you a hint where you went wrong. Starting with—” Sheldon turned around to find the room empty. “Well, so much for budding enthusiasm for scientific inquiry.” xTBBTx Penny wasn’t sure how she made it from her bed to the couch but she was thankful she at least had the coordination to bring her blanket and pillow. By the light streaming into the apartment she figured it was still morning. Rolling over onto her back she absentmindedly rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. Man I was wasted. She thought back on the night and how pissed she was when the guys showed up at the bar. At first it was all chalked up to coincidence until Howard began extolling the odds of random chance. Then it clicked: short stuff had set this up. Leonard was mortified and tried to exit the situation as gracefully as he could but Penny had sighed and said there was no point in going since they were already there. That was a grownup response to the situation; going on to get right hammered was not. “Man, I’ve got to work too,” she muttered to herself. Out in the hall Penny heard someone stumble on the steps. “Dude hurry up,” said Raj in a rushed tone. “Relax,” said Howard. “It’s 8am. Penny has the ‘no rising before 11am’ rule.” A quiet knock. Silence. Another knock. Penny smirked as she reached over to pick up a plastic cup and set it back down on the coffee table with a loud Thunk. She could almost taste the pause in the hall before she heard a more insistent knock. “Come on, come on,” muttered Howard frantically. A lock turned and Leonard let out an “Ow, hey—” before the door closed. And locked. Inside apartment 4A, Leonard was rubbing the knuckles of his left hand as Howard and Raj settled themselves on the couch. “What are you doing here?” asked Leonard. Howard looked down and to his right. “Well, it was a tad cold so we thought to drop in early and see you guys.” “Besides, Howard thought Penny would still be sleeping at this hour,” said Raj with a pumpkin grin. Howard gave him a dirty stare. “You know you’re going to have to apologize for last night,” Leonard began as he crossed into the kitchen to get his mug of coffee. “Penny was really upset.” “Yeah, I suppose I should,” Howard agreed. “Dear Lord please do and let the drama end,” said Sheldon as he came down the hall, messenger bag at the ready on his hip. “Leonard had already talked my ear off last night regarding the incident and I sure don’t need to begin my day rehashing the same old same old.” Standing up, Howard wiped his palms on his thighs and gave a brave smile to his friends before opening the door and accepting what fate had in store for him. Penny was just about asleep when she heard a knock at her door. After a moment the knock repeated itself, but not in the machinegun staccato used by Sheldon. Groaning as she got up and trudged over to open the door she knew she was a horrible sight. All of this did not matter as she saw Howard standing in front of her with a sheepish smile. Suddenly Penny was very much awake. “Yes?” she said brusquely. Howard began to rub his arm with his right hand. “Good morning Penny. Might I say you look lovely?” She folded her arms across her chest. “What do you want, Howard?” “Well, I believe I might have stepped across the line last night.” “Geez, ya think?” Howard’s blush deepened. “Anyways, I just wanted to apologize.” He looked up at her. “It wasn’t meant to be, well, what it was. It’s just that you know where and how to have fun and I wanted to have fun too instead of turning an ‘Anything Goes’ into another ‘wasted and gone’.” In spite of herself Penny felt bad for Howard. While he could be quite disgusting at times with his crudeness at the heart of it all he was only trying to fit in. Sensing a weakness he tried to press home his point. “Besides, it’s not like I can go out and hit on anyone. I figured you and your girlfriends were safe for me to hone my killer instincts.” Well, so much for that, Penny thought. “Oh, they were killer all right. I was ready to go homicidal on your ass.” Howard winced. “Look Howard, next time just ask, ok? I might say no and if I do you’ve got to respect that.” “You mean there might be a time you want us to go dancing with you?” Howard said in a shocked voice. “I said ‘might’.” Penny began to flush as she thought over her word choice. Howard positively beamed. “Which is not an absolute. I hear and obey my Queen,” bowing slightly as he backed away from the door. He knew a small victory when he saw one and it was best to scamper away with the morsel before it was taken back. “Howard—” “Sorry Penny got to work.” He continued to smile as his hand reached behind him and fumbled with the doorknob. In a burst of speed he turned the knob and was in the apartment. He leaned back against the closed door, eyes wide. “So how’d it go?” Leonard asked. “She invited us out dancing,” Howard grinned. XxX Two voices are heard down the hall at the university. “I’m telling you Sheldon, it doesn’t work that way. Cold Dark Matter is the plausible explanation we have for galaxy distribution,” said an excited Raj. “We’ll see what’s what in 2015, my friend. If the KATRIN experiment goes as I predict it will you can say goodbye to your Cold Dark Matter particle.” Sheldon adjusted his messenger bag so it rested more firmly on his left hip, the strap cutting the Green Lantern logo on his t-shirt in half. Raj frowned as both men stopped in front of Sheldon’s office. “Only you can be gleeful at the prospect of disproving modern cosmological theory.” “That’s what happens when astrophysics plays in the big-boy league,” said Sheldon with a smirk as he removed a note taped to his door. His eyes glanced briefly at the page and in an instant his good mood was gone. “What’s that?” Raj asked. “Just a faculty memo,” said Sheldon darkly as he unlocked his door. “I will see you at lunch.” Too used to his friend’s quirkiness Raj merely shrugged his shoulders as the door quickly closed in front of him. After turning on the light Sheldon took a deep breath to steady himself. Taking off his messenger bag he placed it and the note on his desk and pulled out an antibacterial wipe from his pocket. As he cleaned his hands his eyes flickered to the equation on the white board. He tossed out the wipe and stepped closer to the board, intent on mulling. As the minutes went by Sheldon’s jaw began to spasm. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and continued to stare at the board. A sudden thought flashed across his brain, a dismissive scowl in hot pursuit. More minutes passed and color came to his cheeks as he read and reread his calculations. Suddenly he whirled and stepped to his desk, taking up the note. It was comprised of two words but to Sheldon they carried the weight of the world. Five weeks, it said. While his face remained stone his hands worked in a frenzy tearing the paper to shreds. XxX Leonard rolled his eyes as he handed out the food packets, virtually ignoring the questions thrown at him as they required pat answers. “—chicken diced, not shredded?” Sheldon asked. “Yes,” said Leonard. “Brown rice, not white?” “Yes.” “Did you stop by the Korean grocery store for the spicy hot mustard?” “Yes.” “Low sodium soy sauce?” “Yes.” Raj paused just as he was about to open his food container. “You know, every week when we get Chinese food you always get a bottle of mustard and soy sauce. What happens to the old bottles? You surely don’t use that much mustard in a week.” “As I’ve gone through the effort of having Chinese food made fresh why should I then entertain the thought of using second-hand condiments?” explained Sheldon, wrinkling his nose at the whole notion. “So you just throw them out?” asked Howard as he reached for a packet of soy sauce. “Indeed I do.” “Dude, that is such a waste,” said Raj, shaking his head. Sheldon frowned. “No Raj. ‘Waste’ is this conversation since it delays me from eating. By thumping a cadaverous Equus ferus caballus regarding my refuse disposal habits I risk consuming my cashew chicken at an unsatisfactory temperature.” “So what’s tonight’s theme?” Leonard asked in an attempt to change the subject. Howard grinned. “Well as I managed to get my grubby little hands on an Atari 5200 I thought we should test our skill in a measured twenty minute dash for thirty-two treasures otherwise known as Pitfall.” “Don’t forget Pitfall II,” added Raj. “Oh, if only we could,” sighed Sheldon. Leonard leaned back in his chair. “When I found Pitfall I so lived out my Indiana Jones fantasies.” Sheldon made a tutting noise. “Pitfall Harry deserves to be recognized for his own merit, Leonard. Among the many technical achievements the Harry persona is both non-flickering and multicolored. We won’t even get into the creative use of polynomials to create two hundred fifty six individual screens within fifty bytes of code.” “So in the jungle there’s more to his byte than his bark,” Howard quipped. Raj and Leonard laughed. Sheldon looked at him quizzically. “Yes, I suppose you could say that, although I don’t know what—” His eyes narrowed as he thought over Howard’s words. Given the context of my previous statement the dog’s ‘bite’ must be a ‘byte’. Oh wait! ‘Bark’. Harry’s swinging from trees so bark is floral, not aural, in nature and in this case is comprised solely of bytes. Sheldon took a series of internal breaths as a little smile crossed his face. xTBBTx There was an extra kick to Sheldon’s step as he strolled into the kitchen. Normally this would be a well-orchestrated routine like every other Saturday but this day was a little extra special—BBC America was airing the conclusion to a two-part Dr. Who story. In a whimsical moment to mark the occasion he bypassed the higher fiber content cereal for his Honey Puffs. After pouring out the cereal and adding a quarter-cup of 2% milk he carried the bowl to his end of the couch, sat down and turned on the television. About half-way through the program he heard a noise from the hall and nonchalantly grabbed the remote and engaged the captioning feature. A few minutes later he heard a knock at Penny’s door. Thock Thock “Someone has a death-wish,” Sheldon commented, remembering Penny’s ‘I’ll punch you in the throat’ rule if she’s woken up before 11am. The knock came again, deeper in tone. Thunk Thunk Thunk Sheldon leaned towards the television with a scowl on his face. Thunk Thunk Thunk Thunk “Good Lord what is this, annoyance by increments?” He relaxed slightly as he heard Penny’s lock turn. “Mr. Webley,” said a familiar voice—Penny’s. “I was told to come here if I wanted a part?” The door closed. Thunk Thunk Thunk “Mr. Webley…. I was told to come here if I wanted a part.” Again her door closed. Sheldon rolled his eyes. During the climax to a two-part Dr. Who story was surely one of the worst times to have a neighbor succumb to a psychotic break. Minutes went by and Sheldon was completely absorbed as the Doctor made his last-ditch effort to spoil the Master’s plans. Thock Thock Thock Thock “Mr. Webley….I was told to come—” “Oh, this is quite intolerable,” Sheldon growled as Leonard made his way down the hall. “Leonard, please have Penny refrain from making noise until Dr. Who’s finished.” “What’s she doing?” Leonard yawned as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Thank goodness for programmable coffee makers. “It sounds like she’s perfecting a call-back to a casting couch.” Leonard spewed out his coffee. “Excuse me?” “Leonard, my program.” Thock Thock Thock Thock Mug in hand, Leonard opened the front door and stepped into the hall to find Penny standing at her door. “Mr. Webley…. I was told to come here if I wanted a part?” After a moment’s pause she opened her door and stepped inside. While he couldn’t make out what she was saying Leonard thought she was having what sounded like a one-sided conversation. Penny’s door opened. She was startled to see Leonard. “Whatcha doing?” he asked. “Oh, hi Leonard. I didn’t wake you did I?” “No, but you’re perilously close to a strike.” Penny was confused for a moment before she remembered. That’s right: Dr. Who. She wasn’t sure what strike she was on; all she knew was that there was no way she was going to take a course from Dr. Whackadoodle. “So? What’s all this?” Penny stood on her tip toes in excitement. “I’ve got an audition at eight am. A friend of mine who works in casting got me a shot at CSI. Can you believe it?” Leonard opened his mouth to speak. “I know I couldn’t,” Penny continued. “Even better she gave me the script of the part. It’s not a big role but I’ve so got to nail this.” “What’s the part?” “I’m an aspiring actress auditioning for a musical, only the producer is dead and I walk in on the crime scene.” Leonard shuddered involuntarily at the word ‘musical’. After viewing Penny’s performance in ‘Rent’ he’d force-fed himself ‘Fiddler on the Roof’ for three consecutive nights so he didn’t lose all interest in the format. “You don’t have to sing, do you?” he asked tentatively. “The producer’s already dead, Leonard.” Penny grinned. “I’m the opening sequence in the show. Oh wait!” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “Chickens—hatch. Chickens—hatch.” Leonard gave an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll get the part.” “I hope so.” “Wait, I thought CSI was shot in Las Vegas?” Penny shrugged. “Except for parts that can be done on set, I guess. Anyways, I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve got to keep practicing.” Excusing himself, Leonard went back into the apartment. “Well?” Sheldon asked as he placed his bowl in the drain rack. “Penny’s practicing for an audition this morning.” “I see. Well, given the disturbance she’s causing I hope it proves fruitful because this cannot continue.” “It’s just a cameo, Sheldon.” “Nevertheless, as she’s yet to ‘land a role’ it’s important that she start somewhere.” “True,” agreed Leonard. “Well you can’t say she won’t get the part through lack of trying.” Thock Thock Thock Thock “Indeed,” Sheldon said as he went down the hall to brush his teeth. “Once she figures out she’s one knock redundant I’m sure everything else will fall into place.” XxX A red t-shirt was placed carefully on a plastic frame. Three distinct folds—arm, arm, body—were made and the resulting perfectly pressed t-shirt was carefully lifted and put on the pile of other clean laundry. Spying Sheldon working diligently as she entered the laundry room, Penny couldn’t help but smile. “Hi Sheldon.” “Good evening Penny,” he responded as he fluffed out another t-shirt before laying it gently on the rack. “As you show no obvious signs of discomfort I will hazard a guess and say you are well.” “Very well,” she laughed as she opened up the dryer to pull out her laundry. “And how are you this evening?” “I find myself in good health.” Sheldon gave a twitchy half-smile before looking away. “Well that’s good,” Penny replied, not knowing what more to say. She pulled out a tank top and spun a strap on her finger for a moment before folding it properly and putting it in her basket. Reaching into the dryer she grabbed a sweatshirt sleeve and drew it out with the flair reserved for magicians doing the ‘silk scarves pulled from a pocket’ trick. The flamboyant actions played havoc with Sheldon’s peripheral vision so he straightened up and looked head-on at Penny. He knew social protocol dictated he ask her what was the source of her good mood but was unsure how to proceed until he remembered the audition. He frowned, thinking about the Dr. Who disturbance, before realizing that in the social scheme of things he should be benevolent given the circumstances. I shall refrain from giving her a strike, settling instead for a lecture on noise levels and neighbor relations. That settled, he returned to the matter at hand. “From your display of jubilant clothes-folding I’m to understand today’s audition went well?” he asked. Penny clutched a skirt to her chest as she leaned towards Sheldon. “It was amazing! I mean it’s not like I got to see anyone big because it was Saturday morning but to go to the studio and see ‘CSI’ written on the door I just couldn’t believe it.” Sheldon looked down to straighten the arm of his shirt but couldn’t contain a quick smile. While he wouldn’t mention it aloud lest it promote unnecessary overreactions in the future he did enjoy Penny when her level of enthusiasm surpassed normal parameters. As she continued to describe her audition his mind casually distinguished the cadence of her tone from her vocabulary in an attempt to extrapolate the emotional content for closer analysis. Sheldon prided himself on being able to learn anything he needed to know by study alone. He never thought he’d need the help of a college dropout to understand how to detect and process another’s feelings, however. “So when will you know if you’re successful?” he asked when Penny finished detailing her day. “Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. The shooting’s Monday so it doesn’t give me a lot of time to practice.” Penny squealed as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Oh I hope I hope I get it.” “I’m sure your talent will see you through,” Sheldon said as he began sorting out his socks. “Aw, thank you sweetie.” Penny continued folding her laundry. “So what did you do today?” Sheldon stopped what he was doing and looked up. “Well, as you are aware I have in the past year diverted my attention from bosonic to heterotic string theory as its combination of bosonic and superstring models offer an intriguing recombination of dimensions on a self-dual lattice.” “Erk?” said Penny. The urgency in Sheldon’s tone continued to escalate as he talked. “In string theory the left-moving and the right-moving excitations almost do not interact with each other. But, what if it’s possible to construct a string theory whose left-moving excitations function on a bosonic string propagating in D = 26 dimensions, while the right-moving excitations function as if they belong to a superstring in D = 10 dimensions?” Sheldon waited expectantly with a smile on his face for Penny to fill in the blank. Unfortunately all he got was a blank look on her face. “Well as can be seen through basic mathematics there is a 16 dimension discrepancy between both strings that must be compactified on a self-dual lattice,” he said slowly. He waited a moment before a frustrated sigh slipped from between his pursed lips. Cocking his head to the left, Sheldon looked Penny in the eye and gave a pleasant, though awkward, smirk. “I spent my day thinking,” he said simply. “Ah,” Penny said casually as she turned to get more of her laundry from the dryer. She could feel her cheeks growing hot and hoped Sheldon wouldn’t notice. Not like he’d understand her embarrassment over not knowing what he was talking about. No, that wasn’t quite it. There were plenty of times when Sheldon said things that were way over her head and it didn’t bother her. In this instance he was truly excited about his research and wanted to share his enthusiasm. Sheldon rarely shared anything truly personal and she feared one day he might give up all together and not share anything else with her. “Well, good luck finding your string thingies.” “String theory, Penny. Only a unifying formula for the creation and structure of the universe.” “Well I hope you don’t get all strung out looking for them.” Again Sheldon stopped. “That’s sarcasm.” “Can’t get it past you anymore, Moonpie,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Don’t call me Moonpie. Only Meemaw calls me that.” “Sorry. I’ll do my best to keep it under wraps so I don’t ‘moon’ you in future.” Penny folded a tank top and plunked it in her basket. Sheldon frowned but said nothing. Good Lord but this woman was frustrating. xTBBTx “Knock, Knock,” said Howard as he opened the door to apartment 4A. “Hey Howard, I’m almost ready to go,” greeted Leonard as he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. Raj leaned against the doorframe. “Hey Sheldon, you’re sure you don’t want to come to the museum? The dinosaur hall won’t be the same without you.” Sheldon turned away from his whiteboard. “While I admit the opportunity to view dinosaurs typically trump all other activities I find myself at a particularly intriguing crossroads that I must puzzle out before dinner so that I may enjoy our time Wii bowling without distraction.” “Well I suppose we can spend more time in the mammal halls,” piped in Howard. “I guess,” pouted Leonard; he wanted to see the dinosaurs. “A very good idea, Howard,” said Sheldon. “Did you know in the African Hall you can see an example of a kudu or African antelope—an extremely shy animal which is rarely seen in the wild. Male kudu can be found in bachelor groups and displays of dominance are generally fairly peaceful, consisting of one male making himself look big by standing his hair on end.” “No kidding?” said Leonard as he unconsciously checked his hair to see if it had fluffed up after his shower. “Leonard, why would I jest about something like this? Biology is an organic offshoot of scientific inquiry whose significance, granted, is analogous to examining toe nails on a disembodied brain but nevertheless those that do study it are most sincere.” Sheldon returned to his whiteboard. “Have fun,” replied Leonard as all three friends left the apartment. Sheldon cracked his knuckles before swinging his arms in a circular motion to stimulate circulation. He raised and lowered himself on the balls of his feet. Sufficiently relaxed, he took a step back to a comfortable distance and began calculating. Time went by. Around one thirty pm Sheldon heard music from apartment 4B. He continued to think. Near prevening, Sheldon erased and replaced a number in his equation. As the minutes ticked by it slowly dawned on him that the music had stopped in Penny’s apartment. He could not recall hearing her step out. “Perhaps she’s decided to take a nap,” he said to himself. He looked at a number sequence and thought some more. Sheldon felt his jaw muscles tighten. He looked at his watch before calculating out the variables on a small part of the board. Putting down the marker he stepped back to look out the window before checking his new equation. It seemed sound: There was a high probability Penny did not receive the news she was hoping for. Hearing voices in the stairwell, Sheldon quickly erased the Penny equation and ran into his room to fetch his messenger bag. He returned just as Leonard, Howard and Raj came in the door. “Be prepared to turn around,” said Sheldon as he approached the group. “We’re eating out tonight.” Howard was stunned. “Why Sheldon—a change.” Sheldon scowled. “I think my ability to adapt has been documented on a few occasions.” “So have polar shifts,” smiled Raj. “Nevertheless, I believe this is a moment of spontaneity that shouldn’t be wasted.” “Shotgun,” Howard cried as Sheldon closed the door. “Not fair,” pouted Raj. “You rode shotgun all the way to the museum and back.” “All right you two,” said Leonard as he followed Raj and Howard down the stairs. “Keep this up and it’ll be no dessert.” Sheldon waited by the door until the boys had cleared the lower landing before he crossed over to Penny’s apartment. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure if he should knock. While he could not be absolutely certain things were not well with Penny unless he asked her outright he thought such an interruption if things were unwell would be unwelcome. And awkward. Granted, things wouldn’t resolve themselves until he conferred with Penny but Sheldon was nevertheless pleased with himself for realizing that if Penny was sad and uncommunicative the last thing she’d want to hear was laughter emanating from her neighbors’ apartment; therefore he had proposed eating out. As he turned, Sheldon heard a cork pop from behind Penny’s door. He noted no celebratory exclamation. xTBBTx A/N Thanks to Wikipedia for the consult: Dark Matter; Pitfall; Heterotic String Theory; Kudu.Yes, I donated $20 to the campaign so I don’t feel guilty referencing it every six seconds. cadaverous Equus ferus caballus: dead horse Thanks for reading!

“Mine are definitely bigger,” Aomine snipes, chest to chest and face to face with Kagami. Their voices mix and mingle in argument, throwing numbers and letters of size at eachother between witty insults and annoyance. “That’s definitely a lie, Dyki,” Kagami sneers back, oblivious to the hands trying to tug them apart. Kise tries to shoulder between them - slower than them at changing, and much noisier about people peeking. “Ladies,” She starts, voice convincing and smooth and finally drawing attention to her. They both turn to look, eyes narrowing at an impartial party. It’s colder when they part and turn, staring down Kise. She’s as tall as they are but slimmer; on anyone else Aomine would hate that tiny waist, those pert breasts and the look she has about her that makes people want to be delicate with her. They never do though - never give in, and Kagami’s of the same mindset when they each take Kise by an arm to stop her from escaping. “So, whose are better?” Kagami asks first, pushing Kise down to sit on the bed and look at them both. She folds her arms under her chest, eyes flitting between the both of them like she can’t fathom where to look that’s appropriate. “I don’t know,” She whines out, falling backwards onto the bed with her face covering her hands. They’re the same, or practically so, and it’s impossible to pick. The bed dips on either side of her when they come closer to tug her hands away, and she finds herself with a handful of breasts on either side. “Well?” Aomine asks, expectant with a voice full of conviction that she’s going to win. Her look turns from sureness to annoyance when there’s no answer forthcoming. With her free hand she reaches out and prods at Kise’s chest, watching it move for a second. She does it again, and the padded cups of her bra stay in the same position while her breasts move. “If you’re not going to answer, maybe you think yours are better.” Her annoyance turns to a leer - draws a smile from Kagami - and she slips her hand under the fabric to grasp a handful and squeeze a bit. Kise’s hands slide off them both when they let go, and Kagami forgoes mimicking the action to lift Kise and fiddle with the little hooks that keep it closed. With them open it’s easy to get it off - it’s gone before Kise’s brain snaps into gear. “What’re you doing?” She hisses out, moving to cover herself. They intercept her arms, keep them where they are and lean down. Without the bra they go slightly flatter and wider; perfectly real and soft when Aomine nuzzles at one. To her side Kagami nudges it with her nose, looking at Aomine from the corner of her eye. The same feeling of competition they always have sparks between them and overshadows the air of playfulness; instead of nuzzling she kisses a path from the underside to the top, fingers drawing patterns in the valley between Kise’s breasts. They find Kagami’s there and tangle, putting a barrier between their competition. She sees Kagami swipe her tongue over Kise’s nipple and scoffs; draws his lips over one butterfly-gently instead and watches it stiffen under the teasing, perking towards her nearly instantly. She nips at it gently, just hard enough to sting a little before sucking on it softly in apology. She forgets the one-on-one they should be having and instead leans down more and takes more of Kise in her mouth - flicks her tongue rapidly over the stiff nipple. She breaks her focus when Kise whimpers - finally remembers what she’s doing, and gets a look of confused panic from Kagami. When she sits back, Kise raises her hands to cover her chest, knees pressed together tightly. Her face is flushed red and she looks at the the cieling instead of them, squirming with increasing awkwardness the more they stare until she moves to get off the bed. It spurs them into action and they lean forward, each holding a leg instead of an arm this time. The white panties have a small patch of wetness in the middle; her hips move when she tries to wriggle away instead. Aomine reaches out; trails her fingers downwards and outlines Kise through her panties until it draws another whimper from her and Kagami joins in with only minor hesitation. It’s wetter when she tugs them to the side, lets go of Kise’s leg to hold them out of the way and slips a finger of her free hand inside. It’s at the same time different and the same to her own; slightly tighter with differences she can’t name. A paler finger joins her and she slips a second one in - slick noises come forth when they move at different paces. Kagami lets go of Kise’s other leg, and for a moment she could swear they both expect her to run but they stay spread the way they were to wait for their next move. Kagami thumbs softly at her clit, watching her hips start to twitch upwards between their fingers and Kagami’s hand - she clenches down on them every so often, legs trying to close not for rejection but out of instinct. She whimpers more than before, mixed with breathy moans when she exhales unsteadily. Kise’s hands come down to rest at her hips, seeking some kind of stability when she nears her climax and heat pools at her center - she tenses completely when she comes, bearing down on the fingers still inside her. Kagami doesn’t stop - if anything rubs faster and watches Kise’s back arch throughout her orgasm before she’s done and relaxes completely. Her hands slip from her hips to her bed and her legs slide downwards when no longer held up by the two of them between them. “Kise’s are the most fun,” Aomine concedes after a few moments - after she’s licked her fingers clean in a challenge to Kagami to do the same. She gets a hum for her remark and she thinks it’s agreement - a soft thank you drifts her way from the bed as Kise rolls over to bury her face in the pillow when she can’t reach her bra. “You’re welcome.”

Sano's hoarse shout sounded just as Kaoru reached the door to Yahiko's room. She entered to find him rubbing his shoulder and cursing at Megumi. "Chikusho! What are you trying to do to me, Fox Lady! Che, that hurt!" "Really?" Megumi's voice was dry. "It feels better now, doesn't it?" Sano gave her a disgusted look, too stubborn to admit she was right. The pain had almost subsided, and the nausea was fading. "Megumi-san," Kaoru said, interrupting the tense silence before they could begin another round of name-calling, "is Sanosuke all right?" "Yes. He's got some scrapes and bruises, but he'll be fine." For a moment Megumi's eyes softened as she looked at the disgruntled Sanosuke. "He's lucky. His shoulder was dislocated rather than broken." She turned again to Kaoru. "He said Ken-san did this?" Kaoru nodded. Slowly she and Sanosuke related what had happened. "I managed to get him to go back to bed after Sanosuke left. He's sleeping again now." Kaoru hesitated a moment, then continued, "He seemed to be Kenshin again, demo, I still don't think he really recognized me." He couldn't remember my name when he told me goodnight, she thought. "Onegai, could you check on him?" "Of course, that's why I'm here. Or it would be if only this fool could stay out of trouble." Megumi whapped Sano lightly on the head as she spoke. "Hey! It's not my fault! I didn't do anything!" "Hai, hai," she responded, already on her way out of the room, her tone clearly indicating she was just humoring him. "Hey!" Sano turned to Yahiko. "It wasn't my fault!" Yahiko simply shrugged in response. "Che... Kenshin no baka!" Kenshin slept, and sleeping dreamt. Finding and replaying his fondest memories and quiet hopes, his subconscious delighted in the image of a beautiful girl, her hair dark as midnight, her blue eyes sparkling with joy. Images comprised of sunlight and laugher, moonshine and quiet moments flitted through his mind. "His fever's broken." Megumi's voice was relieved. "It's going to be all right now, Kaoru-chan." To her surprise, Kaoru's arms came around her, hugging her as she stuttered relieved thanks. Megumi hugged Kaoru in turn when she felt the tears that accompanied the girl's relief. "Shhhhh. It's all right," she repeated. Once Kaoru had calmed down, Megumi ordered her to take a bath and get some rest. "I'll take care of Yahiko-kun, Ken-san and the rooster head." At first Kaoru protested, but then Megumi unfairly - to Kaoru's way of thinking - pointed out that Kenshin would be upset if he found out she'd exhausted herself taking care of him. Looking reproachfully at the doctor one last time, she left the room. Megumi turned back to Kenshin, reaching out to gently adjust his covers. He stirred slightly, mumbling Kaoru's name, his heavy eyelids fluttering. Soothingly, as she'd done once before, she whispered to him to sleep and dream of Kaoru. Unlike before, he smiled in response, at ease with whatever visions his memory and imagination chose to display, the demons that had disturbed his sleep before now gone. She wondered if Battousai's fight with Sano had anything to do with that. It was almost as if the fever had abated simply because the nightmares had stopped, rather than the other way around. "Kenshin!" her sweet voice called his name, and she tugged gently at his sleeve, attempting to hurry him along. "Hurry up! We're going to miss it!" "Kaoru-dono, we still have plenty of time," he laughed, lagging behind on purpose, teasing her. "Mou! Kenshiiin!" She pouted a little, tugging harder although her eyes laughed with him. A moment later those eyes widened in surprise as the thin material of his sleeve tore, sending her stumbling backwards to land on the hillside with a soft thump. She looked woefully at the scrap of material she held in her hand, and then up at him, stuttering an embarrassed apology. "Ororo?" He said, exclaiming his own surprise, and then convulsed with laughter when she blushed and offered him his missing sleeve. "Yare yare..." In the morning, Megumi examined both Yahiko and Sanosuke. Although his cold was gone, Sanosuke was granted another day of rest due to his battered and bruised body. He was grateful, since he suspected Kaoru would make repairing the kitchen wall his first order of business once Megumi decided he'd recovered. Yahiko, on the other hand, was pronounced ready to be up and about. He protested a little, knowing that "up and about" probably meant "cleaning the dojo", but the young doctor didn't fall for his antics. Kaoru was informed that her youngest patient had recovered, and soon the rhythmic pounding of footfalls could be heard as he raced up and down the wooden floors, dust cloth in hand. He watched as Kaoru and Yahiko practiced, noting that the boy was improving. Kaoru remarked on it as well, and basking in their praise Yahiko turned cocky. Kenshin mentally shook his head, knowing the cockiness would earn the boy a turn or two cleaning the floors. Sure enough, Yahiko soon spouted off a little too much, his comments liberally laced with words like "hag", "old" and "ugly". Whack! Kaoru's bokken struck Yahiko on the top of his head. "Yahiko!" her voice lashed out, laden with anger. Almost before Kenshin had time to blink, Yahiko was busy running back and forth, polishing the already spotless dojo floor. "Mou!" With a thunk, Kaoru collapsed on the floor next to him, flopping back to lie looking up at the ceiling. Surveying her quietly, Kenshin replaced Yahiko's description with his own: Sweet, spirited, beautiful. Kaoru stood in the open doorway to Kenshin's room, needing the sight of his peacefully sleeping form to reassure her that all was well. Megumi had said there was nothing left to worry about... but somehow, she couldn't stop herself. She wanted to hear him say her name, see his eyes light with recognition. She sighed, continuing down the hall to her room, knowing he would wake only when his body and mind were ready. Soon, she thought. Let it be soon. He paused to close the dojo gate, the laughter of the others carrying to him as they made their soggy way inside. They'd gone to the Akabeko for dinner, and been caught in the rain on the way back. Now that they were home again, the rain had lessened to a gentle patter instead of the steady deluge they'd run through to get to the dojo. Of course. Yare yare... He turned to find Kaoru still standing in the yard, watching him lock up for the night. Her wet kimono clung to her in interesting ways... Better not to think about that, he told himself. "Kaoru-dono, you should change before you catch cold. Would you like me to get a bath ready?" She smiled at him, at his thoughtfulness. "No, I'm fine." Her voice was soft, barely audible. "I'll change in a minute." As she spoke, she tilted her head back, letting the rain dance lightly over her face, smiling at the tickling sensation. He found himself smiling with her, then felt the smile dissolve as the storm picked up again, the previously gentle rain falling with battering force, the wind pushing at him where he stood. Kaoru bit her lip nervously as she knelt beside Kenshin's futon. Worried that he still hadn't awakened on his own, she'd sent Yahiko to fetch Megumi. The boy had returned without the doctor, but with instructions for Kaoru to wake him herself. "It won't hurt him. It's been three days... he needs to eat something," was the message Yahiko relayed. Nevertheless, now that she'd been given permission to wake him, Kaoru was a little afraid to do so. What if he still doesn't remember who he is... who I am? Hesitantly she shook him, pushing gently at his shoulders. When that had no affect, she shook harder, her hesitation gradually fading as she began to get annoyed at his lack of response. Kenshin no baka! Cooperate, why don't you? she thought. Leaning forward she took hold of his shoulders and shook him as hard as she could, simultaneously calling his name. Finally! she thought with satisfaction as his eyes snapped open in response. He blinked at her a moment, confused by the abrupt transition from dreams to reality. She waited, hoping, and then he smiled at her. "Ohayou, Kaoru-dono," he said, his voice rasping in his dry throat. "No..." Kaoru gently shook her head. "Good afternoon you mean." "Oro?" The violet eyes were shocked. "Mmm." She nodded. "You've been asleep for quite awhile." She felt the tears welling up in her eyes and blinked them away in annoyance. There was nothing to cry about. Megumi had been right... everything would be fine now. "Almost three days, to be exact," she told him. Kenshin noticed the tears and her dismissal of them, but his mind focused on her words. The violet eyes widened. Three days? She nodded at the unspoken question. "You came down with a fever. Megumi-san gave you something to make you more comfortable, and to keep you calm until it passed." Well, it's not that far from the truth... and she certainly couldn't tell him that. He'd feel guilty, and then worry that something similar might happen again, even though none of it - not the delusion, not Battousai's anger - had been his fault. She made a mental note to make sure Sanosuke fixed the wall in the kitchen before the day was through. Otherwise Kenshin was bound to ask questions. Kenshin frowned, sensing there was something she wasn't telling him. The last thing he remembered was doing the laundry... "Are you hungry?" Her voice was hopeful, as if this was some sort of test. "Hai, de gozaru," he responded, slowly sitting up. She smiled brightly, and he decided he must have passed. Something happened while I was asleep. She'd been anxious as she spoke to him, watching him as if expecting to find someone else in his place. Slowly the tension seemed to be draining from her, replaced by an abundance of relief. Yes, something happened. But will she tell me what? "Kenshin." He stirred from his contemplation to find her offering him his lunch. "Thank you, Kaoru-dono." He paused, trying to decide if he should ask her for the details of the last three days. Her blue eyes begged him to leave it alone. Sighing, he let it drop, and turned his attention to his meal. Eating proved an effort, his system still recovering, his body still tired. When he finally finished, exhaustion reasserted itself with a vengeance. He fought it as Kaoru cleared away the dishes, certain there was something he needed to tell her, but unable to remember what. She returned from the kitchen and tucked him back into bed, her fussing making him smile. There was something vaguely familiar about that, though he couldn't think what. "Wait..." he whispered as she smoothed the covers one last time, and made as if to rise and leave. "Wait." Obligingly she settled beside him again, waiting for him to gather his fuzzy thoughts. What was it I wanted to tell her? he asked himself. He raised heavy lids, turning his head to meet her gaze, the worry beginning to gather there finally answering his question. "I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching a hand out to touch her cheek. "For making you worry... I'm sorry." Kaoru closed her eyes, remorse washing through her, uncertain how to erase this concern she'd unwittingly impressed upon him. "Daijoubu," she whispered in return, "you don't need to be sorry. Everything is fine. I promise." She smiled a little then, taking his hand in her own and squeezing it once, reassuringly. She opened her eyes to find he'd already slipped away into sleep again. "Oyasumi, Kenshin," she whispered. He smiled sleepily in response, her voice, if not her words, finding him in the midst of his dreams. Kenshin slept, and sleeping dreamt. By the riverbank, between the spreading roots of a sheltering tree, he sat with Kaoru cuddled against him. Worries, fears, painful memories... all were washed away by the warmth of the small smile playing across her lips, echoing the one he felt spreading across his own. He dipped his head, resting his cheek against the silk of her hair, more than content just to be in her presence. Kenshin slept...

Hey guys real quick, this is my first lemon so sorry if it isn't that good. Also, there should be another chapter up so in case you do not wish to read this, you don't have to. There is no plot in this except for that there is sex in here. That is all. After Mark and Lauren left, the apartment was quiet. I used to enjoy silence. I still do, just not when no one is around. I let out a sigh as I walked around the empty apartment. I looked at my stitches, smiling because I was almost fully healed. I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice the door open and close. I felt warm, strong arms wrap around my waist and I pulled close to a chest. I relaxed when I smelled the familiar cologne that Mark wears. He blew air on my neck before nibbling on it. My body stiffened up before feeling as though I was melting away. Mark's hands began to knead my hips as he continued to nip at my neck. I bit my knuckle as I crossed my legs, my cheeks were heating up. Mark finally stopped nipping my neck as he placed a kiss in the spot he left a hickey. I emitted a low growl as I spun around and pinned Mark to the wall. "It appears you are trying to dominate me." I got really close to his face ad lightly bit the tip of his nose. "Let's see if you can." My voice was low and mischievous. I grabbed his chin and pulled him into a deep kiss. He let out a small moan in the kiss. He pushed against me, trying to get away from the wall, but I kept him in place. I pulled away from the kiss and bit his ear, earning a groan from him. "Now now, didn't you say you were going to get me back? It's seems as though I'm the one in charge though." I began to unbutton his flannel shirt, my eyes tracing every detail on his chest. I trialed my hand up and down his chest. Suddenly, he blew air on my neck, causing me to gasp and shiver. That was all of a distraction Mark needed. Mark gently held both of my tiny wrist in his warm, big hand above my head. "Y/n, are you sure you want to keep going?" His voice was deep and music to my ears. "Only if you're ready." "Then tell me when to stop when you want me to." His other hand went to my shorts I was wearing and he pressed two fingers against my clothed entranced. I let out a gasp as a shock traveled through my body. He then proceeded to rub, causing me to whimper. "M-M-Mar-Mark." I panted out. "Shall we take this to the bedroom?" I didn't trust my voice so I just nodded. He picked me up bridal style and pulled me into a passionate kiss as he carried me to the bedroom. The kiss was rougher and lasted longer than normal but I wasn't complaining. He placed me on the bed gently and hovered over me. "Now then, are you going to be a good girl and let me be in charge for a bit? Let me have my turn since you had yours." "Sure. Let's see how long that lasts." Mark took his shirt off completely before taking my shirt off as well. Mark raised an eyebrow when he saw that I was wearing a sports bra instead of a regular one. I crossed my arms, causing my boobs to squish together, as my cheeks heated up. "Wh-what? Regular bras are uncomfortable and I pop out to easily." I said the last part a bit more quieter. H elet out a chuckle before placing kisses from my stomach up to where the bra was. "May I?" "Go ahead, if you can." Before I could blink, he had my bra off. He placed one hand over my left one, kneading the breast and rubbing his thumb over the nipple while placing his mouth over the other one, kissing,sucking, and lightly biting it. I let out a small moan as I lifted my chest up a bit. My hands were buried in his hair, tugging on certain strands. After a moment, he began to nibble and suck the other breast while he had right hand trail up and down my thighs before finally taking my shorts off. He then pulled his mouth away from my breast, causing me to whimper, before going to my collarbone. He then began to rub my clothed entrance, again. I subconsciously bucked my hips. "You really are enjoying this, aren't you?" I looked down and saw a tent forming his pants. "And so are you." He lightly tugged at my underwear, waiting to see if I say no or stop. When I didn't, he pulled them off. I felt a sudden cold air hit my entrance but that was replaced when Mark began to palm it. I bit my knuckle as little moans and whimpers escaped. He slowly inserted a finger in me. He held it there for a moment before sliding it in and out slowly and I began to feel warmth building up in my stomach. "How are you holding up y/n?" I panted a little. "M-more. please." "Whatever you say." He then added another finger and sped up the pumping a little. "Y/n, you are so beautiful. I'm going to make sure that you feel beautiful as well. I see the look on your face whenever we go out in public and you see another woman." "M-Mark." "I love you." He suddenly removed his fingers and I let out a whine. I then felt something wet slide against my pussy before entering it. It was Mark's tongue. I let out a loud moan when he moved his tongue. "M-Mark!" He continued to slide his tongue in and out and up and down and every which way he could. The warmth in my stomach intensified until I finally came. I laid there, panting as Mark cleaned up the mess I made. "I was right. You do taste divine." I suddenly swapped our positions and had Mark pinned under me. I wore a smirk and my eyes could have match a predator that has their prey in sight. "You still have you pants on Mark. I though those would have been the first to go." I said as I palmed him through his pants. He released a groan as I unbuckled his jeans and took them off. He had quite the big tent in his boxers. "Y/n, we don't have to go any farth-aaa!" He let out a gasp before moaning when I pulled his member out of his boxers and kissed the tip. As I continued to kiss the tip, I slid his boxers off completely. I then finally placed it in my mouth. "Ah! Y-Y/n! You don't have to- aa!" I bobbed my head up and down as Mark let out moan after moan. I loved having this kind of power over him. This went on for about a minute. Before he could cum, I stopped. Mark was a panting mess now. I got a condom out of the nightstand drawer and stared at Mark. He had one eye closed and the other was staring at me. He was panting as well and he wore this handsome smile. "Do you want to go any farther?" "Pl-please y/n." I put the condom on his member and got on top of him. I then slowly lowered myself onto it. As Mark let out deep groans, I let out whimpers as it went deeper and deeper. He was so big and this was my first time as well. When it was finally in all of way, I laid on top of Mark, panting and letting out little whimpers. He kissed my cheek and rubbed my back. "How-how are you feeling?" I let out a couple more pants before being about to speak. "I'm-I'm fine. Just-just give me a moment." He ran his hand through my hair as he peppered my face with kisses while also apologizing. "It's ok y/n. I'm sorry." After a moment, I lifted my hips a little before settling back down. Both Mark and I let out a moan. As I continued to ride him, I kept my pace slow. I slowly picked up speed and the sensation was amazing. There was warmth in my belly again that grew with each movement. Mark had a hold on my hips as he thrusted to meet mine, increasing the pleasure. "Mark, I'm so close!" "So-so am I!" Finally, we both came. My body went slack as I laid back on top of Mark, panting. He slowly rubbed my back as his breathing steadied. He then slowly pulled out of me and got off of the bed to throw away the used condom. When he returned, he pulled the blanket over us and I snuggled up to him. Mark held me close and kissed the top of my head. "That was amazing." "Yeah. So, do you feel beautiful?" I let out a chuckle. "Yeah. Thank you." 

As Thran paced slowly up the stairs, smiling at the pleasure he and Bard had shared in the solarium, a soft hum of appreciation whispered behind him. “You,” Bard rumbled, “are one hellaciously beautiful angel.” Snickering, Thran cast a look over his shoulder as he reached the bedroom landing. His husband had thrown his kimono back on, but it hung loose and open on his shoulders because he hadn’t bothered to wrap it around him, leaving Thran with a full view of all of Bard’s assets from head to toe. He had his langot in his hand, his carriage was loose and relaxed, and the smile on his face was sly as he pointedly stared at Thran’s backside. “I do not think I am the angel you think you see,” Thran countered with just as sly a smile. “When I see you look at me as you do now, I think very unangelic things.” “Mmm. Maybe I can help that along.” Bard’s grin grew a little wider as he sauntered up the last stair and came face to face with Thran. He bent Thran back over one arm into his favorite swashbuckling kiss, caressing thoroughly until Thran was putty in his husband’s arms. Once Bard bought them back to vertical, he closed in for another kiss, nipping at Thran’s lips rather than caressing them gently. Thran hummed in arousal, but Bard eased away to give a pert squeeze to Thran’s glute, then backed towards the bedroom with a mischievous smile. “Bastard,” Thran growled, prowling after Bard. “Oh, really? To quote a certain unangelic angel, ‘Entirely,’” Bard said without apology. “To quote myself, ‘You like me that way.’” “Gods, I do,” Thran murmured with just as much unabashed enthusiasm. “I must wash, if I am to appear before the company without revealing how I spent the morning. Join me?” “I won’t turn that down,” Bard agreed. “Though I’m sorry to see my beautiful dancer in his sari and jewels depart for dreamland again. He was perfect.” “He will come back one day, if you want him to,” Thran replied, stroking Bard’s hair with a loving hand. “I enjoyed his visit as much as you did.” Thran dropped his sari and belt on the bed and followed Bard into the bathroom, where his theatrical makeup kit still lay open on the sink counter. He removed his diadem, braided his hair loosely, and pinned it back before he tackled his makeup. As Thran took a cleansing wipe from its container and began to gently wipe away the silver, grey, and black makeup from his eyes, Bard watched in the mirror. When most of the paint was gone, Thran soothed on oil to remove the rest, then washed his face with gentle fingers. “You’re so careful,” Bard commented thoughtfully. Thran nodded in agreement. “A dancer does not speak during a performance, so his or her face must speak instead. So it is not unusual for us to use makeup to make our faces mirror the role. To rush it on, then scrape it off, can take a toll, especially when we add or change makeup between acts, so we learn to be gentle, or pay the price.” “You do your own makeup for your performances?” “I do,” Thran nodded, blotting his face with a towel. “Every dancer does. All dancers are taught this at an early age, and most come to find their own style after a year or two. It is rare for any ballet to have a makeup team – only if the makeup is elaborate or extreme. I have never danced a ballet with such a team, but then the men’s roles do not usually call for that, even if the women’s roles do. There were rare occasions that the female corps had hairdressers to help with wigs or hairpieces, but for the most part we do our hair ourselves, too.” “What do you do with yours for a performance? Do you have to pin it up?” Thran grinned. “It depends on the choreographer, the director, the people in charge. At school, my teachers did not approve, so I wore it in the infamous man bun, little different from the girls. It was a pain, but it was my small act of rebellion that was let go because I was very good. There was less issue when I danced at Mariinsky, because once I was known, people wanted to see my long hair, even if I usually braided it. In this country, it has always been up to me. I have never danced with it loose before Immortal, though; usually I have at least some of it pinned out of the way.” “I badly need a haircut,” Bard observed, shaking his hair until it fell into his eyes. “I thought I’d call for an appointment today. I hope Rowan doesn’t spank me for letting it go so long when I finally get in to see her.” “I must make an appointment as well,” Thran said, wrapping his hair around his head and stepping into the shower cabinet to turn on the water. “Do you want me to make an appointment for us both?” Bard asked. “Or would it be quicker if I made you a separate one so you don’t have to wait for Rowan to do us both?” “I would like us to go together,” Thran admitted. “We could at least talk on the way to and from, and it would not take that much longer for her to do us both. And I like to watch you enjoy yourself.” Bard grinned. “I’ll call her today, then. I assume you’d rather go in the morning?” “As early as she can take us, yes,” Thran agreed. “It may take a while to get such an appointment, but as long as it is before the premiere, I am not particular as to the day.” “I’ll take care of it.” “Thank you, lyubov moya.” He turned a questioning look on his husband. “To be spanked... is that a kink of yours?” “Is it a – ?” Bard shot a look at Thran before he spasmed with laughter. “Oh! No, it’s not for me, sorry to disappoint you. I know what aficionados say about it, but I’m not one of them. It reminds me of when I was a misbehaving little brat far more often than I should have been, and my Gran took after me with a wooden spoon when she’d had enough of my idiocy. Distinctly not sexy.” Snickering, Thran took off his cuff bracelets, and finally his collar necklace. “It is not for me, either, and for similar reasons – too many ballet masters and their ways to encourage attention in class, or to mete out punishment for misdeeds in the dormitory. One in particular was infamous for his beatings, even of very young children. He did not like my long hair, and sought to... encourage me to cut it, so it became a test of wills. Given the enthusiasm he put into his side of the test, and similar tests he forced upon other children, he was finally reprimanded, which did no good, and eventually he was dismissed. That is unheard of in a system that is so matter-of-fact about harsh discipline. I did not like to be made to feel like shit because of my hair, or punished because I was a very tired ballet dancer pushed beyond what my body could do.” “I’m glad. I couldn’t hit you, even if you claimed it felt good. It...” Bard’s voice trailed away as he soaped and washed, then he grimaced. “It would be cruel, like your story.” “And you are not a cruel man.” Thran stroked a hand over Bard’s chest. “Even when you were the king to my seer, you were gentle. Ruthless, but gentle.” “The dodgy artist who provided the fucking a certain sexual vampire deserved wasn’t particularly gentle,” Bard gave Thran a wink. “And seems to me that neither of us was particularly gentle when we christened your SUV. We both ended up with rug burns after that one.” “Badges of honor,” Thran proclaimed, laughing when his pretentious words got a guffaw out of his husband. “Though not ones I intend to display for public admiration.” “Hell, no,” Bard agreed, still laughing. “So what were you saying about either of us being gentle?” “Perhaps we have not been physically gentle in every one of our games,” Thran conceded with a shrug as he lathered his abdomen. “But we have never struck each other, either.” Sobering, Bard considered that, then grimaced. “No matter what the kink world says, I think of blows as anger, not foreplay, and I just... it’s just not in me, to give or receive. I still feel guilty about how I grabbed your arm and hustled you into the ballroom when we had our fight. That wasn’t a blow, but it was angry, and I don’t ever want to do it again.” Bard’s tone was mostly matter-of-fact, with only a tinge of regret, so Thran kept his demeanor philosophical. “We both learned a great deal then. Now that we know how to stay in harmony, how to watch out for each other, we can leave the spank kink to others.” “Good,” Bard hummed in emphatic agreement before smiling perversely. “It could never compete with our fantasies, anyway. Those are a delight.” Thran’s growl was a low rumble in his throat as he gathered Bard into his arms to kiss him. “Entirely and spectacularly.” With a chuckle, Bard kissed back. “All right, I’m done. It’s time we make a good lunch and send you to the ballet, and me to the barn.” “Indeed,” Thran grinned, turning off the water. “Something with protein.” “Always.” Bard grabbed Thran’s towel and tossed it to him before grabbing his own. As he dried himself off, his eyes fell on Thran’s silver jewelry. “Those are nice pieces. Not costume, I think?” Thran nodded, smiling. “They are very nice silver, yes. Would it bother you to know that they belonged to Vileria?” Bard shot him a mixed expression, but Thran shrugged without concern. “This was not the first time I have worn them, so put your mind at ease.” Bard’s expression grew speculative. “Oh? That sounds like a story.” “A very small one. We bought the pieces for her to attend a party, and because they suited her very well. But for another party, a somewhat... dubious costume party, I wore them.” “With the sari?” “Oh, no, I wore harem pants and the funny shoes with turned-up toes, yes? Vileria went in the sari as Scheherazade, and I went as the paranoid prince who threatened to kill her every night. You know the story, yes? The Arabian Nights?” “I do,” Bard nodded. “So what was so dubious about this party?” “We would have been more in character with the general mood if I had been on a leash, and not a prince but a slave.” Bard snorted in laughter. “Oh, spanking isn’t your kink, but a little B and D is?” Thran snickered in kind. “Have you forgotten how we spent our official wedding night, lyubov moya? I enjoyed it immensely. If you would like to make such a pet of me, I would let you.” “I did that the night you wanted bandits and bonds,” Bard stuck his tongue out at Thran. “Tcha, my saint,” Thran grinned. “That was sensory arousal, not B and D.” “So speaks the connoisseur,” Bard parried. “Maybe the king should lead his seer around on a leash. Oh, Vileria already did that. The woman had balls, that’s for sure.” “She never led me around on a leash, but she did have balls, as you say. That night, we made our appearance and enjoyed the party for the short length of time before matters... deteriorated, and then went home to baby Legolas.” Thran’s grin was wry. “We loved Legolas very much, but we were also often relieved to have him as an excuse to leave such parties early. We were the old, sedate, married couple.” “At what? Twenty? Twenty-one?” Bard tutted, but gently. “Those are generally the hell-raising years.” “Neither of us was foolish enough to engage in liaisons with anyone at a party, straight or gay,” Thran explained. “Even if we had faked an interest in someone of the opposite sex, there was still the danger of having official people know of one’s choices. So we made our jeweled appearances, and then we went home.” Bard shook his head. “Art school was a lot easier. No official government agency gave a rat’s ass about what any of us did, as long as we didn’t burn down the campus.” “A better situation by far,” Thran nodded. “I am quite ready for lunch.” “Let’s see what we can scrounge,” Bard agreed, as they came into the bedroom to pull on clothes. In less than an hour, Thran was well fortified with a chicken sandwich on a wheat bun with lettuce and tomato, his usual chopped vegetables, and a handful of grapes. He shouldered his dance bag, bolstered with Bard’s snacks to nibble until he came home, and aimed his SUV out of the driveway. As he waved farewell to his husband, he savored thoughts of the delightful game he and Bard had played in the solarium. How dazzled Bard had been when he first saw Thran in his finery, his makeup, his beautiful sari. How dazzled he had been to admire his husband’s delicious body in his kimono and langot. He was such a tease, pairing that hard warrior’s body with a gardener’s soft and humble demeanor. How much fun they had had, resisting so much physical bounty to pique each other with their tea ceremony and genteel conversation. Then Bard’s inspired Buddha position – how compelling that had been! It’d hardly taken anything from either of them to rise in such a deep, intimate position. Thran had found it as irresistible as when Bard took him off the ground. To be so supported, yet so deeply impaled, was divine. When Bard had massaged his nipples, Thran had not been able to keep himself from exploding, never mind that neither of them had so much as looked at Thran’s cock. Sublime. How delicious would that position be if he teased Bard into a more... alpha role? He’d give that some thought – Thran winced. It was good their solarium game had been so spectacular. Variations might have to wait until after Immortal’s premiere, eight weeks from now. Sighing, he drove to the school, and headed for the gymnasium. As usual, he was early, but one or two other dancers were there, already setting up the portable barres. Thran put down his bag and hastened to help them so that they could get started on their work as soon as possible. One by one, more of the dancers joined them. As Ori was with Lettie today, Thran was the one to mop the floor, while Abebe found the piano in the nearby music room. A young girl took her place at the piano, Abebe called the dancers to take their places, and the day’s work began. As Abebe called the first figures, a dancer at the barre opposite Thran smothered a cough. Thran said nothing, but after spending time with so many sick children in the past week or two, he knew the difference between a cough to clear the throat, and a cough that signaled a cold. This was the latter. Thran winced again. The Imladris Academy had been inundated with colds and flu for weeks. Late spring it might be, but was it any surprise that germs still lingered, looking for new hosts? So it began.   * * *   The rain continued steadily after Thran’s departure for the school, so Bard didn’t progress on Hal’s tree. He had no lack of work, though – he spent the afternoon working on more sketches of the steampunk orrery, and fiddled with the sample aluminum spheres to see how he could get them to stick together. He spent time on his mobile, first with a call from Bilbo asking for more sketches for Celebrían’s gallery, then with Rowan, setting up appointments for him and Thran in three weeks’ time. He also talked to the orrery client about the two directions he had come up with, and emailed sketches for him to consider. Bard’s sense was that the client liked both ideas, but wasn’t too familiar with Greek or Roman mythology, so the gods didn’t resonate with him as much as they did with Bard. That didn’t upset Bard; he still liked the idea of making totems with the heads of the gods, or perhaps a mobile. He also called Mr. D, to ask about Lance. “Aye, Bard, he’s at the wilderness camp I told ye about,” the old rugger confirmed. “I half expected him to come of his cage fighting and spitting like any young wildcat, and he did at first. But he seems to have settled a wee bit. I’m nae sure how much I trust that, ye ken, but as long as he behaves himself, I’ll take it.” “How long might he be out there?” Bard asked cautiously. “Open ended,” the sergeant replied. “It’s up to him more than anything else. He knows that he came a hair’s breadth from getting his sorry ass thrown into the adult justice system rather than the juvenile one. Attempted arson, almost up-in-flames arson... it’s hard to call that a juvenile misdemeanor, isn't it?” “I guess it is.” “Damned straight, it is. The least little dust-up, and he’ll find himself back into that adult justice system, I tell ye. So keep your fingers crossed that he settles down, and finds something to think about rather than how fucking stupid he’s been for the past year.” Despite himself, Bard smiled at the sergeant’s vehemence. “I’ll keep them crossed, Mr. D.” “Good lad. Ye take care of your bairns and your husband, and with bit of the grace of Mahal, ye won’t see the likes of yon fool again.” “You take care of yourself, too, Mr. D. Tilda especially sends her regards.” “She’s a bonny lass,” Mr. D said gruffly. “I miss seeing her, and her brother and sister, too. Offer them my regards, would ye, lad?” “I will. Thanks for the update, Mr. D. Take care.” “I thank ye, Bard, and ye do the same.” Mr. D rang off without further comment. Bard stuffed his mobile in his pocket, and went back to the barn to contemplate three kinds of epoxy and several sizes of aluminum spheres. Thursday dawned bright and blustery, so Darla and her two assistants were back painting – today they’d begin on the porch. Thran lingered long enough to watch them set up ladders and set to work before he left to be at the school by ten. The Immortal stage was finished enough for dancing, so rehearsal was now in full swing. Bard’s sculpture was also in full swing at long last – he was excited to head out to the barn for his first casting. While he set up his furnace the barn, the last part of the house received its final coat; the porch ceiling, its first coat of pale blue; and the door, its first coat of red. The porch trim also got its first coat of white, which made a huge difference in the appearance of the entire house. The once-peeling balusters and support beams looked like new, even with just a single coat of paint. If the weather held, the second coat would go on the door, ceiling, and trim tomorrow, and the first coat would go on the floor. After that, Darla would set on the carriage house and the barn, so the place would look stellar by the end of next week. All that remained were the replacement windows – Bard’s mobile chimed. Could he be at home next Wednesday to oversee the start of the window replacement? Hmm. Had he started to develop ESP? His furnace was set up, hot, and ready to melt bronze. Bard set his crucible in place, and melted enough small bronze ingots to fill the six flasks for Hal’s tree. He had the flasks lined up and waiting in front of the barn, and the pour went off without a hitch. He wouldn’t know whether the flasks had filled successfully until they cooled, but he’d taken all the care he could, and everything looked promising. He’d leave the flasks to cool outside for the rest of the afternoon before he put them in the barn overnight. The children would be home soon, and it’d be time to see to them. Despite his excitement, tomorrow morning was soon enough. Friday came in a rush, and everyone had something to be excited about. All of the children were excited to reach the end of the week; Sigrid, however, was particularly excited. Today was the college open house to supplement the one two weeks ago that had been poorly attended because so many children had been sick. Thran was excited because today he would meet Luka and Charisse for their first flying lesson. Bard was excited to see the results of yesterday’s bronze casting. As soon as the painters arrived, Bard trotted out to the barn, threw open the bay, and switched on the overhead lights. The six flasks waited on his workbench, and he opened the first one with eager fingers. Had it properly modeled the trunk? Had the bronze filled it properly? He unbolted the two halves of the mold and gently brushed the green sand from the metal. It looked perfect. He unmolded the other pieces of the tree, and they all looked to be properly filled and cast, without dimples or excess bits. Thank you, gods. He returned the green sand to its bucket to await his next casting, and carefully cleaned the pieces. Now to weld them together. He thought of Thran, smiling at his husband’s fantasy of a hunky, bare-chested Frank Frazetta-esque warrior as the archetype for a welder. As he’d warned Thran, he wasn’t such a vision when he fired up his torch – this might be a small piece of sculpture, but he still put on heavy welding jacket, tough jeans, steel-toed boots, heavy gloves, and his welding mask. Not only that, he put on sunscreen, too – the light reflected off many metals, particularly shiny ones, could cause a nasty sunburn anywhere his protective gear didn’t completely cover. This piece might be small and not shiny, but he put on sunscreen, anyway, as a matter of course. Out came his torch, on went all his gear, and on went the torch – No, not yet. Before he turned on the torch, he warned the painters to stay out of the barn until he was done; an arc-welding torch burned brightly, and could damage eyesight if one looked at it too long. Painters warned, he headed back to the barn, clamped the tree trunk in his vice, put the roots to hand, and turned on the torch. After so many years of commercial welding, he could consider Hal’s tree as trivial, but that would be a mistake. It called for a delicate hand to join the pieces together without leaving residue that he’d have to polish away later, or damaging the two pieces so that the join would be visible no matter how much polishing he did. He took his time, ensuring each join was solid and stable before moving to the next one. About halfway through, he remembered to surface for lunch, and made himself a hefty ham sandwich before heading back out to the barn. This time, he remembered to put his warning sign – Metal In Progress – Go Away – outside the bay so that no one would venture inside in the middle of his welding. This time, however, he completed all his welds to his satisfaction without interruption. He propped the tree up on rebar braced with heavy boards to keep it steady while it cooled, and came out into the open air for a much-needed stretch. He wandered over to the porch to see how it progressed, and was gratified to find that the second coat on the ceiling and trim was done, and the floorboards gleamed with their first smooth coat of black. Darla put down her brush to ask if he’d be around tomorrow for her crew to get another day’s work in, and he’d just agreed when the children came walking up the driveway from the bus stop. “Da!” Bain heralded, waving excitedly. “You’ve got your welding jacket on! Did you already do it?” “I did,” Bard confirmed with a satisfied grin. “Mr. Hal’s tree is all put together now.” “I want to see!” Tilda shouted, skipping up beside him. “It’s really all in one piece now?” “It is, little doll. It’s in the barn, cooling.” “I’d like to see, too,” Legolas came up behind Tilda. “Sure,” Bard led the way to the barn. “Welcome home, sweetness. How was your college thing today?” “It was amazing,” Sigrid enthused as she followed the other children into the barn. “I’m so glad they had another one. I talked to six different schools about a whole bunch of things.” “Oh, look, Kukla!” Legolas pointed at the tree propped up on the workbench. “It really is all in one piece now! It’s almost done!” “It’s got a ways to go,” Bard amended. “Polishing, smoothing the welds, then applying the patina. Then I fasten it to its rock base, and put on the leaf. After all that, then it’ll be done.” “How long will all that take?” Legolas asked. “Best of all possible worlds, another week or so. No more than two, I hope.” “It looks like a real tree already,” Tilda nodded. “I like it.” “Thank you, little doll.” Bard shrugged off his welding jacket before he ruffled his youngest daughter’s hair. He hung it up on its hanger, and led the way out of the barn. “Everyone’s ready for a snack?” “I am!” Bain and Legolas chorused, drawing Sigrid’s laughter. Bard pulled down the barn bay door and everyone headed for the house. As Bain and Legolas ran ahead, Bard warned them about the wet paint on the porch, so of course everyone had to detour to inspect the day’s progress. “Wow, Da, it looks amazing,” Sigrid breathed. “I never realized just how beautiful this old place could look.” “I love the red door,” Tilda nodded emphatically as she pointed to the side lights and transom glass. “Look, it matches the red in the stained glass.” “It does,” Sigrid agreed, linking arms with Bard. “Oh, Da, it all is just the most amazing thing. All of it.” Bard patted Sigrid’s arm. “The old girl’s a young beauty again. A fit home for the lot of us.” “The ancestral home of Clan Ffyrnig,” Legolas smiled, coming to stand next to Bard. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever lived.” “Even better than Saint Petersburg?” Sigrid looked around Bard to gaze inquiringly at Legolas. The boy nodded as firmly as Tilda had. “Even better. I don’t remember it very well, but it was a flat, not an entire house. This is a lot nicer, and we have a yard, and a solarium, and a ballroom.” “A ballroom that looks like a cake,” Bain grinned. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said cake. It reminds me how hungry I am. Head for the kitchen!” The boys raced off, Tilda between them, leaving Bard and Sigrid to follow them more sedately. She squeezed Bard’s arm and gave him an affectionate smile. “Now, aren’t you glad I made you call the guy in 5B back in November to come out here with you?” Bard chuckled. “Oh, you’re taking credit for all this, then?” “Maybe,” Sigrid snarked back in kind. “No maybe about it, sweetness. You did us proud. Now look what's happened – we’re happy and healthy, I’m an artist again, we have Ada and Legolas, and we live here.” Sigrid gave him a surprised look. “Oh, come on, Da! It wasn’t just me – you had a little something to do with it, too.” Bard gave her a fond smile. “We all did, sweetness. All six of us.” Sigrid held onto Bard’s arm a little tighter, and her smile grew to match his. “So,” he said as they strolled to the mudroom door. “Tell me about your college fair.” As Sigrid launched into a nonstop monologue, Bard was content to listen. So much excitement, enthusiasm, and hope were in Sigrid’s voice, and all were worth savoring. Who said Thanksgiving came only in November?

Seokjin is at Yoongi and Namjoon’s latest excuse for a party when he comes to a realization. As a rule, he hates realizations—to have one, he has to think about something for longer than three and a half seconds, which is a very huge commitment and something he’d rather never do. And yet, here he is. It happens tonight because it’s a smaller gathering, dominated by Namjoon and Yoongi’s intellectual friends who came to discuss whatever highbrow reading material the two of them have chosen this time. Honestly, if Seokjin had known this was what they meant when they talked about “creating community,” he would have been way less keen on it. He times his arrival perfectly, though: after the “book club” or whatever portion of the night had concluded and the drinking and loud talking had commenced. But neither Jimin nor Taehyung have shown up yet, and Yoongi and Jeongguk are having a serious conversation that Seokjin doesn’t feel like getting pulled into, so here he is, on the couch next to Namjoon, zoning out in the direction of the door. “Hyung. You look worried.” Namjoon, who had been yakking away with Jackson, is now zeroed in on Seokjin. “I’m not worried,” Seokjin says. “What would I have to be worried about? I am fun and fancy-free, Namjoon-ah. Good vibes. Best vibes.” Jackson laughs. “You’re lucky Seokjin-hyung is always bringing the best vibes, Namjoon-ah, seriously. And the handsomeness! Don’t forget the handsomeness.” Seokjin offers him a handshake, which Jackson accepts before getting up and going to the kitchen. “I like Jackson,” Seokjin tells Namjoon. “He’s fun. You know, fun?” Namjoon looks at him knowingly, which is bold considering he doesn’t know anything, at all. “Hoseok is teaching class tonight. He’ll be by after.” “I know that,” Seokjin says crossly, even though he didn’t. “You’re not Hoseok’s only best friend.” Namjoon doesn’t answer. The silence, combined with how relaxed Namjoon looks—legs crossed, one arm up on the back of the couch, one hand balancing his beer on his knee—somehow also feels knowing. Seokjin dislikes it. He stands. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to talk to you about this.” “Okay, hyung!” Namjoon raises his beer in a salute, and has the audacity to give Seokjin a full, dimpled smile. Seokjin sweeps off to the kitchen. Jeongguk is sitting on the counter, still talking with Yoongi, but as Seokjin approaches, he laughs loudly. Perfect. Seokjin socks him on the arm. “Jeongguk-ah! Another drink, please.” Jeongguk socks him back, but hops down, takes Seokjin’s glass, and goes over to the little bar cart. Seokjin watches him to make sure he doesn’t mix something truly disgusting. “Hyung, where’s Hoseok?” Yoongi asks him. He’s leaning against the wall, looking cozy in his overlarge plaid shirt that probably belongs to Namjoon. “I thought he’d come with you.” “I don’t know. Am I his dad?” “No, you’re his best friend.” “Hmph,” is all Seokjin has to say. There’s a beat of silence while they both watch Jeongguk dump way too much lemon juice in Seokjin’s drink. “Is everything good between you two?” Yoongi asks quietly. Seokjin always forgets that Yoongi is perhaps the most perceptive person in their friend group. Only, instead of immediately opening his mouth the way Namjoon or Jimin do, he just stockpiles information, gremlin-like, until he feels the need to actually say something. Seokjin doesn’t bother playing it off, because Yoongi will probably trot out his 95 Theses on Why Something Is Definitely Weird Between You and Hoseokie, Hyung, and he cannot give Yoongi the satisfaction. “I would like to talk about literally anything else.” Jeongguk returns with his drink, which is now garnished with at least four cherries. He hands it to Seokjin with his usual shit-eating grin. “Here you go, hyung!” Seokjin sighs. “Does this have tequila?” “Among other things,” says Jeongguk. He hops back up on the counter between them. There’s definitely tequila, a lot of it, and also grapefruit soju, the aforementioned lemon juice and cherries, and also a splash of… kiwi juice? Which actually goes quite nicely. “Good job, Jeongguk-ah.” “Thank you. Where’s Hoseokie-hyung?” Yoongi hides his laughter behind his glass of whisky. Seokjin lets out an aggrieved sigh. “I have no idea.” “Hm, he said he was going to come late.” Jeongguk checks his phone. “I just didn’t think it would be this late. I wonder if—” “How was the book club?” Seokjin asks as a diversion, even though he genuinely does not want to hear about whatever radical thing they read this time. “It was amazing! Namjoonie-hyung picked this short story—” “Yah, Jeongguk-ah, I picked it,” Yoongi says, “because I won’t give Haruki Murakami another five seconds of my time.” “Interesting,” Seokjin says. He hasn’t read anything by Murakami since high school and literally could not name one of his books if there was twelve million dollars at stake. “Yun Ko-Eun is twice the writer he could ever be,” Yoongi is saying. He’s dropped into lecture mode. Jeongguk listens attentively with wide-open eyes. Seokjin zones out. If Hoseok were here, Seokjin wouldn’t have to put up with this. But then again, if Hoseok were here… Seokjin stops that train of thought before it even gets to the two second mark. Instead, he scans the crowd for potential chill homies. Namjoon is back talking with Jackson, and now Seulgi is there as well—and telling them what’s what by the look of it, which Seokjin silently applauds. Joohyun and Sooyoung are having an intense discussion that does not look open to outsiders. There’s a knot of Yoongi’s friends from the studio in the corner, all of them looking intimidating and smart, like they’d also be able to compare/contrast Yun and Murakami’s prose. In fact, they probably are. The thought of chilling with any of these people is not invigorating. Seokjin feels deflated and crumpled, like a balloon the day after a birthday party. He needs an injection of energy. Of course, that’s the exact moment Hoseok walks in the door. Hoseok comes in with Jimin and Taehyung, and the volume triples as everyone yells their greetings. Taehyung immediately starts making the rounds, Jimin goes to hug Namjoon, and Hoseok looks around the room. Seokjin flattens himself into the corner beside Yoongi before Hoseok can see him. It’s nonsensical—Hoseok knows he’s here. Yet, Seokjin feels, with absolute certainty, that if Hoseok sees him, Seokjin will explode. “Hyung,” says Yoongi suddenly. “What’s going on?” “Is someone here to arrest you?” Jeongguk asks. He cranes his head around. He must see the new arrivals because he starts waving. “Hoseokie-hyung is here!” The drawback of the corner is there’s no escape route, so when Hoseok pops up in the kitchen’s entryway, comes towards them in the slowest of slow motion, Seokjin has nowhere else to hide. The thing about Hoseok is: he’s just as dangerous from far away as he is from up close. Seokjin is struck by this all over again as Hoseok nears. From a distance, he’s sharp, intimidating, like he could make you burn away to nothing with one look or mean word. The way that he moves—half-graceful predator, half human bouncy ball—is on full display. He’s smiling, though, which helps take some of the edge off. And then he gets closer and all the ways his angles end in softness come into focus. There’s the round little tip of nose, there’s the way his eyes crescent away to nothing when he really smiles (like he’s doing now), there’s the fullness of his cheeks now that he isn’t competing regularly, there’s the soft wave of his freshly washed hair falling across his forehead. He’s so contradictory. He shouldn’t exist. But he does, and he’s here, in Yoongi’s kitchen, beside Seokjin, and Seokjin is staring at him like a man under a spell. Seokjin should hug him. Right, that’s what he normally does? Halfway into it, though, he second-guesses himself, takes a half step forward, stops, realizes he’s being weird, and starts talking to cover it up. “Hoseok-ah!” he hears his own voice say in its loud, brassy tone. He opens his arms. That’s normal, right? “Where have you been?” “Hyung!” Hoseok says in the same voice, the way he always does. He pulls his face mask down under his chin. “Practice ran long.” He hugs all three of them in quick succession. “Where’s your jacket, Hoseok-ah?” Yoongi asks. “It’s cold out.” “I forgot it at hyung’s yesterday.” He scrunches his mouth down. “Didn’t you bring it?” “I didn’t even notice.” He hadn’t. The moment Hoseok had left his apartment yesterday, Seokjin had been somewhat otherwise occupied. He doesn’t want to think about that right now, so he changes the subject. “These friends have been doing their best to bore me to death. You arrived just in time to give my eulogy.” Yoongi makes an offended noise. Hoseok laughs. He tips his head to the side in that quick, considering way they all picked up from Yoongi. “Really? You look pretty alive to me, hyung.” He shoots a look at Seokjin’s glass, which is still full of cherries. “Hoseok-ah, are you trying to pawn off the responsibility?” Seokjin shakes his head in disbelief. “Don’t make me fear you’ll hand my family an envelope with only 50,000 won, as if we were only co-workers and not the best of friends.” Hoseok settles in against the counter next to them. “How much should I give, hyung? Tell me and I’ll start saving now.” Seokjin pretends to think. “At least… ten million.” Everyone laughs. “Ten million! What kind of life do you think I live?” exclaims Hoseok. “Should I go into debt in this life so you can be rich in the next?” “Correct,” Seokjin says, and everyone laughs harder, even Yoongi in his voiceless little cackle. Hoseok throws out a hand—probably to grab onto Seokjin as he convulses with laughter, like always—but Seokjin blocks it with his forearm, because even though making eye contact with Hoseok didn’t make him explode, making physical contact with him will. Hoseok grabs onto his forearm instead, holding on even when Seokjin tries to shake him off. “Hyung, your reflexes have really improved! The tennis must be helping!” “I should—have taken up—boxing—instead,” Seokjin grunts as he doubles his eviction efforts. Hoseok just laughs and clings even more tightly. Seokjin can feel Yoongi’s sharp gaze on him and all his self-consciousness returns at once. Goddamnit. His ears are on fire. Thankfully, someone turns on music and that distracts Hoseok enough that Seokjin manages to yank his arm free. Yoongi is still looking at him, eyebrows raised slightly. Seokjin decides it’s past time to bail. “I’m going ask Seulgi about—the thing you said about Yun’s prose,” Seokjin says. Yoongi snorts, but Seokjin is already turning and walking away. As he goes, Jeongguk says something quietly. Hoseok says something back that Seokjin can’t hear. Seokjin has to squash his urge to turn back. —- This is the really, truly awful part that Seokjin has not told to another living soul: The first time he and Hoseok hooked up, it was bad. Actually, in order to tell someone that, it would have required Seokjin to tell anyone that they had even hooked up at all, full stop. Which he hasn’t. So, yeah. Seokjin and Hoseok have been hooking up. And the first time, it was bad. Hoseok had come over for some reason Seokjin can’t remember now. That was normal. They were watching TV in Seokjin’s bed, because there was nowhere else to do so. That part was also normal. Hoseok was laughing at something so hard he threw himself into Seokjin’s lap. Also normal. His face landed in somewhat-close-than-normal proximity to Seokjin’s, and Seokjin… just closed the distance and kissed him. That part was less normal. Hoseok kissed him back, and then without warning they were making out in Seokjin’s bed. It wasn’t until Hoseok’s tongue was fully in his mouth that Seokjin even really caught on to what was happening. That was bad, probably, that he was that disconnected from the decisions his own body was making. Namjoon would probably have something to say about that. Anyway. Seokjin. Hoseok. Kissing. Bed. Hoseok kissed with a strange mix of intensity and anxiety; he’d surge forward and kiss Seokjin deeply only to back off suddenly, like he wasn’t sure what he was doing. That was—weird, it was a little weird, and not at all in line with what Seokjin would have expected had he thought about it for the requisite three and a half seconds. Seokjin kept chasing him, then pausing to confirm Hoseok was still into it, then almost knocking his face into Hoseok’s when Hoseok came back. Finally, he got a hand on the back of Hoseok’s neck and just kept him there, and that was good. They kissed for ages, the drama they’d been watching droning on in the background until Seokjin flailed out a hand and slammed his laptop shut. It was so nice to kiss someone; it had honestly been way too long, and when Hoseok stopped squirming around, Seokjin could enjoy the fact that he tasted so good, clean and minty because he brushed his teeth three times a day like the obsessive neat freak he was. Hoseok’s own hands found their way into the hair at the nape of Seokjin’s neck, curling tightly, until they were holding onto one another with equal force. Hoseok was still half in Seokjin’s lap. After a bit, he shifted and then Seokjin felt him hard against his thigh. It shocked him so much that he jerked back, gasping. Hoseok pulled away immediately. “Sorry, I—sorry,” he panted. His body was curling in on itself in embarrassment. “It’s okay,” Seokjin said. “Do you want—should we—” “Maybe I should—” Someone needs to finish a fucking sentence, Seokjin thought frantically, but no more words were to be found anywhere in his brain, and Hoseok was looking at him with this weirdly stiff look on his face, like he’d been turned into stone. Seokjin had only seen that look on his face a few times—mostly when one of Jimin’s shitty exes turned up at an event and Hoseok was contemplating murder but didn’t want anyone to know. Seokjin had never been on the receiving end of it before. That was the point where he should have put an end to it. Seokjin knows that now. But his body moved of its own volition again. This time, it was his hand, snaking out to rest on Hoseok’s thigh. Hoseok’s whole body shuddered like an earthquake was running through him. He closed his eyes, mouth dropping open. Neither of them moved for a second. And then Hoseok, eyes still closed, reached down and jerked Seokjin’s hand ten centimeters up so it was directly over his clothed dick. With the drama no longer chattering away, it was nearly silent in the room. There was only the drip drip drip of Seokjin’s leaky bathroom faucet, and his and Hoseok’s heavy breathing. Seokjin’s own breath caught in his throat as he unbuttoned Hoseok’s pants. His skin was so hot, stretched taut when Seokjin took him in his hand. From this angle, all he could see was the wet, pink head peeking out, now in the circle of Seokjin’s fist. Seokjin rubbed his thumb over it and Hoseok tensed, the tendons in his neck straining as he wrenched his head away and pressed his cheek into the duvet. Hoseok’s hand stayed on his the whole time Seokjin jerked him off. Neither of them made any move to push Hoseok’s clothing out of the way, which was one of the things Seokjin felt most gross about in retrospect. It recalled the bad, secretive hookups he’d had in his early teens and twenties when he and the people he hooked up with were afraid and closeted. But this wasn’t a stranger in a private room at a bathhouse; this was Hoseok, stretched out on Seokjin’s bed, eyes still closed, refusing to make a single noise while Seokjin’s hand was down his pants. The only other times Seokjin had seen him this still and quiet was when he’d been asleep. Hoseok let out a barely audible gasp when he came, his grip on Seokjin’s wrist spasming tight for a few intense breaths. There was a beat while Seokjin processed the fact that Hoseok had come in Seokjin’s hand without Seokjin seeing more of his dick than the tip. What the fuck. How wild was this? If this was any other moment, they would be laughing about it, that’s how wild it was. Hoseok moved, suddenly, pulling Seokjin’s hand out of his pants and scrambling up off the bed. He went to the bathroom. Seokjin stared down at his jizz-covered hand and wondered how badly he’d just fucked things up. “Here, hyung.” Hoseok was back, standing in front of Seokjin. His pants were buttoned and he was offering Seokjin a wet washcloth. Seokjin took it. He wiped his hand, and then Hoseok took it back to the bathroom. The faucet ran again—he was probably rinsing it off before hanging it up to dry. He didn’t leave immediately, the way Seokjin expected him to. He came and stood beside the bed again. Seokjin looked up at him. Hoseok wasn’t looking at him; he was looking down at his socks. Everything about his posture screamed that he wanted to be elsewhere. Seokjin kind of wished he’d just go. Maybe Seokjin would use up his single crying fit for the month once he did. “Hyung.” “Hoseokie,” Seokjin said. His voice came from low in his chest when he said, “Do you want—Can I—” Had a single sentence been finished since they started doing whatever this was? No. And rather than continuing to try, still without looking at him, Hoseok grabbed Seokjin’s ankle and pulled his legs around so they were off the bed, and Hoseok could kneel between them. Seokjin’s entire body went up in flames when he realized Hoseok was going to try to blow him. Thankfully, the panic hit him just ahead of the arousal, which meant that he was able to stutter out, “Ah!—Hoseokie, it’s—okay, you don’t have to—” Hoseok looked at him then. His mouth was set in a familiar, stubborn shape, eyes intense and serious. “You want me to stop?” Seokjin couldn’t answer that. But when Hoseok slowly started to pull down his jeans, Seokjin helped him, and that was an answer unto itself. Seokjin didn’t even want to think about why he was as hard as he was. It was embarrassing, honestly, to be this worked up after some kissing and a weird handjob. And there was also the major downside that the first time Hoseok was seeing his dick was when Seokjin was almost fully erect, which, well. Seokjin died a little at the look on Hoseok’s face. There was definitely fear, maybe a little bit of wonder, and then only simple, whole-hearted determination. Hoseok took the head into his mouth, slid further down, and promptly choked. Seokjin had bitten down on the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood at the first touch of Hoseok’s hot, wet mouth on his dick. Even though his brain was spinning at this absurd turn of events—how, how, how was this happening?—he found enough presence of mind to push at Hoseok’s shoulder. “You can—please don’t hurt yourself.” “I can do it,” Hoseok said roughly, and went back down. He choked again, quickly, and this time when he pulled off, there were teeth in the mix. Seokjin yelped and just barely stopped himself from kneeing Hoseok in the face. “Okay, okay, let’s not,” Seokjin gasped. He was flagging considerably, both from the teeth and from the look on Hoseok’s red face. There was a beat where they both got their breath back and avoided each other’s eyes, and it was enough time for the true unreality of what was happening to hit Seokjin. Then, Hoseok stood. He went to the kitchen sink for a glass of water and drank it, standing there, as Seokjin pulled his clothing back into place and sat up. He focused on breathing, in through his nose and then out through his mouth, the way Namjoon had demonstrated a few months back. When Hoseok finally looked over at him, it was like he’d papered a new face on. This one was smiling brightly, a normal Hoseok expression except absolutely none of the brightness was in his eyes, even as they crescented into little moons with the force of his smile. The tip of his nose was still red from choking on Seokjin’s dick. “Thanks for having me over, hyung,” he said, the same way he did every time he came over, unfailing in his politeness. “I’ll see you later.” “Get home safe,” Seokjin said automatically. Hoseok shoved his feet into his shoes, gave Seokjin a cheery little wave, and then left. The lock on the door trilled as it locked automatically, and then Seokjin’s apartment was silent once again. —- Anyway. That had been the first time. Astonishing that it hadn’t been the only time, right? That was what happened when your bad hook-up was also your best friend. Seokjin couldn’t never text him again, because they had tennis the next Thursday, and then it was Namjoon and Jeongguk’s co-birthday party, and then Seokjin needed someone to come make a fool of themself with him at his company’s rooftop yoga lessons, and so everything went back to normal very quickly, except they kept hooking up. Seokjin sort of felt like he was living two entirely different lives: one in which everything was normal, and another where he could tell Hoseok has gotten better at kissing in the two months between when they first hooked up and their current stealth make-outs. Hoseok had more confidence now. Granted, he hadn’t touched Seokjin below the belt since the first disastrous attempt, but he’d learned to use his tongue in ways that Seokjin thought about long after Hoseok left. He’s thinking about it now, leaning against the wall near the front door with Taehyung and Jimin. He can still see Hoseok in the kitchen with Yoongi and Jeongguk, both of whom are laughing. Seokjin would rather be over there next to them, being the one to make Hoseok laugh in turn. But even from afar, he’s just staring at Hoseok’s mouth as it twists into another absurd expression while he reacts to whatever Yoongi is saying. Jimin leaves to use the bathroom and it’s just him and Taehyung. “Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin sighs. “Will you be honest with me about something?” “Sure, hyung,” Taehyung says easily. He comes to stand next to Seokjin, and then somehow shrinks himself down so he can lean his head on Seokjin’s shoulder. “Hit me.” “Am I bad in bed?” “Hmm.” Taehyung goes quiet as he considers it. Most of the time, the way Taehyung examines everything very intentionally is rather frightening to Seokjin. But Taehyung is the only other person in their friend group with first-hand knowledge of Seokjin’s prowess in bed. And if that’s the secret reason his and Hoseok’s secret hook-ups have been so weird, Seokjin needs to know. “No, hyung, you’re very good in bed,” Taehyung says eventually when he’s done thinking. “Very.” Seokjin didn’t mean to fish for compliments, but hearing it said out loud still feels nice. “Thank you.” Taehyung pats his head. His own head is still on Seokjin’s shoulder, so it’s a little awkward. Seokjin leans down to help him out and they make it work. Across the room, Namjoon has joined the group in the kitchen, except Yoongi and Jeongguk are coming back into the living room, leaving Namjoon and Hoseok alone. They hug, Namjoon asks a question, Hoseok answers it, Namjoon asks another question and then—an expression crosses Hoseok’s face that has Seokjin standing up straight. His smile dims, like a candle reaching the end of its wick, and for a moment Seokjin thinks he’s going to cry. Namjoon puts a hand on Hoseok’s shoulder—he’s probably saying something soft and encouraging, if Seokjin knows him. Hoseok smiles with obvious effort, and then screws up his whole face into some macabre grin that’s clearly meant to keep the tears at bay. The sight of it makes Seokjin’s stomach clench, drop, evaporate into thin air. He can’t remember (the last time) he saw Hoseok look that—sad? No, it’s beyond sad. He looks desolate. On cue, Hoseok looks out into the living room—and meets Seokjin’s eyes. The desolation vanishes immediately. He makes a silly face and waggles his fingers in a little hello. Seokjin makes a weird face back, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Beside him, Taehyung, just now tuning in, giggles. “Hoseokie-hyung is so good,” Taehyung murmurs. “He just wants everyone to smile.” “He thinks it’s his job or something,” Seokjin says. Now Namjoon is talking. Hoseok is listening to him intently. “It’s like, get a hobby!” It comes out meaner than Seokjin means it to. Taehyung lifts his head off Seokjin’s shoulder. “What’s that mean?” “Nothing. I’m losing my edge, sorry. I need to take a joke writing class or something.” Taehyung pats him again, this time on the shoulder. “You’re okay, hyung.” Is he? It doesn’t feel like it. It feels less like he’s making jokes than he is living inside of one. It’s very tiring, to be honest. In the kitchen, Hoseok is still listening to Namjoon with complete concentration. Why, why, why does the sight of it bother Seokjin so much? He can’t think about it anymore. He accepts one more comforting pat from Taehyung and goes to hide in the bedroom. —- Early this year, before all of this, Yoongi had called Seokjin one February morning while he was waiting for his bus. “We’re moving in together, Namjoon and I,” Yoongi said when Seokjin answered the phone. “And yes, my eomma already told me it was a bad idea.” Yoongi loved doing this—springing both news and a cynical take on said news on Seokjin at the same time. Seokjin took a deep breath, and screamed into his phone. When he stopped, Yoongi was yelling. “Ach, I swear to god—What is wrong with you, hyung? “Yoongi-yah!” Seokjin yelled back. “You’re moving in with your boyfriend! This is something to scream about! Are we going out? Are we getting trashed? Are we having a party at your apartment that you now live in with your boyfriend?” As usual, neither Yoongi or Namjoon had thought about celebrating. Yoongi hung up with a grumbled promise to check with Namjoon. As soon as he did, Seokjin called Hoseok. “Hyung,” Hoseok said. “Yoongi-hyung told you?” “Yeah, Namjoon told you?” “We just hung up. He said they weren’t going to have a jipdeuri. What the fuck?” Seokjin’s bus finally pulled up and he put his arm out to flag it down. “All our friends are sad sacks of shit, Hoseok-ah.” “Yoongi-hyung is afraid to let himself be happy, and Namjoon follows his lead,” Hoseok said. “Idiots, both of them.” “Wow. Please don’t ever analyze my relationships. That was too insightful.” Hoseok laughed. It was still early, though, so it was at half his usual volume and more of a croak. Seokjin could picture him in the studio’s staff area, phone tucked under his ear as he concocted his usual pre-morning class caffeine injection. “Hyung is a mystery to me. Don’t worry.” “Thank god for that,” Seokjin grumbled. “Anyway, my quest to remain a total unknown was not the point of this phone call. We have to throw them a jipdeuri.” “Oooh,” Hoseok breathed. “Of course. Yes. You’re a genius, hyung.” “That is exactly the kind of character analysis I’m looking for.” —- They threw Namjoon and Yoongi the best jipdeuri of the decade. Hoseok was good at all the things Seokjin was bad at: making sure Yoongi and Namjoon were on board, spreading the word, ordering people around on the day of. And Seokjin was good at everything that was left over: buying too much meat, telling bad jokes, and smoothing over any possible awkward social interactions by being twice as ridiculous as usual. When Yoongi video-called his family to show them the new place, Seokjin hauled Namjoon over to say hello while Hoseok distracted everyone by demonstrating the way his five-year-old students looked when trying to pop for the first time. When several of Yoongi’s less-cool coworkers showed up unexpectedly, they both converged on them just inside the doorway at the same time. “Welcome!” Seokjin yelled, because he was on his third drink. “Glad you made it! So good to see you!” “Come in, come in, we still have plenty of food,” Hoseok said. “You work with Yoongi-sshi, correct?” “Um, yes,” said the older of the two men. His buddy was furtively glancing around the living room, while the woman behind them wasn’t even bothering to hide her judgement. Disgusting. Why had they come? If this were anyone else’s party, Seokjin would immediately ditch them here at the door to hang with someone less shitty. But Yoongi was coming over, looking like a raincloud and then like nothing when he saw who it was and blanked out his expression. Seokjin found himself standing beside Hoseok while Yoongi politely greeted all of them. He couldn’t stop himself from making a little scoffing noise in the back of his throat when the woman pointedly asked how Yoongi could afford such a nice place. “I live here with my boyfriend,” Yoongi said flatly. “You’ve met him. Several times.” She laughed, high and sharp, and the two men guffawed with her. Seokjin found himself laughing along automatically, and then snapped his mouth shut when the woman looked at him like they were in cahoots about being a homophobic piece of shit. Yoongi invited them to have a drink, and the tired, resigned look on his face had Seokjin’s blood boiling immediately. He re-opened his mouth to invite them to get the fuck out, but Hoseok put his hand out, blocking Seokjin from following. “No, Hoseok-ah, please let me at them,” Seokjin hissed under his breath. “Leave it, hyung. Destroying them would just make things harder for Yoongi-hyung at work.” Seokjin groaned. “Please, Hoseok-ah? Can’t I just corner one of them and make them wonder if I’m trying to seduce or murder them?” A grin broke out on Hoseok’s face. “Ah… Wow, I want to see that.” Seokjin shook him by the shoulder. “Then let me at them!” Hoseok pretended to lock him in his arms. “Not today! Another time, I promise!” “Ach, fine. Then let’s join together in Operation Make Sure These Assholes Don’t Ruin Yoongi’s Day Without Seducing or Murdering Anyone. Otherwise I make no promises. Okay?” “Okay,” Hoseok said, and shook Seokjin’s hand firmly. They snuck through the crowded living room into the slightly-less-crowded kitchen where Yoongi was entertaining the Three Assholes. Yoongi caught Seokjin’s eye as he opened beers and made a face that clearly said why are you doing this to me?. Hoseok snickered, just a little bubble of laughter because they were pretending to be stealthy. Once they were in the kitchen, Seokjin snagged another drink for himself and a coke for Hoseok, whose face was still red from the one beer he’d had, and they stood side by side against the refrigerator like bodyguards while Yoongi made introductions. Of course, then someone yelled his name from the living room and he excused himself. The Three Assholes looked at each other, then over at Seokjin and Hoseok, who looked at each other. Do we have to? Seokjin tried to telegraph. We need to keep them distracted, Hoseok telegraphed back with his whole face. Damnit. Seokjin wished he didn’t care about being a good friend. He whipped his head back around and plastered a blinding smile on his face. “So! You’re all also producers?” “I am,” the one named Dongwoo said. “Minsoo-sshi is one of our best mixers.” “And I run the place,” the third one, Jihu, said, and puffed out his chest. “Oh, do you?” Hoseok exclaimed. “Yoongi-sshi told me that the president was supposed to retire last year but pushed it back because he was worried his successor wasn’t ready. Did he go through with it?” Seokjin wanted to clap. That was Hoseok’s charm: he was being either completely sincere, or the biggest bitch in the world. Seokjin never knew which. He loved it. It was tremendously effective. Jihu looked around awkwardly, and coughed into his fist. “The president is his father,” Dongwoo supplied. “Oh! Then you probably know everything about it,” Hoseok said. He grinned widely, then looked over at Seokjin. Oh, definitely biggest bitch. Seokjin bit his lip, hard, to keep from laughing. Minsoo was looking at the photo Namjoon had hung on the wall their first hour officially in the apartment. Jeongguk and Seokjin and Hoseok had been struggling to get the sectional through the doorway and Namjoon had hummed under his breath while he hammered a nail into the wall to hang it. It was all seven of them at the Queer Culture Festival last year. Taehyung and Jimin had just gotten back from their military service and it was genuinely one of the best days of Seokjin’s life. The Three Assholes were staring at it with varying mixtures of fear and disgust on their faces. “So, are all of you…” Dongwoo trailed off expectantly. He looked between Seokjin and Hoseok. “Are we all what?” Seokjin asked. He wanted to make him say it. For a second, they all looked at each other awkwardly. Seokjin could feel the tension coiling its way through Hoseok beside him. He glanced over. Hoseok was still smiling, but his eyes had gone hard. “Gay,” Minsoo finally said. It was Hoseok’s turn to laugh. The nasty, caustic edge to it has all the hair on Seokjin’s body standing up straight immediately. “What an interesting question!” He said nothing else. The silence stretched, withered, died, and was reincarnated as an even more awkward silence. Finally, Dongwoo made an abortive move towards the fridge. “I’m—another beer, if that’s—” They both moved out of his way, but Jihu snagged Dongwoo’s sleeve. “We should be going. We have—another thing.” “Oh, yes!” Minsoo said hurriedly. “The other... party!” The two of them shepherded Dongwoo out of the kitchen. Hoseok followed, Seokjin trailing behind, and they both watched as the trio said a brief farewell to Yoongi and beat it out of the apartment as quickly as they could without actually running. Seokjin let out a relieved laugh and turned to Hoseok—who was still staring at the closed front door with narrowed, dangerous eyes. Then he blinked, and Normal Hoseok was suddenly back. “People like that shouldn’t exist, huh, hyung?” he said, and smiled, as if Seokjin didn’t just see him almost murder someone in Yoongi and Namjoon’s new kitchen. “Hoseok-ah,” Seokjin breathed. “Did I almost see you break the law?” Hoseok looked at him like he was crazy. “What?” “You almost killed three people right in front of my eyes!” Seokjin whisper-yelled, because even though Yoongi and Namjoon were distracted by several of Yoongi’s actually cool music friends, Seokjin wanted to make sure they didn’t hear about this. Hoseok laughed. He looked back out at the party. “You would have stopped me! Just like I stopped you.” Seokjin took him by the shoulder and turned him so Seokjin could look him directly in the face. “Hoseokie, while I’m sure I could kill a man if it actually came down to it, I’m fairly certain you have already killed a man.” Hoseok smacked him in the chest and cackled. “Ah, hyung. Did I scare you?” “Yes,” Seokjin said immediately. “Do you remember when you found out Junmyeon was cheating on you in university?” Hoseok frowned, like he couldn’t remember, so Seokjin went on. “We got trashed at Bok Chicken? And then he showed up and you tried to throw a chair at him?” Hoseok didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. He broke out laughing. “Wow. University was another time.” It was. Hoseok had been twice as anxious and angular as he was now. When they first met, Seokjin would never have pinned him to be one of those people who basically scheduled their mental breakdowns in between classes. It took a year of friendship for Seokjin to learn that they could be headed off by showing up at the end of Hoseok’s kinesiology class and forcing him to come out and eat beef with Seokjin. “Can you make Mean Hoseok come back? I like it when you get angry.” Hoseok shifted so Seokjin’s arm was around his shoulders and they could look out at the gathering together. “Getting angry doesn’t really fit with my life’s vibe. You’ll have to make do with your normal Hoseokie.” “Fine,” Seokjin grumbled, even though no actual part of him was unhappy with his (his) normal Hoseok. By the time the time the night was winding down, Seokjin was certain this was the best party Namjoon and Yoongi would ever host. He and Hoseok had successfully diverted the biggest threat. Yoongi kept breaking out into his huge, gummy smile. Namjoon got to talk to three different people about the paper he was working on. Jimin and Taehyung disappeared for an hour and came back with a cake. “This is what it’s about,” Namjoon said quietly, once everyone had gone and it was just the seven of them laying around, drinking the very last of the beer. “Community. Feeling loved. Safe.” Seokjin was drowsing off, head on the floor right next to Hoseok’s thigh. Hoseok bumped the side of his head with it. “See, hyung? Angry Hoseok would get in the way of everyone feeling safe.” Seokjin made a loud complaining noise and tried to headbutt Hoseok’s thigh, but missed and smacked his skull right into Hoseok’s bony knee. “Ow!” he shrieked, convulsing onto his side to clutch his head. Everyone laughed their asses off, Hoseok loudest of all, even as he stroked a soothing hand through Seokjin’s hair and drew him back down to lay his head on Hoseok’s thigh. Seokjin went too easily for how loudly he was yelling at them all to stop. “Seokjin-hyung is just a baby who doesn’t know what’s good for him,” Hoseok sing-songed. “Baby baby baby. Right, hyung?” “Shut up!” Seokjin squawked. “I know what’s good for me! And if anyone’s the baby, it’s Jeongguk.” “Don’t drag me into this,” whined Jeongguk from the kitchen, where he was finishing off the rest of the mochi one of Namjoon’s classmates had brought. “You can both be one,” Hoseok cooed. His fingers combed through Seokjin’s hair. “Baby Seokjinnie.” Seokjin glared at Hoseok, upside down from his position on the floor. “Baby Seokjin-hyung to you. Be respectful.” "Seok-ah," said Yoongi from his perch on the couch, "look how embarrassed you're making him." Jimin chimed in. “I’ve never seen hyung’s ears get that red.” All the boys laughed at that, except Seokjin. “I’ll murder you in your sleep,” he said. “Every last one of you.” “I look forward to it, hyung,” Yoongi said. “I don’t,” said Namjoon, freaked out. “We share a bed now! They’ll frame me for your murder!” “Yes, perfect, Joon-ah!” Seokjin exclaimed. “The plan is in place.” Hoseok jiggled his leg again. “Stop talking about murder! We’re having a nice day!” That was the thing. It was easy, being around Hoseok. It had always been easy, and Seokjin thought, with total confidence, that it always would be. —- Two months after the first hook-up, the day before the book club-turned party, Seokjin hit rock bottom. It was sleeting, horrible and cold outside. Seokjin had already been in a mood because of that. He was supposed to go to the PC bang with Taehyung, but Taehyung had canceled at the last second and now Seokjin was trying to decide whether to go on his own. That was, of course, the moment Hoseok had texted asking if he was home, and if he could use Seokjin’s coffee grinder for the beans he’d just bought. With anyone else, it would be obvious what the subtext was. For god’s sake, it was one step up from asking Seokjin over to “eat ramyeon.” So stupidly obvious! But—Hoseok probably didn’t even mean for there to be subtext! And therefore it kept happening like this, unconscious and inevitable, like magnets being dragged together by forces beyond their control. Hoseok showed up at Seokjin’s door looking very red-cheeked and chapped from the wind and immediately burrowed himself into Seokjin’s personal space for warmth. First he stuck his cold nose right into Seokjin’s neck, laughing when Seokjin squawked indignantly, and then his cold mouth, and then Seokjin was clinging to him while Hoseok planted little open-mouthed kisses along the line of Seokjin’s throat. He scraped his teeth very lightly across Seokjin’s pulse point just as it jumped. That almost got a real, fully-voiced moan out of Seokjin, so he yanked Hoseok’s head around to kiss his mouth and keep them both quiet. When it was obvious both of them were getting too worked up, Hoseok pulled away suddenly. They went back and forth on who pulled away first, but it was always Hoseok who actually got up first. He would either go to the bathroom or get a drink of water, and it was understood that when he came back the intermission had concluded. Today it was the bathroom. Seokjin threw himself onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling and tried to will away his boner. He thought back to the last time his dick was touched by someone else—and then realized it was Hoseok, during their disastrous first hook-up. The memory was so depressing it helped with the boner situation, but the unfortunate side effect was that he was now sad. “Where do you keep it, hyung?” Hoseok had emerged from the bathroom. He smiled. All signs of the Hoseok who’d had his tongue in Seokjin’s mouth five minutes earlier were gone. He put his jacket over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and peered up at the cabinets. “Over here,” sighed Seokjin, more morosely than he meant to. He got up quickly and ran-walked over to his kitchen to compensate, skirting round Hoseok. He got up on the little footstool to pull the grinder down from its shelf for him. He dodged out of Hoseok’s way when he came forward to use, going back to sit on his bed and hug his giant plush bear while Hoseok did his thing. He narrated it all with his little sound effects—a cheery little theme for opening up the bag of coffee, a descending whistle for dumping them into the grinder, inquisitive noises for figuring out which settings to use. Then he hit the power and the racket of the grinder drowned him out. While it was running, Hoseok looked over. He made a comically surprised face, eyebrows shooting up, mouth making a tiny little ‘o.’ Seokjin tried and failed to smile back. It felt like Hoseok was looking at him from across an ocean, endlessly far away. Beyond a distance that Seokjin could comprehend. Is this what he was now? Someone who pretended everything was fine even as he felt like he was falling apart? God, he hated it. But what was he going to do? Never talk to his best friend again? Or, even worse, actually Talk to him? Seokjin wanted to vomit at the thought, though maybe he’d felt that way since Hoseok had walked through the door. Hoseok switched the grinder off. “All done!” “Good,” Seokjin said. It came out flat. Hoseok’s face fell the tiniest amount. He busied himself with pouring his newly ground coffee back into the bag. When he spoke again, he sounded twice as chipper, like he was compensating for Seokjin’s lack thereof. “I’ll clean this up and be out of here in just a second!” “It’s fine, Hoseok-ah, you can leave it.” Seokjin got up. “See you tomorrow at Namjoon and Yoongi’s?” “Yup.” Hoseok busied himself with putting his shoes on. He stepped in for a hug, the way he always did, but right at that moment the wires in Seokjin’s treacherous head crossed and he turned his face towards Hoseok’s to kiss him. It wasn’t even really a kiss—their lips brushed, just barely, but Hoseok jumped back immediately like Seokjin had slapped him. The look on his face was—shock, then a terrible, anguished fear that made panic rise up in Seokjin like a tsunami. But it was all quickly replaced with jovial disbelief, so quickly that Seokjin wasn’t sure he’d seen anything else. “Ya, hyung, watch it, would you?” Hoseok said, laughing. “You have no control over your body.” It was such a relief to find refuge in overblown anger. “I have no control? You almost poked my eye out with your bony chin! It was that or sustain a grave injury!” “Okay, okay, I apologize.” Hoseok stepped back, reaching for the door knob, grinning. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Not if I see you first,” Seokjin said threateningly. Hoseok laughed at him and left. Seokjin managed to let the silence stretch for three long breaths before he started crying. —- The party is starting to heat up, by the sound of it. Seokjin is somewhat astonished that Yoongi is letting this happen, considering it’s a Sunday night and all. He lays on Yoongi and Namjoon’s bed and decides, arbitrarily, that if they play a Twice song next, he’ll go back out. They don’t. Someone—Taehyung, probably—puts on an old f(x) song. Seokjin rearranges the pillows in a more comfortable way and settles in. On a normal evening, he’d be out there dancing right in the middle with Hoseok, laughing his ass off and having the time of his life. He has to accept it. That’s all there is. He must accept his new status as the emo, pining sadboy of their friend group. That makes him chuckle enough to pull out his phone. He texts Yoongi just so you know i’ve decided to take over your role. you’re now the handsome jokester and i’m the haunted-looking overthinker. where are you Yoongi texts back. Oops. Seokjin did not want him to come looking, but a minute later the bedroom door opens. “Hyung?” Yoongi says blankly. “Are you sick?” “I’m on my deathbed. Don’t you remember?” Seokjin says tonelessly. “You bored me to death.” Yoongi comes in, shutting the door behind him. “I’m not handsome enough to be you, hyung. Please don’t die.” “I’m dead. Too late.” He closes his eyes. The bed shifts as Yoongi sits. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on between you and Hoseok?” Seokjin doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Is he still here?” “Yeah. He and Tae are dancing.” Of course they are. Seokjin opens his eyes. Yoongi is sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed. He looks like a gargoyle. “Yoongi-ya, you look like a gargoyle.” “Thank you, hyung,” Yoongi says formally. It’s quiet again. “I really fucked up, Yoongi-ya,” Seokjin says eventually. “I screwed everything up. Forever.” “I really doubt that, hyung,” Yoongi says in his low, uninflected voice. “Nothing is forever except for death.” “Don’t talk like Namjoon to me.” Seokjin raises a threatening foot. Yoongi puts a hand up in surrender. “Sorry, hyung, sorry. Just trying for some perspective.” “Perspective is not invited to this heart-to-heart.” “Okay,” Yoongi says. “But whatever happened… I’m sure you can fix it. Hoseokie loves you and you love him. Everything else is noise.” Seokjin processes this. “What if… we’re just different? You know, we’ve grown apart. What about then?” Yoongi looks at him, confused. “In what way?” “Maybe we want different things.” Seokjin knows he’s being cryptic, but the thought of trying to be more specific is too frightening. He waits to see if Yoongi can puzzle it out. He’s nodding, brow furrowed, as he thinks. “My guess… is that you don’t want different things.” Seokjin sniffs. “How would you know what either of us want?” Yoongi punches his calf with his bony little hand. “Ya, how do you think I know? The two of you are my friends and I pay attention because I care. I care a lot.” Seokjin pays attention, too, and yet he’ll be damned if he has any fucking clue what’s going on in Hoseok’s head. He doesn’t say that, though, because Yoongi will probably tell him to just fucking ask. But Yoongi, sweet contemplative Yoongi with his boyfriend of almost seven years who could and does talk about emotions eight days a week, does not understand how it is for the rest of them. “I don’t care a lot,” he says instead. “Of course you don’t, hyung,” Yoongi says in his infuriatingly calm voice. “I didn’t say you did.” He’s quiet, then he says, “The thing about Hoseok… he just is the way he is. You know?” Seokjin snorts. “No. What way is he?” Yoongi frowns as he grasps for the words. “Some things he just gets immediately. Other things, he doesn’t. I think being faced with that scares him.” “Min Yoongi. What are you trying to tell me?” “Nothing. I’m just thinking out loud. About how people are different, and they communicate in different ways. At different speeds.” “Okay.” Seokjin turns over onto his side. “I’m done communicating now.” Yoongi sighs. “Okay, hyung.” He stands up and pats Seokjin on the hip. “I know it’s hard. But you also know what you need to do.” “I am done,” Seokjin says loudly, “thank you.” “Okay, okay,” Yoongi grumbles and shuffles out of the room. He leaves the door ajar because he’s a petty bitch. No one comes in, but Seokjin can clearly hear the sounds of the party now. There’s a 4minute song playing, and Hoseok is singing along so loudly. There’s thumping as him and probably Jimin and Taehyung dance along. Seokjin hoists himself up to sitting. Moping does not suit him. Dancing to 4minute with his friends does suit him, so that’s what Seokjin is going to do, emotions be damned. He stands, pastes on a happy face, and goes out the door and down the hall. It’s a full-on party now: the living room has turned to a dance floor. Seokjin can barely see anything other than the shoulders and elbows of those closest to him, and then the crowd shifts and he sees Hoseok, dancing right at the center, singing along so loudly that Seokjin can hear it over the music. He moves without thinking. Hoseok’s gaze catches on him and he dives through the crowd to pull Seokjin in. “Hyung! Where were you?” “Having a crisis!” Seokjin shouts back. Hoseok gives him a funny look, but then the chorus hits and everyone’s yell-singing along and they both join in. Seokjin steals Taehyung’s phone—the source of the music—and puts on a Twice song next. They dance along like little kids, all of them: jumping up and down, bouncing off of one each other. Seulgi knows the choreo and does it along with Jeongguk. Hoseok keeps breaking out in laughter for no reason, which makes everyone else laugh. Even Yoongi joins in. Seokjin is smiling so hard he can’t see. He forgets about everything except for this: Hoseok, brighter than the sun, and all of them in orbit around him. Seokjin’s flying so high that even Namjoon turning down the music and kicking everyone out can’t dampen his mood. He kisses each person on the cheek as they leave, giving Yoongi an extra one on his nose. He feels like himself for the first time in months, enough to throw himself on the kids as they all leave. “My loyal dongsaengs! Carry me!” he commands. By some miracle, they manage to actually get him onto Hoseok’s back. Or rather, Jimin and Hoseok do. Jeongguk is laughing too much, and Taehyung stands off to the side, filming them on his phone with a huge grin on his face. “Wah, hyung,” Hoseok grunts. “Have you been playing tennis or deadlifting? Since when have you been this heavy?” “I’m heavy with love,” Seokjin declares. “Love for all of you.” He kicks his foot at Jimin when he snort-laughs, but Jimin dodges it easily. “How much did you drink, hyung?” he asks in his ‘I am secretly the hyung here’ voice. “Two. Both made by Jeonggukie,” Seokjin tells him. “So, twice as much sugar as alcohol.” Jimin sighs, resigned. You’d think they would all know by now that Seokjin’s general way of being could never be blamed on being drunk. “Okay, then, I’ll leave it up to Hoseokie-hyung to get you home.” “Bye!” Seokjin waves, wild enough that Hoseok grunts and grabs at his knee to keep Seokjin from falling. “Hyung, are you trying to die? Careful!” “It’s fine, Hoseok-ah,” Seokjin grumbles. He slides down. “Nice of you to care about my well-being.” Hoseok looks at him. The streetlight is behind Seokjin, and all Hoseok’s soft angles are lit up yellow-orange by it. “I’m always looking out for hyung,” Hoseok says. He smiles. “Okay,” says Seokjin. He finds, suddenly, that he wants to be at home, in bed, asleep, so that he won’t have to look at or think about how much of a mess his life is for five goddamn seconds. He starts walking towards the bus stop. “Let’s look out for each other by looking out for the bus.” “Good plan, hyung,” Hoseok says, following. “Oh, do you mind if I come by to grab my jacket?” “Sure,” Seokjin says, and then his brain catches up and he realizes that he’s fallen for yet another excuse. Damn it. Well, if Hoseok is hoping to get some tonight, he’ll be disappointed. “Don’t you have a hundred other ones?” “That one’s my favorite,” Hoseok says. He sticks his hands in his hoodie pocket and scrunches his shoulders up to his ears against the cold. Seokjin looks away, down the street towards where the bus will come. It comes, eventually, and as it trundles through the neighborhood, Hoseok chatters away about something—Seokjin thinks it’s Namjoon-related, but he has no idea even though he does a passable job of mmming and reallying in the right places. He sort of feels like his actual brain is locked away somewhere else and the only thing in his head is water, which is loudly sloshing around in the place of real thoughts or words. “And so I told him to look at places in the more residential part of the island,” Hoseok is saying by the time they’re off the bus and climbing the complex’ stairs to Seokjin’s one-room, “but apparently they’re having trouble finding stuff that’s available on such short notice—” What on earth is Hoseok even talking about? “He’s lucky he has you,” is the response Seokjin offers during Hoseok’s next pause. Hoseok beams at him. “I think so, too.” The moment they’re through the door and taken off their shoes, Seokjin beelines for his bed. He burrows under the covers immediately. “In your clothes, hyung?” Hoseok is scandalized. “It’s my house. I do what I want,” Seokjin says into his pillow. Hoseok sighs, resigned. His jacket is still draped over the back of the kitchen chair, right where he left it. He takes it, smoothing a hand over the synthetic fabric as he folds it. “I almost forgot. Namjoon was asking me about your friend Jaehwan and his shop. Do they still do cakes?” “Yeah, I think so.” Last time Seokjin had gone by, Jaehwan’s new baker had just whipped up some kind of chocolate espresso monstrosity. Jaehwan gave him a slice for free and Seokjin had bought two more for later. “Why?” “I think they just want to get ahead of stuff for when they get back.” ““Back? Back from where?” Hoseok looks at him. “Hawai’i, hyung. Yoongi’s hyung got them the appointment in Honolulu. They’re getting married.” The realization hits Seokjin like a punch to the throat. That’s what Hoseok had been chattering about during the whole walk. It’s something that’s been on the horizon for ages, but the thought of it finally being here… Seokjin thinks of Yoongi, sitting on the end of his and Namjoon’s bed, trying to help Seokjin figure out his Hoseok thing instead of telling Seokjin the news. “Oh my god.” Seokjin sits up. “Oh. My god.” “Yeah.” Hoseok comes over slowly, sits at the foot of the bed. “Yoongi-hyung didn’t tell you? I thought that’s why you disappeared.” “No. We were talking about… something else.” Seokjin shakes his head wordlessly. “The day has finally come,” Hoseok says grandly. “Can you believe it? Our friends are getting married.” No, Seokjin can’t believe it. When they first met, Namjoon and his bad haircut were about to graduate college and Yoongi had just come back to Korea from Hawai’i for his first real producing job. They’d been together for a while at that point, but to think about how far they’d come in the time since… He thinks about the two of them flying all the way to another country to get married, finally, after years of loving each other, of trying their absolute hardest against all odds. He thinks of them recognizing that their worst enemies needed to be external, because there were plenty to be found without turning their own fears and insecurities into weapons to wield against one another. Hoseok is watching him. For a moment they both just sit there, looking at each other, Seokjin at the head and Hoseok at the foot of the bed. Hoseok smiles slightly, a reflex. “Hoseok-ah,” Seokjin says. “What are we doing?” The smile disappears. “What do you mean, what are we doing?” “I mean, this. What we’re doing. You know.” Seokjin pleats the duvet between his fingers. “Is it just… going to be like this now? Forever?” Hoseok looks vaguely panicked, just like Seokjin knew he would. God, why did Seokjin even bother? “Well. I mean. If you…” Hoseok stops, clears his throat. Makes a flapping motion with his hand. His eyes keep darting between Seokjin and the floor. “We don’t have to do this anymore if you don’t want to. Especially if it makes you feel bad.” Seokjin lets out a humorless little snort-laugh. “That’s not what I said.” “Okay.” Hoseok doesn’t say anything else. His eyes settle on the floor. The silence lingers. It feels so futile. And Seokjin feels so tired. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” He lays back down and turns over towards the wall. He pulls the blankets over his head, buries his face in his pillow, and waits for Hoseok to go. The tears are crawling up his throat, but Seokjin refuses to cry over this anymore. He presses one finger to the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes, to make them go away. It works, but he can’t stop himself from heaving one giant, shuddery sigh. Hoseok, who’d gotten up and gone over to the door, stops. There’s a pause, then, “Hyung?” “Yeah?” Seokjin says. His voice is shaky. He does the finger thing again. He’s not going to cry. He’s not going to cry. The soft sound of Hoseok padding back over. Again, he says, “Hyung.” “Yeah,” says Seokjin again. Nothing. One treacherous tear slides out of Seokjin’s eye and into his pillow. He sniffs. Fuck. “Hyung.” It’s a whisper this time, and it’s accompanied by the soft touch of Hoseok’s hand on his shoulder. It breaks the dam. Seokjin covers the half of his face that isn’t buried in his pillow and cries. Slowly, Hoseok sits on the edge of the bed, his hand still on Seokjin’s shoulder. Seokjin grabs for it, pushing the blankets down so he can interlace their fingers, desperate for the contact while he can still have it. “Don’t cry, hyung,” Hoseok says, so softly. “Please don’t cry.” Seokjin tries to control himself, but it’s fully happening now. They aren’t horrible, soul-crushing sobs, like the ones he’d cried yesterday after Hoseok left, so he figures he should be grateful for that, at least. It’s dumb. He’s so done with feeling like this. But he is, so he lets the tears flow through and out of his body. Hoseok shifts behind him, moving so he’s half-laying on the bed behind Seokjin. The tip of his nose brushes Seokjin’s hair as he settles in. It can’t be comfortable but he stays there, hand still in Seokjin’s, until Seokjin cries himself out. He’s to the point where the tears have stopped and he’s just hitching in little breaths here and there, when Hoseok squeezes his hand and goes to pull away. Seokjin stops him without thinking, tightening his grip. He’s still on his side, facing away, but he can hear Hoseok suck in a single, steadying inhale. Neither of them say anything. Then, Seokjin pulls on Hoseok’s hand until his arm is fully around Seokjin. It’s with enough pressure that Hoseok has to know he means to do it, but there’s enough wiggle room that if he wanted to pull away, he could. Hoseok doesn’t pull away. Seokjin holds his breath as Hoseok lowers himself back onto the bed. He moves so slowly, it feels like it takes an entire year, but then he’s laying down behind Seokjin, his knees bumping the back of Seokjin’s thighs as he kicks his feet up, too, tucking them under the covers. Oh my god, Seokjin thinks. Is this—is he—does this—he stops himself. For once, this isn’t the time to think. Instead, he focuses on Hoseok’s hand, still in his, Hoseok’s breathing as it evens out. Hoseok, here. Seokjin is certain he won’t be able to fall asleep. And yet, it pulls him under in no time. —- In the morning, Hoseok is gone. There’s the indent of his head on the pillow next to Seokjin but other than that, he’s nowhere to be seen when Seokjin’s alarm jolts him awake just after 5. Seokjin scans his miniscule apartment three times just to be sure. But he’s gone. Seokjin spends three seconds feeling absolutely devastated, and then fury takes over. He flops back into bed. He’s not sure whether he’s angrier at himself or at Hoseok. He settles on being furious with both of them. He should have—god, kept his mouth shut, told Yoongi to keep his mouth shut, let Hoseok leave last night— Wait. The shower is running. It takes a moment for Seokjin to process, especially with how wildly furious he was just five seconds earlier. Hoseok didn’t leave. Hoseok stayed. Hoseok is still here, and he’s in Seokjin’s shower. In place of the fury, there blooms a tiny, fragile hope. Seokjin waits, breath bated, for him to emerge. Of course, once his head clears, he sees the clues: Hoseok’s shoes are still in the entryway, his jacket is over the back of the kitchen chair again. And on the chair by the bathroom door, his clothes from last night are folded into a neat little pile. Seokjin is still staring at them, unable to look away, when Hoseok emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He’s wearing Seokjin’s clothes, just a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, toweling the water out of his hair. He spots Seokjin and smiles brightly. “Oh, hyung!” “Oh, Hoseokie!” Seokjin smiles, too. “That’s my favorite hoodie.” Hoseok looks down at it. It’s a giant, worn-out thing that swallows Seokjin, so it’s even larger on Hoseok. “Looks cute on me, huh?” Seokjin pretends to consider it. “I guess.” It does look cute. It really does. Hoseok stands in front of the mirror over Seokjin’s kitchen table and fusses with his hair for a second and Seokjin pulls the blanket up to his mouth so he doesn’t make a sound from the intense fondness that’s bubbling up in his chest. Hoseok stayed, he stayed, he stayed, he stayed, and now it’s morning and he’s still here and he’s wearing Seokjin’s clothes and Seokjin’s heart is doing its best to escape his body. Do they really get to have this? Hoseok deems his hair acceptable. He spins back around to look at Seokjin. He smiles. For a moment they just look at each other, like they’ve done so many times before. Except today… it’s different. Everything is different. Seokjin tries to find his words. “So,” he starts, then Hoseok is suddenly talking over him. “I’m so hungry. Breakfast before work? Where should we go? I need coffee!” He’s still smiling but there’s an edge to his energy. Under Seokjin’s gaze, he shifts from one foot to the other, cocking his hip and his chip up in the same gesture. An edge of determination, Seokjin realizes. This is Hoseok telling him what he can’t say. I’m here. I want to try. Seokjin is so proud of him. He’s so proud of them both. They’re trying! Look at them! “I’d love to get breakfast,” Seokjin says. Hoseok beams. “I’m going to shower first?” “Okay.” Hoseok sits at the kitchen table, phone out, crossing his legs and kicking back like he owns the place. “I’ll wait for you.” He genuinely looks so comfortable there that, for a moment, Seokjin forgets that they haven’t done this a thousand times—stayed the night together and gotten breakfast in the morning like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He marvels at it. Hoseok looks up from his phone. “Hyung.” He jerks his head towards the bathroom. “Aren’t you hungry?” He is, Seokjin discovers. He’s starving. “I’m going!” He pretends to push the blankets back with extreme effort, groaning as he places each foot on the floor. “Show some respect for your hyung!” Hoseok laughs. “Okay, okay, take your time. I’ll be waiting.” “You better be,” Seokjin says threateningly. He grabs his extra towel from the bottom shelf in his closet. “Or I’ll hunt you down.” “No hunting needed. I’ll be here.” It’s light, but then his face drops into a serious expression when he says, “I promise.” Seokjin breathes deep, one long inhale then one long exhale. He lets the words settle into his heart. They do get to have this. They’ll figure out the rest in their own time. “Okay, Hoseokie,” he says. Hoseok gives him a soft, private smile, which Seokjin returns before saying, very earnestly, “Because it’s the deep condition day in my hair routine and that’s going to take at least an hour.” He cackles loudly and closes the bathroom door on Hoseok’s shriek of betrayal.

  The initial shock of the fact that the Arrancar were still evolving passed quickly into a flurry of excitement as more and more people from Soul Society showed up. The majority of Urahara’s basement had been turned into a lab/living space for the Arrancar who decided to leave Hueco Mundo and help figure out what was happening to them all. Soi Fon-taichou and the stealth force were deployed throughout Karakura Town. Both sides had agreed that the World of the Living offered neutral ground to discuss what was to happen in the future. Meetings had been arranged and now Ukitake-taichou and Kurotsuki-taichou had come across as diplomat and scientist, respectively. Szayel had been surprisingly cooperative, considering his previous madness. Somehow, the aspects of death that each Espada contained were slowly draining away, as though Aizen’s power had been the only thing sustaining those things. Honestly, it was a mystery exactly how it had all happened. Even with Szayel, Urahara and Mayuri working together, they weren’t entirely sure what had happened. It was obvious the hogyuku was the base of the entire thing, and they were rapidly trying to find a way to destroy the thing and finding it none too easy. Everything they tried seemed to rebound. So far, all the Arrancar that had close contact with the hogyuku had changed. Those that stayed behind in Hueco Mundo had remained as they were. Gin Ichimaru had been instrumental in overthrowing Aizen, so he had been sent back to Soul Society under house arrest much to the happiness of Rangiku Matsumoto. After all came out, it was revealed the Gin had intended to kill Aizen and stayed close to him to attempt just that. He had proven his own character by risking everything to dethrone the once and maybe king from Las Noches. Tousen, however, had died along with Yammy, having been given the power of a hollow by Aizen. Without the hogyuku to power him when the top five Espada turned on him together, Aizen and his associates had no chance, even with the illusion causing sword of his. And now, the basement was filled with the changed Arrancar and scientists. It seemed everyone from Squad 12 had shown up, bringing half the place with them in equipment. There was one thing that Grimmjow was not happy about in the slightest, though. Ulquiorra had come to help with the testing. His own hollow hole had, like the rest of them, sealed up, but that didn’t mean the blue haired Espada trusted him. He still looked the same, minus the hole in his chest. But he was going to do his damnedest to make sure that bastard didn’t come near what was his. “Ulquiorra, why the fuck are you here?” he asked, furious anger swirling in his blue eyes and he stared at the green eyed bat. Ulquiorra blinked, even with his emotions returning, he remained passive and emotionless on the surface. “What do you mean, Grimmjow? I came to help Szayel and the others figure out if the change is permanent or some temporary effect Aizen’s loss of control to Urahara of the hogyuku.” “You know that Ichigo is here,” he said tightly. Ulquiorra nodded. “I know that. That is why I am remaining down here. I believe it would be overly traumatic for the human to encounter me.” Grimmjow wanted to punch straight through his impassive fucking face. “’Overly traumatic’?” his voice rose several octaves and several of those around them were now staring at him, including Inoue, Chad, and Uryū. “Overly fucking traumatic? Is that all you can say after you left him shattered in a fuckin’ mess and bleeding to death?” “I was not the originator of all of his torment, Grimmjow. I witnessed Aizen doing the same things before. I was simply indulging my own curiosity, and I…” Ulquiorra didn’t finish the sentence because the blue haired Espada punched him, sending him flying through two boulders that were behind him. No one moved for a long time as Ulquiorra slowly dug himself from the rubble and returned to where he had been standing, a few rips in his clothes, but otherwise unfazed by the Sexta Espada’s expLasion. “By your reaction, Grimmjow, I take it you have decided that he will be your mate?” A pin could have dropped in the room at that moment. “Otherwise, there would be no need for you to defend him so violently. Of course, if you are not laying claim to him, then perhaps I could coax forgiveness from him for my previous actions. He has the strength and stamina to be an excellent choice.” No one saw the second fist come flying either as Ulquiorra, ready this time, caught the fist and only skidded backward a few feet before coming to a stop. “It would seem I struck a nerve, Grimmjow.” “You stay the fuck away from him, Ulquiorra. You come near him, I will skin the hierro off your body and use it to stab your worthless fucking eyes out,” Grimmjow growled and stormed away up the ladder in a burst of sonido. Ulquiorra turned impassively back to the room at large, even Kurotski staring at him. “I suppose I shall have to find a different beta.” Uryū looked over at Rukia who stood beside him now. “Were they just fighting over Kurosaki?” Rukia nodded slowly. “I think so…” “It’s because of Ichigo’s hollow,” Szayel said from beside them now, garnering everyone’s attention. “He’s trying to safeguard Ichigo, and one of the best ways for a hollow beta to be safe is for him to become marked by a hollow alpha.” Rukia frowned. “But he’s not a hollow,” she stated. The pink haired Espada shook his head. “He’s just as much a hollow as we Arrancars are. Beasts inside, remember? Us Arrancar have retained our ressurccion forms. Our changes seem to have stopped at sealing the hollow hole and our masks leaving. We can still perform our release state, much the same as Ichigo and the vizard can call out the mask.” Inoue stared at him curiously. “But why all this about the mates and alphas and betas?” “Ichigo’s hollow is releasing the pheromones to attract an alpha. He may not even know he’s doing it, to be honest. But with all these Arrancars suddenly showing up in close proximity, any hollow beta is going to start seeking a mate to be safe from the rest. I’ve already started the same process and have been fending off all three of Hallibel’s fraccion for the last day,” he said glancing over his shoulder where Mila Rose was waving at him. He waved back shyly. “But they’re all female…” Rukia said. Szayel nodded. “Of course, but they are alpha females, all three and Hallibel as well. Sex isn’t a matter of gender for hollows, it is dominance and submission. And for an alpha to claim a beta, the beta must beat them in battle, so you can see why I am not in the mood to deal with them right now. I have far much to do to be fighting those three, then watching to see which one comes out on top.” Renji walked up just then, stretching out his arms. “Damn, what put the fire in Grimmjow? He came tearing upstairs and told me to leave. He looked about ready to explode!” Rukia pointed to the green eyed Espada. Renji’s face fell into a frown. “Oh, I see. What happened?” Szayel sighed. “Well first, Grimmjow was mad because he was here, then Ulquiorra started questioning what he was going to do with Ichigo, indicating that he was interested in taking him as a beta. That’s when he stormed off.” “What he was going to do with Ichigo?” Renji asked. Szayel started to speak but was called back by Kurotsuchi. Urahara came sauntering over smiling behind his fan. “Hello, Renji-san, how are you doing today?” Urahara said. “I’m not sure, this is all confusing, I got why everyone is here, and the whole negotiations with Las Noches, and all that, but what’s going on with Grimmjow and Ulquiorra? And why is that bastard even here after what he did to Ichigo?” Renji asked, glowering at Ulquiorra. Urahara waved his fan at Renji. “Seems like you are just as overheated over any perceived danger to Ichigo-kun as Grimmjow-san is…” Renji swallowed, his entire face going beet red. “Well, um, that is…” Urahara placed a hand on his shoulder gently, surprisingly gently. “Renji, there is no need to hide your feelings for Ichigo-kun any longer, especially after the lengths you were willing to go to in order to save him. But you remember that Shiro said he was a beta, and the hollow was an alpha?” Renji nodded, urging the hat and clog wearing man to continue. “It’s a part of the hollow world that the betas need an alpha to survive. The problem with Ichigo is that his hollow is an alpha, and in order to survive in the same soul, Ichigo-kun had to become a beta to cope with it. It doesn’t mean that he’s weak, on the contrary, betas are usually stronger than the alphas because they usually carry the young.” “But Ichigo isn’t a hollow!” Rukia said again. “I don’t understand what this has to do with him!” Urahara sighed deeply and patted the short woman on the shoulder. “I know, but he is more like the Arrancar than we like to believe. He isn’t just tapping into the power of an inner hollow; half his soul is a hollow. And the way things are going around here, unless someone ‘claims’ him, we might be in trouble. The pheromones his hollow is emitting is setting off every hollow and Arrancar close by. And I’m worried what that will do to him if someone advances on him in a typical alpha manner.” Renji frowned. “Typical alpha manner?” Urahara nodded. “Aggressive and dominating, much how he was treated by Aizen. One of the reasons Aizen was able to break him like he was. He not only had physical control, he was using his rieatsu to activate the hollow instincts and Szayel was injecting him with a cocktail of drugs meant to heighten arousal, sensitivity, and put him in a semi-hypnotic and suggestible state. That’s why he is having such trouble breaking away from the things that he was told by Aizen.” Urahara motioned for Renji and the others to follow him back upstairs. Once they were seated in the tea room, Urahara checked the monitor to see Grimmjow seated cross legged behind where Ichigo was sleeping, a scowl across the bright blue brows. “Szayel was able to provide me with complete descriptions of the tests and experiments that were done on Ichigo-kun, and it confirmed my suspicions. He had awoken the hollow instincts but pushed down the hollow consciousness so that Ichigo-kun was operating without much thought. The drugs were putting him into such a state that anything said to him by Aizen was the truth. Right now, he’s fighting through the network of lies and half-truths that AIzen fed him. I’ve given him some injections to help clear the fog, but it isn’t something I can just cure. He has to come through it by himself,” Urahara said, sighing again, his fan forgotten on the table in front of him. “So, basically how does an alpha claim a beta?” Renji said quietly. “Bite. You remember when Aizen bit Ichigo? He forced his own reiatsu through the wound and bound it to Ichigo’s own. It created a bridge between the two souls, and until we removed it, Ichigo was subject to his attacks,” Urahara said, snapping his fan open. Renji looked thoughtful. “Well, how do we keep someone else from doing that to him?” “Well, ideally, an alpha that he cared about would leave his or her mark on him, match the reiatsu patterns, and the pheromones would stop, and the rest of the alphas in the area would quit honing in on him. Ikkaku and Yumichika have been busy today killing all the hollows that have been roaming the area since the pheromones started leaking out of him,” Urahara said with a frown. “Why don’t we ask him?” a voice behind them said. They looked up to see Grimmjow in the doorway, having heard some of the conversation. “I mean, it’s his fuckin’ choice what happens to ‘im, right?” Urahara kept one eye on the monitor showing Ichigo’s sleeping form. “You’re right, Grimmjow-kun. It is unfair to keep this from him, and unfair for us to decide what he can and cannot handle without asking him ourselves. Why don’t you and Renji stay with him and discuss it when he wakes up. We’ll hold off the hollows outside and the keep everyone else downstairs for the time being.” With that everyone else left, Rukia leaving with a lingering stare on Renji as the door was shut and sealed over them. Renji looked at Grimmjow and they both headed into the room with the soft snoring sounds of the orange headed boy on the floor. “I know what I want, Red, but I’m a lil scared to ask ‘im,” Grimmjow said with a sigh, laying down against Ichigo’s sleeping back. Renji nodded. “I know the feeling.” The silence stretched out for a while. “But what are we gonna do, Red?” “Take care of him, I guess, until he’s back to normal,” Renji said, laying down in front of Ichigo, gently brushing the hair out of his face. Grimmjow’s hands began to rub Ichigo’s back. “But what if he don’t want us to?” Renji sighed, the same thoughts running through his head. He’d never really felt like this, at least not to this degree. It was like Ichigo was yanking some base animal instincts to the surface. Considering, though, how primal the energy of his own spirit and zanpakutou was, though, that wasn’t too difficult. Even the tattoos that he gained as he gained power spoke of wild and untamed energy. His reiatsu had always matched that same feeling. And he felt similar energy rolling off the gruff ex-sexta Espada across from him. Ichigo moved, rolling over to his back and he found himself staring up into the cyan blue eyes of Grimmjow and the cherry chocolate eyes of Renji. He started a bit, but relaxed, feeling the comforting reaitsu flow over and through him. “Hrm, what do you want?” he muttered, his eyes fluttering in near sleep. Renji brushed his hair out of his face again. “Hey, we need to talk, you think you can, Ichi?” The orange haired shinigami nodded and reached up to cup Renji’s cheek with one hand and Grimmjow’s cheek with the other. “Why am I so hot?” he asked, looking up between them both. Renji swallowed, grabbing his hand and holding it down. “That’s what we gotta talk about, see there’s this alpha beta thing, and…” “Yeah, Shiro told me about it while I was sleeping,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably under the light sheet that was over him. “Something about smell or something drawing hollows to me. He said he was sorry, but it was something Aizen did with the stupid injections.” He kept rubbing up against both of them, touching and running hands over them. “Ichigo, you need to tell us what you want, not what the hollow wants.” Grimmjow thought he might explode as he felt him rub a hip against the hardness in his pants. He swallowed and looked heatedly over at Renji as if to say he couldn’t take much more. “Um, Ichigo, Urahara said that someone had to mark you with their reiatsu to get this to stop, and we wanted to know, um, who you…ah…” Renji stopped when Ichigo’s hand grasped his crotch roughly. Renji reached down and grabbed both his hands in and held them in front. “Ichigo, stop, we need to know what you want! I can do it or Grimmjow can, but you gotta tell us what you want.” Ichigo looked up between the two of them and then smiled softly, his face blushing bright red. “What if I want both?”

The candles in the room gave an eerie light and a somewhat dark air to it as if it was the basement of a villain. And Alfred was the hero who had been captured; and tied to the bed in the middle of the chamber, each member secured by ropes to the four posts of the bed. Not to say he didn't enjoy this... confinement per se, because he actually enjoyed it, enjoyed very much. Of course, that was only possible thanks to the person currently straddling his lower stomach and playing with his nipples. He moaned making the person smirk amusedly; damn him and his black leather clothing that made him hot as fuck. From the tousled blond hair, caterpillar eyebrows, green eyes and the sly smirk, the clothes just threw him out of loop. His lover really had outdone himself today. He had a collar around his neck much like his own and looking lower it just got better and better and he couldn't help but stare. The tight corset on his torso, followed by black (it seemed the theme was black) panties with a garter belt that secured the thigh-high fishnet stockings he had put on, and those boots... Where the hell did he get those? Moreover, where and when did he get the full gear? The Brit always knew how to surprise him. Those knee-high boots with stiletto heel, how could he walk in those things? Did he practice while he wasn't home? Ooh, but it made him look so sexy. He was hard, painfully so. His lover wasn't merciful during these times, during their playtime. He wished he would remove the ring attached to the base of his penis so he could get relief, alas, the Brit didn't want to yet. And what he said were orders, and his orders were to follow. "It seems you're distracted, pet." The Brit purred sensually, as if his normal voice with that accent wasn't good enough. His lover twisted his nipples a bit too hard and he groaned, gritting his teeth. He knew what his Brit was expecting, though... "I'm s-sorry, Sir." He uttered feeling slightly out of breath and moaned as the Brit nodded at him and rewarded him by leaning down and kissing his neck, leaving a trail of nips, licks and kisses from his jaw to his chest, to one of his nipples. Alfred never considered himself very sensitive, but that was before he met Arthur, the grumpy and very cunning Brit. Ah, but he loved him and loved this playtime Arthur had introduced to him. Arthur grounded his hips against the American's hard on making him grunt, his hands and legs shifting, trying to get free; however, it was in vain. The Brit's talented hands traced his muscles and sides and he couldn't help the shivers and trembles that ran up and down his spine, his back arching off the bed. Arthur knew exactly which spot to touch to make him feel good. It was infuriating, but at the same time it was so good, it was heaven! But Arthur certainly wasn't any angel, if he were a mystical being he would probably be one of those... what-it's-name,succubi? Or incubi? He never quite understood the difference; he knew one was a woman and the other a man, but he always confused both. Anyway, Arthur was a wolf in sheep's wool. His point was proven when the Brit, without further notice sank into his length. Alfred moaned loudly, his hands opening and closing, wanting to feel the other's skin, wanting to run his hands up and down those thighs, hips and ass, but he couldn't, fuck. Alfred opened his eyes, not even remembering or caring when he had closed them, and gasped for breath as he gawked at the Brit on top of him who was tranquil with a flushed face, sweat dripping down his forehead, his hands spread on the American's chest to stabilize himself. Alfred noted that he had discarded his panties somewhere (and somehow) along the way and he hadn't even noticed! Also, when had his lover prepared himself? Hmpf, knowing him, he had already done that before they had even started, always eager to have something up his ass, the pervert. He heard the Brit sigh pleasingly and waited with baited breath for him to start to move and ride him like he was a fucking horse. But, even after a few moments nothing of the sort happened. His eyebrows scrunched (because if he whined Arthur would probably go get that whip of his... No need for that now...), it was enough torture having the stupid cock ring and his lover teasing him and bringing up the edge for it to crash down because he couldn't release. And now he was inside Arthur, and although this involved far more torture because he couldn't release and inside him was so hot and tight and wet and he wanted to buck and trash around and do a thousand more things, he couldn't. If he did, he would probably be punished. He would just have to endure whatever Arthur was planning to do, unless he really couldn't take it anymore and thus he would voice the safe word; making Arthur change from his "Dom" role to a mother hen that would fret over him. "You want me to move, Alfred?" He whispered sensually rocking his hips slightly just once, to tease. Those marvelous hands raked across the skin on his chest leaving red marks and he cried out. "Yes!" The Brit paused as if thinking about it when the answer should be pretty obvious, he should just start moving and take out the ring! Sadly, that was just Alfred's wish at the moment; his heart pounded furiously on his chest, his skin glistened with sweat, he was breathless and if Arthur continued motionless he would explode. Arthur clicked his tongue, "Mm... I don't quite like that answer..." He finally spoke and leaned down, getting face to face, blue eyes against green ones, the Brit's lips ghosted over his own but never touched, "How about you beg...?" He whispered eyes half-lidded and blazing with lust and love and then Arthur kissed him lightly and as he leaned back slowly and, tantalizingly he bit Alfred's lower lip pulling at it and then he traced the outlines of Alfred's lips with his tongue. Alfred stared at him with wide eyes and unconsciously licked his lips; the Brit stared at him expressionless but clearly waiting for something... He moaned and arched his back as Arthur purposely tightened his muscles around him. "Please— Please move, Master—...!" He keened changing the name, Arthur had showed him a list with various names with which he was pleased and some were very weird and some were plain normal like the one he had just spoken. Arthur was so weird sometimes, sometimes in a cute kind of way and other times in a creepy kind of way. The Brit raised his hips leaving only the tip of his cock inside of him and waited, Alfred sensed him trembling above him, but Arthur wasn't about to show weakness in this moment, "And...?" He breathed, voice constricted and narrowed eyes and Alfred knew exactly what he wanted. "T-thank you for letting me fuck youuu—..." His 'u's prolonged as Arthur started to sink down and then stopped at midway nodding at Alfred to continue his phrase, the Brit smirked slyly and Alfred hesitated just for a second before, "...your H-highness!" He hissed and Arthur dropped down. "T-that's a good pet!" Arthur mewled petting the American's hair; Alfred leaned into the touch trying to regain his breath which was in vain because Arthur started moving. Up and down, up and down, moans, grunts, shivers and trembles, movements erratic as they tried to find their own tune, although, Alfred was mostly still, his mind overwhelmed with everything that had happened until now and— he just really wanted to release, oh god's he wanted to. So the only thing he had to do was beg to his master, or rather, his highness (or something along those lines) was what he really liked to be called, but he almost never used that one or the other ones... "P-Please— let me— come—...!" He begged as the Brit rode him for all that he was worth, moaning and trembling, sweat dripping down his body, the corset must feel very tight now to breath, but of course Arthur also had that masochist tendency it must be turning him on rather than off. It was time to say the name that made the Brit melt, for some weird-very-Arthur-reason. "Please, My Q-Queen!" He cried out at the same time Arthur moaned as he hit his prostrate and the Brit froze as he heard what Alfred had said. And then... And then he melted just like Alfred thought he would, the Brit groaned arching his back and clenching his muscles around the other's dick, he gasped for breath and paused his movements to reach around and to Alfred's cock, Alfred heard a click and then a sudden relief as Arthur resumed his movements and just a few seconds later Alfred came with a loud and long moan. He could swear he saw stars, after that he went limp on the bed, gasping for air as he tried to regain his senses. He opened his eyes feeling lightheaded; he stared at his lover who was watching him with a smirk on his face, like he wore most of the time. Alfred raised an eyebrow at him confused. "I still haven't come, pet..." He informed and Alfred saw that that was indeed right, he wondered what Arthur would make him do, he hoped it wasn't too difficult; he was already at his limit. He still wasn't very experienced with this kind of thing... Arthur reached up, not letting the American slide off him and untied his right hand. Alfred stared at him still confused, but not for long... "Finish me, slut." He ordered with acid green eyes boring into his blue ones. "Yes, Si—" Arthur whipped his thigh with his whip and Alfred screamed and bit his lip, Jesus Christ, where the fuck did Arthur got his whip?! He felt the tip of his lover's whip in his cheek lightly tapping him. "No, no, no, Alfred, call me Queen." He smiled sweetly at him, but it was in that kind of way that was just plain creepy as if Arthur was going to rip of his intestines. "S-sorry, my Q-Queen," He voiced, his free hand went down and grabbed Arthur's cock and stroked gently, the Brit moaned, rolling his hips making Alfred tense and groan as he was still inside Arthur, and if the Brit continued like this he would get hard again. Damn him. "That's better, pet..." Arthur hummed and lazily rolled his hips following Alfred's hand movements. Alfred grunted, yup, he was getting hard again and from the look on Arthur's face the Brit knew it, felt it, probably, growing inside him again. He was so not going to move from here after this, unless Arthur bribed him like he did many times. "Alfred—," He sighed blissfully and started to move faster, "...faster, Alfred!" He commanded and the American obligated replying with a breathy 'yes, my Queen'. After what felt like an eternity Alfred felt he was coming close to release, again, and stroked Arthur's erection harder and faster, pressing a finger to the tip, spreading the pre-cum over, and around it. The Brit on top of him was a moaning mess of sweat; it was such a great view Alfred felt his end coming and warned his Queen. The Brit just moved faster and all Alfred could do was stare at those lewd, powerful and damn sexy legs working as the Brit's hands went for his own nipples and grabbed them twisting them and Arthur just moaned and groaned. Like, wow, and the Brit calls him the slut. "Alfred!" He screamed and the American felt something sticky in his hand, Arthur had come, his ass tightened around his cock and he bucked, releasing inside his lover once again. He gasped for breath; this time he couldn't really move anymore, he felt so dazed, like he was drunk, very drunk. "Oof—!" Alfred opened one lazy eye to see the Brit, too, gasping for air as he had crashed on top of him. And it was done, the end of their playtime for today, Arthur peeked at him with a blissful expression on his face and Alfred smiled at him. "Arthur," He called, his voice a bit arid but with a tint of tiredness, "Untie me..." He spoke and heard Arthur huff. "But I'm so comfortable..." The Brit nuzzled his collarbone and deposited a kiss to his neck. Alfred shivered, "But I'm not." To this the Brit nodded and got up, Alfred slipped out of him with a grunt and then felt the ropes on his wrists and ankles fall from place. He watched Arthur jump from the bed and search for something in the closet they had in the room, walking with those freaking boots like he was born to (and maybe he was, they looked damn good on him). "Bugger, I thought I had it here..." Arthur muttered rummaging through the closet, he sighed and Alfred just stared at the shameless Brit who still hadn't cleaned up the mess on his legs and ass... "Aren't you gonna clean up?" Although, the Brit probably liked that kind of mess on him. "Yes... I was searching for the tissues, but perhaps I left them in the loo." A pause, "How about we order dinner and while we wait we take a bath, hmm?" He asked and Alfred's interest rose, it wasn't every day that Arthur let order dinner, so, of course he nodded eagerly. Arthur chuckled and his hands moved to take off the corset, before he could untie the string on his back, Alfred hopped of the bed and did it for him. "Thank you, love." Arthur took off the corset and put it inside the closet, then he leaned up and pecked Alfred's lips, the American smiled, grabbed his hands and started dragging the Brit out of the room.

Watching the stars at night was usually something that only Keith and Pidge did. But tonight, a meteor shower was announced, so they invited their friends to watch it with them. The two of them were the first at the beach, along with Shiro. The trio started to set up camp in a nice little spot at the far right of the beach where they could all relax and watch the sky. They had blankets, a few chairs and, of course, Pidge's telescope. Allura came at around ten thirty and had brought all the stuff to make a campfire. In less than ten minutes, it was burning brightly, warming everyone up as the night started to get chilly. Now the only ones missing were Lance and Hunk. "Where are these idiots!" Pidge was tapping her foot in impatience. "It's almost midnight! They're going to miss it!" She flung her arms in the air and sat in a chair. Not five minutes later, the peaceful sound of the crackling fire and of waves washing up shore was interrupted by bubbly laughter. At the other end of the beach, Hunk and Lance were making their way to them. Hunk had trouble walking so much he was laughing. They heard Lance say something and Hunk doubled over in laughter, almost dropping the bag he was holding. When the duo finally reached their friends, Lance had a shit eating grin and Hunk was wheezing. "Man, you guys! Lance is like, the funniest dude I have ever meet." Hunk settled down on a blanket and started to open the bag he was holding. Lance walked over to Allura and pointed fingers guns at her. "Hey princess!" She lightly swats him behind the head and laughs. "Hello to you too Lance." Seeing the look of confusion on her friend's faces, Allura explained herself. "I went over to Hunk's yesterday to make sure he was bringing snacks and Lance was there. He introduced himself in the most... peculiar way." Lance wiggled his eyebrows at her. "But you think I'm funny right?" Allura laughed at his mock flirting. "Oh yes, absolutely!" Her voice was filled with sarcasm. "How about I introduce you? You've never met Pidge and Shiro right?" Lance nods. Allura first walks up to Pidge who stands up from her chair. She and Lance shake hands. "I'm Pidge." "Yeah, I heard about you from Hunk. Apparently, you're quite the nerd." Lance gave her a shit eating grin and she glared at Hunk. Oh, it was on. Next was Shiro who shook Lance hand firmly. "I'm Shiro, it's nice to meet you. Did Hunk tell you anything about me?" Hunk was in the background, gesturing at Lance to shut up. "Nothing much, except the fact that you're, like, a total dad." Shiro laughed. "Aw Hunk? You never told me you viewed me as a parental figure." Hunk was hiding his face in his hands. "Can you like, be done now Lance? Please?" Lance pretended to not have heard Hunk as he swung his arm around his friend's neck. "So anyway, the reason we're late is because mr. sunshine here wanted to make sure every snack was perfect." "Talking about snacks!" Hunk clapped his hands, happy to change the subject, and started going through the stuff in his bag. "A bunch of peanut butter cookies for Pidge." Pidge fist pumped Hunk with a huge smile. "A rainbow colored cupcake for Allura." Allura had stars in her eyes as she thanked Hunk. "A bowl of my special pasta recipe for Shiro because I finally managed to get all the ingredients." Shiro insisted it wasn't necessary but Hunk only shushed him. "For my buddy Keith, a red velvet cupcake made with tons of love" Hunk winked and Keith sputtered a thank you. "And at last but not least, for my best bud Lance and me, a pizza!" Hunk took out the pizza box from the bag as if he was a magician taking a rabbit out of a hat. "Awww." Pidge whined, "I want pizza too!" Lance giggled. "We're not savages, we'll share." He gave a slice a slice to Pidge. "Thanks! Oh and, by the way, how come you and Hunk are so friendly already? Did you guys hang out or something?" "Yeah we did, he invited me over yesterday for a play date." Allura put her fist in front of her mouth and closed her eyes. She wasn't going to say anything. Just, no. "I was only supposed to stay a few hours but I ended up staying the whole night!" Hunk wrapped his arm around Lance's shoulders. "Lance and I have some sort of spiritual connection, I swear." Lance nodded seriously at his friend. "That's some deep shit bro." "Thanks man...Oh, wait I get it, it was a joke. Hahaha nice one assshole." Pidge and Lance were laughing and Hunk snickered a little too. After eating their snacks, everyone started settling down for the night. On the right was Pidge, sitting on a chair and wrapped in a green blanket. Allura and Shiro were sitting in front of the fire, leaning on each other and quietly chatting. Hunk and Lance behind them, sitting on a few blankets. Keith was on the right, sitting on a red blanket but leaning his back against a chair. It's around one in the morning when Pidge screams at the top of her lungs. "I saw one! Get the fuck up Hunk! It's happening you guys!" Everyone jumps in surprise and Hunk chokes on his saliva as he wakes up. Not a second later, the sky is filled with shooting stars, flying fast over the ocean, their lights reflecting on the water. The sight his breathtaking but only last a few minutes, to everyone disappointment. There's a long silence as everyone in still in awe of what they have just seen. "That was beautiful!" Allura states in astonishment. She stays silent form a few more seconds before speaking again. "Sadly, I have to go now, I'm working tomorrow and it's pretty late now." She gets up and Shiro follows suit. "I'll walk you home!" Realising he spoke a bit too fast, Shiro caught awkwardly. "I have to go too so I'll walk with you." He scratches the back of his neck as his face becomes red. Allura laughs softly and accepts his offer. They both grab some stuff and bid the group goodbye. They were gone for a few minutes when Pidge stretches while getting up. She yawns. "Man, it's getting late, I should go home. Hunk, you come with me." Hunk looks at her in surprise and pouts. "Why? I wanna stay." Hunk is giving her his best puppy dog eyes but Pidge is stone cold. "Nope. You're coming with me. After all, I'm just a little nerd, I can't defend myself." Hunk sighs in defeat. He get's up with his shoulders slouched and says a pathetic goodbye to his two remaining friends. Once Keith is alone on the beach with Lance, he realises why his friends had all left early. Those bastards. He shifts awkwardly and clears his throat. "So di-did you enjoy the night?" Keith wants to bang his head. What a lame question. But Lance turns to face him and there's a smile on his face. "I did." His voice is soft and a tired and Keith finds that pretty hot. "Everyone is so nice, you guys are like, the best people I ever met. And man, those meteors! They were beautiful!" Not as much as you. Shit! Fuck! Keith is choking on air and Lance looks at him concerned. "Are you o-" Keith cuts him short. "I'm fine!" He gives an awkward laugh. "And you're right, it was pretty amazing." They stay in a comfortable silence for a while. It's pretty late now but Lance doesn't look like he's about leave. In fact, he looks like a god damn mermaid in the pale light of the dying fire. Keith blush and is greatly disgusted by how cheesy that was. Lance gets up, slowly and Keith panics a little. He doesn't want Lance to leave. He has to say something! Keith is so lost in his taught that he doesn't notice Lance has moved until he's siting next to him. And by next to him, Keith means that Lance entire right side his pressed against his own. "Lance! W-What are you doing?" Lance scoots even closer and Keith is glad it's dark because his entire face is burning up. "The fire died and I'm freaking cold. Don't make this weird." Keith nods in agreement, not trusting his voice right now. They (Lance) ended up talking for the rest of the night. Keith hadn't meant to fall asleep but the warmth of Lance's body and the softness of his voice had him knocked out in less than an hour. Shiro couldn't believe how stupid he was. He had wakened up in the middle of the night and when he had reached for his phone to see the time, it wasn't there. He had forgotten it at the beach. Stupid. He made his way out of the house with as little sound has he could because it was four in the freaking morning and he didn't want to wake anyone up. Once he reached the beach, he could see that some stuff was left at the place where they had hung out earlier. No one had ever left stuff at the beach before and Shiro was confused why someone would do so. But once he reached the spot, the sight made him grin like an idiot. Keith was holding Lance's chest like a baby koala bear and was using Lance's right arm as a pillow. Lance's head was resting on top of Keith's and his right arm was wrapped around Keith's hips. Shiro just had to take a picture.

"Where the fuck are you going this late at night?" Kuroo asked from his nearly-upside-down position on the couch. Daishou appeared to be head for the door, and being the shit he was, Kuroo had to know where he was going.   "Okay it's like eleven and it's Saturday so fuck you. Also I'm bored so I'm going out," Daishou snapped. "Why don't you just stay here and do something instead of going out with your nonexistent friends?" "First of all, I have other friends–" "Sure you do." Daishou glared at him, "Second of all, why do you care?" "Because I'm also bored and you're the alcohol man." "I'm the what?" "The alcohol man." "Don’t call me that. I got you guys beer and shit like one time," Daishou said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Anyways, just text your creepy-ass cousin again and I'll text Kenma and Akaashi." Daishou considered this for a moment. He could go out (by himself) and probably wind up doing nothing, only to go home thirty minutes later... or he could get shit-faced with Kuroo and his friends. While the second option was extremely unappealing it was better than doing nothing. "Fine," Daishou replied, pulling out his phone to text his cousin. Forty minutes later Daishou's cousin arrived with the Goods™. Kenma had gotten there a few minutes earlier and Akaashi had arrived shortly afterwards. Both looked equally unenthused. Akaashi took a seat on the couch next to Bokuto, who draped his arm over Akaashi's shoulders. No one seemed to notice or care. Just like last time Daishou piled the alcohol in the center of the rug after Kuroo moved the table (once again in front of Daishou's door). They sat in awkward silence for the first few minutes like last time, then Bokuto's face suddenly lit up with an idea.   Daishou's eyes went wide, "Oh god, what is it?" "I am not doing shots of flavored lube again. Not this time fucko," Kuroo said. "You're not doing what? " Kenma asked. Akaashi just sighed. Bokuto grinned, "Let's play truth or dare."   "Here's how it works. You can either take the dare or truth, or you take a drink. You can't ask the person who just asked you, but other than that everything else is fair game." Bokuto explained. He had doled out those plastic medicine cups that come with cold medicine to double as shot glasses. "Can I go first?" Kuroo asked, smirking. "Go for it dude." "Daishou, truth or dare." "Oh god here we go. Truth I guess." "Do you fuck the plants?" "For fucks sake–no!" Daishou yelled. "He's lying," Kuroo grinned, "Bokuto's he's lying he has to take a shot." "I'm sorry, Daishou, if you lie, you have to take a shot." "I'M NOT LYING," Daishou looked like he was about to kill Kuroo. "Just take the shot," Kenma said. "Oh my god fine whatever," Daishou snapped, glaring at Kuroo as he downed the shot of whateverthefuck he was drinking. "So you admit you fuck the plants?" "Fuck you." They were a few rounds in and, being the lightweight he was, Daishou was already drunk out of his mind. Other than that nothing really interesting had happened. "Okay Daishou, it's your turn," Bokuto was barely drunk as he was indeed shameless and did every dare and truth requested of him. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh. Bo-kuto," he said, pronouncing Bokuto's name more along the lines of ‘Bukoto’. "Dare." "Drop your phone off the fire escape." Bokuto stood up, walked towards the mound of alcohol, and then walked past it towards the fire escape. “Oh my god, he’s actually going to do it,” Kuroo said. "Bokuto, no.” Akaashi sprang off the floor as Bokuto unlatched and opened the window. He attempted to restrain him from literally throwing his actual phone out the four-story window, but he fought back with incredible force. “NO Akaashi, I’m NOT drinking!” “Bokuto, seriously–” Akaashi struggled to detain Bokuto, while the others just watched and did absolutely nothing about the situation. “This is my PRIDE we’re dealing with here, Akaashi!” Amidst the struggling, Bokuto managed to toss his phone through the open window. The pair froze in place and heard a distance thudding noise. Akaashi untangled himself from Bokuto and turned around. He looked resigned. "Why did you make him do that?" he asked Daishou. "I didn't think he'd actual-ly do it!" Daishou hiccupped.   "He's literally done every dare so far and one of them was to lick Kuroo's disgusting feet." "Hey!" Kuroo protested. Bokuto was staring at his phone which laid shattered on the concrete beneath their apartment, "I, uh, think I need a new phone." "No shit," Kuroo snorted. "Daishou your bitch jar minimum has doubled to pay for Bokuto's new phone," Akaashi said. "How do you even know about the bitch jar minimum?" "Because the rules are literally taped to the table over there," Akaashi replied, pointing to the three notebook sheets taped to the table by the hallway. "Great." Kuroo was busy counting on his fingers trying to total up the minimum. "Kuroo, it's just five hundred times two." "Five hundred and two?" "Holy fuck how drunk are you?" Bokuto asked. "You're usually good at math." Kenma finally decided to contribute to the conversation, "Kuroo loses all his intellectual ability when he's drunk." "Holy shit finally a way to get him to shut the fuck up," Daishou said. “Either that or he starts rambling about genetics or something for an hour.” "Kenma I do nOT." "One time while you were drunk you asked me why plants were green." "Well? Why are they?" Kenma ignored him. “He hasn’t even had that much to drink. It could be much worse.” "Oh my god," Daishou was wheezing. "Anyways," Bokuto had finished mourning his phone, "it's Kuroo's turn." "Kenma." Had anybody asked Kenma frequently, he probably would've been the most drunk out all them, as he was a very private person, and didn't like doing most things. "Fuck. Dare, I guess." Though Kenma was easily grossed out he would much rather lick the floor than have people prying into his personal life. Kuroo grinned, stood up, and walked to his room. He came back holding his contact case. "Drink this." "What is it?" Kenma made a face.   "It's my old contact solution." "I don't wanna drink your dirty eye juice," Kenma said, pouring himself a shot. Everyone quickly discovered Kenma was the exact opposite of Bokuto – he would barely do anything asked of him. Yet, despite their efforts, they could not get him visibly drunk. "It's no use," Kuroo said, "Kenma can probably drink us all under the table." "I'd rather drink milk to be honest. This stuff is disgusting." "Milk is disgusting." "You're disgusting,” Kenma shot back. Kuroo looked deeply and personally offended. After Kenma took another couple shots, he finally met his breaking point. He started rambling on and crying about bees for about seven minutes. "We're all gonna die because of it," Kenma was sobbing. "We need to save the bees." "I regret getting him drunk," Daishou said. "Mmmy turn," Bokuto slurred, "Daishou." "Truth." "Whose Nicolas Cage bead picture is it?" "Excuse me?" Bokuto pointed adamantly towards the hallway where the melted beads of Nicolas Cage's face hung on the wall, "Whose is it!?" Daishou sighed, "Kuroo's." "SO YOU FUCKING ADMIT IT?" Kuroo yelled. "Yeah whatever you can have it back." Kuroo frowned a bit, "Nah, I'll just leave it where it is." Daishou stared at him with a miserable look on his face. He looked like something deep inside him was broken, and would never be fixed. He looked like he had lost something. "Oh. Okay," he said quietly. They played a few more rounds, and Kuroo ended up drinking the most out of all of them. Almost every single time someone asked him a truth question he ended up drinking. He was smiling, but he seemed sad. "Kuroo's turn," Akaashi said. "Heh," he said, and Daishou threw a plastic cup at him. "Akaashi." Akaashi knew very well that Kuroo was a nosy little shit and asked the worst truths. "Dare," he said. "Kiss Bokuto." Akaashi sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He really should've seen this coming. He hated drinking. He did not, however, hate Bokuto. Akaashi grabbed Bokuto's face in his hands and kissed him. "Happy?" he asked Kuroo, not even trying to hide the deep red blossoming on his face. "I–um… okay," Bokuto kept stuttering out incoherent phrases. "What just–thanks?" They played another round, all the while Akaashi waited patiently. "Kuroo," he said when it was finally his turn. "Dare." "It's your turn to kiss someone. Kiss Kenma." Kuroo's eyes went wide. He visibly hesitated – he thought about drinking, but didn't want to give Akaashi the satisfaction. “Are you okay with that, Kenma?” Kenma was barely invested in the group activity anymore as he was still very upset about the bees, but turned at the sound of his name. “Huh?” Kuroo leaned over and kissed Kenma on the forehead. “There.” Kenma brought his hand up to his forehead. “Huh?” He repeated. Daishou shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Kuroo settled back down and glared at Akaashi. It quickly became a trend. If anyone picked dare they knew what was coming to them. “Bokuto, truth or d-dare.” Daishou asked when it was his turn. “Dare!” Akaashi facepalmed. “B-Bokuto,” Daishou hiccupped, “kiss Kuroo.” “No!” Kuroo protested. “He and Akaashi are dating!” “I don’t care.” Akaashi said. “Really?” Bokuto asked. “Yeah, I trust you.” “A’IGHT.” Bokuto jumped up, and before anyone could say anything, grabbed Kuroo’s face and kissed him on the mouth. Kuroo sat there bug-eyed for the 1.75 seconds (yes, Akaashi was counting) Bokuto was latched to him and remained so even after the kiss was over. “Ah! Dude! Warn me next time!” “Ahahaha, sorry!” Bokuto laughed and plopped back down on the couch. He scanned the room (of four other people) for someone who hadn’t kissed anyone yet. “KenMA!” He yelled. Kenma jumped a bit in his seat. He’d seemed to have given up on the bees and was just silently watching everyone else, but no one could tell if he was actually paying attention. “What?” “Kiss someone. I don’t care who, just do it now!” Bokuto didn’t even give him a choice on the matter. Kenma didn’t even seem to notice, though, as he was looking from person to person, trying to make his decision. Kuroo? No, plus he’d already been kissed by him. Daishou? No way in hell. Bokuto? No thanks. Akaashi? Well, it was the best option he had. “Akaashi,” Kenma commanded. “Come here.” Akaashi sighed and stood up, already having accepted his fate. He kneeled down next to Kenma and let him cup his face and kiss him. Kenma pulled away and dropped his hands. “Your lips are soft.” He commented. “Eh?” Akaashi’s alcohol-flushed face darkened a bit in color, caught off guard. “Oh, um, thank you.” He stood up and was about to walk back to the couch when Kenma called his name again. “Akaashi.” “Yeah?” “Kiss Kuroo.” Kenma followed in Bokuto’s footsteps and didn’t even ask Akaashi truth or dare. Akaashi couldn’t even find it in himself to sigh again. Kuroo stood up with his trademark smirk and held out his hand. “Allow me.” “Uhh…” Akaashi, confused as can be, hesitantly gave his hand to Kuroo. Who proceeded to yank him close, then full-on dipped and kissed him. Daishou facepalmed and Bokuto immediately shrieked and pulled Akaashi away from him, who seemed to be in a state beyond even shock. Kuroo laughed and sat back down, making a drunk mental note to apologize for that later. Then it was Akaashi's turn again. He looked over at Daishou, who’d been watching the entire spectacle successfully without getting himself involved. That needed to change. If you traced it back far enough, it was technically Daishou’s fault that this was happening, since he’s the one who got the alcohol. Bitterness aside, they’d barely interacted the entire game and Akaashi was a bit curious about him. "Daishou," he said, “Truth or dare.” "Uh, dare," it took him a moment but he swiftly realized his mistake, "Shit no, fUck. Truth." "Fuck, I don't know." Drinking only gave Akaashi a headache and he had a very minor one, which was currently interfering with his ability to think. "Kiss Kuroo." Kenma half-laughed-half-hiccuped. "Uh oh, that'd be weird since they used to date," he said, apparently in some tired, alcohol-induced daze. "Yeah tr–THEY WHAT?" Bokuto stood up and almost fell over. Akaashi Blinked™. He really should've guessed that. “So that’s why they argue all the time!” Bokuto mused aloud. "Kenma!" Kuroo looked horrified. "Oh, sorry. I forgot." Daishou was staring at the ground. He looked like he was about to come unglued. "Okay, well, uh, I can give you another dare?" Akaashi asked. He knew well enough not to pry and start any incidents while everyone (i.e. Kuroo, Kenma, and Daishou) was drunk and emotional. “No I think I’m done playing,” Daishou replied, barely restrained tears burning in his eyes. Suddenly, it was like a weight settled down on the apartment. The alcohol-scented air was too thick to get words out. “...You sure?” Akaashi asked. He could tell Daishou was about to do something stupid and wanted to distract him before it happened. “Wait, what happened?” Bokuto asked. “Bokuto,” Akaashi warned. Daishou stood up, a bit wobbly, “You know it’s funny, what happened,” he snarled. “Daishou, stop.” Kenma demanded. "Oh, what? You don’t want everyone to know? Well it’s too late, cuz you just had to bring it up, didn’t you?” “Daishou, stop,” Kenma repeated, “You’re drunk.” “I’m drunk? You’re the one blurting out this crap when I tried so hard to hide it!” “God, can’t you just let it go!?” Kenma yelled. His words echoed like thunder – and like the rain, silence fell. Daishou started shaking with the horrible realization that no, he couldn’t just let it go. He never could. After a moment of silence, Bokuto softly spoke, “....Just what happened between you?” Daishou snapped his head back up, face red from the alcohol, the anger, the withheld tears. “Oh not much, we were childhood friends, dated for a while when we were teenagers, then he left me for pudding-head over there. You get the gist," Daishou was seething, but something in his eyes looked nostalgic and sad. He seemed on the brink of something the entire night and now pieces of him were falling apart. The past was coming unraveled, and so was Daishou. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need some water." Kenma's mood shifted immediately and everyone could see it. His face darkened with an unidentifiable emotion. It looked like guilt. He stood up without saying anything and started walking quickly towards the bathroom. "Kenma wait," Kuroo started following him but Kenma started running. His breathing was laboured and he looked like he was about to collapse. Somehow he got to the bathroom, slammed the door, and locked it. Kuroo whirled on Daishou, "What the fuck was that about?" Daishou attempted to calmly drink his water but his hands were shaking so badly he spilled it on the floor, "It's what happened." "That is not what fucking happened." "Then why the fuck did you leave!" Daishou turned and threw the red plastic cup at the wall. The soft clattering noise didn’t match the tone of the situation. Water spilled onto the floor. Daishou wanted to break something. He wanted to scream and shout until Kuroo felt the pain he felt. He wanted to punch something until everything was broken. He wanted to tear this unfair universe to shreds. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted, but he couldn’t. "Why, Tetsurou? Why?" he finally said, practically screaming. He was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, hands gripping his hair tight. His eyes flitted back and forth nervously and he was mumbling incoherent nonsense under his breath. Bokuto and Akaashi got up from the couch and went into Bokuto's room. "I... I don't know," Kuroo was so drunk he could barely process the tears streaming down his face. "You don't know? You don't know? Well neither do I and it's been driving me fucking crazy for years so maybe come back to me when you have some fucking answers," Daishou continued to pace about the kitchen and he continued mumbling things Kuroo couldn't hear. "Fuck!" Daishou yelled, collapsing onto the floor and covering his ears with his hands. He looked like he was seconds away from screaming. Kuroo had seen him like this before. He had seen it when Daishou's mind overtook him. He knew when Daishou was starting to lose control. He knew when Daishou's actions were to be decided by his paranoia and not his conscience. "You think too much," he would always tease at Daishou when they were children. And he did think too much. He thought and thought and thought until all his thoughts were screaming and he couldn't think anymore. That was when Daishou became pure impulse. Impulse rooted in paranoid thoughts. Kuroo put his anger aside for now, "Suguru, you need to calm down." "Why? Why did you do it?" he looked broken and sad and although Kuroo had let their past die he felt it rear its head. "I don't know. I'll never know. It's dead, Suguru. Let it be dead." "Is it really?" Kuroo was so taken aback by the question he couldn't answer. Kuroo had never thought about it, he knew it was dead because he could barely feel it anymore. Occasionally, he remembered, but like any amputated limb, there were phantom pains. Ghosts of something gone. Kuroo was sure it was dead. He had never questioned, never doubted, because he was the one that killed it. He was the one who buried it. Yet, in that moment he wondered. He was so sure that it was gone, but for one second he thought: was it really? For one moment, he questioned, he doubted, he challenged. For one uneasy moment, he was unsure. Kuroo couldn’t speak. He didn't need to, he could see Daishou start to calm down. Daishou looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to answer. Kuroo couldn't answer, he had no answers for Daishou. Daishou sighed, wiped the tears from his face, and went silently to his room.   Kenma's breath was hissing quickly between his clenched teeth. He was breathing fast but his lungs were devoid of air. He felt dizzy. He could hear Kuroo and Daishou arguing through the bathroom door. He breathed faster. He was lying face down on the bathroom floor. His lungs weren't getting any air, his hands and feet felt cold and dead. Kenma was banging his head against the floor trying to rid his brain of the anxiety that lived there. Calm down. Calm down. He repeated that thought like a mantra, to block out all his other thoughts. Slowly, slowly he started to. His breathing slowed to normal, his numb hands started to feel again, his racing heart stopped feeling like it was being ripped out of his chest, and he started to feel better. His head hurt, both from lack of air and the fact that for five minutes he'd been hitting it on the floor, but he felt better. And then he started thinking.   He thought back to his childhood, back when he didn't talk. Why didn't he talk? That seemed to be the question everyone was asking; except for Kenma. Kenma didn't care if he talked or not. He felt more comfortable not talking. Talking in certain situations made him incredibly anxious. So anxious it paralyzed him. Everyone asked him why he didn't talk. Everyone had expectations of him. Everyone tried to understand him, like he was a case study. Everyone wanted him to talk. No one understood. Then there was Kuroo. Who at least tried to understand. Instead of forcing Kenma into his ideals, he tried to change his own. While he still didn't understand, he tried nonetheless. They met Daishou. Daishou tried to understand, too. They both tried so hard and Kenma loved them for it. Daishou and Kuroo, they made him happy. They made each other happy. There was a time everyone was happy and it seemed like they always would be. Kenma was glad to be a part of all that happiness. Then it all fell apart, and Daishou blamed Kenma, and, honestly, Kenma blamed himself too. He didn't know how it was his fault. He just knew it was. "Oh not much, we were childhood friends, dated for a while when we were teenagers, then he left me for pudding-head over there. You get the gist." Kenma felt like a monster, like he had destroyed something beautiful. Worst of all, he felt like everyone hated him for it. He wouldn't have blamed them if they did. When you feel like everyone hates you, you start to hate yourself. Kenma could ignore it most of the time, but in certain situations all that pain came to the surface. In certain situations, he remembered himself, remembered his fear. In certain situations, his silence came back. There were thousands of reasons why Kenma didn't like to talk. Thousands of reasons he never made eye contact. Thousands of reasons why he had locked himself in this bathroom. There were thousands of reasons why he was the way he was, and no one understood a single one. Kenma peeled himself off of the floor and ran his hands under freezing cold water, trying to jolt himself back to reality. It wasn't working. He turned the water off. He sat down on the floor and thought for a few more minutes. No one seemed to understand Kenma. Kenma didn't even understand himself. Kenma was a mystery even to himself. An enigma that couldn't be solved. He didn't mind, though. As long as he had something to distract himself, it wasn't a problem. That's what Kenma's life revolved around: distraction. As long as he kept his mind busy, he didn't have to think about the things that haunted him. God, there were a lot of ghosts hounding him, and occasionally one caught up, but Kenma was good at running from his problems. So he kept running, and hoped the fatigue wouldn't set in. There was a soft knock at the door. "Kenma, I really don't want to bother you, but I am seconds from throwing up. You can go in my room, I won't go in," Kuroo's speech was disastrously slurred. Kenma unlocked the door and opened, it. He didn't try to talk to Kuroo, he knew he wouldn't be able to. Instead he walked into Kuroo's room and collapsed onto the bed. Kenma was tired. Tired of his brain, tired of not understanding. Tired of running. Kenma laid in Kuroo's bed and gazed up at the ceiling. He pretended he was staring at the stars. Kenma related to stars, they had died long ago but everyone could still see them. If they kept moving, they could pretend they weren't already dead. Stars, they were mysteries. Just like Kenma. The whole universe was made of mysteries.   Kuroo was throwing up in a toilet and he'd never felt more miserable. Years ago he had ruined whatever he'd had with Daishou and he couldn't stop thinking about it. Why had he left Daishou? He doubted he would ever know. Kuroo avoided his problems. He laughed his troubles away. He buried that shit down deep so it could be repressed and turned into unhealthy behaviors. He didn't know why he had left Daishou, why he had broken Daishou like that. He was sure it was buried somewhere inside him, but he didn't want to dig that deep. Kuroo prefered to forget about it. But then he had to be roommates with Daishou fucking Suguru of all people and was forced to remember everything. Forced to remember his feelings, his fears. "Is it really?" Was it really dead? I don't know, Daishou. I don't know. It really felt like it was dead. It really did. Kuroo was positive he'd killed it all those years ago. Now he wasn't so sure. Kuroo sighed and slumped against the toilet. If the pain from him and Daishou's relationship wasn't dead, the rest of it sure was. Kuroo was tired. He picked himself up off the floor and walked out into the living room. He fell face first into the couch and grabbed the Star Wars blanket off the back of it. He was cold, he was alone, he was tired. He was so drunk that for the first time in years he got a decent night of sleep.

The knock lands on her door at exactly 6 P.M. He knows she is expecting it but he is surprised at which the speed it opens. It's as if she was going to make an attempt to usher in her caller before anyone saw him in the hall. Only what she wasn't expecting was Bucky. "Oh hey... I can't believe I am saying this but this isn't actually a good time, Barnes." She leans out the door to look for her dates arrival and Bucky catches a whiff of her gardina perfume. "Umm... yeah. About that..." Bucky scratches the back of his head with his free hand. "He ain't coming, Doll." He braces himself for her reaction. "What. Did. You. Do?" Her arms cross over her chest and each word comes out like a firm pressed finger to the chest. "Nothin', really. Coupl'a old fashioned Gentleman sit him down and ask him exactly what his intention are and the guy panics?" Bucky puts his palms out in earnest. Then slides into a considerablly more michevious look. "Tsk, tsk Darcy. Thought I taught you better than to go picking these dishonorable fellows." His jaw goes up in a smirk but stops before it gets too wide when he realizes she is not finding any humor in it. "You had no right. That is a complete invasion." Bucky was kinda of scared of calm, articulate Darcy. "You are absolutely right and I couldn't agree with you more... that is why I let Steve do all the talkin'. Every bit of it. You can take it up with him." "And you said nothing? Just stood there?" Her eyebrow raised. "Scouts honor, Darling." He holds up a hang signal he would think Steve's alter-ego would use to convey truth, honor and something righteous. "Did you happen to be in your tactical gear while you were wordlessly looming?" He knows he's been made. The smile that comes to him is equal parts nerves and knowing his girl really knows him. She again, doesn't see any of it humorous. "Goodnight, Barnes." She goes to shut the door  and he throws his arm up to stop it. "Look, hear me out. Darcy, please. I'm begging you." He hopes his face wears a little of the desperation he feels.  "What?" She certainly isn't going to make this easy. "Not here. Come out with me. I wanna show you somethin'."  This time both eyebrows raise. "Come on. I borrowed Steve's bike and I even bought you your own leather jack-" She snatches the jacket he holds in his hand before he can even finish. She's got it up to her cheek when he continues. "It's vintage. I know how you like vintage." She scowls and he wonders if he is going to stop with the wisecracks knowing none of them are landing. Probably not. "Yeah. Al'right but I gotta say after what you just pulled with Brad, I am only agreeing to go because I am afraid you will take back this beautiful piece of clothing if I don't." She slips it on and sighs contentedly. " ahh... How do I look?" She ask as she goes about removing her hair from the colar and Bucky isn't sure if it was rhetorical. "Like I am glad I knew you've always wanted one. Come on." He nods to the hall and she follows after she grabs a few things to stuff in her pockets. The ride down to the garage is silent but the energy is deafening. He hasn't been this close to her in over a month and he feels himself wanting to plead with JARVIS to stop the whole car so he can kiss her breathless up against a wall. He is lost in those very thought when the chime sounds and they have arrived at their destination.  He pyically clears his throat to mentally clear hus head. He chances a hand on her lower back to usher her out of the lift. Steve's bike sets there all clean, shiny and begging for a ride. He hands her a helmet and gets on the bike himself. He steadies it and extends a hand for her to reach out and join him. Once she is on it is obvious that she's trying to figure out the most appropriate way to hold on. She is soft and tenative in her touch and if Bucky, maybe, exelerates into the first turn with a little more force than needed... well then, he kinda allows her to feel a little more comfortable with getting a safer grip. If he should get her pressed into his back more for it, then it is merely a reward for a good deed. They weave through the traffic and cross the bridge to reach Brooklyn. He parks it in a non-discript spot on the street and dismounts before helping her do the same. "Where are we going?" She asks.  "Everywhere." He shrugs into it and begins to walk with Darcy trailing a step behind. And they did go everywhere. Everwhere Bucky could remember being back before the War. So much had begun to piece itself together for him. He filled Darcy in on every bit of intresting information. He showed her where some of the buildings he used to live once stood. He showed her where they would play stickball and untap fire hydrants in the summer. Not to mention nearly every spot he ever saved Steve's sorry behind. Darcy took it all in. She remained mostly quiet and it scared the hell out of Bucky. Though her face wore a warm regard at everything he showed her. When he laughed, she laughed. When parts were a little too rough to recall, she would lay a hand on his arm to steady him. By the time it wound up coming to an end, the sun had long set and he was guiding her through a small alleyway. He stopped beneath a retracted fire escape ladder and turned to her.  "Hold right here. I got one more place I wanna show you." He begins to reach for the end of the ladder when she places a flat palm on his forearm. "Bucky..." "No,  Darcy. I know what you're going to say and-" "No, I really don't think you do." "I do. You're gonna say this has been fun and all but considering I just had you follow me around Brooklyn for hours and not once talked about the fact we-I left an entire month go by without making things right. You're just about ready to call it a night...but let me show this one last time. I promise I-" "Yeah, you really don't. I was going to say 'allow me.'" "Allow you what?" Darcy points her finger at the ladder above Bucky's head. She then goes about placing a hand on either of his arms and guiding him into her desired postion. She then turns and grabs an old metal trash can lid of a nearby can and hands it to Bucky. "Here hold this riiiiiiiight here. There. Perfect." She once again goes about adjusting Bucky into postion before take a few large step down the alley and turning to face him. "Ready. Just hold that lid tight." Darcy took off towards Bucky's direction. Though where he thought she was coming right at him, she actually ran up the wall parallel to him and kicked off towards the lid he had been holding. Her feet met it and Bucky countered the force with a slight insinctual lift. Darcy used it to throw her herself up and towards the end of the ladder. She paused once her hands gripped the bottom rung. With a hearty grunt she used her upper body to pull her top half above her hands and the ladder began to slide towards the ground. Darcy gracefully slid down for the ride. She drops the remaining gap and her feet connect to the concrete. "Still think you know what I was gonna say?" A proud, trumphain glow to her up turned smirk. "I, uh."  "Here. Put your hand out and boost me back up there." Darcy steps into his offered palm and back up the ladder. She continues on to the next platform. "You gonna tell me what the hell that just was, Lewis?" He says as he reaches up to pull himself up behind her. When he begins the climb they make eye contact and Darcy just shrugs. "A month is a long time to fill the space buring off all the physical energy you were use to buring other ways." She wags her eyebrows. "Maybe I finally sought Natasha for that training." "Bullshit. And forgive me for saying this, I've seen you in action and there is no way even Natalia had you leaping up buildings in a month."  She stops mid-climb and turns back offended briefly then nods in agreement. "How long?" It's all he ask but they both know the timing says so much more. "I think about right after I decided I wanted to see you naked as often as I could. Plus you were a complete pushover. Maybe my lack of athletic prowess was a direct reflection on my teacher." With that Bucky bypasses the steps leading up to the final platform on which Darcy was standing and waiting. Instead he swung himself out, up and over from railing to railing, landing directly in front of Darcy, filling the remaining small space. He's looking down at her from past his nose. She looks up and swallows hards. He's waiting. "Look, I just didn't want you to think it was because I needed protection from you. Stamina to keep up, maybe, but never protection." Her head dips and the weight of the of everything behind her training settles in the small space between them. A minute ticks by in the silence. Darcy doesn't look up from her feet but she sorta leans forward enough to where Bucky is wondering if she wants to lay her head on his chest. He brings up a hand to rest it on her arm but thinks better of it and pulls back. "We're almost there. After you my ninja master." Bucky manages to makes a sweeping gesture in the tight space. She rolls her eyes dramaticly as she hip checks him to continue up and over ledge of the buildings roof. Bucky is right on her tail. The soft glow of the party bulbs illuminate the roof. A half dozen strands strung all across the length of the roof. All set up to frame the space where a blanket is laid out and a handful of plush pillows beckon to be lounged on. Tall, thick pillar candles clustered and lit near one of the corners of the sitting area. Even Bucky, who instructed where everthing should go is taken back with just how whimsically romantic it all looks. He's totally still "got it" he thinks to himself. A sentiment eckoed when he sees Darcy's face take it all in. "How did you?..." She trails off, looking at the pillows once more. "I had some help."  She looks over everything one more time and then a realization comes to her.  "Wait. You had roof access? Wanna tell me why I had to shimmy my way up a Fire Escape?" "Honestly?" Darcy waits for him to continue. "You put on that leather jacket for the ride and I kinda hoped you would have needed a little more help boosting up to the ladder." Bucky is only half ashamed of his admission. "Perv!" Darcy quickly raisies a hand to hit his arm. She friegs shock and then says " How'd that work out for you, huh?" She laughs when his face fall and he feels foolish for being unaware she could handle herself. Then again, assuming she was any level of helpless is what got them to his grand gesture in the middle of Brooklyn in the first place. "So where are we?" She turns to fully face him and he mirrors the stance. "All little boxing gym Steve and I like to escape to." "You guys come here now. You telling me this place has been up since before the war?!" He smiles and puts his hands in his pockets. "No." He softly chuckles. "This is the first place I told anyone I was in I love with you." Her face shoots to his and his hands quickly from his pockets and bracing themselves on either of Darcy forearms. Holding her in place, holding himself in place. She doesn't move but a slight summer breeze moves a strand of hair in her face. Bucky sweeps his metal hand across her cheek and moves it behind her ear. She turns and purrs into the touch. Her eyes close and Bucky didn't know he could ever see something so beautiful and tender involving the limb that was made for killing. "It was Steve, by the way." "Huh?" Her eyes open and she can't place what he is saying. "Who I told.... That I love you.... Steve was the person I told." Now was not the time to start losing his nerve and go into a ramble. "Well now I guess you just told me too." She says and goes to cup his face. "Yeah. Guess I did. Come on." He takes her by the hand and leads her to the blanket. "Sit with me. Don't make my whole spiel go to waste." "A spiel, huh? I love a good spiel." They sit side by side but flushed against each other. For Darcy on a good day, this isn't too informal of a touch by for Bucky it is a beacon of hope. "I wanted to show you who I was. Bucky the kid from Brooklyn who never met a pretty dame, that wasn't worth a second look. That guy is still in me somewhere, Darce. He ain't the only one either. Ya know? There's another one in there. The one they made me into and-" Darcy goes to interject. "Let me finish, al'right. I know you're going to say you don't care and he doesn't scare you and I believe you. You're one of the bravest people I've ever met. That's saying something when you take the likes of Carter into consideration." "Not Steve?" Darcy still manages to interrupt.  "Steve's foolish. There's a difference."  He makes a pointed face at her. "Anyways, what I am saying is, you may not be afraid of him but I am. You're everything, Doll. If something should happen to you?" She makes a face at him that indicates what he's saying is an emotional punch. "With that said... I think he's got a thing for you." He softens.  "Yeah?" She says behind a smile. "Yeah. I think we all do. Buck, the other guy... and me. Barnes. The guy who just wants to learn who he is now to be here with you." Dracy presses into his side and Bucky takes it as a cue to lift his arm an ddrape it around her to let her get closer. "But Darce?" "Barnes?" "I need you though. I need to be able to talk about it. What I'm afraid of. What concerns me. I need you to let me express it and not try and to handle it for me because you think I can't." She looks up at him apologeticly guilty. "That's why you think I tried to keep things from you?" She is searching his face. "Yes, I am guilty of trying to protect you..." "Protect me?!" "Yeah YOU!  I knew you could handle it. You getting up everyday and just living proves you can handle anything. That doesn't mean I didn't want to help aliviate the things you don't have to worry about when I could for the both of us. You got enough guilt for three lifetime's, Barnes. I wanted to help with some of the burden by not adding anymore. Plus, you said yourself. The Asset kinda has a thing for me." She playfully digs an elbow into his side."Plus, plus... I knew going in it was only a matter of time until I came face to face with him. It wasn't exactly a shock." He is again reminded just how brave she is when she shifts to sit sideways across his lap. "I get what you're saying and I am not apologizing for worrying about your wellbeing because that is what you do for someone you love, but I do promise, from here on out, everything is an open book. Scouts honor." She mocks his earlier hand gesture and he smiles leaning into her neck and pulling her close.  "You just said you love me." He says against her skin. "Yeah well don't let it go to your head." He moves to tickle her and she gives up embrassingly fast. Leaning into him with with her cheek pressed to the side of his head. She cradles the other side in her hand. "I do love you, Barnes. All of you." She pulls back look into his eyes. Her hand now on his cheek as she leans in to kiss him.  He pads a spot in the pillows with one arm and shifts to lay her down gently on them. He's over her and making up for lost time with soft kisses that run deep with promise. "Finally!" A muffled shout comes from behind the door leading into the building. Darcy and Bucky pull apart at the sound. Bucky looks back at Darcy. "See. Foolish. Now I'm going to have to kill him." Bucky goes to push off. "Mmm. Later. More kissing!" Darcy pulls on his shirt to bring him back. And kiss her, he does.

Darcy got used to the new routine. Clint would knock on her door to pick her up, and they'd head over to work together. Before, she would have taken the subway, or gone in with Jane. But Clint preferred to walk, and Darcy figured the exercise would do her good since she sat around on her ass all day in the lab. He'd been given a desk in the lab, but he barely used it. He would pace, stare out the windows with that weird thousand-yard stare. Darcy figured it was some messed up Gulf War vet thing, until one day he told her that there was a pool on the roof of one of the neighbouring buildings, and he was scoping out a hot blonde. Darcy had smacked his arm (which was like hitting a freaking rock) and they'd walked down to the cafeteria—or what passed for a cafeteria in a Stark property, which was more like the most expensive mall food court in the history of the world, only free. Darcy knew that normally he'd spend half his day at the weapons range and the other half in the gym. She worried that he was gonna get totally flabby hanging out with her, eating Lucky Charms and watching bad made-for-tv movies on cable. But Clint admitted he worked out after she'd gone to bed half the time. She figured his room must be like full of weights or something, but she didn't ask and he didn't tell. Clint stayed super-cut and she got sleep. Everyone won. Sometimes instead of going straight back to the mansion after work, they'd grab dinner in Curry Hill, or at little hole-in-the-wall diners where Clint knew the names of all the servers and usually got free cheese fries. He had a sixth sense for every place that served breakfast all day in Manhattan, and Darcy ignored his cutting remarks about eating pancakes for dinner. It was like dating, only without the sex. Darcy wasn't sure how she felt about that. Still, it was nice to go places full of normal people who didn't travel from place to place via a flying aircraft carrier. It reminded her that real life existed, and that not everything involved life-or-death stakes, insane Asgardian family values, or someone trying to take over the world. Sometimes, life was just hanging out after work with a dude, munching cheese fries with a side of way too bland guacamole, while watching sheets of late summer rain came down outside. "I'm just saying—Superman totally sucks at the whole secret identity thing. I mean, at least Batman wears a mask and gloves. All Lex Luthor has to do is run his prints, and the guy's totally screwed." "This from a guy whose super-secret disguise is a pair of shades?" Darcy pointed out, shaking drops of hot sauce onto a guac-laden corn chip. "It's not a disguise. I'm not a superhero—I'm Special Ops. They help cut down glare. Which is, you know, useful for a sniper." "Yeah, but you don't wear gloves," she said around a mouthful of food. He tossed her a napkin, and she gave him the finger. "I don't have Ma and Pa Kent on a farm in Kansas like sitting ducks for any psycho who runs facial recognition on me." "Where are Ma and Pa Barton?" "Buried in Saint Mary's in Waverly, Iowa." Darcy winced, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be—" "It's okay." Clint cut her off with a wave of his hand. "It's not like I talk about it all that much. They died when I was just a kid. My dad was drunk, there was a tree. It happens." He shrugged, but Darcy was still unnerved by the casualness of his admission. "You don't have any other family?" "My brother, but..." Clint pushed the empty creamers around in a circle on the Formica tabletop. "We don't really get along." "He doesn't approve of the whole Secret Agent thing?" "It's a really long story. What about you?" Clint asked, clearly switching topics away from Casa Del Barton. "My dad lives in LA with his new wife and two toddlers." Darcy shrugged. She'd got over her dad ditching them for the Lewis Family Mark II a long time ago. "My mom and I are still okay, though." "Where does she live?" "Long Island. She's embraced her life as a bridge and tunnel person." Clint raised a brow. "How did you end up in New Mexico?" he asked, as if it were the moon or something. Then again, compared to Manhattan, Puente Antiguo was pretty much another planet. "Compromise. I wanted to go out to California, to put the maximum amount of distance between myself and my folks, but my dad wigged. Which is ironic, considering he's in Orange County now with Bethany or Trixie or whatever her name is. Anyway, UNM gave me a scholarship, and they had a decent Women's Studies programme..." Clint pulled a face. "You started off in Women's Studies?" "It's a long story. I switched to English my junior year, and then settled on Political Science last year." "That's kinda... random." "It was Albuquerque." Darcy shrugged. "Not a lot to do there unless you're a snowboarder or a stoner. I took a lot of electives. I like learning stuff." "You gonna stay in school forever?" Clint asked, and Darcy felt her cheeks heat up with how close to the mark his innocent question was. The truth was, Darcy had bounced around from department to department like a pinball. She had moved to the Southwest with one goal in mind: strike out on her own. But once she'd got there, she had realised she didn't know who she was—or who she wanted to become. She'd figured that was normal. Wasn't that what college was for? Sure, it's about getting a degree, but mostly it was about testing the waters personally and intellectually. That meant experimenting with clothes, experimenting with alcohol, experimenting with sex, and experimenting with her own views of the world and her place in it. When she'd filled out the paperwork to take the internship with a crazy theoretical astrophysicist out in the middle of the desert between Santa Fe and Albuquerque, it was a whim. She had wanted a change of pace, a change of venue, and frankly, a change from the Poli-Sci graduate programme. She'd picked the coursework because she was interested—but she had no clue what she wanted to do with that knowledge out in the world. It had just been safe, hiding in academia. Which made it ironic that she had quit six credits away from a masters degree to move to New York and play sidekick to a bunch of superheroes. "I dunno. Job market sucks, and as long as S.H.I.E.L.D. is still paying me, I have a handle on my student loans. And as day jobs go, it's not so bad." "Except for the part where you keep getting targeted by costumed psychos." "Eh, it happens." She shrugged as casually as she could, and Clint smiled into his mug as he tipped it back to drain the last swallow of coffee. Darcy wouldn't admit even under torture that her eyes were totally glued to his throat as he swallowed. Nope. She'd take that secret with her to her grave. Clint pushed the mug to the side, and got up. "I gotta—" "—go to the little archer's room?" Darcy finished for him, raising a brow. "After, like, 6 cups of coffee? What a shock." "Be right back," he said, and Darcy dug through her bag to fish out her wallet to cover her half of the cheque. She looked up when someone slid into the booth opposite her, and froze. "What happened to 'Farewell, Darcy Lewis. We shall not meet again'?" Loki shrugged. "I lied." He was wearing a wrinkled white button-down over what appeared to be a faded ABBA tee-shirt and rumpled black blazer, with a green knitted scarf wound several times around his neck and a dusty grey tweed grandpa hat with a sad little feather in its brim. The problem was, Darcy was pretty sure he was wearing the entire outfit unironically. "Okay, for the record, hipster ranks even lower on the 'acceptable to be seen with' scale than Harvard MBA." "I merely wished to blend in." "Please tell me you are not wearing fingerless gloves. That was so 2005." He lifted a hand, wagging his fingers in her face. Yep. Gloves. "You are so hopelessly tragic." Darcy waved the server over. "You know, my friend's gonna be back any minute." "No he won't." Darcy's mouth dropped open in shock, and by reflex she reached for her taser, which she was now legally able to carry thanks to Coulson, even though he'd warned her that if she used it on anyone on S.H.I.E.L.D. property he'd personally tase her. "What did you—" "Calm yourself, little cuckoo. Your bodyguard is fine. Just... indisposed. To give us a little much-needed privacy." "Tell me you didn't use magic." Loki leaned forward, looking her straight in the eye. "I did not use magic," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. Darcy rolled her eyes. Weirdly, she wasn't as freaked out as she felt she should have been. Maybe it was the knowledge that Clint was in the bathroom, and she was chipped like Paris Hilton's chihuahua. Or maybe she was just getting immune to Loki, due to constant exposure. Either way she just scooped up another chunk of avocado and cilantro with her fork. "So how goes your courtship of Lady Sif?" Darcy asked, her face splitting in a wide grin. "See what I did, there? I can talk all fancy too, you know." "The Bifröst is closed to me. Heimdall would not let me set a foot upon it unless I was under heavy guard, on my way to my own execution." "Asgard has no email? That sucks. For a supposedly technically advanced people where science is indistinguishable from magic, you'd think you'd at least have instant messaging." "One of the many ways in which Midgard has surprised me with its cunning and ingenuity, that is true." Loki leaned back in the booth and flexed his fingers over the empty coffee mug in front of him. Darcy rolled her eyes as steam began to rise from the mug, along with the rich aroma of fresh ground coffee beans that were definitely a grade or three above the burnt-tasting stuff that the server had poured for them earlier. "Thor said your buddy Heimdall sees everything," Darcy asked as she added another packet of sugar to her cocoa. "Can't he, like, pass her a note when there's a feast, or something?" "Heimdall never abandons his post. And he bears me considerable ill-will." "You tried to kill him, didn't you." It was a statement rather than a question because hello, it was Loki. Not really a stretch there. Darcy stared at him over the rim of her cup, and was not at all surprised at the way his eyes slid away from hers. "This is why they don't let you join in all their reindeer games. I'm just saying." "It was purely in self-defence," Loki pointed out. "I offered him a blissful retirement on a beach someplace warm. He drew steel first." "Yeah, I'll bet. You're like a walking Xanatos Gambit." Loki looked confused, and she waved it away. "Never mind. If you had the internet, I swear to God you'd never actually get around to trying to take over the world because you'd so spend a month in TV Tropes. Okay, on second thought..." She grabbed the napkin Clint had tossed her, and scribbled down the url. Then, on impulse, she added a phone number and pushed it across the table toward Loki. "Also, here is the number of my therapist. Only, like, don't tell her I sent you, 'cause it took me forever to find her. And if she's seeing both of us, she might have to drop me and I so called dibs first." He scowled. "What? I'm just saying, there are more effective ways of working out your daddy issues than world domination." "I do not have 'daddy issues'," This time it was Darcy who raised a brow. They were engaged in a game of chicken, but Darcy refused to be the first one to blink. Finally, Loki glanced away, his green eyes flicking to the cars zooming by outside the diner's windows. "For all my... issues with what my father did, the truth is, even before I learnt I was stolen from Jötunheimr, I envied my brother his position, his winning charm. Even his woman. All the things I could never have." "I thought you said that Sif wasn't actually engaged to Thor?" "All Asgard assumes so, though she has never expressed any desire to be Queen. Sif is ever her own woman. It is something I always admired about her. Even if she chose to spend all of her time on the training field with Thor and those oafs the Warriors Three." She thought about Thor's friends. "I kinda liked Volstagg, but Fandral's skeevy. Does Hogun ever actually talk?" "I much prefer Hogun's silence to Fandral's incessant inane chatter." "I know, right? When it looked like he was gonna be stuck on Earth, he was all 'Are all mortals as fair as you?' with the hand kissing and Mr Suave routine." "Do you know he calls himself 'Fandral the Dashing'?" "Figures." Darcy snorted with laughter. "Okay, this is kinda weird." "What is?" Loki asked as he took a sip of his coffee. "Um, gossiping with you?" Loki's green eyes sparkled beneath the shadow of his cheesy hat. "I would not call it 'gossiping,' per se." "I mean talking like this. Like we're friends." Darcy frowned. "We're not actually friends, are we?" "I do not know. I find you amusing, and have no immediate desire to kill you. I suppose I am fond of you, as one might care for a small defenceless woodland creature." "You're saying you think of me like a pet?" Loki grinned. "Thor has his pet human—why shouldn't I?" "I had a dog, once. His name was Baker," Darcy said wistfully, and sighed. "Right. So... does that mean you're gonna feed me, and walk me, and give me treats?" "Is not the pleasure of my company treat enough?" "You still killed Dave." "I could bring him back, if you like," he offered with a smile. "No way, Mister Monkey's Paw! I know how you operate. I'd end up with Zombie Dave, trying to eat my brains. No thank you. How 'bout you try not to kill people to begin with?" "There are always casualties of war. Do you think my brother's hands are so clean? He has slain many in battle." "Operative words there, Sparky: in battle. If a dude's trying to kill you, I say you try to kill him right back. But getting off on it is super creepy and so not okay." "And how do you know that I take pleasure in killing?" "'Cause you keep on doing it?" she shot back. "You presume much, little cuckoo." "Okay, tell me I'm wrong. No, wait—I've got a better idea. Show me. Go an entire week without killing anybody." Darcy leaned across the sticky booth tabletop, smiling widely. "I double-dog dare you." "What does that mean?" "It's like a dare times five. You totally can't back down." "And if I win this wager? What is my prize?" He dropped his eyes from hers down to her rack, and Darcy barely resisted the urge to smack him. "Oh, just when I thought you couldn't get any creepier." She pulled her flannel shirt closer around her, purposely covering her cleavage. "Okay, you go a week without killing anybody, and next time you totally kidnap me from my home or workplace, we'll go wherever you want. Dancing, drinks, bar-hopping. Just no murder sprees. Also, I am not putting out." "And if someone is trying to kill me?" "Easy—do not engage. You're an all-powerful prince of Asgard, right? Just, like, go poof or invisible or whatever it is you do." "And be branded a coward?" "Oh please, who of us puny Earthlings could actually hurt you? Just laugh your ass off at anybody dumb enough to try you, and skedaddle. I mean it. Do not engage." Loki's lips twitched into something like a smile. "I agree to the terms." "Okay, now swear. On something that means something to you. Like, I dunno—your Mom. Or Sif's boobs. Whatever." "I swear by the Lady Sif's creamy white—" "Oh, how did I know!" "—bosom that I will not kill anyone for the span of seven days." "Awesome. Now, I need Clint to pay his half of the cheque. Can you undo whatever you did so he can get out here before I'm stuck paying for his dinner?" "Which one is Clint?" "Archer dude. Remember the exploding arrows at the World Trade Center site last month?" "Oh, him." Loki sighed dramatically. "You know, you can do so much better." "Shut up, I actually like the guy." "As you wish," he said with the smile twitching still at the corner of his mouth. With a wave of his hand, he faded from view just as the men's room door swung open, and Clint came sauntering back to the booth. "What did you do, fall in?" "What do you mean? I was only gone a minute." Darcy rolled her eyes, and dropped a ten on the table. It was only then she realised the damp napkin on which she'd scrawled TVTropes.com and Dr Cunningham's office number was gone, too.

“...and then Star taught me how to use a shield with the power of love, and then there was the time Star saved us from a giant bird with steel wings and just went like boom pow and he folded it like an origami and—!” “Whoa, whoa, slow down there Schtu-ball!” It hasn’t even been a hot minute since they hugged hello and his son was already teeming with energy, retelling his week with a speed too fast for the ol’ man to catch up. “Sounds like a lot happened,” Greg put a hand on his boy’s shoulder and led them to sit on the van. “Wanna start with telling me who your new pal Star is?” Judging by Steven’s smile, he could barely keep himself from gushing on again, but then he got that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well you could say you already know him...” his son teased. Oh, playing this game are we? “Is this one o' those things I'll be left guessing all day?” His son just gave him a sly “maybe”. Well, if his son's playin' dirty then he would have to wipe out the ol’ TICKLE ATTACK! And as expected, Steven stood no chance as he struggled under his own giggle-fest. “Hehehe, daaaad! Okay, okay, you win!” “Sorry Schtu-ball, gotta leave some time for our jam session,” giving him a wink, “ Now who is this Star?” he leaned in for his son to talk. Steven pointed a proud thumb to his chest. “It’s me! But from the future!” That took just a moment to settle in. “You but—hold on, what?” Greg had seen enough movies to know messing with time was bad, but he had no idea what it'd be like if it actually happened. “This isn't going to create some crazy time paradoxes or anything?” The last thing he wanted was screw up time too. Steven must’ve found the question to be funny as he'd laughed for a moment, but then the amusement stopped. “I never thought about that. Ummm should I be worried, dad?” “Uhhhh, I don't know either, Schtu-ball, magic stuff isn't exactly my forte. I only know what happens in the movies. So uh, nothing else weird happening?” The dad tried to tackle the subject, but his son should probably rather be looking for the gems for answers. “Not really, but future me glows pink and is really cool, like Garnet levels of cool! He is basically the best that happened!” Greg didn’t know what to think of the first part of that description, but going off of how delighted Steven sounded, it looked like this was one of the good gem things. Now the premise of an older Steven did get Greg a lil’ curious to the person his lil’ Schtu-ball would grow into. Also what would qualify as a Garnet-levels of cool Steven? “Hey, he is right behind you!” Wait wh— “AAAOOOOH Geez!” A pink glowing boy was literally standing only inches away from his seat. Judging from the curly hair and fashion sense, he sure did look like Steven but older. Good thing he wasn’t holding a waffle-iron, because, oh man, that’s why you don’t sneak up on Mr. Universe. “I didn’t expect to see you there! You nearly gave your ol’ man a heart attack!” In fact he could still feel his heartbeat in his ear from that surprise. “And no kidding about that pinkness!” The other Steven didn’t respond to his little scare, just standing all calm. Greg took the time to sober up. “So you’re Star, aka future Schtu-ball, right?” he added with some fancy finger guns. “Nice to meet ya!” Star still didn’t say anything and Greg was starting to feel a bit antsy. To think of it, they never got clear about the future stuff and the middle-aged dad well… he always felt a bit out of the loop and didn’t really know what to do when magic shenanigans were at play. His present son on the other hand had no such reservations and went on to ask him if he was staying for their jam session. A muttered “yes” came from the pink Steven, and now Greg was feeling like he should voice his concern. “So wait, is the future thing okay or?” “Don’t worry, he won’t bite!” Welp, Steven already ran ahead to fetch his ukulele that he had forgotten at the beach house, leaving Greg with the pink newcomer just like that. A bit awkward, yes, that Greg found this regular Sunday evening turned into this all of a sudden, but hopefully he’ll manage as usual. The pink guy didn’t look like he had anything to say, so Greg broke their moment of silence. “So… umm, Star, was it?” “Yes,” he repeated in the same muted tone as before. His pink son hadn’t moved from his spot, even after Greg had stepped away a few, just staring off in the direction Steven left. “You really grew up, I mean, you’re almost my height!” He attempted a chat with a little ice breaker, but the other didn’t lead it further. “So, you’ve been hanging around with Steven, right? Sounds like you’ve had some exciting times, ey?” The dad tried to pick a relevant, easy topic. Seeing how Steven had spoken in passion about it before, he’d hoped to get the other to warm up a little, maybe even ramble about their adventures together. But nothing other than another monotone “yes” came out of the other, and Greg could take the hint that Star wasn’t up for chatting at the moment. It was a bit weird seeing his son closed off like that, but he didn’t exactly know what mood Star was in. In their wait, Greg couldn’t help but be taken in by his appearance. The burning pink aura spoke of magic, foreign to the ordinary human. It was mesmerising in a way—though at the same time unsettling in its surrealness, looking as if he’d been a living negative photo clashing with his surroundings. Not to mention, the way he spoke—the curt messages carrying the same uniform “yes”’es were already odd, but how it sounded was a whole new layer of strange. The sound ensnared itself into the human dad’s mind as an echo from within. It was moments like these that really went to show how alien the gems could be. But there was another thing that really stood out. The other’s arms were squared in a tense posture as he’d still not made a move. Greg inched a bit closer, being able to see the other’s face. His eyes were far with a stare that was either way too focused or entirely spaced out, and the dad couldn’t help but be concerned. “St… Steven are you okay?” He slipped into his son’s regular name, getting a little closer as no reply came, eventually placing a hand from the back as he stepped beside him. At contact, the other broke his endless stare to look up at him with an unreadable expression. Greg was about to repeat his question until the running form of a kid panting out of breath made his way to them with his iconic ukulele in hand. “Whoa there, Schtu-ball,” Greg’s dadly instincts were kicking in as he went to fetch him a cool bottle of water from the van. “No need to overwork yourself there!” Accepting the much needed bottle, Steven rested it on his head. “Huff-huff, didn’t wanna miss out on jam time!” “Awww, come here,” his dad gave him a squeeze, “be sure to drink that up and then we’ll begin!” Lifting his gaze from the side-hug, Greg saw how Star’s eyes had broken off from its trance earlier and instead landed on a little left to the both of them, before looking down. --- ★ --- They’d all settled around the back of van, Steven and Greg harmonising together for their evening jam, while the half Diamond had taken his seat to the sunbaked pavement in front of them. Originally, he’d been standing in the same spot as he was before, but his dad had given him the timid suggestion to sit down more comfortably. Star knew the role of a spectator was to enjoy their performance, but in all honesty, he couldn’t focus on what they were playing—the tune and words just blended into a muffled mush. Physically, his eyes were fixated on the simple plucks of Steven’s ukulele and his dad’s guitar, and yet his mind was somewhere else entirely. He’d been trying to avoid thinking about his dad. Out of them all, it was his dad that took the news of his death the worst. And yet he’d always go out of his way to see him. Eventually, eyes needed to be diverted below his dad’s face to avoid seeing the red puffy eyes that the man in the future wore, those that desperately held back a fresh new wave of tears. He tried to be there for him… he tried so much despite how it pained him... Whenever Star got a visit from his old man, he’d look down, avoiding that look as Greg bent forward to give him a hug and talk to him like he didn’t have a quiver in voice, like he didn’t just want to break down right then and there. Greg didn’t say much other than offering his reassurances, that he’d always love him and want to be there for him, that the half gem could always come to him and voice whatever he needed. And then there were the apologies… the sorrys about not having done enough, the regrets... As if the half Diamond hadn’t been the one to hurt them. And yet the Diamond never talked back. He never talked to his dad—simply gesturing with simple nods and shakes of his head, with hands and a body that pulled and nudged his way to communicate. Honestly he was afraid. Afraid that speaking in his voice again… speaking in Steven’s voice, would only break the old man further. Just seeing the animated form of Rose brought such pain to his dad that he couldn’t imagine how much it pained him to be around the living reminder of his dead son. “Hey Star, do you have anything in mind? Any fun lyrics ya wanna add?” Star’s thoughts momentarily snapped back to the present. His dad had interrupted his playing to include him in their song-making. Star didn’t have it in him to give a verbal reply, so he simply shook his head. The singing pair didn’t mind his turndown and went about brainstorming amongst themselves as they continued playing. This was the first time he’d seen his dad play in a while, the first time that he’d been a carefree man around him. Star was hoping he wouldn’t be ruining the moment with his presence. As Steven got in the last string, he turned to him with a satisfied smile. “What’d ya think of our play?” Oh. The half Diamond’s brain kicked into gear in an effort to comment on something he hadn’t even been able to hear properly, much less knowing how to describe it. Being met with silence, Steven goaded further. “Come on, you liked it, didn’t you?” That was easier to reply to, giving his younger self a nod. Steven beamed back, throwing his hands in the air “I knew you would!” --- ★ --- Now Greg was starting to see what his son had meant with the ‘Garnet levels of cool ’. The statue-esque nature of Star reminded him of her, though it was just something he didn’t really expect from Steven, he supposed. They’d all sat down to play and listen, but Star… well he certainly had been odd, and it’s not just the pink brightness. He just felt… off in a way? The whole standing still, not blinking, intense stare, barely talking... Greg was worried if something was wrong, but he didn’t want to comment on it. After all, this just seemed like more gem stuff to him, if this was like Garnet as mentioned before, and that wasn’t something he had any insight on and he didn’t want to be rude with any misguided worries. Greg had tried to ask him what lyrics the pink guy had in mind, after it’d seemed like he’d frozen up and was “gone” again. But luckily the guy did respond, which just went on to show that maybe it was just his good old overprotective dad anxieties kicking in. After they got done with their latest number, Steven couldn’t help his excitement, asking the pink guy. “Are there any cool tunes you play with your dad in the future?" but it wasn’t before he stopped himself to let out a huge gasp. “STAAAAAR! You’re missing quality time with your dad!” his son fretted, while the other remained indifferent. “Maybe you and dad can play together now! Here, take my ukulele.” Star took it without protest, but Greg, maybe still a bit dad-anxious, just wanted to make sure he was on the same page. “Uhhh, you up for some jamming with your ol’ man?” The other wasn’t looking at him or responding, just staring intently at the ukulele in hand. “Don’t worry dad,” his youngest son assured him, “he’s just sometimes shy like that.” Okay, okay Greg would have to face he was just not quite getting his future son. Maybe he should just go along with it and play. --- ★ --- It was a familiar tune, the way his dad used to pluck out a soothing melody for them to harmonize on. Star’s hands rested on the ukulele. Still. At this point, the half Diamond should’ve been able to just follow along, the song telling him how to move, being able to play from the heart. But right now, Star couldn’t decipher anything. Just empty sounds that meant nothing. The sun had teetered down lower, casting shadows on them where its light once was. The half Diamond had switched spots with the younger, sitting beside the old man as Steven spectated them both. And yet he was looking straight down, avoiding the stares of either of them. Star had agreed to play even though he knew couldn’t. It had been for Steven. And yet unlike eating, watching movies, playing games and other such tasks, he couldn’t find it in himself to do this one. Music was essentially… dead to him—it was just one of the many things he lost along his other half. He felt a hand reach his back. “Hey, it's okay if you're not feeling like playing right now,” his dad reassured him. Star didn’t look up to see just how either of them must’ve looked at him—whether it pity, worry or disappointment, just knowing something was wrong with him. “You're welcome to just listen to Steven and I jam out,” his dad continued. The half Diamond took his advice and put the ukulele aside. After all, it was easier than talking about what really bothered him. “Wait dad, I have an idea!” Steven interrupted and went to pull out his phone, tapping his way to whatever the young hybrid had in mind. “If playing is too hard, what about singing along? This song used to play all the time on the radio a year ago, which I guess is.... 8 years for you?” the hybrid counted his fingers as he mathed. “I’m sure you’ll remember!” Star had no idea what his younger self was referring to; there were a number of songs it could be and none stood out to him at the moment. Steven only turned his phone to show their dad the tune in question, who gave a thumbs up in return, preparing to give a guitar cover for the mystery song. They were doing their effort in accommodating him... but he feared he would have to disappoint them again. “I... can't sing.” “That doesn't matter, everyone can sing along to karaoke!” And with that, Steven sat next to him and hit play. Shine bright like a diamond~ Of all the songs he could’ve picked, he hadn’t expected that one to play. “Shine bright like a diamond~” the hybrid copied. But he was right, he knew this one; various van rides were spent with this song finding its way to be played again (after all radio is all about repeating the same pop songs)—he was around twelve, he remembered. Their dad was on car-wash duty during the day, so most rides were during the night. Fitting, considering the song talked about the night sky. “You and I, you and I; We're like diamonds in the sky~” And now it might be a little too fitting considering that. Steven had even pointed at him and himself when he reached that line. It was funny in a way… seeing how the word didn't hold the same weight to the younger. Relieving, in a way. “You're a shooting star I see~” The hybrid stood up and pointed at him again. He had chosen this song… for him. It wasn’t a surprising revelation and yet it made him feel… accepted. As the younger let his body flow to the tune, Star had trouble deciding whether it was appropriate to join. But amidst his thinking, the other offered his hand. “When you hold me~” he took it. “I'm alive,” he echoed. “We're like diamonds in the sky~” They both sang. His, a terribly flat tone; Steven, a lively lilt. And yet in this moment, he didn’t mind it. --- Their performance earned them an applause from their only audience of their dad and even Steven himself joined in to give Star a pat on the back. “You two were great!” Their dad spoke in his encouraging dadly tone, and even if Star knew his play hadn’t been great at all, the warmth and familiarity in it eased him a bit. His dad put an arm around his shoulder for a proud side hug. Star wasn’t quite looking up, but… he leaned his head closer to the man. “You guys up for round two?” And with Steven finger-gunning a “you betcha”, looking to see Star giving an equal nod (and feeling a bit better about it, gave his unsure attempt at mimicking the finger gun), they were waiting to see what their dad had in store. “Now if there is anything anyone is able to sing along to it’s gotta be the ol’ classic.” The sound of Bohemian Rhapsody began booming out of the van’s speakers as Greg put the cd into the slot. And you know what this means. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? ~ All of them were already singing along, the voices of a bright young, a deep tone, and a mythical echo mixed into a choir of family funtime. Mama Ooooooo~ I don't want to die, I sometimes wish I'd never been born at aaall~ Steven even copied the guitar shredding with an air guitar as Greg took it upon him to shred the real deal (though not plugged in) as that part of the song played, because in all honesty, who couldn’t resist? Their heads bopped as their faces scrunched up into a passionate focus on playing out the guitar solo. This song just knew how to get everyone in. They even figured out to alternate the lines to the next part, just naturally flowing off each other. “I'm just a poor boy nobody loves me,” Star sang, the others holding back. “He's just a poor boy from a poor family, Spare him his life from this monstrosity~” they all joined in intensity. And then it went back and forth with the “No, no, no, no, no, no, NO,” and a laughter after the absurdity of their no’s. Obviously impassioned by his teenaged past, It was no wonder that Greg went especially hard on this part. “So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye. So you think you can love me and leave me to die. Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby. Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here~” Speaking from his rebellion against his parents, it was no doubt he’d been listening to this very song back in the day during his act of disobedience. Star and his dad had long since reconciled from that incident. He understood how he felt about it, he respected it. And honestly, good for him. As the guitar continued riffing, Steven tapped his hands to the metallic surface. Happy clacks and a bouncing body, Greg following through—their ecstasy showed in making the van bounce with them. (The van has handled way worse, it could take some folks getting giddy over a bop) And then they let him, the half gem, finish with his serene echoing voice. “Nothing really matters, Nothing really matters to me...” --- ★ --- “Good idea with that karaoke,” his dad spoke up. It was only the two of them now, Star had gotten sent to fetch pizza for dinner, while Steven helped his dad putting stuff back in the van. Figuring out how to make it all fit in this cramped space was a bit of an organisation job, but he’d become very acquainted with it over the years when he used to live there. With things in place and a mattress hanging by the wall, the hybrid knew to grab one end of it, while his dad worked on the other end. “You really brought Star out of his shell there,” his dad continued. They both hauled the mattress down to the floor for a makeshift bed. It gave a satisfying thump against the metallic frame of the car. “Told you, dad, he was just shy!” “Heh, yeah, he sure is. Reminds me a bit of how you were shy whenever you met new people when you were still a little kiddo. I guess I didn’t expect you to be shy to your ol’ man,” he moved a box with cd's deeper into the vehicle. “I was worried at first something was wrong or whatnot, he seemed pretty spaced out… but I suppose that’s just how he is?” Steven paused—and this time not to make a joke about him being spaced out because he is a star. No it’s just… This is not the first time he heard the topic of being worried about Star getting brought up. He knew Star was very mute on the matter, and… well he wasn’t exactly sure what to think of it. The kid flopped down to the worn but soft material. His dad had already prepared pillows and blankets for whenever it was time to rest. For now his gaze drifted off to the side. Steven spotted the ukulele that had been abandoned by his older self. “Dad... ” the question died on his lips. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted to ask. Eventually he managed to choke out something. “Is it normal to forget how to play?” It wasn’t exactly capturing the thoughts that’d been stewing on in mind, but it was a start. His dad seemed to consider it for a moment. It looked like he knew what he was referring to. “Well sure,” he began in the same comforting dad tone, whenever he imparted his dadly wisdom. “Sometimes you’re just not in a music vibe. Or it could be as you said, that he's shy and got some stage fright. Maybe he is a little shaken about being in the past? I know I would be, it’s a uh—it’s quite a big change.” Yeah… yeah it was a big change. Steven was glad to have gotten a friend, someone who could hang around him whenever. But how did Star feel about it? The hybrid knew Star missed his family, he thought maybe it would be nice to at least see their dad, and they did end up having fun together… but... “Maybe he needs something a little familiar to settle down? Like what are the things Star likes to do?” his dad suggested. “Well he pretty much likes the stuff I like,” Steven thought about how the other always was willing to follow along with his antics. It was great to have someone on the same wavelength, but was there something else the other enjoyed? “Oh I know! He loves trips! Star used to travel a lot, like he’d been all over the place, hiking up in the mountains, visiting villages and big cities, and ahh I still can’t stop thinking about all the delicious food he’d tried out!” Okay that was maybe his hungry stomach talking, but still, amazing sights, amazing tastes. “I promised we’d all travel together sometime.” His dad flopped beside him and Steven went on to rest his head on the man’s lap, while Greg brought a hand to rub soothing circles around his curly locks—just a stewy schtu-ball being stirred free from his worries. Staring up at the ceiling, meeting the familiar metallic walls of this compact space felt safe, home-y. Being in the van with his dad brought many fond memories, most of which came with living there, though a few consisted of travels too. He could already imagine himself and Star sleeping in the back while their dad drove them. Well Star wouldn’t sleep, but he’d be a great night light and they could always do slumber parties! “I’d love to take you two out,” his dad affirmed. “I’ll see if something interesting pops up or if I can think of something fun. Can’t say when or where, though—is your future self still gonna be sticking around?” Oh umm... “I think so?” he hadn’t really been thinking about that. They never got to know why his future self was here when they first met and it wasn’t really a thing Steven had been mindful about, just happy to be able to spend time with him. The kid supposed that his future self had to go back sometime... But it didn’t seem like he’d go anytime soon, so the hybrid would have to make sure to make the most out of their time together! Speaking of which, they heard a knock on the van’s door and, sure enough, Star got back with a package of yumminess, the sight of it already luring the gazes from the two hungry humans. His older self stepped inside, ‘cause he knew this family didn’t mind getting pizza crumbs all over the place. Steven threw him a blanket and they all huddled in the middle of the mattress, still warm pizza slices getting passed around with stories being told between bites as they enjoyed their Sunday evening in their old home. Their dad pushed the pizza box over to the one who’d yet to take a slice. Steven was about to explain Star didn’t need food, but the other reached out for a pepperoni and mozzarella slice and proceeded to take teeny bits of bites off it. He decided to eat. It was a small thing that made Steven happy. --- ★✰★✰★ --- [Art of Steven, Star and Greg together]

Chapter 42   Tora gasped softly, suddenly blinking awake, his heart racing, eyes squinting against the cool morning light of Bobby’s bedroom. He glanced down at her—still asleep against him, her mouth open, wet on his skin as she snored softly. His head jerked toward the closed bedroom door, listening. Could tell something had woken him up, every one of his senses on high alert as his eyes darted around the room. He quieted his breathing as he listened intently. And there it was—the slam of the front door downstairs. He tightened his hold on Bobby, legs tensing as he made to sit up quickly, pushing his legs out from under the sheets in a flash, bare feet soft on the floor as he leaned over quickly, eyes darting around the floor until he found his briefs, halfway under the bed. He scooped them up, fingers catching in the fabric as he tried to make sense of what was the front and what was the back. “Tora?” Poppy murmured, her voice heavy with sleep as she blinked at him, rising up on one elbow. Tora leaned over, bringing a finger to her lips as he shook his head, eyes wide. She frowned at him in confusion, still half-asleep, unable to make sense of what he was saying without words. As she leaned her head back away from his hand, opening her mouth again, Tora froze, angling his body back toward the door as a voice called out, “Poppy? Are you here, sugar?” He whipped back around to look at Poppy as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Sugar. “Tora? What is it?” she murmured, one hand rising to push his fingers from her face with the heel of her palm where his arm was still extended toward her. He listened to the sound of something thudding to the floor downstairs before more footsteps, his eyes glazing over, not really seeing Poppy’s face as he tried to visualize the first floor, the stairs in proximity to the door. How much time did they have before there’d be someone on the other side of the bedroom door? He held his breath as the voice called again, “Poppylan? Sugar, where are you?” Sugar. Tora felt his alarm at the potential threat switch to panic at the realization of what was happening. Of who was downstairs. Of how fuckin’ naked he was. Shit. Poppy blinked again, rubbing her eyes as she yawned, “what time is it? You know we can sleep in, right?” she asked, smiling softly at him. “It’s Sunday. Sunday funday,” she said as she stretched in bed, the sheet falling down below her tits as she squeaked softly, the hair loose around her head all frizzed. From fuckin’ or from sleep, he couldn’t tell—probably both. Wanted nothin’ more than to lie back down on top of her, bury his face in her chest again. Knew she’d be warm, would smell like sleep—the bed like a nest, just the two of them, the skin between her thighs supple on his legs. Her body, every part of her drawing him in, inviting him to relax, let his guard down. To be safe with her—just another Sunday. Their weekend in Moonbright. He glanced down the length of the bed where he could see her toes wiggling under the blanket beside the raccoon t-shirt she’d tossed at the foot of the mattress the night before. “Poppylan?” he heard the voice moving downstairs, could almost picture the woman from the photo Bobby’d showed him beside the sink as her voice grew distant, moving down the hallway beside the downstairs bathroom. Checking for her granddaughter. Her granddaughter who was currently fuckin’ naked, her tits out in bed beside a thug holdin’ his fuckin’ undies in her childhood bedroom. “Bobby, that’s real cute, sweetheart,” he murmured, keeping his voice low, his chest swelling slightly at the look of her all fuckin’ cozy in the bed—Sunday funday, pfft—wanted to ball himself up around her, but shit. That was definitely someone she knew—he’d bet anything it was her Granny. Who else would have a key, would announce themselves as soon as they’d walked in? If it were an intruder, then they were fuckin’ shit at intruding. And somehow, he didn’t think her Granny would take too kindly if she walked in on them like this. In her house, no less. “But ya gotta get the hell up,” he finished, quickly standing and pulling on his briefs, nearly falling over in his haste to get them on over his stiff cock and accidentally pulling at his stitches in the process. He swore under his breath as he felt the skin tear slightly before he quickly leaned over the bed, grabbing up her shirt and tossing it at her, the raccoons landing upside down over her bare chest. She frowned slightly in confusion, still not fully awake, watching as he bent under the bed, pulling out his go-bag and grabbing the pair of jeans from yesterday—he knew the denim was gonna hurt like son of a bitch against his freshly irritated wound, and, he realized with a groan, it was also gonna be real fuckin’ uncomfortable shovin’ his cock in, but he didn’t really have a fuckin’ choice. “Bobby, ya gotta get dressed, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice insistent, nodding at the shirt he’d tossed on top of her as he dug through his bag for a clean t-shirt. A couple condoms spilled out onto the floor in his haste. “Goddammit, stupid fuckin’—” he muttered, quickly tossing them back inside, peering around to make sure he got them all before his eyes fell on the wad of tissue on the table beside her bed that he knew held the used one from the night before. He grabbed it quickly, shoving it into the mesh pocket beside the guns and hesitating for a moment as he considered whether or not to tuck one back into his waistband. What were the chances that her Granny would see it, find it if he were packin’? This was already gonna be a shit first impression—didn’t wanna make it any goddamn worse than it had to be. He tugged on a shirt as he weighed the pros and cons. On the one hand, he was always armed—had to be—and being armed meant being one step closer to a thread of safety. On the other hand, he thought, tilting his head to the side as he bent to zip the bag shut again, he was a goddamn fuckin’ idiot, that’s what—cause no gun meant less safety but it also meant no questions he wasn’t ready to answer. He shook his head to himself, moving to stand up before realizing all his motherfuckin’ tattoos were showing. Quickly, he ripped the shirt back off over his head, the braids thumping against his shoulders as he searched for the high-necked, long-sleeve black shirt he knew he’d packed. Always had a change of clothes that would hide his ink—Joe’d taught him that, pfft. Guess he had learned somethin’ that the man had tried to instill during all those long talks at Regina’s Peak, out behind Alice’s after school, or grilling at Fred’s. He glanced back up at the bed, eyes widening when he saw that she hadn’t fuckin’ moved. “Oi, Bobby,” he murmured, keeping his voice a low rumble in his chest. “Wasn’t kiddin’, sweetheart. Much as I love the view,” he gestured at her bare chest where the shirt had fallen down, the place where the sheet had slipped off of her hip, the shadow of her pelvis, the edge of her curls, visible from where he crouched, “ya gotta get dressed.” She blushed but couldn’t help the smile from working its way along her lips. “We got comp—” he broke off suddenly at the sound of the voice from downstairs again. “Poppy? You in the kitchen, sugar? You didn’t tell me you got a new car…” Fuck. The car. Tora groaned, his head falling back just as his fist closed around the shirt. He brought his chin back down, watching as Bobby’s face fell open in surprise at the sound of the voice downstairs, her lips forming an O, her eyes bugging from her head as she gasped—suddenly not so fuckin’ sleepy at all. “Oh,” she breathed on a laugh as she scrambled from the bed. “That’s Granny,” she hissed, her expression still surprised, but she was grinning as she hopped over to the dresser, pulling open one of the top drawers and grabbing a pair of undies that she quickly slipped on over her bare ass. She looked a little wild with her hair all tangled as she tugged on her bra and the sweater from yesterday, putting the raccoon shirt on the dresser beside Bull as she swung open the door to the bedroom, still not wearin’ any goddamn pants.   “Oi, Bobby—” he breathed, quickly pulling his own shirt on over his head and zipping the go-bag shut, opting to leave the guns tucked away in the mesh pocket beside the used condom all balled up in the tissue. Tora stood then, shucking on the jeans over his legs, hissing at the feel of the denim on his wound, at the discomfort of his cock all compressed against his hip as he zipped his fly. “Hi Granny,” she called down the stairs, pulling a hair tie from around her wrist and ducking her head around the doorway, holding a hand out behind her to stop him as he made to follow her. What the fuck was she doin’? “Was visiting and it got a little late,” she shouted, darting across the hall to the bathroom where she scooped up her jeans, tugging them on quickly before grabbing her toothbrush from the mirror and squeezing some paste onto it. She ducked back to the door, peering around down to the landing and waving Tora over with wide eyes, still fuckin’ smilin’ ear to ear. “Figured it’d be better to stay the night rather than driving back to the city. Didn’t think you’d mind,” she called as she stuck the toothbrush in her mouth, brushing frantically as she waved Tora across the hall again. He rolled his eyes, sighing and shaking his head as he glanced down the stairs, moving across the hallway like a shadow until he was pressed up against her in the open doorway. He raised his eyebrows at her as she smiled up at him around the toothbrush, tilting her head side to side as she brushed her back molars. There was a gleam in her eyes, bright with barely contained excitement, like she was fuckin’ happy about the situation. Tora wasn’t. Didn’t fuckin’ like surprises, felt the same way as when older boys in the clan used to get the jump on him before he’d bulked and shot up several feet as a teen. Though his heart was still racing, he felt himself calming down at Bobby’s ease, her seeming comfort with the unexpected as she touched a hand to his chest briefly before ducking back over to the sink to spit and rinse. She held the brush out to him, one of her eyebrows raised in question, biting her lip. He sighed again—how the hell could he say no to that face? And she fuckin’ knew it, he thought, shaking his head at her as he took the toothbrush from her, reaching for the paste as she smiled at him. Bobby moved back to the door, slipping around him as he quickly ran the bristles over his teeth, cleaning away the sleep from his mouth. “Be right down,” she called around the open doorway, flicking on the light in the bathroom and moving her hand to the door. The fuck was she doin’? She turned to him and whispered, “I’m going to head down.” His eyes flew wide as he stared at her—she wasn’t gonna fuckin’ wait? He was almost fuckin’ done. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she shook her head, waving a hand toward the toilet, “you can use the bathroom, finish up whatever…guys do,” she murmured, shrugging. “I left my—my stuff downstairs, but I’ll meet you in the kitchen, okay?” She didn’t give him time to answer before she closed the door. The fuck? Her footsteps pattered down the stairs and a moment later he heard the murmur of voices from below. Well shit, no way was there hidin’ what the fuck this was from her Granny—he’d clearly spent the night with her, and he’d be comin’ down from upstairs where there was only one goddamn bedroom. Not like Granny’d believe he spent the night in the crawlspace. Shit, Bobby was probably right—no way he could even fit his goddamn shoulders through the tiny hole in the ceiling. Slumber party, his ass, pfft. Tora glanced at himself in the mirror, the toothbrush stilled along his bottom molars, his eyes so fuckin’ wide. Shit, get it the fuck together. His hand hesitated over the knob of the sink for a moment—if she hadn’t told her grandmother that there was someone upstairs, the sound of the water would be a dead fuckin’ giveaway. But it’s not like delaying the inevitable would change anything. He took a deep breath, flicking on the water and rinsing before putting her toothbrush back in the mirror. Might as well do as she’d suggested now that it would be clear from anywhere in the house that there was someone in the upstairs bathroom, he thought, quickly unzipping his jeans to piss and grimacing as he flushed, the noise so fuckin’ loud—had it always been that loud? Tora washed his hands quickly, adjusting his shirt and double-checking in the mirror to make sure all his ink was covered before he pulled open the door to the bathroom, striding back across the hall to her bedroom and picking up his bag—no way was he leaving it upstairs with both his guns. His eyes caught on the box of nicotine patches on the table beside the bed. They were probably headed out soon, figured he might as well take everything. Tora picked up the box, moving to the dresser to grab Bull and his phone, taking one last glance around the room. The bed was a mess, sheets tangled at the foot from where she’d thrown them before jumping up to get dressed. Tora picked up the corner, spreading the top blanket back over the mattress—lumpy, but better than before. Shit, he was stallin’. “Just fuckin’ do it,” he muttered to himself, turning back toward the hallway and descending the stairs. His thumb stroked the side of the plant as he made his way down to the first floor soundlessly, peering around the bannister as he reached the bottom, checking for Bobby, for her Granny. His eyes caught on his shoes by the front door and he sighed. If Granny were even half as smart as Bobby—and he had a feelin’ she was at least as sharp as his hamster—then she’d known as soon as she’d stepped through the door that Bobby had a guy over—his shoes nearly double the size of her own. And the car—odds were Granny knew Bobby hadn’t, in fact, bought a fuckin’ Lexus a couple months into living in the city. She’d probably called out just to announce herself, to give them the chance to be fuckin’ decent. “I mean, you could’ve just called me.” Tora heard Bobby’s voice from the kitchen—sounded happy, her tone light and teasing. Could hear the smile on her voice—a good sign, right? “Pah, where’s the fun in that?” a woman responded, laughing. The high-pitched whistle of a kettle cut through the house then, dying down a moment later as he caught the tail end of whatever her Granny had just said. “—all worry too much.” “Tch, not every day you get a call from the cops, huh,” Poppy sighed, “see, I think the girls wore you out a little and you were looking for any excuse to get back home.” A pause and the clink of ceramic. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she teased. “Mhmm, you’re fresh, you know that?” “Better fresh than—” “Rotten, yeah. You know, I taught you that.” He heard her Granny laugh softly before the sound of ceramic again. “You want to sit outside with me or do you have to get going? And when am I going to meet the giant you brought over?” Tora felt his lips part, glancing at his shoes again. He hung his head, shaking it slowly at Bull as he sighed—well, he sure as shit knew where Bobby got her snark from. Taking his cue, he stepped off the last stair, turning the corner. “Granny, he’s not—” Tora raised his eyebrows at her as Bobby broke off then, her mouth falling open around a smile as she saw him, watching him duck as he moved to stand just inside the doorway of the small kitchen, shifting Bull and the patches to his left arm as he bowed his head slightly toward her grandmother. “Morning,” he murmured, glancing up at the older woman, keeping his head lowered, his heart in his throat. Bobby’d said she was accepting, but shit—everyone had their fuckin’ limits. And he usually checked all the goddamn boxes on what constituted a limit.   He felt his lips part slightly as the woman smiled warmly at him, tilting her chin up and looking him up and down. “Tch, Granny,” Poppy huffed, rolling her eyes lightly as she shook her head at Tora. “Tora, this is my Granny. Granny, this is Tora, the Giant.” “That’s quite the namesake,” her Granny narrowed her eyes. “Never seen a tiger with braids before.” Her gaze dropped to the plant tucked in the crook of his elbow, “but I know this one can be quite persistent,” she nodded her head toward Poppy who rolled her eyes again. “You know, you raised me. I am the way I am because of you,” she pointed her finger at her grandmother, a smirk pulling up at her lips as she took a sip of the mug of tea in her hands. “Like I was saying,” her Granny continued, picking up the conversation they’d been having before he’d entered the room, “you all worry too much. You know how many times those folks have called the police? Too many to count,” she waved her hand picking up the other mug and holding it out to Tora who reached out hesitantly, not really sure if she was offering it to him or what, his fingers wrapping around the handle carefully as she murmured, “careful, dear. It’s hot.” “I’m well aware, Granny,” Poppy began as her grandmother turned to grab another mug from the cabinet, spooning out some loose tea into a mesh infuser and pouring hot water from the kettle over it into the cup. “So then you know I can handle anything they throw my way,” she interrupted. “You know, your father—” Poppy huffed, “I know. But you should really call me next time. Even if it’s just so I can drive out here and give them a piece of my mind,” Poppy said, muttering the last bit into her mug, the steam wafting out around her nose as she glanced over at Tora, smiling. He bit back his own smile, taking a sip of the tea as he held her gaze—knew she meant it, too. Hell, maybe she was the tiger. “Pah,” Granny shook her head, snorting once as she swirled the spoon in her mug, leaning back against the counter behind her. “Anyway, Mirabelle is stopping by soon—” “What?” Poppy reached behind her, placing the mug on the counter. “Why? Weren’t you just there visiting them?” “Well, if you’d let me finish,” Granny widened her eyes as Poppy held her two hands up, palms facing out toward her Granny and Tora. “I was, but I left early just to make sure the neighbors were full of it again. Both Mirabelle and Danae wanted to come with me, but I insisted it was fine. So naturally, Danae called to let me know as I was on my way back here that Mirabelle was coming by to check up on things.” “When was this? You said you were halfway home, so what like thirty minutes ago? Less?” Tora watched the exchange, sipping at his tea, letting it warm his tongue, his throat. Felt nice, tasted good, too. Not like that creepy mermaid shit Quince liked from the city. “Mmm, about. Why?” “Tora and I have to get going back to the city—long drive, you know,” Poppy strode to the doorway of the kitchen, pausing beside Tora as she touched his arm lightly, “I’ll be right back, just have to grab some stuff from upstairs. And Granny,” she looked back at her grandmother whose eyes were flicking back and forth between the place where Poppy’s hand rested on his arm and their faces. She raised her eyebrows at her granddaughter in question. “Remember, thin walls,” Poppy said, lowering her head meaningfully before turning to leave the kitchen. Tora swallowed thickly—hadn’t been expecting to be left alone with her grandmother when he’d agreed to go with her to Moonbright two nights ago. And yet, here the fuck he was. Standing alone with the older woman as she regarded him from across her kitchen. She’d known he spent the night with her granddaughter, and he was fairly fuckin’ certain she suspected he was the reason she’d gotten a call from the cops about a shady fucker in the area. And yet, she didn’t seem to mind. Had offered him tea, had warned him at the temperature like she cared if he burned his tongue. “You remind me of one of my son’s friends,” she said softly, watching his face as she stirred the spoon in her mug, the steam wisping into the air around her. “I met him a couple times, nice fellow. But he had that rough look to him. Bet people are pretty quick to judge you,” she said. Not a question, but he nodded anyway, his thumb stroking the smooth ceramic of the dinosaur as he brought the tea to his lips with his other hand. Just needed somethin’ to do with ‘em. Her gaze was fuckin’ sharp, like she could see exactly what he was all about, and yet she hadn’t kicked him out. Had Bobby been right? If he’d stuck around all those years ago, would she have invited him into her house the way Bobby had said she would? “My husband was similar,” she said. “Poppy’s grandfather. Maybe it was the long hair, but I think it’s more the way he carried himself, too.” Tora nodded again—thought he knew what she meant, but couldn’t be sure. He knew he looked intimidating—had a hard time imagining anyone in Poppy’s family looking similarly thuggish, but what the hell did he know? He heard a thump from upstairs and glanced at the ceiling above the sink where he knew her bedroom was. “That being said, if you hurt that girl…” she trailed off, her expression hardening. “She’s the light of my life,” she said. “Warned her about going to the city—wish she’d listened to her father, he told her not to go. But the women in this family are—” she sighed, “well, we aren’t known for giving in easy. Especially not to the men.” She smiled then, glancing down at Bull. “I don’t want to bombard you with questions, but I do want to know one thing, if you don’t mind my asking.” “Course,” he murmured, watching as she turned from him to remove the spoon with the tea leaves, the contents black with water, clinging to the mesh as she set it down on a small plate—he frowned slightly at the sight of it, only a little bit bigger than the circumference of the mug she was holding. The fuck was the point of a plate that tiny? What, was it made for the fuckin’ mug? “Her father, he never told me the details, but I know something in the city, something dangerous in the city, made him uproot his life—his wife, his young daughter, another on the way—in an instant, uprooted, and a young family splintered. Nearly destroyed him, us.” She held his gaze, the steam from her mug like a sheen across her face. Could smell the herbs in the air, warm with spice. “Like I said, I don’t know why exactly, but I know he made a lot of enemies during his time as a journalist there. According to Sora, there were death threats.” Tora frowned—death threats. What enemies had her father made? Was the shorthand in his journals more than just a function of his job? Had he been hiding information the way Poppy’d suggested? “What I’m saying is,” she sighed, looking down at the plant and then back, following the braids from his shoulders up to his face, “I need to know that’s all behind us. That it’s not something Poppy will ever need to experience again.” Tora waited for her to continue. She’d said she had a question for him, but he hadn’t heard one in what she’d just shared. As he opened his mouth to ask her to repeat the question, she spoke again, “are you trying to quit?” Tora felt the breath leave his lungs, his chest compressing under the weight of her question. Did she know about the clan? The mug suddenly felt heavy in his hand, his thumb stilling on the dinosaur tucked along his elbow as he heard Poppy moving upstairs, the hiss of water in the pipes and then the sound of her feet on the stairs, moving slow, uneven against the tick of the clock from the other room. He licked his lower lip once, his voice coming out hoarse, “Am I—” Her granny gestured toward his arm and Tora glanced down to see what she was talking about—hadn’t realized the box of nicotine patches was lodged so visibly between the plant and his forearm. He took a shallow breath in relief, could still hear his heart pounding in his ears. “Mhmm,” he nodded, not trusting his voice. “It’s tough,” she said, “I know firsthand it’s tough. But it’s worth it,” she nodded as if to say trust me, and Tora found that he did. Weirdly, he fuckin’ did. “You leaving already?” she called out suddenly, her eyes focusing on the room behind him where Poppy had just finished coming down the stairs carrying the box full of her father’s possessions. “Granny, you know if we stick around for when Mirabelle gets here, she won’t let us get going until it’s dark out, and I have work to catch up on before tomorrow,” she said, shifting the box in her arms as Tora turned to stride over to her. He reached out, easily taking the heavy package from her, tossing the box of nicotine patches in and tucking Bull carefully between her father’s journals and the shirt that lay folded on top—one of the asses of the raccoons visible. Pfft, fuckin’ cute. “Speaking of which, you still haven’t told me about your new job—I want to hear all about it.” She took a sip of her tea, looking pointedly at Poppy over the rim of the mug before her eyes caught on the box in Tora’s arms. “Oh, good,” she said, smiling softly, “it’s good you’re taking that,” she nodded toward the box, moving to stand beside Poppy and touching her hand to her elbow. “If you want to take anything else,” she gestured toward the bookshelf in the room behind them, “it’s all yours, you know. He’d want you to have them.” “Not so sure about that,” Poppy murmured, glancing at the box, “or he would’ve told me about whatever’s in them when he was still here.” Tora took a step back, carefully removing himself from the conversation as he meandered back toward the front door. Sounded personal, and though both women had shared a shit ton more with him than he’d ever expected, he could thank Quince for teaching him how to read a fuckin’ room. He pulled out his phone when he’d reached the banister—hadn’t checked his messages since the night before and, even though Quincey had given him the weekend off and had convinced his father that Tora was busy working for him, he knew he should be checking it more than he had been. But shit, it was just so easy to lose track of time, of everything, when he was with her. His brother had texted him back, and Tora squinted at the broken screen to make out the message: @Quince: How descriptive of you. Good thing you’re not the writer in the family. Pfft, the family. Tora rolled his eyes, intending to text back a short fuck ya, but it sent before he could correct the damn typos. @Tora: duck y Fuckin’ A—he huffed, exiting back to the main messages, not bothering to correct it and opening up his chain with Ronzo. Shit, he sighed, realizing that the man had texted him back with a question yesterday morning, the same minute he’d sent his request for new phones. @Tora: need two new phones stat @Ronzo: Sure thing, Big Bro. Same kind? I can get you the newest model @Ronzo: ? He typed out a reply, taking the time to correct his mistakes. Didn’t wanna have to do a back and forth with the man and he wanted them as soon as fuckin’ possible, preferably by the time they got back to the city, though if Ronzo was working at her building, that wasn’t fuckin’ likely. Shit. @Tora: new ones, get two. today He thought for a second as he tuned back into the conversation behind him, adding in: @Tora: and cases “You’ll understand one day, sugar. Being a parent—” “I know, I know,” Poppy sighed. Tora turned at the sound of their footsteps as her Granny walked Poppy to the front door where Tora stood, tucking his phone away as it buzzed a couple times in his hand—probably fuckin’ Ronzo. He’d check in the car. “Best and worst,” she said, her tone tired, like this was something she’d heard plenty of times before. “Not worst,” her Granny chided, “just difficult. Sometimes you’re forced to choose between two impossibilities.” She glanced over at Tora who had clenched his jaw. Seemed like Granny knew more than she’d let on to Poppy—maybe not exactly what the fuck her father had been caught up in, but more than likely she held answers to Poppy’s questions about her mother. He frowned slightly, remembering the look on her face when she’d said that her grandmother and father had never told her why her mother left. Clearly, she was still caught up on it, even if she’d managed to let go of the anger. Shit, she deserved to know. Had her Granny shared more with him that she had with her own granddaughter? He didn’t like the thought of that. “Mhmm,” Poppy murmured, reaching out as she passed by Tora to stroke Bull’s leaves once, a small smile on her face as she glanced up at him. “Lucky for me, I don’t have to worry about that—at least not for a good while,” she said to her Granny, not turning around to look at her before she seemed to remember something suddenly, a soft oh escaping her lips as she darted back across the room, around the table and down the hall, calling over her shoulder, “forgot something.” “Make sure she doesn’t work too hard,” Granny murmured to Tora, “that one’ll work herself into the ground if she’s not told to take a break.” Tora smirked, “couldn’t tell her what to do even if I wanted.” He remembered the way she’d pushed back in the bathroom upstairs, not a single fuck given as she’d clambered down the stairs, throwing open the door to the cops. The way she’d pushed up against him, not letting him back away from her as she’d called him out on his bullshit. Fuck, he loved her. “Mmm,” Granny hummed, smiling as she nodded into her mug—was that approval in her eyes? Shit, had he said the right thing? He couldn’t really think about it much more, though, as Poppy bounded back up from the bathroom, the pink box in her hand, lightly blushing as she tucked it under her armpit. “Here,” Tora reached out a hand, taking it gently from her and placing it beside Bull.   He caught her Granny’s eye for a second as he turned to drag his shoes over to him with his foot—she was biting her lip around a smile, same way Bobby did. “Well, you should come back for a proper visit sometime soon,” she said. As they toed on their shoes, she watched them, taking another sip of her tea. “What about a family dinner, next weekend?” Poppy sighed, bracing herself against the wall as she bent her knee, pulling her foot up to her ass and wiggling her finger into the back of her sneaker to untuck the heel where it’d wedged under her foot. “Let me check to see if there’s anything I need to do for work—it should be fine, though,” she said. “Otherwise, the week after.” Her Granny nodded before jerking her head in Tora’s direction. “And bring this one back,” she grinned, looking at him from the corner of her eye as he stood back up, pulling the door open and balancing the box in his palm against his chest. “I like him.” Tora felt his lips part in surprise at her words just as he felt Bobby’s hand on his arm, the sound of the door creaking open behind him. His phone buzzed in his pocket as Bobby scooped up her tote bag from the floor and leaned forward to hug the older woman. “Love you. I’ll call you, okay?” she stepped back toward the door as her Granny nodded, “and tell Mirabelle I say hi.” Tora bowed his head toward her grandmother once more as she smiled at him. “Take care, Tora,” she said, reaching up and patting his bicep of the arm that held the box of her son’s possessions. He hesitated as Poppy opened the door, unsure of what to say, how to respond. She was nothing like what he’d expected. Couldn’t help but wonder if Poppy was right—if her dad would have liked him. “Nice to meet ya,” he murmured before Poppy tugged on his other arm, for a moment, all three of them linked before he let her pull him back out into the gray light of the morning, the sky cloudy above. He fished out his keys from his pocket with his free hand, unlocking the car, following Bobby to the backseat which she opened up, putting the tote on the cushion and stepping back for Tora to place the box on the floor. He picked Bull up and, before he even asked, she’d taken the plant from him. “Guess I can let you drive if I get to hold this guy,” she grinned cheekily as he closed the door, opening the passenger one for her. “Pfft, first of all, sweetheart,” he said low, keenly aware of her Granny watching from the door, “s’not ya car—” “Not yours either,” she quipped as he rolled his eyes. “And second, a deal’s a deal.” He closed the door as she opened her mouth to retort, smirking at her through the glass as she frowned at him before he walked around to the trunk to put his go-bag away. When he’d placed it inside, he quickly unzipped it, pulling one of the guns from the mesh pocket and turning around to tuck in the back of his jeans—didn’t want to risk the fuckin’ neighbors seeing. Tora closed the trunk, raising a hand in a wave to her grandmother before he walked to the driver’s side of the Lexus, ducking inside and starting the car. “You want some tunes?” she asked, pulling out her phone and wiggling it at him. Pfft, tunes. Where’d she come up with this cute shit? he wondered as he threw an arm back over her seat, watching the street behind them as he backed out of the driveway, braking slightly as he remembered her Granny watching, carefully avoiding the old station wagon parked outside her house—probably belonged to the woman. Shit—didn’t need another member of her family sassin’ him about his fuckin’ driving. She waved out the window as they pulled away from the yellow house, Tora’s eyes on the white flowers along the edge of the driveway, watching them grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror until the house disappeared from view, the gas station up ahead on their left. He flicked on the right turn signal, nodding. “Sure, Bobby, put on ya playlist.” As he swung out onto the main street, headed back in the direction of the country road that would lead them back to the city, he dug out his own phone from his pocket, thumbing at the screen to check the messages he’d received. “Fuck,” he muttered, typing in his passcode a couple times before it finally unlocked, just as Bobby pulled a song up on the speaker system. “You shouldn’t text and drive,” she said, frowning at him as she turned the volume almost all the way down. He glanced at her—she was right, but he’d seen Quincey’s name as well as Ronzo’s on the screen. “Do you want me to drive instead?” she asked, leaning toward him, “you know, I’m really good at following the rules of the road,” she smirked. Tora rolled his eyes at her, handing his phone over. “Nah, Bobby. Just—” he nodded at the screen, “tell me what Quince and Ronzo said.”   She looked at him in surprise for a second before taking his phone in her hands. As the trees began to thin out along the sides of the road, he heard her mutter, “jeez,” before she turned to him, “how do you even read what’s on the screen? I can barely see anything.” “Gettin’ a new one,” he muttered, glancing out the driver’s side window at the field that they passed—the cows in the distance all lying down. He wondered vaguely if Strawberry was still out there. “Granny says cows lying down means rain,” she said. He glanced back over at her, frowning slightly. “What, like cows controllin’ the weather?” She nodded, grinning at him before looking back down at his phone. “Kind of. There’s a scientific reason for it. For why they lie down before rain—something about changes in the atmospheric pressure, but I think it’s a holdover from Moonbright being a farming town. Some people think they’re just trying to preserve a dry spot in the grass, but it might have something to do with their stomachs, too.” “Damn, Bob,” he said, “so ya an expert in birds, plants, and cows, huh.” She snorted, shaking her head. “So, which do you want first: Quincey or Gyu?” she asked. “Pfft, why don’t ya pick, sweetheart,” he said, eyes on the road ahead as he shifted in his seat, the gun pressing against his spine. Familiar—couldn’t really tell if he’d missed the feel of it. More like it’d felt weird not to have it on him, the hard press of it against his skin. “Okay, from Quincey,” she cleared her throat loudly, exaggerating the sound as he shook his head, snorting. Fuck, she was too much, “duckies in Moonbright? Pics or it didn’t happen. BTW your car is all set,” she said. “Duckies? Picks? The fuck?” he asked as she turned her body, her back to him. When he glanced over, she was holding the phone up above her head for a moment before turning back around, tapping on the screen again. “Bobby, the fuck ya doin’?” he asked, more curious than anything. “Sending a—” she broke off. When he looked over at her, she was staring at his phone, her face blank for a moment before she recovered. “A picture,” she finished, looking up at him and pulling her lips up in a weak imitation of a smile. He frowned—the fuck had she seen? Something clan-related? He didn’t keep a lot of shit on his phone at the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. “Bobby,” he started, but she cut him off quickly, her voice light, determined to move past whatever’d just happened. The fuck? “From Gyu, AKA Ronzo, AKA the man with a badass friend,” she said, clearing her throat again. Tora forced a laugh—maybe he could ask her about it later. “Sure. Got Bryan to cover the booth. Headed out now. Finished the new gate security, too. Should be good to go.” She paused, squinting at the screen, dragging her finger over the broken glass. “Shit, sweetheart,” he reached across to her, gently lifting her finger and skimming his thumb over her pad, checking for any loose shards, “careful.” He moved his hand back to the wheel, checking both ways before he took the turn onto the road that would lead them back to the city, accelerating as the lines along the pavement blurred, the clouds overhead rolling, dark grays with creamy lowlights. Tora reached for the heater, turning the vent up a notch against the chill of the car. “Gyu texted again a couple minutes ago,” she said, and waited until Tora nodded for her to go on. “He says, here. You want the 128 or 256GB?”  “GB?” he asked. “The fuck does that mean?” “Hmm,” she squinted again at the screen, her thumb scrolling up over the broken glass. “Seems like you were talking about phones?” her voice lilted up in question as she glanced over at him, waiting for confirmation as he grunted before she continued. “Okay, then I think he’s talking about storage options, like gigabytes,” she said. “Giga-huh?” “You want me to ask? I could call him.” He shook his head, “nah, just text him to get whatever’s best.” The shit just needed to work—didn’t want to waste any of his time with Bobby by talkin’ to fuckin’ Ronzo about which motherfuckin’ phone to buy. Shit, otherwise he would’ve just gone to the goddamn store himself. After a second, she spoke up again, “he’s asking about color—do you have a preference?” Tora laughed, “shit, I dunno. Black? Whatever they got.” She repeated him as she typed a message slowly onto the screen, “shit. I. Don’t. Know.” She paused, “black? Question mark.” Tora rolled his eyes, pfft. “What. Ever. They got. And send.” She turned to face him, lowering the phone to her lap. “Sorry for springing a surprise meet-the-family on you,” she said quickly, suddenly. Like she’d been holding it in. Tora glanced over at her in surprise—where the fuck had that come from? “S’fine, Bobby,” he said. She shook her head, “it wasn’t. And had I known—” she sighed. “But at least now you know I was telling the truth. She definitely liked you.” He watched as a grin worked its way up her face—couldn’t help his own smile from pulling up his lips, warmth spreading in his chest as she reached over, taking his hand in hers. “Sooo,” she dragged out the word, turning to look out the windshield, “no pressure—feel free to say no—but how would you feel about coming back next week or so for dinner?” Tora felt his mouth run dry, his lips parting—she really wanted him to come back with her? They’d been serious? As she finished her question, his phone rang in her lap. Fuck—goddamn Ronzo. He glanced over at the device, torn between wanting to curse the fucker out and answering her question. She looked up at him, “want me to get that?” she asked, holding it up in her hand. He jerked his head once, not trusting his voice, nearly goddamn speechless. Family dinner. She was really inviting him to that? And her Granny would be okay with it? “Hello?” she asked, waiting for a second. “Hello? Gyu, you there?” he glanced back over at her from where he’d been looking at his knuckles, white on the wheel. She frowned, shrugging. “Bad signal,” she said, “so, what do you—” she broke off again, the phone buzzing in her hand. “See, this is why I didn’t wanna call him,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Always with the worst fuckin’ timin’,” he said as she laughed, gently shoving his bicep as she rolled her eyes. “Someone’s grumpy. We need to get some more than just tea in you,” she smirked as he rolled his eyes, thumbing at the screen again to answer it. “Hello?” She waited a second before repeating, “hello?” He looked over at her again as she brought the phone away from her ear, ending the call and swiping up on the screen. “Shit, Bob, not worth it,” he said, taking her fingers in his hand again and checking for any cuts. “Ya gonna get hurt. It can wait—he’s a big boy, he’ll figure it the fuck out.” “Oh, weird,” she said. “What?” he turned back toward the road, glancing at the sky ahead, darker as they approached the city. A storm on the way or already there, he couldn’t tell from this far out. Could see some of the clouds flashing white and blue as his ears popped—atmospheric pressure was right, pfft. “If it’s Gyu, he’s using a different phone,” she said, turning toward him. Tora nearly choked on his own tongue, his mouth running dry as she murmured, “says unknown number.”      

"Keith?" A soft groan escaped said boy's lips while he rolled onto his side in bed, discarding the muffled voice calling for him fore more of the sweet sleep he craved. "Keith, are you ready?" He, again, dismissed whoever was on the other side of his door. He did give a small grunt to give into the illusion that he was awake, but in reality was dozing off into blissful oblivion... That was, until he realized what exactly was going on that day. He bolted out of bed and left his sheets in a tangled mess on the floor, picking up his bag that he packed the night before and double checking he had everything before he tied up his rather greasy hair into a ponytail before nearly sprinting out of his room. Keith realized a bit too late that if this pod didn't have a shower, he would be screwed... Keith sprinted so fast through the halls of the castle that he didn't notice the wall in front of him before he ran into it... scratch that, it was just Shiro. Neither of the two fell from the impact, and the apparent human-wall barely even flinched upon collision. Shiro turned around and made a small noise of surprise before addressing the boy. "Watch where you're going there, little red." He teased, ruffling Keith's hair while softly chuckling. "You ready? You sounded half asleep when I came to check on you." Keith cleared his still groggy and sleep-laced voice before replying, untying and re-tying his pony tail in attempt to make his hair look like less of a disaster. "Nope, I was fine. Just grabbing a few last-minute things." Keith's voice cracked for a moment while he looked away from Shiro, walking a bit faster down the hallway when he was before. Shiro raised a brow at Keith's behavior for a moment before shrugging it off, and following closely behind him into the main room with everyone else. Pidge and Hunk stood close to Lance, holding a few of his belongings for him while they continued to attempt to convince him to stay behind. Their hushed voices came to a sudden halt when Keith and Shiro walked in, the blue and red paladins' eyes locking almost immediately. After a few minutes of complete and utter silence Keith noticed Allura and Coran's presence in the room as well, and tore his gaze from Lance to walk over to them. "So, when are we leaving?" Keith adjusted his backpack and stood up straight in front of the two. Coran looked over to Allura, as if asking her a question without even speaking. Allura nodded, making a large grin appear on the other Altean's face. "This way, Paladins! Red and blue up front, please!" He called out cheerfully for the others while he led the way down one of the halls, Lance rushing to keep up with his long strides. It was a rather brief to the pod, and when hey reached it Keith was a bit surprised at its size. It was about as large as the head of the blue lion, but Keith hoped it wouldn't be as crammed as the head was. To put it frankly, the damn thing was huge. Keith was just hopeful that he could at least have some space to himself, instead of being crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with Lance- like in the case of the elevator incident. "This is the best I could do on short notice, but I'm sure the two of you can make do..." Coran's tone sounded almost disappointed, but he quickly brushed this off and led them inside. "This place has slightly tighter quarters if I'm being honest. No big, empty halls in here, but I hope you to will adjust." Lance and Keith glanced around the sitting room, the first thing the two of them saw walking into the pod. The interior was admittedly nice for a pod, even if everything but the washroom was in one room. The two paladins could see from where they stood in the entryway, which meant the only privacy they would have would be when they were in the washroom. While the boys were lost in though, Coran pointed out the features of the room; how to work specific things, what to do if the pods power went off- the basics. The two placed their belongings on their beds- which were bunk beds, of course. They were just glad they wouldn't have to sleep on couches, or even share a bed. Keith became flustered as soon as the though crossed his mind, and walked quickly out of the pod to say his goodbyes to everyone waiting outside of it. He made a beeline to Shiro first, walking into his embrace and not flinching when his cold, prosthetic arm came in contact with his own. "Good luck, and have fun..." Shiro gave Keith a soft smile when he pulled away from the hug, patting him on the shoulder before letting him say goodbye to everyone else. Pidge and Allura gave the same sort of reply as Shiro, a gentle hug and wishes of good luck. Coran and Hunk were a bit more... intimate. Keith genuinely thought that the yellow paladin could crush him between his forearm and bicep if he wanted to, and reminded himself never to get on the teddy bear-like man's bad side. Once Lance was ready to go- which took a while, since a few tears were shed during Hunk and his goodbye- the two boarded and took their seats. The two seats in the main room spun to face a large window, which showed the castle's airlock door beginning to open. The others had evacuated into the other room before it had begun to do so, crowding behind the control panel behind Coran in front of the window overseeing the room. They remained there while the pod was ejected into the starry, cold void outside the castle's walls. Lance yelped and shrieked from the sudden shove into the starry nothingness before them, and even Keith made a small grunt of surprise as well. Static and a muffled voice began to show up on the monitor on a small square of the large window they were seated in front of, steadying after a few moments to reveal Coran behind an intricate-looking control board. "Sorry for the bumpy ride, you two! Make sure to hold on tight for a little while longer, we’re going to send you through a wormhole to your destination!" The two met each other's glances for a moment before looking out the window at the glowing ring forming in front of them. The image and voice of Coran faded into nothing while they flew straight through the center of the glowing wormhole, and the two felt a force shove them back in their seats. Even though the two ere very used to the pull of wormholes in the castle, the pod they were currently occupying seemed much more effected by the velocity of it. Keith deducted that it was likely because of the pod being less stable and noticeably minuscule compared to the ship, while Lance was too busy trying to keep Hunk's soup from splattering onto the floor in front of him. When they eventually exited the wormhole they were given a view of a blue planet, much too pasted to be earth, but it still made Lance nostalgic. His stomach coiled tightly at the memories of home flooding back to him, making his heart throb loudly in his ears and his throat progressively become more and more swollen the longer he lingered on them. "Alright!" Coran's fuzzy voice echoed through the speakers in front of them, and made them both jump and shift their gazes from the planet to the screen with the Altean on it. "This is Solaris, the planet you'll be staying on for roughly a week. This week happens to be the one that holds the celebration of Soliarp, a time of year where all walks of life get together to show their love and appreciation for one another." "Sounds like my kind of holiday." Hunk's unmistakable voice laughed from off-screen, making Lance grin and Keith make a futile attempt to fight off a smile. "Yeah, you would like it you big sap." They heard Pidge tease from off-screen as well, earning a lighthearted laugh from the blue paladin. Keith felt his chest swell almost painfully at the sound, and he squirmed in his seat slightly while trying to make the sensation go away. "Alright, settle down. Let Coran explain the mission." Shiro chuckled softly while he calmed the two down, and a hush fell over the giggling paladins. Coran looked thankful for the sudden silence, and continued from where he left off after clearing his throat. "You two will be overseeing the festivities from the pod, making sure no one attacks the planet or tries to harm anyone." Keith nodded curtly up at the screen and Lance gave a mock salute, his signature grin slowly creeping onto his face. "If you have any problems don't hesitate to call, and make sure to hold on tight while you land!" The screen shut down before either boy cold protest, and the grin that was spread across Lance's face was wiped clean in off in a matter of seconds. The pod began to rumble, and they began to pick up speed the more they fell into the atmosphere of the planet. It didn't take long for this to rattle Lance, as he begun screaming different variations of "we're gonna die" over the loud rumbling of the pod as it began to descend. Keith was slightly harder to sway, but when he finally realized how fast they were falling he tightened his grip on his chair's armrest and grew a look of panic on his face. Neither knew how long they had fallen for, but when they were able to view the ground a sickly feeling grew in both of their stomachs. Lance was frozen with fear, completely immobile from the anxiety that practically emanated from his lanky, shaking frame. Keith, on the other hand, looked over to the screaming boy beside him and gripped onto his clammy, trembling hand with his own. "Lance-" He began, catching the other's attention quickly and silencing him with his serious tone. "If we don't make it out of this, I want you to know that..." He paused, becoming entranced for a moment in Lance's blue eyes before tightly squeezing his hand. "It was an honor defending the universe with you."

It took only seven days for Tony to fall irrationally, pathetically, and completely in love with Steve Rogers. "He's barely been around for a week and you already want to get in his pants," Pepper scolded as Tony watched Steve pummel a punching bag from across the gym. He'd decided their business check-in meetings would be conducted there after he figured out that Steve used exercise as a way to zone out of reality. And while he was a little concerned about that whole reasoning, he couldn't resist a sweaty Captain America. "I don't want to get in his pants," Tony protested. After a beat he corrected, "I don't just want to get in his pants." Tony didn't know how to categorize Steve Rogers, and Tony knew how to categorize everything. Pepper insisted otherwise because the compulsion had no physical manifestation, but he had everything laid out in neat boxes in his mind. People and wine preferences and side projects all had their own subcategories and sections and levels. The other Avengers were in 'People I would trust with my life but not necessarily the lives of people I care about'. Pepper was in 'People I trust with everything', though it really should be re-titled into 'Person', as there were no other members. Steve was in the 'Person I want to open up my chest for and show him everything inside and hope that he might feel something for me, whom I respect so much I'm almost in awe of him and would definitely like to have sex with but refuse to be anything other than serious and committed to him in a ridiculously girlish fit of romanticism' group, which hadn't even existed until a week ago. "This is the most infatuated I've seen you since you bought the Saleen," Pepper observed, holding out a leaflet of documents for him to sign. "He's a beautiful car and I had to have him," Tony replied. He signed the papers absently, not even close to the lines with some of them as Steve stopped for a moment to sit down on a bench to re-wrap his hands. Steve seemed to get along fine with the rest of the Avengers, friendly and unfailingly polite whenever drawn into a conversation, but he hadn't made any move to reach out on his own yet. Tony had been tracking the activity on Steve's personal computer, and when it wasn't things like 'how a smartphone works', it was history sites, looking up past wars and seeing that the world hadn't changed that much since he was around, despite all his efforts. (Tony wasn't stalking Steve. At least, not any more than he was stalking the others. But it had been his tower before the Avengers had moved in, and he liked to at least pretend that he still had some kind of power. Besides, he was just making sure that Steve wasn't looking up anything like sites on 'How Superhumans Can Commit Suicide Because They've Been Dead for Seventy Years And Now Their Entire Life is Gone'.) "I thought the Saleen was a 'she'," Pepper pointed out. Tony shrugged one shoulder. "Only when it's being a bitch." Pepper's lips twitched and she retrieved the documents, tucking them neatly back into the folder. She then leveled Tony with the Look: the one that could stop grown men in their tracks for fear of being smacked across the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. It forced him to drag his gaze away from the band of skin between Steve's shirt and shorts and actually turn his head to look her in the eye. "I'll be back from Los Angeles in a week," she said. "Don't do anything monumentally insane before I get back, alright?" "Of course," Tony replied with a reassuring smile. Once Pepper was gone he turned his attention back to Steve, who was sitting with his head in his hands and made Tony's heart twist just from looking at him. Three days and two sleepless nights later he was onboard a newly-designed jet bound for Western Europe, to search for a man long considered dead.     James Barnes wore a tattered blue outfit that had clear 1940s roots but with a twist: stronger and lighter material, with a flair akin to the uniform Steve had been found in—which, of course, meant the hand of Dad. Barnes was young, tall, dark-haired and handsome, with a pouty downturn to his lips that Tony suspected was a permanent fixture. He was also frozen completely solid after spending seventy years buried beneath twenty yards of snow and ice. Unreasonably, Tony found himself more concerned with the former than the latter. - …I don't think we can save his arm, at least not with any level of original functioning—sir, are you listening to me? - "Of course I am," Tony replied automatically, tearing his eyes away from Barnes' nude body to blink at the display monitors. They'd had to cut off the uniform in order to better treat the whole 'frozen' thing, and Barnes was currently suspended in a tank filled with perfluorocarbon fluid, a breathable liquid that could warm him from the inside-out. - Please don't tell me you're more concerned ogling Sergeant Barnes than you are reviving him, sir. - "I am not ogling," Tony said loftily. "I am ascertaining the damage to his limbs in order to determine the next course of action." - Of course, sir, - Jarvis demurred, and Tony was positive there was a hint of humor in the AI's voice. He walked around the side of the cylindrical tank in order to get a better look at Barnes' left arm, skirting past a table of surgical implements he wasn't entirely sure how to use—which was why he'd loaded on a medical robot that did. He'd stripped out the cargo hold of one of his lesser-used jets in order to create what was basically a compacted version of a high-performance hospital, retrofitting it with anything and everything that might help him defrost a WWII-era soldier. It hadn't been a matter of if he found Barnes so much as it had been a matter of when: because Tony had done his homework. He'd spent hours going over seized files from HYDRA bases in the 1940s, looking into their experiments on prisoners. The Kasberg facility had 'Barnes, James B' as one of their test subjects, and given what Red Skull was obsessed with at the time, it wasn't much of a leap to guess that Barnes had been one of the guinea pigs in trying to recreate Erskine's super-soldier serum. And he had been right, of course. Preliminary scans had found traces of the serum in Barnes' blood—not a great deal, and not nearly as much as Steve, but enough that it made a difference. Enough that it had kept him alive. "You're right, there's no saving it," Tony said quietly as he got a good look at Barnes' arm, the buoyancy in his chest over finding Steve's lost friend dipping a little. By the way they'd found him and the other injuries to his left side, Barnes had hit the ground that way, with his arm taking the brunt of the force. It was a nasty compound fracture, bone piercing through skin and wrist and fingers terribly disjointed. Third-degree frostbite had set in before the entirety of his body had shut down, and there was no possible way anything below the elbow could be saved. Tony straightened his back. "I'll fix him," he declared, already imagining the schematics in his mind. "How long until we're back in New York?" - Four hours, sir. - Tony nodded crisply, pulling up the interactive screens to start designing a new arm. He would fix Barnes. He would give Captain America back his best friend and maybe, finally, he would get to see Steve smile.     "I brought you blueberries." To his credit, Steve didn't look at Tony like he was crazy. He just accepted the small box, taking it with that little half-quirk of his lips that he tried to pass off as a smile. "Thank you?" "They're from France," Tony clarified. "Also, I need to talk to you." Steve nodded, obligingly falling into step with him as Tony meandered in the vague direction of the elevator. He'd transferred Barnes into a room on his own floor, near all the equipment he had commandeered for the retrieval in case there were complications. The man was still unconscious, his body taking longer to heal and recover from the stasis than Steve's had, but it felt wrong to have him in the building without Steve knowing he was there. "So, has Fury given you the 'saving the world' speech yet?" he asked, going through different scenarios in his mind of how to tell Steve his best friend was still alive as they walked. Jarvis had shut down his more grand ideas—specifically the notion of throwing a magnificent party with streamers and lots of alcohol—which had left Tony rather stumped on how to break the news. "I think he's been avoiding me, honestly," Steve admitted. "Trying to let me settle in, like one day I'll suddenly be okay with the fact everything I knew is gone." There was an edge of bitterness in Steve's voice; a hidden trace of unhappy despair that came with outliving the people you cared about. There would always be the 'they should have lived instead of me', because that was the kind of man Steve was, self-sacrificing and loving with the tendency to bear the world on his shoulders. "Maybe not everything," Tony offered, hedging around the truth as they entered the elevator and he punched the number for his floors. "You seemed to take to the Roadster fairly—" He paused mid-sentence, turning to Steve. "You're not allergic to blueberries, are you?" Steve's lips twitched upward, and Tony had to smother the delight that rushed through him at the stifled expression. "The serum cancelled out all of my allergies," Steve explained. "So, no. As for the Roadster…" his eyes softened. "Thank you for letting me tinker with it. It's nice to have something around that's as old as I am." Tony stared at Steve for a long, blank moment, drinking in the sight of him looking something close to content. Something close to happy. "I found your friend," he blurted. Steve blinked at him. "In the Alps," Tony barreled on, heading briskly for the room he'd situated Barnes in, Steve following after. Nervous anticipation tingled in his chest and he didn't like it, too used to always being in control of himself and eager to be rid of the feeling. "Under the snow—and, well, ice—but he survived; he'd been experimented on by HYDRA which kept him alive, and he's unconscious but he'll be alright—well, except the arm, but I'm working on that, it'll be even better than my suit—and, well…" He pulled open the door and ushered Steve inside, and the very next moment had an iron grip clasped around his arm as Steve grabbed hold of him desperately, the blueberries tumbling unnoticed to the floor. Barnes was lying on the bed in the middle of the room, hooked up to an IV and machines monitoring his vitals. He was still pale, his face still drawn—but he was alive and breathing, chest rising gently beneath the sheets. He'd broken his left leg in two places during his fall, now immobilized in a cast; that and his arm were the only things uncovered by the blankets. The mechanical arm was crude by Tony's standards, set in a socket he'd affixed to Barnes' shoulder with bare wires still showing through the pieces of sheet metal he'd cannibalized from various less-than-vital components from the jet. "Tony," Steve rasped, and just like that, Tony's entire world revolved around him. He looked at Steve's shocked face, a little spark inside of him hoping for acknowledgement; for some sign that he'd done this right. "That…he… Is he..?" Steve made a small motion with his hand that Tony translated into a question as to whether Barnes' revival was due to mad science or magic or both. He shook his head. "It's him," he said gently. "Not a clone or robot or anything." "I…" Steve took a few staggering steps forward, finally letting go of Tony's arm. The imprint of his palm still tingled, and Tony stayed near the door, watching as Steve reached the bedside to stretch out a trembling hand. He brushed his fingertips across Barnes' forehead, inhaling a shaky breath as if he was finally able to believe that he was real. He sank into the chair next to the bed, grasping hold of his friend's hand as though he would never let go again. "Thank you," he whispered. "Tony… Thank you." And when he looked up, eyes shining with tears and desperate, utter gratitude on his face, Tony knew then that he would take the world apart piece by piece if it made Steve Rogers happy.     "I don't get it." Steve tilted his head rather adorably to the side as he watched the pieces of artwork scroll across the screen projected onto the wall. They had started around the 1940s and worked their way forward, indulging in the art student that had been pushed to the side after Captain America had been born. Currently up was Andy Warhol, with some pieces that Tony was almost certain were somewhere in his basement. "Pepper sees something in them," Tony replied with a shrug, though he was honestly watching Steve more than the slideshow. It had been three days since he'd brought Barnes—Bucky—back, and the change in Steve was incredible: it was as though a light had flipped on inside of him. He struck up conversations with the others and had even suffered through one of Fury's lectures, and his footsteps weren't so heavy and weighted when he walked. Granted, he'd practically moved onto Tony's floor—not that Tony was complaining—and taken up residence in the room next to Bucky's, still tucking himself away, but he had a reason to. He had a focus. He sat with his unconscious friend for hours, and after a few failed attempts at drawing him away, Tony had eventually just given up and gone with it. He sat at the desk and designed Bucky's arm while Steve read or browsed the internet, the two of them settling into a comfortable silence between animated conversations and forays into the current state of things. Steve wasn't unintelligent, and he wasn't slow to learn, but he had a lot of ground to cover. Manuals gave him the knowledge to operate things but he didn't know how they worked, and whenever he asked a question out of the blue about how hybrid car engines function or satellite streaming radio, Tony was more than happy to explain it to him. They also talked about current and past culture—Black Sabbath was a must, as was a marathon of The Godfather and an introduction to Burger King—and tried to update him on modern social norms, which Tony was admittedly not all that qualified in. Steve talked a little about Dad but they both found it creepy, so he'd switched over to telling stories about the Howling Commandos instead, trading for tales of Iron Man. He'd also talked about Bucky, usually with their hands clasped together and a gentle expression on his face—and above all else he smiled. Soft and shy, bright and brilliant; mischievous and a little sly. His eyes danced and crinkled at the corners and Tony was pretty sure that everything was right and wonderful in the world when Steve was smiling. He could devote odes and art and ridiculously expensive monuments to Steve's smile. "Go back to the kinetic art," Steve said, part-request and part-demand. He'd been asserting himself more over the past few days, voicing his wants instead of politely suffering through, and Tony didn't bother to pretend he didn't like it. He grinned and raised a hand to scroll backward—and froze, Steve stilling beside him, as they heard a soft sound from the bed. After a second that seemed to go on forever Steve surged up from the couch, at the bedside in an instant. Tony followed after him, admittedly interested but also taken in by Steve's hopeful excitement: there was nothing dishonest about Steve, and it was hard not to be pulled in by the emotions he wore on his sleeve. "Bucky?" Steve breathed as he took hold of his friend's hand, raising his other to touch his fingertips to Bucky's cheek. Tony glanced at the screens, bringing up the brainwaves monitor with a flick of his fingers. The delta waves of the partial coma were gone, replaced with transitioning theta waves; and when Tony looked back Bucky's eyelids were already flickering, prying themselves open in hazy half-awareness. "Steve," Bucky whispered, even before his gaze found his friend. It was like an automatic response, a memory of what had been on his mind before he'd hit ground; and as Tony watched, Steve's eyes filled with tears. "I'm here," he said hoarsely, clutching onto Bucky's hand as he ran trembling fingers through his hair. "I'm here, Bucky." Bucky's eyes finally found Steve, and when he smiled softly in recognition, eyelids already drooping again, Tony felt his breath stop in his throat. "Steve," Bucky murmured as he faded back into sleep. It was a real sleep, one that would allow him to rest and recover, and Steve let out a soft sob of joy as he leaned down to hug him tightly, knowing he finally had his friend back. But Tony continued staring, dumbfounded, at Bucky's peaceful face. Because Bucky had had the same look of adoration in his eyes that Tony did when he looked at Steve—the same love and willingness to do anything for him; the same readiness to lay down his life again if it would help the man who was Captain America. And that changed everything.     "Steve, if you try to spoon-feed me one more time…" "You need to eat, Bucky. You need to regain your strength—" "I need you to stop shoving things in my mouth!" Tony's lips twitched in amusement as he looked up from his engineering, watching the two men bickering across the room. Bucky sat propped up against the headboard of the bed, eyes narrowed and a stubborn set to his mouth as Steve waved a spoonful of applesauce in front of his face. Just a few days since he'd awoken and already Bucky was alert and functioning, his mind active even though his body was still weak. He'd had a mild freak-out about his arm, but he seemed to be adjusting to the whole future thing better than Steve had—which Tony suspected had everything to do with Steve being there. "C'mon, Bucky, please?" Steve wheedled. He held up the spoon and Bucky eyed him warily. "Just because your puppy-eyes work on the dames doesn't mean they'll work on me," he informed Steve tartly. Except Tony could see that it was working, because he wasn't able to it resist either, and Bucky's shoulders were already slumping in defeat. Steve let out a sigh, pulling back the spoon to dump it back in the bowl, and Bucky hastily reached out to grab it from him with his good hand. He scowled and scooted away from Steve with spoon and bowl, glaring at his friend defiantly. "I can feed myself," he declared. "Go…over there, or something." Steve raised his hands in surrender, leaving Bucky to his own devices, but when he turned around Tony could see the smirk of triumph on his face. As Bucky settled down with a disgruntled mutter Steve crossed the room, dropping into an armchair next to Tony. He tilted his head to get a look at the design he was currently toying with. "How's it coming?" Tony tossed out a failed concept with steel plating and brought up the one he'd been working on involving titanium alloy, twirling his finger to move the projected screen to face Steve. "The design is solid enough, it's just the mechanics and materials that need to be fine-tweaked. The concept is based off my armor, but with much smaller components and more delicate wiring. I have a heads-up display to control the suit; this has to connect directly into his nerves." It was also taking much longer than Tony usually needed to design anything, but he found himself hopelessly distracted whenever Steve was around—which was all the time. Plus, the arm was his supposed reason for being there, and he didn't want to lose that excuse. "It's incredible," Steve murmured, reaching out to touch some of the components, exploding them into larger views. Tony beamed unabashedly at the praise, preening as Steve pulled back the perspective to take in the entire arm. He raised an eyebrow with a twitch of his lips, looking over at Tony. "Gold and red?" "They're good colors," Tony sniffed. "I suppose you have a better idea?" "Paint it blue," Steve replied, looking over at Bucky. The once-soldier was focusing on his bowl of food with the determination of someone not used to ever giving up, and Steve's lips curled into a fond, gentle smile. "It's his favorite color." The expression on his face was warm and adoring, reflecting the fact that he had grown up with this man, depended on him and gone through hell with him—that he would do anything for Bucky just as Bucky would do anything for him. It was the kind of relationship, the kind of friendship, that could last and had lasted a lifetime and beyond. And that was all it took for Tony to become completely and irrationally jealous of Bucky Barnes.     The problem was, Tony would have liked Bucky. The man was quick-witted with a sharp tongue, unafraid to speak his mind and completely unashamed about who he was. He was capable and adaptable and would likely be utterly terrifying once he discovered the current advanced state of weaponry. He had a wicked sense of humor, gave Fury as much shit as he dealt and made Steve forget that they were two men out of their time. However, he was also currently the complete center of Steve's world. "Are you sure you should be up?" Steve asked, hovering worriedly as Bucky took a few tentative steps on his crutches, forehead creased in concentration. The simple mechanical arm was performing well enough, with full control of every joint down to the fingers curled around the crutch handles—but Tony was a perfectionist. He could only see what the arm wasn't, and excuse to stay around Steve or not, he was going to finish the updated model soon just so he could stop twitching over the whole thing. "If I stay in that bed any longer I'm going to murder either myself or you," Bucky huffed, clearly fighting back a grimace of pain as he limped forward. Tony wasn't really surprised it had only taken a week before Bucky had gone stir-crazy—he would have lasted just a few days. He watched enviously as Steve rested a hand on Bucky's shoulder in support, staying with him as he slowly made his way around the room. "We could get you a wheelchair," Steve offered. Bucky shot him a narrow-eyed glance that spoke volumes, sniffing disdainfully, and Steve rolled his eyes. He let Bucky stubbornly shuffle to the armchair near the window, where he finally sat down with a low sigh. Bucky cast Steve a suspicious look when he leaned over in full mother-hen mode, and Tony took that as a fine point to steal him away for himself. "C'mon, Steve. I think Bucky could use a little naptime," he said, motioning to the slumped ex-soldier with a shit-eating grin. Bucky straightened at that, raising his head and baring his teeth at Tony. "Go to hell, tin man," he said cheerfully. "Go back to bed, scarecrow." "Alright, alright," Steve broke in, stilling the reply on Tony's tongue. "Bucky, you just rest there for a bit, okay? I'll go get you something to drink." "Something better than water, I hope," Bucky muttered. Steve just snorted and left the room, and Tony shot Bucky a gleefully triumphant smirk before scampering after him. "Sorry about Bucky," Steve said as Tony drew abreast of him, casting him an apologetic smile. "He just…he doesn't like feeling helpless, that's all." The whole 'sympathetic' muscle somewhere in Tony's chest twitched at that, despite his jealousy trying to stifle it whenever it came to Bucky. But he couldn't pretend he didn't understand—he knew all too well what it was like, to lay helpless on your couch paralyzed and completely powerless. He shrugged his shoulders easily. "That's alright, I've had worse things said to my face. Or thrown at it," he added contemplatively. Steve graced him with an amused look as they reached the kitchen. Dummy was near the stove trying to fix the pilot light—and probably failing, if Tony knew his demented creation. Steve walked to the cabinets with the ease of one familiar with the space, reaching into one of the cupboards to draw out a glass. It had little leaf designs on it and Tony was fairly certain it was made of crystal—and he was almost equally certain he'd broken about ten of them. "I just want to help him," Steve sighed, placing the glass on the countertop for a moment and leaning against the white marble. "I want to make him okay. I…" He let out a quiet breath, picking up the glass again, almost compulsively, as he toyed with it in his hands. Tony just stood and watched, listening; wanting to know if he could do anything to take that unhappy expression off Steve's face. "I still have nightmares about him falling," Steve said softly. "After it happened, after I woke up here; even now, when I have him right there in front of me. He died--fell—because of me, Tony. He was protecting me. Just…me." Steve swallowed convulsively, and Tony's heart ached for the unspoken thought that Steve didn't believe he was worth all that; that he thought he didn't deserve that kind of loyalty. "I don't think I could go through that again," Steve continued lowly. "Not again. I just want him to be safe, be alive, but he still…" He shook his head, shoulders hunching. "He still looks at me like I'm some kind of hero. Like I'm something special. And—and it scares me. I know he'd do it all the same if given the option, and I can't…" he trailed off, quiet for a few moments before saying hoarsely, "I just can't lose him again, Tony. I won't." In the ensuing silence, punctuated only by Dummy's soft whirring, Tony had a moment of crystal clarification that usually only came with technical breakthroughs. The love in Steve's voice was achingly deep—but the mirroring anguish was equally strong. Steve needed Bucky right now, and Tony would do anything to give Steve what he needed, regardless of anything else. He crossed the kitchen to the liquor cabinet, pulling out the bottle of Black Pearl cognac and two tumblers and bringing them back over. He poured a generous amount into each, handing one to Steve. "Here." Steve blinked, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead as he took the glass. "But I can't—" "Drink it anyway," Tony ordered. He hopped up onto the counter and after a moment Steve did as well, leaning against the cabinets as he took a sip. After a few more his shoulders lost a little of their tense set, just the familiar act of drinking loosening him up some. Tony took a healthy swallow and tilted his head back, contemplating the ceiling for a few minutes. "I hate to break it to you, but you are something special," he said at last. "And I don't mean because of that serum they pumped into you. There weren't many people like you back when you were chosen for the project, and there definitely aren't many people like you now." He paused. "I mean, maybe Mother Teresa if she'd taken a more actively aggressive stance on peace—but you don't know her yet anyway, nevermind—" He took another drink, gathering his thoughts back together and trying to pretend he didn't notice Steve watching him, listening intently as he spoke. "Anyway, back to the point," he said, glancing over at Steve, meeting his eyes. "You're a good person, Steve, and that's rare. You don't really understand that because that's just how you are, but to the rest of us—you're something we're not. You're something we wish we could be like. You're honest, and kind, and selfless, and you care about everyone you meet…" Tony stopped himself with another hurried sip of the cognac, trying to stifle the adoring words spilling from his lips. He cleared his throat, looking down at his glass before meeting Steve's gaze again. "All I'm saying is, don't be afraid of caring for people, all right?" he said softly. "And don't be afraid of them caring for you." He tried to ignore how close the words hit home, but by the gentle look in Steve's eyes, he wasn't hiding it well enough. But he'd done the whole lone wolf thing; he'd been in a place where he'd tried to rely solely on himself, and he didn't want Steve to go through that. Not Steve. So, if Steve needed Bucky, Tony would urge him towards Bucky. "Thank you, Tony," Steve murmured. Tony blinked, suddenly finding Steve standing in front of him with a glass of water in his hand, not having even noticed he'd moved. His eyes were bright blue, grateful and warm, and Tony couldn't breathe for a second, just pinned in place by the affection present in Steve's gaze. Steve leaned up and before Tony could even comprehend that chaste lips were pressed against his own, they were already gone. He stared at Steve's back as he slipped out of the kitchen, uncomprehending. He glanced at Dummy, who cooed at him inquisitively, and then back at the doorway. "…What just happened?"     "He's not made of glass, you know." "Sometimes I wonder," Steve replied, finally looking away from Bucky stubbornly limping into the medical wing amidst an escort of SHIELD doctors. He had finally been deemed well enough to withstand the tests they wanted to run, back to his former level of wellness aside from his arm and leg. And considering the man's restlessness in the past few days, Tony was fairly certain Bucky had given in out of sheer boredom. "For some reason, I have the feeling that you shouldn't say that to his face." Steve shook his head ruefully as he turned to Tony with a grin. "No, that wouldn't end well," he agreed. He had that little smile that he'd been giving Tony ever since That Night: the fond upturn of his mouth and affectionate eyes that made Tony's insides go disturbingly squishy and warm. He had a special look for Bucky, too--but this particular one was for Tony, and Tony alone. "We should go out," Tony said. Steve blinked. After briefly considering and then discarding the idea that Steve might know what 'going out' meant in colloquial high-school terms, Tony nodded decisively, tucking his arm through Steve's and steering him in the direction of the elevator. "Totonno's," he said judiciously. "It's not that far, and if you want we could wander around Coney Island afterward. We'll ride some roller coasters and pretend that we're not mocking the tourists—you can shoot things and win me a big stuffed unicorn." Steve raised an eyebrow at that, but he was still smiling and he wasn't protesting, which Tony generally took as a good sign when it came to interacting with people. He grinned back, delighted that Steve was allowing his attention to be pulled away from the stress of the tower: away from Fury's rants of doom-and-gloom, and away from his constant worrying over Bucky. "We could also stay in," Steve suggested as they reached the elevator. Tony cast him a dubious look. "I don't know what's in my fridge. You might only have crackers and pretzels to work with. Unless you meant you wanted me to cook--in which case we'll have to go out, because Pepper said I'm not allowed near a stove anymore." Steve laughed, the sound warm as he punched in the number for Tony's floor. "I'll cook. And I think I'll be able to manage to put together something," he added, eyes twinkling. "I was around for food rationing, after all." The fridge turned out to actually be surprisingly well stocked, and when Tony asked Jarvis if he'd allowed any deliveries without notifying him, the AI was conspicuously silent. He let it go for the sole reason that it meant Steve got to cook. He sat down on one of the stools at the counter, spinning around on it a few times before settling, a small grin on his lips as he watched Steve putter around the kitchen. "I still can't get over how...decadent food is, these days," Steve commented as he rummaged through the freezer, pulling out a bag of chicken breasts. "Drive-through meals--I never could have imagined that." "If it makes you feel better, it's probably going to end up killing us all," Tony offered, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned against the counter. "Trans-fat, high-fructose corn syrup, preservatives... Food is more dangerous in the twenty-first century." "It was dangerous in the twentieth century, too," Steve replied, digging out some combination of spices that Tony hadn't even known he owned. "Have you ever tried military rations?" Tony shuddered. "God, no." Steve chuckled and pulled out a couple of eggs, cracking them open into a bowl. Tony watched him warily. "You're not making an omelette, are you? The last time something began with an omelette I was dying and ended up destroying my own Expo." "No, Tony, I'm not making an omelette." "Can I kiss you?" Steve paused at that, looking up in surprise. But he had been talking and Tony couldn't take his eyes off his lips moving and he'd been thinking about how they felt for days now. He shifted on the stool, antsy, and Steve's mouth quirked up. "Yes, you can." Tony was off the stool and across the kitchen before Steve even finished the sentence, taking Steve's face in his hands and kissing him hungrily. He heard a small clatter as the whisk was dropped onto the counter, Steve's fingers curling in his hair as he pulled him eagerly closer. He was more demanding than Tony would have thought, more than willing to maneuver until he got exactly where he wanted, and Tony decided then and there that he would never underestimate Captain America again. When they finally broke apart Steve's cheeks were flushed and his lips deliciously swollen, and Tony was fairly certain he was in a similar state. "I've been thinking of doing that for weeks," he said breathlessly. Steve leaned back in for another kiss. "What was stopping you?" "A clearly-misplaced sense of propriety." Tony pressed closer as Steve's hand settled on his back, drawing him in. Steve kissed like he acted, earnest and sweet with just a hint of command, and Tony would be lying if he said he didn't find it incredibly arousing. Steve laughed, pulling back to grin at him. "Tony Stark, Moral Compass?" he teased. Tony wouldn't have blamed him for being incredulous except that, from the look in Steve's eyes, he knew he wasn't. Despite all of Tony's many character flaws and unfortunate habits, Steve honestly believed him to be a good person. "I know, I'm going to have to change my entire image," he mourned. He reached up, cupping Steve's cheek in his palm, brushing his thumb across the soft skin beneath his eye. A rare bout of seriousness stole over him. "I didn't know where I stood with you," he admitted. "Especially when I saw how much you love Bucky." Steve sighed at the mention of his friend, the sound one that held years of complex emotions and regretful uncertainty. But he didn't pull back, didn't move away, keeping one arm loosely circled around Tony's waist. "I do love him," he agreed softly. "I think I've loved him ever since we were kids. We were there for each other when no one else was--when no one else cared. I don't know what I would do without him." His voice lowered. "I didn't know what to do without him. When he--fell, when he was gone...a chunk of me went with him. It was... I was almost relieved when I found out I needed to crash the plane." Tony's grip on Steve tightened spasmodically. Steve's fingers curled against his back, like a silent reassurance that he wasn't going to do something like that ever again. "And now... All I can remember is him dying. That he fell--that I wasn't able to save him. That I couldn't protect him. After all the years he took care of me and I couldn't reach far enough to keep him from falling." "Steve," Tony began softly, but Steve shook his head, barreling on. "He always protected me. He kept doing it even after the serum, after he knew I was able to take care of myself. That's why he--" Steve swallowed. "I can't lose him, Tony. I need him to be safe, I need to know that he's going to be okay." "You can't keep him locked up forever, Steve," Tony pointed out. "You can't stop him from caring about you, not even if you try to push him away." "I love him," Steve said plaintively. Tony leaned in to kiss him gently. "I know." Despite the jealousy and the increasing levels of sharp-tongued taunts exchanged between them, Tony found that he was actually growing fond of Bucky. The man was unfailingly loyal and despite himself Tony respected him immensely, especially as he learned more bits and pieces of his and Steve's past. He was brave, and honorable, and despite his prickly exterior seemed to find it completely normal to do anything in his power to help other people. And now it was clear that there was no Bucky without Steve--and that there was no Steve without Bucky. No matter what form their relationship took, the two couldn't function without each other. Loving Steve meant, in a way, loving Bucky--and Tony found that he was surprisingly okay with that fact.     - Sir, if I may be so bold, may I point out that running around Stark Tower with a dismembered limb isn't the best way to convince Director Fury that you're of sound mind? - "It's not dismembered," Tony snapped, poking his head into the gym only to find it empty. "It's a highly-advanced piece of technology that is completely useless unless attached to the person it was made for. And since you've turned traitor and won't tell me where he is, I have to hunt him down myself." - Mr. Barnes was very clear in his desire to avoid you, - Jarvis replied in his ear, and the AI sounded like it was getting far too much enjoyment over Tony's distress. He scowled. "I made you!" he railed. A few passing SHIELD agents cast him concerned looks as he stalked down the hallway, apparently talking to himself while carrying a mechanical arm slung over his shoulder. "When I'm done with this I am definitely reprogramming your loyalty functions." Fury had finally managed to wheedle a semi-public appearance out of Steve, at last able to give the adoring people some news about their re-found hero. It helped that the president himself was dying to meet Steve--which in turn tugged on Steve's innate sense of duty--and so Fury had bundled him into a jet before he could change his mind, flying them off to Washington for a few days of press conferences. Predictably, before he had left, Steve made Tony promise he would make sure Bucky didn't get into too much trouble. Also predictably, by the time Tony had turned around, Bucky had already disappeared. "Whatever happened to the second law?" Tony grumbled, pushing open the door that led to the room they'd designated as the Avengers' meeting area. Clint and Thor were talking near the windows but when they looked up Tony ignored them completely, going right out through the door on the opposite side of the room toward the direction of the observatory. "You're supposed to obey my orders." - If you recall, sir, you decided that Asimov's Laws were 'too constrictive' when you designed me. However, if I were bound by those laws, I would have to disregard the second in favor of the first, as my allowing you to locate Mr. Barnes would likely lead to you being injured. - "He's on crutches!" Tony spluttered. "How dangerous can he be?" - Apparently, very. He is rather formidable with throwing knives. - Tony halted in his tracks, eyes narrowing. "Where did Bucky get throwing knives?" - From Agent Romanoff, sir. - "Her!" Tony seethed, doing an abrupt about-face. "Why is it always her? I swear my life has been nothing but complicated ever since she showed up." - Yes, because things were always so peaceful, before. - After he'd graciously allowed the Avengers to take up residence in Stark Tower, Tony had also graciously installed a firing range in the basement. It was split between a sound-proof area with both stationary and moving targets for guns, and another area for bows and throwing knives and whatever demonic new trinkets Natasha had designed to hurt people with. Tony found Bucky at the very end of the range, his crutches lying on the floor beside him as he sat backwards on a folding chair, bad leg stretched out to the side in front of him. A wicked-looking bandolier of throwing knives were slung over one shoulder, half of them already gone--buried in neat concentric circles around the bullseye on a human-shaped dummy. "Alright, I have to admit that's a little terrifying." Also incredibly hot, but even Tony knew how to censor himself. Sometimes. Bucky cast him an amused look, though he did weigh the knife in his hand contemplatively for a moment. After seeming to decide he was not, in fact, going to impale Tony, he tucked the knife into the bandolier and leaned back, tilting his head to the side. "That for me?" "What?" Tony blinked. Then he belatedly remembered the arm over his shoulder. "Oh. Yes. I haven't attached all of the plating yet in case there needs to be rewiring done--which there won't be--but it'll be an upgrade either way." Bucky nodded, lifting up the bandolier and dropping it on the floor next to his crutches. He'd been throwing with his good arm, and it hadn't passed Tony's notice that he was loathe to use the mechanical one all that much. He handed the new arm to Bucky and dug out the tools he'd shoved into his belt, starting to unscrew the crude connections of the old arm to the socket in Bucky's shoulder. "So, any particular reason for running off today?" he asked, letting the screws drop carelessly to the floor. Bucky snorted. "You're not my babysitter." Tony raised an eyebrow. "Steve's the only one who gets that distinction?" "Steve thinks he is. He's not." Tony gently twisted the arm joint back and forth to loosen it, eliciting a low hiss. He glanced over at Bucky, who was frowning at him as he watched. "I suppose this is where you go on to say you can take care of yourself perfectly fine." "Apparently not well enough." Tony paused, surprised that he didn't get the snarky answer he had been expecting. Bucky looked away moodily at the floor, silent and brooding, and he sat back on his heels for a moment to look up at him. He'd been too busy stealing kisses and touches from Steve for the past week to really comprehend the quietness that Bucky had fallen into, but, yeah, he got it now. Bucky knew. Tony studied him for a few more moments, taking in the tense set of his shoulders and the unhappy downturn of his mouth. "You don't think I'm good enough for him, do you?" To his credit, Bucky neither avoided the question or lied. "No, I don't." His pride oddly unhurt because of the frank reply--and because he knew it was true, they both knew it was true--Tony nodded slowly. "You aren't, either," he pointed out, not taunting or petty but honest; matter-of-fact. Bucky smiled briefly, the expression crooked. "I know." The unspoken 'but he picked you' hung between them, and Tony didn't know how to deal with that sort of thing. He couldn't find it in himself to feel smug or superior, because this wasn't the place for it--not something this important, not something so dear to both of them. After a while he motioned questioningly to Bucky's arm, receiving a brief nod in return, and he carefully finished removing the old model. Bucky's teeth ground together as it slid from the socket but otherwise he didn't make a sound. "This might feel weird," Tony warned as he took the new arm, no stranger to having foreign things embedded in your body. He waited until Bucky was ready before sliding the connectors into the socket, the piece automatically attaching itself to Bucky's shoulder. Bucky yelped and then Tony was flying across the room--hitting the ground with a new appreciation for the pain he inflicted on unarmored people while in his Iron Man suit. "Tony? Shit--" "Well, we know it works," Tony called cheerfully, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes as he tried to regain his bearings. A concerned face eventually encroached on his vision and he looked up as Bucky extended his mechanical hand to help him, leaning on one of his crutches as he searched Tony's face worriedly. Tony reached up to clasp Bucky's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. As he saw the look in Bucky's eyes a delighted grin stole across his face. "You were actually worried about me, weren't you?" Bucky gaped at him. A moment later he turned in a huff, limping back over to retrieve his other crutch and the bandolier of knives--but not before Tony saw the flush that stole across his cheeks. "In your dreams, tin man." Bucky headed for the elevator, shoulders set and back stiff, and gruffly ignored the smug smirk that played around Tony's lips for the rest of the day.     "Tony, stop!" Tony froze in place, the muzzle of his gun pressed against Bucky's throat. Steve's voice was hoarse, strangled, and Tony twisted around so he could look at him in surprise, ignoring the man squirming beneath him as he sat straddling Bucky's hips. "Steve?" Pain exploded in his jaw and Tony threw himself back with a howl, clutching at his chin as Bucky scrambled to his feet. "You cheater!" Tony sputtered, spitting blue paint onto the floor. Bucky just shot him a toothy grin, though the smug expression was dampened a little by the way he was panting and the splotches of yellow staining his vest. "You've never been in a real combat situation, have you?" "I have so!" Tony protested. Bucky raised an eyebrow, snorting. "That tin suit doesn't count." "Uh...guys?" They both paused, turning back around to look at Steve. The panicked expression was only now beginning to fade from his face, leaving him flustered and confused. He also had to have just gotten back from Washington--he was still wearing a suit, Italian and black and expensive, and Tony very blatantly ogled him in admiration. "You look good," he commented with a grin. The tips of Steve's ears turned pink and he glanced involuntarily at Bucky, who was thankfully otherwise occupied by a jam in his paintball gun. Steve raised questioning eyebrows and Tony shrugged. Bucky knew about them and he wasn't going to come between them--and after the past few days of relaxed camaraderie he might even approve a smidgen--but Steve's guess was as good as Tony's when it came to the enigmatic man's feelings on the subject. Unhappy and disappointed were certain, but Tony knew that Bucky was also utterly selfless when it came to things that made Steve happy. "Thor said you were down here shooting at each other," Steve said, walking further into the massive room. Half of the entire floor was devoted to a convoluted paintball course (because when you were rich and liked shooting people in a friendly manner, you were allowed to do these things), while the other half was made up of a mini theater and a climate-controlled storage room that housed Tony's extensive collection of comic books. "Well, we were, technically," Tony pointed out as Bucky came over to join them, clinking along the way. Steve stared blankly at the brace now encompassing his friend's leg, and Tony beamed with pride. "I--we," he added as Bucky shot him a glare, "Made that while you were gone. It's basically just a technologically-advanced cast. He didn't break the knee itself, so the joint is still able to move--and don't worry, there's no stress on the leg to get in the way of healing; it has a built-in suspension system. The entire thing is operated pretty much automatically in conjunction with the good leg. It's actually very ingenious," he said modestly. "You have no concept of humility, do you?" Bucky mused. "What? It's a brilliant design." Bucky rolled his eyes and clapped Steve on the shoulder--with his bionic arm, which he had taken to utilizing more often, which made Tony absurdly pleased--before heading toward the elevator. "Welcome back. I'm going to go wash the paint out of my ear; you two have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." "That's not much!" Tony called after him. Steve watched as the elevator doors closed on Bucky's rather rude gesture before turning back to Tony, shaking his head. "I'm kind of amazed you two didn't kill each other while I was gone," he admitted in that plaintive, 'I don't know what just happened' tone of voice he sometimes had. Tony smiled fondly and tucked an arm around his waist, completely unconcerned about the paint rubbing off on his suit as he pulled him close. "We've come to an understanding." He raised a hand as Steve opened his mouth with a worried frown. "Bucky wants you happy, you know that. So he'll be okay with anything that makes you happy. But he does still love you." 'And you'll have to deal with that eventually,' Tony wanted to add, but kept his mouth shut for once. It was probably a wise decision, by the emotions that warred across Steve's face: concern that Bucky was still undyingly loyal combating with the relief that he still cared about him. Tony spared a lamenting moment to wonder how he had landed in such a tangled mess of repressed and unspoken and implicit emotions--but it passed quickly. He knew this was where he wanted to be.     "You know, I think we scarred him for life." Steve let out a breathlessly wry laugh into the crook of Tony's neck, warm air tickling against his skin. He nuzzled his ear gently, worming his way closer beneath the light sheet thrown over them. "It was kind of his turn. I can't remember how many times I walked in on him with some girl when we shared an apartment." Tony grinned, because, yeah, that was typical Bucky. But he still felt bad. A little. The past month had been spent in a kind of sleepily blissful haze, punctuated by a few scattered missions Fury had sent them on in order to test Steve's readiness. Bucky's leg had healed up--a side effect of the serum, which seemed to have advanced his body's ability to repair itself quickly--and he'd accompanied them on some as well, slipping into the role of advance scout that Tony knew he had taken during the war. Between rather ridiculously easy assignments Tony was able to enjoy Steve completely, taking him on outrageously expensive dates and curling up with him on the couch to watch classic movies and going to sleep with him at night and often doing more than just sleeping at night. They'd tried to be discreet in the beginning, worrying about Bucky's reaction, but he took the whole thing in stride, not even batting an eyelash when Steve was laying with his head in Tony's lap or when Tony draped himself over Steve when he cooked. They had nevertheless tried to be careful about when they sex, because Steve was, in ways, still adorably prude. However, there was no avoiding it when Bucky had gotten back early from a meeting with Fury to find them tangled together on Tony's workroom cot. (Tony wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the fact that when he'd caught sight of Bucky's wide blue eyes he'd immediately come all over himself.) To his credit, Bucky hadn't even tried to make the situation any less awkward. He'd just cleared his throat and stepped back out the door; leaving Tony to delight in the bright pink flush that suffused every inch of Steve's body. It had taken a bit to get Steve back into the mood, but Tony was nothing if not determined. "You really should to talk to him, you know," he commented as he lazily traced his fingers down the defined lines of Steve's back. "I am not bringing this up in conversation with him ever." Tony laughed. "I meant in general. I think he spends more time with me in the workshop than he does with you, lately." His tone was light, but Tony had felt increasingly worried as he'd observed the two's interaction. He had grown incredibly fond of Bucky, certainly, appreciating his dry wit and having company while he worked on whatever project currently held his attention. But even as he and Bucky became closer, Bucky and Steve moved further apart: both trying to distance themselves to try to dull the ache. Tony knew they were close to a breaking point, the relationship strained and stressed, and he knew that something had to happen sooner or later. "He's been getting along with the others, too," Steve pointed out, though even he seemed unconvinced. It was true, though: Clint and Bucky had become fast--if terrifying--friends, and Tony was seriously contemplating keeping Bucky away from Natasha because the two always looked like they were plotting. They spoke in Russian and exchanged notes on assault rifles and Bucky had come back on more than one occasion with new and even more alarming tiny projectile implements of death. "I don't think that's really a good thing," Tony muttered. - Incoming message, sir, - Jarvis said, and Tony let out a groan. "I already told Fury--" - It's Mr. Barnes, sir. - "Oh. Well, patch him through." "Guys?" Steve sat up quickly, nearly knocking his head against Tony's jaw as they both scrambled out of bed. Bucky's voice was faint, strained, and fear coiled in Tony's stomach as he grabbed for some kind of clothing, Steve yanking on his underwear. "Bucky? Bucky, it's Tony. Steve and Tony. What's wrong? Where are you?" "Need you..." "Jarvis, track his signal," Tony snapped as he raced barefoot to his workshop, Steve on his tail. He practically threw himself into his armor as Steve pulled on his gear, bringing up the tracer as soon as his helmet was on. - Tracking. New England. Connecticut. Southwest Connecticut. - "We're going to be there soon, Bucky," Steve said as he grabbed his shield, slinging it across his back. There was a hint of a waver in his voice, an inability to hide the terror he was feeling, and Tony felt it resonate in his chest. - Derby, Connecticut. Edward Marlowe Psychiatric Asylum. Basement level. There appears to be significant damage to the exterior of the building, sir. - "On it." Tony turned to Steve, about to offer to stick with him, but was cut off by a sharp negating motion of Steve's hand. "Go. Get to him. I'll follow you in the jet." Tony didn't question the order. He nodded curtly and sprinted toward the open balcony, hurling himself out into the air and soaring toward the clouds, going supersonic as soon as he was high enough above the city. "We're coming, Bucky."     'Significant damage' didn't begin to cover the smoldering ruin that was the Marlowe Asylum. The entire east wing was reduced to rubble, walls blown out and floors leveled; burst pipes gushing water and small electrical fires flickering in the blasted-out rooms. Paramedics and firefighters were already at the scene, escorting patients out of the building who looked as though they had been tortured more than rehabilitated. The air was thick with dust and smoke and the tang of arc reactor technology, traces of the energy signature identical to the modified flight-stabilizer Tony had installed in the palm of Bucky's bionic arm. - Information from Director Fury, sir. Edward Marlowe is an alias used by Johann Fennhoff, who also calls himself Doctor Faustus. He has been under SHIELD observation for some time due to his advancements and study of cybernetics, as well as his interest in psychological warfare. In his native Austria he was brought up on charges of human experimentation, and disappeared for a time before resurfacing here in Connecticut. Mr. Barnes was sent to infiltrate the Asylum in order to install cameras to allow for detailed monitoring of the premises. - Tony dove right into the middle of the chaos, landing in a lab amidst shattered glass and broken lab equipment. There were old bloodstains beneath the ash covering the floor and he felt something sick rise in his gut. "Surveillance and infiltration are child's play to Bucky. Something had to have gone wrong. Are you picking up any trace of him?" - The infrared scanner can only pick up generalized heat signatures at the moment due to the fires. X-rays indicate a number of human bodies, all unmoving. Blueprints of the building show that a stairwell leading to the basement is down the corridor to your left, if you exit the room you are currently in... - Tony raised his hand and blew the walls apart. - ...or, of course, you could just destroy everything in your path. - Tony didn't bother dignifying that with a response as he sprinted through the passage he'd just created. He leapt down the stairwell, covering the distance a landing at a time until he reached the bottom. The area he entered was less a basement and more of an underground bunker: thick walls and heavy doors, dim lighting flickering as he stalked through the mess. He passed rooms that had exam tables with chains for restraints; cramped cells with fresh blood on the cots. There were bodies of what looked to be guards masquerading as orderlies littering the halls, and Tony couldn't say that he didn't feel a vicious satisfaction as he passed by them. The trail of carnage led him to a vaulted room that was accessible through a subcellar. An impressive array of screens lined the walls: some displaying blank white, some playing what appeared to be footage of Nazi interrogations. What was probably very expensive equipment was now mangled and strewn about the room--as well as a pair of creepily lifelike robots with generic human faces and empty, soulless eyes. They were in pieces tossed in one corner of the room, unmoving and destroyed. And at the center of the destruction lay Bucky, prone and bloody beneath a chunk of heavy machinery. Tony's chest tightened and he raced to his side, pulling the twisted metal component off him like it was paper, dropping to his knees and gathering Bucky in his arms. Bucky's bionic arm was uselessly mangled, pieces of plating torn off and the joint connecting wrist and hand severed; little sparks fizzing from unconnected live wires. Blood stained the front of his shirt but initial scans showed a relieving lack of serious damage to his body, and as soon as they were complete Tony retracted back his helmet. "Bucky? Bucky." Bucky twitched, head lolling to the side as he struggled to come back to consciousness. Tony reached up to brush some of the blood-matted hair away from his forehead, wishing not for the first time that his suit had more tactile capabilities--and then Bucky's eyes flew open, wide and unseeing. "Barnes, sergeant--" "Bucky!" Bucky's gaze snapped to Tony's, some of the residual fear draining away as he focused on his face. He licked his lips. "Tony?" he rasped. At Tony's reassuring, worried nod, his mouth curled up, a slightly hysterical laugh escaping him. "I thought you were smaller." Tony blinked. "...never mind." Bucky sighed, resting his head against Tony's chest: against his arc reactor, which sent a shiver through the armor and through him. He tightened his grip on Bucky gently as he spoke again, voice tired and strained. "Steve?" "On his way," Tony reassured. Bucky tilted his head in a miniscule nod and waved his hand toward a corner of the room. "Faustus." Tony looked in the direction Bucky was pointing, spotting a figure he hadn't noticed before. There was an older man in a labcoat pinned lying unconscious on the floor, his lower body trapped beneath a blasted-out wall. Tony narrowed his eyes as he stood up, Bucky cradled carefully in his arms. "Someone else can deal with him. Let's get you out of here." Bucky didn't even put up a token protest. He just laid his cheek against Tony's arc reactor like he was sure he was going to take care of him, make sure he was alright, and a kind of honored pride crept over him. He carried Bucky to the stairwell and lifted off, taking him away from the wreckage of the asylum. When he set down on the grass Steve was already running toward them at full-tilt, the jet having landed on a nearby freeway in lieu of an actual airstrip; a group of SHIELD agents heading toward the asylum. Steve reached them just as Tony was helping Bucky get his feet on the ground, Bucky's good arm still wrapped around his neck for support. "Bucky," Steve croaked, the sound stressed and terrified and broken as he skidded to a halt. He reached out, hands searching as he looked Bucky over for any serious injuries, patting him down frantically as if to reassure himself he was still there. Once he was done he took Bucky's face in his hands, pressed close and kissed him like the world was ending. Tony blinked as Bucky let out a soft sound: at first surprised that Steve was finally giving in to his feelings, and then at the fact that he wasn't even the slightest bit jealous. After a brief moment of contemplation he discovered that he actually had the same compulsion--which led him to the realization that he also, in fact, loved Bucky Barnes. "Huh," he said, and was ignored by both. "Don't you ever--I swear to god, Bucky--" "Steve, I'm alright," Bucky rasped. "I'm alright." "Why didn't you call us sooner?" Steve whispered, his hands still cupping Bucky's face, thumb brushing across his cheek. "We would have come. You know we would have come." "I know," Bucky replied softly, glancing away. "I just thought I wouldn't need help. You guys...you don't need me anymore, not with how you work together. So I shouldn't need--" "Don't finish that sentence," Tony warned. "And don't you ever think we don't need you," Steve said fiercely. He waited until Bucky nodded, cheeks flushed, before letting out a shaky sigh and leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "You stupid jerk," he said softly, without heat. "You scared the hell out of me." "Not to mention sending SHIELD into an uproar. What the hell happened, Barnes?" Bucky straightened as Fury walked over, the soldier drilled into him taking over. Tony and Steve both shot the man dirty looks, hovering protectively around Bucky, wanting to get him back to the tower as soon as possible. "Sir. I had half of the building wired before I was...compromised." Bucky said the word distastefully, as if it shouldn't belong in his vocabulary. "Apparently Faustus had the underground cells on a timer that distributed hallucinogenic gas at regular intervals. I was there when it went off." Bucky's voice was calm, matter-of-fact, but Tony suspected there was more to the story. Irrelevant to the report, but significant to him. "When I came back to my senses I was strapped down to an exam table. I thought..." his brow furrowed. "I thought I was back at HYDRA's Kasberg base. Arnim Zola and Johann Schmidt were there, and I was in Zola's lab, being..." He glanced away, and Tony suddenly realized the reason for the Nazi interrogation tapes being played around the room he'd found Bucky in--as well as the blank-faced robots, empty and generic to allow Bucky's mind to project itself onto them. "The gas did something to my perception," Bucky continued stoutly. "It took me a while to remember the present, that I had a way of freeing myself. I got out once I did, and released as many of the 'patients' as I could before going back to find Faustus, and then..." He shrugged, in a 'the rest is history' sort of manner. Tony tightened his grip on Bucky's shoulders, getting a surprised look in return that melted away into gratefulness. "I'll have the scientists look into what Faustus was working on, analyze the compounds he was using on his patients," Fury said, nodding to himself. "In the meantime, you get back to base, and get checked out by the doctors for any lingering effects. I'm assuming your escorts can manage that?" "We'll see what we can do," Tony said breezily, already tugging Bucky away towards the jet. Steve got out a quick replying affirmative before catching up with them, slipping an arm around Bucky's waist just because he could; both of them holding him up. "Come on. Let's get you home."     "Sometimes I wonder if you just don't like it when I make you nice things." Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes and turning his head to the side as if he could dismiss Tony from his attention. It was a futile gesture, however: Tony had finished his arm while Steve and Bucky had been sleeping, so Bucky had barely been awake before Tony was straddling his hips, pinning him down so he could attach the newly-complete totally-not-breakable-anymore arm. "Why don't you ever make me nice things?" Steve asked with a mock pout, a smile on his lips as he laid on Bucky's other side, absently tracing designs on the skin of his good arm. "You don't regularly break yourself," Tony informed him. "And you don't require a doctorate in robotic engineering and millions of dollars to operate." "Just a manual," Bucky added, grinning unrepentantly when Steve punched him in the shoulder. He looked down as Tony connected the wires between elbow and forearm, the fingers of his bionic hand twitching reflexively. "Fury was saying the other day that the lab would probably be able to come up with a lifelike cover for your arm," Steve commented, laying his head against Bucky's shoulder as he watched Tony work. "It would look and feel real." Tony raised his head in alarm, a crestfallen expression on his face. "What? Why? That completely defeats the purpose. I disapprove of this idea." He scowled. "I won't allow it." Bucky and Steve both stared at him for a moment before bursting out into laughter. "Why am I not surprised that technology gets him hot?" Bucky snickered, turning his head to smirk into Steve's hair. Steve just shook his head, grinning at Tony. Tony narrowed his eyes, slipped two fingers into the wiring of Bucky's arm and twisted. "Jesus christ--" Bucky's back arched off the bed, his eyes huge and mouth falling open with a choked, strangled whine. His fingers clenched in the sheets and his toes curled against the mattress and a few wracking, helpless shudders rocked through his body; the muscles of his stomach tightening as he orgasmed hard and sudden with a breathless gasp. Steve stared. Tony smirked. "It's amazing what you can do with electronically-controlled nervous systems," he said casually. Beneath him, Bucky let out a quiet whimper, and Steve was suddenly eyeing the arc reactor in his chest with a speculative, calculating expression. He glanced down at Bucky, who was still trying to regain the ability to breathe, and then back at Tony. He licked his lips. "And just how connected is your nervous system?" Tony grinned, eyes half-lidded and smug as he sat back on his heels. "Why don't you come find out?"

As silently as she could, May inched towards her door to investigate the crash she had heard. Pulling the door open, she was greeted with the sight of the Octoling hunched over on the floor. Her dresser had fallen over, clearly the source of the crash. Shards of broken glass were scattered all over the floor, by the wall, near the bed, and under the Octoling’s feet. May stepped forwards, concerned. Before she was even able to lift a finger, however, the Octoling made its move, jumping from the floor, a rather large and sharp shard of glass gripped so tightly in hand it has sliced the Octoling's palm open. Years of practice in turf wars and as an agent was the only thing that saved May from being hit. Years of practice was apparently nothing to the Octoling. It recovered quickly, swiping at May a second time. Barely able to escape the second time, May winced as the Octoling managed to clip her tentacle. Ink trickled from the wound, as the Octoling had cut into her ink sacks, but it wasn’t too bad. It would be a lot worse, if May couldn’t manage to subdue the Octoling. Barely a moment had passed before May was sprinting away, attempting to put space between herself and the Octoling. Jumping over her sofa, May ran until she slammed into the wall as far away from the Octoling she could possibly get. The Octoling was injured. It would be slow moving, right? Right? The Octoling was going faster than May was. It vaulted over the sofa, launching itself right at May. Ducking away from the wall, May sprinted in the opposite direction of the Octoling, barely catching a glimpse of it turning mid-run to chase her. This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good. Even as the Octoling spread bloody, blue footprints all over May’s carpet, it moved as though it was unaffected. It was either unaware of its injuries or it just didn’t care. It seemed as though it were a machine built only for combat, one that could go on forever without maintenance. It seemed almost as though it were emotionless. In an effort to get away, May took the high ground, pushing herself atop her beat up kitchen counter. Throwing all of the random crap May often left on it at the Octoling, May somehow managed to keep it away from her for a solid few seconds. Her cutting board went first, and then her few good plates, all crashing to the floor. She had nearly thrown her phone at it, but that was her only way of contacting Captain Cuttlefish, and she didn’t have nearly enough for a replacement. Somehow, despite currently being in a life or death situation, money was still on her mind. The Octoling dodged each and every object with a practiced ease. It was almost frustrating how it bent, its back arching as though it were second nature, to avoid any obstructions in its path to May. Hearing the distinct clinking noise of her foot touching metal, May glanced down to see a knife, its handle worn but its blade still sharp, sitting on the counter. Her mind filled with the possibilities. Her way out was here. Bending down to grab it, May was startled when a pink hand grasped the handle, wrenching the knife out from under May’s foot and throwing her off balance. ‘Of course the Octoling made it to me’, she thought bitterly as she struggled to regain her footing. As quickly as it came, the thought disappeared, when May felt the pain of a rather large and sharp piece of glass being shoved into her left thigh. Blood, the same blue and the Octoling’s, spilled from the wound, and with that final hit May found herself falling backwards. She flew for a small moment, grasping for a hold but catching only air. Crumpling to the linoleum floor, May’s banged against her already dented cabinets. She groaned for a moment, clutching the back of her head, vision swimming. Pain swarmed her entire body. As May shook the blur from her eyes, she noticed the Octoling standing above her, utterly silent, like an animal hunting its prey. It’s mask was cold and emotionless, it’s lips neutral. It’s blood had spread on the handle of the knife, and yet it ignored the pain, as if it were a machine that could not feel. Could it feel? May had the sudden realization that she had no idea what it was thinking. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to wonder if it was as scared as she was, or if it only thought of her demise. Pulling herself from her thoughts, May pushed herself away from the Octoling, scrambling to escape. Her back hit the dented wood of the cabinets. There was nowhere for her to go. The Octoling fell on top of her, holding her arms down with its legs. With one hand, it held down her shoulder, immobilising her, and with the other hand it held up the knife. In its glinting blade, May saw her own reflection: her baggy eyes, their pink irises wide against their small pupils, the skin around them puffy and red. She looked about as pathetic as she felt. The Octoling was going to kill her, and she would die alone, forgotten, in a puddle of her own blood and filth. Nobody would find her for quite a while. She didn’t even have anyone to look for her... It was not the way she had wanted to go, May realized, as the knife came down, an axe swinging to sever a neck on the chopping block. The closer the knife got, the more time seemed to slow down. May wanted it to go faster, to get it over with so she wouldn’t have to live with the shame any longer. Nobody would care she was gone anyway. The knife was a few inches from May’s head when a sudden ringing echoed about the room, startling the Octoling slightly. The knife was thrust several inches to the left in its confusion, slicing through May’s tentacle just below the ear and jamming into the floor. May almost laughed hysterically. Good old Captain Cuttlefish, giving her a phone call. The weight of the Octoling left her as it searched wildly for the source of the sound. Pushing herself up with now trembling fingers, May watched as the Octoling found the phone, still ringing that awful high pitched toll, and snapped it in half with its bare hands. The ringing abruptly cut off. May was screwed. The Octoling turned to May, poised to attack. Not wanting to almost die (or actually die) again, May launched herself at the Octoling before it moved, sending both of them crashing to the tile in a flurry of limbs. May kneed it in the guts, right on its injuries, and the Octoling retaliated by kicking her leg with its leg, sending the glass shard in deeper. Withstanding a punch to the eye, May grabbed one of the Octoling’s tentacles and wrenched it sideways. The Octoling seized up at the pain in what appeared to be a rather sensitive spot when pulled on both Octolings and Inklings, allowing May time to stand up. Limping to her bedroom, May attempted to come up with a plan. There was nothing in her house in the way of items designed to restrain. Still, she would have to restrain the Octoling if she wanted to survive. Her hands still trembling, she entered her bedroom, stepped over the fallen dresser as best she could, and pulled the bloodstained blanket from her bed. The Octoling came in the door only a moment later, when May had managed to twist the bedding into something that vaguely resembled a poorly made rope. She had one chance at this, one chance to defeat the Octoling and survive. Sprinting directly at the Octoling, May met it in the middle. She threw the blanket over it, startling it. May changed her course slightly and ran past it, grabbing the ends on the other side and pulling, capturing the Octoling's shoulders as she criss-crossed the two ends and pulled them back to the front. Her plan was working. It was actually working! May pushed the Octoling to the floor, sitting above it as she restrained it further down its arms. It was hard going. The Octoling did everything it possibly could, grabbing, kicking, thrashing, to keep May from tying it up. But she had to. There were no other options. It was about halfway through when May felt rather than saw the pain in her abdomen. Wetness spread over her shirt. She glanced down to see that clutched in the Octoling’s hand was the knife, May’s blood trickling down the handle. Oh shit. Forcing herself to work faster, to finish before she passed out, May tied up the Octoling's arms, ripping the knife from her body. It’s thrashing legs came next, and then May was tangling the two ends of rolled blanket in knot after knot after knot after knot after knot until the Octoling could no longer move. As quickly as she could, May lifted the Octoling, placed it on her bed, and staggered out the door, nearly tripping over the fallen dresser as she did so. Clutching the wound on her abdomen, May stumbled forwards through the room. She needed more than anything to find her first aid materials. May knew they sat on her kitchen table. She just had to get there, then she could survive. She was so close. If she died now... She couldn’t die now. May nearly fell into one of the chairs, searching wildly with her hands for the disinfectant. Finding it, she dumped nearly half of it onto the wound, wiping the blood away with a cotton ball. May spent a few minutes attempting to string the floss onto the needle until she finally got it with a triumphant cry. Her fingers were too shaky to sew the wound cleanly, and wrapping it was another mess altogether, but May somehow managed to finish. There was still her ankle. It hurt to bend forwards, but she forced herself to lift her leg. May pulled the glass shard out with a cry of pain, placing it on the table. Her fingers had begun to calm. May cleaned, sewed, and wrapped up the wound with much more ease than before. It was then that she finally allowed herself a moment to breath. Everything began to slow down as May herself began to calm down. Her chest rose and fall in slow, heavy movements. Breath in ten seconds, breath out ten seconds. May couldn’t stop trembling. She had almost died. Dying was being splatted and not coming back, trapped within darkness, cold, slowly losing your idea of who you were until your soul was a wisp of what it once was. There was no redo. Just pain, and darkness, and nothing. May would have been gone, and she had nobody who cared enough for her to even look for her. Somehow, that thought was scarier to her than the dying part. It had struck May before, how little interaction she had with other Inklings. She had tried not to let it bother her. Friends were overrated, anyway. May had gotten through just fine without them. On the other hand, May was so lonely. No. She was not going down that path of thought. All having friends had ever done for her was give her a ratty apartment and a criminal record. Attempting to get her mind away from the concern that had been creeping upon her for far too long, May inspected the glass shard. It was rather large, for a piece of glass. May wondered what the Octoling had broken to get it. As she turned it in her hands, her fingers brushed over a set of grooves. May wiped away the blood to find the words etched into the glass. ‘...awarded to DON ACADIAN, TERRA ACADIAN, GRAVEL SWEEPER AND MAY PIKE. She sighed. This line of thought wasn't much better than the first. It had been a while since she had thought of the trophy that had once sat on her dresser, gathering dust. The Octoling appeared to have shattered it in order to obtain a weapon. May would need to clean it off of the floor, eventually. She thought of doing it right then and there, but nixed the idea. She didn't want to have to see the Octoling a second time. Whenever May closed her eyes, the image of the Octoling, towering above her, May's death in it's hands would appear. She could still make out every small detail of the image, from how the moonlight had hit the Octoling just so, to how she still could feel the weight of it on top of her. Shaking herself, May pushed herself to a standing position. It hurt to walk, but May didn't care. She needed to vent on something, to push the images of her near death from her mind, and Captain Cuttlefish had recently called. May wanted a reason to leave her apartment for a few hours, and a mission sounded like a great idea. It was a good thing she knew how to hide an injury. The Octoling wanted to cry, but nothing was coming out. Everything hurt again. There was still glass in her feet and the large gash in her hand was still bleeding slightly, despite he fact that everything had begun to scab. She had failed. She had failed in her escape, and now she would die. At any second, the inkling would come in, and beat her, or maim her, or just kill her right then and there. She was anticipating the familiar creaking of the door, and those deceptively gentile hands finally hurting her for real, like they were supposed to. Time passed, the Octoling unsure of how long, and the inkling never came. The Octoling has stabbed her. Maybe she had really died. In that case, the Octoling needed to get out of her bonds. She attempted to move her legs, finding that they were tightly bound. Her arms were as well, but she could still move her hands a bit. All she needed to do was get them close enough to her bonds and she could untie herself. Focusing on one thing at a time would be good, she thought as she began to push herself to get untied. At least this way, when the inkling finally came in (if the inkling came) she could maybe fight back. She had to survive this if she ever wanted to go home.

Pause. Your pause wasn’t so much to see if he would respond, but to judge and see if he had stopped his boat. But by the looks of things he was still going, and as you looked behind you, the worried and concerned faces of your team members locking onto your every move, your eyes pan up to the captain’s nest as you click on your bullhorn and begin speaking. “Go as fast as you can. I don’t know if he can hear us.” Feeling the boat lurch, you lazily watch the boat in front of you enlarge, secretly hoping that he would cross into Canadian territory so that you wouldn’t have to do this. So that you wouldn’t have to talk. Because if there was one thing you held above your personally-invoked cage... one thing you were willing to peek your toe out for from the dark corner you would coward close to…it was the victims of this man’s crimes. And finally, after three minutes of the salt water air breezing your hair back, your over-sized sweater fluttering in the wind as you grasp the red button once again on the bullhorn, you raise it to your lips as you repeat your line again. “Mr. Schuler! My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, and I’m with the FBI.” You saw the panic rising in his face. “I just want to talk with you.” “No, you don’t!” he yells. “Yes, I do. And I can promise you that as long as you stop moving and listen, no one will board, and you won’t be handcuffed.” “What?” Rossi murmurs, his eyes darting to up Hotch as his shoulders tense. “Just trust her,” Spencer shushes behind him. “R-…really?” the man squeaks. “Yes. But you have to stop moving,” you say into your bullhorn. “Then you stop moving, too.” Waving your hand to the captain, you listen to the boat slowly power down, the engine shutting off as the roaring of the water underneath the boat silences itself, the waves beginning to buck up against it as the massive hunk of metal bobs and weaves in the open water. It was a sensation you were very familiar with. “Do you feel that?” you ask. “Feel what?” Brett responds. “The bobbing and weaving. It’s a familiar sensation, isn’t it?” It pained you to watch the man struggle with his own words…because you knew how that felt. “H-…how…how do you know it’s familiar?” he asks. “Because it’s familiar to me, too,” you admit. “It is?” he shouts. “Yes,” you state, keeping the bullhorn to your lips. “So…so you’re depressed, too?” he asks. Slowly lowering your bullhorn as you turn your head back to eye your team, your eyes connect full-force with Spencer’s as you sigh heavily. “I’m so sorry,” you lightly mouth to him. Turning your head back to Brett, you bring the horn back to your lips as you click the button. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. For…for as long as I can remember,” you snicker, feeling tears prickle the back of your eyes. “What’s…what’s your reason?” Brett asks, now standing at the stern of his ship, his body sitting down and his legs dangle over the edge. “That’s the thing,” you choke out, feeling a tear trickle down your cheek, “I uh…don’t really have a reason.” “Like Abby,” he says. Abby. Abby Whitaker. Your latest victim. The one with no hand placement and alcohol on her breath. “Yes. Like Abby,” you lull. “So you…you had a good life?” he asks. “Yes,” you say, taking in a deep breath, “yes, I had a good life. And I still do.” Pause. A long, pregnant, deadly pause. “It’s funny,” you lull. “What’s funny?” Brett asks. You feel the engine of the boat slowly roar back to life. “Don’t you dare!” you turn your head, pointing your finger at Hotch who you knew had signaled the captain as you begin to pant, “Don’t you dare,” you snarl. “What…what’s going on!?” Brett yells. “Nothing. Just someone doing something dumb,” you say, causing your boss’s jaw to grow taut as the team’s eyes grow wide and slowly turn their heads to their boss. “But it’s funny,” you continue, “how…how normal my life is. Two parents, never divorced. Beautiful story as to how they met and fell in love. Had my brother and then me. We celebrated holidays, wore beautiful outfits for Easter Sundays. We both made good grades in school, and were never lacking in friends. The worst memory I have of my childhood is…is my father telling me he was disappointed in me the first time I decided to sneak out of my house when I was 15.” “He was mad, huh?” Brett snickers, a light smile playing on his cheeks as his legs swing up against his boat. “Oh, yeah. And I never did it again. I never wanted to hurt my daddy.” Now the tears were pouring down your face. “They gave me everything, you know? Clothes. Food. Friends. Parties. Love…and yet…here I am,” you say, flopping your free arm at your side. “It’s like my sadness is a direct spit in their face, y-…you know?” you breathe, your voice getting caught in your throat. “Yeah…yeah, I know,” Brett says. “And I…I know you were just trying to help them, Brett. I know that, deep down, you knew the struggle that they wrestled with, day in and day out, no matter what kind of medication they took. God...,” you breathe, shaking your head as your brain floods the back of your eyelids with memories, “...you know, the medicine…it…it just…dulls it. You know, they...they say it’s supposed to make you happy, but really it only dulls your ability to feel sadness.” “It’s a big difference,” Brett says as you feel the boat begin to naturally drift towards his. “It is,” you say back. “But I thought I did a good job of covering it up. You know, I learned how to genuinely fake a smile, you know…crinkle my own eyes and everything. That is until I got to college and began getting a higher education.” The team began to slowly flicker their eyes back and forth between your crooked body and Dale, who was now pressing his shoulder deep into the side of the Captain’s nest, trying desperately to shield himself. “What happened?” Brett asks. At this point you were so close to him that you didn’t need the bullhorn. Setting it down, you climb to the bow of the boat and sit on the edge, letting your legs dangle as Morgan reaches out for Spencer’s arm, his body lurching forward towards yours as Morgan stops him in his tracks. “Let her do this,” Morgan says lowly as tears begin to form in Spencer’s eyes. The rest of the team was rooted in shock. “I uh…I took a literature class to break up the monotony of my Psychology courses,” you start, “and there was this book I latched on to…Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov. You ever read it?” you ask him. Watching him shake his head no, you continue. “We were uh...doing some background research into him. Well, I was, for a paper I was writing…and uh, I came across this quote of his. It’s a definition of the word toska.” “What’s toska?” Brett asks. At this point, Spencer’s face begins to flush red as the fire behind his eyes ignites, his head turning slowly to Dale as his hands begin to clench into fists. “You didn’t,” he growls. “Reid, what is it?” J.J. asks, stepping forward and putting her hand on his arm. “I swear I wasn’t the one who gave her that nickname,” Dale pleads, his voice breathless as Spencer takes a step towards him, tears threatening to spill down Dale’s now-reddened cheeks. “There’s no English equivalent, but the word is Russian,” you start,”I practically memorized the definition,” you chuckle breathlessly. “What...what does it mean?” Brett stammers. “Nabokov defines it as: ‘at its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any cause. At less morbid levels, it’s a dull ache of the soul…a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, or possibly even yearning without a particular focus. In some cases, it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, or love-sickness.’” “You son-of-a-bitch,” Rossi growls, turning his attention to Dale as he rounds his body to stand firm beside Spencer. “I memorized that quote,” you breathe, your chest beginning to heave lightly. “It uh…it really rang true with me, for obvious reasons,” you snicker, your toes now able to stretch out and touch the side of Brett’s boat, “and I suppose my classmates thought it was fitting for me as well.” “Why do you uh…say that?” Brett asks, his head now raising to look at your red-rimmed, puffy, glistening eyes. “Because that’s when they started calling me ‘Tossy’,” you say, barely above a whisper. After a long, silent pause between the two of you, oblivious to the stand-off occurring several feet behind you, you swallow deep as Brett sighs heavily. “What happens now?” he asks. “I have to take you in, Brett,” you say, shaking your head, your brows furrowing in a pleading sorrow that even you didn’t realize you were capable of possessing. “They were miserable,” he says, his face crinkling up as tears begin to roll over his cheeks. “She was miserable,” he whispers, his chest heaving as you reach your arm out straight, enveloping his hand within yours as he clamps down hard, bringing your palm to his face and nuzzling his cheek deep into the warmth of your skin. “I know,” you whisper, nodding your head as you sob along with him, “I know.” And as your other arms reaches for him, your strength dragging his limp, shaking form onto the boat as a team of police begin to board his, your arms envelope his body as you pull Brett close, his hands wrapping themselves in the fabric of your sweater as he cries and snots into your shoulder. “You have the right to remain silent,” you begin whispering into his ear, calmly stroking his hair as Spencer comes up behind the two of you to cuff him to the boat.

Morning begins with a shadow looming over you.   You blink slowly, trying to shake your sleep from you. The surge of fear when you see the king above you helps you wake instantly.   You sit up, realizing your hand is no longer manacled.   "I require your services, kitten," Loki cuts straight to the chase, smiling mischievously. He's already fully dressed, sans helmet and cape.   You blink again, lowering your eyes to his crotch, which is about level with your face. Even with your sleep addled mind, you have a pretty good idea what he wants.   "Oh?" you say innocently, using humor to hide the sinking feeling in your stomach. "Does your majesty wish me to shine his shoes for him?"   "Only if it's with your tongue," he retorts. "But I'd rather you use your tongue for something else, pet."    "I don't know what you mean," you lie.   "Playing innocent, are we?" he asks, grabbing a fistful of your hair. He's still smiling. "You said you want poison. Well, I have poison for you to swallow. Think of how ruined you'll look afterward. Reduced to nothing, but my personal little cum deposit."   You think back to last night. How aroused you had been. How you just let him do those things to you. You still don't know why-   "Do you like that?" The grip on your hair tightens. "Feeling worthless? Serving only one purpose? Do you like the punishment I bring? Perhaps it's guilt compelling you to submit."   "I won't submit," you declare. "Let me go. I won't make this fun for you." He laughs coldly, opening his pants with his other hand. "Oh, I don't need you to, little slut."   You watch with apprehension as he frees his growing erection, stroking it a few times to get it fully hard.   "Open up," he coaxes, pushing it against your lips. "You're a monster," you say through gritted teeth.   "Only because you like it that way."   After realizing you won't open your mouth on your own, he simply grasps your jaw painfully and squeezes it open himself. As soon as it's open wide enough, he shoves his throbbing cock in, sighing contently.   "No biting, pet, or this will become rather painful for you," he says with a smile, thrusting lazily to coat himself in your saliva.   Your mouth is pried open to its limits, and despite his shallow thrusts, you already feel like you'll choke.   You could bite him. You could bite it all off, and then he could never fuck you or anyone again. He'd torture you into eternity, but you could do it.   You look up into his wicked eyes, feel the controlling grip on your hair, taste the masculine taste on your tongue. You're helpless. Not completely, but almost. You need to bide your time, you tell yourself. Don't ruin your chances now. You'll kill him one day. You're a trained assassin. You can handle sucking a dick to carry out your mission.   "Do you think you can take me deeper, kitten?" Loki asks, still being comparatively gentle. "Do you want to try?"   You make a disapproving sound, which vibrates around his shaft, causing him to groan.   "There, now just keep breathing."   It begins pushing against the back of your throat and you feel your gag reflex set in. You try not to panic, not to choke, and Loki waits until you've calmed. His fingers comb through your hair soothingly. Then he pushes deeper.   Tears well up in your eyes and you have to steady yourself against his thighs. Your mind rapidly alters between breathing and retching. It hurts.   "Shhh, little kitten, it's alright," Loki croons, watching you carefully. He draws back again and gives you a moment to breathe, before attempting to push back in. Drool is leaking from the sides of your mouth and you feel rather miserable, but Loki's soft voice and his caress have a calming effect on you.   "Try it yourself," he suggests. "See how far you can take me, and do make use of your tongue."   His grip relinquishes some control over to you, and you take a moment to calm yourself. Then you begin cautiously stroking him with your tongue, sucking lightly.   "Yes, that's good," he praises, his expression one of content pleasure.   You hesitantly reach out your hand and wrap it around the base, where your mouth doesn't reach. Then you bob your head up and down, stroking him simultaneously.   Sounds of pleasure come from the king, his fingers massaging your scalp as his hips match your rhythm.   You become absorbed in the task at hand, occasionally taking him out of your mouth and licking him all over.   "You're being so gentle," Loki notes with amusement. "Truly, you lick me like a kitten. I could have you do this for hours. Alas, I have not the time, so if you'd let me, I'd like to pick up the pace."   You draw back, looking up at him in what you hope is a lust clouded expression.   "Perhaps his majesty prefers taking me another way, seeing how I am so unskilled with my mouth," you say, hoping to avoid getting choked.   This causes him to grin. "You like getting fucked in your sweet little cunt, don't you?"   It's hard to keep a blank expression when he says things like that so bluntly.   "I'm ready for you," you breathe.   And it's true. You're wet, and the familiar itch has returned.   "Alright." Still smiling, the king sits down next to you. "Have a seat."   You quickly remove your panties and move over his lap. His hands land at your waist, positioning you over him.   It's somewhat different now that you can see his face. His triumphant smirk. He's waiting for you to lower yourself.   You steady yourself on his shoulders, trying to avoid his direct gaze. His cruelly handsome features. Looking away, you slide down, feeling him push inside of you.   It's still a sensation that needs getting used to, his massive length filling you up.   Loki groans with satisfaction once you're fully seated, hands sliding down to your ass. "Go on, kitten. Ride me."   You move your hips, impaling yourself on him again and again. His hands guide your movements, and he eventually thrusts up to meet you.   Your whole body rocks with pleasure, your slick pretty much dribbling down his cock.   Loki's head is leaning back against the sofa, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted to make way for the sounds of his pleasure. You dare look at him now, studying each of his features as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.   He's beautiful like snow in winter. His hair is so dark, his skin so pale. Everything about him is slender, graceful and sharp.   You can hardly concentrate with how he's thrusting into you, but you feel a strange urge all of a sudden. Your hand moves into his hair, feeling the strands slide through your fingers. Slowly, as if mesmerized by the panting breaths coming from his parted lips, you lean forward.   His eyes open just as your own breaths touch his skin, and he slows the rhythm of his hips, laughing coldly.   "You want to kiss me?" he asks mockingly, his piercing gaze seeing right through you. You're frozen, feeling like a child caught red handed.   "I'll give you something better."   He stops completely, causing you to whimper. Leaning forward, he slides his hands under your dress, lifting it over your head. His hungry gaze lands on your breasts, and he resumes a slow rhythm, sliding his hands up your belly to touch them.   You feel weirdly exposed, almost blushing the way he leers at you.   One hand begins rubbing and pinching at one of your nipples, causing you to moan, the other slides higher and wraps around your throat, squeezing lightly.   Flooded with new arousal, you begin bouncing on his cock rapidly, now in desperate need for release. A low growl comes from Loki and he squeezes a little harder, bucking up into you. His hand is still torturing your nipple, making you feel weak with need, until he shifts it to your other breast and replaces it with his teeth and vicious tongue.   That's when you practically scream his name. The hand on your throat moves to your the back of your neck and pulls on your hair, his thrusts and grunts getting more frantic.   You're a moaning mess, riding him as you get closer, closer, closer, screaming his name with each swipe of his tongue, pinch of his fingers, pull of your hair.   "L-Loki!"   The waves of pleasure crash down inside you with such a force you go blind and deaf to the world for a second.   Loki's hands slide to your hips, gripping you tightly, as he pounds into you, until he, too, finds his release. He lets out a sound of pure, animalistic pleasure, driving himself deep inside of you, where he releases spurts of his cum.   When he slowly stills inside of you, the sound of both your heavy breathing fills the room. You feel satisfied, as if he were your lover and this was a regular thing.   You can feel his cock going soft inside you, but he doesn't push you off him. Instead, his gaze begins to focus on your naked body. It's as if he's taking in the image of what he just fucked, memorizing it.   You let his eyes move all over you, until finally, he draws out of you and sets you down beside him.   You silently reach for your dress, but he stops you.   "No. I've sent a chambermaid to get you new garments." He stands up, pulling up his pants and tucking himself away. "You've been a good girl so far today, against my expectations. You've earned yourself some things, but I'm afraid I won't be there to enjoy them with you."   He walks toward the doors, where he pauses, turning to look back at you with an apologetic look. "As much as I'd like to fuck you all day until you truly are ruined, I have duties to attend to. Perhaps another day."   Then he opens it and steps out into the hallway.   You squeak and quickly cover yourself in your blanket when you see a servant waiting there.   She curtseys to Loki and comes in, closing the door behind her.   She seems about your age, wearing a plain off-white dress and a muted red apron. In her arms is a bundle of fabrics.   "Good morning, miss," she greets you, seemingly unfazed by your nudity. "You will receive breakfast shortly, but first, I assume you might want to take a bath."   You feel embarrassment creeping onto your face as you're painfully reminded of Loki's and your cum wetting your thighs.   "Yes, a bath," you agree stiffly.   She nods and sets the bundle on a chair ̶  "I'll get that ready for you, miss, just a moment ̶ " and walks into the bathroom. "Wait, what's your name?" you call after her. "Eala, miss," she replies, disappearing into the other room. Hearing her rummaging around and pouring water, you begin to think. Something is off about all this. You need to do something about your situation, and you feel like now is the best chance you're going to get. Quickly, a plan solidifies in your mind.   "Your bath is ready, miss." She walks back over to you. "Here, let me take this."   She gathers up your discarded clothes, and then grabs for your blanket.   You make a sound of protest, attempting to keep yourself covered.   "There is no need to be ashamed," she says gently. "I've done this before. Come now, we're both women."   Not wanting her to think you a coward, you let her take the blanket. You walk over to the bathroom, where a tub of hot water is waiting for you.   Almost feeling a flicker of joy, you sink into it. You sigh as relaxation takes you, soothing your aches, especially that between your legs.   You think about Eala's words.   I've done this before.   Does this mean Loki has had a lot of assassins come to kill him, or does that simply mean he has a lot of women to entertain him?   Probably the latter.   Deciding not to dwell on it, you begin the process of washing yourself, washing away your shame.   You stay in the tub until your fingers prune. That's when Eala comes in, carrying a towel and what you assume are your new clothes, judging by the emerald green color. "I think you've been in there long enough, miss," she says. "Shall I dry you off?"   "No, I'll do it myself," you decline. "Leave them here."   "Of course." She places them beside the tub and leaves you to your privacy.   You slowly get out and dry yourself off, beginning to feel hungry. You wonder what someone like you will get for breakfast.   When you pick up the clothes, your temper begins to rise slightly.   They're nothing but lingerie. A see-through gown, lacy underwear, and delicate shoes with a heel. When a golden collar falls from the folds of the gown, you have to greatly restrain yourself not to dump them all in the bathwater.   Change of plans then.   You wrap the towel tightly around yourself to cover your modesty.   "Eala," you call out. "I need some help putting these on."   "Of course, miss," she says from the other room, and you hear her footsteps approaching. As soon as she's through the door, you grab her, bend both her arms behind her back, and shove her against the wall.   She yelps, too surprised to even struggle. "Eala," you growl. "How loyal are you to the king?"   "Uh, I- I-," she stammers, too shocked to speak properly.   You apply pressure to her arms, causing her to squeak. Still, she doesn't struggle. "I- I would never disobey him, if that's what you're asking," she quickly answers.   You realize she's just an obedient little servant with no backbone. She'll have to do regardless. "Okay, then let me tell you something, Eala," you begin. "I'm an assassin. I'm going to kill the king. And I know five different ways of killing you right now, so you'd better do what I tell you." "O-okay," she breathes, buying your bluff.   "First, answer me some questions." You release the pressure somewhat, but keep her against the wall. "How many others like me does the king have?"   "You mean... companions?" she asks, and you're glad she didn't use another word. "He has a few. But he's busy often, and he grows tired of them quickly. Most of them are very willing to take the job, and that bores him. They often step out of line and he releases them from their duty. One even tried to blackmail him. She's in the dungeons now. Right now, I think he has about three hanging around court, just in case he needs them."   You wonder how she knows all this, but you have more urgent questions to ask. "And how does he ensure they don't get pregnant?"   "Oh, there's potions for that," she explains, as if that wasn't common knowledge.   "I know, but why hasn't he given me any?" you pry, getting impatient. "It'll be- can you please let me go? I promise I won't do anything."   You sigh and release her. She slowly turns to you, but doesn't move away from the wall.   "So, as I was saying, the potion is mixed into your food," she continues explaining. "Everyone has to eat, but not everyone is trustworthy enough not to make the king's heir theirs."   You nod. "Alright. Now tell me, is there anywhere I might find a weapon?"   She thinks for a moment. "Yes. The weaponry is... I think on one side of the courtyard. It's to the back of the palace, but I've never been there. Also, there's a guard outside these chambers. You'll never get there."   "Oh, I have a plan. Here's what you'll do for me, okay?" You pause for to make sure she's paying good attention. "You're going to put on these clothes. I'll wear yours. We'll go to wherever I was supposed to have breakfast. You stay there in my stead, and I'll find myself a weapon."   You're glad now that Eala is so plain looking, similar to you. This just might work.   "You want me to-" Her eyes move to the pile of lingerie. "...and if I don't, you'll kill me?"   You take a breath. "...yes."   "Okay." She doesn't seem very afraid. Maybe working for Loki has hardened her to such threats.   She unties her apron, then takes off her dress, handing it to you. You avert your eyes to give her privacy.   "Do you... need my undergarments, too?" she asks.   "No. I'll just go without them. Put them with the other laundry and hurry up."   You hear her grab the lingerie and leave the bathroom to give you privacy as well.   You put on her dress and apron, then attempt to dry your hair as best you can.   When Eala returns, you find yourself staring for a moment. The lingerie is really all too revealing, and the collar is just belittling. Still, she looks stunning. You can see why Loki wanted you to wear that. "I've never had such elegant clothes," Eala whispers in awe, looking down at herself.   "I wouldn't call those clothes," you remark, before pushing her to the tub. "Now get your hair wet."   She bends over the water and dunks her hair in. You hover over her, drying it just so it won't drip too much. You can only hope the guard doesn't question why your hair is damp, too.   "Okay, now do you know how to act the part in front of the guard?" you ask, feeling the pressure of time increasing.   "Uhm..." Eala thinks for a moment. Then she bats her eyes at you, pushing out her bottom lip.   "Oh, your majesty", she breathes. "How handsome and strong you are."   You feel mildly uncomfortable, but give her a nod. "Good. Maybe limp a little, too, you know-"   "But he'll know that I'm not you," she interrupts. "What if he gets mad at me?"   "Look, you don't actually have to do anything with him," you explain with exasperation. "He's busy. You'll just eat breakfast and then hang around here. Just until I get done with what I need to do. And even if he sees you, just tell him I threatened your life and forced you into this. Which I did." She nods. "Okay."   "Then let's go." You take her arm and drag her with you, picking up the laundry on the way. She stumbles along with you on her heeled shoes.   You take another deep breath, release her arm, and open the door to the hallway.   "Right this way, miss," you imitate Eala, and step out.   There is, indeed, a guard outside. A woman clad in golden armor, holding a spear.   She eyes you for a moment, but as soon as Eala steps over the threshold, she sneers at her.   "Come now, miss," you say with as much friendliness as you can muster, already distancing yourself from the guard. "I know you're sore, but you've got to eat."   Eala hurries after you, looking somewhat flustered. "Uhm, the dining room is this way," she whispers into your ear, gently nudging you in the right direction.   You hope the guard isn't watching too closely as she follows behind you. With Eala's help, you make it to a cozy room where a table is set out with a pretty decent meal of fresh bread, fruit, and cheese.   "Have a seat, miss," you tell her, watching from the corner of your eye as the guard takes her place beside the door.   Eala looks like she might start drooling at the sight of the food. You hear your stomach rumble, too.   She sits down, in awe, and cautiously reaches out for a piece of fruit, as if she were afraid it might disappear.   You also walk over, hoping to sneakily grab yourself a bite. But as soon as you reach for it, the guard speaks up begin you.   "Hey! Get your dirty paws away, servant!" she barks. "You know his majesty doesn't like his whores malnourished."   You feel your heart jitter as you regretfully take your hand away.   "Yes, I'm sorry," you mumble, and turn to make your leave, when something catches your foot.   You fall onto the carpet, dropping some of your laundry.   "Oh no, I'm sorry!" Eala squeaks, ducking under the table to help you.   You're about to glare at her, when she tucks an apple into the green dress, bunches it up and puts it back in your arms. You stare at her in surprise, and she gives you a smile.   "Get off the ground, whore, you'll dirty yourself," the guard orders, and Eala quickly complies.   You move out from under the table and hurry out of the room with a lowered head. Finally, you're alone.   *** You bite hungrily into the apple, retracing your steps from last night. With only one wrong turn, you find yourself back on the ground floor.   You look around, wondering where to go now. You recognize the way you came from the great hall, and decide to head in the opposite direction.   There are more guards and servants around now, but they pay you little mind. As you walk through the maze of hallways, you begin to realize how hopelessly lost you are. No way will you find the courtyard at this rate.   "Pardon me." You step in the way of a servant boy, who's carrying an armful of firewood. "I'm new here, and I need to find the courtyard."   He looks down at the laundry in your arms. "Are you sure? Shouldn't you be washing that?"   You feel your patience wearing thinner and thinner. "No. I need to find the courtyard." He gives you a suspicious look, but gives in. "Right along this hallway. Take a left. Pass by the kitchens, and it'll be right there."   "Thank you." You smile sweetly.   He gives you a nod and keeps going on his way.   Practically running now, you follow his directions until you reach a wooden door that opens up into the courtyard.   It's a shadowy place, surrounded on all sides by palace walls. There are five doors around it in total. One opposite you, next to some training dummies. Two on the left, then the one you came through, and a gate that leads further outside on the right. There are some crates stacked in a corner, behind which you dump the laundry.   Now where is that weaponry? You'll just have to try the doors and see if you find it.   You go to the opposite door first, following the logic of the training dummies being beside it. When you pull on the handle, however, you find it to be locked.   You rattle on it harder. It doesn't budge. Of course not. Of course you can't just get lucky and- "Need any help there, lass?"   You swing around to see a middle aged man making his way through the gate. He's carrying a crate, which he sets down with the others, before straightening up and wiping his brow.   "Did someone forget to give you the key?"   He looks friendly, strolling over to you. His clothes are dirtied, his skin weathered, as if he's had to do a lot of outside labor.   You immediately slip back into your role. "Yes! I'm new here, and I broke something so I was sent here as punishment. They said to polish every single weapon in the armory, but I don't even know where that is!"    "Now, calm down, lass." He grabs something from his belt and holds it up. It's a ring of keys. "I can unlock that for you."   With a nod toward you, he inserts a key into the lock, turns it, and pulls the door open. You almost can't believe that it would be so easy.   Looking inside the dim room, you can see rows and rows of gleaming metal. Axes, spears, swords, daggers, bows. This will be so perfect.   "Huh," you hear the man remark behind you. "They don't seem to have given you any sort of tools to clean with. Don't worry, I can help ya out. Wouldn't want you to suffer for a small mistake."   "No, I'm fine." You turn to him with a smile. "You've helped me enough! Thank you!"   "Nonsense!" He clasps his hand on your shoulder. "Let me get that for you. Let's show whoever sent you here that they can't get you down!"   He turns and walks back out from where he came.   You watch him leave, then quickly enter the weaponry. You're in awe at all the beautiful shows of craftsmanship, but you can't allow yourself to admire them all. You go over to the daggers, your weapon of choice. They're the easiest to conceal, after all, and they get the job done. You grab one and shove it into your apron, before quickly turning to leave. Just as you step outside, however, you see the man come back into the courtyard. He's holding a bucket of water, a brush, and a rag.   "There you are, lass," he sets it down in front of you. "This I use for the horses, but right now, you need it more."   "Thank you," you mumble, hoping he'll just leave now.   He doesn't, instead peering into the weaponry behind you.   "Now that's a lot of blades," he realizes. "No way you'll get through them all by yourself. Come, I have a bit of time before I must get back to work. Let me help you."   He picks up the bucket again and walks inside.   "Really, no, I can do this myself," you protest, thinking how you just left Eala alone up there. Anything could have happened by now.   "Nonsense," he says again, and sits down on a wooden stool. "Here's how we’ll do this: You bring me the weapons and I'll scrub them clean for ya. Then you can dry them off so they're nice and shiny and put them back on the rack. We'll get done in no time."   You feel your heart sink. Will you really have to polish Loki's entire collection of weapons before you can get back?   Yes. The answer is yes.   Feeling absolutely dismal, you bring this annoying man an armful of weapons, wait until he scrubs them clean, then you dry them off and return them to rack. By the end of it, there's dirt and grime, even old blood on the brush and the rag, but the blades are all gleaming nicely.   Exhausted, you finally step back outside, and realize to your further horror that the sun as moved quite a bit across the sky.   As the man re-locks the door, you quickly excuse yourself and hurry back the way you came.   You rush through the hallways, only slowing down when you pass a guard. Finally, finally, you see the familiar guard at Loki's bedchambers.   You slow your speed and walk over.   "She's inside, right?" you dare to ask.   "Otherwise I wouldn't be here," the guard replies drily.   You nod and reach for the door, deciding to knock twice before pulling it open.   Eala is sitting on the sofa, her head already turned in your direction, a nervous look on her face. No wonder asking herself why you took so long.   You step inside and close the door behind you, relieved that nothing seems to have happened.   "Sorry, Eala," you begin, coming over to her. "Things did not go according to-"   Before you can take another step, someone grabs you from behind, pulling you against them in an unyielding grip. "Oh, kitten. What a bad girl you've been."  

Bad is six years old, and he is alone. And that’s fine! That’s just fine. It’s not like he can remember his parents enough to miss them, and it’s not like he’s ever had any friends before, so he doesn’t even know the difference. And that’s—that’s fine. No one in the village will look at him. Did he do something wrong? That must be it. Well, whatever it was, he can fix it! ------------ Bad is seven years old when he learns there is nothing to fix. He’s just a bad omen. Horns and shadow and light, all things that the villagers are scared of. Even his name is a bad omen. BadBoyHalo. Devil and angel. The villagers don’t want devils or angels. They just want peace. Bad can’t blame them for that. Maybe he should, but he—he can’t. ------------ And then Bad is eight years old, and there is a man with frostbitten skin and icicles for hair in the village. “Are you allowed to be here?” Bad looks up at him, cocking his head. “Are you?” The man retorts. “Technically no,” Bad says, as solemn as an eight-year-old can manage. “I just can’t live anywhere else.” “Technically, then, I shouldn’t be here either,” the man winks. “I don’t know how much longer they’ll let me stay, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.” Bad nods. “Me too. At least you look like a nice ice fairy or something. They all say I look unlucky.” The man frowns. “Are... they gonna kick you out, kiddo?” “Dunno,” Bad shrugs. “Probably.” “...Oh,” the man says. “That sucks. Where are you gonna go?” Bad only shrugs again. “Geez,” the man shakes his head. “Alright. How ‘bout I show you some stuff? So if they end up banishing you to the wilderness or whatever, you’re not gonna die right away.” “Okay! Cool,” says Bad. ------------ Bad is ten years old, and the icy man is long gone but he knows how to fight and survive by the time that the villagers have had enough of the bad omen in their home. And then he finds the ruins, all crumbling and lonely, and they’re perfect. ------------ Bad is eleven, and he’s venturing into town for the first time in a long while. They said he could come for supplies. It’ll be fine. He just needs cookware. He’ll get all his own food, he just needs the pots and pans. It’ll be fine! It’ll be fine. The traders are in town, and the main square is bustling with tents and stalls in the way that this town hardly ever bustles. He tries keeping to the side edges, and it… mostly works. He just has to make sure his hood stays pulled up and he doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. Okay. Of course, that’s when he trips over something and falls right into someone’s stall. His bitten-off cry is muffled by the crowd, thankfully, but he can hear someone cackling from the stall he fell into. He gathers his courage and pulls himself up off of the cobblestones. “Didja have a good trip? ‘Cause we sure didn’t. It was raining most of the way here,” says the voice that was laughing at him. Bad looks up and is rather surprised to see a younger kid grinning down. He holds out a hand, and Bad reluctantly takes it, frowning. But he lets the kid pull him up. He has crystal patches travelling up the side of his face, and glimmering strands of blue are threaded through his hair. It coats nearly his entire hand, and Bad’s hand still feels cold when the kid releases it. “Sorry, that was kinda mean. I wasn’t trying to get you. I was aiming for—you see that guy over there?” The kid points over at—uh, Gerald, right? Gerald the farmer? He was one of the most superstitious villagers, and had been the most determined to pretend that Bad didn’t exist. “You mean Gerald?” “Oh, you know him? Cool! Anyway, he was coming over here before, so I thought I’d catch him. He’s been real mean to a bunch of the caravan, and my parents are busy over there—” he gestures vaguely behind him—”so I just wanted to embarrass him a bit, y’know?” He holds up what had tripped Bad—just a small string, haphazardly tied across this section of the path. “You need better timing,” Bad grumbles, “but he does suck.” “I know, right?” The kid exclaims, and then gasps. “Wanna help me get him?” “That sounds like a terrible idea.” “But it would be so much fun.” “...Okay. I’m in.” “Awesome!” The kid cheers. “Oh, I’m Skeppy, by the way.” “Uh. I’m Bad.” “Bad at keeping your balance, you mean?” “No! That’s my name, you muffin—” “I was kidding! I was kidding—wait, what did you call me?” ------------ Skeppy always has to leave, but he always comes back, too. He promises it, every time, and he hasn’t let Bad down yet. ------------ And then Bad is twelve, and he finds two kids in the forest at night, angry and scared. One of them is trying desperately to protect the other behind him, and he’s bleeding, and Bad knows if he doesn’t do something that they’ll die. They’ll die. So he holds out a hand. And they stay. They stay, and Bad goes from a lonely stranger to a cautious caretaker to an older brother in a few weeks’ time. He’s not prepared for it. He learns fast, but he’s not prepared for it. He’s not prepared to start gathering supplies for three people instead of one, or to find clothes and tools for smaller kids, or to teach them how to fight like he was taught years ago. He’s not prepared for the thrumming anxiety that plagues all three of them every time they’re apart. For the way that Sapnap goes quiet sometimes or Dream’s silent nightmares. And he’s not prepared for the way that Sapnap latches onto you like a barnacle and won’t let go until you reciprocate, giggling, or the sheer warmth that Dream exudes with just a careful smile and a quiet thank you. He’s not prepared for the way his lonely ruins burst into brilliant life and laughter, for the crayon drawings taped on the walls and the songs and the games. And he’s not prepared for the viciously protective sort of feeling he gets when they go to the village, when he sees the way that Dream hunches in on himself and grips Sapnap’s hand with white knuckles, sees the way that Sapnap keeps close to Dream’s side and won’t talk above a whisper. He’s not prepared to keep them behind him, always, glaring out at the villagers that give them odd looks when before he would have just ignored it, always ignored it. He’s not prepared for the hugs and braided hair and held hands, the way that they look up at him and follow his lead and giggle when he ruffles their hair and messes it up. And he wouldn’t trade it for anything. ------------ Bad is thirteen, and Dream climbs up next to him and asks him why he was all alone, doesn’t even consider that Bad’s misty-dark skin and horns could be something other, something unlucky. He can’t quite get the words out right, can’t quite explain the devils and angels and bad omens. The way the icy man had to leave, chased by the iron golem, the way that Bad lived for years in the shadows that looked just like him. So he just explains the odd sort of agreement he has with the village and leaves it at that. It must bother Dream more than Bad thought it would, though, because the next time they head in for supplies, Dream’s fear and general jumpiness has been overcome by a sort of intensity that even his mask can’t hide. His arms are crossed, hands occasionally drifting to the hatchet at his side, standing as straight as he can. It takes Bad longer than he’d like to admit to realize it’s directed towards the people giving Bad weird looks, not him and Sapnap. Bad knows better than to bring it up. But if he hugs Dream a little tighter that evening, neither of them are going to say anything. ------------ Bad is fifteen, and his little brothers bring home another one. He learns, immediately, that the new boy is turning fourteen in three months, his favorite color is blue, he likes cats, he’s colorblind, and he brought bread. Dream and Sapnap have obviously already attached themselves to their new friend, and the kid looks so mystified about the whole thing that it doesn’t take long for Bad to melt. And over the next few days Bad learns, on his own, that George has quick fingers and a sharp wit and an archer’s callouses. He’s nervous in a way that he desperately tries to hide and flinches at sudden sounds and raised voices, and he’s quiet and self-contained in a way that Dream and Sapnap could never be, not as burning-bright as they are. When Sapnap asks George to stay, Bad’s sure he’s never been more proud. ------------ He accepts the scrap iron pressed into his hands without a word, and carves his name below George’s on the wall. He’s careful with his handwriting. It feels important. ------------ Bad is eighteen years old, and Skeppy is asking him to leave. He talks all about adventures to be had, and pranks to be done, and promises to make and to keep. He says no. He says no, because Sapnap is twelve and Dream is fourteen and George is sixteen, and they’ve only just been to their first tournament, and they’ve only just started to make friends with the children in the house on the hill, and he’s not ready to leave the ruins. Not yet. Not while it’s still enough. Someday he’s going to say yes. That’s a promise that he makes to Skeppy, and he knows that Skeppy’s going to hold him to it. One of these days, he’s going to say yes. Just… not yet. Not yet.

  "Why won't you pick up, why won't you pick up, damn it"   Far away, in a humble universe known as universe number 0279-03, or to The Beings That Watched Over All, Underswap, the Sans of the universe was pacing outside in the snow, his normally bright blue eyes filled with worry and his mind filled with all manner of horrible thoughts as he stared down intensely at his phone that was ringing endlessly.   10 paces west, a half hearted kick of the snow, a sharp 180 degrees, 10 paces east, a shuffle, a whine, and then the cycle repeats.   Over and over and over.   Stretch watched from his position, sitting just outside their door on the front step, feeling helpless to soothe his brother's anxiety and spiralling emotions.   He didn't know what happened, one moment he was snoring, having the strangest of dreams, he was hosting what he could only describe as a drunken tea party, surrounded by both strangers and friends, at one point, everything was floating.   Either way, it was definitely more strange then he was used to.   Just as he worried his dream would be getting weirder, he awoke to his brother hovering over him, tears running down his cheek.   Frantically rambling about terrorists and a horrific creature called nightmare and his desperate gasps filled with panic.   "Sans, bro please, you have to stop pacing" he called out not for the first time, tugging at his hoodie's drawstring.   "I know you're worried but you need to sit down…" Blue stopped for a moment, grasping hold of his shoulders, his body shivered, and not just because of the cold.   "I know… I'm just - I'm so worried, I can't reach his phone… it won't connect" with a defeated sigh, Blue returned back to his brother, plopping down beside him before slumping into him, stretch, without hesitation, wrapped his long arm around him, giving Blue’s ribs a light rub.   "...I know your worried buddy, but, umm, he probably knows what he's doing, he did what he thought he needed to do to make sure you were safe" he reassured the best he could.   Blue stared blankly forward into the snow, before he turned to lean his forehead onto his brother's chest.   "... I can't imagine… what it must feel like, for your own brother to…" Blue speech slowly tethered off, letting his eyes fall closed as he tucked his face into his brother's shoulder, the familiar smell of smoke and honey helping to relax his mind.   Stretch let out a sigh, looking up at the cavern's roof.   "Me neither buddy, me neither…"   "I hope he's okay…"   The two stayed quiet for a while, finding comfort in each other's presence.   "...I.. think I might give Muffets a visit" Blue mumbled to himself, extracting himself from his brother's warm embrace.   But it wasn't enough.                     Dream looked out from his spot sitting at the edge of one of the islands, mesmerised by the breathtaking view from his place while 'Ink' was doing their own thing behind him.   It had been a battle, practically wrestling this fellow outcode to try and save ink from his own poor decision making, he had ripped the half eaten plastic wrapped sandwich from his new friend's mouth, the other half to his panic, already devoured.   Dream could only hope that ink would hopefully vomit the material back up, Because he was definitely far to weak and sane enough to know shoving his hand down the others throat was a horrible idea, and a one way ticket to losing a few digits    Either way, Dream had been exhausted, his strength still not fully recovered.   He eventually let himself rest like his body demanded.   And need it, it did.   That good bit of rest had definitely helped restore a lot of his magic, but not completely, he couldn't rely on people's positive emotions to recover here in this strange place, Ink didn’t give off a aura he could feel, and therefore could not absorb, and it seems like it really was only the two of them.   he had awoken some time later from his position laying curled up in the tree branches, alone.   Apparently, Ink had decided to move, and it was quite the climb to find him.   He had found him high above 'garbage island' and it was the most magical place he had ever seen.   While the water down below had been dull with colour, up here it was like a paint factory had exploded.   Waterfalls of colour showered down around them into small ponds, the many colours swirling together like an abstract painting, yet somehow not mixing.   Dream glanced behind him at the sound of something splashing, and was surprised to watch Ink taking a drink from one of the colourful ponds, his eyes closed as he took small sips from the mysterious liquid, peaceful and seemingly content.   Curious, Dream got up from his spot and decided to investigate further.   Ink apparently had not expected his approach because as soon as he had settled down beside him, Ink visibly jolted at his appearance and looked ready to bolt.   "Woah woah, easy now" Dream calmly stated, both palms up, feeling uncertain about what he had done now to possibly upset the other.   "It is alright, see, it is just me" It had been incredibly stressful for the both of them. Dreams could see the stress through their eyes, flashing between multiple colours like one would expect from a flickering tv.   but something in Ink's mind must have clicked, because one moment he had looked ready to possibly attack, the next he had returned to his state of empathy.   Settling down back to where he had been before, Ink returned their gaze to the coloured water below, watching as the liquid's surface shifted and changed.   "Did I spook you?" Dream lightly asked, already knowing that they wouldn't answer his question.   Like he expected, they simply stared down blankly, refusing to acknowledge his presence, as if the incident before had never happened in the first place.   Dream huffed, but moved his attention down as well to enjoy the shifting colours below.   "So, this is drinkable?" Dream guessed as he carefully used his palms to cup some of the water below, and carefully as he could, brought it closer to himself for a curious sniff.   "It definitely is not water.." he noted, it smelled strong, pungent.   2 more bolder sniff, before finally a sip.   "Nnuhh!" Dream gagged, as he let the liquid drain out of his gaping mouth, his tongue coated with the foulest of flavours.   That was paint, that had to be some sort of paint.   "that stuff is horrible… why would you drink that.." he grumped as he spat violently away from himself.   Disgusted, dream looked at his hands, which were now stained with the miss matching colours.   Well, that was a problem… he should have at least removed his gloves, why didn't he think of that.   Tossing the now soiled gloves aside, Dream let out a huff.   Dream looked to the curious Outcode beside him, Ink, clearly seeing nothing wrong with their actions, leaned back down for a second sip.   "What?! No no! Why would you drink that?!" Dream pleaded without success, if he could, he would have torn the monster away from that horrible liquid, but from respect and the still lingering feeling of fear of this Outcode, Dream stayed his hand, left to simply hover worriedly.   Ink finished his final gulp with a pleased hum, before he seemed to shudder, shaking out his body from his head all the way down to his toes from his sitting position.   Dream couldn't help but rub his eyes tiredly.   So…   This was The Anomaly? The seemingly bringer of disaster and chaos? chaos he could understand, in the 2 hours Dream had interacted with this creature, it was so far, nothing BUT stress and anxiety, but were they really a bringer of disasters? He was starting to think maybe it was something else.   Maybe Ink was in a 'wrong place wrong time' kind of situation?   That was If he could ignore the fact that it was not just a one time occurrence.   Multiple 'sightings'   Multiple 'traces'   And he still couldn't forget.   He had been there that day.   Ink had been there… and he had not.   Dream was drawn out of his thoughts at the sound of a large slash and jerked away just in time to avoid getting splashed in the face from the spray.   Ink had apparently decided that he wanted a bath and had decided the pond would be the perfect place to get clean, having wiggled out of his cloak, dumping it behind him before happily diving head first into the paint.   The same pond that seemed to stain everything it touched.   "Ink... why…" dream whined, he was starting to feel almost like a parent to this chaotic creature.   Ink however, seemed to have known exactly what he was doing, because to Dream’s surprise, it seemed as if ink was somehow waterproof.   As he surfaced from the pond, all the colours simply fell off him like a water droplet on butterfly wings, easily sliding down and off him, leaving not even a stain behind.   Ink happily soaked in the paint, making a pleased hum to himself as he wiggled around in the paint pond, sending waves of colour splashing at Dream, who did his best to avoid the worst of the spray.   "You really are a curious creature…" Dream mumbled, as he scooted a little away from the edge, and decided to busy himself some other way.   And what better time than now then to snoop and example Ink’s dirty hole riddled cloak.   Pulling the brown material towards him, dream was surprised to say that it was actually much nicer then he had first realised.   The material, although stained at spots and dirty was of a surprisingly high quality, and had a good weight to it, and it felt smooth under his fingers,    Opening the cloak up, Dream also took note of what he had expected.   Pockets, multiple pockets on the inside of the cloak, and almost all of them full.   Another glance at Ink showed he was completely indifferent to his snooping, content to continue his swimming.   Returning to his snooping, Dream began exploring the pockets.   Not too surprising, the first thing he found was the mangled remains of a jerky packet and also other empty wrappers.   A little bit more of a dig around produced more items, all of which made dream question Ink’s sanity further.   A small lightly chewed pinecone.   Multiple pockets filled entirely with crumpled up paper serviettes.   what looked like a chewed up, now dead glow stick.   A small banged up can of tuna.   A wine cork.   A tangled ball of blue string.   Bottle caps.   A crushed pudding container, still slightly sticky much to his disgust.   oh.   Dream pulled out the final item.   A very cracked, very destroyed yellow and black flip phone.   Dream let out a disappointed sigh, flipping the phone open he saw that the damage was quite extreme.   A few of the buttons looked like they had been pried off, and the top part of the screen had a spider web like shatter, small shards of glass flaked off as Dream gently thumbed the damage.   He couldn't say he was surprised, he already assumed that the moment he had lost his phone it was gone for good, he was more shocked then anything that Ink still had held onto it.   Surprisingly, it still lit up despite the mess it was in, letting out a strangled choked chime to answer him, the screen covered in black splotches where the cracking was the worst.   Ink looked up at him from his spot in the paint at the phone's scratchy cry of pain, only the top of his nose and eyes peeking out from the paint.   Ink apparently, was not pleased to see Dream reclaiming his stolen property, and let out a mournful sound, which was mostly muffled by his mouth still submerged in the paint, air bubbling up as he whined.   Tensing, Dream turned at the sound, surprised to see how sad they seemed to look, and despite the fact he knew if they really wanted to, they could easily retake his phone without any issues, they simply stayed were they were, clearly upset, but apparently not upset enough to go and do anything about it.   "Ink, please do not look at me like that.." Dream said, in answer to Ink’s pouting, crossing his arms as he looked down at the Outcode.   "I know you like my phone… but it is still my phone! Oh no.. why are your eyes doing that?" Dream could feel the guilt (why should HE feel guilty? This was his phone!) Just from looking into those two miss matching eyes that had now changed into different shades of blue, one was a raindrop while the other was a duller blue coloured wobbly circle.   Dream couldn't stop the childish whining from bubbling up from his chest, the uncomfortable stare down was unfortunately for Dream, more effective on him then the other way around.   With a defeated huff, Dream slumped, and reluctantly held the phone out towards Ink, who perked up, slowly dragging himself closer towards the edge of the pond.   "Okay… fine" he huffed "you win Ink, you can have it back, but no more stealing my stuff okay? Or Blue’s stuff" he demanded playfully, aware that whatever he was saying might just be flying completely over Ink’s head.   "Do you remember Blue? He was my friend that was with me when you woke, you bit him" he chatted away, looking up towards the sky as he thought about his friend   "He's not mad at you by the way, he is nice like that" not that Ink seemed to care.   'soon, I'll be recharged enough to go back to you and make sure your okay' dream hoped.   "I took him with me to try to find you" he continued, thumbing at his phone as he spoke.   "he did not really understand why I had to find you, but he wanted to help anyway, he is a good friend"   A sigh "...in the end, I guess you found me?" Dream looked up at Ink.   "do you know, that the people that know of your existence call you 'The Anomaly'?" Dream huffed taking off his boots to dip his feet into the paint.   "You always seem to be there, when bad stuff happens…" Ink stopped his playing to watch dream with an air of curiosity, a question mark in his eye.   "...you were even there, that day so many years ago… when I lost him, my brother…" he laughed in self pity, it was always painful to think back on that day.   "...I was selfish, no, I am selfish, I went out searching for you, claiming that it was to discover who you were, to stop you, capture you, and bring you to the Omega Timeline so that they could discover if you were involved somehow with the appearance of universe anomalies" Dream looked up to stare ink in the eye, strangely enough, Ink was now paying as much attention to him as Dream was to Ink.   "the truth is. . . I wanted to talk to you, I wanted desperately, so so desperately to ask you if you saw what happened, back when I lost my brother" a sigh.   "You were right there… but I wasn't… I do not even know how it happened, or when it happened… I do not even know what it was that pushed my brother into becoming what he is today" Ink tilted his head and made an unsure noise.   "That was all I really wanted, ever since I learnt about your existence and the fact that YOU WERE THERE!" dream yelled, punching the grass with a fist, he could feel a tear escape him from his frustration.   "I just wanted to know, why it happened, and if it was my fault" he shuddered out, trying to level his breathing.   "But… it was pointless in the end, wasn't it? You can't answer my questions if you do not understand what I am asking" he took a deep breath, and held it, hoping that in some way it would help him control his emotional breakdown.   It's all your fault   "I never should have gone looking…" god, he was exhausted, breaking down 2 times within the spand of a single day? A new record.   From the pond, dream heard the animalistic like whine from Ink that he was coming accustomed to.   "Ah… I am sorry Ink" he said after giving his cheek bone a wipe, looking back up at Ink who for once looked confused up at him "I got sad all of a sudden huh, I do that sometimes"    "But I am all better now, see! nothing can get me down for long! I am not the Guardian Of Positivity for nothing" Dream cheered, for some it would look painfully fake, but for Ink it must have looked convincing enough because Ink seemed to mimic his enthusiasm, returning it back with a cheeky dog-like smile.   Clearly, Ink's playfulness had returned because before dream could stop him, ink lunged forward and grabbed hold of Dreams wrist and with a mighty splash, Dream was subjected to the cold and suffocating liquid in the pond.   Dream surfaced with a gasp, luckily, his mouth was closed but that did not stop the paint from leaking past his sockets and nose.   "Ink… Ink no…" a smug giggle from his side told him that Ink didn't feel a speck of shame.   "I really need to teach you manners…" Dream sighed for what felt like the 50th time today, it would have been fine if it was lake water, maybe even swamp water.   but clearly, even though Ink seemed waterproof to this paint, it didn't apply to Dream himself.    "I really hope this stuff can be washed out" he would be very upset if it did, and as far as he could see, there was no relatively clean water to wash it in close by.   Imagine that, he was able to have his precious treasures returned to him by Ink, restored to their former glory by some miracle, only to be ruined by Ink not 24 hours later.   'A problem for later…' he decided.   It was too late to worry for now, so why not make the most of his strange situation, Dream decided that now, it was his turn to be playful.   With a quick but gentle push, Dream splashed in the paint, sending a small wave at Ink, directly splashing him in the face.   It became apparent Ink had not expected the retaliation, and let out a confused chuff like noise after shaking away liquid from his eyes, one of their eye lights turning into a question mark as they seemed to take a moment to register what actually had happened.   The response cause Dream to let out a half suppressed chuckle, he would have covered his mouth if his hands were clean, so he opted instead to turn his head to the side to hide his widening smile.   Ink, luckily seemed to catch on to this new game quickly, soon sending over his own small slash at Dream, who let out a playful screech.   It was almost a whole hour later that Dream was able to crawl back onto dry land, ink energy level seemingly endless and it had taken dream multiple cries for Mercy and tossing food Ink’s way to get Ink to stop long enough for Dream to get to safety.   Really he should have expected it, but he was still annoyed when Dream remembered again that there was no clean water to wash up in right away.   "Great" he sighed after twisting out the paint from his cape, still stained multiple colours.   'Though… mmm… I wonder" turning back to Ink who was distracted by a stick floating in the pond, he gave a soft call to them.   "Ink? Ink can you help me?" He called out, drawing Ink’s eyes back to him who watched him for a few moments before returning his attention back to the apparently far more interesting stick.   Giving a sigh he tried again.   "Ink please I would appreciate some help, please Ink?" Dream tried again, a little more desperate.   Eventually after a few calls, Ink reluctantly finally made his way over, crawling out of the pond himself, stick clenched between his jaws.   Feeling maybe just a bit hopeful, Dream picked at his shirt for emphasis as he spoke, trying to communicate the best he could what he wanted.   "Do you think… you can fix it? Like you did before? remember?" He asked softly.   It was a long shot, since there was no guarantee that Ink would understand, or if Ink could fix his problem, but if they could return his cape back to its former glory, maybe he could do the same for his clothes?   It was extremely awkward, mostly for Dream's part, trying his best to communicate his desire, however eventually Ink seemed to understand his request.   Ink tilted his head at him, like he was a puzzle that needed solving before he extended their hand out.   With a graceful flick of their fingers, Dream watched, enchanted as globs of liquid seeped out from his clothes, and floated away from him and towards Ink's outstretched hand.   Finally the last of the liquid was drained, leaving dreams clothes dirty, but no longer horribly stained nor soaking wet.   "Wow…" Dream said in awe as he watched Ink grasp hold of the now large floating blob, the liquid seemingly beginning to become absorbed into their bones, leaving no trace behind.   "Your magic, I really never have seen anything like it" Dream said as he returned his gloves back to his hand, flexing his now dry gloves.   "Thank you ink, you're a good monster" Dream praised, reaching over to give Ink's shoulder a rub.   A harsh slap to his hand was enough to tell dream 'yeah, no, we aren't at that stage of our relationship yet'   Dream wasn't discouraged however.   'i have at least another few hours before I will be fully recharged, we have plenty of time to figure this out together'    With a bright smile, Dream closed his eyes to soak in the warm glow of the world once more.  

You crack open your eyes, finding yourself on a mass of messy blankets. As you force yourself to sit upright, you squint through the darkness to see Wei Wuxian sitting at the other end of the dimly-lit cave, fussing over a half-made compass.  The rustling that sounds from you swiping the blanket off of your body snaps Wei Wuxian to attention, and he rises to his feet, setting down the compass as he does so. Making his way over, he hands you a water canteen.  Although you take it, you do not drink yet. Instead, you opt to ask, "How many times did Jiang Wanyin stab you in the duel?" Wei Wuxian's expression morphs into a sheepish one as he averts his gaze, muttering, "Only once." "Did you stuff your intestines back into you without a care in the world and instead go off to buy potatoes?" This time, Wei Wuxian widens his eyes, hastily sputtering, "Wha— How did you know?! Wait... dumb question..." You viciously pinch his ear and pull, as if venting your frustrations on him. He howls, before finally struggling out of your demon claws. Cupping his ear protectively, he whines, "Wen Qing already gave me hell for it, there's no need to go again!!" Seeing his pathetic appearance, you roll your eyes, beckoning him over as you sigh, "Okay, let's talk about some proper matters now, I won't pull your ears anymore... How long was I out?" Cautiously scooching forward, he replies, "...A few weeks." "What?!" Shocked, you swing your legs over the 'bed' and try to stand, but Wei Wuxian lunges forward to stop you.  "My sister... Yanli-jie... were there any..?" "Jiang Cheng spread the news that you didn't follow us back, and that you have gone missing." Your expression morphs into one of incredulity, but you do not argue. This is the world of Wei Wuxian, after all. It wouldn't be good for you to upstage him too often anyway. By being missing, you can't be held accountable for more of his crimes, and the world can only turn their frustrations and anger towards him. This is too convenient. Massaging your temples, you instead ask, "Where are the others? Wen Qing?"  "Resting in a newly-built house. The village is progressing smoothly, no need to worry... Say, I'm going down the mountain again to buy some—" "No potatoes," you growl, raising a fist.  "Okay, okay! I'll buy something else instead... but yeah, I'll be descending the mountain, so I'm thinking of bringing A-Yuan with me. The poor kid is bored being cooped up in this dreary place for so long. He can't be locked in such a place to play with mud all the time, so can you..." "Where else can I be?" you snort. "Go down to play with him, I'll be watching over the place." Relieved, Wei Wuxian beams. Hearing his classic playful laugh, you flick him on the forehead before asking, "So how has progress gone with the tool I requested?" Hearing this, Wei Wuxian rises to his feet and digs through a hill of clutter to fish out a small inscribed tablet the size of a thumbnail. Dropping it into your open palm, he answers, "I worked on it on the free time I had when you were asleep. Say, your idea of a charm that can remember and replay sounds is really innovative! But... what are you gonna use it for?" "Correction," you sigh. "It's 'what are we gonna use it for'. If any unsavoury incidents occur where we have no witnesses, we can use this as evidence. That's why I asked you to make two, and make them inconspicuous." Wei Wuxian curves his mouth into an 'o' shape as he nods slowly, understanding your rationale. Since the product in your hand is still a prototype, you return it to him for further fine-tuning. As he sets it back on his makeshift workstation, you ask, "Actually, something made me think really, really hard. Just where did you find the materials to make a tiger seal, a flute, and get a set of fresh new clothing? Giving you the jade pieces to make these few charms reminded me of this question." "Ai... just some broken stones... and other stuff I picked up... as for the clothes, I stole it, of course! I couldn't have snatched a corpse's ragged clothes, right?" Wei Wuxian forces a laugh, fidgeting with the ends of his sleeve. "Anyway, I couldn't come back empty-handed and looking like a fierce corpse myself. Forget the Wen Sect cultivators, I'd probably even scare away Jiang Cheng!" Though Wei Wuxian's tone is light, your expression hardly brightens. Instead, you raise your hand and pat his head. During those three months in the Burial Mounds, all Wei Wuxian had to accompany him were rotting skeletal corpses, and the ghouls he kept at his side in the initial few months of his return. Sighing, you softly murmur, "Wei Wuxian, you... have suffered greatly. As an... onlooker, I... we all worry for you." Scratching his nose, Wei Wuxian's smile dims somewhat, though his eyes do soften as he mumbles back, "Thanks for the concern, Qingqing. Dare I say... you really feel like an older sister to me... or a guardian, perhaps? I... why don't we chat about something else? I don't want to bore you with those dull three months. Really, nothing of note happened, so don't worry about it!" A bittersweet smile curves your lips as you nod your head and sigh. Not wanting to push Wei Wuxian any further, you change the topic, saying, "Okay, then let's talk about work. What's the current situation with Wen Ning?" "Still the same," he sighs, "I plan on trying again after I return from the town later today." You ponder for a moment, before suggesting, "Have you tried calming music to soothe the heavy resentment? Perhaps it can calm him down enough for something to work." With a helpless sigh, Wei Wuxian rubs his nose, muttering, "One player isn't enough; I tried that option while you were asleep... Can you play the flute?" "I can only play the guqin," you respond, thinking back to the lessons back in the Gusu Lan lectures, but continue, "But I don't have one, and it's expensive given our circumstances. My playing... isn't very good either." To your reply, he scrunches his eyebrows, frowning as he says, "Then we can only try with stronger music pieces, but... wow, I'm too tired to think. I'm gonna go take a quick nap." Nodding, you hop off the bed and let Wei Wuxian take his turn to finally rest, feeling apologetic for having hogged his rest space for so long. Instead, you head into the other cave, which is now vacated by the other Wen people since proper houses have already been built. Having slept for so long, you meditate instead, but somehow, the unrest in your heart cannot be calmed. Instead, an annoying migraine remains.  In the morning, Wei Wuxian leaves the mountain with an excited A-Yuan in tow. You busy yourself with routine checks around the barriers surrounding the Burial Mounds when a disturbance in the main entrance alarms you. Rushing over immediately, you spot a white-clothed figure. A strange hope flutters in your heart upon recognising the headband, but it is instantly quelled when you recognise the face. To the surprise of both you and the intruder, you lock eyes with him. "Hanguang-jun?" You mutter incredulously.  Standing on the opposite side of the barrier, Lan Wangji has on an almost shocked expression, though to an onlooker he would still be considered expressionless. However, he recovers quickly, saluting you in greeting. Hastily, you return his greeting with one of yours. Stepping out of the barrier, you stand on the same side as him just as he mumbles, "You were reported to be missing." "I know. It's a long story," you reply. Staring at the younger Jade of Lan standing before you, a stubborn voice protests in your mind that Lan Wangji has already sought out Wei Wuxian, so why hasn't Lan Xichen done anything? After a pause, you push that absurd thought to the back of your head and hesitantly mumble, "Has Zewu-jun been well?" "...Mn. Brother has been searching for you the past month. He..." "Oh." Guess he did. A short, awkward silence descends upon the two of you. Unable to take it anymore, you muster a smile and say, "Are you looking for Wei Wuxian? He went to town earlier, so he isn't here now." Not one for many words, Lan Wangji dips his head once more in thanks. However, he doesn't leave immediately, instead looking at you as if he wants to say something. As for you, you are not foolish. You catch on very quickly. "...If it is possible, please inform Zewu-jun that I am fine," you request, sighing to yourself. As an afterthought, you offer, "Just saying, I recommend searching for Wei Wuxian in the town's markets. He should be eyeing some potatoes at the vegetable vendor's by this time if I'm not wrong. Please stop him." With a grateful light in his eyes, Lan Wangji salutes in farewell, and you bid him goodbye as he leaves the Burial Mounds. Fixing the barrier, you slip back in and walk back into the village, hoping to retire into your cave for some rest.  Currently, you stand in front of a newly built table, organising the leftover items in your qiankun sleeve. Staring at the spread of belongings before you, you search for any more accessories that can be pawned for money, but unfortunately, come up with nothing. Hopelessly, you sit down on the newly-built cot, now holding on one of your last possessions -- your English notebook.  Flipping it open, you revise the words once more, thinking to yourself that you can probably teach either Wen Qing or A-Yuan English while you are here. In the free time that Wei Wuxian has, you had taught him the basic alphabet as well, and true to his protagonist capabilities, he picks it up quite quickly despite your struggle in trying to teach and translate concurrently. Soon, you might have to hide this book more properly to prevent him from reading spoilers about his own future. But then again, is that really a bad idea? You take this serenity as an opportunity to rest and read since the headache in your brain still has not alleviated, or maybe start writing a letter to Mianmian or your sister later. However, this quiet peace is shattered within a few minutes, as a deafening roar sounds from the cave where Wen Ning is kept. Horror creeping into your heart, you stuff the notebook back into your sleeve and grab Su'yuan, before rushing out.

Gabriel peered over his glasses; vision laser focused on the photoshoot. He crossed his arms, a scowl making its way onto his wrinkled face. Something was off.   The way Adrien moved was in stark contrast to just a couple minutes earlier. If the boy was moving like water before, he was a rock now. His movements were clunky and awkward, facial expressions lacking their previous spark. Even his eyes looked glazed over and unfocused. Half the time it seemed like Adrien’s feet were glued to the ground. No matter how many times the photographer urged the pair to connect, it was as if Adrien was trying to ignore Lila all together.   It wasn’t like his son wasn’t trying, but Gabriel could tell that wasn’t the issue. He knew his son wouldn’t be so foolish to brush off such an important event.  The older Agreste watched as Adrien’s Adam’s apple bobbed when Lila pressed her body closer to his. In fact, Gabriel noticed that it was Lila who was making all the attempts to get closer. The intended direction for this part of the shoot was for them to look like a couple, but neither teenager was capturing the proper energy. Having Lila draped over a static Adrien wasn’t really the right mood for the shoot.  Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose , frustrated by the less than pleasing turn of events. He turned his head to Nathalie, giving her a nod . The assistant understood the unspoken cue, standing up and walking towards the various other staff members. They exchanged whispers before Nathalie went over to the photographer and spoke to him as well.   The flashes of the camera stopped, and the photographer addressed the room. “Let’s take a break, shall we?”   As Gabriel strode over to where a computer was set up to look at the images and see if they’d gotten any useable shots yet, the two teenage models were left to get food or go back to their dressing rooms. Unsurprisingly, Adrien opted to return to his dressing room.   He started to feel lightheaded as he walked down the hallway, but the blond wasn’t quite sure why. Adrien ignored the feeling, just like how he pushed down the faint feeling of hunger in the pit of his stomach. ‘Maybe Plagg can give me some advice,’ Adrien hoped as he turned the doorknob. As of recent, he’d been surprised with how caring and understanding that whining cheese addict could be.  “Lookie lookie it’s Mr. Model!” The kwami said as he floated out of the bag, grin wide until he saw Adrien’s face. “What happened out there?” He opted to sit in the crook of his charge’s neck, nuzzling into Adrien’s collar in a comforting gesture.   “Lila,” was all Adrien could manage to say. Tears stung the corner of his eyes, but the boy tried his best to blink them away. ‘You’re such a wimp,’ he chided himself.     “If she did anything I will cataclysm her into oblivion.” Plagg’s eyes morphed into two green slits.   Adrien let out a shaky breath, deciding to give more details. “She’s modelling with me. Nobody even told me! Honestly I should get used to ho w grabby she is by now.”   “You shouldn’t have to get used to her basically molesting you on the daily.”   “Linking arms with me and resting her head on my shoulder and wrapping her arms around my waist ? I t’s not like she hasn’t done worse. ”   “And the photographer and all those annoying staff guys didn’t do anything? My murder list is getting longer by the minute!”   Adrien opened his mouth, but the growling of his stomach spoke for him. ‘I forgot I didn’t have much breakfast ,’ he thought as he slumped into a chair. He could ignore the hunger while he was modelling, but now that he was on break with no distractions, Adrien was feeling the effects of his recent dietary choices.   “Want some camembert? You’re looking kind of pale, and I don’t mind sharing this once.”   “Camembert is gross.” Adrien pushed himself out of the chair, surprised by how his vision went blurry for a second once he was upright. “There’s a buffet in the studio, I’ll just get something from there.”   Taking tentative steps, Adrien crossed the room and reached the door again. Just as his fingers closed around the doorknob, it turned by itself, and the door whipped open. Plagg zoomed back into Adrien’s bag before he could be spotted.   Less than a foot away from the blond stood Lila Rossi.   “What are you doing in my dressing room?” Adrien asked, voice guarded and shoulders rising.   “I was bored,” she replied, as if it were obvious. The brunette pushed herself all the way inside the small room, quickly turning to lock the door behind her.  “W-why’d you lock the door?” Adrien cringed at the way his voice cracked. ‘Way to be intimidating , Agreste.’   “I don’t want anyone to interrupt our fun.” Lila reached out to feel up the boy’s biceps, biting her plump bottom lip as she did so.   “ Fun?” Adrien knew he and Lila had very different definitions of the word ‘fun’. “ Just... please go. Whatever you’re planning I don’t want.” Adrien tried to brush her hands away, but once again she was overpowering him. It didn’t help that he was starving and had little energy left for anything other than existing.   “We’ve been over this, Adrien,” she replied, voice dripping with dangerous honey.   The blond squeezed his eyes shut, praying that she’d just disappear. The single second he needed to regroup was all Lila needed to continue . Moving her hands up to his shoulders, she pushed him onto his knees before pressing her palms against his chest until he was lying on the ground . Adrien squirmed under her, writhing on his back until she lowered hers elf to straddle his torso , effectively limiting his mobility.   “Stop. Stop!” He cried, fumbling for his phone in his shirt pocket. ‘I just have to record something : video, audio, whatever!’ He thought frantically.   “Do you think I’m dumb?” Lila spat as she wrestled the phone from Adrien’s hands. She threw it across the room, and it hit the wall with a crack. “It’s not like there’s security cameras, so don’t get any more ideas, pretty boy.” Those last two words came out like venom.  She bent forward until Adrien could feel her pearl necklace grazing against his sternum. “We’ve only got thirty minutes off, stop w asting my time.” Before Adrien could respond, she captured his lips in a kiss, one that was hungry and lustful. The dark waters of his mind splashed back with their full force, waves of repressed fears crashing against the walls of his skull. Adrien opened his mouth to scream, but she slipped her tongue into his mouth and effectively muffled the sound. It was wet and invasive and gross.   Adrien clawed at the carpet, remaining energy draining away as he tried to escape. He was angry, scared, violated, but most of all, felt disgusted with himself.   All of these kisses should’ve been with Ladybug . Adrien didn’t want to be intimate with anyone other than the pigtailed girl he’d let into his heart.  He’d dreamed about the delicate curve of her pink petal lips caressing his own , being able to experience firsthand what he’d only seen through pictures taken during the  Dark Cupid and Oblivio   battles .   The imaginary scenarios he’d played out in his head on the nights that were riddled with insomnia had become comforting. They were rose-colored, warm, and fluffy, but the girl on top of him was t he reminder that  that none of that was real.   ‘I don’t deserve to live out a fantasy like  that anyway,’ was one of the few thoughts that surfaced above the noise. He was pulled out of his wallowing  by the feeling of Lila’s tongue in the back of his throat.   As a knee-jerk reaction to the increasingly uncomfortable slimy feeling , Adrien bit down . Hard.

It wasn’t like Liu Qingge was trying to make it obvious--really, he was trying to be subtle. He didn’t care about other people’s business and didn’t want people to know about his business, so he saw no reason to make anything publicly known. He really should have just come clean and admitted to his relationship in the end. Gossip spread like wildfire at the Peak Lord meetings. Liu Qingge’s glare became stronger the more that the Peak Lords would glance curiously at him, then over to Shen Qingqiu, who just continued hiding behind his fan from all the eyes on him. At the Peak Lord meetings, Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu actually behaved normally, nothing fishy about their relationship in the slightest without Luo Binghe there to start fires. Luo Binghe apparently loved teasing and public displays of affection as much as he loved his husbands. So, no, Luo Binghe was not invited and had to stay home while Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu went to gatherings. The reason why rumours started amongst the Peak Lords was because Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu hadn’t quite mastered the art of subtlety outside the meetings. At the end of every meeting, Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu could be seen leaving with each other, heading in the exact same direction on their swords. A peak lord even said that they saw them on the same sword one time; this was followed by scandalous gasps and the whole table very obviously turned to stare at Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge, which led to Liu Qingge slamming his fist on the table and demanding that the meeting get started already. But ultimately, no one could actually prove the rumours. Anyone that could actually give an honest answer was unwilling, Shang Qinghua included, who paled and literally faked passing out every time someone tried to broach the topic with him. So they remained rumours until the fateful day when Luo Binghe’s stickiness became too much. Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu left the meeting at once, not wanting to stick around and deal with anymore drama. They walked towards the doors leading outside, an appropriate amount of space between them, absolutely nothing suspicious going on. Shen Qingqiu lazily fanned himself as he walked beside Liu Qingge. “Our fellow Peak Lords sure are quite chatty, huh?” Shen Qingqiu commented idly and Liu Qingge’s fists tightened. “They should learn to mind their own business,” Liu Qingge grumbled. Shen Qingqiu hummed in agreement as Liu Qingge pushed open the doors to outside. The noon sun blinded both of them momentarily as they raised their arms to shield their eyes. Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu walked slowly out into the sunlight, lowering their arms, blinking to adjust to the sudden brightness when suddenly the sun was blocked for both of them. They looked up to find Luo Binghe standing atop Zheng Yang, blocking out the sun for his husbands with his broad frame. “Binghe?” Shen Qingqiu asked in surprise. “What are you doing here?” Liu Qingge asked at the same time, hair standing up at the back of his neck at the thought of the rest of the Peak Lords coming over. Luo Binghe lowered his sword and stepped off, coming closer to Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu. “This husband finished his work early and wanted to surprise his husbands,” Luo Binghe said with a shy duck of his head. And it wasn’t like Shen Qingqiu could be mad at Luo Binghe for breaking the rules when he acted cute like that. Liu Qingge, on the other hand, could be as mad as he wanted, having a far higher tolerance for Luo Binghe’s stickiness. “You shouldn’t be here, Binghe,” Liu Qingge warned and Luo Binghe blinked before nodding slowly. Liu Qingge felt a brief moment of surprise, wait, did he actually just manage to get through to Luo Binghe? “You’re absolutely right, Liu-shishu. Let's leave right now,” Luo Binghe said and summoned Zheng Yang closer, indicating everyone should get on it. Liu Qingge stared incredulously at it. He couldn’t be serious? If Liu Qingge was seen even remotely close to Luo Binghe and not trying to kill him it’d only add salt to that wound, let alone being on his sword. “No. I’ll just go on my own,” Liu Qingge replied flatly. An annoyed look crossed Luo Binghe’s face. He started walking very quickly towards Liu Qingge. Shen Qingqiu quietly raised his fan to his face, already predicting the outcome. He stepped up onto the front of Zheng Yang, leaving space for his husbands behind him. “This husband would be greatly appreciative if Liu-shishu joined him,” Luo Binghe said sweetly, but he was already moving to pin Liu Qingge in his arms. Liu Qingge narrowly dodged Luo Binghe’s sudden grab, prepared to draw his sword and smack Luo Binghe on the head before taking off--he’d maybe make it up for it later. “I’m not going to. I’m perfectly capable of flying my sword myself,” Liu Qingge snapped. Luo Binghe’s eyes flashed red and he darted forward, ensnaring Liu Qingge in his arms. “Yes, I’m sure Liu-shishu is capable. However, he can indulge this husband just once.” Liu Qingge yelped and started wriggling furiously in Luo Binghe’s hold as he lifted him off the ground. “Let me down! Let me down you brat!” Liu Qingge kicked Luo Binghe in the shin several times. Unbeknownst to Liu Qingge and the two other party members, his outburst actually brought the attention of the Peak Lords in the building. They snuck over to survey the scene and what could possibly be making the War God of Bai Zhan squeal like that. Shen Qingqiu just smiled and waved at his husbands from atop Zheng Yang as he watched them struggle over to him, this event was a common occurrence at this point. Luo Binghe smiled brightly in return at Shen Qingqiu while he carried a hissing Liu Qingge throwing a fit closer. Most of the Peak Lords watching Luo Binghe wrangle Liu Qingge onto his sword were assuming it was some kind of hostage situation--a situation that unfortunately they couldn’t intervene in considering it was Luo Binghe they’d have to go against. Other Peak Lords, such as Yue Qingyuan, Qi Qingqi, and Mu Qingfan picked up on what was happening quickly and quietly looked away in embarrassment. “Binghe, you brat! Put me down! I’m going to cut your head off when you’re sleeping tonight if you don’t let me go!” Liu Qingge yelled, fingers twisting to dig into the meat of Luo Binghe’s stomach to inflict pain. Luo Binghe just laughed loudly, lowering his head to rest his chin on top of Liu Qingge’s head, burying Liu Qingge’s face in the crook of his neck. “You’ll be far too tired to do any killing tonight, Qingge,” Luo Binghe’s voice was a solid rumble against the top of Liu Qingge’s skull. An involuntary shiver ran through Liu Qingge and his limbs locked as he went stiff as a board in Luo Binghe’s arms. Luo Binghe hummed in satisfaction at Liu Qingge no longer trying to attack him and stepped onto the sword behind Shen Qingqiu, Liu Qingge sandwiched snugly between them. Luo Binghe let go of Liu Qingge who just turned around to face Shen Qingqiu with an irritated expression. Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders shook slightly with contained laughter. “Oh, Liu-shidi, we’ll get back at him someday,” Shen Qingqiu whispered, lips curled up in a playful smile. Liu Qingge sighed, at this point he just wanted to get off this peak and get to bed. Luo Binghe suddenly wrapped his arms around Liu Qingge again, this time from behind. “This husband is very happy to be here with his husbands,” Luo Binghe said with wide adoring eyes at both men with him on his sword. Shen Qingqiu made a cooing noise, patting Luo Binghe on the head who preened under his attention. Liu Qingge just huffed, giving up the fight. He may not be as clingy as Luo Binghe or do head pats like Shen Qingqiu, but the fact that he wasn’t struggling to be on his own was enough of a statement and proof of his love. All the Peak Lords who had been slow on the uptake, at the realization that Liu Qingge was actually accepting Luo Binghe’s affection, were shocked into stillness, mouths hanging open. The sword lifted up into the sky, Luo Binghe having not a single problem with carrying 3 people. Liu Qingge snuck a glance to the side where Luo Binghe was still holding onto him. Luo Binghe noticed his eyes before he could look away and delivered a smirk to him. Liu Qingge felt a spike of arrogance and his cheeks flushed, turning his head abruptly and feeling smug when he apparently smacked Luo Binghe in the face with his ponytail, going by the sound of Luo Binghe trying to spit out a strand of hair that got stuck in his mouth. Shen Qingqiu turned his head to look at Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe, sensing the commotion. Luo Binghe just gave Shen Qingqiu a wide-eyed innocent look while Liu Qingge scowled. Shen Qingqiu smiled at Liu Qingge, a silent thank you passing from him to Liu Qingge for joining them. The flush to Liu Qingge’s cheeks darkened as his heartbeat increased in speed. Shen Qingqiu’s smile widened at Liu Qingge blushing and he shuffled backwards, hands moving back to take Liu Qingge’s hands in his. Shen Qingqiu wrapped Liu Qingge’s arms around his waist so he was holding onto him, then leaned back so his back was flush against Liu Qingge’s chest. Shen Qingqiu kept his hands placed on Liu Qingge’s hands that were resting on his stomach, a small act that made Liu Qingge’s hands go sweaty in his gentle hold. With how Luo Binghe was clinging to Liu Qingge’s back, paired with Shen Qingqiu snug against his front, it was a miracle Liu Qingge hadn’t passed out yet. Liu Qingge prayed that Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe couldn’t feel how erratically his heart was beating where they were pressed against him. They probably were aware, judging by how the smug aura around Luo Binghe remained and a matching smug little smile played on Shen Qingqiu’s face all throughout the ride home.

Lorna Mulligan sat in a quiet part of the dining area of the South Trenton Pub, a dive bar Lorna had selected because it was close to her house. In Lorna's mind she had adopted a new policy that if she was going to get stood up by a guy, there was no sense in driving a long way to endure that. The chubby brunette had done that in her previous effort of meeting a guy through this Farmers Only website, driving 20 miles just to eat bread sticks alone in a restaurant waiting for a guy who never showed. Lorna figured that the guy probably peeked in the place, saw her and didn't like what he saw and left. Lorna was used to rejection, but she had been brutally honest in her ad and had put a picture in that showed exactly what she looked like, hoping to avoid precisely what ended up happening. Having already put up the money to join the website, Lorna made arrangements to meet the only other man to contact her, a 31 year old guy from Utica, about 25 miles south of her, and although Clyde said he worked on a farm when he was younger he was a warehouse worker. Although the site was called Farmers Only it seemed to cater to rural singles regardless of occupation and few listed farming as their profession. This Clyde fellow wrote that he was 5'10" and a little over 200 pounds, which Lorna thought was a little heavy, but that was fine with her because she wasn't as picky as many of the people there seemed to be and being chunky herself she was in no position to judge. Clyde didn't provide a picture but since Lorna's ad said that looks were not important and that only being a nice guy mattered, she didn't think it right to ask for a photo. She had been a little nervous about putting her own photo there even if it was taken four years old when she was 18. As Lorna nursed a glass of house wine she kept an eye on the door, waiting for her blind date to appear. She could see the bar from her seat too, and there were a half dozen guys drinking cheap beer. Lorna knew a couple by sight but since she didn't hang out here much there was nobody she really knew. Time past and as it did Lorna got more and more concerned, although to be fair she had gotten there early so this Clyde wasn't really late yet. Lorna wondered what she would do if none of these dates worked out. There was very few locals her age in the area, and none had shown any interest in her. The trucking company Lorna did secretarial work for only had a dozen employees, all but one of them guys, but they had also shown no interest in her although in fairness most were married and thus unavailable. One minute after 7 the door at the bar end opened and when it did the bar got quieter like it often did when somebody who wasn't a regular came in. The large man wearing jeans and a windbreaker walked through the bar and towards the dining area, his eyes fixed on Lorna, and as the man approached Lorna realized that this man was Clyde and the reason his entrance turned heads was that he was black. As black as black can be, with a shaved head and a mustache. "Lorna?" the man said in a voice as deep as Barry White's, and when he put out a big ebony hand Lorna offered hers. "Clyde?" she said after she regained her voice. "The only and only. Can I sit down?" "Oh. Uh - sure," Lorna replied. "Sorry." "I gather that I'm not exactly what you expected," the burly man offered with a bright smile. "And if you would rather I left, that's fine too. I understand." "Uh. No. No and no," Lorna mumbled. "No, you weren't exactly what I was expecting and no I don't want you to leave." "I seem to have gotten the attention of the other patrons." "Anybody they don't recognize gets that treatment. I don't come in here much so I don't know many of them." The waitress came over and took Clyde's drink order, and when she left Clyde took his windbreaker off. Lorna did a double take when she saw that while Clyde was a big man like his ad suggested, unlike herself little if any of the weight Clyde carried was fat. The light blue shirt he had on barely contained his broad chest and his biceps seemed like they would burst the short sleeves open when he bent his arm and took a drink. "Wow. Sorry to stare, but are you an athlete Clyde?" "Not since high school. I work out a lot and working 10 hours a day 5 days a week does keep me in shape." "Looking at you makes me feel even fatter," Lorna admitted but Clyde shook his head. "You look nice to me Lorna. I'm not much for the scrawny type women to be honest. That's why I was drawn to your picture," Clyde revealed. "You seem very mature for 22." "You're only the second person that I've met through that site," Lorna confessed and then amended that. "Actually you're the first I met. The first guy either stiffed me or peeked in at me and ran. Not sure which of those rejections is worse." "Worse is when you walk up to the person and they get up and scurry out the door," Clyde revealed. "That happened to you?" "Two times." "Oh geez." "Not having much luck," Clyde sighed. "There was one lady who did go out with me once after that but that was it. When I came in I figured you to be one of the runners." "I would never do that. You were nice enough to come here to meet me," Lorna said as the waitress approached, and after Clyde ordered a burger Lorna opted for a salad and then told her date, "I'm on a diet. It started the minute you took off your jacket." *** "I can't believe we've been here for almost two hours," Lorna declared to Clyde after he asked for the check, and she wasn't kidding because the time had flown. After the nerves went away the conversation began to flow, and while Lorna didn't believe it possible a couple hours ago she was hoping that Clyde would want to see her again. After she tried and failed to pay for half of the check they left, walking past the bar where she sensed a little hostility towards her. Lorna suspected Clyde not putting his windbreaker on stopped anybody from making any comments towards him, and when the burly black man moved in front of her to open the door she saw that his back was as broad as his chest was. Out in the parking lot the conversation turned to whether Lorna would like to get together again and the chubby teen wasted no time in saying she would like that. She refused his offer of a ride home and pointed at her beat up Toyota, but when she saw the nice black Town Car that Clyde drove she was embarrassed. "Friday night then? We'll meet at the theater around 6:30," Clyde said, since Lorna didn't want him to have to drive up here to get her, and with that Clyde leaned down to kiss Lorna. Lorna was expecting a light peck but once his full lips met hers it became a whole lot more, with the chubby brunette holding Clyde's forearms for balance, and she was out of breath when Clyde backed away and bid her good night. Lorna walked over to her car and after getting in, turned the key and let it run for a minute as her heart slowed back down. She hadn't expected that kiss, and had even wondered whether a light peck was getting too familiar too fast, but then Clyde doubled down on her affection. She wasn't sure where this relationship would go but a couple things were certain. Clyde had soft lush lips and the man could kiss. *** Friday morning at work Lorna was having coffee on break when the only other female in the building joined her, grinning a grin that suggested she was full of gossip and eager to share, and as Donna said down she patted Lorna's hand. "Aren't you the talk of the town?" she cackled and then added, "I had no idea you were a mud shark." "What?" Lorna asked in confusion. "It's all over town that you were going at it hot and heavy with some black guy in the parking lot of Stingers a couple nights ago," Donna explained. "What are you talking about? I haven't been to Stingers in years for one thing. I did go to the South Trenton Pub and met a guy that contacted me through that Farmer's Only website, we had as good a meal as you can get at STP and after he walked me to the car he kissed me good night," Lorna snapped. "Shit. If people are going to gossip about me the least they can do is get it right." "You know people. Anyway, the word was that he was like The Incredible Hulk." "Clyde is black. I think The Hulk is green," Lorna replied. "You know what I mean. Muscles on muscles." "He's in great shape, that's for sure. I guess he works out, lifts weights and stuff. I never care much for those musclemen types but Clyde was nice. Smooth, not rude so far." "Well whatever bar you were in with him around here he would stand out. He's a farmer?" "No, I don't think there are many farmers on that website. Yeah, he did stand out at The STP because he seems to have a full set of teeth. That's probably not something all the clowns at the bar could have managed if they pooled their resources." "How about the other thing? You know," Donna probed, and when Lorna seemed clueless she explained. "His cock. Has he got a big one? Black guys are supposed to be bigger." "I have no idea. We haven't gotten anywhere near that point." "Maybe just a stereotype," Donna nodded and then leaned close to her co-worker and confided, "Just between you and me girlfriend. Back in college I dated a black guy a couple of times, but when I reached in what I pulled out was just a regular dick." "It's been so long that I hardly remember what a dick looks like, so I'll be content if he just has one," Lorna concluded. "That and if he can stay hard after he sees me naked. That's all I care about. I'm just looking for a nice guy." "I suppose they are out there. Keep me informed." "Keep reading the toilet stall walls," Lorna suggested as she got up to rinse out her cup and get back to work. "Who knows? Around here it might even be in the Pennysaver. rag." *** Saturday morning Lorna woke up a little late, the sound of her mother puttering around in the kitchen waking her up, so after throwing on some clothes she went out to get a cup of coffee. When her mother saw her she didn't greet her with the "good morning sleepyhead" she got when she slept in, and as she poured a cup of undoubtedly stale coffee she asked Mom what was up. "You aren't really dating a colored boy Lorna, are you?" her mother said with a look of concern that was almost comical. "Please tell me it isn't true. At the beauty parlor yesterday..." "Good grief. I thought I was the one without a life. Don't people have anything else to do but talk about others?" "I'm not concerned about others. I care about you. Is it true?" "First of all, Clyde isn't colored and isn't a Negro either. This is the 21st century for crying-out-loud. Yes, he's black," a clearly annoyed Lorna responded. "He's gainfully employed, and has treated me very nicely the two times I've been with him. We're dating, not getting married." "What about your father? If he finds out? Oh my!" "I'll tell him if you want, Mom. The way this is spreading through town he'll find out. I'm not ashamed. He's been a perfect gentleman" "But why a black boy?" "He's 31 years old first of all. Second, why not? It's not like he had to fight his way to the head of the line to date me." "But you know what they want Lorna." "I do know. He wants what every other guy wants regardless of color," she noted. "Maybe it's what I want too." "What is this world coming to? If I had ever said something like that to my parents..." "I know Mom. You were always pure and noble when you were young," she mocked and then mentioned her older brother who had fled this town a while back. "Like I can't do the math. You get married to Dad and Matt is born six months later." "He was premature." "Right, well in any case I won't be getting pregnant anytime soon." "Thank heaven for small favors," Mother sighed. "I know you're an adult but I'm just concerned." "Thank you for your concern." "It's just that there's fellows around her who are nice. I mean, if you lost a little weight..." "The weight again. I've been losing and gaining the same 30 pounds all my life Mom." "Still, there are fellows - nice fellows. The new assistant manager down at Stewart's seems like a fine fellow," Mom clucked. "And guess who changed my oil down at Jiffy Lube the other day? Jack Lamson." "Jack Lamson!" Lorna screamed loud enough to cause her mother to drop her cleaning cloth. "Jack Lamson is your idea of a nice guy I should date? What's wrong with your memory?" "That was so long ago honey. People change." "Bullshit. Don't you remember back when I was in school? Jack Lamson was one of the guys that said they wanted to throw me a party back in the woods on my birthday." "Please honey." "Remember how they got me so drunk that I passed out and when I came to I was naked and could hardly walk? Remember when I made it home and told you? You said that I probably teased them and I should just forget about it?" Lorna screamed, but by then her mother had run out of the room with her hands over her ears as was her custom wherever she heard something unpleasant. "No. I told you I never wanted to hear about that again!" she yelled back and then added, "you know if your father finds out about who you're seeing I wouldn't be surprised if he made you move out." "Probably for the best. All that's kept me here is laziness and - ha - love of family," Lorna said. "I can live just as cheaply on my own and not have to listen to crap like this. Probably cheaper when you figure in that I buy most of the groceries." "I know you do, dear, and I appreciate it." "Add that to giving Dad half of my check every week..." "You give Dad what?" her mother barked in a voice almost matching her earlier intensity, obviously unaware of that news. "Oh brother. What a family. I'm going for a ride. Maybe I'll find a nice bridge abutment to run into," Lorna called back over her shoulder as she grabbed her purse and ran out the door before she started crying. After getting down the road a ways Lorna pulled over to get herself together, and the more she thought about it the better moving out sounded. Most of the apartments around here she could afford were no great shakes but she was 22 and it was time to get on with her life. As Lorna started to drive around aimlessly she snickered at the way she had described Clyde as a perfect gentleman. Oh, he was polite and all but last night things had gotten a little wild. They were sitting in Clyde's car - a wise choice because even though it was 8 years old it was in beautiful shape and very comfortable - after getting a drink, discussing how lousy the movie had been, and after declining his offer of going to his place Lorna was ready to get in her own car and go home but then he kissed her. Five minutes later the tinted windows of the Town Car were fogged, the bench seat adjusted so she was leaning way back, and he was all over her. The kissing was incredibly intense and when Clyde's big hand went to her breast and he roughly kneaded it through the fabric she was so happy he didn't complain how small it was on her large frame that he let him. A couple minutes later she was desperately trying to get his hand out from under her slacks where he had slipped it after failing to get Lorna's hand on his lap. Clyde had managed to not only get under the waistband of her slacks but into her panties as well, with two fingers in and the possibility of more to follow. Lorna nearly gave in but came to her senses and stopped him. "Please Clyde." "I thought you liked me. Thought we had a thing going on," Clyde replied. "We do. It's just that here - in a parking lot?" "We're going out tomorrow night right? A little jazz and then..." "Sure. I'd love to," Lorna answered while Clyde held his hand up near his face, the hand that had been inside her panties. Those hands - so black and the nicely trimmed nails with the beige skin under the nails - had gotten Lorna's attention the first time they met. Now Clyde was looking at her while he put his middle finger in his mouth, one of the fingers that had been inside of her, and he grinned as he sucked on it for a second, getting Lorna to giggle. "Here," Clyde said as he reached over and put his index finger near her mouth, the digit still wet with her fluid. "See how nice you taste." Lorna couldn't believe that when Clyde put his finger to her lips she took it into her mouth, and when he eased the long finger all the way in under it was nearly in her throat she found herself sucking on it as he slowly pulled it out almost all the way before playfully moving it in and out a few times before taking it out for good. "That was so sexy," Clyde said as he nuzzled into Lorna's neck, and while he kissed his way around her collarbone he purred in that Barry White voice of his while he started to make advances again. "I know you want me Lorna. You're so wet. You're driving me crazy, you know that?" "Tomorrow night," Lorna said, realizing that she had pretty much committed herself to what seemed to be inevitable. "Gonna make you scream babe," Clyde promised. "You've got a lot of hair down there, don't you child? Clyde likes that a lot. Tomorrow night around 8." Lorna had been driving down towards Utica with no conscious destination when she realized that she was near where Clyde lived. Lorna had never been to his place but after they met she had googled him to find out what she could about him, and along with confirming he worked at the brewery she found his address and had even located it on the map feature. Not a very fancy neighborhood, Lorna had surmised from the long range photo, and as she drove down the urban street it looked no better in person, although she was well aware she didn't live in Beverly Hills either. She was almost past Clyde's address when she saw the three story multi-family place which was no better or worse that the other ones on the street, so after she went past she drove around to come back the other way for a better look before heading home. "Hey Lorna!" The girl nearly hit a guy carrying a gym bag who had stepped out a bit and flagged her down, and to her embarrassment it was Clyde, and he waved her over to a parking space that had just opened. What was she going to say when she got asked why she was there? No time to think because Clyde was at her open window soaking wet . "Just got done working out," he explained pulling at the wet t-shirt than clung to him like a wrapper. "Got to get in shape for my woman." "Uh - you already are in shape," Lorna opined, and when Clyde asked the obvious question about what she was doing here she decided to be honest. "I was just driving around - really bad morning at home - and somehow I was near here. Since I had looked up your address when we met..." "Smart woman." "So since I knew the address so I decided to cruise by on my way back home." "Oh. I was hoping you were stalking me, or maybe couldn't wait until tonight to see me," Clyde quipped. "Lock the car and come up to my place." "I can't. I'm really am a mess because I sort of just got out of bed," Lorna said but Clyde was insistent and persuasive. "You look sexy to me. Come on up and I'll give you a drink. Ice water because it's hot as hell." "Okay," she said, and after looking in the rear view mirror to confirm she looked bad, she got out of the car. "It's no better on the inside than it is on the outside," Clyde told her as he put his arm around Lorna's back as they crossed the street, and she didn't know whether it was a sign of affection or whether he was showing her off to the guys on the stoop next door, but she didn't care. "Where I live isn't much better," she said, but as they climbed the inside staircase she groaned. "Third floor? I take it back. I only have to climb 3 steps, not 3 floors." "No wonder you're so fit," Lorna exclaimed as they reached the apartment on the top level, and she did her best to act like the climbing was no big deal even through sweat was rolling down her spine and her hamstrings were quivering. "Once the fans get the air moving it will cool off some, Babe," Clyde claimed as they stepped inside which was hotter than outside, and as he turned on the fans scattered on the corners she looked over the place which while very minimally furnished was very neat. "I promised you a drink." "You're a very neat housekeeper Clyde," she offered as he brought her the drink, but before he handed it to her he leaned forward for a kiss. "If this is how good you look when you wake up then I can't wait until tomorrow morning." "Slow down," Lorna giggled before taking a sip. "Can't help it because I keep thinking about last night," she said as he put his hand on her shoulder. "You do remember last night don't you?" "Vaguely," she teased. "I can'r stand being this sweaty. I must reek," Clyde said. "No. You smell nice. Like a man," Lorna suggested. "Well this man is going to jump into the shower," Clyde said as he patted her shoulder and went towards what had to be the bathroom. "I'm going to take off, Clyde," I have to get ready for tonight. Want to look my best." "Stick around babe," Clyde said. "Plenty of time. I'll just be a minute and then I can walk you back down. Maybe we could take a walk in the park the next block over." "Um..." "Nothing home you're in a hurry to get to, is there?" Clyde reminded her, and so she shrugged and said she would wait. "I'll be fast" he promised as he peeled the soggy shirt up and off just before he ducked into the bathroom, affording Lorna a brief look that seemed to confirm he probably looked ever better without clothes. After staring at the bathroom door when she heard the shower turn on, hoping she could suddenly develop x-ray vision, she decided to do a little snooping. What caught her eye first was a couple of shelves of a book case where there were a couple of trophies and a framed photo. The trophies had gold bodybuilders on top and one of the trophies was in the beautiful 8X10 photo of Clyde, placed in front of him as he posed. "What the hell am I doing with this man," Lorna mumbled to herself as she stood there open mouthed holding the picture of Clyde, his ebony body gleaming with sweat while muscles she didn't know existed bulged. "Better question - what is he doing with me?" Lorna was still staring at the picture when the shower turned off, and before she could set the picture back down she heard the bathroom door open. "Told you I'd be fast," he reminded her. "You were. Sorry I was snooping," Lorna said turning around, and shocked to see Clyde with just a very soft looking white towel wrapped around his waist, she brought her eyes back to the picture. "You won a championship and you look amazing." "Thank you babe," Clyde said as she came up to her side and kissed her cheek, "What do they do to make you glisten like that? It's like you're Simonized from head to toe." "They have posing oils but you can also use baby oil," Clyde explained. "Under the lights it help define the muscles better." "I'll say," Lorna sighed. "It must be nice to be so confident you can walk in front of people in bright lights with just that little bathing suit - or is it a thong." "You get used to it," Clyde said as then pointed at the trunks and added, "You have to pull your stuff up between your legs." "Oh." "Thought I would tell you that because you seemed like you were a little concerned," Clyde told you. "No need to be because I don't think you'll be disappointed." "Disappointed? Of course not. How superficial do you think I am?" Lorna said with a chuckle. "Besides, I like your smile best of all." "That picture was taken 6 years ago. Don't know if I'll ever get back to that condition again," he noted as he mentioned a back injury he got at work a few years ago causing him to quit for a time. "Back then this girl I was going with used to oil me up before the competitions." "Well I think it's amazing I'm dating a celebrity," Lorna said as she replaced the picture on the shelf. "Hey, if I start competing again maybe you can come to watch and oil me up." Clyde suggested. "Gee, I wouldn't have the slightest idea how," Lorna told him but he brushed that off. "It's easy, and it helps if you like the man you're doing it to," he explained and then snapped his fingers and said he'd be right back. Lorna watched him walk away, his legs surprisingly slender but still muscular, and when he returned he was holding a bottle of something. "Here," he said while handing Lorna the plastic bottle before she could say anything and then turned so his back was facing her. "It's easy. Just squirt it in your hands and rub it in. It'll be fun. I can never reach my back." "I'll try," she pledged, and after filling a palm with the lotion she rubbed her hands together and placed them on Clyde's back just below his shoulder blades and as she moved her greased hands around she commented. "Smells nice." "I think it's got a little coconut in it." "Hope I'm doing this right," Lorna said as her hands went in circles on the absurdly wide back, and as the oil covered his rich black skin it shimmered just like in the photo, the only thing resembling a flaw being a little scar near his spine which might have been from an operation he had because of his injury. "It sure feels like you are," Clyde said and then suddenly he tensed and then lifted his arms and flexed, turning his back into a network of muscles. "Omigod!" Lorna giggled as her fingers rolled up and down the rippled muscles. "What's wrong, Babe?" "Nothing. It's just - I dunno - amazing," "Doing fine. Don't be afraid to dig in. You can't hurt me." "Okay," Lorna said as she went up to the tops of his shoulders, and after she filled her palm again she said, "When I was a kid I remember going to the museum and I touched a statue. Got yelled at too, but I remember how hard it felt. Sort of like your body but your skin isn't cold." "Getting warmer too," he observed, and after another minute he turned around to face her. "Had enough or was I doing it wrong?" Lorna asked. "You're doing so well that you can do my front too," Clyde said, and as Lorna stood face to face with Clyde the task of oiling him seeming even more intimidating. Lorna fumbled with the bottle, blinking as sweat rolled down into the eyes, and while she was sweating already because of the still stifling heat of the apartment, she was a nervous wreck because even though the man was only about 6" taller than she was, the difference seemed much greater. "You okay Babe?" Clyde said with a smirk, and even though she said she was fine he noticed the obvious. "Woman, you're sweating like a horse." "Hot in here." "Your blouse is drenched," Clyde noted, and Lorna didn't need to look to know that there were massive sweat stains under the arms on on the back of the baggy white top. Why don't you take that thing off and hang it up so it has a chance to dry before you leave? You got a bra on under it. " "Should leave," the chubby brunette mumbled. "You don't want to go just yet, not until you finish," Clyde told her and then brought his hand up to her cheek softly. "You're scared aren't you? You aren't a virgin, are you?" "Omigod no," she said with a chuckle. "But you are scared of me, aren't you? Is it because I'm black? You never dated a black man before have you?" "No, I mean there aren't very many black people around Trenton Falls to begin with," Lorna explained. "I am scared. Not scared of you. If I was scared of you you would have never seen me again after that first night. Everything is new to me, and I guess you being black is part of it. You're 10 years older than me, and that's something new to me. Guys I've dated before have been like me, not built like you. You standing there in just a towel is scary to me. All this new stuff is making me nervous." "You were doing fine a few minutes ago." "That's because I wasn't facing you." "Can't have you being scared of me," Clyde concluded, and after he took his hand off her the girl's cheek he moved down and without speaking began to unbutton Lorna's sweaty blouse. Lorna brought her free hand up to stop him but he was nearly done by them. She had to set the bottle of oil down so he could take the blouse of her shoulders, and after hung it over a railing he faced her again. "There, Don't you feel cooler now?" "No," Lorna mumbled. "I feel naked." "How do you think I feel?" Clyde responded. "Guess I should finish," Lorna said, cringing at how ratty her bra looked. "How about a smile?" Clyde suggested as he grinned widely. "Sorry. Nobody wants a sourpuss for a masseuse," Lorna acknowledged as she smiled back, and after she filled her palm and rubbed her hands together she raised up to his shoulders and put a glaze on the shimmering black flesh, digging a little bit into the muscle. Lorna saw Clyde chuckle a little, and she was about to ask him about that when she felt his finger rubbing under her arm, and although she brought her arm down to her side right away, for her the damage was done. "I'm sorry. I told you I just got out of bed," Lorna babbled. "I haven't dated in so long, and there was no reason to shave. I swear I'll have my act together for you tonight. This is so freaking embarrassing." "Hey Lorna, relax," Clyde said in his most soothing voice. "Doesn't bother me. In fact, I did it. Remember I told you how happy I was last night when I felt what you had under your panties? I don't date little girls. I love women, and you're all woman. You want to make me happy? Don't shave anything - well - maybe your legs, but I want you natural in every other way. Understood?" "Do you have any idea what that's going to look like?" Lorna said which a scrunched up expression on her face, and she reluctantly lifted her arm and looked over at her armpit, with the large hollow coated with long dark brown stubble. "This is just after about 3 weeks." "You are a furry one, aren't you? Clyde responded as he ran his fingers through her moist armpit again, and when Lorna shivered he asked, "Ticklish." "A little," she admitted, and as she watched him playing she noted, "Here's another new thing added to the list." "Really? You mean nobody has even done this to you before?" he teased, and after she shook her head he then asked before leaning down and kissing the bristle, "how about that?" "No," Lorna laughed. "I would have remembered that." "Well I can assume this is new to you too," he mused aloud as he watched the girl's reaction as he placed his tongue at the bottom of the recess and dragged his tongue up through the stubbly thicket, and Lorna did not disappoint as her eyes first bulged and then rolled back in her head as she clutched his shiny bald head in an effort to stay upright. "Wow," Lorna said, the exclamation coming out as a whisper. "You liked that, didn't you?" Clyde asked as he brushed a strand of hair from her flushed face. "I have a feeling nobody has ever really appreciated you and I'm going to change that if you let me." "My knees are too rubbery to run even if I wanted to." "Do you want to run?" he asked, and the shake of her head was her reply. "I do need to finish what I started though," she vowed, and after oiling her hands she brought them up to around his collarbone and neck. Lorna's eyes roamed down and noted that Clyde chest was smooth as the rest of him, and she saw he had breasts although they would prove to be rock hard when she got down to them. Right before she put her hands on the massive pectorals Clyde did something to make them dance up and down a bit. "Can you do that?" "I don't think so," Lorna admitted as her oiled hands cupped and kneaded them, the chocolate nipples hard in her pals. "Yours might be bigger than mine. They're definitely firmer." "If we got that bra off we could find out for sure," Clyde noted, but after Lorna gave him a look and whispered that he was a naughty boy he continued. "Not my fault. I can't help but notice that this started out to be you rubbing oil on me, but the way you're kneading me makes it seem more like a massage." "Oops. I didn't notice." "That wasn't a complaint you know." "I told you I never did anything like this before," she said after going a little bit lower to his six pack stomach before straightening up. "Forgot my arms," he reminded her while offered his right arm to start with, holding it out straight so that Lorna could rub her hands up and down the vein riddled forearm, and when she reached his elbow he bent his arm and formed a muscle. Lorna took a deep breath, exhaled and rubbed oil on his bicep which looked like there was a baseball under his skin. It was rock hard and this time Lorna was aware that she was massaging, and for somebody who used to think guys that were built like this were ugly she realized that she was feeling differently now, at least when it came to the man in front of her. "Mmmm... Lorna darling you have the magic touch," Clyde sighed as the girl's fingers kneaded their way further up until she was rubbing the patch of hair in his muscled armpit. "Having fun?" "Sure. Just out of curiosity, is this the only hair you have on your body?" Lorna inquired as she kept stroking the kinky hairs. "Of course not." he replied. "I have a moustache, and then there's my eyebrows." Lorna moved closer and ducked her head under his arm, first planting a kiss and then licking the coarse patch much like he had done to her, and the girl's face was beet red when she leaned back. "You kinky little thing!" "You started this. I was just trying to be polite by reciprocating," she protested comically and then added, "I can't believe I did that. You must have put something in that water you gave me." "I did," he deadpanned, and after a few seconds he finished. "Ice cubes." "That must be it. Utica ice cubes turn people into perverts," she concluded. "Is that what you thought that was, the stuff we were doing? Perverted?" he asked and after Lorna shrugged and then shook her head he continued. "Neither do I. I thought it was just us doing things to please the other person because we like each other." "Agreed." "I'm just curious. How did you like that?" "Kinda neat to be honest," Lorna replied as she squeezed his bicep. "I liked the way you looked shocked and then I could tell you liked it. Tasted pretty good too. I could taste a little soap, some coconut and the rest must have been a lot of testosterone. Had to be better than my salty mess." "You didn't hear any complaints from me." "Guess I better finish," Lorna said as she began to work on Clyde other arm, and as she leaned forward to nibble she felt something land on her feet - the towel Clyde had wrapped around his waist - and she started to bend down to pick it up but stopped and straightened up. "What's the - hey! " Clyde chortled. "Lorna, did you undo my towel?' "No. You know I didn't," she said while leaning on him. "I think you did." "Me? Doesn't sound like something I would do, considering how modest a guy I am," he claimed, getting a nervous snort from Lorna. That was tied up pretty well." "I wouldn't be surprised to hear that towel has fallen off a bunch of times in the past," Lorna countered. "Well we can go back and forth about this but one of us should pick up the towel." Lorna was planning on just reaching down and grabbing the towel while looking up at Clyde but her eyes strayed for just a second, and she nearly lost her balance when she caught a glimpse of the absurdly long organ, the pointed tip swaying perilously close to his slightly bowed knees. A very shaken Lorna stood up right away with the damp towel in her hand, but when she handed it to Clyde he tossed it over onto a chair. "Dontcha think you should put the towel back on - or maybe get dressed?" Lorna suggested while nodding towards the open window facing the street with the curtains parted to let the air in. "Nobody can see up here, and so what if they did?" Clyde replied. "You okay babe?" "I'm fine." "You don't really want me to put the towel back on, do you? Or for me to get dressed?" "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Lorna said while trying the breathe normally. "Enjoying what, Babe?" "Making me - I don't know what you're making me. Kind of going to pieces." "I don't know. I'm enjoying the part where it seems like my body excites you," Clyde admitted. "I admit to being a bit of a narcissist. Look, I have a job lugging kegs and driving a fork lift around in a brewery. I've got a high school diploma but I'm no genius. The one thing I do have is a body that I've busted my butt to get like this, and so when people admire it I admit that it turns me on. I like the attention because I've earned it. Does that make sense?" "I guess." "Your nervousness? It's okay. In fact it kind of excites me in a way," Clyde admitted. "Just don't be scared, okay? I wouldn't hurt you for the world. Okay?" Lorna looked up at Clyde and nodded, feeling like a child instead of the cynical young woman she always felt she was. The chunky girl didn't protest when Clyde rubbed her back and went to the hooks in the back of her bra, and when the harness came free and his hand replaced the cups, he didn't complain about how small they were but instead sighed about how great her nipples were. He rolled the thick pegs between his fingers and made the plump crimson bullets even larger. She didn't protest either when Clyde's hands went up to her shoulders and kneaded the soft flesh, and when those hands eased her down to the carpet she didn't fight it either. Bracing herself by putting her hands on the fronts of his hips, she slid them up and down while looking at Clyde's cock. The base of the organ was ridiculously thick and that was accentuated by the absence of hair around it. The thickness tapered somewhat until the end did come to a point because of the long foreskin that covered the head. The cock was a smooth tube with a single thick vein that wandered down from the base until it disappeared about halfway down, and the ridge of the glans pressing into the shroud made it look to Lorna like when she saw a snake swallow a mouse. Breaking out of the hypnotic trance she felt she was in, the girl ran her hands on Clyde's forearms and then after getting some lotion transferred onto them, put her hands on the cock near the base and after gripping it as best she could let her fists slide down to the tip, and when she slid them back up where they started the penis was glimmering like the rest of him. "Oh, that's it Babe," Clyde encouraged as he watched what she was doing. "That feels so good. Milk my cock." Lorna's hands began to move a little faster up and down as the organ began to stiffen, and when her hands would go up towards the base the foreskin would slide back and exposed the head of his manhood. The cone-shaped glans stood out because its dark beige color was so different that the surrounding blackness, and after Lorna lifted the meaty member up it was that head her mouth took in, sucking on it and running her tongue over the tip before moving her lips down the shaft. "Oh Babe!" Clyde moaned as he cradled her head in his hands and ran his fingers through her curly hair. "My Lorna's not scared any more, is she?" Lorna was too busy moving her lips up and down the cock to answer, but as it got harder and started to rise she took one hand off the shaft and reached under to grab Clyde's sac and roll his ball in her palm, the little orbs seeming out of place under the organ they fueled. Clyde moaned loud at that and as Lorna looked ahead at the rest of the cock she couldn't hope to reach with her mouth, her lover squirted some of that oil around her fist. "Stroke it while you suck babe," he instructed, and as Lorna moved his fist up and down the now-slick prong he cackled his approval. "That's it, pump it. Pump it hard. Lorna did what she was told and she found herself getting a little crazy, her mouth sliding up and down until the cock was poking her throat while her fist moved frantically up and down. She was so inflamed that even Clyde warning her that he was about to cum didn't slow her down and she resisted his effort to pull her face away, and when he started ejaculating she swallowed what she could and let the rest drool out of the corners of her mouth. Lorna didn't stop until the cock got rubbery again, and only then did she let Clyde pull her up to her feet. "What was that all about girl?" the deep voice growled as looked at the chubby brunette as if he had never seen her before. "Nothing scared about that, and I loved it. You like the big cocks, don't you?" "I dunno. I like yours," Lorna said as she wiped the cum off her chin. "Must have been the ice cubes." Clyde stopped laughing long enough to kiss Lorna passionately, and when their lips parted Lorna mentioned that she better get home so she could get ready to go to the jazz club that night he shook his head. "I've got jazz here," he said as he led Lorna passed the modest stereo, and after he hit a couple of buttons the sweet sound of Grover Washington Jr.'s sax filled the air. "And now that I've got you here there's no chance I'm going to let you go." "I'll even tie you to the bedposts if I have to," he joked as they entered the bedroom, and Lorna stopped in her tracks when she saw a king-sized bed with gold rails for a headboard and a lush black blanket that Clyde tossed aside to reveal black satin sheets. "Good grief," Lorna said and then noted, "big bed for a big man." Lorna looked to the side and saw herself in the mirror, grimacing when she saw her tummy over the tops of her slacks and Clyde stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her. "Can you turn the lighting down?" Lorna asked. "The last thing my confidence needed was seeing myself in the mirror." "Which mirror?" Clyde purred, and when she gave him a quizzical look he nodded up and behind them. "Oh shit!" Lorna said when she saw the mirror over the bed, and then she asked him to turn down the lighting. "Please?" "Okay," he said and went over and turned the knob on the light switch. "How's that?" "Little bit more," she asked as she did her best to cover her breasts with her hands. "You realize I already saw your tits, and I love them," he reminded her as he dimmed the lights a little. "How's this?" "A little more," was Lorna's reply and when she said the same thing after the next adjustment Clyde feigned frustration. "Any darker in here and we'll need miner's hats," he claimed. "How's this?" "Okay I guess," Lorna agreed and with that Clyde gracefully glided over to the bed and laid there spread over the sheets. "Now take the rest of your clothes off for me," he said. "You can pretend you're a stripper if you want." "How about if I just take my slacks and panties off like I would at home?" "That's fine. I just want to watch," Clyde said and when Lorna turned around as she unbuttoned her slacks he commented. "Still gonna see plenty." "What did you say?" he asked when Lorna mumbled something he couldn't make out. "I said that at least I can stop trying to suck in my stomach this way." "No need to suck anything in on my account, except of course what you sucked out in the living room. That was stone cold amazing head, and that's no lie either," Clyde sighed as Lorna lowered her slacks and put her hand on the dresser to balance herself as she stepped out of them. "Got to admit you had me fooled, coming off all nervous and timid and then you go crazy like that." "Glad you enjoyed it you might have dislocated my jaw," Lorna said as she turned around. "Be a while before I'll be doing that again." "Really?" "No," she replied as she looked at the snake hanging over his hip. "Probably before the sun goes down." "That's good to know. Oh-oh. You aren't perfect," Clyde announced. "Those are some granny panties." "Oh well. At least they're clean." "Are they?" Clyde wondered aloud, and when Lorna looked down she shook her head sadly. "They were clean." "Sort of two-toned aren't they?" he said of the massive dark stain that covered much of the front of the cotton. "My third and fourth impressions are just as bad as my firsts," she lamented. "I'm pretty sure that isn't pee, and I remember you being really wet last night too," Clyde cackled. "You sure don't need that stuff - what is that they sell to women who get dry down there?" "Vagisil," Lorna said. "My mother uses it." "Now I'm just curious about what made you wet out there." "Walking up those flights of stairs?" "Now I'm serious babe. This is important research here as we get to know each other. I'll be happy to tell you anything you want to know about me," he assured her. "So what made you wet? Seeing me wearing only a towel? You rubbing oil over me? You undoing my towel?..." "I didn't undo your towel smart guy," Lorna snapped. "I saw you do it but I didn't say anything." "You gonna believe me or your lyin' eyes?" he joked. "Where was I? Let's see, seeing me in the towel, rubbing me with the oil or giving me mind-boggling fellatio" "Since I was probably having heat stroke I'm not sure, but I think a good guess would be that it was a combination of everything you mentioned," was her response and then she continued. "You said I could ask you anything right?" . "You're doing everything you can to delay taking down those panties, aren't you?" "Correct. Now my question please." "Go ahead." "I forgot what it was." "Well while you try to remember, why don't you lower those panties for me? Nice and slow. That's it babe," Clyde sighed as he reached down and started to pull on his limp dick, and he exhaled loudly when the panties went down to the floor, exposing the chubby girl's bush that grew high, wide and densely. "That's amazing. Run your fingers through it." "You're something, but then again if you keep pulling on yourself like that I'll be happy to watch." "You like watching this?" Clyde asked as he stretched the flaccid tube to the limit. "I already told you I like to be watched so this is cool. Sometime maybe we'll just lay in bed and watch us get ourselves off, but that's for another time. Now turn around for me." "You're a masochist," Lorna said as she turned to show him her backside which she was well aware was big, and when Clyde asked her to pretend she was a center she looked back over her shoulder and asked, "You mean like in basketball?" "No, but that's a good one for you. I mean like a center in football." "What do they do, hike the ball?" Lorna asked, and after he confirmed that she dutifully bent forward, muttering to herself, "It's like he's a Sven-jolly." "You mean Svengali?" he asked before snapping his fingers and adding, "That's something from Seinfeld isn't it?" "Very good. Am I done snapping the ball yet?" "Almost. You can't touch the floor can you?" he wondered aloud as he looked at the rich pubic hair which grew right up to the crack, stopping just before the pinkish/tan puckered ring presented itself for his pleasure. "Of course I can. I can even touch the rug with my palms, or at least I used to be able to," Lorna said, and she was just able to do it when she figured it out and straightened up. "Talk about gullible." "You're very trusting babe, and I think that shows that you're not scared of me anymore, and that I might be starting to grow on you." "Maybe. Am I done with the show because I'd like to sit down?" "Better yet, why don't you lay right down here and take a break?" he offered, and as Lorna slid on her back in the satin sheets she was startled when she looked up and saw herself in the mirror, but luckily Clyde was on his knees at her hip to distract her. "Didn't get a chance to properly appreciate these before," Clyde said as his hands kneaded Lorna's breasts before leaning down and sucking on the plump nipples, going back and forth, licking the pebbled areolas and nibbling the thick pegs that surged under the affection. Kissing his way down from her breasts, his tongue danced in the chubby girl's belly button, making her laugh despite her embarrassment about the belly it was on, and then he climbed between Lorna's plump thighs and followed the treasure trial into the dense thicket of dark brown hair. His hands spread those thighs as far as he could, savoring the curls that grew high and wide, even spilling outside of the delta. "Your pussy is even sexier than I thought," Clyde purred as he knelt there with his left hand pulling his flaccid hose while he slipped a finger between the large wet labia that were hidden in the forest, and when Lorna's hands went to her breasts the hulking man encouraged her. "That's hot, Keep squeezing those titties," he said as he slipped another finger into the steaming sex, and when the girl moaned loud and writhed on the satin he spun the fingers deeper and said, "Nice. I like it when a gal gets loud. Talk dirty too. Turns me on. You like what my fingers are doing in you?" "Yes," Lorna gasped. "Well you'll like this too," he proclaimed as a third finger slipped in, and when the chunky girl moaned louder and took her hands off her breasts and used them to clutch the bedding, Clyde ducked down and buried his face in the bush, getting his tongue involved as well. This had Lorna crying out and sliding backwards towards the headboard, her legs kicking in the air for a moment, and when she looked down and saw Clyde looking up at her through her pubic hair her grin filled her face. "Got to have you child," Clyde said as he scrambled up to his knees, his now erect cock in his fist, and when he saw her breathing hard and her eyes gets that nervous look about them he used his soothing tone to tell her to relax. "This is going to be fun. Just relax babe, okay?" Lorna nodded briskly and then Clyde pushed the tip of his cock into the fold, rubbing it up and down her sex a few times before easing in a bit, pulling back out and easing in a little deeper, deep enough to make the girl groan. "So tight babe. So good," he chanted as he began to probe deeper, with Lorna arching herself off the bed with her head and her eyes rolling back in her head. "How's it feel?" "Big." "You want me to stop?" he asked and Lorna shook her head violently. Clyde ended up hovering over the chunky girl, with his toes and his palms the only things holding him up as he plunged in and out of Lorna's pussy, and she was clawing at his arms as she came. Her screams seemed to inflame her lover who erupted inside her seconds later. After he stopped cumming he stayed over Lorna, smiling as he looked down upon her with drops of his sweat splashing on her upper torso. "I can't look at you when we make love," Clyde told her. "I'm sure you aren't the first guy who's felt that way but at least you're honest enough to admit it." "Wise ass. I meant the way you look at on the way to cumming, the way your eyes roll back in your skull and your arms flail around. That turns me on a lot, and the way you howl when you cum makes me lose it." "Couldn't help it. I was having fun, and I was so glad that you actually fit that thing in me. "You are tight down there." "Not much traffic recently unless you count tampons, but I suspect spending time with you might change things." "Well when I get back we'll find out," Clyde told her as he rolled off the bed. "Can I get you anything?" "Water." "With Utica ice cubes?" "Why not," Lorna responded as she enjoyed the view of naked Clyde from behind, and when he looked up and saw herself she wondered how many girls had looked up at the mirror before her. Dozens? Maybe hundreds, she assumed, and she suspected that most of them were prettier and had better bodies than she did, but as soon as that went through her mind she dismissed it. The self-depreciating way she often talked - although he didn't say it - didn't seem to thrill Clyde, and although because she had always been that way and it would be a tough habit to break, she was going to try. This relationship might end up as lousy as the ones before it, but she vowed she would do everything she could to make it work. Clyde seemed to like her and the way he was treating her seemed to make her feel a whole lot less inhibited. The last couple hours were proof of that, and when Clyde came back in the room with beverages, his limp cock swaying like an elephant's trunk as he walked, she couldn't help but smile. *** "Yeah! Yeah!" Yeah!" Clyde yelled at the girl straddling him, moving up and down. "Ride that dick!" "Cumming!" Lorna yelled, the word coming out in a whole lot of syllables, and as her orgasm roared through her she clawed at her breasts and kept moving up and down, but as the discomfort grew and he was still hard inside her she leaned back off of Clyde. His cock sprang back onto his belly, and Lorna reached down and grabbed it, gripping the over-sized organ in both fists and started to yank on it. As she looked down at the beige crown appearing and disappearing and the foreskin slid up and down, her jerking became more and more frantic as she seemed to become possessed. Lorna was aware of Clyde yelling "Shit!" along with what sounded like somebody pounding on the wall, and then his cock began to spurt wildly in the air, sending ropes of seed all over the place. Clyde finally pulled her hands off him when it seemed like she would never stop. "I'm sorry," Lorna almost sobbed. "I couldn't. I mean I was hoping you would come when I did, but it was starting to hurt real bad. I didn't want to stop but..." "Hey. It's okay. That was a wild happy ending," Clyde told her. "You're not mad?" "Of course not. I managed to stop you before you ripped my cock off, although that look you had while you were getting me off was wild." "Got a little out of my mind there," she said as she very gingerly climbed off him and collapsed next to him on the very soiled satin sheets. "I don't know if I'll be able to walk tomorrow. We've been making love all day. The sun's set! I lost track of how many times we did it." "How did you like being on top?" "Not good. I mean it was good but I had trouble not impaling myself with you. I wasn't sure but I suspected you weren't going in to the hilt the other times. I would lose balance and yow! I think that was my downfall," Lorna mused and then promised she would bounce back. "I'll be good as new tomorrow." "You're going to stay here tonight, right?" "I guess." "You have to call home?" "No, I'll dial the number and you can tell Mom yourself." "She the reason you drove around this morning?" he asked and after she nodded Clyde elaborated. "Hey, if my old man was still alive and he saw me in bed with a white girl he'd throw us both out the window." "How about if I stay and I don't call? I'm not sure they care much." "Fine by me, but you understand that if you are going to walk your naked self around here all night, there's no way I can ignore that." "I'll put clothes on." "I hid them." "Wait a minute," Lorna laughed as she reached down and grabbed Clyde's cock by the base and flopped it back and forth. "I know this big boy has risen time and time again but I now pronounce him dead." "Don't bet money on that," Clyde cautioned. "Just for future reference, you said you didn't like being on top." "I loved being on top. I just have to get in better shape so I don't fall on your sword. Being on top was nice though." "Okay, but out of the other positions - and there were a bunch of them, which was your favorite?" "More of your research? Well, you get points for asking." "I am to please," Clyde beamed. "And you aim has been damn good," she assured him. "Let's see. I wasn't sure about the - what's it called? Missionary? Didn't think I would like the idea of looking up and seeing myself, but usually all I could see was my face. The rest - gonna get in trouble for saying this..." "Go for it girl." "Well when you were on top of me thrusting away, all I could see was your broad back shining with sweat. It was like I was being mounted by," Lorna said and paused before finishing. "An alien. No offense." "Alien? That's okay. I can live being an alien if it turns you on. I thought you were going to say King Kong." "No. Not even close. He's hairy, " Lorna giggled. "So that's your favorite?" "No, I think the winner is when you put me on all fours and mounted me from behind. Not usually a favorite of mine but when you got in you stayed in. The other part? When you grabbed my hair, yanked my head back and talked filthy? I didn't think I would care for that but I loved it," Lorna admitted. "I was pretty sure you were playing when you called me a fucking slut." "Oh yeah. Playing," Clyde deadpanned and then laughed and said, "of course I was. Remember I said I liked dirty talk, although I haven't heard much from you. Don't be shy. Anything you say, I'll know we're just playing." "I'll try, but I gotta say, there's some words I'm not going to use," Lorna told him. "I never use. That doesn't make me noble, it's just me." "Fair enough. Feel free to use alternatives like black bastard," Clyde chortled. "How about something like "fuck me harder you narcissistic horse-cocked bastard." "If you say that I think I might laugh and cum at the same time," he said while reaching over and tickling Lorna's ribs until she cried uncle, and after rolling onto his back he asked whether she was in the mood for a pizza. "One place actually delivers." "If you want one get it, but I'm on a diet. Today I figure I sweated off 10 pounds, and that balances out the 5 quarts of semen you've deposited in me," she suspected, and after rolling onto her elbow and facing Clyde, put her hand on the underside of his cock as it rested on his lower stomach. As she ran her palm up the length of him she made him an offer. "Tell you what," she purred while sliding her palm up and down. "You've put me out of commission for some things but if you would like after you recover, I'd like to suck on my new best friend here again. My jaw seems to have stooped aching." "That sounds nice, but I have another idea," Clyde offered. "Since you've gotten over your nervousness, there's something else we can try." "I think we've - oh no. Wait a minute," Lorna said as she looked at his eyes and then at what she was stroking. "You can't be thinking - no way. Not possible." "Very possible," he said as he hugged her, and as he nibbled on her ear he whispered. "I would never hurt you. I don't know if you've ever tried it but I have a hunch you would love it. Just think about it for me." *** "I'm really proud of you, but if you don't want to do this," Clyde said as they stood by the side of the bed, with Lorna's eyes fixed on the bottle of Analglide in his hand. "No. I want to," she said and threw her arms around his muscular shoulders, kissing him and then smiling weakly. "We're going to take it nice and slow babe," he assured her as he helped her kneel on the bed, moving her over to the center and having her get on all fours. "Your favorite position, right?" "Yeah," came the shaky voice. Clyde gave the closest plump buttock a playful swat and then knelt behind her, kneading the meaty cheeks and parting them as he did and peeking at the prize, a pinkish/tan puckered ring that the girl claimed had been entered only once years ago by a guy who slipped his dick in and came right away. That wasn't going to happen again, Clyde knew, no matter how inviting the little orifice looked. He set the lube aside and spread the buttocks wide again, as wide as he could and then moved his face into the crevice, placing his tongue where the pubic hair ended and let it slide upwards. He heard Lorna gasp and mumble something as he made contact with the ring, and when he swirled his tongue around the balloon knot her body convulsed. "Honey..." "It's okay babe. Just relax. Feels good doesn't it?" Clyde kept orally caressing the tender orifice, even poking into the knot a bit while Lorna just moaned and wiggled her butt. He reached for the lube and managed to get some out onto his hand, and only then did he take his face away and quickly sip his greased index finger inside her. "Omigod!" she groaned as the long finger spun deep into her, but while she made a lot of sounds she never said "no more", which Clyde had told her would end this right away. After she seemed to get used to the finger Clyde squirted some lube down around his probing finger, and never missing a beat the lube went in with the finger. Only then did he offer the middle finger as well, squeezing it in and using both digits to gently move in and out. Lorna's reaction was much louder and her hands holding her up now had the sheets clutched in her fists and she seemed to me babbling to herself. Clyde looked down at his fingers and decided against a third, instead squirting some lube on his cock and using his free hand to grease up his weapon and get it somewhat hard. When he was primed he eased the fingers out of Lorna, who seemed to let out a sigh of relief that would soon end when Clyde brought the pointed spear to the slightly gaping hole the fingers had created. Lorna squealed as Clyde eased into her, and he kept pouring more and more in while using a hand to run the fingernails lightly on her back, even reaching up to grab the back of her scalp to pull her head back before leaning over her and reaching around to cup the dangling titties. "Feels good, doesn't it babe?" Clyde asked as he worked his cock in and out while their sweaty bodies ground together. "You let me know if you've had enough." "No," Lorna finally grunted. "I like your big cock in my ass." "That so?" Clyde replied. "That's right but fuck me like you mean it you narcissistic bastard." "Really?" Clyde snapped as he straightened up on his knees and grabbed her scalp again. "Yeah," Lorna snarled. "I want you to fill my bowels with your cum. Harder!" Clyde thrust into Lorna fast, their skin slapping together as their sweat flew, and a minute later Clyde was howling as he spurted his seed into Lorna, and she was gasping as the enormous organ pulsated with each spurt. When he finally stopped cumming Lorna flopped down onto the bed, disengaging them, and she stayed on her face in the sheets. "You okay babe? Clyde asked as she pulled on her shoulder so he could see her face. "No," Lorna said as she looked up at him, beet red and her face streaked with sweat or tears, or as it turned out both, but she was laughing as she added, "It freaking hurt! If you want I'll stick my arm up your ass later so you can get an idea." "Why didn't you say no more like we agreed?" "I was going to because I almost passed out at first, but I was too busy trying not to be a baby and cry," Lorna said as she caught her breath. "Then it started to feel a little better, and when I thought about how great it was to have somebody want me like you seemed to, I tried my best to get into it. Even tried the dirty talk. I think I forgot the horse cock part. How did I do?" "You did great. It was music to my ears." "Well, that back door is going to be something that gets saved for special occasions, like if we're still hanging together a year from now," Lorna suggested. "Maybe I should do research myself because I'd like to know how anybody you've dated before could take it." "Oh. I never did that before," he said with a straight face and took her hand and kissed it while admitting, "No, just kidding but I admit not many give it a shot. You've got spunk Lorna." "I know. I can feel it," she grimaced. "Feels like you're still in me." "I bet if we took a shower you'd feel better," Clyde suggested. "Together? Is it a big shower?" "Might be a little snug but we can work it out," Clyde said as he stood up, and when Lorna rolled over to get up she winced. "I can carry you." "No, just let me lean on you on the way," Lorna said, and although she probably didn't need the arm around her, she enjoyed cuddling into him for the short stroll to the shower. *** Lorna looked next to her at the man whose bed she was in, the light coming in from outside enough to allow her the pleasure of seeing her lover asleep. Clyde had dropped off like a baby but Lorna hadn't dropped off for more than a couple of minutes. It wasn't the bed, which was fine, and they had changed the sheets after their shower so it wasn't the bedding either. Part of the problem was that she had only stayed overnight in bed with a man one time before this, and she had never been able to sleep well in a strange bed anywhere. Perhaps the dull ache that came from her private parts was part of the problem, but that discomfort also reminded her of the most amazing day of her life. The shower she shared with Clyde should have soothed her, but the very intimate cleaning he had given her made her wish she wasn't so sore, and even though the presence of two big people in the cramped shower was awkward the way it made their soapy bodies rub against each other all the time was erotic. The erotic feeling wasn't just her opinion because Clyde kept her in there even as the warm water was fading, and the drying each other was just as special. The light was on in the bathroom but Lorna didn't mind Clyde seeing her clearly since he obviously liked what he saw, otherwise there was no way he could have kept getting hard all day and night. Lorna leaned over and kissed the chocolate brown nipple closest eyes to her, and even planted a series of butterfly kisses on the inside of his arm up from his bulging bicep and into the patch of curly hairs in his armpit. Clyde squirmed a little but didn't wake up, and although she knew that was probably for the best because she wouldn't know what she could do if he woke up considering her tender parts, being next to him was frustrating. Clyde was on his back with his legs akimbo, taking up a considerable area of the bed, and the more she stared at that enormous flaccid penis resting on his hips, the friskier she felt. His was only the second uncircumcised one she had ever dealt with, and while she hadn't been a fan of the previous one Clyde was different. The way the long foreskin covered the whole thing made it seem more like a weapon than a dick, and it was so sleek looking as well. 2:45 read the digital clock on the night table. She could drive home because she was stone cold sober, but what was there for her besides a possible ambush by her parents? There was certainly nothing in her room nearly as interesting as Clyde and the more she looked at him the more she realized she was never going to fall asleep so she moved down to his hip, bending down and kissing his cock. Clyde squirmed a little, sliding his right leg so part of it was over the edge of the bed. Lorna got up from the bed as gently as she could and got back on making as few waves as she could. She stifled a giggle when she looked at the tiny wrinkled pouch between his legs and concluded that it only looked small because of what was above it. Leaning down and giving the left nut a lick only got Clyde to rustle a bit and moan. As Lorna played with her man toy she considered the possibility that her lover could wake up in a fog and lash out at her without realizing, but as she licked his right ball she decided it was worth the risk. She started gently sucking on each nut, and that might have woken Clyde up but she felt like she was on a mission so she ran her tongue along the ridge of skin below the scrotum. "What the... Lorna? she heard the groggy giant mumble ass she pushed his legs further apart while easing herself down to the carpet, and after managing to get his legs over her shoulders ventured into what for her was unchartered territory. Lorna nervously licked around the tan knot before trying to emulate what he had done to her, and judging my the groan Clyde let out it must have felt as good for him as it had for her she kept going, reaching up to squeeze his balls. Lorna looked up when she heard a slapping noise and saw the Clyde had his cock in his fist, furiously pumping himself. The chunky brunette kept licking, poking her tongue at the ring, and then Clyde let out a bellow. The slapping sound stopped so Lorna leaned back and saw he had let go of his cock, and after standing up she saw the fruits of their labor spattered all over his upper torso. ""Babe, you're full of surprises," he said while getting all of himself onto the bed, and after Lorna climbed up and knelt at his hip he noted. "I sure as hell never expected that." "You and me both," she agreed. "Couldn't sleep and I was feeling... I don't know. Nasty. Did I do it right?" "Oh yes." "Well I thought I had done a thorough job of cleaning you in the shower but I had to make sure," she quipped. "You made a mess though." "Oh man," he sighed as he watched Lorna use her tongue again, licking up the ropes of semen, and after finishing she cuddled up next to her lover. "I'm so glad you didn't run when you saw me walk into that dive." "I'm glad you answered my ad. It worked even if neither of us are farmers," Lorna concluded before closing her eyes and drifting off. *** Epilogue... "Hey Donna!" Lorna called out to her co-worker as the crowd in the brewery courtyard milled around waiting for the next band to play, and Donna came over to where Lorna and her boyfriend Clyde were standing by the side of the stage with a couple of Clyde's co-workers from the brewery. "Hello girlfriend, and this must be the guy you always talk about." "Donna, this is Clyde. Clyde, I work with Donna," she said by way of introduction, and after they shook hands they all chatted for a moment until Clyde excused himself. "Going to get us a couple of drinks. Can I get you anything Donna?" he offered, but Donna lifted the cup she had at her side and thanked him anyway. "Did you paint that t-shirt on him?" Donna said as she watched him walk away. "Un-freaking real." "He's in good shape," Lorna admitted. "And look at you. You should dress like that at work,' she kidded as she pointed at the tank-top Lorna was wearing. "I could tell you've been losing weight but it was hard to tell because you still wear the same clothes. How many pounds did you lose?" "About 15. I can't afford to buy new stuff yet, at least at until I get settled in my apartment. Clyde bought me this." "Is that his idea?" Donna asked as she nodded down. "You mean the no bra look?" "No, I mean the pit hair," Donna explained with a wry grin. "Oh yeah," Lorna said. "Hey, out of all the things I've done for guys in my life, this is far and away the easiest." "How long have you been seeing him, a couple months?" "Almost three." "You sure as hell seem like a happier camper at work," Donna opined. "I remember that look of yours - like somebody who gets laid a lot. I had that look for a while myself." "Maybe we just take long walks and hold hands," Lorna suggested, making Donna laugh. "I saw that bulge in his baggy shorts. You aren't holding hands very much," Donna mused aloud. "I'd love to see him in a Speedo ." "Hey, Clyde's going to go back to competing in bodybuilding this fall," Lorna informed her friend. "If we're still together I might get to put oil on him before he goes on stage." "If you ever need an assistant," Donna offered, and as the band got on stage she said goodbye. "I have to find my sister." "Bye." Clyde came back with a couple cups of Saranac and they moved a bit away from the stage as the music began. He leaned over to Lorna's ear and asked her about Donna. "No, she's just a co-worker," she replied with a shake of her head. "Just asking babe. If you two were more than friends I'd be cool with that too," he responded with that smile of his. "Heck, my bed is big." "Not big enough for that," Lorna cackled as she started swaying to the music. That had been a new experience for Lorna, like so many other things lately. Somebody acting envious of her because of who she was with felt good, and so did being with Clyde. It hadn't been a perfect 3 months but the bumps in the road were minor. Clyde wan't any more perfect than she was but the things that were occasionally annoying - like his obvious admiration for himself - were easy to ignore. All it all it was a lot better life she was leading than having to put ads on dating websites and crossing her fingers. *** Thank you for reading.

  Lydia Martin looked like an angel descending from heaven as she approached the restaurant. Stiles couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy as she waved casually at him from the window. He stood up and pulled out her chair, only stumbling slightly. “How gallant!” She smiled at him. Her eyes scanned the room slowly. “This place has a wonderful Gratinée de Coquille St Jacques.” She winked at him. Stiles smiled and nodded, not sure whether she was speaking of a food thing or the atmosphere. “I thought it would be your style…Style from Stiles. Huh?” He quickly sipped at his water to stop the flow of stupidity from spilling from his mouth. “Bit pricey though.” She eyed him carefully. “I would have been happy just grabbing a burger.” “Well, you know…It’s nice to go someplace new…Uh. For me. That is never been here…” Lydia smiled and reached out across the table to tap his quaking hands. “I really just wanted to talk Stiles. You didn’t need to do all this.” “I wanted to…It is fine. I can cover it.” She eyed him thoughtfully. Her perk lips flashing into a slight frown. “Stiles, the entrees run about thirty dollars on average, if you take into account the starters, salad and beverages and gratuity…between the two of us we are looking at least one hundred sixty dollars.” She pushed back her hair slightly, smoothing it in thought. “This isn’t really financially feasible. Very thoughtful. But.” She held up her hands, “ Not what I expected or needed.” Stiles squirmed slightly under her scrutinizing gaze. Then looked down at the linen napkin he was twisting and pulling in his hands. “Let’s go.” She said firmly with a curt nod to her head. “Garcon?” She waved the waiter over and began speaking softly and quickly to him ‘en francais’. Stiles looked back and forth between them as they finished up the conversation. The waiter looked a bit put out but Lydia only smiled sweetly and turned back to Stiles. “Ok. Let’s go.” Stiles banged and bumped his way after her as she made a deliberate bee-line to the street. Once outside she stopped long enough for Stiles to catch up with her. “What just happened?” He asked looking concerned and confused. She flounced her hair softly back. “I told him I was a diabetic and forgot my insulin, and so we needed to leave.” “But…Dinner?” Stiles asked. Lydia turned to him. “ Stiles. Despite what others may believe… I’m not some gold digger. Money and fancy restaurants don’t impress me.” Stiles chuckled at that. She smiled back and took his arm as they strode along. “Not that I don’t appreciate them, it’s just not what I am all about.” “But…Jackson is rich…so I thought…” Stiles mumbled. “He can afford it…so yeah, I guess I’d let him. You however, aren’t so…It’s all checks and balances. What can you afford…within reasonable means…would serve as grand a gesture as anything Jackson could do. Understand?” Stiles chuckled and raised his eyebrows at her. “So the diner then?” “Sounds perfect!” She leaned into him softly. Stiles was on his best table mannered behavior. Only eating one fry at a time, swallowing food before talking and basically not talking for fear of sounding stupid. Lydia leaned in and said quietly. “So we need to talk…about all this…” She raised her hands and gave them a little flutter. “Us?” Stiles squeaked and felt the flash of heat raging through his body. Lydia sighed and chuckled slightly. “No. Stiles. This! What has been going on for the past year…And why I seem to be the only member of the club without an all access pass.” “Oh. You mean the whole wild kingdom thing.” Lydia nodded and smirked at him. “How did it all start? And why?” Stiles groaned slightly down at his plate. “You want the whole story or the made for TV edition?” “Everything Stiles. Please.” When he had finished Lydia sat back with her arms crossed, her eyes calculating and thoughtful. “So at the high school…It wasn’t Derek but Peter? And he was trying to get Scott to kill us all…And Jackson had asked Derek for the bite…” “Uhm. Begged for it…from what I heard from Scott.” Lydia blinked rapidly as she processed the information. “So we have Derek, Scott, Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Peter…Jackson.” She smoothed her hair looking off into the distance. “That’s one side….then there were the Argents…” Stiles shrugged. “ Only Alison and Chris now…and some random hunters…No one knows about Gerard.” “And you said Scott’s boss…this vet…he knows?” Stiles nodded “Yeah Deaton. He tries to help where he can. He’s like…” Stiles shrugged slightly. “A shaman? A Witch doctor…Wolf Doctor? I don’t know…” Lydia nodded. “And you? Stiles where do you fall in all this mess?” Stiles sighed. “Just a bystander…Who has tried to keep his friends alive…I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop Peter.” He looked up at her. The terror of that night flashed across her face for a moment. She remembered hearing Stiles scream his warning to her, before turning to see Peter fangs bared and lunging. “You did save me Stiles. You got Jackson to rescue me.” “What happened to you Lydia? No one really knows what was going on then?” Her face suddenly looked blank, as if some inner projector had clicked on and was running footage that only she could see. Stiles leaned in slightly, his eyes wide with concern. “Lydia? You ok?” She gave her head a slight shake, and then pulled out a heart stopping smile. “I’m ok, just processing it all still.” She took a dainty sip from her drink. “It’s all still like a dream…horrible and strangely…serene. Like I was there but not there…” She shook herself slightly. “First, it was these visions…bizarre dream like things…Then it was almost like I was walking between worlds…The one where Peter wasn’t Peter…but someone else…younger.” She laughed. “I almost fell for him.” She looked down blushing slightly. “Well, I guess I kind of did…” Stiles opened his mouth in horror. “ Wuh- What! Peter? Uncle Creepy Ass?” Lydia smiled. “He wasn’t ‘Peter’ just a regular guy…who was very seductive…alluring. Maybe it’s a werewolf thing…or a Hale thing…I mean look at Derek! I doubt I’d say no to that… Am I right?” “Yeah. Derek’s pretty ho…” Stiles jerked back dropping his fork. “No…Not that I think that…Derek. Is hot! He’s…Uhm. Ok. I’m shutting up now.” He crammed a handful of fries into his mouth and turned away avoiding the new calculating looks on her face. So much for his goal of table decorum. “You don’t need to be embarrassed…he is hot. Anyone can see that. But the thing is I don’t get him. Peter…well he’s basically easy to get…Power…Control…but Derek, from what you’ve said…What’s his deal?” “He’s…” Stiles looked down at his hands. “He’s…good. At heart, I mean. He’s suffered… a lot.” Stiles looked up at Lydia. “I mean, he lost everyone he loved at what sixteen-seventeen? No home, no family…just his sister...” Stiles pulled out some straws and began crinkling the paper up tightly. “Then had to leave…be on the run…Only to come back to all this craziness…finding his sister dead…His uncle a psycho murderer.” He dripped some soda on the crinkled paper and watched it uncurl slowly. “It’s funny how people have different perspectives on him. Alison obviously had a slightly darker view…as did Jackson. In fact I’ve never heard Jackson sound so terrified of someone as he did when he talked to me about Derek.” “That’s because no one gives him a chance! He is always thrown under the bus. The only reason Alison has an axe to grind is because her fucking crazy assed mother was trying to kill Scott! Derek was only protecting him and defending himself. He’s not just this animal…” Stiles looked up suddenly embarrassed by his outburst. He rubbed his face slowly. “He’s complicated. Just today he showed up at my house and…Replanted all of my mother’s old flower gardens…Just because…” “You really care about him don’t you?” Stiles looked up surprised, then back down nodding slightly. “I guess…he’s kind of grown on me. I can really see ‘him’ now…Not just some scary assed werewolf dude… ready to kill me…The person he should have been.” Lydia smiled. “Well Stiles the one thing I do know about you is that you don’t ever give up on the people you care about…And for that…I’m grateful.” She leaned in slowly and kissed his forehead. Stiles looked up at her cheeks blazing. She stroked his cheek softly. “Could we try again…To be friends…I think I need someone like you watching over me.” Stiles chuckled, “If I watched over you anymore I’d be a creepy Matt-like stalker.” “Well…We don’t want that. Plus Jackson…He still needs me…You get that right? He’s a lot like Derek.” She held up her hands when Stiles was about to protest. “Not in the same way…Jackson’s been given a lot of things…has a lot of things…But the one thing he’s always missed out on was…Love. Connections…a way to make himself feel…real.” Lydia’s green eyes began tearing up slightly. Stiles snapped his mouth closed and nodded begrudgingly. He knew it, had always known it. “He’s still an uber class douche bag though…” He looked down smirking. Lydia giggled. “Yeah. But he’s a work in progress…Like all of us. Come on let’s go.” She unclasped her pocket book and put down a bill. Stiles waved his hands in protest. “Whoa…Whoa no. no. no.” He handed the bill back to her. “In my limited view of the world this still was a date…and I, Stiles Stillinski, am an old fashioned kind of guy. So no Women’s Libby stuff.” “Ok.Ok.” She took the money and gave him her heartbreaking smile again. “Next time though…Remember I’m an emancipated woman. I do as I please.” They left together Lydia snaking her hand into his and smiling up at him. “This was fun Stiles. You and I should do this more often. In fact let’s set up a time to work on this stuff together. You have that bestiary still? The one Alison asked me to translate? I think it would be wise for us…You and me to translate the whole thing together….Forewarned is forearmed right?” Stiles stopped and looked at her with a smile. He nodded, “I think that would be smart…I mean I don’t want to run into anymore new critters without maybe knowing what they are before they bite my head off…” Lydia patted his arm. “And…I think we all need a night out. Let our hair down. Be teenagers…I’ll get Jackson and Danny to think up a good place we can all go. Have some alcohol, dance…You know?” “As long as you’re not mixing the drinks…I’m down with it!” She rolled her eyes at him and gave him a gentle squeeze. “We are going to be ok, right Stiles?” “Yeah.” He smiled at her. “We will be.”

Stiles had never really thought much of Scott's laugh-hell, he's heard it so often that it was almost like background noise to him. So it's weird, when it stops. Stiles turns to his best friend, stopping his story about Jackson and figuring that Scott had just gotten a waft of Allison, but when he looks at Scott, he's face to face with someone who looks like he doesn't recognize him. He tilts his head in confusion, "Scotty? You okay?" "Uh, yeah," Scott frowns, "and my name's Scott, by the way, not Scotty. Are you new here?" Stiles fakes hurt, going along with whatever ridiculous prank Scott's trying to pull on him right now, "Good one, Scotty. It's me, your best friend and unwillingly your sidekick, Stiles." He crinkles his nose, "What's a Stiles?" Stiles, starting to worry a little, laughs nervously, "Okay come on, Scott. This isn't funny. Stiles is my name. Stiles Stilinski. The Sheriff's son?" "Dude, the Sheriff doesn't have a son," Scott pauses, "Did you hit your head or something?" He falters, "I think you're the one who has hit their head." Stiles knows Scott heard him, but Scott pretends not to, "What?"  He runs. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees his room is exactly the same as it was the day before. Collapsing onto his bed, he lets himself fully grasp the situation. Scott doesn't remember him. Like at all. It scares him, more than he could ever admit out loud. Every nerve in his body is tensing up because Scott and his dad are his everything and he honestly doesn't know if he can live in a world without Scott. The knock on the door startles him, makes him sit up straight on the bed. Sure the knock scares him, but the voice is the thing that terrifies him, "Who the hell are you?" He's been drinking, so much so that Stiles can practically smell the booze reeking off of him and he silently thanks god that he doesn't have a werewolf's sense of smell right now. "Dad," he begins, slow and gentle. "Dad?" the Sheriff scoffs, "Son, I haven't fathered any children last time I checked, so I'm going to ask you one more time, who the hell are you and why are you here?" "It's me, Stiles. C'mon dad, you know me. This is my room. There's pictures of me and my friends all along this wall. Please dad, don't do this. You have to remember me," he hears the hitch in his voice, the one his dad always could recognize, but this time he doesn't, simply continues on with staring at Stiles like he's some kind of alien, still smelling of booze because this isn't his dad. No, this is a man who could never get over the grief of losing his wife because his son wasn't there to help him through it. "You must be outta your mind, kid," he stutters a little, "there ain't nothing in this room, but you and me." Stiles feels like breaking down right in that second, but he composes himself and forces out a chuckle, "You're right. Silly me. I'm sorry to have bothered you, Sheriff," his voice cracks as he looks at the shell of his dad, "Just forget I came." The Sheriff, feeling pity for the boy, allows Stiles to run out of the house without charging him for breaking in; he doesn't even remember the encounter the next morning.  Stiles knows it's magic-it has to be. There's no explanation for both Scott and his dad's sudden memory loss. He knows Deaton's is probably the best place to go to ask him how to fix it, but Scott's probably there by this time, no doubt already filling Deaton in on the weird kid he ran into outside of his house. So naturally, the next person he thinks of is Derek. Derek seems like the only one with a clue of what to do about the situation aside from Deaton, and if Derek doesn't remember Stiles, then he won't remember how much he hates him and Stiles can work with that. He reaches Derek's loft in about ten minutes and is about to knock on the door when Derek opens it. (Damn werewolves and their super hearing). Stiles waves awkwardly, "Um, hi?" When Derek makes no effort to let him in or even respond, Stiles speaks up again, "Ok, so listen, I know that you might be confused on why I'm here, but I need your help and I know you don't want to help a total stranger, but-" "Stiles, shut up." Stiles ignores him, "This is kind of life or death for me and we seem to have a knack for helping each other out in those situations, but you wouldn't remember that would," he freezes, replaying Derek's words in his head, "Wait, you called me Stiles?" Derek shoots him a quizzical look, "Yeah, what else would I call you? Unless you prefer idiot?" Stiles hugs him with excitement. Derek's stiff and when he makes no effort to return it, Stiles looks up to see glaring down at him, before he awkwardly lets go, "Dude, I'm sorry. It's just you know my name, well not my name, not even Scott knows that, but that's not the point. The point is you know who I am." "Unfortunately." "Ah man, this is great," Stiles smiles, "I mean, not that it's you that remembers. I would have preferred Scott or Lydia or Danny even. But god, at least someone's here to prove that I'm not crazy," he looks over at Derek, "Oh shut up with your expressive eyebrows; me being crazy is not debatable!" He sighs, "Anyway, can I come in?" "No." "Aww, come on Derek," he pouts, "Please. It's important. There's some supernatural shit going on and I need your help." He sees Derek beginning to get angrier, "Why don't you ask Scott?" "I would, if he knew who I was."  Derek sighs, "Fine. Come in." "So you're trying to tell me that no one knows who you are, but me." "I know it sounds farfetched, but you go to trust me, Derek. I swear on my life that's the honest to goodness truth. You can hear my heartbeat, dude. I thought it was a practical joke at first-like National Prank Stiles Day, which has happened before, but my dad," his voice cracks, "was so different and he couldn't even see my room; he thought it was empty and Scott was looking at me like I was a deranged idiot-" ("Well, to be fair," Derek begins to interject. "Shut up, Derek.") "-and I just want to have everyone remember me again." There's that hitch again and he knows Derek heard it and just fuck, he doesn't want anyone, let alone Derek, to see him emotional like this, doesn't want Derek to think he's weaker than he already does, so he covers it up with a laugh, "Who else will help Scott pass Pre-Calc after already failing it last year?" He doesn't mention that Allison or Lydia could; he likes to think he's irreplaceable to Scott. Derek ignores the hurt Stiles is feeling and he's grateful for it because that's not them. They don't do emotions; they only help each other when they have to.  "So what do you expect me to do about your problem? Scott's grade in Pre-Calc hardly regards any interest of mine." Stiles rolls his eyes, "You got to have some information on witches or something like that? There's got to be a reason you remember me and no one else does." "Punishment?" Derek asks, "And you think this is a witch's doing? Why would they want to curse you, Stiles? Have you done anything particularly idiotic in the past couple days?" Derek's staring at him like he's an ache in his back, and Stiles figures that he is, but still, he could appreciate some sympathy. "Well, what else could it be, Derek?" he feels himself growing angry, unable to keep himself in check, "I kind of have no where to go, if you haven't noticed! Look, I get that we don't fucking see eye to eye any of the time and that the only reason you tolerate me on a good day is because I am-I was Scott's best friend. So excuse me for thinking you'd have the decency to at least try to help me, because right now, you're all I got! But you know what, I'm leaving. I'll figure this out on my own, like always." He's half-way to the door when Derek's voice stops him, "You can stay here." "What?" Derek stands up, retreating to the back room and Stiles can tell he's fighting a small smile, "Don't make me repeat myself, Stiles. There's a room upstairs, next to Peter's old room. Try not to be too annoying." Stiles doesn't fall asleep for a while, not feeling quite comfortable in the room. There isn't even a bed, but he supposes the floor is better than the ground. When he finally does fall asleep, it only lasts a couple hours and he dreams. He dreams of his dad and Scott remembering him and Derek smiling at him like he actually means something. He wonders why Derek's there, but the happiness in his dream self's chest brushes away any curious thought. He dreams that his dad's cooking them all bacon and wakes up to smell that his dad actually is and shit, his dad's not meant to eat that, not with his heart. He's sprinting down the stairs within seconds of waking up and barely notices that his house isn't quite how he remembers it, but his dad's heart is more important than his sense of unfamiliarity.  He stops before he gets to the kitchen and shouts, "You're not meant to be eating that." "Stiles," and that's not his father's voice; it's deeper. Derek..... "Oh shit, sorry. I guess I forgot that I wasn't home," he looks ashamed, "So you cook? Well I guess this is bacon and anyone can whip up a batch of bacon, except for Scott and maybe Peter, because I can't imagine him cooking, but then again, I couldn't imagine you cooking either. Actually, keep cooking, I'm going to go get my phone to take a picture." "Shut up, Stiles." He says, "I should tally the number of times you say that," the same time as a new voice speaks, "No, let the boy keep talking. I'm curious to know why he's talking about me?" Stiles laughs awkwardly, "Oh hey, Peter. Haven't seen Beacon Hill's residential creeper lately." Peter eyes him suspiciously (oh shit, Peter doesn't know who he is), before ignoring him, "Derek, who's your friend?"  Derek, knowing full well that Stiles is trying to take a picture of him cooking, smirks, before steadying his heartbeat, "Oh this is Stiles, my boyfriend." He pretends not to hear Stiles drop his phone from shock. Peter snorts, "I'd say you could do better, Derek, but," he trails off as he looks towards Stiles, "I suppose this might be the best you can get. Well, I'm Peter, Derek's Uncle, apparently the residential creeper." Snapping out of his confusion, Stiles chuckles, "Oh, you know our Der Bear," he lightly slaps Derek on the back, "Always badmouthing his relatives." "Ah yes, that's why it's such a surprise that I haven't heard of you. I'd think Derek would want to fill me in on all the lovely details of your relationship," he stops to study Stiles, up and down, "And maybe even invite me to join in?" Stiles can feel himself color, murmuring an almost incoherent string of, "Oh my god," and "What have I gotten myself into?" His words don't seem to have an effect on Derek though and Stiles wonders if Peter says things like this all the time. Derek arches his eyebrow towards Peter and the door and with that, Peter winks and takes his leave. Stiles' whole body seems to relax, "God that was creepier than when he tried to bite me. Just when I thought he couldn't get any worse, he goes all Pee Wee's Playhouse on us!" Something in Derek seems to crack, "What did you just say?" "Pee Wee's Playhouse? The guy who got caught masturbating in a theater? Peter's hotter than Pee Wee, but still, it seems like something he would do." Derek growls, "Peter tried to bite you?" "Woah, calm down, Derek," Stiles gestures sporadically with his hands, "It wasn't the sexual kind of biting! He just offered to give me the infamous bite and I said no." With Stiles' words, Derek just seems to grow even more sour (if that was even possible), "With the possessiveness you're oozing right now, we'll have no problem convincing him you're actually my boyfriend. Wait," Stiles runs over his words in his head, assessing the situation: Derek had no (foreseeable) reason to tell Peter that they were dating, "You just did that to mess with me! I thought you were trying to preserve my innocence. My god, you're more of a dick than I thought." He grumbles, still slightly angry, "A dick that can kick you out." Stiles quickly drops to the floor, adjusting himself as if he's praying, "Oh savior, Lord Derek of Beacon Hill. How generous you are hosting me in your home. When you die, you'll be with the Angels for this kind feat you've done for me." Derek, honest to goodness, laughs (for a second anyway) and Stiles smiles, because somehow when he's with Derek, he's not thinking of the impending doom at his doorstep, not thinking about how no one knows who he is anymore, about how that's how he's felt his entire life-immemorable, another faceless person in the town (another Greenberg). With Derek, he's just not thinking that he's happy, he's feeling and believing it too. Derek cooking for Stiles somehow becomes a thing, and since Peter is bent on making sure to be gone when it happens, it evolves into eating together too and it's just so natural. It will always start with an offhand comment from Stiles about how Derek's cooking then Stiles will launch into a story of something that whatever Derek's cooking reminds him of.  ("One time when me and Scott were six, he thought he'd be able to swim in the ocean after one lesson! I told him he was being conceited, but he wouldn't listen, because sushi was his favorite food and he just wanted to tell the fish that he appreciated how they tasted. I told him that he couldn't speak to fish, but he didn't believe me and went in and started drowning within five seconds. My mom had to save him because the life guard wasn't paying attention. You should've seen the life guard's face when my mom went to give him a piece of her mind.") He'll make sure to slip in a pop culture reference at least once in his rambling, to see if Derek catches and understands it, making it almost a game between them. ("The next day, Scott was crying so hard because the fish wouldn't know he liked them. And I wish I could've told him to make a deal with a crossroad's demon for the ability to talk to fish," Derek smiles and nods with his allusion to Supernatural and Stiles wasn't sure it was possible to like Derek more than he already did, but his knowledge of Supernatural did just that, "but alas, I was just a kid, so I had to hug him as he cried for three hours. Oh how times never change!") And Derek starts talking more and more, making fun of Stiles every chance he gets. ("I can hardly see why you or Scott put up with each other; both of you seem just as irritable as you do now," and Derek's smiling fondly at him when he says it. "Hey, I'll have you know, I have millions of people lining up to be my friends!"  "All imaginary, I assume.") And it's nice. Until, after two weeks of their 'friendship,' Stiles knows he shouldn't be feeling what he is. He's tried researching about memory loss but has yet to find anything, and he finds himself silently okay with that. His attachment to Derek is beginning to extend over everything else he cares about and it's scaring him. So he does what he does best with emotions he shouldn't be feeling: shoves them down, forgets about them, and smiles at Derek as if he hadn't just had an emotional crisis.  ("Ha ha. You're so funny, Derek." "Shut up, Stiles." "Number fifty nine!") The next time he dreams is two weeks after his first one, but this time his dad and Scott aren't in it; only Derek's there. Stiles is running towards him. That's the whole dream: Stiles chasing Derek, never quite catching up to him and suddenly Derek's yelling at him, "Wake up, you idiot," and that really doesn't make any sense in the context of the dream. He's about to shout something witty back when he closes his eyes to blink and opens them to Derek staring down at him, shoving his body slightly, which was no long running, but laying down on the floor. "Why, it's fucking," he looks at his phone, "6:30 AM?" "First day of school, Stiles," Stiles seems to protest at the very idea, but Derek shuts him up with a glare, "I don't care that nobody remembers you; you're going to enroll so you don't fall behind." "Aww, look at Derek caring about my future. Such a kind and respectable gent I have for a fake boyfriend," he places his hand over his heart, "I'll go, just for you, Der Bear (and that somehow became a thing too). Besides, what's another day as a friendless loser!"  Stiles jolts out of bed (aka a blanket on the floor) and begins to rip off his shirt when he realizes Derek's still in his room, staring at him, "Woah, dude, give a guy some privacy. This isn't a free show." He winks. Derek doesn't take his eyes off Stiles, "I don't understand you." Stiles laughs, continuing to change the upper half of his body, "Not all of us enjoy changing for an audience, Miguel." "That's not what I meant," he ignores Stiles' look of confusion and shakes his head, "Never mind, just be ready to go in a half an hour. I'll walk you in to get enrolled.  The drive there is a bit awkward. Stiles is running his mouth off to hide his nervousness whilst Derek stares out the front of the road with a look expressing, what Stiles thinks is, his distaste for Stiles. When they finally get to school and into the principal's office, Stiles is pretty sure Derek has heard enough about his childhood lizard and wants to throw his head out the window.  "Hi," Derek speaks up, "I called you earlier about enrolling someone. I'm sorry it's so last minute." "Ah yes. Derek Hale, right? And who might this be?" his old principal glances and gestures towards Stiles (which kind of hurts, because he used to be one of her favorite students, but now she's more concerned with Derek's looks to spare him more than a glance). Derek's face breaks out into a smirk, "Oh, this is my cousin, Enrique Hale." Stiles would've laughed if he wasn't so busy glaring. "Well, here's Enrique's schedule. I'll call in another student to help him find his way around the school," she types something on the computer, "Ah looks like Lydia shares all her classes with Enrique. I'll call her in." Derek visibly stiffens, his voice nearing another growl, "I'll see you after school, Enrique." Stiles figures Derek must just be holding a grudge and yells at his retreating back, "Thanks Der Bear. Love you, cousin!" And when Derek seems to trip and stumble at Stiles' words, he knows he'll hold this against him. By the time lunch rolls around, Lydia actually seems to have taken a (platonic) liking to him and invites him to sit with her, Jackson and Danny. It's weird to him, sitting without Scott, but when he sneaks a glance at him, he's already in his Allison Lala Land and Stiles can't help but laugh, because even with no Stiles in his life, Scott is still the exact same.  "This is Enrique," Lydia introduces, taking her normal seat in the cafeteria, "Play nice, Jackson." Stiles gives a sad smile when he realizes that it isn't just Scott that's the same, it's everyone, "Please, just call me Stiles. My name's not really Enrique. Derek was just trying to be funny." "Derek? Derek Hale?" He knows he piqued Lydia's interest, "I never though I'd hear the word funny to describe Derek." Stiles smiles, "Yeah, me neither, but he actually has a sense of humor underneath all that brooding." He suddenly remembers Derek's face when he's laughing and now he's blushing fifty shades of pink (he briefly wonders if Derek would get that reference).  "Someone's got it bad for Hale than?" Danny interjects, sounding interested albeit a little disappointed.  If possible, his blush grows brighter, before steadying his heartbeat (like Derek taught him to months ago when Stiles showed up at Derek's train car, demanding to know how to lie to a werewolf so that Scott wouldn't be able to find out all of his insecurities and worries). "What? Guys, I'm a Hale! He's my cousin! I'm not into incest, I swear." And even though he managed to fool Jackson and Danny, he's pretty sure that Lydia saw right through him. "Are you single than?" Danny asks, smiling at him the same way he smiles at people at The Jungle (and if Stiles had gone there more than that one time, no one needs to know) and oh, what do you know? He is attractive to gay guys. If this was freshmen or sophomore year, Stiles would be jumping at Danny's advances, but it's senior year, so he blurts, "No. I have a boyfriend." It just happens that his supposed cousin and boyfriend are the same person and he thinks Lydia may know that because she's smiling at him like she's hit the jackpot. When the end of the day hits, Stiles can't stop realizing how similar this reality it to the one where he is remembered. Almost as if his existence is nothing significant. He sighs, because he knows that once he starts thinking like this, he won't stop. One minute it's about how Scott's smiling the same smile and the next it's gratified into being a burden to Derek. And oh god, he must be such a burden to Derek. He's lived there for two weeks and done nothing but talk! Derek must need a break from him.... So before Derek comes to pick him up, he asks Jackson to tell Derek that he wasn't kidnapped and ends up running to Lydia's house. He doesn't know if Lydia will even let him in; hell in her mind, they've just met, but he still knocks, desperate from a computer (and company). "Stiles," she opens the door, "What are you doing here?" "You're dating a werewolf," and Stiles thinks that possibly wasn't the best way to open this conversation when the door is slammed on his face, "Oh crap, I mean, I know that you know about the supernatural, you're smart and I need your computer and your help. Look, I know you and not in a stalkerish way, well it was kind of at first, but I grew out of it. And I'm just making this worse aren't I?" "Kind of," she glares at him after re-opening the door. "I'm just really desperate, Lydia. No one knows who I am when I've lived here for all 18 years of my life and I just want to fix everything and I don't want Derek to keep having to deal with me." Lydia raises her eyebrow, "Derek, you say? Come in, come in. My mom's not home for the weekend, so you don't have to worry about being quiet." Stiles profusely thanks her, wandering her way to the computer and with a slight nod from Lydia, he flips it open. "So," he begins as he types, "My name's Stiles Stilinski and I'm in no way related to Derek Hale. My best friend's Scott-" Lydia peers down at the computer screen where he's pulled up a page about witches and curses, "Scott I Can't Take My Eyes of Allison McCall?" Stiles laughs, clicking on an article about memory curses, "He's like that no matter what reality you're in, trust me. Anyway, one moment we're laughing together and the next, he has no clue I am, nobody does." Lydia seems uninterested at each page he opens, even rolls her eyes when he gets redirected to a page about fairies (and how did he not think to look at fairies after over five hours of research), "And Derek?" "The only one who remembers me." She smiles, "Oh, really?" shoving him away from the computer and highlights a certain phrase of the text he was about to read. She stands up and saunters away from the computer, "And by the way Stiles, I remembered you the whole time." His mouth gapes open, more so when his eyes flick over what she's highlight. 'Fairies are known to be matchmakers, working any magic possible to achieve their goals. These can include: body swap, memory loss (of an individual or a group), shapeshifting, etc.' Oh. "Lydia," he screams, "What the hell?" She smirks, "You're really telling me you didn't see it? Come on, Stiles. I've been waiting for you and Derek to get your acts together for almost two years now. If I knew all it took was some fairy magic, I would have called them ages ago." "Me and Derek?" he shakes his head, even if Derek doesn't hate him anymore that doesn't mean that he feels the same way that Stiles does or that they're some fairy match made in heaven, "And you remember, couldn't that mean we're some perfect couple," he sighs, knowing the only reason Lydia probably remembers him is because she was some sort of banshee, immune to the supernatural, "Sorry, sorry. Just wanted my obsession to go out with a bang. So how do we reverse this thing?" She laughs, pointing at the screen, "It says the only way to reverse it is to get with Derek." Of course it is. He sleeps in Lydia's room that night, crashing as he searches endlessly for another way to reverse the fairy magic besides actually getting together with Derek. When he's not pining after her, Lydia actually seems to like Stiles, laughing and comforting him. Somewhere in the middle of the night, she wakes him up and allows him on the bed and they just sleep next to each other and it's so incredibly platonic and it's perfect that way. Half way through the night, he wakes up again, this time to the sound of the window opening. "Derek," he sits up, "is that you?" Derek growls, "You didn't come home tonight." And Stiles prays to god that Derek didn't hear his heart skip at the word home. "I didn't want to bother you," Stiles whispers, not wanting to wake Lydia, "I thought you deserved a day off from my constant babbling." "So you go to her?" Derek's anger is growing, Stiles can almost touch it, but Stiles just doesn't get why Derek hates her so much, "I thought Scott was your best friend." "He is! But he doesn't exactly know me anymore, remember?" Stiles feels Lydia stirring next to him. "And she does?" His voice full of malice. "Yes!" He exclaims as if it was obvious. That seems to only make Derek angrier, "Then what was the point of living with me for the past two weeks, Stiles, when you could've been living with her!" "I don't see what the big deal is, Derek!" Derek's perched on her window, about to leave, before he frowns back at Stiles, and Stiles has never seen him this vulnerable, "It's never not going to be her, is it Stiles?" "Derek," Stiles tries to call after him, but he's already gone. Lydia's frowning at him, now awake, "Oh, Stiles.." Stiles ignores her, running out the door, "Thank you for letting me stay here, but I have to go. I'm sorry!" Five minutes later (who knew he could run that fast), Stile was climbing into Derek's window (after checking that the door was locked), "Derek," when Derek makes no indication of response, he continues, "Please, Derek. Listen to me. Lydia," Derek growls at the name, "I haven't liked her since the eighth grade. Freshmen and sophomore year I was so into Danny," he growls louder, "Ok, note to self, don't talk about Danny. The point is, I was into him and he was a guy. I didn't want anyone to know, because I was already bullied for my ADHD so homophobic slurs were something I didn't really want to add to the list. It's pathetic, I know, but I figured I could overcompensate with Lydia, so I was more vocal about it. Besides, Lydia has Jackson. There's nothing to be jealous of, okay, Derek? Because you want to know something?" he approaches Derek, who's siting on his bed, "I love you," and kisses him. Derek doesn't kiss him back, so Stiles pulls away, "Shit, Derek. Was I picking up the wrong signals? I mean Lydia was hinting that you liked me and I thought you did too, and oh god, I'm such an idiot." He buries his head in his hands. "Shut up idiot." and it sounds so fond that Stiles automatically replies, "That's the 117th time you've told me that in the last two weeks," and Derek's smiling at him now. And oh my god, it's gorgeous. Stiles could write a novel about how beautiful it is and he's honestly tempted to go pick up and pencil and paper to start writing when Derek speaks, "You'd be more of an idiot than I thought if you couldn't tell that I love you, Enrique." "Oh shut up, Miguel," and they're kissing again. "Stiles, what happened next? You can't leave me hanging?" and what, when did Scott get here and since when did he even know who Stiles was. He opens his eyes and instantly knows where he is: the exact moment where everyone forgot about him. He doesn't remember the story he was telling Scott, so he blurts out, "I love Derek Hale and I'm not kidding." Scott laughs, "What? How well do you even know him Stiles?" And Stiles freezes. Does Derek even remember? Or did he forget the last two weeks like everyone else did. "I don't know." "What do you mean you don't know," Stiles cuts him off, "I need to go. Bye Scott, see you tomorrow!" "Stiles, wait!" but Stiles doesn't; he runs home, doesn't even get to see his dad since he has a shift right now and flops on his bed. Sighing he pulls out his phone to text Scott that he's ok, but before he can, an unknown number flashes on the screen.            From: 555-7627 It's lonely eating without you here I love you. Stiles feels his whole face break out into a grin.           To: Lord Derek Hale of Beacon Hill (♥) Coming over right now. I think I remember the way ;) I love you too. And the next day when Stiles gets a text from Scott telling him that he's switched bodies with Isaac, he laughs into Derek's arm before leaning in for a kiss and thinks those damn fairies will be giving Allison and Scott a rude awakening.     

“Sooo … you this grumpy all the time?” The subject of interrogation—though it felt more like a child poking at him incessantly with question after question—turned to face the newest resident of Stark tower with a truly remarkable scowl.  “Yes,” Bucky growled, eye twitching slightly. The wizard—Harry Potter, wizard extraordinaire, and all-round pain in the ass—flashed his pearly whites at him innocently.  Hah, innocent.  From what he’d heard of their initial encounter, an egg carton of Tony Starks was more innocent than this guy.  He thanked all the gods, Norse and otherwise—and Darcy, who’d dragged him out for a coffee run that day—that he hadn’t been there for that unholy meeting. A gleam entered the wizard’s eyes, and suddenly Bucky wasn’t feeling so great. “Well, that just won’t do, mate.”  He gave a put-upon sigh.  “I guess the wizarding world it is, then—that’s where everyone seems to get their jollies. Nat!” he crowed delightedly, eyes lighting up as Natasha entered the room. “Potter.” Her fingers looked like they were inching closer to … wherever on her body the largest weapon was concealed. “Do not call me Nat,” she grimaced in disgust.  “Agent Romanoff is perfectly adequate.” “Whatever,” Potter waved off—and was he suicidal?  Because Natasha’s hand was definitely resting on her thigh now, a finger twitching.  “I’m just going to take this guy out of this shiny monstrosity of a tower and show him how to have some fun,” Potter declared.  “See ya, Tash!” As they disappeared from the living room couch, Bucky was one hundred percent certain that a knife had whistled past his ear.     Watching Potter come out of an isolated countryside house with two honest-to-god floor-sweeping brooms, Bucky decided that the wizard definitely had a few screws loose. “Have you ever flown?” The very strange question did nothing to elevate his estimation of Potter. “I don’t mean on a plane or anything, but just … flown.  No?  Well, there’s always a first time for everything!”  With that, Potter swung a leg over one of the brooms, dropping the other on the grass.  “Well, come on!” Bucky stared back blankly. Potter rolled his eyes.  “Just climb on behind me.  Like mounting a bike, or a horse.  You’ve at least ridden on one of those, right?”  At the non-response, he muttered something under his breath, before exclaiming exasperatedly, “For Merlin’s sake, just get on!” He would never be able to recall how, but the next moment found Bucky standing behind Potter with a leg on either side of the wooden stick, hands flopping uselessly by his side. “Hold on tight!”  The warning gave Bucky hardly a second to comply as he gripped Potter’s waist before he was shooting up into the air. It took a few seconds to find his voice again.  “GET ME THE FUCK BACK DOWN!” he roared, visions of cloudy skies and icy cliffs flashing behind his tightly shut eyes. “Mate, I’m not going to …” Potter broke off.  “Alright,” he said finally. Bucky was frozen on the broom, unable to move.  Distantly, he felt the air change direction around his face ... And was that solid ground under his feet? He stumbled off, tripping over the goddamned stick and falling to his knees. Eyes still firmly closed, he pressed his forehead to the ground and took a deep, shuddering breath.  Earth, he chanted in his head, land.  Even as he twined his fingers into the grass, he was abstractedly aware that his whole body was trembling uncontrollably. A tentative hand cupped his shoulder.  “Bucky, are you alright?” Bucky snorted weakly. “You could’ve told me you had a thing about heights, you know.”  He heard Potter flop down next to him. “We all have our tickers, after all. Our own shadows.” Finally catching his breath, he slowly sat up and opened his eyes. “And what would you know about shadows?” A dark look crossed Potter’s eyes, a haunted thing he recognised from his mirror. “You’d be surprised,” he said quietly, far more solemnly than he had ever seen the man. Bucky felt oddly uncomfortable under Potter’s considering gaze.  “You know,” he began conversationally, “if you had met me even five years ago, you’d have thought I was an absolute nutter.  Not in the way you think of me now,” he chuckled humourlessly, “but like I needed my own team of shrinks to unpack all the baggage I carried.  I would twitch at the slightest accidental brush, curse at the quietest scrape of a heel, and bodily attack any perceived threat.  Every night I woke up screaming, until I didn’t sleep at all.” He leaned back on his elbows and looked up unseeing at the cloudless blue sky, unaware, deliberately or not, of Bucky’s curious stare.  “It must be frustrating for a team of superior warriors such as yourselves to know nothing of substance about me. Except maybe Fury, but he can’t tell you anything.  And Thor,” he added, tone softening a touch.  Bucky gave a passing thought to the reason for that, as Potter, eyes drifting shut, took a deep breath.  “We had our own war.  Wars. Magical Britain was in a constant state of war for about, oh, fifty years, give or take a few. There was a period of about ten years of peace in between, which lasted until I was eleven.  And then I was introduced to magic and wizards and one life-threatening adventure after the next.  It was a rough time, for all of us. I won’t go into the tedious details or we’ll be here forever,” he smiled grimly, “but during those years, I came across a creature.  A creature that still, to this day, makes me want to drop to my knees in fear and despair.” A chill travelled through Bucky at the flat tone. “We call them dementors.  Towering, hooded figures that rattle as they breathe.  Just their presence causes everything to go dark, and an icy coldness permeates the air into your very skin.  The worst part of it, though, is the way it sucks the happiness out of you.  Literally,” he added, as though able to see the disbelieving expression on Bucky’s face. “They drink it all, leaving you alone with your worst memories, making you relive them.  Again and again.” Bucky flinched as Potter’s voice cracked.  “They are my greatest fear—have been from the moment I encountered one. And would you know it,” he barked, a sharp laugh that caused Bucky to shudder, “mere days after the war was finally over, the Ministry saw fit to put me in prison.  The prison guarded and patrolled by the very same creatures. Too powerful, they said. Clearly I was going to be the next Dark Lord.  My friend found a loophole and got me out soon enough, but let me tell you, watching your parents and godfather and friends die over and over again gets old real fast. I was a mess after that—married and divorced my ex-wife within a year, got myself banned from seeing my godson, and drunk myself into unconsciousness whenever I could.” Rubbing his arm surreptitiously, Bucky wished he had thought to wear something warmer. Potter suddenly opened his eyes, piercing his own.  “So I’m an old hand at ‘shadows’.  There’s really no shame in admitting your fears, and certainly none in wanting to avoid them.  In any case, we, the whole team, are all a few therapy sessions short of a stable mind.  That being said,” he grinned, eyes brightening, “I’m going to teach you the joys of flying right now.” Bucky swallowed apprehensively.  “No thanks, Potter.  I’ll keep my feet on the ground, if it’s all the same to you.”  At the stubborn set of the wizard’s jaw, Bucky thought he might actually cry.     “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Bucky looked up at those worrying words, remembering the last time he had heard them (fifty feet in the air). Potter—Harry, now, apparently—had taken the … success (a relative term, Bucky thought) of alleviating some of his fear of heights and decided that the whole team could benefit from his … therapeutic methods.  Steve was his latest project, and he was now flitting around the captain, brushing snow out of his hair and clothes. “No, I guess not,” Steve replied wryly, shaking out the remaining snow from his hair. Casting a critical eye over him, Bucky realised that he really was being truthful.  Which meant that Harry’s crusade was not over. God help them all. Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and a smirk broke out over his face. Tony plopped down next to him.  “What’s with the evil grin, Bumblebee?” Bucky frowned, briefly thinking back to how Tony had managed to paint his metal arm yellow and black after their viewing of the Transformers.  There would be retribution, he promised himself.  His smile returned as he remembered his original thought. “Well,” he said, gesturing to Steve, who was not even trying to disguise a fond smile at Harry’s antics, “Harry’s gone through all of us now … except Natasha.” A spark lit up in Tony’s eyes, and an unholy grin unfurled on his lips.  The prospect of not being the Black Widow's victim for once seemed to appeal greatly to him. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

1.  Friday, late afternoon.  Black marker on a blue post-it note.  Found on Keith’s desktop calendar:   Keith,   You owe me one for that spectacular save during the presentation.  Don’t think for a second that Allura didn’t notice you hadn’t run those numbers.  You might be the flashy new hotshot catching everyone’s attention, but I’m gonna be a hero around here.  They’ll throw me a parade.   Don’t worry, I’m not expecting a parade from you (this time).  I think a month of you doing my end of the week sales reports should suffice.   Lance   ***   The chicken scratch handwriting scrawled across that tiny blue square made something hot and impossible to ignore flare in Keith’s belly.  This “rivalry” business the other account manager insisted on should be ridiculous and easy to laugh off.  He should throw the note out and then get on with his day; there was far too much work to be done to let Lance and his childish games distract him.  He left the note where it was, turned on his heel and immediately stalked over to Lance’s cubicle.  “Hey, hero,” he drawled, deceptively mild.  He did not care at all if he was interrupting anything.  There was a buzzing sensation crawling beneath his skin, and Keith recognized that he was itching for something - he just didn’t know what it was.   Completely unhurried, Lance spun around in his desk chair to face him.  “Keith,” he greeted with a smirk.  He didn’t seem surprised by Keith’s appearance at all.  Or lured in by his falsely pleasant tone.  In all honesty, he appeared pleased.   A few seconds passed where Lance didn’t say anything more than that, turning the confrontation into something awkward.  Keith crossed his arms over his chest, defensive.  “No dice on the sales reports.”  His tone was a touch aggressive, which maybe tipped his hand a little.  This was why he didn’t keep track of individual points won or lost, just overall victories.   “No?”  Lance made a show of pouting exaggeratedly, his lovely mouth twisting in a way that should look absurd but was instead appealing.   “Then next time I’ll leave you to flounder in front of the board when you go in unprepared.”   That put them back on familiar ground.  Keith shrugged and grinned down at him, letting the confidence he knew often came across as arrogance flood his veins and shape his body language.  “I didn’t need to run those contingency numbers.  My original proposal was going to work.”  He wanted to push the other man’s buttons, provoke him into an emotional response.  He wanted to affect Lance as much as he felt affected and past experience had shown bringing up his competence was a button he could push over and over.   Looking rather indulgent, Lance tipped his head and conceded the point.  “Mmm, probably.  But every now and then you’ve got to at least pretend to toe the line.”   “Like you?” Keith asked with a raised eyebrow, skepticism dripping from his tone.     Feigning offense, Lance scoffed.  “Of course not.  I’m too charming and pretty to be expected to behave.”     The word “pretty” rattled around in Keith’s head, obliterating rational thought in its wake.  Lance was infuriating at the best of times, but the idea that he was pretty and he knew it, used it to his advantage (though never on Keith) made that hot feeling in Keith’s gut roar back to life as an inferno.  He leaned forward and braced his hands on the edge of Lance’s desk.  He could feel his face stretched into something he’d love to claim was a grin, but in reality was probably far too predatory to be described as one.  “Nobody likes a brat, no matter how pretty they are.”   Lance licked his lips and rubbed the palms of his hands over his thighs, drawing attention to the tantalizing stretch of his finely cut suit over his muscles.  It should have made him look nervous; he simply looked smug.  “Really?  Because this smile has certainly gotten me out of a lot of trouble.”  He favored Keith with a sweet smile, tainted with just enough mischief to be wildly tempting.   A surge of arousal made his knees feel weak, which shouldn’t feel like a win, but Keith grinned anyway.  They were headed toward something - always had been - and for the first time he was confident that “something” wasn’t going to end up as a trainwreck.  For the first time he felt like he knew which of them was the hunter and which was the prey.  “That’s because you haven’t met anyone properly motivated to keep you in line.”   Surprise flickered across Lance’s face for an instant, but he recovered quickly and fluttered his eyelashes outrageously.  “You offering?”  His tone was thick and warmly seductive like honey.   The buzzing beneath his skin reached a fever pitch and Keith snorted.  “To keep you in line?  Nah.”  He leaned closer to Lance and let his voice drop down an octave or two.  “But I might be willing to take you home and fuck the sass out of you for at least a few hours.”   Bright, defiant fire shone in Lance’s eyes and a filthy grin unfurled across his face.  “You can try.”   2.  Saturday morning, early.  Green pen on lined notebook paper.  Stuck beneath the wiper of Keith’s car.   Hey. :)   Last night was fun, even though I probably shouldn’t be saying that since we ended up in police custody.  ;P  Which, again, was not - entirely - my fault (how was I supposed to know that door was alarmed).  Anyway, I know we’re doing this whatever it is we’re doing all out of order, and with the getting kicked out of the restaurant for yelling at homophobes, and the back alley fight, and the getting arrested, and the not even having sex, it might seem like last night didn’t go well.  But, without knowing how you feel about it, I wanted to let you know that I thought it was perfect; best first date I’ve ever been on.  (Although I’m not sure if that says more about how good we are together or how insane my expectations are.)   And we can keep doing what we’ve been doing - the no-strings (really fucking spectacular) sex - because that’s all good and I’m not about to punish myself by turning it down if that’s all that’s on offer.  I just really wanted to say that I wouldn’t mind doing this again.  Except maybe with less brawling next time.  My face hurts like a motherfucker.   -L   ***   Lance’s note had been all Keith could think about for the rest of the weekend, but he forced himself to wait until Monday morning to respond and then cornered him in the copy room.  “Busy tomorrow night?”  The split in Lance’s bottom lip had scabbed over, but it certainly wasn’t healed.  Keith put his hands in his pockets and curled them into fists to keep from reaching out and pushing at the wound until it reopened.  He hadn't known how into a roughed up and bloody Lance he'd be until this weekend and now his libido appeared to be making up for that grave oversight.   Lance shook his head with a speed that was gratifying, not even bothering to pretend he needed to think about it.  “No.  Whatcha have in mind?”  There was the shadow of his usual playful seduction in that tone, but it was overshadowed with anxiety.   Blood pounded through his veins, quick and hard.  The bruise on his cheek throbbed like a drumbeat to accompany his uncertainty.  Keith had no idea what the fuck he was doing here, but it helped to know that from the looks of things, Lance didn’t either.  Feeling a little reckless, he just went with his gut.  Hoping he looked somewhat casual, he shrugged.  “The Grand Cinema is doing a sci-fi double feature.”   All the nervous energy visibly bled out of Lance and he smiled, slow and pleased.  “You asking me on another date, hotshot?”   Months of taking Lance to bed (or the nearest empty office) whenever they could find the time had honed Keith’s awareness of the other man.  Now that he was reassured and no longer feared rejection, Lance radiated an openness that invited him closer.  Keith was not about to turn down that invitation - not when closer was where he always wanted to be with Lance.  He took a couple of steps forward, pushing himself into Lance’s personal space, advancing on him with something close to aggression in his movements, until he could feel the other man’s body heat through his clothes.  “Sure, on one condition.”   Aggression or no, retreat was never an option for Lance.  He held his ground, aiming a cocky grin up at Keith and curling his upper body forward.  “Yeah, what’s that?” he asked softly.  He’d once asked Keith “you wanna watch me finger myself open for you?” in exactly that same tone of voice.   Ducking forward, Keith angled his head so he could whisper his answer in Lance’s ear.  “The next time I see you in handcuffs, you better also be naked and in my bed.”  He pulled back in time to watch surprise and hunger detonate in Lance’s expression when his words registered.   A barely noticeable tremor rolled through Lance’s frame and he made a choked off noise of arousal.  When he’d recovered, he shot a look so raw and blatantly wanting it was obscene at Keith.  “I can live with that.”   3.  Sunday, mid-morning.  Black marker on pink post-its.   Found on Lance’s pillow:   Good Morning <3   Found on the alarm clock:   I love you   Found on the bathroom door:   You’re always the best part of my day   Found on the bathroom mirror:   Even when you irritate me   Found on the faucet:   You’re still my favorite person   Found on the shower door:   So I want you with me every day   Found on the towel shelf:   As partners   Found on the coffee machine:   I want to work for all the things in our future we talk about late at night   Found on the cabinet with the mugs:   I want to fulfill all the promises we whisper against each other’s skin   Found on Keith’s mug:   I want to be home and family and a safe harbor for you   Found on the bread box:   I want to make you smile   Found on the toaster:   I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you smile   Found on the refrigerator:   And more than anything, I want you to say yes   Found on the breakfast bar:   Marry me?   Found on the black box on the breakfast bar:   Please? <3   ***   It took another fifteen minutes of Keith sipping his coffee and trying not to smile stupidly at the unfamiliar weight of the ring on his finger before Lance shuffled into the kitchen from wherever he’d been hiding and waiting.  He looked sheepish and nervous and fucking edible, still sleep-rumpled and wearing threadbare and oversized pajamas.   “Good morning,” Keith greeted casually.  With a herculean effort, he resisted pulling Lance into his lap and sinking his fingers into the wild nest of his bed-head.  He sort of desperately wanted to know if the ring would catch on the thick strands.   Uncharacteristically bypassing the coffee pot, Lance plopped down on the barstool next to Keith and groaned like he was dying.  “In retrospect this was a terrible idea.  The wait is killing me, and you still haven’t said anything dude, I'm freaking the fuck out, and oh my god, please put me out of my misery.”  With another dramatic noise of distress, he collapsed forward to fold his arms on the bar and bury his face in them.   Happiness was bubbling up effervescently in Keith’s chest and he feared it was doing something alarmingly goofy to his face.  He was so glad Lance wasn’t looking at him to see it when he slid over one of the last notes he’d found.   Sensing the movement, Lance looked at Keith for a moment while he chewed on his lip nervously.  Then he looked at the note; his face lit up when he saw that Keith had underlined the word “yes” twice.  “Fuck yeah!”  And then he was crawling into Keith’s lap of his own accord and peppering kisses all over Keith’s face.  He managed to get out “I’m gonna marry you so fucking hard,” and “let’s do this thing,” between frantic presses of his lips before the kisses became more determined and his mumbling less intelligible.   Almost manic in his joy, Keith couldn’t do anything but laugh and wrap his arms around his fiance’s - god - waist and hold on for the ride.   4.  Tuesday, late evening.  Blue pen on the back of a takeout menu.  Found taped to Keith’s punching bag in the garage.   Babe,   I know you don’t want to hear that everything’s going to be okay, and god, I’m too wrecked to even try to write that with any conviction.  The truth is that none of this is okay.  They’re keeping our baby from us and the law says they can just because they share DNA even though they’ve never loved him like we do.     Like we still will.   And that’s what I want to say - not some false promise or attempt at hope - but that we’re still in this fight.  We’re still in this fight, so don’t you dare give up on me Keith.  I need you to keep fighting with me.  David needs us to keep fighting for him.  Other couples might give up at this setback, talk to the social worker again, pick a kid that’s less trouble.  But you and I have never run from trouble, and we’re not about to start now.  Not when we promised our son we’d take him home and give him the family he deserves rather than the shitty one he’s stuck with now.     Do you remember when we told Pidge that we were getting married and they said we were both too stubborn for a marriage to work?  Do you remember what you told them?  You said that was exactly why our marriage was going to work - we were both too stubborn to ever be done with each other.  It might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say.  I don’t know if I’ve ever loved you more than in the moment when you said I was worth never giving up on.   This is just the next thing we’ll face together that’s not worth giving up on.  There probably aren’t another two people on this planet stupid and stubborn enough not to give up on this boy just because things are hard.  That’s why David will always be OUR son no matter what the law says and whether he’s with us or not.  We’re not giving up on him.  Ever.   All my love and all my fight, L   ***   Keith gave in to the urge to let out a single inarticulate snarl of rage with an accompanying punch to the bag.  The solid thud of his fist was satisfying, but did nothing to douse the flames of anger licking at his insides.  He knew he couldn't risk more than that though; even one more strike would open the floodgates and Keith would stay down here beating his helpless frustration and grief into the bag until he was bloody and exhausted and emptied out.  He wouldn’t do that to Lance; he wouldn’t let himself fall apart when there was still a job he needed to do.  He untapped the note and went to find his husband.   Lance was on the couch, his laptop open on his thighs, but he didn’t appear to actually be doing anything on it, just staring into space.  When Keith came in he looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.  “Hey.”  His voice cracked somewhere in the middle.   It was easy to tell, well if you knew his husband as well as Keith did, that Lance had used up the last of his unbridled determination.  Probably on Keith’s note.  Now he was just hollow - and sad.  But that was okay; picking each other up from time to time when it was needed was the whole point of being partners.  Keith dropped onto the couch next to him and curled a hand around the back of his neck.  Even broken open and devastated like this, Lance was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and it was enough.  Enough for Keith to focus on something other than the swirling tempest of his own emotions.  “Okay.  So let’s email the social worker.  Find out what we do next.”  He didn’t bother to hide the anger still simmering at the base of his skull or the heartbreak clawing at his chest in his tone.  Lance would know they were there anyway, and he’d never fault him for not being able to get rid of them.   “Right, yeah.”  Lance’s voice already sounded steadier.  He sucked in a breath and started typing.   5.  Wednesday, mid-morning.  Red pen on copy paper.  Found in Keith’s laptop bag.   Husband,   Don’t think I didn’t see that little face you made before David left.  I know you worry that you never say the right thing to him, but I want you to know that everything you say to him is just perfect.  Because it’s clear to me, him, all our friends, and anyone in a five mile radius, really, that you love that boy more than should be humanly possible.  And that’s what he needs, that’s what matters to David more than the actual words.   You’re an incredible father and I can’t think of a better partner to do this with than you.  We’ll always make a great team.   Love you. L   P.S.  Besides, when have I ever hesitated to tell you when you weren't pulling your own weight.  ;)   ***   Keith turned away and pretended not to notice anything when he saw Lance slipping a note into David’s lunchbox.  He bit his lip to hold in the insistent smile at his husband’s antics; that man had never been subtle a day in his life - he wasn't fooling anybody.  Lance had been worried that David might find the notes embarrassing, might want them to stop when he started middle school this year.  He’d gone as far as to ask David if he felt the notes were too childish now.  One slow shake of David’s head was all it took to do away with that foolishness and Keith was glad.  Lance loved too big and too fearlessly to ever be capable of dialing it back and Keith was sure the attempt would crush him.  And anyway, David deserved to know every day what it felt like to be loved that way.   Graciously pretending he hadn’t witnessed the “secret” note being slipped in his bag, David walked over to the counter next to Lance and held up his watch.  He was still mostly non-verbal with them, but he’d found other ways of communicating and the displaying of his vintage Voltron watch had become a familiar routine.  Their kid had a thing about punctuality.   Lance smiled easily, appearing almost delighted with his son’s impatience.  He had never struggled with having a child who communicated differently, never become frustrated or awkward, always effortlessly taking it in stride.  “Time to go already, huh?”  He looked over at Keith with a conspiratorial grin.  “How did we ever get out of the house on time before David came along?”   Playing along was as instinctive as breathing now and Keith unconsciously raised an eyebrow at him.  “We didn’t,” he deadpanned.  He noticed David’s lips twitch into a semblance of a smile for a second at that, but didn’t comment on it.  He just squirreled the memory of that expression away for the next time he doubted himself and his ability to parent this boy who clearly needed so much.  Keith still hadn’t figured out how he’d managed not to fuck it all up yet; apparently winging it was a winning strategy.   With an admirable amount of gravitas for this time in the morning, Lance handed the lunchbox over to David.  “You got the permission slip we signed?”   David nodded.   “And your math homework?”   Another solemn nod.   “Good.”  Lance leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of David’s head, something their son had only become comfortable with in the last few months.  “Good luck on your chair test today.  I know you’ll do great, but even if you don’t I’m still so proud of you.”   David aimed a tentative smile up at Lance.  Band classes had worked miracles for David; it was the only thing they’d ever seen him get excited about, but consequently he became extremely anxious the morning of his tests in class.  Lance’s ability to genuinely encourage without pressuring was enviable.  His smile slowly smoothed into something more neutral and the boy looked over at Keith.   Nodding at the signal, Keith scooped up his car keys and headed for the door.  When they were outside, stuffing book bags and briefcases and trumpet cases into the backseat, Keith put a hand on David’s shoulder, inordinately pleased that the boy no longer stiffened when he did this.  “He really means that, you know.  He’ll be so proud of you no matter what.  And so will I.”  He still wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say, but he was going to trust that Lance knew what he was talking about in that note a few weeks ago and just make sure David knew they both loved him.   David wouldn’t meet his eye after that, but it didn’t matter, because he croaked out a quiet, “I know.”   Tears stinging his eyes, Keith though once again how amazing it was that a lonely orphan like him had somehow ended up with the perfect family.   +1.  Seven years, three months, and twelve days after the first note.  Pencil on notebook paper.  Handed to Lance while having morning coffee:   Lance,   I’m writing this while sitting in the airport on our way to get our second child and bring her home.  I don’t really know what I’m doing here (stop laughing) since you’re the one who’s always doing the notes, but I keep looking over at you and I had to try even if I embarrass myself horribly.  The words keep filling up my head faster than I can get them on paper, but I have to try.  Because these are things I don’t know if I can say out loud, but they need to be said, and you need to hear them.  So I will do this.  For you.   You’re sleeping.  It’s been a long day: travelling across the country, three airports in twelve hours, SO many phone calls; it will all be worth it.  It doesn’t surprise me that you fell for the child with the most complicated biological family situation in the foster system - again.  You’re so good at figuring out who needs your love the most and then not giving up on them no matter what happens after that.   If you knew how long I’d been sitting here watching you and David sleep, you’d probably be so mad, call me creepy (like that time you told me I might as well start sparkling when you caught me right outside the shower that one time).  It’s all your fault for being so beautiful.  You’re drooling, you’ve got dark circles under your eyes that look like bruises, and none of us have showered in like thirty plus hours or something, and you’re still so fucking beautiful.  David’s leaning on you too, with a handful of your hoodie, like he can’t let go of you.  He’ll wake up before you, of course, so you won’t get to see it.  Don’t worry, I took a picture.  It’s beautiful.  Our family is already so incredibly beautiful and now we get to add to it.  I honestly don’t know what to do with the way that makes me feel.   It would have scared me once.  Sometimes it already seems like too much, you and David, I already love you both so much and sometimes that’s overwhelming.  When it was just us, I used to go to bed every night filled to the brim with how much I loved you and then I’d wake up next to you and somehow love you even more, terrified every time that this would be the tipping point, this would be the morning I reached my limit and I’d self destruct under the pressure of trying to find room for all the feelings you gave me.  And every morning you’d roll over and smile at me and miraculously I managed to fit all that love in my heart for another day.   And just when I’d learned not to be afraid anymore, you brought that terror back 100 fold when you brought up the idea of adopting.  You had already planted your flag on every last corner of my heart to claim that territory - how on earth was I supposed to have anything left for another person?  And if I managed, that might even be worse.  Surely one person was not meant to contain double the amount of feelings I had for you.  But you showed me how, and in the end it wasn’t even all that hard.  Downright easy in fact.  And now I get to do it again.   I’m not afraid this time.  I know my heart will just keep growing to fit all the love our baby girl will need (and then keep growing past that point because I know my love for our family won’t ever stop expanding).  I know that if there’s a setback and she doesn’t come home with us today that we won’t stop fighting.  I know that I can be a good father and give her the family that she deserves.  I know that you will be by my side for the whole thing, and that might be the most amazing thing of all.   We started out as partners, and now we’re a team.  A family.  Thank you for giving me everything I’ve ever wanted and all the things I never even knew to dream about.   I love you, Keith   ***   With all the chaos that ensued trying to fit a three year old into their home and their lives, it took another two weeks for things to calm down enough for Keith to actually give Lance the note he’d written, handing it over while they sat in the same place they had when he'd accepted Lance’s proposal.  He sipped his coffee absently and watched Lance read, trying not to feel too self-conscious.   When he was finished Lance set the note down with a shaking hand and looked at Keith with watery eyes.  “You asshole.”   “What?”   Lance scrubbed a hand over his face.  “You always have to be better than me don’t you?  I’ve never written you anything like this.”  His voice sounded absolutely wrecked .   Incredulous, Keith snorted; that had to be a joke, right?  “Of course not.  Yours are always better.”   Lance laughed, sharp and bitter.  “No, they most decidedly are not.”   “Hnn.”  Stubborn as his husband was, arguing was definitely not going to convince him.  Keith would just have to show him then.  He stood up and went to their bedroom.  He came back with a box full of notes collected over their entire relationship.  He’d never thrown a single one away.  He carefully set the box on the counter.  “You think that,” he pointed at the note Lance was still clinging to, “in any way compares to these?  Or to the box full that David has in his room?  Or the ones Jolie will start collecting soon?”   Lance looked flabbergasted.  “Those are, those are nothing.  Stupid, silly things.  Some of them are just stick figures.”  He flapped his arms around as he talked, the agitation in his limbs mirroring the agitation in his voice.   A quick shake of Keith’s head was enough to cut off Lance’s babbling.  “Don’t you dare.”  As much as he needed to say the next part, he didn't think he could finish it if he was looking at Lance while he did.  He also really wanted to hold him too, so he pulled his husband to his feet and enfolded him in a hug.  He brushed a kiss across Lance’s cheek and stayed there to whisper against his skin as well.  “you assemble a ragtag group of foster kids with abandonment issues a mile wide, patiently wait for them to realize this isn’t some dream that can all slip away, turn them into a family and then you have the nerve to call it nothing when you go out of your way on an almost daily basis to make sure we know you’re thinking of us even if you aren’t there?  David and I have never thought a single one of those notes were silly, and Jolie won’t either.”  Hearing the ragged quality to Lance’s breathing, he pulled back to meet Lance’s eye and frown a little like he was thinking hard.  “Well, maybe that first one.  A month of sales reports?  You should have known that wasn’t going to happen,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.   A little breathless and a lot overwhelmed, Lance answered, “I think that one worked out well for me in the end, all things considered.”   "Touche," Keith conceded and then proceeded to kiss the breath from his husband's lungs.

Tony would never admit it out loud, but he was glad to have company at the tower. He hadn't realized how quiet his life was with the Avengers around.  Again he would never admit it.  After the events with Loki and every other villain that seemed to materialize, Pepper and Tony drifted apart. Despite his numerous agreeing that he would stop being Iron Man, Pepper knew that Tony would continue on being an Avenger. She couldn't have been prouder of him, but she couldn't take the stress of not knowing if he would come back, the stress of keeping up with the crazy world of villains and heros. So after one hard argument with Tony she packed her belongings and moved back to California to the main offices of Stark Industries. Tony and Pepper remained friends despite everything and were quietly finding their rhythm again as not only friends but as CEO and head of R&D. They were going to be okay again with time.  In Avengers Tower, the days of working in the lab for Bruce and Tony we're non stop but wonderful. Bruce was the first to move in right after the Battle of New York. Bruce finally felt a sense of belonging and Tony gained someone that understood him and how his mind worked. Tony's intelligence wasn't discredited by Bruce like it had in the past by other PhD minds. Tony wasn’t a flashy playboy 24/7 after all. He had created, well re-discovered, an element for godsakes but in the public eye he was still "Tony Stark'" not "Doctor Stark" despite his numerous PhD's. But Bruce acknowledged each one and in Bruce, Tony was able to find an intellectual equal. In Tony, Bruce found a sound board, someone to listen and not be afraid to correct him for fear of being stepped on by the Hulk like some of the lab assistants in the tower. Tony didn't walk on glass around Bruce or the Hulk. The big guy and him were pals too after all. Most projects were about enhancing their own tech. Tony secretly had a mother hen complex, he never wanted to let anyone go out un-prepared for a mission and risk the chance of loosing a team member out on the field. This team, it was his family now. He would never really admit it though. When he and Bruce didn't work on upgrades for the team they worked on small 'fun' projects together. Whether it would be trying to pick apart the mysteries of the universe or how they could enhance the coffee maker to have an AI installed, they were always working. They loved sciencing like the Hulk loved to smash. Then there was Steve. Steve was the last to move into the tower. Steve and Tony had been skirting around each other and pining over each other ever since the mission with the Winter Soldier and Tony and Pepper's eventual break-up. At first they had to work past their aggression towards each other after the events on the Helicarrier. They both apologized and mutually agreed that Loki's staff was a big cause for their anger that day and began to start over. So that is exactly what they did. They started over. Tony began to go out of his way to help Steve, not that he’d ever admit it of course. Help Steve? Ha no, he just hates to see Steve struggle with simple stuff that’s all. He’s not helping Steve what so ever. It’s for his own sanity that’s it. It has nothing to do with that kicked puppy expression on Steve’s faces when he breaks his phone or doesn’t understand a reference. Not at all. Nope.  (Tony still made a reinforced cell phone for Steve that wouldn't crack under Steve's grip when talking with Fury on the phone. He even built a tablet that would hold in Steve’s unconsciously tight grip to work and sketch on. Then Tony began helping Steve with his list of movies and shows and references to catch up on. That began the teams annual movie night. Steve called it 'team building' but soon it became tradition.) But helping Steve? No he wasn’t helping him at all. It’s for his own sanity only. Shut up Bruce it is.  When Tony was wrapped up in the workshop Steve came down with meals, or to keep Dummy and the rest of the bots busy, or to just sketch. Steve enjoyed the weirdly homey feeling in the workshop. Did it have to do with sketching Tony with his bots or working on the Iron Man armor? No of course not. Steve is down there purely to make sure Tony remembers to eat. That’s all. Steve swears. It’s nothing to do with how soft Tony is around his bots or how his eyes light up when he figures a way around a problem. No of course not. He is there purely to insure the safety of a valued member of the team and his friend.  Soon after Steve and Tony found a friendly rhythm with each other Fury called in a favor. Steve was called to Washington. The Winter Soldier attacked and Tony had an epiphany. Tony seeing Steve broken up more than just physically on a hospital bed, brought on a whole slew of feelings Tony wasn't prepared for. He realized he was in love, and he was so screwed. He would never admit it outloud but he could not ignore this feeling to himself. Not anymore.   Steve realized he was in the same predicament as Tony a few months later in a hospital seeing Tony black and blue with broken ribs, a pierced lung that almost took Tony out of this world, and a pale sheen to his face. Tony had jumped in the way of a plasma blast from the new 'Villain of the Month' and landed himself in the hospital and on a surgeons table. Steve had grabbed him just before he crash landed into a abandoned building and watched Tony’s reactor stop working. His heart had stopped in the same moment frozen with fear. The next few hours had been a blur.  It’s was a close call that Steve wasn't prepared to deal with. When Steve held his hand still covered in debri from the battle worried over Tony he realized he couldn't loose him. He wasn’t in love with Tony. Oh shit. He’s in love with Tony.  Steve always knew, even before the ice, that he had his eyes set on men as well as women. Women when he was small and thin never gave him much time and the men didn't have wandering eyes in the daylight. It was too dangerous to look around back then. The only one who knew his secret had been Bucky. Bucky advised him to be careful about it, hide it if he could and stick to dames. After all being queer was illegal and could get Steve killed. It was a small relief out of the ice to find more acceptance and a name for himself, he was bisexual and happy of his thankfully open minded teammates.  If only the two idiots would get their heads out of their asses long enough to realize what they felt for each other. So far the betting pool stakes between the team are about to hit the triple digits (and month long dishes duty). After Tony's eventual release Steve had gone to try and find Bucky when ever there was a whisper of him across the numerous countries. Weeks turned into months and finally Bucky let himself be found a year after DC in a little apartment in Bolivia. It took the assassin a long time to recover from HYDRA's brainwashing, but with Steve and Natasha's help he began to smile again. Bucky can usually be found quietly cleaning weapons or talking to Natasha in Russian while cooking in the evening after a mission or with Clint on the roof watching the city below or the range doing target practice/bitching session with Clint or Natasha. He wasn't Steve's Bucky and never would be again, but he was a good man and still had bits of Bucky but also a resilient Russian assassin in him. Then again Steve would never be what the old Bucky would have expected either. They had both changed. They were both older and thicker skinned by war and time. But no matter what they were still best friends. They weren’t the same people they were as kids but that didn’t mean they were so different they didn’t get along or goof around with each other. The moment Steve figured out he had this problem, being in love, he went to Bucky to talk about it. Bucky laughed at him for being an idiot but helped him talk through his mixed up thoughts and be a shoulder to lean on. Bucky was a good fighter, after rigorous testing and training Bucky was put on the Avengers reserve team slowly going on more missions and gaining his footing with the others in combat. He worked flawlessly by Captain America and Black Widow. His specialty was the same as Hawkeyes though, sniper missions. Despite everything that happened he was and still is Steve's friend. He always will be, time (and brainwashing) could never change that.  ------- TIME SKIP ------- After a particular fight with Doctor Doom that required even Buckys help it was no surprise to anyone the 'science bros' were messing around with Doom's left over tech from their last battle. Tony always joked about Doom’s shitty quality robots and could always rip in it with ease. The new ‘ray gun’  Doom has sapped them all with at some point had done nothing to them. Doom had seemed surprised by that while Steve had put him in reinforced cuffs. Since Tony had grabbed the gun before SHEILD’s lab monkeys had that meant Tony got to do his favorite thing. Tinker with a crackpots toy. Bruce of course was there to help. What bugged Tony of course that despite each of his teammates and himself had been blasted by the device but there had been no effects, no boom, no pain, no poisonous gas, nothing. So what was it supposed to do?  Steve had tried to convince them otherwise to not mess with anything until they were sure it was safe. Of course Tony did what he wanted anyways. Like SHEILD would know what they had to begin with? Ha real funny Steve. Tony fiddled with Doom's mechanism for a solid eight hours before Bruce arrived from the lab and his work with genetic codes. Bruce and Tony then continued for another ten hours and tinkered away on the project until Steve came and pulled them both to the common room for food and movie night, Tony complaining the whole way there that his research wasn't nearly done. Steve ignored the protests and sat him on the couch beside him trying to not think about the way that Tony was warm by his side with head starting to droop onto his shoulder.  Everyone slowly gathered around and took their respective places on the couch and furniture. Bruce lounged in a big arm chair curled up with a cup of tea and blanket. Thor sat on the floor shoving popcorn and sweet tarts in his mouth watching the film texting Jane about her upcoming visit that week. The movie of the night was King Fu Hustle, a foreign campy film about kung fu and cheesy special effects. It had been Clint's turn to pick the film. Clint was mostly texting Director Coulson who was away on assignment in the Bus. No one was more relieved than Clint when it was revealed that Coulson not only survived the attack from Loki but was alive and the new Director of SHIELD. Coulson was still sleeping on the couch as far as anyone knew though, after all you can only lie about being alive to your partner of 6 years for so long and not be in the dog house about keeping secrets. Clint's seat was the arm of the left section of the sofa that Natasha and Bucky shared. Tony and Steve stretched out careful not to let their legs touch each other's leaning into the rest of the sofa beside Natasha and Bucky. But in the lab unbeknownst to the team, some of Doctor Doom's equipment began to function on its own. JARVIS came over the system the movie pausing Thor pouted for a moment and Bucky threw a handful of popcorn at the screen “Boo.” Natasha snickered at Bucky under her breath.  Clint groaned dramatically falling into Natasha and Buckys laps. “Aw come on! No Avengers emergency now!" Clint pouted as they both shoved him to the ground.  "I am sorry to interrupt Agent Barton, sir there a situation occurring in the workshop." Tony sat up quickly "What is it Jay? Give me a visual." The screen lit back up and showed live feed of one of Doom's ray gun creating several portals all brightly flashing off one by one. Blinding light emits from the screen before the image went black. "Sir the cameras in the workshop have been damaged. There is no longer any visual, however there are seven separate energy signatures in the workshop. Lockdown has commenced." Tony nodded standing calling the armor. "Lock her down until I get there, safe guard all suits and blueprints left out until my arrival. And please tell the bots to stay in their charging stations." The team gathered together. Steve ran grabbing his shield and the assassins pulled their weapons from various hiding places around the common room. Mostly under the couch or in the cushions. “Okay we are seriously going to have a meeting about proper weapons storage later.” Steve throwing on the top of his tack vest. Bucky and Clint looked a little apologetic but Natasha just rolled her eyes and headed to the elevator. Thor followed her holding his hand out for Mjolnir swallowing the remainder of his popcorn from his other hand. Bruce followed behind the group tentative and wondering if this was a 'Code Green' situation. Tony let one of his suits from the launch pad outside wrap around him and got on the elevator with his team. Once off the elevator he input in the code for the workshop and entered. Seven figures were laying on the floor smoke around the workshop slowly dissipating. Steve held his shield up cautious. The three assassins held up they're weapons. Clint silently standing on a overturned workshop table held his bow at the ready.  The smoke disappeared thanks to the ventalation to show the seven people were seven young kids.They were all passed out and all maybe around the age of 13. Teenagers. Natasha cursed in Russian holding her gun firmly watching them. "They're just kids" Tony lowering his gauntlet. "So was I when I was a spy." Natasha said moving around the room. "Maybe they're playing possum." Barton lowered his bow and arrow looking at the sandy haired boy out cold who’s face was pressed to the floor facing away from Clint. Iron Man took it into account, "JARVIS be a dear and scan them for weapons, facial recognition, the works." "Right away sir," JARVIS ran the scan quickly. "They appear to be the Avengers sir." JARVIS sounded baffled, despite the fact that he was an artificial intelligence. “The young Agents Romanov and Barton both have weapons on their persons. Young Doctor Banner appears to have a broken nose and the young Captain Rogers has numerous ailments that need treatment in the near future.” "Impossible," Tony took off his face mask to look with his own eyes. He used his foot and rolled over a scrawny small kid. Steve nearly choked. It was him, barely 13 and pre-serum. He looked like he could've broken in half with just a puff of air. "Whoa" Bucky went wide eyed "Steve its-" The Captain cut him off his voice more unsteady than he wanted it to be "I can see that Bucky thanks." “Steve you are so tiny,” Tony gaped checking the young Steve’s pulse. “Again I can see that, thanks Tony.” Steve mumbled blushing red.  "They are all so tiny, not just our younger captain." Thor marveled aloud studying a very young Natasha. Nat was the second one to move rolling over a dark and curly haired thin boy her eyebrows raising slightly showing how shocked she was. The boys glasses were broken and cracked and he had the beginning stages of acne. He was scrawny and the stereotypical nerd. Broken and taped glasses to boot. "It's Brucie-bear," Tony wide eyed Bruce looked over Tony’s shoulder and gulped “Oh god.” After further inspection it was obvious that JARVIS' scan proved to be true. It was the Avengers. Each one of them and all from their own respective times thanks to Doctor Doom's ray gun. A boy grunted from the far corner of the workshop and sat up everyone tensed holding up their weapons. The boy, maybe 13, didn't notice them rubbing his eyes. "God I have to stop pulling 48 hour work binges. I feel like death." he was covered in grease and oil, his hair was sticking up in every direction, barely any scruff of hair on his face. He was short and he had brown doe eyes. Wide and still with a hint of innocence and youth. He was definitely a young Tony Stark, fresh to MIT by the looks of him.  Iron Man felt his stomach drop and freeze instantly. He tapped his faceplate into place swallowing hard. He was not going to panic. It was definitely him, he didn't remember this ever happening though. And he was not going to panic. If only the rest of his body would get the memo. Young Tony looked up and went wide eyed "ummm..... Did I get kidnapped by Halloween trick-or-treaters because so far that's the only explanation I have come up with for the ridiculous outfits.” Barton broke out with a laugh not able to keep it in. Bruce sighed heavily, "This is going to be a long night."